The Wide World Magazine. Adventure - Travel - Sport. Volume 44 1919-1920 November-April

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This is a reproduction of a library book that was digitized by Google as part of an ongoing effort to preserve the information in books and make it universally accessible. Google'books sais https://books.google.com is]

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A DYNAMITE BOMB BLEW THE ENGINE FROM THE RAILS, AND SEVERAL THOUSAND ZAPATISTAS FELL ON THE TRAIN-GUARD OF ABOUT A HUNDRED MEN.” (SEE PAGE 5.)

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE NN ST ADVENTURE -~ TRAVEL —™ SPORT Vol. XLIV. NOVEMBER, 1919. 259. ILLUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER Readers of “The Wide World Magazine” will remember that in September, 1912, under the title of ‘The Master Bandit,’ we published the first complete story ever given to the world of the rise of Emiliano Zapata, the notorious Mexican bandit-revolutionist. In October of the same year, the author of this article, Mr. Harry H. Dunn, was expelled from Mexico by the Government of the then President, Francisco Y. Madero; among the charges against him being the alleged writing of “The Master Bandit.” In the spring of 1913 we published the story of Mr. Dunn’s expulsion from Mexico. In May, 1916, we published in “The Wide World Magazine ” another article by Mr. Dunn, entitled ‘‘More About the Master Bandit,” detailing the extension of power of this modern Attila over the major part of Southern Mexico, his collection of millions in tribute, his establishment of a sort of feudal government, wi:h an army of nearly 25,000 men, and his setting up of his capital at Peitlalcingo. Now comes the news from Mexico that Zapata is dead, slain in action near his capital by the forces of Pablo Gonzales, Minister of War under Venustiano Carranza, the present President of Mexico, and it naturally devolves upon Mr. Dunn to write the fourth and, apparently, the final chapter in the life of this the greatest outlaw the New World has ever produced. Zapata, during nearly nine years of revolution and banditry, made himeelf a figure of tremendous and sinister force in the affairs of Mexico. To him was due, in part, the downfall of President Porfirio Diaz and the ousting of President Prancisco Y. Madero, and he had a hand in the overthrow of President Victoriano Huerta, who would probably have pacified Mexico and killed Zapata had he been allowed to continue his rule. MILLANO ZAPATA is dead, dying as he lived—by the sword. The greatest ontlaw the New in World ever produced, the bandit of BASE whom Porfirio Diaz, for thirty years President of Mexico, once said, ** He will destroy every President who trics to make friends with him, and fight to the death every President who opposes him,’’ he has been killed im battle, according to official reports made by General Pablo Gonzales, Mexican Minister of War, to Venmstiano Carranza, President of Mexico, and cabled from the Mexican capital to the newspapers of the United States. His head was cut from his body. and taken to Mexico City for public exhibition. This was done because he had inspired so much terror, even in the Mexican capital, that all classes doubted Vol, xiiv.—4, that the notorious “ Attila of the South ’” had at last been conquered. His brother, Eufeiom Zapata, remaims—a man of equal cruelty, an outlaw of equal daring, but as a soldier of far less ability and possessing little of that canning which made Emiliano for nearly nine years absolute miler of approximately one-fifth of the eight hundred thousand square miles of Mexico, and of probably one-eighth of her sixteen millions of population. This brother will not go far, and it appears that the race of the picturesque Zapatas is virtually run. According to the official report of the affair, Zapata was killed by Colonel Jesus Huajardo, of the Federal Army, in single combat, after the bandit leader and a few hundred of his men had been caught in a trap in a little town called Calixto, about midway between Cuantla and the

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. means the breaking-up of the “ Zapata empire,”’ as it had come to be called, the dis- banding of his “army,” and the restoration of something like peace in Southern Mexico. When, in the winter of 1915-16, Zapata retired southward, and Carranza seated him- self in the national palace at Mexico City, the bandit leader never ceased to plot. He - knew that, though he had beaten the armies of General Robles, he could not hope to defeat the fresh Northern forces of General Alvaro Obregon, or the North-Eastern troops of General Pablo Gonzales, trained as they had been by months of combat with the elusive Francisco Villa. For this reason he sought an alliance with Villa, and almost had it comsummated, through the clever work of Ismael and Rafael Palafox, his closest advisers, when a new sun arose in the Mexican sky. Felix Diaz, nephew of the former Presi- General Carranza, President of Mexig whose, ereatest triumph has been a the killing of jaster Zapatista capital of Peltlalcingo, in the State of Guerrero. The official report, as cabled to the United States, adds: ‘‘ After killing Emiliano Zapata in single combat, Colonel Huajardo cut off his head with his sabre and took it to Cuautla, whence it was sent for exhibition to Mexico City.” Herein lay my own personal doubt that Zapata was really dead. I knew him probably better than any foreigner who ever lived in Mexico, and I campaigned with him for nearly three months, in the heyday of his power in r910 and 1911. I believed then that no man in Mexico could kill him in single-handed combat. If he has been ‘killed, as now seems certain, it is the greatest single step toward peace which has been taken by Mexico in ten years, for Zapata twice mled in Mexico City, made two Presidents, helped to unmake four, and controlled two others by means of his agents in their capital. For the details of all these remarkable doings of the ‘‘ Master Bandit " the reader should see TuE WipE WortD MaGaztne for Mav, 1916, in which the lurid history of Emiliano Zapata was brought to the point where, with Carranza in control of Mexico City, the outlaw chief had withdrawn to his two fortified towns of Peltlalcingo and Villa Ayala, and contented himself, for the time being, with control of the States of Morelos and Guerrero, and parts of the States of Puebla, Hidalgo, and Mexico. Every phase of the amazing history of this bandit-rebel, who gave ten thousand square miles of fertile soil to as many peon families after he had driven out the rightful owners, is worth the telling, for no greater adventurer ever lived, few braver, none more dishonest, none more immoral, none who held more firmly and con- sistently to the Nietzschean creed that might makes right. Loyal to his friends at all costs, merciless to his enemies, with death the lightest punishment he could inflict on a captured foe, there are at least a million Mexicans who will giieve to hear of his passing, Yet fis death dent, Porfirio Diaz, and widely known as the man who, with the connivance of Victoriano Huerta, overthrew President Madero in Mexico City in the spring of 1913, returned to Mexico. After the downfall of Madero, Felix Diaz, tricked and cheated’ of the fruits of his victory by Huerta, went to the United States, the manner of his going being very much in the nature of flight. By 1917, however, courage had re- turned to the heart of Diaz, who, with his family and a num- ber of his adher- ents, was in New Orleans, and, tak- ing train one night toTampa, Florida, he eluded the American Secret Service men, crossed the Gulf of Mexico, and landed at a re- mote point on the coast of Veru Cruz, where he still is, conducting a desultory revo- lution against the Carranza Govern- ment. Zapata's spies —to one of whom, Juan Casanas by name, the writer is indebted for many of the facts from which this last chapter in the “Master Bandit's ” life is written — imme- diately informed him of the Zapatista “ soldadera,” or woman r. These Amazons follow all Mexican armies, A soldie On oN aan Lr LIOTALTS

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140435 uv THE END. OF THE MASTER BANDIT. 5 Colonel Huajardo (in centre), who killed Zapata in sihgle combat. landing and the purpose of Felix Diaz. Without waiting for a conference with Diaz, Zapata, as he had done at least four times before, spread his. army of some twenty-five thousand men out from Villa Ayala and Peltlal- cingo, and recaptnred Jojutla, Cuautla, Jonacate- pec, Huichilac, and half-a-dozen other small towns which he had allowed the Carranza garrisons to occupy, killing these garrisons whenever they were not quick enough to be on their way to safety before the Zapatistas arrived. In most cases, it should be said, the Carranza soldiers found discretion the better part of valour, and fled inward toward Mexico City. Then Zapata. fell on Cuernavaca, and early in 1917 retook it after a serious battle—the third he had won in this locality. Meanwhile, the news of Zapata's victories was carried. to Felix Diaz, as he moved with his small force into the State of Tabasco, still farther south. It was apparent that, without the aid of Zapata Diaz could never cross the territory of the “Master Bandit’? and reach Mexico City. Diaz accordingly sent emissaries, including Jose Villa—no relation of the Northern rebel leader Francisco Villa—and the wily Felipe Cadorna, to Zapata; bunt the latter failed to ally himself with Diaz, and thereby, apparently, stepped unconsciously into the path which led to: his death. Diaz had. few-fighting men:and little ammuni- tion, while his:army: was poorly armed ; but he had the best military. minds of Mexico:in General Medina-Barron, General Manuel: Mondragon, General. Anreliano Blanguet (since killed), and Colonel: Felipe Angeles. It is probable that, had Zapata allied himself with Diaz at that moment, they would be in possession of Mexico City to-day.. Zapata, however, either feared Diaz, suspected his motives, or wanted all the glory and the loot for himself. However that may be, he suddenly evacnated. Cuernavaca, the largest town in his control, and it was immediately occupied by an army of some twenty thousand Carranza soldiers, under the personal command of General Pablo Gonzales, Minister of War in the Carranza Cabinet. Apparently this was just what Zapata expected and played for, for he offered no opposi- tion to the occupation of the town, withdrew his troops to Villa Ayala, Peltlalcingo, Jojutla, and other towns in his territory, and contented himself with showing his teeth now and then in minor skirmishes with small bodies of Govern- ment troops. A month passed thus, and then one day a train carrying three hundred thousand pesos for the payment of the soldiers of the Cuerna- vaca garrison left Mexico City. Just at dusk, as the money train was dropping down the mountain from Tres Marias to Huichilac, a dynamite bomb blew the engine from the rails, and several thousand Zapatistas, led by Emiliano himself, fell on the train-guard of about a hundred men. There was a fight, for the guard consisted of troops fresh from Northern Mexico, who had no alliances with the Southern Mexicans, and still less with Zapata or his forces. Some fifty of the escort were killed, and the three hundred thousand pesos went back to Peltlalcingo with Zapata. Considered momentarily, this was a coup worth making, but Zapata failed to include in his calculations Pablo Gonzales, who looks like Rudyard Kipling, and whose life contains three duties and three pleasures—fighting, eating, and sleeping. General Gonzales started after Zapata in a manner in which no Mexican general Emiliano Zapata, the “ Master Bandit,” photographed by the Author in 1911,

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ~\Wr6 it Mackine Gun in Qdtion. A Mexican Federal machine-gun mounted oa the top of a freight-car for use against the Zapatistas. had ever been after him before. He never gave the Zapatistas open battle, but—like the bandits themselves—he followed and harried every band that put out from Villa Ayala or Peltlalcingo to forage the countryside, and he killed, killed, killed, by fair means or by trickery. In other words, he met fire with fire, and the fire of the Government troops had the most wind to fan it, in the shape of powder and bullets and rifles and machine-guns. The end came when General Gonzales sent Colonel Jesus Huajardo with a regiment to attack Cuautla, in which the Zapatistas had fortified themselves. Those who read the first story of the “Master Bandit’ will recall his capture and looting of Cuautla in 1911. Colonel Huajardo, instead of attacking Cuautla, sent messengers to Zapata asking the outlaw what inducements he would offer if the colonel joined him, with his entire regiment. In the course of ten days negotiations had reached such a point that Huajardo asked for a mecting with Zapata in Cuautla. There Zapata fell into the trap which ended with his reported death. He refused to meet Huajardo in Cuautla, but offered to go to Calixto, a village some ten miles from Cuautla in the direction of Zapata’s capital at Pelulal- cingo. He also seat a salvoconducto (literally, * safe-conduct "') for the Carranzista officer and ten of his men. Huajardo communicated with General Gon- zales, and the latter sent two regiments to attack Cuautla on the night of the day that Zapata and his personal guard went to Calixto - for the meeting. Mexican armies never fight at night, and the attack on Cuautla was a complete surprise aud a complete success. Meanwhile, Huajardo altered the salvoconducto from ten men to one hundred, and, with his regiment trailing about three miles behind him, hurried to Calixto, What happened from then on is not quite clear, save from the official report, which, if one A taiusload of artllery fur Zapaa’s purse,

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THE END OF THE MASTER BANDIT. 7 The village of Calixto, where Zapata met his death. bears in mind the photographs ef Francisco Villa's grave and the official reports of his death which the Carranza publicity bureau spread broadcast over the Uwited States, does not altogether bear the stamp of truth. According to this report, however, Colonel Huajardo retummed with the body of Emiliano Zapata to Cuautla. If the report of his death is true, the importance to the Carranza Government, both from a military and a political standpoint, cannot be overestimated. If Zapata is dead, his passing marks the final episode in a campaign which has occupied the best part of nine years and the attention of nine Presidents—the full number that storm-tossed country has had in the past decade—and has cost the country millions of dollars in property destroyed and looted towns. With the elimination of Zapata, the backbone of his cause is undoubtedly broken, and, unless the Felix Diaz movement can attract a large part of the twenty to twenty-five thousand Zapatistas remaining under arms, that revolution, too, will probably fail. In this case peace will prevail im that large section of Southern Mexico which since r9r0 has acknowledged no authority save that ot the “‘ Ma-ter Bandit.’’ Economically, the vanquishing of the Zapatistas and the death of their leader is of great importance, because it means the release for cultivation of thousands of square miles of the richest sugar and agricultural country in the Republic. It means, also, that every one of the hundreds of sugar plantations in that section will have to be supplied with machinery from foreign countries, so that the exporters of Great Britain and the United States will appreciate doubly the restoration of peace to that rich section of Mexico. Sentimentally, on the other hand, the passing of Zapata will remove from the world’s stage what has been for almost a decade the most picturesque character which has existed in real life or been created in fiction.

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The Women Snake Charmers snake- charmers are rare, and possibly un- known in any other corner of the world, except in the remote fastnesses of Mount Popa, the mysterious sacred mountain of Burma. I was present some time ago at a performance given by two Burmese sisters, and the ease and fearlessness with which they handled their dreaded pets struck me ac most remarkable. Ma Hpwa and her sister, the women in question, are the only living exponents of an art which has beer handed down from gene- ration to generation within the circle of their family. Their secret is most rigidly preserved, and at their death will be passed on to their next-of-kin, as it was handed on to them. It is a well-known fact that, in a great number of cases, so-called snake-charmers swindle the public by extracting the poison fangs of their pets, thereby rendering themselves safe from accident ; but there is tragic proof as to the genuine nature of the performance of Ma Hpwa and her family, in the death of a sister who disregarded the strict traditions of the art. The snakes these remarkable women use are the deadly hamadryad, or Naia Bungarus (Naia Ophiophagus), otherwise the king cobra. These creatures are among the most dreaded of their kind. Measuring up to twelve feet in length, they possess a deadly poison in their fangs, and an alarming turn of speed. It is said of them, also, that they are the only snakes that will attack a human being on sight, chasing him for miles, until either snake or man is exhausted. This occurs, I believe, only when some hapless wanderer trespasses too close to the female’s nest. The particular performance which I witnessed was given on one of the rare occasions on which the sisters have been induced to bring their pets down from the heart of the mountaiz to the plains. I was stationed at the time at Meiktila, Mount Popa £ Ma Howa with one of her deadly pets, erect and ready to strike. wiPh yllis LBurne In the fastnesses 6f Mount Popa, a mysterious sacred mountain in Burma, live two sisters who have achieved a wide reputa- tion for their uncanny powers in charming deadly snakes. The secret is handed down from gene- ration to generation in one family only. Very rarely does any European get the chance to see their remarkable performance. The Authoress was privi- leged to witness a demon- stration, and illustrates her account of it with some very striking photographs. and gazed day after day on the peak of Mount Popa. I had heard of the curious legends attaching to the mountain—of its mystery, and of the famous family of snake-charmers who lived there. Consequently I was filled with excitement when I heard of the performance to be given at Mciktila itself. On the appointed day I hurried to the scene of action, and talked for a long while with Ma Hpwa. Finding me quite fluent in her own lan- guage, she was willing to tell me the history of her family and her art. It is a curious fact that the charmers change their victims every year, letting loose the snakes they have had for exactly a year, to the very day, and procuring fresh ones to take their places. The superstition in the family is to the effect that their power over individual snakes becomes ineffectual after exactly one year. They cite as proof the fact that a venturesome sister (whom I have already mentioned) once attempted to keep a particularly fine specimen beyond the specified time. The result was fatal ; the woman died from the creature’s bite. This odd belief, I should think, could be easily explained by the fact that, knowing this legend, the women lose their confidence.

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THE WOMEN SNAKE-CHARMERS OF MOUNT POPA. 9 _ Adonbting hypnotism—and there is something. hypnotic about the charming—never answers, and therefore failure is almost certain. During the performance an ordinary Burmese band is used, while the charmers squat on their haunches in front of the hamadryads. They then begin to sway in thythm to the music, giving sharp leaps each time the reptile strikes. In every audience you will find your sceptic, and he was present on this occasion, right enough, and promptly de- manded proof that every- thing in connection with the performance was genuine. “Everything,” of course, meant the poison fangs, and the only way to satisfy him was by a cruel and somewhat horrible spectacle. A fowl was brought and placed within reach of one of the snakes. The terrified little crea- ture fluttered to escape, but the snake’s lightning dart was too quick for it. The fangs fulfilled their deadly function, and the unhappy bird died within a few minutes. In spite of their con- fidence in their-own un- canny powers, the sisters keep a curious composi- tion of drugs, moulded into the shape of a black stone, as a precaution Another picture of Ma Hpwa and her snakes, largest hamadryad. concer follows :— Court flouris smith of prodigious strength named against accident. No unto- ward episode occurred, how- ever, and—as the photo- graphs show—the women demonstrated in a very re- markable way their influence over the big snakes. Che following day Ma Hpwa and her “‘ properties’ re- turned to their mountain home, and the excitement was Over, \fter this exhibition I gazed at Mount Popa with renewed interest, and be- came filled with a desire to know more of the sacred mountain. As a peak, it is insignificant, reaching only about five thousand feet in height. It stands all alone, however, and is visible for many miles from the sur- rounding Myingyan and = Mciktila districts. The natives endow it with all sorts of supernatural attributes, and everything in connection with it seems to hold a wonder. It is here that the deadly hama- dryad flourishes more than in any other. part of Burma, lend- ing an element of terror to its dense jungle growtl.. Within the thick forest that covers the mountain, the Burmese _ say, there is a haunted stream that runs up- hill, contrary to all the laws of gravi- tation. Its movements are sunlit and merry at the entrance to the jungle, but directly it enters the gloomy valley it becomes sluggish, and moves steadily upwards, emerging again to frolic and A twelve-foot specimen, Charming the sparkle on the other side of the forest. rere is, of course, a native legend ning Mount Popa, and it runs as Long, long ago, when the Burmese hed, there lived a black-

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Io THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Mahagiri. This man possessed a sister of beauty beyond compare. Such a couple were certain to attain notoriety, and this undesired fame was fated to be their undoing. The King of Tagaung heard of the girl’s beauty, and commanded that she should be brought before him. She came, and shortly afterwards was chosen by the king to be his principal queen. This infatuation on the part of the monarch brought in its train furious jealousy among the lesser queens, and they inaugurated a plot to destroy the beauty. The qucen’s brother, they alleged, was a traitor, and his tremendous strength was being fostered to lead a rebellion that would cost the monarch his throne. The king was no hero, and in great terror he ordered that the so-called traitor should be brought to justice and burnt. The unhappy sister used all her allurements to secure her brother’s reprieve, but not even her beauty could alter the terrified king’s decree. Finally she appeared resigned, only asking that she might be present at the burning. This request was granted her, and on the fatal day she sat among the spectators to view the blacksmith’s death. Robed in the finest garments of her wardrobe, she sat awaiting the final act on the part of the executioners. _ Then, before a hand could be stretched out to prevent her, she rushed forward from her seat and flung herself into the flames beside her brother. . A few days later the appearance of two beau- tiful “ nats,”’ or spirits, was reported —the shades, of course, of the famous Mahagiri and his devoted sister, who have since reigned in supreme com- mand of the mountain. These “nats '’ were later of great service to King Kyanyit-Tha, both before and after he succeeded to the throne. In recognition of this, he issued an edict that all his subjects should honour the spirits by suspending a coco-nut- shell in their houses, and this custom is still observed by every Burman in the country. This haunted. mountain is the home of the famous snake-charming sisters. Here they live, year after year, carrying on their art apparently as much for love of the gift as from any idea of profit. The occasions on which the two con- descend to visit the plains are rare indeed, and the inducement offered has to be great. A STOREHOUSE OF SKULLS. Unber the chancel of the church at Hythe, Kent, is the curious crypt shown in the above photograph. Th's crypt is used as a depository for a targe quantity of human skulls and bones, which are believed to be those cf Danes killed close by in battle before the Norman Conquest. Most of the skulls, as will be seen from the picture, are arranged on shelves, while the bones are piled up in a symmetrical heap. Such grisly relics are rare in English churches, although they are to be found at severai places on the Continent. ‘ t t t

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eC of the EVs ae: Kuki a ge by Capt AB.Spens. 02.2 Wustreted by. JOHN de WALTON. A grim story from the North-West Frontier of India, where the rifle is a man’s best safeguard and the -feud goes on from generation to generation. true,” writes the Author, who knows this turbulent district well. in 1913, and was related’ to me by a Political Officer. “The narrative is absolutely “The affair happened Even now the tragic story of Miriam's death is often discussed in the frontier blockhouses.”’ peel Kuki Khels are one of seven | tribes of the Afridis, who live in the Db J independent territory between Jam- rud, the last British post in India, and Lundi Kotal, the final outpost of the Khyber Pass, on the very border of Afghanistan. These seven tribes are perpetually at war with one another—gencrally over raids, stealing of cattle, rifles, and their women. The Khyber Pass is guaranteed safe for traders on two days a week, Tuesday and Friday, when the Khyber Rifles—a force com- posed of men recruited from the seven Afridi tribes, and commanded by British officers—patrol all the lower spurs of the Khyber from dawn to sunset. The British Government pay the tribes roughly six thousand pounds per annum for this duty, and except for occasional troubles all along the North-West Frontier, when the Afridis have been stirred up against us by fanatics, they have nobly fulfilled their obligations. A week before the writer last went up the Pass the Kuki Khels —the tribe concerned in this story—were fight- ing with a neighbouring tribe, but the Political’ Agent has instructions to forbid fighting across the road, which is regarded, on Tuesdays and Fridays, as British territory. Internecine strife, however, is the normal life of the tribes, and the white man’s justice is not understood. This little foreword may assist the reader to under- stand the story that follows. The sun glared down upon the village huts with an ever-increasing fury as the gentle breeze, floating across the arid plain, stirred into fitful motion the Union Jack upon the topmost turret of Jamrud. Behind the huts towered the lower spurs of the grim Khyber range, at the moment chequered into a thousand shades by alternate sunshine and shadow. Slowly advancing across the plain, a flock of goats approached ever nearer and nearer to the narrow opening of the Pass—the only moving things in sight. Suddenly the A wene in the Zakka Khel country.

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, intense silence was broken by the impassioned utterance of an old grey-bearded man seated in the centre of a group of Afridi. The malik half rose from his seat upon the ground and thumped the butt-end of his rifle upon the hard, sun-baked earth. “O my children! ’’ he began, “ I have sum- moned you this day to my durbar to speak of evils done to us by those accursed dogs whose home lies securely guarded in yonder barren hills around the plain of Lalabeg. Ye all know well how the unholy Zakka Khels dared to pollute the honour of our tribe, feared not to murder our old women or to steal our rifics, and have now crowned their infamy by riding off into the Khyber fastnesses with a year-old bride—one near to me in favour and by marriage.” As he spoke a rumbling roar of anger rose from five hundred throats. Rifles were grasped more firmly, knives gleamed fitfully, and muttered oaths of vengeance mingled their sharp notes with the deeper volume of concentrated hate and baffled rage. While this lawless band of Afridi brigands had been themselves intent on raiding some neigh- bouring forts of the Sipah Afridis, the Zakka Khels had swooped down the Pass, bringing fire and destruction upon the unguarded homes and women of the Kuki Khels. The feud had its origin far back in the mists of some two hundred years ago, when the chief wife of the then malik had been spirited away. The story was repeated from generation to generation how one day there came to her hut a poor crippled beggar, asking help for the love of Allah. His mother, he said, had fallen by the roadside close at hand, and was fast dying. Would she bring even a drop of water to cool the parched lips? The woman had followed the distraught cripple to the road—only to discover that the dying mother was none other than her husband’s bitterest enemy, and to find herself galloping at breakneck speed, grasped in his powerful arms, towards Shadi Bagiar. Swift tevenge had followed, and counter retribution, till once again history had repeated itself in the capture of another lady of the malik’s family. The old chief tugged at his long grey beard and continued :— “J have made pilgrimage beyond the border to have speech with him who sits in the shadow of the Great White King ; but the humble boon which I craved of him has been refused. Our rifles may not speak across his road ; our wrongs, forsooth, must be avenged by what pale men call justice—and ye who harken, answer what vantage cometh of that ?”’ He spat contemptuously upon the ground as a roar of anger rent the air. ‘ Ye know full well where justice lies !’’ he thundered, laying his heavy hand upon the barrel of his Lee-Metford rifle. “‘ It lies, not in the smooth-tongued word of the British Raj, but in the unanswerable might of trigger rule. But stay,’’ he added, holding up his hand as a second roar surged up and echoed itself to oblivion across the plain, “‘ ye may not war upon the low-born curs lurking now in safety under the shadow of mighty Rotas. Ye must act in secret—and speak to no man of it.” A sudden rattle of rifles betokened the approval of the tribe. “‘ Which son of Allah will brave the dangers of the Khyber and bring vengeance on the accursed sons of darkness ?”’ the chief went on. ‘“‘ Which of ye, alone, will hunt out and slay the malik of the Zakka Khels ? ”’ Five hundred sun-bronzed figures leapt to their feet, wildly brandishing their rifles, and roared their full-throated thirst for blood. “Ye may not all go, my children. Ye shall draw lots; and Allah go with him on whom the happy lot shall fall.” The malik turned his head, as a slim, fair- skinned youth sprang forward and dropped on his knees. “O chief, grant me the pati 1” he cried. “Who of all the tribe has suffered like to me ? On him bereft of home, of mother, and of wife, let the favour fall. You '’—he spread his arms and addressed the encircling host—‘‘ have but lost your huts, and some perchance your rifles ; but on me and on my hut hath death, devasta- tion, and dishonour fallen—my mother mur- dered, my home burned down, and my bride now riding in another’s arms through yonder Pass. In the name of Allah, O chief, grant me the boon |” He fell upon both knees, clasping his hands level with his eyes, in earnest supplication. “What say ye, O my children ? ” the old man asked. “‘ Agreed !'’ roared some, while others cried, “ Nay, O chief, but let me go.” ‘When the tumult had somewhat abated the malik spake :— “My children, Man Ranja is of noble blood ; moreover, these accursed wolves have but raided our homes, whereas this youth, alone of all the tribe, hath lost mother, home, and wife. On him, therefore, shall the lot fall. I have said it.’” He rose slowly, passed out of the circle through a lane of uplifted rifles and Afghan knives, ead disappeared into a hut close at hand. The flag fluttered idly from the turret of Jamrud. Khaki-clad sentries of the Khyber Rifles paced slowly to and fro beside a half-open three-barred wooden gate that marks the boundary between India and the Afridis’ inde- pendent State. A host of sharp-featured natives, chattering and all but naked, stood knee-deep - in a glistening pond hard by, thrashing clothes upon great boulders on its banks ; some Kambar Khels, more devout, bowed themselves before a tiny shrine ; and a slim man garbed in a flowing orange-coloured cloak, wandered, apparently aimlessly, among countless groups of Mohmands seated beside their heavily-burdened camels. To-day was Friday, and the hour that suc- ceeding dawn—the hour when the caravan must start on its twenty-mile journey through the Khyber to Lundi Kotal, the next resting-place on the long march to Cabul. In groups of hun- dreds, camels still approached slowly across the plain from Peshawar; while some five thousand Ey rene

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THE REVENGE OF THE KUKI KHELS. <a alrcady stood or lay around the outer entrance to the Pass. “ Allah be with you!” the slim youth said, gently insinuating himself into a group of mer- chants squatting beneath the shadow of Harri “A. slim, fairskinned youth sprang forward and dropped oa his knees. ‘O chief, grant me the boon!” he cried.” 13 Singh’s snow-white monument. “ May a poor pilgrim journey with your company ?”’ “ Whither ? "’ a tall man asked, shortly. “ Toashrine, noble sir, on the plain of Lalabeg, to pay a vow to Shiva.”

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144 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* Wherefore ? ’’ asked another, removing his hookah from his lips Three years ago I knelt at that shrine and vowed a gift to the goddess should she bless my pilgrimage to Holy Ganges.”” “Ye have journeyed thus far, akhund ?”’ the first speaker asked. “ Ye be come from a pil- grimage to the waters of Benares ? When made ye the journey, and wherefore ? ’” Man Ranja paled slightly beneath the layer of ashes sprinkled on his face. ‘‘ How say you?” he replied. ‘“ You too have stood in the Holy Waters ?”” “Me? Iam no Hindoo—Allah be praised !'” “Nay, nay!” another spake. ‘“ This pilgrim is a holy man, albeit a follower of alien gods. Let him be heard. How sayest thou, holy stranger, whither comest thou ?” A shade of colour, betokening relief, passed across Man Ranja’s face. “T come from Holy Ganges, where thrice I did mingle with ten times a thousand pilgrims, purging my soul from sin, and in mid-stream renewing my oath to hang an emblem of grati- tude upon yonder shrine on lonely Lalabeg.’’ “In gratitude for what, did you say?’ yet another asked, tightening the girths of his camel. Man Ranja started as he heard the voice, for he recognized an old companion of his own earlier rifle-stealing days. “For the prosperity of mine earthly pil- grimage,’’ he answered, in a brisker tone, as a smile crept across his features. ‘‘ May I journey with your company beyond Ali Masjid ?”’ “ You are no holy man at all!’ the last speaker scowled, fixing his gaze upon Man Ranja’s dis- guised face. ‘‘ Who are you, and wherefore do you journey thus far from your holy Ganges ? ’”” “How many are you in this company?” asked Man Ranja, lowering his voice. ‘‘ How many rifles do you count ? ”” “ Nay, we are peaceable traders—Mohman replied the other. ‘ We are no fighting men.” Man Ranja laughed aloud. ‘‘ What would you say if I speak of this rifle here, half hidden under this load of grain, and ask its history ? Nay, nay, perchance I am no holy fakir, but a common sham, but mistrust me not. I know of strange doings across yonder plain, of guards turned out, of knives deep buried in alien necks, of rifles and horses snatched from out the dark- ness of Circular Road. Hdw say ye, Jambrai Hundi, you peaceable trader ? ’’ “In the name of Allah, peace !’’ whispered the other man, looking anxiously around. “ Tell me who you are. “ A holy pilgrim, Jambrai Hundi, craving your company to Lalabeg.”’ “What wouldst you of us?” one or two whis: pered, gathering closer to Man Ranja. “ Safe escort beyond Ali Masjid.”” “And for pay?” “ Five rupees per man of your company.” “ Swear it. Swear it on the Koran.” “ Nay, you forget Iam a Hindoo—perchance,”” Man Ranja laughed. “ Rather shall I swear it on the word of him who saw thee tur out a guard these four years gone—and spake nothing.”” Jambrai Hundi scratched his beard and in- stinctively looked across the arid plain towards Peshawar. His thoughts spanned the inter- vening years, and once again he heard the echo of his oft-practised “ Friend!’’ ring out in answer to the challenging ‘‘ Who goes there ? ” Again he saw the faint glimmer of rifle barrels in the darkness, heard the dull thud of a dozen Afghan knives plunged deep into the backs of the unsuspecting guard, and then the sharp clack of horses’ hoofs as he and his fellow-robbers sped across the plain to Jamrud and safety, laden with their precious spoil. It had been a great night, with great results—rifles, prestige, and power. But how, in Allah’s name, came this mock pil- grim to know of it or to recognize him ? “ A truce to mystery,’’ he said at last, in con- ciliatory tones. “Who are you, and what wouldst thou of us ? ”” “Escort with peaceable Mohmand traders— escort in hiding—to the plain of Lalabeg, to avenge the raid upon my house, my honour, and my year-old bride,” answered Man Ranja. “You are of the Kuki Khels, then? Rumour hath reached our ears concerning this matter.” Man Ranja nodded. “‘ Yes; and by the beard of the Prophet I rest not day nor night till Hari Gholam Khan lies dead beneath these feet.” “The malik of the Zakka A typical Zakka Knel house near the Khyber Pass. Khels ?”” “Him, the chief of the un- hallowed spawn who slew my mother, burned my home, and stole away my wife these two days since.’’ “And thou goest alone to vengeance ?’” “ Aye, for he who grows fat in the shadow of the Great White King denies all rights of war; so I go alone, in secret. What say ye ?”’ “In truth it is well spoken,” Jambrai Hundi replied, voicing the common opinion. ‘“ These two moons since, as we crossed Lalabeg by dusk—being some- what behind the main body

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THE REVENGE OF THE KUKI KHELS. 15 of the caravan and distant half a mile from the nearest block- house —a_ rifle spat across the road, slaying one of my camels laden with salt, which I was com- Pelled to leave to the thieving wolves. Yea, we will give you hid- ing in the bales yonder. But how, holy pil- grim, may men know thee ?"’ This delicate allusion to financedrewfrom Man Ranja’s girdle a small bag, three-quarters filled with English gold. “ See,”’ he said, spreading out his wealth on the palm of his hand. ‘‘ The dawn has gone; the caravan has started. Give me speedy con- cealment in thy bales of goods. By four hours after sun-turn we shall be nearing Lalabeg ; till dusk I will hide in a dug-out known to me these many years. By nightfall I shall scale the fort wall of Hari Gholam Khan; and in the dawn I shall ride forth with my bride over the fallen body of mine enemy. So help me Allah!” “ Abibat di pah khaty!’’ murmured the Mohmands, giving their blessing to the desperate venture. “Creep in here,’”’ Jambrai Hundi whispered, as a circle of camels was formed round one laden with soft goods, “and breathe not till I speak the word. If you are discovered at Ali Masjid, remember you are a sick pilgrim journeying to Cabul.’”” With this parting injunction, he shouted at the camel, which reluctantly rose, grunted hor- ribly, and followed his predecessors through the “‘ back door ’’ of India into the grim ravines of the Khyber. Slowly the long caravan wound its silent way into the narrow opening of the guarded Pass, and climbed up to the shrine-well of Shadi Bagiar, where already a host of traders were collected, some praying, some watering their camels and asses, and others resting by the dusty roadside. Once more, however, all moved on again, down into the old road in the valley, where an ever-increasing echo of horses’ hoofs warned Man Ranja to wriggle deeper into the shelter of his soft retreat. The approach of a patrol of the Khyber Rifles, however, relieved both his and Jambrai Hundi’s minds from further anxiety as to unwelcome meetings with stray bands of ene and inquisitive Malikdins or Kambar els. At last, after a long climb up the limestone hills, the gleaming shrine of Ali Masjid appeared The fort at Jamrud. as a speck of whitewash far below,and Man Ranja, now that he was beyond the territory of his nearest and most troublesome neighbours, took an occasional peep abroad. Arrived at the shrine, the camels subsided to earth, while their owners entered the little arch- way one by one, to render thanks to Allah. Here the gossip of the upper reaches of the Khyber river fell upon Man Ranja’s eager ears. The Zakka Khels, so one villager declared, had ridden past some forty hours ago, carrying by way of spoil a fresh-faced, lovely maid, snatched from Allah alone knew where. The malik had dis- mounted and entered the shrine to pray, when suddenly a panting horseman galloped along the higher road, disturbing his worship. His prayer of thanksgiving for the complete success of his raid on the Kuki Khels had been speedily turned into a binding oath that he would neither eat nor drink till he had avenged himself on the Shinwaris, the dogs who, in his absence, had fallen upon his villages and ridden off with a number of rifles, rupees, and women. Man Ranja spontaneously uttered an almost audible “ Shuky!’’ but at this expression of Bratitude to Allah he received such a firm- elbowed admonition on his face that he instantly sought safety amid ~his bales and relief to his injured feelings in muttered execrations upon the angular development of Jambrai Hundi. And so his enemy’s village was now probably deserted, and it should be easy for him to gain entrance. Further speculation was interrupted by the subsequent announcement of a sentry who had joined the group that the woman had been in- stantly handed over to the messenger, with instructions that she should be taken to the malik’s fort, and that the whole force had then galloped off in haste and indescribable fury to avenge themselves upon their next-door neigh- bours. Jambrai Hundi expressed his entire indifference to the movement, physical and psychological, of

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the Zakka Khels, and promptly removed his shoes and outer cloak, prior to prayer. Later on, however, as he crossed the little ford that “spans the highway, he playfully thrust the butt end of his staff into Man Ranja’s ribs as a pre- liminary to releasing his passenger and con- gratulating him on his excecding good fortune. “May good attend youl’ he muttered, . counting his rupees as Man Ranja slowly limped away towards his wife and his revenge. Some fifty yards from the high road, with her back towards the supposed holy man, a woman was seated on a boulder, a full water-pot by her side. Facing her stood some threescore mud- walled forts, each dominated by a four-square tower, while as a background loomed the grim ranges of the Khyber. ‘The sun, slowly sinking, was at the moment shut out by heavily-laden clouds, and the wind that whistled across the plain cut Man Ranja, lightly clad as he was, almost to the bone. “Are you not cold, shadza’h 2" he asked, ina weak, high-pitched voice, hobbling as though in pain towards the seated woman. “Nay, holy stranger, I was born and bred in the Khyber. But wher comest thou ?”’ “IT come from Holy Ganges, far down in the fat plains of Hindustan, and I go to worship at a shrine on lonely Lalabeg. I pray thee give me a drop of water to quench my thirst, for the sun has turned these four hours since, and I am faint with journeying.” “T too am weary, stranger,’’ she replied, raising her pitcher to his lips, “‘ for I have gone these many times this day to yonder well to draw water against my lord’s return.’’ “Thy lord’s return? Whither journeyed?” “Yestereve, at the hour of prayer, my lord .rode in from Khyber mouth, demanding a second horse and food and drink upon the instant. Rage gripped him by the throat as he beheld the damage done to the village; and he swore a _ mighty vow on the Koran to bring dire vengeance on those who stole away four of our women as they sat at the well-head.” “Who, then, is thy lord ? these highlands.”’ “My lord is servant to our noble malik, Hari Gholam Khan.”’ “‘And has he gone also across the plain to wreak vengeance on the raiders ?”’ “Yes, stranger; all are gone. Last night as the sun sank down into the under-world my lord rode forth beside his lord, followed, on foot, by all who carry arms ; and now I bring water to his fort wherewith to bathe the wounds which he, perchance, may honourably bear upon him at the hour of his return.”’ “And when will your anxiety be relieved, think you ? ’’ asked Man Ranja, in a sympathetic tone. “When Allah wills. My lord spake of to- morrow’s dawn, but what is written is written. I must be gone, holy stranger,” she added, nee: “for yet again must I return to yonder well.’’ hath he I am astranger to “Nay, but permit me to carry thy water-pot to the fort,’’ said Man Ranja, raising it to his shoulder. “I am now refreshed and strong again.”” The woman thanked him, excusing her gossip with a man on the score that he was a fakir, and set out slowly with him towards a fort near the centre of the village. After some minutes of silence, Man Ranja said :— “Men speak strange tales at Ali’s shrine of a woman riding up the Pass these two days past. Is custom so in the Khyber ?” “ Nay, stranger, we women go not unattended or unveiled, but men spake truth who spake of a woman riding hither without proper escort and concealment. You are a holy man, caring naught for deeds of war, but she who rode thus was all unwilling—a brand of fury snatched from the malik's fort at Jam. Allah is great! She lieth even now in yonder fort awaiting the speedy return of my lord’s lord.” As she spake she pointed to a fort close by, whose watch-tower overtopped all others, and then softly continued :— “The blood-feud goeth on from moon to moon. Now hath my lord’s lord no cause for shame, for each tribe hath now taken equal toll of life and women.” “T understand not such matters, being but a poor pilgrim,’’ observed Man Ranja, gazing intently on the sand. ‘I come hither but to pray and pay my vows. I would fain rest awhile on this boulder and hold commune with my spirit.” The spot was entirely deserted. On all sides the poor, thin soil was lightly carpeted with sand ; the sun was gradually sinking behind the summits of the Khyber hills; and desolation lay upon the vast landscape. The woman went on, and Man Ranja bent’ himself in prayer, asking pardon of Allah for having bowed himself in the house of Rimmon. Allah, however, was just, and would understand his motive for posing as a Hindoo stranger from Benares. The woman would never have stopped to speak to him had she not imagined him to be a holy pilgrim unacquainted with the feuds and doings of the Khyber. “His prayers over, he looked keenly around him. So his Miriam was shut up in the fort beside him, waiting the return of that arch-fiend of darkness, Hari Gholam Khan! He ground his teeth and commenced to prowl closer to the tall mud walls. How could he get into the compound, how scale the gigantic walls ? Vengeance cried to him with throbbing insistence to use whatever means lay nearest to his hand. Presently a smile crept across his face. was merciful and favourable to his venture. The village was deserted. Somehow he must reach his wife and escort her to the dug-out in the hills under cover of the night, while he returned to lie in wait for the wolf who had dared to insult him. Still cogitating half-formulated plans, he found himself beneath the stout doorway of the malik’s fort. His mind was now made up. The water in the pitcher had told him that.the ash Allah

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THE REVENGE OF THE KUKI KHELS. 7 powder on his face still proclaimed Lim a fakir ;~ his gait was that of a man of peace and holiness ; he would crave admittance boldly, on a pretext of illness. A gentle knock with his staff echoed clearly through the silent air, but no response came. A second time, louder, and yct a third, he tapped upon the door, when, at last, a voice, procecding from a_ grating above the door- way, curtly in- quired the cause of the disturb- ance. Man Ranja looked up, clasped his powdered hands level with ' his eyes in sup- plication, and said :— “O noble sir, in the name of your Allah, I pray thee for a-drop of water. These five days have I jour- neyed alone on foot to pay my vows at a holy shrine on the plain of Lalabeg, and now I am faint and well -nigh dead. A drop of water, stranger, Lee and Allah will reward thee four- i" fold.”” A creaking noise was imme- ct diately heard, fol- 2p lowed shortly by ths the sound of rusty bolts being grad- F ually withdrawn. py Then the head of : an old, withered- up man appeared through the slightly-opened door, and a fal- setto voice com- manded the holy pilgrim to enter. Man Ranja wien a 4 +. 2 could scarcely conceal his extreme excitement - as he passed under the thick mud doorway and hobbled towards a bench placed beneath a tall sycamore tree which grew in the centre of the sand-strewn compound. Once seated, he glanced furtively around him. A pariah dog approached, sniffing aggressively, as the old man shuffled off in search of food and Vol, xliv.—2, “The head of an old, withered-up man sppeared through the slightly-opened door, and a falsetto voice commanded the holy pilgrim to enter.” drink towards a squat hut from the open door- way of which smoke was slowly pouring. Oppo- site, a child, naked save for a yard of cotton and a piece of string, sat beside a miniature. pyramid of sand, into which he contin- ually thrust two bronzed and chubby hands. On all sides the view was limited by smooth brown walls of mud, while overhead. the sky was grad- ually being cur- tained by the night, as the sun sank lower and lower. Presently the old man emerged from the doorway of the hut, bowing him- self again and again to the earth. The intense still- ness of the even- ing wes suddenly broken by the muted echo of his reiterated prayer, till finally, kissing the Koran and placing it upon his head, he dis- appeared once more into the smoke-veiled hut. For a moment or two Man Ranja Temained seated on the bench, then he slowly crept to- wards the door of a bell-shaped hut facing him. The chick was lowered, giving the appear-” ance of complete darkness within; while out of the gloom beyond pro- ceeded the droned incantation: ‘‘For- tunc is like untoa potter: it fashion- * eth and breaketh. Many, like unto me, it hath created and destroyed.” Man Ranja started violently, for he recognized his wife’s voice. “* Miriam !’’ he called, softly. The voice ceased, and a rustle was heard as the chick was pulled aside. “Allah be praised !’’ she exclaimed, a glad light springing into her tear-stained cyes. “Hush |’ Man Ranja whispered, placing his fingers on her lips. “I am thy husband, come

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18 THE WIDE WORLD: MAGAZINE. to rescue thee ; but be careful. there in the fort?” “None, O my lord, save an old serving man and yonder child. All the others have gone forth to wage war upon the Shinwaris.”” An angry cry rang across the compound, as the old man emerged from his hut, bearing bread and water. “‘ Begone, woman!’’ he squeaked in rage. ‘‘ Wherefore speak ye to the fakir ? ”’ “ Nay, nay,’’ Man Ranja replied, laughing and springing to his wife’s side. ‘* Wherefore do you speak thus to my bride ? ”’ The tray clattered to earth. “You are the husband of this woman of the Kuki Khels, you dog ? ’’ the old man spluttered, and he turned round to get his rifle, resting against the tree-trunk. “Yea, even so, thou old wolf,” replied Man Ranja, nimbly snatching up the rifle. “What fate decrees must be,’’ the old man mumbled. He submitted quietly while Man Ranja, taking no risks, tied his arms and legs tightly to the tree. There was silence for a few minutes after the old man was tied up, and then he began to abuse his captor. “Think you, you son of a lying pig,’’ he screeched, “ that thy bones will ever rest beneath the sods of Jam? Nay, nay, you holy pilgrim, your shrine shall be on the lonely plain of Lala- beg, whither you wouldst go to worship. Harken, you deaf dog! Do you not hear the sweet music of my lord ?”’ Suddenly across the plain was heard the echo of distant war-drums. Man Ranja started ; then he hastily crossed to the tower in the corner of the compound, where he scized the dangling rope and swarmed up to the latticed loophole window. Without doubt the old chakar spoke the truth. Hari Gholam Khan and half-a-dozen of his house- hold—the mounted advance guard—were indeed returning, victorious, after a speedy and drastic revenge upon their over-venturesome neighbours. And Man Ranja would now be caught like a rat in a trap and murdcred before his wife’s eyes ! He swung himself to earth again, to be greeted by the old man’s mocking laughter and Miriam’s anxious face. “Escape is now impossible,’’ he told the girl in a low voice. “It is the will of Allah. Fetch me another rifle, thou old wolf,” he added, un- loosing his captive’s cords. ‘‘ We three shall change our world this night ; but, please Allah, not till these eyes have scen Hari Gholam Khan stretched dead beneath my feet.”” “Nay, my lord,”’ said Miriam, “slay not the old man, who hath tended me well since the hour of my sojourn here. Lock him into the tower yonder, and Allah’s blessing be on thee.”’ The old man allowed himself to be led away, muttering curses and vowing vengeance, while Miriam pushed him hastily through the doorway of the tower into a low mud-walled cell, slammed the door, turned the key, and hurried back to her husband, now busily searching for cart- tidges. : “My lord,’’ began Miriam, How many are “you must fly. “The music grows nearer, and soon all hope of escape will be entirely gone.” “It is the will of Allah,” replied Man Ranja. “Escape is hopeless. Even now Hari Gholam Khan rides fast towards us. Think you that that accursed limb of Satan shall ever call thee wife? By Allah, no! We will die together.” “And thy revenge ?’’ Miriam softly asked, stealing an arm around his neck. “‘ T shall lie in wait for him beside the doorway and shoot him as he crosses the threshold.” “ And think you, my lord, that he will enter first ?. You know full well that his kinsman will lead the way, leaving the honour of last entry to the malik.” “Where are the kinsmen’s women, then? Do you know how many live within these walls?’ “Yea, my lord. Five kinsmen rode out through the gateway yesterday, followed by their wives and all their little ones, save this child, which in the haste was overlooked.” “Men war not in company with women and children,’’ Man Ranja remarked, curtly. “ True, O my lord; but they journeyed with their lords only to a neighbouring fort, where all are sheltering, under guards, till to-morrow’s dawn.” Miriam dropped on her knees, flinging her arms around Man Ranja’s cloak. The rattle of the drums was for an instant drowned by the sharp crack of rifle shots. “ Fly, my lord, fly!’ she implored. ‘‘ Do you not remember your oath to bring vengeance on Hari Gholam Khan? Shall he go free? Shall your honoured name be held in scorn from Jamrud to Cabul ? Shall the sight of a woman turn your heart to water? O my lord, fly!” “You speak idly,” he said, sadly, picking up his rifle. ‘‘ Even now they are upon us. Nay, my love, but I shall slay you with my own hands and then sell my life and honour dearly. Allah may favour me; Hari Gholam Khan may per- chance enter first.”’ “Nay, my lord, but you speak foolishly,’’ she answered. ‘What am I but a woman, of no ser- vice to my lord but to exalt him? Your escape this night is the hour for me to prove my love.” “‘What mean you, dear? ’’ he asked, looking down with affection on her upturned face. “You know there is now no faintest hope of freedom.” “ Nay, my lord, but listen. The sun is gone ; none but the mounted advance guard is at the gates. The tribe will not return till dawn.” Suddenly the clatter of horses’ hoofs echoed sharply through the swiftly-falling Eastern night, followed by the thud of a rifle on the compound door. “Within, there! Open !’’ roared a voice. “Nay, my lord,’’ Miriam implored, “do not open. Listen to my words and do my bidding, or, by Allah, I will shoot thee myself and cheat thee of thy revenge.”’ She suddenly rose, snatched up one of the rifles Man Ranja had discovered, and pointed it at her husband’s heart. ‘‘I must die; you know it ; but for you there is your honour to remember.” The butt-ends of half-a-dozen rifles thundered

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A Visible against the sky-line, Miriam stood on the broad mud wall, king those below—thi ith a wil der aaa a Ste Me tote bred mt wo, menting, chews tnowihen, wih «wiles. acer Zakka Khels far beneath her, on the gate, followed by freely-expressed criticism | upper garment—a full dr ats and puckers of one Paira Lal—evidently the old gate-keeper. stretching to the knees. ‘ > said, “thou “What mad woman’s scheme hast thou in shalt become thy wife, and I my lord thy head?” cried Man Ranja. “ Speak!” - Man Ranja gasped. ‘‘ Wherefore, Miriam?" For answer, Miriam threw off her veil and her “ My lord, my lord,”’ she cried, tugging at his

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20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fakir’s cloak, ‘“‘ask no more, but hasten. The door will soon fall in. You will stand beside it, dressed as a woman, while I draw these dogs to the far corner of the fort. Then, when none remain at the gateway, you will escape in the darkness, to return one day to wreak vengeance on Hari Gholam Khan. O my lord, hastcn |" Blows now rained fast and furiously upon the door, and the commotion outside was indescrib- able. Suddenly Man Ranja threw back his head. “It is well spoken, woman. So be it. It is the will of Allah.’’ ¢ He kissed her tenderly ; then tore off his cloak and dressed himself in Miriam’s veil and clothes, while she ran to the corner of the compound wall farthest from the doorway. Mounting by a portable ladder placed against it, she stood out clearly against the rising moon, and fired the rifle she carried towards the shrouded Khyber hills. The shot rang out with startling clearness, followed by a mocking laugh which echoed and re-echoed through the night. For a moment or two all was silence, broken anon by the shuffle of sandalled feet moving to the opposite side of the fort, whence the laughter proceeded. Man Ranja felt himself rooted to the spot. Clearly visible against the sky-line, Miriam stood on the broad mud wall, mocking those below. Taunt followed taunt for what appeared an eternity; then, with a wilder, madder laugh than before, she sprang high into the air, falling withadull, sickening thud upon the ground among the bloodthirsty Zakka Khels far beneath her. Man Ranja’s eycs swam with rage and fury inexpressible. Hastily withdrawing the rusty bolts, he pushed open the heavy door and crept out into the night. The sound of scuffling grated harshly on his tortured ears as he groped his way round the fort walls. As he reached the farther side the moon suddenly shone out clearly, reveal- ing a small group of men kneeling round some fallen object, at which they thrust and thrust again with their keen Afghan knives. Man Ranja, peering round the corner of the wall, gripped his rifle tighter. Suddenly one of the band uttered an exclamation of surprise and rage. It was the malik, and he pointed in horror at the mangled body lying on the ground; he had at last realized he had been butchering his girl-captive instead of the fakir of whom a village woman had just spoken. For a moment the malik stood up, listening ; then he pointed towards the high road, whence procecded the faint echo of horses’ hoofs. The sound fell simultaneously upon Man Ranja’s ears. More of the victorious Zakka Khels were evidently returning. It was now or never for his revenge. Steadying his arm, he took careful aim and fired. Pausing just long enough to see his enemy fall, he lifted the skirt of his dress and ran for his life towards the road and his secret dug-out on the farther hills. Nearer and nearer drew the horsemen, and closer and closer followed his pursuers. Sud- denly, in the darkness, the word “ Halt !'’ rang out with startling clearness. Man Ranja cried aloud for joy : he was saved by a detachment of the Khyber Rifles. Throwing himself on the ground beside the commanding officer, a young subaltern, he implored protection, pouring forth his story in short, disjointed sentences. Back into the shadows faded Man Ranja’s enemies, and the tale at last was told. At the close of the recital of the night’s grim work the young officer smiled to himself under cover of the darkness. Aloud he commanded a dozen rifles to escort the fugitive back to his village. “ After all,’’ he. whispered to his sergeant, “* it is no business of ours; they were not fighting across the road.’” : The sergeant addressed, a broad-shouldered Kambar Khel, and an hereditary enemy of the Zakka Khels, grinned from ear to ear as he saluted. ‘‘ Allah is great !’’ he muttered ; “‘ and, by the Koran, our women know how to die.” The escort rode off, their horses’ hoofs echoing weirdly in the silence of the Pass ; and Man Ranja sat, sad and thoughtful, on a spare mount pro- vided for him. Thanks to Miriam, he was alive ; thanks to her, his head was not now gazing ina sightless stare across the arid plain of Lalabeg ; and thanks to her alone, his honour and that of all the Kuki Khels was now avenged. “Ah, Miriam, Miriam!” he whispered, bit- terly. ‘“ But at what a price!”’ THE A FARMER living near Borce Creek, New South Wales, was greatly annoyed by the depredations of a hawk, which almost daily took toll among his chickens. Finally, after a good deal of trouble, he succeeded in trapping the bird alive, and, smarting under his losses, resolved upon a really elaborate revenge. Procuring a supply of “ Geli’ (explosive) he fastened it to the unfor- tunate hawk’s leg and attached a long fuse to it. Then, having lit the fuse, he released the bird and waited for it to fly up into the air to annihilation. However, the trick failed to work. Somewhat dazed, no doubt, by the rough handling it had received, the hawk obstinately refused to move from a position aear the door of the ‘‘ humpy.” “FLYING MINE.” With the fuse spluttering fiercely, the farmer began to get uncasy, and he did all in his power to scare this ‘‘ feathered mine” away, but at first with little success. Finally it rose in the air —but only to settle on his roof, near the chimney ! Shouting and bombardment with stones and sticks alike failed to move it from this position, and with the perspiration streaming down his face and his hair beginning to stand on end the farmer was ultimately obliged to take to his heels and flee for his own safety. The bird sat doggedly on the roof till the end camc; then the luckless squatter, looking back, saw roof, chimney, and hawk go up in one terrific explosion. He has now sworn off all fancy methods of pest-destruction.—Sent by D. Pogson, of Strathfield, Sydney, N.S.W.

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~ IN QUEST CANNIBA LIEUT E.W P CHINNER Exploration and Adventure in Unknown Ni Cu Mustrated by ARCH. WEBB. This narrative will be found as full of interest and “thrills” as any adventure story ever written. The Author—a district officer in New Guinea—describes his experiences while engaged in a prolonged man-hunt for cannibal outlaws who, to avoid paying the penalty for their misdeeds, retreated into the unknown interior of the country, among tribes who had never seen a white man before. Lieutenant Chinnery’s account is illustrated with unique photographs taken by himself, and we can promise our readers plenty of excitement and some vivid glimpses of the “white man’s burden" in this vast No Man’s Land of mountains and swamps. IL eee UTSIDE a small circle of whites, A M4] whose interests demand their resi- (o ) dence in the country, very little was SES mown of New Guinea—an island fae twice as large as England—until recently, when its -interest, as a subject of discussion at the Peace Conference, brought it into prominence. Since 1909 I have been engaged on administrative exploration in Papua, British New Guinea, and my travels have taken me over a considerable area of the little-known hinterland, both of the late German New Guinea and Papua, amongst tribes in the most primitive stages of existence. It has been my duty to lead many of these people from savage practices, such as head-hunting and cannibalism, to the state of respectability required by the laws of civilization ; to protect them from epidemics of disease, and to stimulate their faith in the beneficial influence of the Empire to which they belong. In addition to the development of native interests, it has been my duty—as it is the duty of every district officer in Papua—to investigate for purposes of de- velopment the economic resources of the country visited. The general interest directed towards New Guinea at this moment, particularly by men suffering from “ wanderlust,’’ has induced me to place before the readers of THE WIDE WorLD MAGAZINE an account of some of the experiences which enter the life of a district officer in this remote outpost of the Empire. Papua is divided for purposes of government into sixteen administrative areas, each of which is in charge of a Resident or Assistant-Resident Magistrate, who not only exercises civil authority but also commands the military body attached to his division. This force is known as the Armed Native Constabulary, and is recruited from the tribes of Papua and officered by Europeans, while the non-commissioned ranks are filled by Papuans. Each recruit is trained in military duties at headquarters in the capital, Port Moresby, before being allotted to an out- side division, and the detachments of divisions are filled by men specially qualified for the duties they will have to perform. Thus natives skilled in boat work are allotted to a coastal outpost, while those with a knowledge of bush craft are selected for mountain outposts, and natives from the fighting tribes are allotted to districts where the hostility of the inhabitants demands the presence of a unit well trained in native warfare. Each division is policed, as far as possible, with natives from other parts of the territory, past The Author.

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22 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, administrative experience having proved the wisdom of this course, though it is a usual thing to allow a native to serve in his own division after a year or two of loyal service in other parts of the territory. When properly trained, the average New Guinea native makes an excellent soldier, and if he has confidence in his officer pis duties are performed loyally and well. His of civilization to their own is another factor that gives impetus to the development of the natives ; for it is the desire to purchase and possess these that induces them to volunteer. for labour on the plantations and other institutions of the terri- tory emvloying native labour. The savage has, of course, many practices connected with his social and religious life that Armed Native Constabulary of the Oroksiva detachment, steady courage in the face of heavy odds has won not only the trust of his officers, but the respect of the hostile races with whom he often comes in contact during expeditions into new country. Primitive man has a wholesome respect for strength, and possibly one of the most important factors in his early adoption of Govern- ment service is admiration for the mysterious power that enables a small expedition to move through thickly-populated districts in spite of all opposition. It is quite feasible that they should be curious to know more about this force, particularly as they recognize that the police are of their own colour. Combined with this respect is the fear of the rifles carried by the constabulary, the magical tubes that distribute unseen death-missiles every time they speak. They perceive, too, that the The Land of rifles are used only in reply to Ghosts. their own attacks, and it gradu- ally becomes clear to them that the small party of strange people who have entered their world from the “land of ghosts ”’ —for the margin of their mountain spurs is to them the edge of the world of living things— wish not to harm them, but to establish a friend- ship. Once convinced of this, their natural curiosity overcomes their shyness, and the district officer who knows his work has then no difficulty in gaining their confidence, though but a few hours before he and his party may have been fighting for their lives. Thus is brought about a relationship between ‘‘ new” tribes and the first expedition to their district that results in an exchange of useful presents. The officer gives stecl tomahawks, beads, tobacco, calico, knives, salt (the mountain people are very fond of salt), and other trade goods, for vegetable food to provide a change of diet for his party. The superiority of the implements conflict with civilized standards of morality, and the task of modifying these is one that imposes a great deal of anxiety, and no little risk, on the officers of a division only partially explored. As it is the aim of a district officer, who has the interests of his people at heart, to employ force as little as possible, he endeavours to establish the necessary changes in their customs by peaceful methods of administration, and usually, having once gained their confidence, he is able to direct their energies into channels of progress and advancement. But in Papua, as in other parts of the world, human nature has its com- plexities, and the path of a district officer, who has the troubles of over sixty thousand natives added to his own, is not always a smooth one, particularly if in the vicinity of his semi-civilized tribes are others with whom the Government has not come in contact. In this case the tribes under control are frequently subjected to the attacks of raiding head-hunters, and it is “ up to’’ .he white official to do something to protect his own people and punish the aggressors. ‘When the Administration decides to establish a Government station in an unsettled area, the most favourable site for the seat of district administration is selected, and two or more officers, with a force of twenty or so members of the Armed Native Constabulary and about the same number of native labourers, are left on the spot with camp gear, tools, and equipment. The blue ensign is hoisted, and a new outpost of the Empire placed on the map. Axes and knives tear away the jungle, and adzes transform the mighty forest trees into planks for houses. In seven or eight months a large clearing has been made, and vegetable foods or economic Plants, such as coco-nuts, occupy the ground that formerly gave life to the struggling jungle growth. In place of the tents and flies are

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rough but comfortable houses, which rejoice in the names of ‘‘ Residency,”’ "* Court,”’ “‘ Barracks,”” “ Jail,” “ Hospital,’ “ Store,’’ and so on. As time passes the clearing expands and develops into a valuable plantation; the buildings are extended and improved, and roads and bridges make their appearance. While all this has been in progress, however, the district officer has had to devote a large portion of his time to the people in whose interests the station was established. Friendly relationships have been formed with the natives in the vicinity of the station, and every effort has been made to promote their development. Onc of the most useful methods of tribal control is the appointment of one of their number as a village constable. This functionary wears a navy-blue uniform, and represents the Government in his tribe or village. All litigants are brought by him to the district officer, who hears their cases and decides them. All offenders against the Government law—which is duly taught to the people—are also tried by the district officer, and prisoners are confined in the district jail for labour on the Government station and the plantation which is part of it. Village constables, as a rule, perform excellent work. Sometimes their uniform gives them what is known as “swelled head,” but the system has had splendid results, notwithstanding the irregu- larities of a few ill-chosen men. They are very keen on giving their officer a favourable impres- sion, and on one occasion I overheard a village constable, who had learned a little pidgin English, address the following quaint oration to his people :— ““Memenio ” (my people), “ you fellar hearem good altogether talk belonga me! Dat time Gover’ment he no come, you and me fellar stop no good—fight, fight, fight alla time. Night- IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS, 23 time one eye he sleep, nother eye he walk about , look out alonga fight. Dat fashion alright alonga bush pig, alright alonga dog—he no good fashion alonga man. Dis time Gover’ment he stop; he look out alonga altogether man alla same, dat what for you and me fellar work good alonga garden, sleep good alonga night-time. Dat what for you and me fellar hearem good talk belonga Gover’ment. Arawarawarati (finish.) ’’ The speech was given for my benefit, of course, but I had no doubt it had been liberally distri- buted on more than one occasion in the language of the tribe, so the oracular display of the village constable was merely an expression of his loyalty, though similar means are employed sometimes by the specious type of native to give their officer an impression that is not deserved. These indi- viduals, however, do not hold their posts very long, for sooner or later they lose the confidence of their people, and the dearly-prized uniforms are transferred to someone worthy of the office. The civilization of a new district proceeds very slowly, of course. The chief obstacles to be overcome are the social and religious customs of people who, for the first time in their lives, come in contact with the standards of the Government. In a great many tribes homicide and cannibalism are regularly practised, and the people quite naturally are loth to abandon their immemorial habits. These cheery characteristics caused me to have a most thrilling series of expe- tiences, which I propose to relate in these articles. : If the reader will consult the map of the Delta Division, he will notice three villages, marked Mati, Irumuku, and Moreri. Early in 1916 the Mati and Irumuka, possibly finding time hanging a little heavily A formidable weapon. Native shooting a “fighting” arrow, with a bamboo point.

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24 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Government station at Kikori. on their hands, went over to Moreri and killed some people of that tribe. They returned with the bodies in triumph to Mati, and there held a feast, during which the bodies of the slain were caten. The orgies continued throughout the night in a large house on the north side of a small tidal water- way, fifty feet in width, that runs through the village. Juct as the first light of dawn began to enter the inky blackness of the feast-house, the cannibals discovered to their dismay that the place was surrounded by a force of constabu- lary from the Kikori Government station, six miles away. The doors were hastily barricaded, and arrows fired at the approaching constabulary from the roof and through loopholes in the walls. The people on the other side of the waterway, warned by the cries of their fellows, stcalthily Icft their houses and joined in the fray. Mean- A Cannibal Orgy. time, undcr the direction of their officer, the - police wcre attempting to enter the house, but several of them were wounded by the arrows of the people on the roof and on the other side of the river. Their officer, while attending to one of his wounded men, fell with a great barbed arrow in his breast. His assailant, who had fired from under a sago-palm on the south side of the creek, fell simultancously with a bullet through his head, fired by a watchful constable named Begata. It was speedily seen that it was hopcless to attempt to capture the cannibals after the tragedy his Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor personally led a strong expedition to the scene of the affray. The natives, anticipating a fresh attack, had felled trees at in- tervals across the creek, and the vessels conveying the party were considerably delayed while these obstacles were removed. On arriving ultimately at the village of Mati they found, as they feared, nothing but deserted houses—the outlaws had fled. They had posted wetchers in small look- out houses cunningly erected in the tree-tops, and through this precaution were warned of the approach of the party long before it reached their village. In addition to these look-outs, it was subsequently discovered that they had an observation-post on the summit of a limestone hill immediately behind the village, from which they could look down on and observe all that occurred there. At this juncture the Resident Magistrate of the district fll ill, and had to be taken to the Port Moresby hospital. I was on three months’ sick leave in Australia, resting after some years’ service on the German boundary, and had just dispatched a wireless application for permission to transfer to the Australian Imperial Forces, when I learnt of the trouble in the Delta Division. A reply refusing war leave, and instructing my immediate return for special duty in the Delta Division, reached me. the following day; so I sailed immediately. The Resident Magistrate of the division returned to Kikori, while I was busy preparing an expedition for the capture of the Mati and Irumuku raiders, A few days afterwards we set out, with one European patrol officer and about thirty members of the Armed Native My Man-Hunt Constabulary. After consider- Commences, able delay in removing a number of booms from_ the river, we were able to land our party in “Mati village, discovering on the way the tree look-outs, but no trace of recent occupation. We had secured the services of a guide from a neighbouring tribe, and he advised us to camp quietly in the bush for the night, and then follow a track leading to the sago swamps of the dist against such heavy odds, so, carrying their mortally-wounded officer and their injured comrades, the little handful of constabulary fought their way back to their canocs, their leader receiving two more arrow wounds before they pushed into the stream out of the zone of fire. The air seemed literally full of arrows, for the savages were in great force. Every effort was made to get the wounded officer to Port Moresby, where the nearest doctor resided, but the night before reaching the hospital he expired. Within the shortest possible time The native house where the cannibal feast took place. 7a

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where, he said, the fugitives were gathered in a small vil- lage. Following his advice, we camped in a small clump of bambusa—to the evident delight of myriads of mos- quitoes and sand-flies which tormented us throughout the whole night and hovered round us in thousands when, next morning, just before daylight, we moved into the swamps and began to flounder waist- deep through the soft mud after the guide. As the first streaks of dawn appeared we came to the head of Mati Creek, and heard voices from the bush in front of us. A few moments after- wards we entered a _ small clearing of long grass, and over the grass tops saw the roof of a house. A hundred yards or so away was another house, both being built on small piles. The guide whispered that the far one was a house for women, and directed us to the near one, which we proceeded to surround as noiselessly as possible. On approaching it, however, we found ourselves confronted with a veritable spider’s-web composed of the tangled branches of fallen trees, which the natives had cunningly placed there to impede our progress. While we were making our way, several feet above the ground, over the tops of these interlaced branches, Begata, the constable who shot the_man responsible for the death of his officer. IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 25 one of the constabulary fell through, and the snapping of the twigs alarmed the inhabit- ants, who dashed out of the house, their weapons at the ready, just as some of our men, moving with ape-like swiftness and agility as they sprang from branch to branch, crossed the obstacle and engaged in hand to-hand combat with such of the cannibals as were late in making their escape. Three were secured and promptly handcuffed. Several of us fell through the branches in that mad scramble across the labyrinth, and we found it necessary to assist one another out of the mud, which lay waist-deep beneath; one boy, indeed, nearly succeeded in smother- ing himself by falling in head first. I decided to proceed as quickly as possible to the other house in the hope of catching a few stragglers. Dashing round a high clump of reeds, I nearly ran into a man who was in the act of loosing an arrow at some target in the village we had just left. When he saw me he depressed his aim as quick as lightning, but I fell just as quickly in order to avoid the deadly arrow. I tried to fire at him, but the safety catch of my rifle had jammed, and he dis- appeared like a flash before I could adjust it. The expedition that went in pursuit of the Mati cannibals.

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26 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “I fell just as quickly in order to avoid the deadly arrow.” 1 turned to see what target had produced the Imoll outside the house, stood my friend the diabolical expression on the savage’s face, and Resident Magistrate, calmly engaged in wiping there, in full view, on the summit of the small the sweat and mud from his face, and just as cary Google te Dic

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deliberately ex- pressing his opinion, to no one in particular, of native methods of village defence, for he also had fallen none too gently through the branches. Shouting a warming to him to beware of stray arrows, I con- tinued on my way with the boys who had joined me, but we saw no one else, though more than one arrow, fired by unseen enemies, whizzed past us as we wandered from house to house, for the swamp behind the knoll was full of small shelters, each sur- rounded by a chevaux-de-frise of fallen branches. The scene was a picture of deso- lation, filthy mud, and reeking sago ; and a_ horrible stench filled our nostrils and clung to our bodies as we wallowed pain- fully through the mire. The guide had evidently misled us, for the place had been swarming with men, so we returned with our three Prisoners to the station, listening to their anxious inquiries on the way as to when we were going to eat them. In the feast house at Mati we Gruesome found some of the bones of the “Evidence.” hapless Moreri people who had been eaten, and these were care- fully taken away for the purpose of evidence. In a district like the Delta Division, where the bodies of the killed are frequently eaten, it is Skulls of victims who have been eaten drying in the sun. IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 27 very difficult to prove a murder unless the bones or skulls left over from the cannibal feast can be iden- tified in court at the trial. In most cases, however, some peculiarity of the teeth estab- lishes the identity of the murdered man, The guide, when wecross-examined him, denied any intention of wil- fully musleading us and, fearing that punishment might come to him, he whispered most earnestly that, if we waited a short time, the people would abandon the swamps and seek refuge inthe many large lime- stone caves and subterranean gal- leries distributed over the whole of the interior, to which he would lead us in due course. This lime- stone formation, by the way, is one of the most re- markable features of the district. The whole area is honeycombed with caves, both on and under the surface. Rivers disappear mys- teriously and run underground—for miles in some parts—re-appearing on the surface just as sud- denly as they disappear. The chase of the Mati and Irumuku cannibals through this weird under- world, with dark, winding passages to be nego- tiated by the use of torchlights that would make us an easy target for the outlaws, threatened to provide us with as much excitement as we were likely to want. That it did so will be made abundantly clear by my succeeding articles. (To be continued.)

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WING AD/UTANT (Mejor W.T Blake) C nm v/ Cabated by E.H.Thomas A fascinating account, by a well-known airman, of some of the difficulties and dangers that attended our men while flying over the deserts of Sinai, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Persia. They faced many dangers—starvation and thirst, and attacks from Bedouins and robbers. “All the incidents here given of daring feats and miraculous escapes of our airmen in the Bast are absolutely authentic,” writes Major Blake. “For obvious reasons, however, their names are withheld.” — (O men in the Services had greater | difficulties to contend against than our airmen in the East. In the first place, the type of machine em- ployed had long been obsolete at home and in France, and was often inferior to those used by the Germans and the Turks. In addition the climatic and topo- graphical conditions were very bad, and heat, sand-flies, mosquitoes, and disease added to the discomfort of the work. In East Africa it was almost impossible to find any open ground suitable for an aerodrome, and space had to be cleared in the dense bush suf- ficient to allow a skilfully-piloted machine to rise and land. Frequently the airmen were away from headquarters for weeks at a time, dropping their reports in message bags at head- quarters and then returning to their lairs in the bush. Lions and leopards attacked the camps and waited for anyone who dared move far from the tents at night; on at least one occasion elephants charged down upon an aerodrome and did tremendous damage. A forced landing in the bush meant almost certain death, for even if pilot and observer survived the crash it was highly probable that they would lose themselves in their efforts to return, or be killed by wild beasts during the journey. In Palestine and Mesopotamia the danger of a forced landing came chiefly from the wander- ing Bedouins, who changed sides as often as it paidthemtodoso. Ifthe stranded pilot thought it best to receive the desert warriors who arrived from nowhere as friends, the best he could expect was to have his possessions taken away and to be turned adrift himself in the burning desert. If he put up a fight rather than fall into I. the hands of these wild nomads he made certain of a fearful death—hacked to pieces by his captors when all his ammunition was exhausted. The chivalry of the Bedouin may be extended to his friends, but clemency to captured foes does not figure in his creed. In Egypt and Sinai many instances occurred of aeroplanes coming down in the desert and the pilot, after setting his machine alight, com- mencing the long trek across hundreds of miles of sandy desert back to his squadron. The little water which was always carried soon gave out, and the wretched man, after staggering on for hours in the agony of thirst, died, if he escaped the marauding Bedouins, cursing the sand and the powerful sun which streamed pitilessly down upon him. Right up to the fall of Kut we were still using the old machines which had been sent out primarily to Egypt as training aeroplanes. They were even employed to drop food for the starving garrison when the relief force failed, and on several occasions they actually landed within the besieged area. When, later, new types arrived, they proved unsuited to the climate and many alterations had to be made before they could take their place in the field. One make, which did most excellent work in France, was not able to fly in the torrid heat of the Persian Gulf, the engines overheating and “seizing up’’ before the pilot could reach sufficient altitude to keep them cool. It was only by removing the cowling round the engine that it became possible to fly the machine at all, and even then specially-iced water had to be poured into the radiator and the aeroplane flown straight up without any preliminary engine tests. To obtain really satisfactory results the

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machine had to be taken up before sunrise, so that by the time the sun grew powerful the engine was high enough to be in a cool atmo- sphere. Even this device failed on several occasions, and more than one of our “‘ missing ”’ casualties owed his capture to engine failure through the heat. In the cold weather these aeroplanes did excellent work, but the climate made them almost useless during the summer. A unit operating in Persia encountered different climatic difficulties. The aerodrome, perched many thousands of feet among the mountains, was covered with snow, which, owing to the altitude, froze hard every night. At the first rays of the rising sun it commenced to thaw, and after a few minutes became so soft that no aeroplane was able to taxi over the surface and rise. Here, again, an ascent before dawn was the only way in which flights could be carried out, so that machines could min easily over the still frozen snow. Uncertainty was always a predominating factor in every undertaking, and on many occasions a pilot carrying despatches or performing a special Mission was uncertain whether the point of destination would be in enemy or friendly posses- sion. This was especially the case with some of the tribes in Northern Persia and the Caucasus. It was extremely important that they should be watched, for they were in an excellent position to worry some of the many minor expeditions which were so frequently necessary in that part of the world—“ little wars "’ of which the general public heard nothing. As the distances in- volved in visiting these tribes were very great and the country inhospitable, barren, and rocky, the duty of maintaining supervision over them was usually entrusted to the Air Force, and at certain intervals a machine would fly over the snow-clad mountains carrying messages to the chiefs and ascertaining the state of the country and things generally. This was always a risky job, as there was no way of ascertaining if the tribesmen had gone over to the enemy since the previous visit, or whether the Turks had invaded that part of the land and were in possession. The pilot had to find out these matters for him- self and take measures accordingly, for it was extremely important that the tribes should be kept friendly, and still more important that rapid knowledge of any defection should be carried to headquarters. One such tribe was that of the Jelus, inhabit- ing the country about Lake Urmia, in North- Western Persia. They were in an_ excellent position to deal with the Turks, and had to be kept under constant supervision. Our nearest aerodrome was at Kasvin, nearly four hundred miles away, and it was from this point that the pilots set out on their journeys to the Jelus. On one occasion rumours had come through that the tribesmen had gone over to the Turks and were planning to raid some of our outlying stations, and it became necessary to arrange a visit to Urmia at once. As the flight was a long one and there were no facilities for taking in fresh supplies of petrol and oil at Urmia, a tender was dispatched to Miane, one hundred and fifty miles DESERT FLYING. 29 on the way, carrying a supply of fuel and a party to prepare a landing ground. The pilot was to follow later, land at Miane, fill up with petrol and oil, load his second seat with as many tins as it was possible to carry, and then make the flight to his destination. The first part of the programme was carried through without a hitch. After a difficult journey over country devoid of any semblance of a road, the party with the tender reached Miane and cleared a small space in which the aeroplane was to land. The machine arrived shortly after, and the pilot prepared for the final stage. Here more rumours were heard to the effect that Urmia was in the hands of the Turks, but the pilot determined to carry on and find out the exact state of affairs. He carried sufficient petrol to enable him to land at Urmia and then return to Miane, which he calculated would be reached on the following day if his mission was successful. The tender party were to wait his return. or, in the event of his not returning, carry back all the information they were able to gather. The flight was uneventful until the destination appeared in sight by the side of a huge lake. This the pilot crossed, trusting that his engine would carry him through, for there was no possi- bility of rescue if he should be forced to land in the water. His trust was not misplaced, and he soon circled low over the houses of Urmia. Im- mense excitement broke out among the people. Crowds flocked to the open spaces, and roof-tops were soon covered with excited mobs. From above the pilot could see the population stream- ing through the town, but, bearing in mind the rumours, he could not be sure whether they were Jelus, Turks, or Armenians. Suddenly the storm burst! A Hot Every man in the place ap- Reception. peared to be armed, and with one accord they directed their rifles against the low-flying aeroplane. Nothing daunted, the pilot continued to circle round, seeking information. Luckily, the townsmen had no machine-guns, and he could afford to ignore their efforts. He did not return the fire, for his ammunition was limited, and might be wanted should anything go wrong. It occurred to him, moreover, that the fusillade might be due to the fact that a Turkish aeroplane had visited the place recently and dropped a few bombs. The Jelus would not recognize the difference between the two planes, and would resent anything which circled above them, taking it to be another Turkish visitor. Still uncertain as to who was in possession, the pilot picked out the Armenian Mission, at which place he had received orders to deliver his despatches, and circled low over the building, waving in a friendly manner. Here, at last, he received a sign of friendship, for the occupiers, who were gathered on the roof, returned his salute. The town, however, still proved hostile, for whenever he tried to cend a fresh storm of bullets broke ont against him. Luckily, the shooting was wild, and he was not hit. After a time, however, the firing died away (probably

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jo THE WIDE WORLD messengers from the Armenian Mission had allayed the fears of the people), and the pilot was able to pick out a spot on which to land. His first effort nearly ended in disaster, for the ground, which had looked good from above, proved to be covered with huge boulders, and he had to rise again to avoid collision with a rock. A second attempt nearly brought him into a deep gully which crossed the ground. At the third cffort he succeeded, dropping gently to earth and coming to rest almost at once. The whole population of the town rushed towards him, It must be remembered that even at this point the pilot had no knowledge whether the people were well or evilly disposed towards him. For this reason he kept his engine running and prepared his machine-gun for what might hap- pen. The sight of brandished firearms did not allay his misgivings, and it was with a feeling of the greatest relief that he presently discovered the natives were in as much doubt as to his nationality as he was about theirs. For some few minutes the two parties remained. facing each other, the evil-looking mob, with its weird assortment of muskets, sabres, and knives, on the one side, and on the other the youthful pilot, seated in his aeroplane, his finger on the trigger of his machine-gun. The pilot knew he had only to open the throttle and charge, for the crowd to stampede at once, but he did not wish to miffle their feclings before he had obtained the information he was secking. At last he called out in broken Arabic—the only language other than his own of which he had a smattering. A voice answered him from the crowd, and presently an Armenian pushed his wav forward and made himsclf known. The pilot breathed a sigh of relief. The town was still in the hands of the Jelus. A few minutes sufficed to spread the news that an Englishman had come from the skies, and the pilot was escorted to the town by a joyful mob. The chiefs of the people made him welcome, the more so as they had not received any news of the war for nearly four months, and were afraid that the British had retreated, leaving them to be exterminated by the Turks. All that night the pilot was feasted and made to tell tales of the air and the great ‘ war bird "’ that dropped thunder- bolts and fiery hail from the sky. Next morning, amidst the shoutings of the Jelus, who insisted on saluting him with a fusillade of bullets, he got off, and in due course returned to the aerodrome. Not long after the above occurrence a German political officer became unpleasantly active in stirring up the tribes of Western Persia. One day a report was received that he had recently been seen in the vicinity of Khan-i-Chakal, and there were reasons for suspecting that his camp was not far off. His method of working was to The Secret pick up information from the Camp. natives, spread German propa- ganda, and keep in communica- tion with headquarters by mcans of a small fietd wireless apparatus. The only hope the pitot who was sent to find the whereabouts of MAGAZINE. Lis camp had of identifying the spot was to look out for the wircless mast—an infinitesimal mark in the bigress of the surrounding desert. It is hardly surprising that the first day’s search was fruitless. Next day a second machine set out on the same mission, and dovbtless would have returned with a similar lack of information but for a picce of stupidity on the part of the German staff. It seems that the aeroplane passed right over the secret camp without the pilot noticing its presence. Had the German officer been content to keep quict nothing would have hap- pened, but he opened fire on the aeroplane with a machine-gun, at once revealing his position. The pilot replied, but, wiscly refraining from wasting his time, he took careful bearings of the exact spot and returned to his aerodrome. A little later four machines set out to bomb the spot. Unfortunately only two of them reached the destination, but these dropped their bombs from a low altitude and then circled around, firing burst after burst from machine- guns into the encampment. The camp was almost wiped out, the stores were destroyed, and the personnel killed. The officer himself escaped, but that part of Persia was not again troubled by his activities. Political work of all sorts fell to the lot of the airman in Mesopotamia, not because his work fitted him for diplomacy, but because his winged steed was the only means of quickly and safely covering the great stretches of country between one town and another. A flight often made was that from Bagdad to Tcheran, a distance of about four hundred miles over mountainous country, the peaks at times rising to a height of twelve thousand feet. Neither distance nor height is tremendous in itself if the machine can be chosen, but when such a flight has to be made in a plane designed for comparatively short reconnaissance work the task is no easy one. A pilot who set out from Bagdad to Teheran arranged for a second machine to accompany him half-way on his journey, carrying a huge load of petrol with which to replenish his tanks. A rough track Icd from Bagdad to the Persian capital, but time was precious and despatches had to be delivered in haste. The two machines therefore set out for Kermanshah, where an emergency aerodrome had been prepared pre- viously, leaving a tender to follow to Teheran carrying petrol and oil for the return flight. Both aeroplanes landed at Kermanshah, and one discharged its cargo of fuel into the tanks of the other. When the time to start arrived it was impossible to taxi through the snow, owing to its softness, and both machines were delayed until the following morning, when the iron-hard surface made an excellent aerodrome and both aeroplanes got off together, the one returning to its aerodrome near Bagdad, the other continuing to Teheran. The first obstacle to be crossed was a range of mountains twelve thousand feet high. For some considerable time the pilot climbed in circles, striving to get above the mountain tops, but his heavy load of petrol dragged him down, until it seemed that the barrier was insurmountable.

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DESERT FLYING. 31 "The aeroplanes dropped their bombe from a low altitude.” Digitized by Google Cc

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32 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Gradually, however, he crept higher and higher, until the peaks fell level with his machine. He swept round to the east, crossing the rocks with very few feet to spare, and commenced the long flight over Persia. Although notice of his intended arrival had been sent on by wireless, the pilot found that no preparations had been made to receive him. No sooner had he landed than he was placed under arrest by the Swedish gendarmerie, who seemed the most powerful body in the town at that time. Despite his expostulations and protests, he was hauled off to jail, calling on the crowd mean- while to come to his assistance. His shouts produced the desired effect, and presently a body of Cossacks forced his captors to release him. This they did, not out of any fecling of goodwill towards the pilot, but because they appeared to have a feud against the Swedes, and at that par- ticular moment the Russians were the more numerous, However, all ended well and the despatches were delivered to the right people. This, how- ever, did not enable the aeroplane to be flown back to Bagdad, and the pilot was forced to await the arrival of the tender which was slowly making its way across the rough tracks of Persia laden with petrol and oil for the return journey. On its arrival the pilot was instructed to carry a certain high Persian official back to Kermanshah. When he saw the aeroplane, however, this worthy refused to enter the car, but was finally forced to do so by the direct command of the Shah. Mnrfficd in furs, he was strapped to the passen- ger's seat, and the machine sct out on its return journey. At Kermanshah the nobleman was extricated from his seat none the worse for his experience, but half dead with fright. The actual time spent in the air during this journcy to Teheran and back was ten hours and ten minutes ——no mean performance remembering the type of machine employed, the distance covered, and the character of the country. Early last year the enemy paid a good deal of attention to Bagdad, and as a consequence it was determined to seek out the Turkish aero- dromes and destroy them. A number of machines set out one night, and—thanks to the bad look-out kept by the Turks—reached their objective unobserved. The first warming the enemy had was a salvo of bombs crashing down upon hangars and huts, blowing aeroplanes sky- high, firing workshops, and generally making Navoc of the place. As the Turks poured out into the open the bombers, having laid their eggs, throttled back their engines and dived down- wards, pouring out a leaden hail upon the seeth- ing mass of troops below. The night was filled with the rattle of machine-guns, the shriek of the wind in the wires of the diving aeroplanes, and the cries of the frightened men below. Fire sprang up from the damaged buildings, and for a time such confusion reigned that no reply was made to the raiders. When a few guns were got into action the bombers had completed their task and turned to start for Lome, more than satisfied with their night’s work. It was at this juncture that one of them was unfortunately hit. For some little distance it kept its height and course; then it began to sink lower and lower. The pilot had hoped at first to stagger back to the British lines, but gave up the inten- tion when he realized that his engine could not possibly last out. He looked about him for a good spot to land, and then glided down to earth. His observer jumped out and gazed around. “Don’t quite know where we are,’”’ he re- marked ; ‘ but if we steer cast we are bound to hit the Dialah river and get picked up.” They removed the Lewis gun and compass from the machine and then set it alight. This done, pilot and observer set out on their journey. As they sped across the moonlit ground they observed the approach of galloping shapes, and knew that the Bedouins had seen them. If they did not reach the shelter of the hills in time, their shrift would be short. With the aid of the Lewis gun they could probably hold the foe at bay for some time, but their fate would be the same in the end, possibly aggravated by the resistance they had put up. Their only safety lay in flight. Heavily laden with the weight of the gun, trays of ammunition, and the precious water-bottle, they staggered to the foothills. Glancing back from time to time, they saw that the desert men had halted beside the burning aeroplane. Evi- dently the sight of the “air bird” twisting in its death agonies greatly appealed to them, and they wasted much time watching the flames die low. Then they sprang across their horses and galloped in the footsteps of the two fugitives. Pilot and observer had profited by the respite, and as the Bedouins approached they crouched in the shelter of some overhanging rocks, gun in position, ready to sell their lives dearly if they were discovered. Luckily the moon was setting, and the marauders galloped past without pausing. The two officers waited until the sound of hoof- beats died away in the distance before they emerged from their hiding-place; then they took their bearings and steered for the Dialah river, some twenty miles away. All through the night they marched, pausing ever and again to rest and listen for sounds of pursuit. The gun and ammunition were a heavy burden, but they did not dare cast them away, for at any minute the Bedouins might sweep down upon them. Time after time they made circuits to avoid Arab encampments, fear- ing to awaken the restless village dogs, who would at once give warning of their presence. Mile after mile slipped by as they trudged wearily on, making détours around watery nullahs and ever edging towards the British lines. Dawn found them near the river, and they knew that their own countrymen held the far bank. Though the Dialah had been reached in safety, the two wanderers had no means of crossing the stream, and shots or signals to attract the atten- tion of the outposts on the far side would in- evitably warn the Turks of their presence. Their only hope was to-continue their march through the greyness of the dawn in an effort to reach Mirjana, where a bridge, held by our troops, crossed the river. Crouching in the reeds which lined the banks, they struggled forward mile

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DESERT FLYING. 33 "As they sped actoss the moonlit ground they observed the approach of galloping shapes.” Vol. xliv.—3

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, after mile, until the sun had risen and was glaring down upon them. Then, when the shel- tering reeds were Most wanted, a deep watery nullah opposed their progre It was im- possille t» continue the march without coming into tle open to circumvent the obstacle. There seemed nothing for it but to remain hidden in the reeds until nightfall. Danger came from an unexpected quarter. Though they had carefully crept tu the edge of the rushes and reconnoitred the position with entire satisfaction, noting the absence of Turkish troops or Arabs, they had not counted on the effect their presence was likely to have on the British outposts on the farther bank. Thinking the river side of the bank of reeds would be most secure from disturbance by the enemy, pilot and observer crept almost to the water’s edge and commenced to settle down for the day, making a shelter in the rceds to protect themselves from the rays of the burning sun. A movement drew the attention Betwixt of a British sentry to the spot, Two Fires. and a few minutes later a storm of rifle and machine-gun fire burst around the unlucky two. Fortunately, neither was hit, and all might have been well, though the British troops did not yet think of the presence of friends amongst the reeds, had not the fire drawn the attention of the Turks to the spot and caused them to send out a party to discover the cause of the disturbance. The position becoming desperate, the pilot tied his handkerchief to a reed and signalled violently to the party on the other side. The fire ceased, and after a pause came the signal, ““ Who are you?” “R.F.C.—S.0O.S !” signalled the pilot. Then all became quict again. Fortunately the Turkish patrol made a very slight survey of the river bank, evidently thinking the neighbour- hood unhealthy. As the British fire ceased, the Turks withdrew. It seemed to the two airmen that they lay hidden for hours. Every minute they expected to hear the Turks open fire, but nothing happened to disturb them until the throb of an engine warned them that something was about to occur. Suddenly machine-guns opened fire from several quarters and a regular fusillade commenced. As the bullets did not come in their direction the two officers decided to see what was happen- ing. Again they crept to the edge of the bank of reeds. This time they were rewarded by the sight of an armoured car bearing the signs of the British Army. By the time it approached them they had decided on their course of action and promptly left their shelter, leaving gun and all behind them, and made one rush to their rescuers. Luck helped them and neither was hit. They climbed into the car, which swung round and departed, spitting defiance at the Turks. While out scouting one day a British pilot caught sight of a body of Turkish troops winding slowly along a path. Instantly he swung his machine round, throttled back his engine, and dived at the column. Up and down he flew, pouring out a stream of lead the while, not heeding the trifling return from the rifles below. The troops scattered, but still he continued firing at little bunches of soldicrs which offered good targets, thoroughly enjoying his game and doing a great deal of damage to the enemy. Then his engine cut out ! It was hardly to be expected that troops which he had just scattered, killing many of their number, would treat him with kindness if he fell into their hands, so he held the machine up as long as he could, steering in the direction of the distant Persian foothills, where his only hope of safety lay. Unfortunately for him he had descended so low when gunning the Turks that he had little height from which to glide, and the machine settled a few miles from the Turkish column. Several more miles away stood the hills and possible safety. A few moments sufficed to set fire to the acroplane, and then, discarding everything he carried, he ran for cover. A troop of horsemen separated from the main body and galloped after him. He knew he could not hope to outdistance the horses and looked about him for immediate shelter. Near by was the narrow mouth of a cave, and as the horsemen paused in curiosity beside his burning acroplane he concealed him- self in the burrow. Nobody saw him vanish, and the troop thundered by in their quest of him. He lay hidden until nightfall; then emerged and tried to pick up his bearings. He knew in which direction the aerodrome lay, ‘but the Turkish lines intervened. His only road was into Persia, where he hoped to find one of the R.A.F. detachments which were working there. With this object in view he trudged off into the mountains, guiding himself to the south by means of the stars. Daylight found him almost through the foothills, but without any idea of his exact position. At the next village he lay in wait to ascertain whether the Turks were in possession. A vener- able old man approached him, making signs of fricndliness as he did so. The old man entered his hut, signing to the officer to follow. Conversation was almost impossible, for the only words they had in common were a few sentences of Arabic. Signs eked out the language deficiencies, however, and by gestures the officer made known his need of rest, food, and clothes. For his part the Persian made it particularly clear that if he gave his help he would require good payment. To commence with he made his visitor hand over all his cash, the contents of his pockets, and the clothes he wore. Realizing that ne was helpless the pilot did as he was told with the best grace possible, knowing that what was not given would be taken by force. In exchange for his possessions he was given Persian garments and shoes and his head was shaved in the native manner. All that dav he lay in the hut, dreading dis- covery the while. It was only by appealing to the cupidity of the old man and promising him a bribe of a thousand tomans (about three hundred pounds) that he was hidden until night- fall, when they set out for the town of Mianeh. Dawn found them on the outskirts of the town,

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DESERT FLYING. 35 “He raised himself and waved to the oncoming rider.” but, fearing his disguise might be penetrated or that his lack of knowledge of the Persian tongue would betray kim, the pilot refused to enter its walls in search of food, but entrusted his guide with that mission. Time passed, but the old man did not return. From his place of concealment outside the walls the officer watched many people pass to and fro, but still there was no sign of his guide. Presently a small company of armed men issued from the gate, gazed about them, and set off in the direc- tion of the pilot’s hiding-place. Treachery may or may not have been intended, but the air- man’s suspicions were aroused, and he left the spot in haste. For four days he wandered A Terrible south, travelling by night and Experience. hiding by day, living on berries and any scraps of food he could find. He had no money with which to bribe the natives, while the country was rocky and barren. Hour after hour he staggered along rough tracks, refreshing himself with the dew which fell at night and ever hoping to fall in with food or help. A few berries and a grape lying in the dust of the pathway near a village were eagerly pounced upon and eaten. At last he struck the main road south, and in the distance, many miles away, he saw the towers of a town shining in the early morning sun. His strength was nearly spent, and before long he collapsed in a heap by the roadside. The sound of an engine aroused him. He sat up and listened eagerly. Undoubtedly it was the sound of a motor-cycle which he heard, and in the distance he could see a cloud of dust rapidly approaching. Wearily he dragged him- self across the roadway, blocking the way with his body. He raised himself and waved to the oncoming rider; but his voice would utter no sounds. The rider stopped and cursed the dishevelled Persian-looking figure for daring to die on the roadway and block the road of a British convoy. His words brought hope to the pilot, but before he could find his voice the cyclist had mounted and continued his journey. Presently a fresh cloud of dust appeared, and again the pilot tried to stop the car which ap- proached. This time he narrowly escaped being run down, for the driver of the heavy car pressed the accelerator and charged at the figure which attempted to block his way. This was a ruse frequently attempted by the peasants, who bribed the drivers to give them a lift and then stole whatever they could lay their hands on. The airman just managed to step clear, and the car passed on. The third tender was approaching more slowly, and something prompted the driver to pull up at the behest of the bedraggled figure in the road- way. Explanations followed, and by nightfall the sorely-tried pilot was once more safely accommodated in a R.A.F. mess. (To be conciuded.)

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MORRISONS MGDSE i=) Robert Wingate Illustrated by Stanley LWood. eer Mr. Wingate writes: “This adventure happened to a friend of mine some years ago when he was boss of a logging-camp in ie woods near the borders of Maine and New runswick.’’ OW’D you boys like some venison ? ) S’pose it would go as well as this 4 salt pork?” Sam Morrison, the logging boss, speared another piece of pork with his steel-tined fork and laid it beside the brown bread on his tin plate. “You bet your life,” returned Tom Dalzell, one of the axemen. “‘ Ain’t we got some real good shootist that can go out and get a buck or something ? “We have,”’ said Sam. ‘‘ We’ve got Samuel Morrison, Esquire, expert shootist, who’s goin’ out this afternoon to bring in some venison. ’Twon't be anything so small as a buck, though. A nice big moose is about my size when I go huntin’.”” “Oho!” cried little Joe Bador. ‘‘ We didn’t know that we have with us the great Nimrod ! Now, boss, don’t you be too hard with us. We be hard-workin’ men. The snow is three feet deep, and if you kill a big bull moose we shall have to lug it in. and that’s a pretty hard job. If you love us, you make it buck—or maybe rabbit.” A yell of laughter greeted this sally, but the boss only grinned. “If I git real interested in huntin’,” he said, ‘ you'll git more tired of venison than you ever have of salt pork.” Pushing away his plate, he proceeded to take from behind his bunk a Winchester rifle and a belt of cartridges. ‘‘ I’m goin’ out after moose,” he added. ‘‘ Joe, you be awful careful not to work too hard this afternoon, so you'll have plenty of strength to lug in the meat.” An hour later Sam was lying in a clump of hemlocks overlooking a little valley in the woods, a mile and a half from camp. From his point of vantage he had a clear view of a roughly circular trampled space, a hundred feet distant, where the snow was hard packed by innumerable hoof-beats. This was a moose “ yard,"’ or stamping-ground. He had spotted it a- few days before, when he had been out alone, looking over the timber in this direction, and had made up his mind that one of its frequenters should serve to give variety to the bill of fare at the camp. As a matter of fact, Sam did not pride himself particularly on his ability as a hunter, and he knew full well that he was not an expert rifleman. He had decided, however, that, having spotted the yard, it would be easy to pot a moose there ; and his boasts at the camp had been very much like betting on a sure thing. He had carefuily chosen his direc- tion of approack. so that the wind would blow from the yard towards him, and had come through the snow as silently as an Indian. Luck was against him, for not a single moose hove in sight. He lay concealed behind the evergreen boughs for an hour, and finally his hands and arms got so cold that he began to doubt whether he could aim effectively even if the game should appear. What seemed most likely was that the animals had abandoned the yard for other retreats farther away from the lumber camps. At last he rose to his fect and ploughed his way through the woods to a trail, half a mile away, which led back toward the logging-house. He had sometimes seen deer from this pathway when his gun and cartridges were safely in camp ; but none appeared now, although fresh tracks were not wanting. The sun was already getting low and it was rapidly growing colder, but the strenuous work of making his way through the deep snow soon warmed him thoroughly. Not more than five hundred yards from the camp he came upon a great pile of logs which had been built up earlier in the winter when the snow had not been deep enough to get them down the trails to the river. It was twelve or fourteen

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MORRISON’S MOOSE. 37

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38 THE WIDE WORLD feet high, and had almost perpendicular sides. As he was passing it he remembered a certain young lady in the city who had asked him to bring her some spruce gum. The last time he had been on the log pile he had noticed a number of patches of gum; and he now decided to climb up and gather some of it. Leaning his rifle against the logs, he commenced the ascent, and was soon half-way to the top. Suddenly his ears were assailed by a terrific sound. A tremendous bellow echoed through the woods, accompanied by the smashing of branches and young trees as a great body rushed headlong through the underbrush. Morrison cast one terrified glance over his shoulder and saw a gigantic bull moose coming towards him at the speed of a racehorse ! Sam did not hesitate for an instant, but climbed for dear life. The remaining distance to the top of the pile was covered in double-quick time, and he had not a second to spare at that, for the beast was right behind him, making a desperate effort to climb the pile in pursuit. As the upper part of Sam's body lay flattened out on the topmost logs, and before he could draw up his legs, his right foot was struck a resounding blow by one of the horns of the moose. Sam promptly twisted his legs out of harm’s way, and looked down into fiery eyes and blood-red, distended nostrils only four or five feet away. Failing to reach his enemy, the great brute dropped back and commenced to circle the log pile, looking for some opportunity for venting his rage. Fortunately for the hunted hunter, the pile was built up almost as squarcly as a log house, and the highest ground near it was at the very spot where he had climbed up, and from which the bull had failed to reach him. After running several times around Sam’s fortress, bellowing hidcously, the moose spied the rifle leaning against the lower tier of logs. Instantly he sprang upon it, knocked it into the snow, and trampled it fiercely with his fore-feet—doing exactly what he would have done to its owner if that unfortunate adventurer had been guilty of any hesitation or of a single mis-step. The moose’s tactics now became those of a besieger. He ceased to bellow, but moved slowly about the stronghold, pawing the snow and snorting, and always keeping his fiery eyes fixed on his intended victim. By this time Sam had recovered his breath and his courage. It was evident that the bull could not reach him, and, from blessing his lucky stars for his escape, he began to growl to himself over his bad luck. Here, within thirty fect of him, was the biggest moose he had ever seen, and he was as helpless as achild. His rifle was buried in the snow at the foot of the pile. perhaps broken by the beast’s hoofs. The moose would keep him here till dark, probably, if not all night. As this thought crossed his mind he almost decided to yell fo. help from the camp; but when he thought what a poor figure he would cut before the men he decided to wait for an hour or so and see what would happen. As it turned out, he had not so long to wait. After fifteen or twenty minutes the bull began MAGAZINE, making wider and wider circles around the log- heap, and finally disappeared from sight. Sam stood still for two minutes longer; then he made a leap into the snow and began digging rapidly for his gun. He very soon uncovered it, and was looking it over to see if it had’ been damaged, when the horrible bellow of the forest king again smote upon his ears. Instantly he threw the gun to the top of the log pile and sprang at the logs, hoping to get out of reach before the monster was upon him. Perhaps his previous ascent had given him knowledge of the best hand and foot holds, or perhaps the vivid memory of those blood-red nostrils nerved him to a superhuman effort ; at any rate, he reached the top and struggled over just barely in time to escape the beast’s horns. This time he was more frightened than before, and he lay for two or three minutes recovering his breath, while the moose raged around the pile and made futile attempts to climb it. Presently, however, he sat up and looked about for the rifle. What was his joy to dis- cover it lying near the centre of the pile, appa- rently unhurt. The barrel was full of snow, and he had started to knock this out and was fum- bling with cold and trembling fingers for a fresh cartridge, when he saw the moose turning away again towards the forest. Sam had no mind to lose his revenge on the beast that had twice come so near to trampling the life out of him. He scized a loose knot and flung it with all his strength at the retreating form, at the same time yelling :— “Come back here, you old fool! gittin’ ready to fight!” The heavy knot struck the beast’s flank, and, whether spurred by this or by Sam’s insults, the moose instantly wheeled about and returned, with a repetition of his blood-curdling bellow. “That's right! That’s right!’ cried the hunter, exultantly. ‘‘Now I’ve got yer jest where I want yer!” By this time the new cartridge was in place, and Sam, taking deliberate aim just behind the left fore-shoulder, fired. The result was utterly surprising. The great brute gave vent to another bellow, whirled sharply about, and ran at full specd along the path towards the bunk-house. In an instant he was out of sight. Sam stood on the log pile, ready to kick himself with rage. ‘Of all the fool things T ever did in my life, that’s the worst What's the matter with me anyhow ? Did my hands shake so that I missed that great critter at twenty feet?’ Throwing caution to the winds, he leaped again into the snow and started along the trail in the direction the bull had taken. “Tf Isee him agin I'll fire first and run after- wards,” he told himself. ‘ But I sha'n’t see him. He probably went past the camp at thirty mile an hour, and we'd never ketch him in the world. I b’lieve I jest won't say a word about it. The boys’ll have the laugh on me loud enough, anyway. I'll jest let ‘em think I didn’t find anything.” Communing thus with himself, he approached I'm jest

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“"Yes, it was me,’ be said, with dignity. the yard between the ox-sheds and the bunk- house. It was the supper hour, when the yard was usually deserted ; but now he was surprised to see half-a-dozen men gathered about a huge dark object lying on the trodden snow. Little Joe Bador was running towards the group with a lantetn. The moose had fallen dead within fifteen feet of the bunk-house ! MORRISON’S MOOSE. 39 eee el “I jest winged him and drove bim in.” “Oh, boss!” yelled Tom Dalzell. you that shot this big bull ?” Hardly less surprised than the others, Sam now approached his quarry. “ Yes, it was me,” he said, with dignity. ‘‘ He was some way out when I first saw him; but I wanted to save you the work of luggin’ in the meat, so I jest winged him and drove him in.” “Was it

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RELIEF WORKER'S ADVENTURES. THRILLING EXPERIENCES AMONG THE WAR VICTIMS OF ARMENIA. SYRIA, AND PERSIA. ‘By THOMAS DANN HEALD. ILLUSTRATED BY TOM PEDDIE. Little has been written concerning the daring and heroic deeds of that enthusiastic band of relief workers who succoured the distressed in Armenia, Syria, and Persia. Mr. Thomas D. Heald, who was attached to the American Committee, herein relates his thrilling experiences in these countries. He carried his life in his hands, and on two occasions was arrested spy and narrowly escaped being shot. The adventures he encountered in reaching his destinations, often behind the enemy lines, the suffering of the people, and the tortures they were subjected to by their oppressors, make sensational reading, and throw a new light on this phase of the great upheaval. NOWARDS the end of March, 1918, the position of both the English and American relief workers in the Caucasus had become quite un- a tenable. All about us civil war reigned supreme. It was typical Caucasian warfare—the kind of strife of which the Old Testament speaks. Whosoever won promptly cleared out the enemy, killed all his men, looted anything worth taking, and de- stroyed the villages. At Gamerloo, where I was establishing some LAA xpy mR A Ve ~ new works, the Tartars suddenly sprang upon. the Armenians, determined upon their extermina- tion, Within twelve hours, however, the Armenians had triumphed, and I saw wells stuffed to the brim with Tartar corpses, rammed in by the Tartars themselves before the remnant fled. At Erivan the same thing happened—a Tartar attack and an Armenian victory. Look where we would over those broad plains below Mount Ararat, tall columns of smoke rose on every side, silent messages ¢ destruction. Mcan- while, the Turks and Germans were coming, and the wall) which the Armenians had in- tended to build against them was thrown down by this internecine warfare caused by the Tartars. “It was not only the way of our work. With chaos went all security ; and money—upon which we de- pended for all that we did—ceased to be obtain- able. Every bank closed—empty! We still had paper money, three hundred thousand roubles, and it seemed like a fortune, but in practice the notes were unnegotiable. No one would change them; they were just “scraps of Faper.”” For a short time we managed to carry on by barter, exchanging our wool and cotton cloth with the Tartars for rice and other food- stuffs. With the rice we paid our refugee labour in the factories. All this was done in the name of friendly America, who was not officially at war with Turkey, while Americans also were not behind the Armenian national movement in Tiflis. The Tartars, moreover, needed clothing, for manufactured cloth from Russia had long since ceased to come south. Obviously, how- ever, this bartering with the Tartars could not last; 1t could only be a passing makeshift. But while it worked it onswered. On the Orders morning to of March Quit. 18th there arrived at Erivan from Tiflis a special courier from the American Consul there. His message was im- perative. He asked that every Ameri- can should imme- diately leave the Caucasus, and ad- this chaos of fight- ing which stood in One of the carts used to convey food and clothing to the Tartars, vised those of ug who were English

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RELIEF WORKER’S ADVENTURES. 41 to do the same. To remain longer merely meant bxing taken prisoner by the advancing Germans and Turks, who were already close at hand. Whatever work we were connected with would be immediately confiscated or destroyed, and the fact that we were in charge cf Armenians would only add to their danger. The Consul suggested that as far as possible the industrial plants should be handed over to the local Armenian authorities for their own use, as there was a chance of the enemy leaving Armenian concerns alone. As American or English, how- ever, they would certainly be doomed. A meeting was called of all the workers within Teach, and messengers were sent out to the others. Our numbers had grown considerably during the last six months. Many were women, some with families, including two babies in arms, born at Erivan. But missionaries are not people to take alarm easily. Their normal lives are spent in the midst of risks, and there was no eagerness to fall ip with the Consul’s ultimatum. It was only after some considerable discussion that the womenfolk were at last persuaded to be gnided by official wisdom, and in the end it was decided that everybody should leave the following morn- ing, with just a few exceptions. Those left behind were to see to the transferring of the plants to the Armenians and assist them in their first efforts at self-control. The plans the Consul had outlined for the party were for them to go by rail to Tiflis, and from there—if he could come to terms with the Tartars—to Baku, and thence across the Caspian sea to Astrakhan, at the mouth of the Volga river. He hoped that from Astrakhan it would be possible to go by the Volga river to Samara, through which town mins the trans-Siberian railway from Moscow to Vladivostock. But no plans could be certain because it was impossible to gauge the political situation in Russia. Next day, in an old dilapidated fourth-class railway carriage, with just what hand-bageage they had been able to put together for the journey, the party left Erivan. The six of us who remained behind had each a special task to perform. Two were American Y.M.C.A. men who had to settle up their affairs with the Armenians. Arother was detained by military duties. He greatly assisted me in the main work of trans- ferring the relief organization to the Armenians. This was the Irishman referred to in connection with the motor-ride adventureeI related last month. The remaining two were attached to my Irish friend. It is interesting now to look back on the different fates that befell those six men. The chief of the military three and his corporal are in Bolshevist prisons in Russia. The third soldier reached Bagdad late in the summer, after what must have been a most venturesome journey through the mountains of Kurdistan. The two Y.M.C.A. men never got away. They were lost sight of for months, until a cable reached New York, long after the armistice, telling of their safety in Erivan. When the Germans and Turks came through, the district «f Erivan was given to the Armenians as a tiny republic, and in the heart of this little State the two Americans remained and survived As to myself, I eventualy managed to get away, finally reaching England by way of Siberia and America. Tt was on Tuesday, March roth, that the main body of workers left Erivan. Three days later the business of transferring the Relief organiza- tions was completed, and I was free to depart. We had hoped that the two Y.M.C.A. men would have been ready to leave as well, but the younger one went down with fever the night before, and it became hopeless to think of moving him. His friend insisted on remaining at his side. As for the three military men, they had not yet received their marching orders. On the Thursday I sent a mes- senger to the little railway station at Frivan to ask whether a train would be running on the morrow to Tiflis, only to receive the reply that the Tartars ard Kurds had cut the line, and Erivan was isolated. Our main party had just managed to get through, fora telegram from them that after- noon told us they had reached Tiflis and were going on to Baku on the Saturday. I learned from the stationmaster next morning, however, that there would be an attempt that day to open the line again, and an engine and two carriages would leave some time during the morning. He also told me that there would be attached to this train, when it reached the Armenian military depot in the plains, at a place called Sadarabad, a number of box-trucks carrying a thousand Armenian troops, who intended to break a way through. The stationmaster agreed to reserve a place for me, and at 10.30 that morning I boarded the train and we slowly steamed out of Erivan, My fellow-passengers consisted of Armenian merchants and a number of women and children returning to their homes in Alexandropol, the fortress town on the high tableland beyond the point where the line had been cut. They talked anxiously of the chances which lay ahead, and pinned their faith to the Armenian troops which were to join us in the plains. The morning was a perfect one. A clear, warm sunshine was all abcut us, and a dreamy quietness seemed to hang over the vineyards and orchards, green with the new spring growth. Here and there were philosophical storks, lately arrived from their winter quarters in Southern Persia and Bagdad, strutting through the waters of the rice fields. The plas which stretched away from us towards Mount Ararat lay still and silent, except where, one after another, we made out tall columns of smoke that told the tale of burning villages and the unceasing local war. We passed slowly through the first station en route, a place which had been the centre of many mud villages, now standing gaunt and stark. There had been recent fighting, and not a sign of life was to be seen. Every truck on the sidings was a crumpled wreck, and the lines were strewn with all sorts of litter. Our train crept through all this mess, as if picking its way. The track itself had not been disturbed, but everybody now A Forlorn Hope.

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42 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, understocd the reason. The Tartars were work- ing under orders from the Turks and Germans, and at no place all through their districts was the railway destroyed, for it would be needed by the invaders when they arrived. The business of the Tartars was merely to hold up the service and prevent trains from running while the Armenians wanted them. We reached Sadarabad within an hour from the start, and here were the thousand Armenian soldiers, spread in picturesque disorder over the station area. A line of box-trucks, containing machine-guns, ambulance equipment, and ac- commodation for the soldiers, was coupled to our rear, and once more we set out upon our way. With the coming of the soldiers our troubles began. At the very next station the train was held up. A young clerk came forward to say that a wire had just been received from the Armenian military autlorities at Alexandropol instructing them to send the engines (we had now two) back to the first ruined station we had come through, as Tartars were reported to be once more attacking it. These instructions seemed stupid, when one thought of the ruined, deserted place we had seen, and I inqmred of my inter- preter what it meant. He smiled and explained that the clerk and the stationmaster were Georgians, and Georgians were now German spies. It was a trick to prevent the Armenian soldiers going forward to reopen the line. People got down and began to argue with the clerk, 1 went to the Armenian General, and put the case to him. He heard me out attentively, and then asked me what he could do. I suggested that he could order the train forward, as he had the power, but he seemed to doubt it. These, he said, were the days when no officer had powers ! So, in the Russian way, the thing must be argued. It was—for nearly an hour—and then on we went, by the general consent of everybody. But a precious hour had been wasted. Along the hot plains we continued, slowly feeling our way. At one place there came into view a weary procession of Armenian villagers, fleeing with a few ox-carts and donkeys from a Tartar attack on their homes. Their village was probably one of those we could see burning far behind them. The people were a distraught and tattered-looking crowd, mostly women and children. Thev seemed to take little notice of us; but I watched the faces of our soldiers, and T saw the effect of this piteous sight upon them ; the Tartars we were to meet would be made to pay tor this. Soon we began to climb from the plains up the steep volcanic beds which are spread all among the mountains on the long, toilsome ascent to Alexandropol. During the afternoon, at a little railway station on this ascent, one more attempt was made to stop us. .We were now approaching the danger district, where the Tartars and Kurds had been busy the day before, and where the fight was expected. At this particular station an Armenian outpost had been placed overnight to watch events and report to the General when our train arrived. We drew up to receive the report. The enemy was entrenched ahead, the guards told us, but not in any great strength. Probably five or six villages had combined. They had heard some distant firing, but not much, We all returned to the train and Bad News. a fresh start was made. Just as the train began to move, how- ever, a man sprang out from the rocks below the station, where a valley went steeply down, and shouted the name of the General. He spoke in Armenian, and said that the Tartars had but a few hours before attacked the mountain village he came from, and were destroying everybody and everything. He begged the General to come with his men and help the villagers. While the soldiers and passengers gathered round, the General asked the messenger how far away his village was. The man _ replied that it was only a short distance away up the valley. “The man is a spy,”’ my interpreter told me. “He is not an Armenian at all.’”. Then we heard the General calling for a map, and I at once gave my large-scale Russian map to my interpreter, and he ran to the General with it. He came back a moment later, ard I saw everybody hurrying to the train and climbing up. The man who had begged the General to come to his village remained with the guards on the plat- form. The place he had named was twenty miles away. The trick was clear. The sun was now getting low, and would soon be behind the mountains. Every yard we traversed was bringing us nearer to the crisis, and we stood in the corridors and beside the windows, watching and listening. But nothing was to be seen, save the rough, inhospitable mountains, shoulder after shoulder of them banking away up to the far-distant snow-peaks. The temperature was falling rapidly; the heat of the plains had already given place to the cold of the heights. It was between five and six o’clock in the evening when we at last crawled slowly across a little clearing in front of a small station, called Alagoz. Only one person was in sight, the stationmaster. who was a Pole. Directly the train stopped he came forward and talked rapidly with the General. Suddenly we heard the rat- tat-tat of a machine-gun, apparently from over a small hill beyond the station, through which the railway passed in a deep cutting. Some of the Armenian séidiers at once ran forward, with- out waiting for any command, swinging their rifles into position. The General, however, took no notice, and continued talking with the station- master. I could not understand their conversa- tion, so walked away and had a look round the neighbourhood. JT had not gone far before the firing increased. It was not one machine- gun, but many, and rifles rattled incessantly. Evidently much fighting was in progress and a very large number of men engaged. Retracing my steps to the platform, I found the station- master alone, the General and his men having gone to the scene of the conflict. In answer to my inquiry, the stationmaster informed me that a large body of Armenian troops had arrived

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RELIEF WORKER'S ADVENTURES. 43 “He begged the General to come with his men and help the villagers.” urexpectedly an hour ago on the other side of the mountain with the intention of breaking through the Tartar lines. One or two Armenians had made their way to the station, trying to recon- noitre the enemy position. He had no idea how the fight was going, but he felt sure that the arrival of our men, who were endeavouring to take the Tartars on the flank and rear, would soon settle the question. 5 We stood talking for nearly an hour, and then I crossed to a siding and sat down on the bare ground to eat some food. I noticed that the distant firing had suddenly ceased, and there was a strange silence. The civilians round the train seemed to be standing listening and whispering. Suddenly, in the half-light, we dis- cerned figures emerging from the railway cutting. One of the women by the train gave a shriek, and there was a mad rush of women and children to the carriages. Someone shouted that they were Tartars, and that the Armenians had been beaten. I saw the train guard swing their rifles to the ready and stand staring ahead. Then from the cutting came a shout, and we knew they were friends—the Armenian soldiers who had gone out to meet the enemy.

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44 THE WIDE: WORED MAGAZINE. Men began to pour through the The Return cutting. all laden with loot of of the some kind or another. The first Victors, batch were driving before them a number of horses, which were followed by cows, sheep. goats, and a cart or two. Across the shoulders of some of the men were slung native rugs, while others carried sacks of flour, or were loaded with revolvers, rifles, belt- knives, and swords. Never have I seen such a strange, wild crowd as came looming up from the shadows. Behind these men again came a long train of open and closed trucks, heaped up with loot taken from the Tartar villages. In one covered truck were a few wounded Armenians ; in another, all alone, half the body of a young Armenian officer. He had, the men said, been captured by the Tartars, stripped, and then literally hewn in two. They had found only the top half, from the waist upwards. This they were bringing back for burial. The soldiers soon told their tale. As the stationmaster had said, a trainload of them had come from Alexandropol and attacked the Tartars. As they outnumbered the enemy, and were further armed with machine-guns, they won easily, and when our men arrived on the scene matters were quickly brought to a head. The Tartars found themselves caught between two fires, and at once began to retreat. The Ar- menians rushed the villages, killed every man they could lay hands upon, turned out the women and children to find their way to other more distant villages, looted the places, and then set fire tothem. Altogether, six villages were destroved. No place that could be dangerous to the railway remained anywhere within reach, and once more the line was opened. Before we proceeded, how- ever, the soldiers sorted out their booty. All sorts of things were offered to me—carpets, swords, belt-knives, many of the latter with beautifully-decorated silver mountings, and other miscellaneous articles. But I declined them, and told the men to share the things amongst them- selves. Darkness had settled down before we got away. As we passed the red glow from the burn- ing villages I drew my big sheep-skin Russian shuba about me, and, turning up the great fur collar over my head, managed to snug down into one of the carriage corners and fall asleep. Just before midnight my interpreter woke me, saying that we were entering Alexandropol. I sprang up and looked out of the window. Snow was visible everywhere over the high tableland, the stars were shining brilliantly, and the cold was intense. As we approached the station an extraordinary sight presented itself. Not only was the platform a seething mass of humanity, but all over the wide area of sidings thousands of human beings were Iving like black shadows in the snow. I saw Armenians on the platform whom I knew, and at once hastened to them. They told me that the people had come from Erzeroum and Kars, and other towns and villages towards the. Turkish frontier. They were fleeing from the Turks. We tried to make our way to the shelter of the refreshment-room, where in the old: days I had often obtained a good meal. The room was a solid mass of people, and I soon discovered that supplies had given out longago. Then snow began to fall, accompanied by a bitter wind from the mountains, which added to the misery. We remained on the platform wedged in this mass of humanity, waiting for the train which was expected any moment from Kars, and by which we hoped to reach Tiflis. We knew it would be the last train, and if we failed to board it we were lost, for the Turks were rapidly advancing and we should be taken prisoners. Presertly we heard the groaning of wheels as the train slowly climbed the steep gradient leading into the station, At once the mass began to stir and all was excitement, people pushing here and there, and shouting to one another in strange tongues. But we could not see the train for people ; it was one unrelieved swarm of human beings. The engine was covered and men were even hanging from the sides of it. It was the same with the carriages and trucks. Roofs, ledges, steps. window-sills, and even projecting and precarious pieces of ironwork, held people and more people. We stood staring in amaze- ment as each overloaded car crept by. Finally I made my way down the platform to the rear end of the long train. In not a single place could I even approach the carriages through the struggling mass of people till I came right to the end. Here I found a dirty white car with the familiar Russian Red Cross painted upon it. No one was attempting to board it except at the erds where were the steps. The windows were ail intact, and the door uncompromisingly closed. Noticing a flicker of light at one of the windows, I went up and tapped it sharply. The blind was raised and a man’s face peereed out. I stripped off my sheepskin, pointed to: the Red Cross badge on my jacket sleeve, and made signs to be let in. I thought the head nodded, but as nothing happened I tried again with the same result. Tapping sharply on the window for the third time, the man insiae slightly raised it and whispered in Russian that the end door for- ward would be opened in a few minutes. Then I realized that it would be dangerous with such a crowd to show an opening until the train started. Leaving one of my Armenian friends who lived in Alexandropol to watch, I went in search of my interpreter, meaning to take him with me in the Red Cross wagon if he had not succeeded in gettingaboard. I found him with one leg through a broken window opening, and two soldiers inside trying in a friendly way to drag him into the carriage. Pushing my way forward, I bent down and called to him to put his foot on my back to obtain extra leverage. With this help he managed to get in, and sat down on his bundle against the window. Wending my way back to the Red Cross wagon, I climbed the steps through the people gathered there, and with the greatest difficulty crushed through the slit of an opening which the man inside had made, The Last Train.

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RELIEF WORKER’S The door was shut directly I was through. Then I saw why | had had to wait. The vesti- bule was piled to the roof with cases of medicines and tinned milk, which had had to be taken down before it was pos- sible to open the door. Fearing a rush from the outside, I lent the man a hand in stacking them up again. This accom- plished, I entered the car. Only a tiny candle gave a little light, and it was with some difficulty that I made my way amongst the wounded men and cases of goods which filled the interior of the carriage. The man whom I had seen at the window came forward and spoke. I found him to be a Russian Jew— a doctor. He took me into his stuffy cabin and prepared tea for us both. It was not till the early hours of the morning that the train began to move, and the doctor and I sat talking over our tea till the dawn. I learnt from him of the easy victory of the Turks at Erzeroum, and how they were expected any time nowat Alexan- dropol. The Armenians were utterly disorganized through lack of leader- ship. Once or twice while he was speaking a Turk came into the cabin and said something to him. I asked him why he had Turks, and was somewhat surprised to learn that all his staff were Turkish prisoners. Not being able to se- cure any help from the Armenians, who were away fighting, he obtained Turkish prisoners, and with their help routed out what stores he could lay his hands on. Now he was in flight, for to remain was to be taken. During the morning, in the beautiful sunshine and warmth which gradually took the place of the mountain cold, the train often stopped for long halts. At one of these I brought my interpreter from his crowded carriage, and he completed the journey with us. Nothing “I called to him to put his foot on my back and obtain extra leverage.” ADVENTURES. 45 untoward happened, save a small breakdown of the engine which was happily put right ; and in the early evening of that day we approached Tiflis. The station, like that of Alexandropol, was a mass of packed human- ity. I bade the doctor good-bye, and made my way towards the station exit. My intention was to go to the American consulate and learn the whereabouts of our main party. Then, suddenly, over the heads of the crowds, I caught sight of the face of a tall English clerk from the English consulate. I called to him, hoping to attract his attention, for to get through to him = was impossible. At last he heard me, and shouted back that our party was to leave in about two hours’ time. Hastening to the American consu- late, I found our people there, and was given a hearty welcome. We left Tiflis that night in a special train, travelling in carriages labelled in Russian and English in large, red_ letters, “American Mission.” Next day we passed through Tartar territory, and at every stopping- place the train was searched. Four of us were Britishers, but the labels on the carriages did their work. Indeed, we shall always have reason to look back and thank the Stars and Stripes for that ride, for on the one other train which came after ours on the following day, carrying out the same permitted programme, five Britishers—miners from a district the other side of Tiflis—were arrested and made prisoners. On Sunday evening, March 24th, we safely reached Baku, where, after witnessing some ter- rible street fighting, we managed to get away once more and, striking the Trans-Siberian Railway, travelled to Vladivostock, and thence across the Pacific to the United States and— Home ! THE END.

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Chief Boatswain's Mate J. Bergstrom, U.S. Navy. WENT to Siam in 1897, on a visit | to an Admiral of the Siamese Navy —Rudolf Gerricke, then Admiral ma} and Commander-in-Chief of the §} Siamese Navy. I had known him years before, when as boys we shipped together on asailing vessel. After a time I was invited by the Admiral to attend a parade and review of the Royal troops at Bangkok. He informed me that it was to be a very swell affair, as the King and all the foreign diplomats were to be present in full dress uniform. I should be furnished with a mount from the Royal stables, he told me. Thinking that this would probably be the only opportunity that I would ever get to hobnob with Royalty, I cheerfully accepted the invitation. On the morning of the parade I was at the house of the Admiral, waiting for the steed assigned me to be brought round. The Admiral’s horse was already bridled and saddled, standing in the shade ready for use. Finally a groom in Royal livery appeared, leading the most remarkable-looking member of the equine species that I had ever seen. View- ing him bows-on as he was towed in, I could see at a glance that he carried too much top-hamper, He was a tall, bony-looking animal, with a long, MY DAY WITH ROYALTY. Told by Chief Boatswain’s Mate JOHN BERGSTROM, U.S. Navy, and set down by HUGH THOMASON. ILLUSTRATED BY ALFRED LEETE. A most amusing story, showing how an old man- o’-war sailor c: a sensation at a Royal Review in fer-away Siam. ———————————————e snake-like neck, at the end of which hung a large rectangular head about the size of a ten-gallon keg. The groom said he was a Persian, and had just arrived from that country: I told the groom that I had never seen a Persian horse before. but if a sample like that could arrive, there were certainly great things in store for the rest of the horses in Persia. The animal was equipped with a saddle something like those used by the Arabs in the Buffalo Bill Show, and the bridle was a dream of tarnished gold lace and rotten leather. That horse did not seem to like me from the very start, for when I tried to pat him he made a snap at me like a man-eating tiger. If he had ever landed with that open-mouthed, full-neck jab, I should have been short of an arm or a leg. It took the combined efforts of all the bystanders to hold him until I could crawl up his side and locate comfortably in the saddle. Once I was mounted, his whole mission in life appeared to be a desire to bite my feet off. When I hit him with the butt-end of my whip to make him let go, he would twist his neck round and try the other foot. The groom said that he was only a little playful, and that he would calm down all right in half an hour or so. Presently we started for the parade ground. I was feeling somewhat nervous, as I had never been presented with any medals for horseman- ship, but I hoped for the best. I could not get my animal to walk straight to save my life; he wanted to drift along sideways, and would not obey the pull of the reins at all. When I pulled

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Stories en the rein has rubber-like neck would bend round until his head touched the stirrup, but his body still drifted along in the original direction. The Admiral remarked jokingly thet the steering- gear had no influence with him, and that it appeared as if he were tacking’ against a stiff head wind all the time. We arrived at the reviewing stand before any of the troops had marched on to the rect- angular parade ground, laid out on a sun-baked plain, over which hung, like a pale yellow mist, the dust stirred up by the trampling of many feet. In the distance, along the roadways, the dust hung like balls of light-brown cotton over the trees. On the opposite side of the parade ground, facing us, was stretched a long line of gaily caparisoned elephants, bearing on their backs silk-curtained howdahs in which sat members of the Royal Family and other dignitaries. About this time some Siamese prince, or duke, or some high digritary of that kind, shoved into our select circle on the gun-deck of a gaudily-painted tusker. I don’t know whether they have any elephants in Persia or not, but if there are any there, I am prepared to wager that the mother of my horse was frightened by one at a critical period in her life. My noble steed suddenly became bereft of reason and demanded more room. The sanctity of rank meant nothing to him ; he walked all over princes and generals, sweeping them aside like flies. As soon as he got clear of the crowd he settled down to the important business of placing several miles of termtory between him- self and a nasty-looking elephant with brass balls on the ends of his tusks. At about this trol over him “The big brute started in to butt the tree over.” stage of the game the bit broke and the bridle fell to the ground, leaving me without any con- I hadn’t very much influence over him when the bit was in his mouth, but now he was a free agent, and I was completely helpless. He headed straight across the parade ground towards the line occupied by the digni- taries ; in running away from one elephant he was charging down upon nearly two hundred. How that old bone- yard did run! All I could do was to hold on and trust to luck. I was praying all the time that the crazy old saddle would hold together, for I knew my staying qualities depended on it. We were headed directly for a grand old tusker who appeared to be about the size of a summer hotel. When within twenty or thirty yards of this elephant, my Persian steed winded him and tried to check himself, but his impe- tus was too great, and he couldn’t even hesi- tate. The elephant, staid old veteran that he was, had never in his entire career seen such a whirlwind of horsehide and bones before, and, becoming scared, he reared up on his hind legs to turn and flee. Just as he reared up to his full extent, the horse and IT struck him fairly underneath. It was like striking a cushion of soft rubber, and when we bounced back my horse and I parted company forever. The horse fell on his side,

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48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Just as he reared up to his full extent, the horse and I struck him fairly underneath.” with his head and neck tucked under him, and I made sure his neck was broken, and sincerely hoped it was. To my amazement, however, he rose and, with the saddle swaying underneath him, started madly down the line in front of all the elephants, bucking, kicking, and squealing like a pig, but abating not one jot of the speed which his initial fright had given him, At sight of him the whole line of elephants was stricken with panic, and wavered. Never before in their elephantine experience had they set eyes on anything like this. With tails stuck straight out and trunks waving upwards, the line of elephants surged to and fro for a moment, emit- ting shrill screams ; then, as one elephant, they turned tail and fled, shedding ministers-pleni- potentiary and envoys-extraordinary at every jump as they raced over the dusty sward. I was stunned from my fall, my nose was bleeding, and I was all covered with dust. I would gladly have lingered there on the ground for ten or fifteen minutes, pulling myself together, but for the fact that the tusker into whose stomach we had so madly dashed had now settled down on to four feet again, and was in the act of beginning hostilities. His little eyes glittered like those of a wild boar and his ears stuck out from his head like fans. I didn’t know much about elephants, but from his fretful atti- tude I knew that it was my move, and pretty quick, too. So I jumped to my feet and set off. Iran my level best, but the tusker was the better sprinter, and. was just reaching out his trunk to gather me in when I stumbled and fell into a little grass-covered gully. The elephant, not being able to stop, passed on. I promptly scrambled out of the drain and doubled back in the opposite direction. I reached a ragged-looking palm, and shinned up it,.just in time to escape a murderous whack from the tusker’s proboscis. Failing to reach me, the big brute started in to butt the tree over. I could hear the roots popping and tearing apart, and saw the ground bulging up on the side nearest to him, as the tree bent over at an angle of forty-five degrees or more. I said my prayers, for I thought my number was up. At this critical moment the elephant suddenly stopped ; his eyes bulged with fright, he threw up his trunk, gave a squeak, and bolted. Look- ing down, I saw a family of field-mice running around the base of the tree. They had a nest among the roots of the palm, and when the elephant pushed it over they were thrown out under his feet, nearly scaring him into hysterics. That concluded my adventure, but I was so stiff and sore that I had to stay in bed for a week. T heard afterwards that the performance made such a hit with the King that he wanted it repeated.

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SHORT STORIES. Il.—THE SHEEP THIEF. By GERALD AYMER, ILLUSTRATED BY G. P. IN the old days of the Argentine Republic, before fences had been | erected round most of the estancias, f the cattle-thieves and other lawless folk of the northern provinces en- joyed facilities such as do not exist nowadays. For instance, the police system was in its very infancy, and the camp police were often as corrupt as the very thieves they were there to deal with. One of the first organized estancias in the north was the “ Tora Colorado.”’ an estate of some twenty thousand acres, carrying about two thousand head of cattle, a few horses, and some sheep. The ranch was managed by Edward Warner, an Englishman. He possessed just the right temperament for successfully managing his native ranch-boys, being a man of strong character and decp understanding. Tact- ful and considerate even to kindness, he was nevertheless firm as a rock and not to be imposed upon, and every one of his twenty men, with one exception, knew this well; they thoroughly loved and respected ‘Don Eduardo,” as they called him. The exception was a man named Ramon Villas, who respected nobody on earth, and was equally detested and distrusted by all with whom he came in contact. All the men on the ranch disliked him, but as Warner had no tangible reasons for dismissing him, he kept him on, though he himself had no love for the fellow. In winter time the ranch-boys slept in a long iron shed used for storing hides and other odd purposes, but in summer they preferred the open air and slept under trees round the home- stead, rolled up in their ponchos and saddle- blankets, using the sheepskin rugs from their saddles as mattresses. Everyone by common consent avoided Villas, and he, nothing loth, would roll himself up in his blanket some hundred yards away from the others, hidden from them by the trees. The ranch was situated about four leagues from the nearest village—if indeed a railway platform, a dozen tin-roofed huts, and the usual fonda or tavern can be dignified by such a name. Small as it was, however, the place afforded communication with the outside world—one train every day, running between Concepcion and Corrientes. For a long time past Warner had been missing sheep, not in large numbers, but one by one, and as their skins were never brought to the ranch to be cured and stored away, it was obvious that they had not died from disease. The man whose duty-it was to ride round the camp when Vol. xliv.—4. CARRUTHERS. ‘the sheep grazed was one Geronimo Pefia, a thoroughly trustworthy old man, and he was as puzzled and distressed over the loss‘of his sheep as Warmer himself. One day Peiia decided to begin investigations with a view to discovering the thief. Obtaining permission from ‘‘ Don Eduardo ’’ to go off to the village, so as not to arouse suspicion, he rode away early that evening. The sheep, he knew, were grazing on a part of the camp nearest to the village, so as he passed through this part and came in sight of the flock, he dismounted and tied his horse in a clump of high thorn-bushes where it would not be visible. He then sat down to await the darkness and the subsequent moon- light. Somewhere about midnight the moon came up, and shortly after his patient vigil was rewarded by the soft thudding of a horse’s hoofs approach- ing at a comfortable canter in his direction. He was more than surprised that the approaching horseman should be coming from the direction of the ranch and not from the village; however, he kept himself hidden in the bushes to await events. The rider passed within a hundred paces of him, and he was able to recognize the horse, a large black animal with four white socks. This was one of Villas’ mounts, but the rider himself was too far off to be recognized. However, Pefia now had little doubt as to whom the thief might be. He waited hidden, following the new arrival carefully with his eyes. Presently ‘the latter untied his lasso; then, quietly approaching the resting flock, he threw his rope, just as the shcep were about to stampede. The flock ran off to a considerable distance, but left one of their number struggling at the end of the stranger’s lasso, and it was not long before the victim was dispatched and skinned. The thief then slung the carcass and skin over his saddle and, mounting his horse, rode off to another thick clump of bushes not very distant from where Pefia watched. Pefia waited patiently until the sheep-stealer came out of the bushes and rode away towards the rarch; he noticed there was no sheep on the saddle this time. Once the man was out of sight Pefia rode across to the bushes and after a short search found the sheep, cut up in convenient pieces, wrapped in a saddle-blanket, and hidden in a large clump of thistles. Well satisfied with his night’s work, he rode home and slept soundly. Next day he told Warmer what he had scen, and they arranged to ride out to the place. The day being Sunday, the men’s time was their own, so this would

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so THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. f ( “The flock left one of their number struggling at the end of the stranger's lasso.” give the thief a chance to remove his stolen property. ‘Warner and Pefia left the homestead early, so as to arrive first. On reaching the place where the sheep was hidden they hid their horses on the far side of the clump and prepared to wait. Two hours before midday Villas was seen ap- proaching, looking furtively around as he came. Nobody being in sight, he hastily dismounted with a sack in his hand and came to within six paces of the point where the other two were concealed. Stripping the blanket from the sheep he placed the various pieces in the sack and tied the mouth up, also putting a rope round the centre to make it ride better across his saddle. He was just about to move off when ‘Warner sprang out. ‘Drop that!’’ he com- manded, and covered him with his revolver. “* So you are the thief who’s been worrying us all this time,eh ? Well, I'd morc than suspected it.”” Villas dropped upon his knees and began to whine, looking like a whipped cur, “ Ah! pardon me, sefior,” he pleaded, “‘ the sheep was dead from the sun, and I skinned it : the skin I would have brought to the estancia, and the meat, which I knew the sefior would not eat, I was going to take to my wife in the pueblo. Pardon me, sefior, I did not mean any wrong.” He whimpered and literally grovelled on the ground, while old Peila spat his contempt. “Get up, you lying thief,” said Warner, “ and if you attempt to break away you'll be shot. You're coming with me to the police.” When he saw that the manager was not to be won over Villas’ manner changed on the instant. He turned a face as black as thunder on Warner and snarled out between his teeth, “ Dios / But I'll make you regret this day! Take me to prison, then, but you’ll see more of Ramon Villas, you cursed foreigner.” The two men took their now sullen prisoner to the village, where Villas was formally charged and taken in custody by the police. The ranch-men were paid out on the last day of every month, the money being sent up from the agents by railway, in a registered package. ‘Warner had to ride into the village to receive this from the station-master. In summer he would ride in a “ sulky,”’ but in winter, owing to bad roads, on horseback. About four months after the trapping of Villas, Warner rode off to the village one day to bring back the pay and Le ie re Cran on a

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the mail. Amongst his mail he found an urgent letter from the city agents which demanded a reply by return. of post. Thinking to save another journey next day, Warner sat down in the station-master’s little office and commenced to answer the letter at once. By the time he had finished it was becoming dusk. Bidding the station-master good-bye, he pocketed his mail and the packet of money and rode off at a good pace, so as to arrive home before dark if possible, About two miles from the estancia the road— here very narrow—ran through a small wood. It was now quite dark, and in the gloomy wood it was impossible to see more than a yard or so in front. The road, however, was dead straight and Warner could faintly discern the opening of the trees at the far end, so he cantered or un- concernedly. Suddenly, without any warning, his horse came to the ground, throwing him heavily over its head. Dazed for a moment by his fall, Warner was just about to rise from the d when he felt two hands fasten around his throat. He struggled violently, and for a moment managed to free himself. Fortunately, he had his heavy riding-whip in his hand, the SHORT STORIES. 5t loop round his wrist having prevented it jerkang away when he fell. He caught the faint gleam of a knife-blade above his head, and quick as thought he struck out with the whip-stock. A sharp pain in his left shoulder made him realize he had been stabbed, but he had the satisfaction of hitting a hard and terrific blow and seeing his opponent drop senseless by his side. Striking a match he discovered to his astonishment that this was none other than the villainous Ramon Villas. Warner was now feeling faint from loss of blood, so he gropingly searched for his horse, which he well knew would not be far away. Suddenly he was pulled up by a lasso stretched tightly across the road, some three feet from the ground—Villas’ trap to throw his horse. A moment later he heard his horse cropping the grass close by, and managed to secure it without difficulty. Weakly he climbed up into the saddle and walked his horse painfully back to the ranch. On arrival he at once sent some of the men back to pick up Villas, but in the meantime the latter had recovered and made good his escape. He had evidently learnt a lesson, however, for he was never heard of again in that part of Argentina. ——

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As” TOLD BY TWARK (TOR en y i> VVivo 4 AND SET \y SouTHArRIc OT DAI NT: DOWN BY Uso. teyi ia’ VENTURE th. > a FANT WY gil Lt Z ILLUSTRATED BY T. H. ROBINSON. As Mr. Handley truly says: “I doubt if, in the whole of South Africa, one could point toa living man to-day who has had such an adventurous career as Jack West,” and the following story of his life, which has been set down for the first time for the benefit of “Wide World Magazine” readers, is a document of extraordinary human interest. As a young man Jack West trekked into the wilds of the then unknown North, and his pioneering days were full of excitement. He has filled the réle of hunter, trader, storekeeper, miner, and navigator, and that he has been in some tight corners is evidenced when it is stated that he was once con- demned to be shot by the Boers as a spy, and was actually led out to execution when he miraculously escaped. Incidentally, too, the narrative throws some remarkable light upon the belief of many that when Kruger fled the country he caused to be taken away a large quantity of gold. Jack West tells how the bullion was smuggled out of the country, how it was lost in transit, and his daring attempt to recover it. Ill. the sentence of the Court is that you are to be shot | at sunrise.” With a grim smile, the com- @)| mandant of the Boer laager which lay on the main road between Johannesburg and Pretoria during the stirring times of the Jameson Raid in January, 1896, thus communicated to Jack West the fate in store for him. He had not actually taken part in the raid ; but it was sufficient that he was an Englishman, and consequently a probable spy. Moreover, inside his belt was the mysterious inscription, ‘“‘ K Troop, B.B.P. No. 2042.” Although West had, prior to the raid, belonged to the Bechuanaland Border Police, he had some little time previously taken his discharge nominally at Mafeking and had gore to work at Johannesburg. Speaking the Dutch language fluently, he was able to move about the country freely, the information he gathered and passed on being of considerable importance to those who were engineering the raid. West describes his capture and sentence as follows. On January 5th, 1896 (the raid took place the day following), I rode on horseback from Johannesburg to a farm owned by a Boer named Viljoen, some fifteen miles distant. I was then working for a firm who had a large flock of sheep grazing there, and my employer—-who evidently knew that something was “in the wind '’—was afraid his sheep would get mysteriously lost or commandeered, so I was selected to go out and bring them into Johannesburg. Although I knew the country was in a state of unrest, I arrived quite safely at the Viljoens’ farm. The farmer was not at home, the good-wife told me. Hcr husband, she said, had been “called out,’’ and was then in laager near the main road between Johannesburg and Pretoria. It was thought that, should Jameson reach Johannesburg, he would then march on to Pre- toria, and this laager was to intercept him. I told Mrs. Viljoen that I had come to fetch the sheep (about five hundred), and I paid her the grazing charges. After I had settled for the sheep I rode out in the direction where I antici- pated the animals would be grazing. On my way I met two armed men, who asked me quite a lot of questions. Finally they rode off. After a couple of hours’ search I found the sheep, but on counting them I discovered that nearly forty were missing. Feeling rather uneasy, however, I thought my best plan would be to drive on the flock instead of wasting time in further search for the missing sheep. I had a presentiment that something was going to happen. I had travelled about five miles across country when, without warning, a bullet went singing past. Looking in the direction from which the shot had come I perceived two men, dismounted. One was just ejecting an empty cartridge-case from his rifle, while the other was putting his rifle to his shoulder. They were only about two hundred yards away, so I called out in Dutch to them not to fire, as I was unarmed. They did not reply, so I rode up to them. I knew both men.

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MY SOUTH AFRICAN When I indignantly asked them the reason of the outrage I was told that war had broken out. The commandant had sent them to take me prisoner, and also to commandeer the sheep for the use of the men on commando at the laager. I was searched for arms, and told that I should be immediately shot should I attempt to escape. We arrived at the laager at dusk. It was my first visit to a real Boer laager on a war footing. The men looked a queer lot, sitting round their camp fires, roughly clad, old men with long flowing beards predominating. My poor sheep had short shrift. About fifty were caught and killed immediately they arrived, and within a very short while the air was heavy with the smell of roasting meat. I was very soon made pain- fully aware that I was a prisoner. My hands were tied behind my back with a thong and another fastened about my neck. In vain I protested that I was only a peaceful citizen, and I demanded to know the cause of my arrest and rough treatment, and to be taken before the commandant so that I could hear the charge brought against me. A young fellow who seemed friendly whispered to me that he thought the only charge that would be brought against me would be that of removing stock in time of anticipated war. This relieved my mind a little, but the thongs fastened about my hands and neck led me to believe I might have to stand my trial on a graver charge. Any- how, it was decided that I had not heen tho- roughly searched. I was again stripped, except for my trousers. My cholera belt seemed to attract their attention. In vain I protested that it was merely a strip of flannel. Off it had to come. They ripped it into shreds, and there found, wrapped in grease- proof paper, a tiny piece of paper. On it was marked “ K Troop, B.B.P. No. 2042 ’’—just a mark of identification. A yell of delight greeted the discovery. A spy had been caught red-handed! “ Shoot him on the spot |’ was the cry. Rifles were snatched up, and every second I expected that one of the men in his excitement would press a trigger. All the time the abuse was fearful. In the middle of this hubbub a rough-looking individual pushed himself forward, and the others, perceiving him, became quiet. He was addressed as ‘‘Oom Steve.’’ After being told of the discovery, he ordered them to untie my hands, give me my clothes, and take me before the commandant for immediate trial. I was then led across the laager to a small open space behind a large tented wagon, where sat a man who proved to be the commandant. In a few minutes a semicircle was formed and I was placed in front of him. I heard the charge. It was that of being a spy, notwithstanding there was no evidence whatever against me. There was only one sentence—death. My supposed trial lasted about fifteen minutes. I thoroughly understood every word spoken, and felt tortured beyond words at the mockery of the trial. Almost before the last word had been spoken the commandant raised his right hand as a command for silence and said, ADVENTURES, 53 “Prisoner, have you anything to say?” This question was the only time during the whole of the proceedings that I had been addressed. All eyes were immediately turned on me. In a quiet voice, I told him that I had been sent out by my employer to fetch in his sheep. I explained the scrap of paper found in my belt as being merely my number when I joined the Bechuanaland Border Police, although they insisted on calling it a secret code. I also told the commandant that I had left the corps some time previously and only kept the number as a means of identification. It was all in vain, however. Feeling against me ran so high that it took the commandant all his time to keep his men from shooting me on the spot. In fact, one unruly youngster nearly succeeded in firing at me, his rifle being knocked up just in the nick of time. By this time the commandant was very angry, and I could see that the few words I had spoken were not improving my position and that the crowd were inclined to get out of hand. “Prisoner,” said the com- Sentenced to mandant, at last, “we have Death. heard what you have said, and the sentence of this Court is that you will be shot at sunrise !”’ I will pass over what happened from the time I heard the commandant’s decision till the following morning. I was awakened just before daybreak, when the thongs with which I had been fastened to a wagon-wheel were released, and I was given a cup of coffee. There were several Boers standing round, in spite of the early hour. After a little while my horse was brought to me and I was told to mount, as I was to be shot in a ravine about a mile from the laager. My executioners were also mounted, one riding on either side of me; they carried their rifles loaded and ready for immediate action. My hands were free, but my horse was tied with a rein on either side to those of my guards. And so we slowly wended our way towards the place of execution, which was out of sight of the laager. On arrival at the ravine, one of my executioners went up towards the hill, leaving me in charge of his confederate, who, however, took the precaution of keeping his rifle ready for use. He calmly informed me that his mate was looking for a suitable place that could easily be filled in, as they had no shovels wherewith to dig a grave. It did not take very long to pick out a suitable grave for me. I was told to hurry up, and we made our way (my captor behind) towards the hill, leading the horses. When we reached the place I told my guards that I wanted to pray by myself for just a few minutes, and I pointed to a large stone, about thirty paces away. They agreed, but not before I pleaded with them, using the strongest persuasion I could command, They both sat down on some boulders with their rifles across their knees, their horses and mine also being held loosely by the reins. Having so far succeeded in the plan which I had hurriedly formulated, it now remained to be seen whether it would be further successful.

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54 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINF. “One unruly youngster nearly succeeded in firing at me, his rifle being knocked up just in the nick of time.” My plan of action was very simple. I had resembled an ordinary watch, but was heavier, always carried a tiny weapon, an odd kind of The tiny barrel protruded about half an inch. toy revolver. In shape and appearance it and carried cight cartridges. By pressing a re =

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MY SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURES, 55 spring with the ball of the thumb it fired—one shot only, or continuously, until the eight were discharged, so long as the pressure was main- tamed, the bullet being a little larger than an airgun pellet. This little weapon I carried with me wherever J went, secreted in a special pocket in my trousers, and luckily for me it had escaped the notice of the searchers. Having secured it, I advanced towards the two men. When within a few feet. I attracted their attention just for a few seconds by holding out my hand so that the rounded nickel part of the revolver cauld be seen. They, naturally, mistook it for my watch, which is exactly what I wanted them to do. Speaking so that each man would think I was addressing him only, Isaid: ‘‘ Eshal! not require this watch any more ; yeu can have it as a keepsake.” Again they did just what I wanted them to do. Both of them stretched out their hands. In their greed, in fact, they tried to grab my keep- sake. One cf them laid his rifle on the ground ; the other held his with his left hand, the butt testing on the ground. This gave me my oppor- tunity. Slightly lowering my hand, I took aim at the man with the rifle, and pressed the lever. A sharp little report rang out, and the bullet found its billet. With a cry the man dropped his rifle and grabbed at his stomach with both hands. The other man did just as I had anticipated. Dumbfounded, he stared straight into my hand, probably thinking it contained some unknewn infernal machine. Before he coukd recover from his surprise I took the same careful aim, and fired once more. The effect was magical. He also put both his hands to his body and sank to the ground groaning. So far alt had gone well. My next plan was to get away as quickly as possible, before either ofthem recovered. Quick as lightning I mounted the best horse, and took a straight course for the open country, after taking the precaution of giving the rifles a smart tap on the rocks, so as to render them nsetes:. If ever a man rode for his life, ABid fer I did on this occasion. Ihad not Freedom. gone far before I heard bullets whistling around my ears. It appears that a scout had been watching the whole of the proceedings from the top of a hill, and it was he who was now trying to stop me. I knew the country fairly well, and I was aware there were no obstacle3 in the way of dongas or ravines. So I made a bee-line tor Johannesburg, and within an hour was within sight of the town, having com pletely shaken off any pursuit. Not tilt 1 was on the outskirts did I draw rein Suddenly three men barred my way. They asked me several questions, to which I replied suitably. Having satisfied them that I was not an enemy, I was allowed to proceed. The men who stopped me, I found out afterwards, were Reform Com- mittee men on guard, as an attack was expected from the identical laager I had just escaped from. All this happened on the morning of January 6th. 1896. That very day Dr. Jameson sur- rendered at Dornkop. I made my way straight to my employer's place of business and reported to him that the whole cf his sheep had been com- mandeered by the Boers. The excitement in Johannesburg was intense. I managed to get a fresh horse, and immediately rode out to the battlefield of Dornkop. There I picked up a Lee-Metford carbine, No. 1421, which I still possess—a memento of the tightest corner I was ever in. Curiously enough, while he owed the biggest fright of his life to the Boers, Jack West was indebted to a Boer family for assistance that enabled him to start on a commercial venture which, but for a chapter of accidents, might have led to considerable fortune. Some time after the Jameson raid, and after I had become tired of working in Johannesburg, I was tramping in the Orange Free State, when an incident happened that completely changed my South African career, so far as I had mapped it out for myself. I had arrived at a friendly old Boer farmer’s homestead more dead than alive from cold and hunger; my usual luck seemed to have deserted me. The friendly: old Dutch people took pity on me and gave me work, food, and shelter for a month. I was fortunate enough to save their little six-year-old child from being gored to death by a wild cow. The child, who was walking unattended on the veld, luckily fell down at the first rush, or she would have been impaled on the horns of the infuriated animal. The cow, however, turned and made a second rush at the child, who was now running away, screaming. Death seemed absolutely certain, Both the father and mother were racing from the house shouting, in their frantic endeavour to frighten the animal away, though they were powerless to save the child, as they were fully two hundred yards off. Just as the cow, nearing the kraal wall, lowered her head with am ugly side cant to gore the child, I lifted a large stone that lay loose on the top of the wall and hurled it with terrific force on to the animal's skull. It struck with a thud, and the animal dropped in its tracks. By this time the farmer had come up, and, with another couple of blows with a large stone, killed the cow. The farmer offered me all sorts The of presents for saving his child’s Grateful _life, which I felt obliged to refuse. Farmer. This seemed to distress them so much, however, that—seeing how anxious they were to help me—I made them a proposal. As the farm was situated at an equal distance between two towns, I expressed the opinion that if a store was built, with a small stock-in-trade, I stood a very good chance of doing well, and, in course of a little while, should be in a position to repay my benefactors. My suggestion was acted upon immediately, and the next morning the old farmer personally marked off a site where he would have a shop built for me. This was done, and within three months I had a prosperous little business, and after two years’ residence was doing remarkably well. Then, the farm being sold for mining

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56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, og <a ) With a cry the man dropped his rifle and grabbed at bis stomach.” . purposes, I decided to sell out my business. It was with much regret that I bade adieu to After settling up everything I found myself the old couple who had so generously given me fairly well off. a helping hand and put me on my feet. I made “A sharp little report rang out, and the bullet found its billet.

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MY SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURES. 57 “I lifted a large stone that lay ioose on the top of the wall and hurled it with terrific force om to the auimal’s skull.” my way to the town of East London with sufficient capital to start a new business. There I inter- viewed many of the prominent wholesale and other business men and stated my object, with the result that I was able to obtain most valuable information and advice. Many parts of the country were suggested to me, and at last I decided to go to Port St. John’s, where I duly arrived without adventure. The district or territory of Port St. John’s is roughly only about seven miles square in extent. Within this territory a township had been formed and small allotments established on the river banks, where the soil is so productive that two crops per year are reaped by the lucky holders. Fruit grows in abundance everywhere. The only drawback is the difficulty of getting the produce to a market. Ox-wagon charges to the inland towns were so expensive that the loads hardly paid for hire of wagon and servants. The only alternative seemed to be the natural outlet —the sea—sending the produce either to East London or Durban, the distances to either place being, roughly, a hundred miles. There was a small coasting steamer, which was not generally used on account of the erratic service and high charges. However, I decided to commence busi- ness at St. John’s. A suitable piece of ground was leased, a large building erected thereon, and in due course a stock of general merchandise arrived from East London, conveyed by the only steamer minning. The support given me by the few farmers and traders of the surrounding country far exceeded my expectations ; in fact, business increased to such an extent that the necessity of owning my own craft was forcibly demonstrated. The irregular sailings of the only, vessel, to- gether with the charges, made this absolutely necessary. Thirty shillings per ton for a run of about one hundred miles was a bit too high. Matters came to a climax when my stocks were getting sold out. The produce bought from customers was accumulating, and my supplies were lying at East London Harbour and Durban. Owing to some unforeseen circumstances, the little coaster did not come in. Week after week passed, and still there was no sign of the overdue goods. Things began to look serious. A rival business firm had even got some goods by ox- wagon from East London, at a cost of about +ix pounds per ton.

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58 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Something had to be. done, and quickly too, or my business would fail. I was determined not to be beaten. I therefore engaged the services of a good man as manager and went overland by post-cart to Durban, to see what I could arrange in the way of purchasing asuitable vessel. Mecting an old friend, we went through Durban Harbour. There were only three sailing vessels available—a whaler, a schooner, and a small cutter. Finally the cutter was decided upon and purchased. It took about three weeks to get her properly overhauled and fitted up, and the good ship Pondo looked spick- and-span as she lay alongside the wharf, laden to her utmost capacity, and awaiting a favour- able wind to take her on her maiden voyage as a fully fledged merchantman. With picked men, a staunch little ship laden with a full cargo, and everything paid for, no one felt prouder than your humble servant, the ex- landsman, as we sailed out of Durban Harbour on a certain day, bound for St. John’s. We had a splendid run. The breeze freshened up con- siderably when we were about three miles out, and we arrived off St. John’s after a run of about twenty-four hours. We arrived before dusk, just too late to attempt to cross the bar. So we cast anchor-and waited until midday the follow- ing day, to get the greatest height of tide. At any time, even when the weather is favourable, it is always a dangerous business to attempt this The surf breaks with terrific force, and woe betide the vessel which, through bad seaman- ship or otherwise, misses the narrow channel in the sandbank ! Next moming a stiff breeze was blowing, and it was found necessary to buoy the anchor I Become a Shipowner. The wreck of the ill-fated Alert, * instecd of hoisting it up, as we found that we had not judged our anchoring-ground with sufficient care. The two pilot’s flags were put up on shore to show us the narrow channel, and we sailed straight for them. The first roller caught the vessel on the stern, and seemed to carry us on its crest at a terrific speed. Then, leaving us almost stationary, it subsided, and we could see the next huge wave coming. It struck the vessel with terrific force and broke right over us, drenching every man aboard. “That was a whopper!’ someone shouted, and then the little vessel glided into deep water again, and the peril was past. The result of this venture was that my trade began to go up by leaps and bounds, and within three months the Pondo could not cope with the ever-increasing business. I therefore decided to purchase a small steamer instead of a sailer, and for this purpose I again visited Durban. I journeyed right round the coast of Africa, and visited every port from Walfish Bay up to Zanzi- bar in search of a small steamer, but without success. The only craft I could get was a small schooner. However, as she had more than doubie the carry- ing capacity of the Pondo, I bought her. I christened this ship the Alert and she duly arrived at St. John’s with a good cargo. The smaller vessel was laid up and the crew trans- ferred to the Alert. She proved herself a sea- worthy vessel, and many a good cargo did she carry for me. To be able the better to under- stand shipping and the handling of small craft, I decided to become a sailor myself for a while. I accordingly secured the services of a good man as manager of my business, and made several trips. The knowledge gained proved very useful and valuable, for, having found it necessary to dis- charge the skipper, I decided to navigate the vessel myself to East London. In due course we reached East London, our destination, without mishap. The Alert was eventually lost onthe treacherous St. John’s bar. After she was wrecked I tried to replace her, but failed. Meanwhile I had had the little Pondo fitted up with engines and transferred as a trawler to East London. Bad luck followed her, however, for shortly after the Alert went down the Pondo got caught in a south-easterly gale off East London and was wrecked with a loss of six lives, one man only escaping, from whom we learned the news. Shortly after these two disasters my premises were burnt out in the disas- trous fire at East London in 1903. No doubt many people will remember that great catas- trophe. Having thus sustained three heavy losses within a year, I decided to sell out my business ; and so ended a little com- mercial undertaking that for hard work, excite- ment, and money-making combined would be hard to beat. (To be concluded.)

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~ (9/8. E MAN: ILLUSTRATED BY G SOPER 4, oA aaa FIRST saw the dancing bear one Bank Holiday on Hampstead Heath. Something about it gripped my attention. Its movements were so ungainly, so unbearlike, that, time after time, though I tried to forget it, it claimed my attention again. It was as big as a shortish man, and it capered heavily to the music made by an Italian-looking fellow on a mouth-organ that had seen better days. Something about that dancing bear struck me as infinitely pathetic. The rattle and scurry of steam roundabouts dirned in my ears, houp-la girls paraded their wares to draw customers, coco-nut-shy men ranted raucously, and gravely, shamblingly, the dancing bear capered on. At last I went away. Many months afterwards I was down in the West Country, where I lodged at a little rustic tea-house that catered for lost cyclists, so it seemed, for it was off the main road, not far distant from a village which looked as if it had not altered since the Middle Ages. Three girls kept the tea-house. One, Nellie, was very capable. The others, her sisters, were of the clinging and; without Nellie the little Tefuge would have gone to pieces. She was like a rock, sturdy, confident, blue-eyed, and handsome. She kept me there, if truth be told. .*A copy of Mr. Kingsley’s sworn dec‘aration is here given, June 2, 1919. ._l hereby solemnly and sincerely dectare that all the incidents contained in ‘‘ The Bear Man” are true, as related to me by one of the principals in the story, rom whom I have permission to relate it, suppressing actual names and locality. (Signed) LioNEL KINGSLEY. Declared before me this and day of June, 1919, at 14, Cha'cot Gardens, Hamp- Stead, N.W.3. (Signed) -HENRY C. GEARE, A Comm‘ssioner of Oaths. Here is a very remarkable story, which we leave to the judgment of our readers. The Author states that the narrative was told to him as strictly true in every particular, and has made a sworn declaration to this effect.* She is my wife now—and the dancing bear is one of the family, as you will see. Before long I heard their family history. Their mother had died after their father had gone to the Great War—and never been heard of again. That was four years ago. Warne, the gamekceper thereabouts, was very anxious to marry Nellic, but she wanted to be left alone. Needless to say, I appreciated that fact. One evening Nellie and I were talking in the calm twilight. The other girls were discreetly absent ; they could see how things were shaping. Nellie and I were getting on very well together. In another moment, I believe, 1 should have persuaded her to exchange the fresh air of Dorset for the more stirring atmosphere of London, where I earned my livelihood, when there came to us the sound of music. Something in the strains recalled to me the Heath up Hampstead way, end my mind’s eye pictured again the danc- ing bear, with the Italian-looking fellow playing stolidly on. The music came closer and closer. I recognized the very mouth-organ, with its broken scale, and then around a corner of the road, heading for our abode, came the dancing bear, walking upright with his keeper. They were arm-in-arm, as a matter of fact. It seemed like home to me, to see those two there. Nellie gazed at them eagerly ; in that sleepy hollow anything new was something to gloat over. The musician played his ineffable strains until he reached us. Then he wiped his dry lips and said :— ‘Evening, lydy! Evening, sir! with a wet.” The voice was English, although the face was dark and foreign-looking. The dancing bear rested the while on its back, in a curious position. While tea was being prepared for the man he tried a new tune on his mouth-organ, and the sound drew Nellie’s sisters to the spot. “You're English,”’ I said to him. He looked furtively about. ‘ Don’t give it away,” he said, “ but Iam. Back from the war. and out of a job, so I turned bear leader.” He jerked the animal’s chain, and was rewarded with a growl. Nellie told him he might go and pick himself a lettuce in the vegetable garden at the back of the house, and he went away. She and I glanced at each other, and then at the bear. It looked as if it had gone to sleep, sprawled out on the dusty bit of green that fringed our hedge. The poor brute looked more pathetic than ever, so 1 could do

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60 -FHE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINn. “A man's face was staring at me from the bear's skin.

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far from its native wilds, wandering around England to give children some fun. It stirred its thick limbs ngw and then as it slept. Nellie and I were curiously attracted to it. Quite a little time passed, and -the bear leader was still absent. The. moment for the girl and me had been broken into, and we could not recall it. It was a pleasure deferred, her eyes seemed to mise ; sO we resumed our interest in the bear. I don’t know how it first struck us that there was something peculiar ebout the beast. It seemed as if it was thirsty, and made strange noises. I even fancied I heard it moan, ‘ God ! God !’’ and thought that my wits wandered. “It wants water,”’ I told Nellie. As I spoke the bear got slowly to its feet and danced wearily about. The girls laughed, but Idid not like it. Slowly it dropped to the ground and sprawled again in the dust. The next thing I knew was that a man’s face was staring at me from the bear's skin—veritably a man’s face, bicared, dull, with a patient look in the eyes, as if wondering who we were and what we did there. At that moment its master returned. Nellie clutched my arm; she was frightened. “Lumme!”’ cried the bear leader, and ran with his whip at the animal-man. But I headed him off, for I saw the bear cower before him, as if it well knew what was coming. “ Steady on !’’ I commanded. “ It’s all up,” muttered the bear leader. The man’s cyes still stared at us from the bearskin. ‘‘ What does this mean ? ” I asked. “Tl tell you all about it replied the bear leader, apparently resigned to the inevitable. “That’s a fellow I met back there ’’—I took his gesture to indicate London. ‘‘ He was in the war, same as me. We was broke together. I couldn’t find a job, and he was balmy—or, leastways, he couldn’t tell what he wanted. We wag just about broke to the wide, and then T found a bearskin that had fell from a Pickford van. I was always a schemer—they called me ‘ The Card ’ in our company—and I got a brilliant idea. I’d dress my mate up in the skin and he’d dance at fairs while I played the music.” “Didn’t I see you on Hampstead Heath?” I asked. “Very likely,” he replicd. ‘‘ ’Ampstead’s a good pitch. And my mate danced. It paid us all right. We wandered from place to place, two old soldiers broke in the war, without any influence to pitch us into an easy shop.” I gazed at the bear man with horror; he looked so uncanny there in the twilight. Nellie’s sisters were clustered about her. Nellie herself was trembling; I do not know why. The bear- keeper’s voice broke into our thoughts. “You can get out of that, mate,” “ They're friends about here.” The bear man scarcely scemed to understand, but the other began to strip him, and presently there stood in the road a shrinking man of middle age who seemed utterly lost. He glanced timidly around—at the girls, at me, and then at his keeper. The latter gave a flourish on his mouth- organ to relieve the tension. he said. THE BEAR MAN. 61 ‘I wish mother was here,”” whispered Nellie. “I feel strange. Something’s going to happen.” “You'd better go indoors,” I said. I tried to lead her away, but she obstinately remained where she was. Her sisters hovered near, enjoying the strange sight. The man sat crouched on his haunches, gazing apathetically at each of us in turn. Presently one of the girls began to sing a little country tune, and T noticed the bear man’s eyes grow a little brighter. The girl continued her song, and her sister chimed in, their fresh young voices sounding very sweet. The bear man stood up and his lips moved. “ Sometimes,”’ he began, uncertainly ; then he felt his head and staied dazedly about. ‘ Some- times ; “Poor old Bill—I calls him Bill for short— has lost his head-piece,”’ explained the Cockney. “Nerve shock, I think. Fine thing, an English- man’s got to earn his bread like an animal!” Suddenly the bear man pcered at the little signboard and commenced to spell out, slowly and laboriously, its invitation to cyclists and wayfarers to rest there and indulge in tea and cakes, milk and honey, ending with the name “Miss Rayne.” “R-A-Y-N-E,” he spelt out. ‘ Rayne!’’ He seemed to put the letters together with difficulty. “We'll be getting on,”’ decided his keeper. “ Get the skin on,” he told the other. “It’s dreadful,” said Nellie, “ now that we know.” “* Well, we’ve got to earn a living,” replied the man, stolidly. ‘‘ Can you tell us a better?” For answer she went to the poor bear man,. who had begun to draw his skin on, and looked closely into his face. “‘T seem to know you,” she said, in a half whisper. She turned towards me, and I saw that she was frightened. “* What is it ?”’ I asked. “T seem to know him, and- Look! He's trying to remember. What is it?” “ Rayne |’ spelt the bear man again. ‘“‘ Why, I was——” He felt in a pocket—he wore no coat, for the skin no doubt kept him very warm, “T got a letter, 1 got a——"’ He pulled out the corncr of an old envelope on which were rusty stains—blood-marks, for all that I know. On it was written the name “ Rayne.” He held it out childishly to Nellie, who took it with a glance askance at me. “It’s mother’s writing,” tremblingly. Again she ran to the bear man, and stared searchingly into his worn face. Then she motioned to me, and between us we got him into the house and on to a bed, where he went to sleep instantly, as if completcly tired out. “Who is it ?”’ I asked her. ‘‘ Do you know him. Nellie?” “It’s father, home from the war,”’ with a sob in her throat. Then, as we looked down upon the poor, broken fellow, Nellie gave me the answer I’d been waiting for. And that’s how the bear man entered the family. she whispered, she said,

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The Adventures of a Newspaper ~ Man. By FREDERIC MARTYN. ILLUSTRATED BY G. H. BUISON. Author’s Note: “If variety be the spice of life, I can truthfully say that my existence for the past fifty years has been as highly seasoned as a war-time sausage in Germany. For only about a third part of that fifty years have I been entitled to call myself a newspaper- man; so some of the adventures which I shall refer to were not sought with the object of finding ‘copy.’ its own sake. dreamt of becoming a newspaper-man.” I can fairly claim, I think, that I have courted adventure and variety for I was a confirmed seeker of strange experiences for long, long years before I In this instalment Mr. Martyn describes some of his |d experiences as an emigrant. VI.—THROUGH THE EMIGRATION MILL. EVERAL ideas for the final article in this series have been jostling one another in my mind, and I have found it very difficult to decide which of them would make the best appeal to the varied public that teads THE WIDE WorLD MaGazine. A short account of my two most recent ex- periences as an amateur emigrant has won, because I believe that almost everyone is in- terested more or less in emigration at the present time, and that there are at the moment probably more than a million people in this country whom the subject concerns very much indeed. The first of these experiences came my way in 1913. On the morning of Saturday, May 3rd, in that year, at seven o’clock, I found myself standing with a crowd of other men outside a palisaded enclosure that occupied one corner of an immense shed in the Glasgow docks. I had an emigrant’s passage ticket in my pocket, and I was waiting to go on board the R.M.S. Scandi- navian. I was bound to the Big Dominion on my seventh long visit, the first of which was forty-three years behind me. After waiting about an hour, the foreigners among us were invited inside the gate and formed up in a double line, facing the ship’s gangway. When they had been got on board we were allowed to approach a table at which sat a clerk who inspected our passage tickets and handed each of us a berth card. My card bore the room number 186, and the berth number 2. Then we were marshalled in a double row which had its head at the foot of the gasgway, where we waited for another half-hour, being repeatedly told to hold the counterfoil of our passage ticket in our hand ready to pass over when we reached the top of the gangway, and our berth card with it, so that we could be directed to our locations without delay. In that enclosure we were, it seemed to me, somewhat like cattle in a pen, with our friends and relatives on the other side of the palisades. The friends of first and second class passengers were allowed on board, and some of them accompanied the ship to Greenock; but those who had come to see steerage passengers off were only permitted to look on from a dis- tance once the emigrants got inside that enclosure. I got to the top of the gangway about two hours after I had entered the shed. There I found an officer who was labelled “ ship’s doctor °” by the red silk stripe between the two gold lace rings on his cuff, another one whose one gold ring with white stripe below it proclaimed the assist- ant purser, and a gentleman in plain clothes who, I was given to understand, was an official of the Board of Trade. The doctor and the mufti man cast a cursory glance at me as I stepped on board, and the white-striper held out his hand for my berth card and the counterfoil of my passage ticket. Giving me back the card, he waved me towards a companion-way behind him, and I passed down below. There I found an obliging steward who, after inspecting my berth card, took me down another flight to a region apparently below the water-line, where there were roughly-constructed. cabins, removable if need be for the accommoda- tion of cattle or cargo on the return voyage. Cabin 186 contained four berths, two on each side, and No. 2 was the upper berth on the left. There was a looking-glass on the bulkhead facing the door, and on the top of the mirror was a rack in which were a water-bottle and two tumblers. Beneath the glass were four hand-towels hanging on hooks. There were no washing facilities in the cabin, there being a general washing-place for the section, and the only seat was a piece OF board just wide enough to accommodate one person. There was no light other than that from an electric globe, so it was always night.

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THE ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER-MAN. 63 That cabin was one of the best in the whole steerage, most of the others being inferior to it in every way, and many of them with six berths and no looking-glass. The partitions between the cabin and the ones adjoining did not go quite up to the roof, and those who had the top bunks could see into the next cabin on their side with ease. After taking possession, I climbed up into my bunk to take my boots off and put ona pair of canvas shoes, there only being standing room a) Wn. a Hy} for two on the floor, and the top-bunker opposite climbed into his to go to sleep. He was seldom out of his bunk except at meal times. Suddenly he attracted my attention by making a subdued hissing sound. “There’s girls next door,” he whispered. ‘“‘What’son your side ?”” “The same as will soon be on yours,” I replied— “men. Girls must have been put there by mis- take.” After saying this I climbed out and tapped at the door of the next cabin. It was opened by a pleasant-faced, modest- looking girl, whom I asked if she was aware that she was berthed next to men. “Yes,” she replied, ‘‘ I.can hear them talking. It is not nice, is it? I did not think we should have to put up with that sort of thing.” I told her that there was no need for her to put up with it, and suggested that she and her three cabin-mates should go to the purser. If the purser said there was no mistake and refused to move them I would interview the captain about it. “T ain't goin’ to no purser,’”’ said a voice behind her. “I ain’t feared o’ the men eatin’ me.”” “ Tand my sister will go,” said the girl, quietly ; “and thank you very much.” When the dinner-bell rang at half-past eleven and I went below to get towel and soap, there were men next door, so I imagine the placing of the girls there was a mistake. The next time I noticed that girl was on the second day out. She was lying in a heap with her back against the steering-gear house at the stern, looking like a huddled-up bunch of clothes, with a white, miserable face showing out of a shawl. I asked her if she would allow me to find her a more comfortable place, but she only shook her head and murmured, “ Leave me alone.” On the following day I saw her with a sweet- voiced party of girls singing ‘‘ The Old Folks at Home ” and “ Home, Sweet Home.” T had several conversations with her and her sister after that, and learned that she had been a |, whom I asked if she berthed “It was opened by s blessant-faced, modest-looking ext to men.” “‘slavey "’ in a seaside boarding-house and her sister a housemaid in private service, and that they were going to Canada entirely “ on their own,” without knowing a single person there and with barely ten pounds between them. The orbit of the elder sister crossed mine again during the war, when I was returning from a visit to the other side quite unconnected with news- paper work. At the first meal on board I found that I was placed for the yy, voyage next to a lady who a looked charming and very well-to-do, but who struck me as being somewhat free and easy in her manners, for she looked up at me as I was about to sit down, and nodded and _ smiled at me in a very friendly fashion. I rapidly searched the crevices of my mind to find her face there, but drew blank. So far as I knew I had never set eyes on her before. All the same, I hadn’t the heart to freeze my face, although I was inclined to regard her as a brazen hussy, and in sheer pity for her I re- turned her nod and smiled back as engagingly as I knew how, and ventured on the assertion that the purscr had been very kind to me. “This is rather different from the Scan- dinavian, Mr. Martyn,”’ she remarked, brightly. Her voice, in conjunction with the name Scandinavian, opened the memory cell where I kept her face, and I recognized her as the servant girl of the steerage cabin next to mine. “IT see you have changed your name,” I said, glancing at her hand, “‘ and appearances seem to indicate that you have found that two-bit millionaire I told you to wait for. Has your sister lassoed another one ? ”’ “We both married our respective Mr. Right,” she replied, soberly, ‘‘ and neither of them has a million quarter-dollars or anything like it; but I suppose I can say that my husband is fairly well-to-do, and my sister’s husband earned some- thing like two hundred dollars a month before he took on that other job in France at a dollar ten a day.” ‘*T would much like to meet your husbands,”’ I said, “‘ just to satisfy myself if they are deserving of their good luck.” “ You shall meet mine when we get to England —if—if. She stopped suddenly, put down her knife and fork, and groped for her handkerchief. “If you will accompany me to the war hospital where he lies badly wounded,”’ she concluded, taking up her knife and fork again. During the voyage over that lady told me her story in full and I took it down in shorthand, with the idea of re-telling it in a book. In the course of her journey to ‘‘ Orange Blossom was aware that was

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64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Harbour ”’ she had been chambermaid in an hotel, assistant to a rooming-housekeeper, home help on a farm, waitress in a restaurant, and domestic servant in a good house. She met her husband romantically when both he and she were lost in Stanley Park, Vancouver, which contains many hundreds of acres of primeval forest. There were about six hundred of us in the steerage when the ship left Glasgow, and some two hundred of these were Scotch—most of them, I fancy, from Glasgow itself. About a hundred and fifty Irish joined the ship at Moville, bringing our total up to seven hundred and fifty- eight. The form of biographical particulars which every immigrant into Canada has to fill up for the information of the immigration authorities has on the back a list of forty-seven ‘‘ Races or Peoples,’’ which the immigrant can belong to. This list commences with “ African, Black,’’ and ends with ‘‘ West Indian.”” We had no repre- sentative of either of these two peoples aboard, nor in fact any coloured person at all, but I think we could have furnished a sample of every race and nationality of Europe. Foreigners are berthed separately from British emigrants ; but they are free to mix together on deck, though they seldom do so. On the Scandinavian, however, there were a lot of Swedes, who several times tried their strength against the British in tugs of war, which they nearly always won. On the fifth day out we commenced to prepare for the ordeal at the Immigration Depot at Quebec. First we were all herded into the dining saloon, without being told what we were wanted for, and were kept there so long with- out anything happening that. we got restive. Somebody struck up a weird chant which ran: “*We’re here — becos — we're here — becos —- BECOS we're here — WE'RE HERE,” and this was repeated with cm- phasized parts that were shouted with so much gusto that at last the assistant purser came along and yelled at us to make less noise. Then a stentorian voice shouted: ‘‘ Who will save the drowning kid?” “I will,” yelled another. ‘Who says ‘I will’ ?”’ inquired the first voice on its topmost note. “The Purser’s Clerk,’”” was the answer. Then the original shouter started “ For he’s a jolly good fellow,” and in no time there was twice as much din as the assistant purser had complained of. He shrugged his shoulders and departed, evidently convinced that the only way to silence us was to hurry up the business that had brought us there. Presently we were called upon to file past the purser and his assistants to receive our “ landing cards,’’ which, when stamped by the medical and civil inspection departments, were to become our authority for being found in Canada. On the “"L see you have changed at her back was a notice in twelve languages, reading : “ This card should be kept carefully for three years. It should be shown to Government officials when required.’’ It is not generally known, but it ought to be, that an immigrant into Canada is liable to be sent back to the country he came from at any time within three years after landing, and that, as a matter of fact, many immigrants are so deported—sometimes for more or less trivial reasons. . When it came to my turn to receive my landing card, the purser said, as he handed it to me: ‘ Here you are, my lad. Have you gota job to goto ?"’ I hada job to go to—one of the toughest jobs I ever took on. I had to investi- gate, by actually living the life of an immigrant myself, the labour conditions, and emigrant life generally, over the whole of Western Canada. On the day following the receipt of our landing cards we were all inspected for vaccination marks, which struck me as being a somewhat perfunctory ceremony. The second officer, who wore the wavy gold lines on his cuff that betokens the officer of the Royal Naval Reserve, stood at the foot of the steerage companion-way, and, as every passenger came up to him with sleeve rolled up, he took a look at the upper arm. Those who satisfied him, and I heard of nobody who didn’t, presented their landing cards to a steward sitting at a little table at the top of the stairs, who, with an indiarubber stamp, printed the ship’s surgeon's name to the certificate ‘‘ Vaccination protected.” The immigration: investigations commence in earnest when the me- dical officer of the port of Quebec comes on board, which happened in our case at nine o’clock in the morning on the Monday week after leaving Glasgow— that is to say, after a nine days’ voyage almost to the hour. We were then about three hours’ steam from Quebec. Half an hour before the doctor's arrival all the steerage passengers were driven on to the after part of the deck. Then as we approached a small island lying on our right as we steamed up the St. Lawrence the yellow quarantine flag was run up and the steamer slowed down. Presently a tug-like steamer, ftying the Dominion and quarantine flags was seen approaching, and the ship stopped altogethe,. The little steamer came past us on the starboard side, went round our stern, and brought up at the port gangway, where the purser, the ship’s doctor, and the second officer were waiting to receive the great man who was to decide whether or no we should be allowed to proceed to Quebec. He stepped on board and shook hands with the waiting officers. I could see that the newcomer ou game! U ssid, elancing

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THE ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER-MAN. 65 was a doctor, by the red band between the two gold rings on his cuffs. The dozen or so stewardesses were drawn up in line in the port alleyway, all of them arrayed in clean bibs and tuckers, and in just three minutes after the doctor came aboard they were streaming aft, having passed the ordeal. In two minutes more I saw the doctor, with his “ tail '’ behind him, coming up the starboard alleyway to pass the stewards in review. There were a good few men employed in the stewards’ department of the Scandinavian, and it took the doctor quite five minutes to satisfy himsclf that they were all “ fit.’ Then he went forward to inspect the rest of the crew, and another five minutes elapsed before we saw him coming up the starboard alleyway in our direction. He made straight for where I was standing, and I congratulated myself upon my foresight on planting myself just where I would be the first man to catch his eye. But, like many another who knows too much, I was outwitted at the last moment. The second officer did the deed. Just as the doctor got within two paces of me he was switched off. “The other side is the better place to start, doctor,’’ said the second officer. And they moved off, leaving me last instead of first. The port medical officer only quarantines or rejects cases of infectious disease; but con- sumption is considered to come within that category, sO persons who have that disease, even in its early stages, are liable to be turned back if the port medical officer spots them. It is, perhaps, a toss-up whether he does so or not, because he merely glances at the passengers as they file past him; but the chance has to be reckoned with, and a consumptive would have a great deal less chance of dodging the immigra- tion doctors later on. While the doctor was on the saloon deck having a look at the first-class passengers a stretcher was brought forward, and the word went round that there was a man in the steerage so ill that he could not walk. This was not so, for he presently appeared, supported by two stewards. He was evidently suffering from something infectious, for as soon as he had been transferred to the quarantine steamer the lid was taken off a circular tank on that steamer’s upper deck and a coil of piping that was in it was passed up to us, and the end of it carried down to the cabin the invalid had come from. Then some disinfecting medium was turned on, and in about five minutes the cabin was pronounced fit for occupation again. Then a baby with measles, its mother, another woman, and a boy were put on board the quarantine steamer for transfer to the establish- ment on the island, making the doctor’s total “bag ’’ six. As soon as they were on board the doctor followed, his boat steamed away, our yellow flag came fluttering down, and the steamer went ahead. For the next two or three hours we were passing small isolated houses and clusters of houses of the style of architecture that one associates with a box of toys, and then, on rounding a bend, Vob xtiv. —5. we came into full view of the ten-thousand-people town of Levis on our left and the “ Gibraltar of America ”’ on our right. As settlers’ effects are admitted into Canada free of duty, the examination of steerage pas- sengers’ baggage is purely formal. I did not see the officers have a single box or bag opened. The procedure was limited to the question: “ Is this your first time in Canada ?’’ and a rapidly made hieroglyphic in chalk to signify that the package had been examined and passed. I was not even asked the question. At the door of the baggage shed stood an official with the word ‘‘ Immigration’ on his cap. He prevented any of us passing until about a hundred of us had collected at the door; then he told us to follow him and led the way across the railway lines to the Immigration Hall, which was a long, shed-like building, with the Canadian flag flying above it. Since then a new immigration establishment has been built. We found ourselves in a bare entrance hall at the end of which was a narrow corridor into which we went one by one, and those of us who had railway transfer orders showed them to a man sitting at a table at the other end. This railway transfer order is given by the purser to a pas- senger who books through in exchange for the passage ticket. It is better to book right through to the part of Canada one is going to when taking the passage ticket before starting, as all the arrangements at the Immigration Hall are based on the assumption that passengers do so, and, moreover, it costs more to buy the railway ticket after arrival at Quebec. : Passing through a gate in a fence we got into another hall, in which there was a provision store where eatables could be purchased for the train journey—thrce days to Winnipeg and five days to Vancouver —and a dining-room, whcre dinner was served at twenty-five cents a head. At the end of this hall was yet another, witha fenced enclosure furnished with forms at the top left-hand corner. There was room in this enclosure for only about a hundred at a time, and there was a lot of crushing to get in; but those who shoved did not do themselves any good, as the immigration official at the other side of the sliding gate compelled them to make way time after time to Ict in the women and children, and when they did at last get in he persistently ignored them when selecting those who were to go up the narrow gangway that led to the examining officers. In this waiting-room there was a blackboard, used for the purpose of posting offers of employ- ment. On this day the only notice on it was: “Wanted three cattle-men for Ottawa; wages, thirty dollars a month.” When my tum came I went up the gangway with my landing card in my hand. I handed it to a uniformed doctor, who was sitting in a chair at the other side of a rail. He glanced at me, returned my card, and waved me onward to another doctor, also in uniform, who was sitting a dozen paces ahead of him. This one simply said “ All right ’’ without even looking at my card, and only very casually at me.

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66 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then I came to a man sitting at a desk who took my card and stamped it with a rubber stamp, certifying that I had passed the medical examina- tion. “No. 1,"’ he said, as he waved me past him. A few steps farther on I found myself in a room that was cut up into a number of fenced stalls, at the end of which men in gold-laced uniforms were sitting at desks. There were a good many in front of me at Stall No. 1, so [had a good opportunity of observ- ing the procedure in cases other than my own. I noticed that the official did not ask to see anyone’s money, though it is a regulation that every immigrant landing in the summer or spring must have at least five pounds in his or her possession. Everyone was asked: “ How much money have you got?’ But the answer was always accepted. The catechism, however, was pretty searching in some cases. One young fellow in particular was put through a very inquisitorial examination, and only seemed just to squeeze through. When he said that he had never worked on the land, but wanted very much to get a job on a farm, the examiner dryly rejoined: ‘‘ Ah, some wise guy told you to say that." When my turn came he merely asked me if I had ever been in Canada before, and on my answering in the affirmative, he asked what I had come for this time. “* Just to see if it is worth my while to stay here,”’ I replied. That was all. He stamped my card, testifying that I had passed the civil examination, without another word, and I was free to remain in Canada. I stayed in Quebec for ten days before moving on, and the day before I left I went on board a homeward bound steamer from Montreal and found between four and five hundred people who were returning to the Old Country, having dis- covered that they had no use for Canada. Among them were two Glasgow men who had come out with me. When I asked them why they were going home they said that they had seen’ enough of Canada to satisfy them that it was a long way behind Glasgow as a place to live in, and they didn’t want to waste any more time there. In the course of my travels during the ensuing six months I hap- pened across several of my fellow-passengers, and the majority of them expressed themselves as being disappointed with the country. <A couple of them told me that they could not get work of any suite ofecer: = “*The other side is the better place to start, doctor,” _And they moved off, leaving me last instead of first.” sort; but my own experience led me to think that they had not tried very hard. I was even then an old man,and yet I had no difficulty in getting a job whenever I wanted one. In turns I humped cargo on the wharves of Vancouver, cooked for the crowd in a lumber camp on Vancouver Island, swung a pick on the grade of the Kootenay-Central Railway in Southern British Columbia, stooked barley in Saskatchewan, and was “ pitcher’? with a threshing gang in Manitoba, so it is no use telling me that anyone who isn’t particular cannot find work in any part of Western Canada in the summer-time. I did not find the work pleasant—on the Kootenay-Central I lived in a bunkhouse with a low-down crowd of Ruthenians who never washed—but I never expected to find it so. It seems to me that most emigrants from this country to Canada do expect to find pleasanter work and more comfort than they get here. Such people had better stay at home, for they will inevitably be disappointed. The plain truth about Canada is that there is really no room there, except in special cases, for anybody who will not do the roughest kind of work or go upon the land and stay there. No town-dwellers at all are required, except domestic servants, for whom there is plenty of room. And now for the United States immigration mill, We were passing the Statue of Liberty in the Aquitania in the first week of June, 1914. Standing next to me was a born son of Uncle Sam, who had no documentary evidence to prove it and was apprehensive that he would be held up at Ellis Island, which stands right behind the Statue of Liberty. “Tf thet gal there knew what was bein’ done behind her back,”’ he said, pointing to the statue, “she would let her arm drop quick, and put out her light for ever.” That remark, coming from an American, sounded strange to my ears, for he had been insisting all the voyage that the United States is the greatest and freest country on God’s earth, and England, where he had been living for the past couple of years, suf- fered much by his com- parisons. “Tf they hold me up over there,’’ he continued, pointing to Ellis Island, “T will lose some of ’em their jobs. I’ve got a pull at Washington, and if they monkey with me they'll have a Senator or two on their backs.” I was not surprised at a steerage passenger say- ing that he had a “ pull at Washington,” for I had heard things like that before, and I soothed him

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THE ADVENTURES. OF -A_ NEWSPAPER-MAN, = 67 by telling him that he would get through with- out troubling the Senate of the United States, aga man with an accent like his did not need any citizenship papers. And so it turned out, for a little later he returned radiant from his interview with the immigration officials sitting in the saloon, and announced that he had “ fixed them all right.” All the American citizens in the third class were not so fortunate as he. At Ellis Island I met a pensioner from the United States Army, who owned a farm in a West- em State, and he had been sent over to convince the authorities that he was not an undesirable alien. Also, among others in the same difficulty, was a woman who had been married to a bom American for twelve years. She probably had to remain there for some days, until her husband could be com- municated with. To begin my own experi- ences of the immigration mill at the proper place, I must go back to the day but one before we reached New York. At dinner time on that day “Turps,”’ as the ship’s inter- preter was called for short, gave out the information that all third-class passengers must attend in the dining-saloon that afternoon either to be vaccinated or to claim exemption on the only ground on which it could be given—that of their being American citizens. After having been kept waiting for about an hour beyond the specified time we, who didn’t claim to be American citizens, were ordered to pass in line through a door that led into the dining-saloon of another section and to roll up one of our shirt sleeves. As we passed through, a steward rubbed the arm with a piece of lint and another one repeated the operation as we approached the ship's surgeon and his assistant. The doctors stood about six feet apart, taking alternate passengers. As a victim came up the medical man just gave hima jab on the upper arm with a lymph-laden lancet and waved him on. “* T have no objection to your satisfying your- self that I am properly protected; but you mustn't vaccinate me,’’ I said, hastily, as I saw the doctor's lancet-armed hand advancing rapidly in my direction. “* I see that you have been done before,’’ said the doctor, good-humouredly, as he motioned to me to pass on. But bearing signs of having been done before did not save the young fellow following me from vaccination, though he had three or four marks as big as threepenny-pieces on his arm. I was told afterwards that the New York Health Authority require every third-class passenger who cannot prove American citizen- ship to be vaccinated, whether bearing evidence of having been done before or not. “*L have no objection to your satisvicg | roe self that I am properly protected ; mustn't vaccinate me,” The complaisance of the doctor did not make me joyful. I had deliberately refused to be vaccinated in order that I might fight the matter out with the American immigration authorities. I wanted to ask them if I was more leprous than an uncleanly Russian Finn on board, who escaped by flourishing an imposing-looking document with a big red seal on it, testifying to the fact that he was a naturalized citizen of the United States. I would also have liked to inquire whether I would have been less likely to get small-pox after landing if I had travelled in the first or second class. Although I did not undergo the operation my identifica- tion card was stamped “ Vac- cinated,”” and I was allowed to go forward to the table on the line of march, where one of the assistant pursers was marking us up on the mani- fest. “Go and sit over there,” said the assistant purser in a “remanded -for-a-week” tone, when my number on the manifest was called out by the steward who took my identification card from my hand. reat ces I sat “over there,” with other cast-outs, for about half an hour, and then I discovered that the assistant purser was worried about me. I imagine that I must have caused one grey hair at least to appear on his youthful head. He was concerned because I had not stated, on the inquisitorial form of declaration that one has to fill up when booking one’s passage, to what friend or relations I was going. The question on the paper was: ‘‘ Whether going to join a relative or friend ; and if so what relative or friend, and his name and complete address. If American resident, state home address.” To this I had answered “ No,’’ which troubled the assistant purser exceedingly. That answer would not be accepted, he said, and I really must give some address. I reflected that if I gave the addresses of some of the places I proposed to stop at—one in the neighbourhood of ‘“ The Blood Tub” in the Bowery, for instance—the immigration authori- ties might be more displeased with me than if they got no address at all, so I did the George ‘Washington stunt on him and told him that I did not know where I was going tostop. He had better leave the answer as it was, and I would fight’ the matter out with the immigration authorities when I got to grips with them. “IT wouldn’t fight much—they don’t like it,”” he remarked, in a tone that hinted at under- ground dungeons on Ellis Island. “ I am going to write ‘ Passenger refuses information.’ ’’ And he looked at me as if he was thinking: “ And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.” And that is the way we left it. Further, that is the way the form looks now, for I never gave

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68 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “TL tik off my cap and tried to look like the chastised dog that I was.” any further information. I was never asked for any. That assistant purser appears to have been more exacting than the immigration authorities themselves. With the help of a few tugs—twenty-two was the number on the job, I believe— the Agud- tania got tied up to her wharf about twenty minutes after arriving at the Cunard Pier. In another quarter of an hour we third-class pas- sengers were in the shed—the just, in the shape of recognized citizens, ranged on one side, and the unjust, under the guise of foreigners of sorts, and citizens who had to prove their citizenship, on the other. The examination of our belongings did not take long and was not very thorough. A type- writer and a camera of mine—both of German make—were passed without question, though they were certainly dutiable. For some of the foreigners the Customs examination was a mockery. One of them, in particular, carried all his worldly goods in a pillow-slip, which, when the Customs’ officer investigated it, was found to contain mainly round rings of bread that looked as if they had been baked a long, long time. After waiting about for three hours we were packed on a small steamer and taken down the harbour again to the immigrants’ prison house on Ellis Island. Arrived there we had another long wait, and were then allowed to straggle up to the door of the main immigration building, right opposite to which, on the other side of the dock, was the hospital. ‘When we entered, a swarthy official in a blue uniform made grotesque grimaces at me by way of conveying to me his dis- pleasure at seeing my cap on my head. I took it off and tried to look like the chastised dog that I was. yi! When I got to the top of my queue one of the two doctors there asked me if I spoke English, while the other looked at me reflectively, and whistled ‘When the midnight choo-choo goes to Alabam.”’ “Tam English,’’ I replied. “‘ Where are you going ?”’ “Round the world.” “‘ What are you going round the world for ? ”’ “‘Oh, just to attend to my own business,” I rejoined, airily. I wanted to be detained there if I could manage it, so was purposely irritating. “’Spose you think you're a smart Alec, don’t you?” “Yes, I do,"’ I replied, sweetly; ‘“ what do you think ?”’ The whistler said not a word to me, but at this point he leaned over, and with a piece of chalk he made a cross on the lapel of my coat and surrounded it with a circle. Then he motioned me to move on. I was following the man in front of me up a wide flight of stairs when an official caught hold of my arm and led me to a pen with garden seats in it. There were a fair number there already, and presently we were very rudely directed to file through a door that gave admittance to a long passage. I was again following the man in front of me, this time into a room where about a dozen men were standing about stark naked, when I was pulled aside by our anything but gentle shepherd and projected into another room, where a man in a blue patrol-jacket uniform was seated at a writing table and about a dozen people sitting in front of him on forms. I took my seat with these and waited my turn. In about half an hour I was called up to the desk and the man in blie spoke to me. “ Kannst du lesen und schreiben ? ” he asked. “ Jawohl,”’ I replied. “Wo kommen Sie her ? ’”’ “* Aus London.” He looked sharply at me, and his gaze took in my landing ticket, which was affixed to me as We were now herded into queues in Npshiecr teas aat geal y at vatoniad fice ertihea i . stout assistant ambled un a formed some antics railed passages, at the ends of which stood - o2,.im the ait, and the doctor tapped several times just below doctors in smart, well-fitting khaki uniforms. the man’s knees.”

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THE ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER -MAN, 69. if I were an exhibit at a cattle-show, and the mystic sign on my left lapel. “ Say, do you speak English ? ”’ he asked. “ Sure Lam English !’’I replied. ‘‘ You asked me in German if I could read and write and where I came from, and I answered in the same language as a matter of politeness.” “What are you going to do over here ?”’ “ Mind my own business,’’ I replied, promptly. “Don’t you get fresh, or maybe you won't have a chance,”’ he said, irately. “ Anyhow, you've no business in here. me to go upstairs to a large hall hung with American flags. At the end of this hall was a long counter with a row of examiners sitting behind it. I made my way to one of these with a big letter “M”’ in front of him, who was disengaged at the moment, and he turned up my name on the ship’s manifest and cross-examined me on the answers I had given to the questions on the form I had filled in for the shipping com- pany. I tried to aggravate him into refusing to pass me; but it was no go. He was a pretty easy man, and in Try next door to right.” I went next door, and found another lot of people sitting on garden seats while auniformed doctor and a couple of assistants were mnning the rule over them. One of my shipmates whom I knew to be a Finn was under examination when I went in, the doctor just then having him near the light, looking into his eyes. Then he sat the man down and called out to one of the assistants: “‘ Just come and take this guy’s attention off me. Make him look up.” A stout assistant ambled up and performed some the antics with a pencil in the air, in much the same way as one would amuse ababy, and the doctor tapped several times just below the man’s knees. “This guy’s all right,” he said, and another assistant handed the man a yellow card. Sitting next to me was an elderly Englishman, who made some very rude remarks about American methods. He had come out on a visit to two sons who were settled in Chicago, was only intending to stay in the country for a month or so, and had a return ticket ; but he was treated exactly the same as if he had come for good. They held a regular inquest on that poor chap, and three more doctors were fetched to assist. He didn’t get a yellow card. When the doctor came to me he monkeyed about with my eyelids and then called one of the assistants, who took me along to another room, where an oculist examined my eyes by the ophthalmoscope. “Your eyes are quite all right. You don’t have to use glasses, do you ? ”’ he said, at last. “No, I do not,”’ I replied. Then he gave me a yellow card, which entitled “We were allowed to straggle up to the main door immigration building. a quarter of an hour he stamped my landing ticket and told me to pass out through a certain door, on the other side of which I found an attendant, who told me the way to go to get the boat for New York. I had _be- come one of the million and a quarter immigrants admitted into the United States in 1914. Now, to wind up with just a few serious words to those contemplating emigration. In the four- teen years ending with 1914 the number of emi- grants to and immi- grants from our principal Dominions and the United States were as follows: Australia and New Zealand: To, 550,546 ; from, 186,516. Canada: To, 1,524,303; from, 490,919. Cape of Good Hope and Natal: To, 409,068; from, 327,592. United States: To, 1,801,911; from, 973,631. It is to be observed that these figures only include emigrants and immigrants of British nationality, and do not include Britishers of Overseas birth. Just consider what these figures mean. They mean nothing less than that during those fourteen years, for every hundred emigrants that went to Canada thirty-two returned. From Australia and New Zealand the percentage of home-comers was thirty-four, and from South Africa no less than eighty returned of every hundred sent out. For every hundred emigrants from this country to the United States fifty-four returned. It is only right to say that the returns do not say that all these people came back because they had been unsuccessful, and no doubt many of them came back merely on a visit; but the figures ought to make intending emigrants think hard, all the same. THE FND

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TRAPPED IN A SUNKEN SUBMARINE. By HUBERT STRINGER. ILLUSTRATED BY RALPH CLEAVER. The story of a Naval officer's terrible fight for life. Author, ‘but 1 have had to suppress the name of the narrator. «The narrative is true,” writes the Owing to the strain of his awful experience he temporarily lost his reason.” SSSR E-boat commander regarded his Fw \ mangled fingers thoughtfully Copy “Yes, we had some pretty lively en games with the Hun in the North Sea at one time and another, but Fritz was not responsible for this.” He held out his right hand, of which the thumb and part of three fingers were missing. “What happened, then ?”’ I asked. “ Accident on manceuvres. It was about the nearest thing that ever came my way, and if any man had to keep cool and fight for his life in a tight place, I did.” And then, at my request, he told me the story which I have set down below. We were close into shore, and there was a bit of a fog settling down on the water when the crash came. I don’t know to this day exactly what happened, but we learned afterwards that it was the E — that did the mischief. We were both running on the surface at the time and she rammed us in the mist, left a good chunk of her for’ard plating on our bows, and went clear to the bottom with all hands. We foundered too, but more slowly, and about a quarter of our fellows managed to get clear. I was in the engine-room when it happened ; there was a sudden violent lurch and a long, rending scream of tortured metal from up for’ard, and it was obvious at once that we should be afloat only a few minutes, for we began to fill rapidly and tilt downward by the head. I shouted to warn all of the crew within hearing, and there was a rush past me as the men made for the conning-tower hatchway. The water began to come in faster and faster through the huge rent in the bows, and our list got worse. The men were getting out well, but only about a couple of dozen or so had got through when the circle of sky at the top of the hatch disappeared in a smother of foam, and green sea came pouring down the ladder. Immediately the water slammed the hatch down on to the heads of two men who were fighting their way upward, and the light of day disappeared. Simultaneously the electric light failed all over the ship, and we were Icft in absolutely rayless darkness, sinking rapidly. The sea roared and thundered in ; loud booms and crashes came from the damaged part forward, where things were beginning to strain and snap with the pressure from outside, and men were struggling and cursing at the foot of the ladder. The outlook was fairly ghastly. I remember wondering whether I was more likely to be drowned or crushed to death, and I had just decided that drowning would perhaps be less unpleasant when a sudden hope flashed through my brain. I scrambled back to the water- tight doors of the engine-room, shouting to all within hearing to follow me and I would try to get them clear. Either the noise was too great, or those who heard did not care to trust my scheme—anyhow, no one came. Stumbling up against the list of the ship, I reached the bulkhead not a second too soon, After giving one last unanswered call, I shut tight the doors, grabbed at a handrail, and stood in the hot, greasy-smelling darkness, listening to the muffled sounds outside, and trying to think out what was’ most likely to happen during the next few minutes. There seemed to me to be a reasonable chanos of getting out alive, but it would necd only the most trifling mishap to render my plan entirely futile and destroy all chances of escape. I knew that at the moment we struck we were cruising in no more than about twelve fathoms, so that when we reached the bottom the water-pressure outside the hull would be about thirty pounds to the square inch. The after-part of the ship, including the engine-room, was apparently undamaged, and would casily stand this pressure without collaps- ing. The thing I feared most was that the submarine, while sinking, might roll over more or less, and so bring my only means of exit— the engine-room hatch, or “ skylight ""—near to the bottom. Such a calamity would have been quite fatal to my hopes. I stood clutching the rail as we sank, anxiously noting every lurch and swerve from the vertical ; the list forward got no worse, and I guessed that - we were sinking steadily, nose first, towards the sandy bottom. During that short time—which seemed long enough to me—I think I understood the feelings of a rat imprisoned in a wire-cage trap, which is being pushed slowly underneath the water in a bucket. Presently we arrived at the bottom with a bump like a lift stopping suddenly, swayed

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the top of the hatch disappear: smother of foam, and green sea came pouring down the ladder.” backward and forward a few times, and settled There followed a deathly silence, which was down on an almost even keel. I breathed a in most awesome contrast to the babel of noise very genuine “ Thank God |’ and let go the rail. that had preceded it. I realized that every man _

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72 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, left in the ship on the outside of my watertight doors was by this time dead—either drowned or crushed to death—and I was left alone in my thin steel prison. It seemed advisable to get to work before there was any chance of the tide shifting the submarine to a less advantageous position. My plan of campaign was gradually to increase the pressure inside the hull until it was slightly greater than the pressure of the water outside, and then to open the “ skylight ” suddenly and come to the surface with the large bubble of air that would be forced out. The danger involved was considerable. To get the requisite pressure it would be necessary to let in a fair amount of sea water, and also to release a large quantity of compressed air inside the engi room. TI realized that, even if I were s in getting out, [ should mn a serious risk in rising suddenly to the surface from so great a depth. Even a trained diver, after working for any lengtl. of time at a depth greater than al out fifteen fathoms, has to be hauled up extremely slowly, with frequent pauses at different levels, when returning to the surface. If he rises too rapidly, the nitrogen of the air which has been forced into his blood by the pressure will come suddenly out of a solution like the bubbles in a soda-siphon, choking the fine blood-vessels and causing instant asphyxiation. Had we lain only a few fathoms deeper, such an action as I contemplated would have involved certain death. Unfortunately I had no flashlight with me, and could not consult the gauges; there was, therefore, no certain means of telling when the pressures on each side of the thin steel hull of the engine-room were cqualized. However, I decided to make a trial. I found the control- wheel of the sea-valves and threw them open. The water poured in with incredible force, nearly sweeping me off my feet. When it was up to my knees I closed the valves. Then I went over to a rack of “air-bottles ’’ (steel cvlinders of compressed air—like the familiar oxygen cylin- ders used by doctors, and used to blow the water from the buoyancy tanks when a submarine wishes to rise to the surface). I reversed the cocks of half-a-dozen bottles and blew them off into the room to raise the pressure still more. With my heart pounding away until I thought my head would burst from the sudden increase of pressure, I dragged out a battery-box into the middle of the grating and, standing upon it, unscrewed the “skylight.’”. [ put my shoulder to the hatch and strained upward with both hands; it gave a little to my efforts, but would not lift. Clambering down again in the pitch darkness, I opened the sea-valves until the swirling water was up to my armpits, and emptied two more batches of “ air-bottles.”” Then I climbed up to try the hatch again. As I stood on the battery-box, almost exhausted and gathering strength for a fresh attempt, I was horrified to teel the water rising rapidly round my feet. That could mean only one thing. I was quite certain that I had closed the sea- valves and it followed that my precious air must be leaking out through some damaged plate which had been started by the extra pressure. Unless I could open that hatch and get through it within the next few minutes, the engine-room would fill with water and my fate would be sealed. In a frenzy of desperation, I pushed upward with all my might. For an instant the hatch lifted and flew backward. I caught a faint gleam of weak daylight, and then the sea came in and slammed the steel door down again. A great column of water took me full in the chest, knocking: me off my perch on to the upper yrating, which was by this time nearly three feet under water. [rose from my ducking and grabbed at aside rail; to my dismay, I found that half my right hand was missing -the closing hatch had sheared off the fingers as it fell. Curiously enough, I felt not an atom of pain, and so despe- rate was my plight that in a second or two I had forgotten all about the accident. There was only one chance left--to increase the pressure so quickly that it would blow open the hatch before the leak in the hull allowed all the air to escape again. The control wheel for the sea-valves was now about five feet under water, and I actually had to dive down to search for it. Three times I made the attempt without success, and at the fourth was on the point of giving up the fight when I found it. I opened the valves to their full capacity and left them open. Then I kicked up to the surface again, made a dash for the “ air-bottles,” and opened nearly every one that remained. The pressure now was enormous, and“I was so exhausted that it was with the very greatest difficulty that I fought my way to the hatch again. By the time that I got there the water had risen to the level of my armpits, and the pressure was still increasing as the sea poured in. I had screwed up the hatch before opening the valves for the last time, and I stood with my band on the catch, waiting until the flow of incoming water should show signs of steadying up, indicat- ing that the pressures were equalized. T could now hear the air-leak roaring away somewhere aft, and as the air screamed out the water poured in. rising more and more slowly until it was up to my neck. Now was the critical moment—the pressures were exactly balanced ! I hauled myself along and snapped open the last batch of “ air-bottles.”” With my little remaining strength I clambered back beneath .the hatch and, steadving myself for what might occur, threw over the lock. The door flew upward, and the great pressure inside shot me out like a cork from a ginger-beer bottle. I must have been very nearly done ; I vaguely remember an awful choking sensation and an agonizing pain in my lungs. After ages of floating upward in a greenish-grey twilight, there came a blaze of blinding white light as I broke surface. Then everything went blank, and when I recovered consciousness I found myself in a hospital ward. The crew of the dinghy that picked me up told me later that I had been down below just over twenty minutes.

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he ma 2 Bern J S¢ Lawrence Fetish and witchcraft are the two most fascinating problems of African life. An immense amount of study has been devoted to them by ethnologists, who, thanks to their endeavours to get “at the back of the black man’s mind,” have rendered colonists great service. The following pages, illustrated with a number of unique photographs of fetishes of the Belgian Congo, throw considerable light on ie auenee beliefs and practices of that part of the ar! ntinent. ILL Christianity or Islam gain the ‘ day in Africa? There are powerful \ Rel arguments on both sides, but that as oy Ly? W Great authority, Mary H. Kingsley, Meee gave it as her opinion that “ Islam Gives an easier, clearer line of recti- tude to a trader than its great rival in Africa—- under African conditions,”’ and-we must never forget that the Dark Conti- nent is largely made up of traders. There is, however, another powerful influence at work in the realm of African thought—namely, Fetish, an influence so extraordinary, sO overpowering, due to the peculiar environmentin which men live, that even white men “ who live in districts where death and danger are everyday affairs, undera grim pall of boredom, are liable to believe in it, though ashamed of so doing.” What is this strange thing, Fetish—this almost irresis- tible voice which black man and white man alike hear and answer when «ffliction comes on him ? Fetish or fetishism is the primitive religion of the people of Africa. Like all primitive folk, the black tribes of Africa have always attributed to @ superior power all phenomena of whose cause they were ignorant. Lightning, thunder, cyclones, the mystery of moonless nights, comets, sickness, incurable diseases, forerunners of the end, implacable death—in a word, all Nature’s manifestations—have from all times filled them, A fetish-man of the Belgian Congo. on account of their own feeling of helplessness, with a kind of religious fear against which they tried to protect themselves. Fetishes are the gods of the black man; the fetishers are the priests. Fetish is a crude polytheism with only one object in view—the attainment of happiness by the intercession of protecting gods. “For it is to be observed,” writes a learned Belgian authority, who has supplied me with a good deal of the material for this article, including the photographs of fetishes found in the region of Muyumbe, in the Belgian Congo, ‘ that the many fetishes that seem to exercise an evil influence on humanity by sending disease upon it, suffering and death, intervene only to punish the misdeeds, abuses, crimes, sorcery, breaking of vows, etc., and thus by the punishments they inflict add to the general happiness nearly as directly as the gods whom the _ worshippers honour in order to gain their protection.” A fetish does not neces- sarily take the form of a human being. The word “ Nkissi,”” which is the trans- lation in the language of the Lower Congo, means, so to speak, either an ordin- ary statue. or an object or a substance supposed to possess supernatural and protecting virtues, objects such as amulets, used to decorate the neck and wrists. But a special interest, from a sculptural point of view, is attached to fetishes Tepresenting the human form. Sometimes it Another famou: fetish-man,

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74 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. is only a head carved out of a fruit stone, the profile of which suggests the crescent moon. Or it may be the little tooth of a hippopotamus, suggesting vaguely a curved body surmounted by a woman’s head, or a sachet filled with a substance gifted with special virtues. However, more often the entire human form is represented. In spite of the differences one notices in the dimensions of these figures, all present certain common characteristics. They are big-headed, and, compared to the body, the arms are long and slender and the abdomen greatly exaggerated. In studying fetish one should never lose sight of the fact that in every action of his daily life the black man shows that he lives with a great and powerful spirit-world around him. “ You will see him,’ says Miss Kingsley, ‘‘ before start- ing out to hunt or fight, rubbing medicine into his weapons to strengthen the spirits within them, talking to them the while; telling them what care he has taken of them, reminding them of the gifts he has given them, though those gifts were hard for him to get, and begging them in the hour of his dire necessity not to fail him. You will see him bending over the face of a river, talking to its spirit with propet incantations, asking when it meets a man who is an enemy of his to upset his canoe, or asking it to carry down with it some curse to the village below which has angered him, and in a thousand other ways he shows you what he believes, if you will watch him patiently. It is a very important point in the study of pure fetish to gain a clear conception of this arrangement of things in grades. As far as I have gone, I think I may say fourteen classes of spirits exist Typical human figure fetishes.

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BLACK MAN’S MAGIC. 15 Feush-worshippers arrayed for a dance, in Fetish. Dr. Nassau, of Gaboon, thinks that the spirits commonly affecting human affairs can be classified fairly completely into six classes.’’ Fetish leads to many strange ceremonies, the rites of which are so jealously guarded that it had been stated ‘‘ we have no hope of learning their secrets.’’ That this is no longer true we know from the researches of such men as R. E. Dennett, who tells how certain little wooden images belonging to the Zincondo or Bankondi class are dedicated to their sacred use as Nkissi. This is done by the Nganga, or owner, in the following way :— A small shed having been built, he encloses it with the fronds of the palm-tree. He goes into the bush to gather the leaves of certain trees and herbs to make the necessary medicines. He picks out a man from the family for whom the bankondi is made, who shall act as the spokes- man of the figure, and then proceeds to put the Verious types of Congo fetishes, believed by the natives to possess supernatural powers spirit into him by pouring a decoction or infusion of herbs he has gathered into his nostrils and eyes. The man thus treated lies down upon an empty box within the shed, surrounded by the fronds of the palm-trees, until the spirit enters his head. He gives evidence of this by beginning to shake violently, so that his body makes a noise on the box like the beating of a drum. He then gets up and tries to run away, but he is forced back into the hut until the attack has passed, when he is given the name of “ Nguli Bwanga.’’ The wooden figures are charged with the proper medicines, and as ‘‘ Mpumbu ” are then given into the custody of their spokes- man, ‘“‘ Nguli Bwanga.’’ And when “ Nguli Bwanga ”’ has received the “‘ Mpumbu,”’ he buries medicines in the ground and plants a mbota- tree. Mr. Dennett's cook in West Africa was “ Nguli Bwanga ”’ of the “‘ Mpumbu.”’ But this

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76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. guardian was never seen by his master to drive nails into the “‘Mpumbu.’’ He simply threw cotton kernels and dust at them, when asking them to kill the hidden enemy who was “ secretly destroying him.’’ This ‘“‘ Nguli Bwanga ”’ caused the ‘“‘ Mpumbu ”’ to kiss Mother Earth as a sign that the petition was heard, by taking it in his hand and making its head touch the earth. Many fetishes are wooden images with nails driven into them ; these are known by the name “ Zinkici Mbowu,’”’ and the manner in which they are primarily made is worth describing in detail. A party enters a wood with the mganga, or fetisher, for the purpose of cutting the “‘ muamba”’ tree, from the wood of which the fetish is to be made. It is forbidden for anyone to call another by his name. If he does so, that man will die, and his kulu, or soul, will enter into the tree and become the presiding spirit of the fetish when made._ The caller will, of course, have to answer with His life to the relatives of the man whose life has been thus wantonly thrown away. So, generally speaking, a palaver is held, and it is there decided whose Aulu it is that is to enter into the muamba-tree and to preside over the fetish to be made. A boy of great spirit—or else, above all, a great and daring hunter—is chosen. Then they go into the bush and call his name. The nganga cuts down the tree, and blood is said to gush forth. A fowl is killed, and its blood mingled with the blood that they say comes from the tree. The named one then dies, certainly within ten days. His life has been sacrificed for what the zinganga considers the welfare of the people. It is said that the named one never fails to die—and the natives repudiate all idea of his being poisoned, or that his death is hurried on in any material way by the ganga, who, they say, may be miles away. Now black men will pass before these nail fetishes, calling on them to kill them if they do, or have done, such and such a thing. Others go to them and insist upon their killing so and so, who has done or is about to do them some fearful injury. And as they swear or make their demand a nail driven into the fetish, and the palaver is settled so far as they are concerned. The kulu of the man whose life was sacrificed upon the cutting of the tree sees to the rest. “Could this image hurt me?” a missionary once asked a native of the Congo, who, in com- pany with a number of his compatriots, had allowed the white man to take a certain fetish into his hands. “Oh, yes ; it could strike you dead.” The missionary turned it about and looked at it meditatively. It was a funny little object, a wooden image, with a large protuberance on its back and a similar protuberance on its chest, looking as though it were both hump-backed and pigeon-breasted at the same time. “What would happen if I were to cut it?” continued the missionary. “Oh, it would strike you dead!’’ they exclaimed, in alarm. “May I try?’ he asked. “ Oh, it will kill white man,’”’ they asserted. But, as he pressed for permission, they at last agreed. So, in breathless silence, the missionary drew his knife from his pocket and slowly cut off the pigeon-breast of the little image. Scrap after scrap fell from the figure, but still it made no sign. At length he desisted ; the operation was complete. “ Behold !’’ he exclaimed, in triumph. “ Your god has no power. See what I have done, and yet Iam not hurt. It is but a senseless piece of carved wood.”” Then he proceeded to point the moral of his action by showing the difference between such * gods "’ and the God of the Christian. Did he know that that little image had already cost the life of one person? Was he aware that any injury done to it would result in its kuku, or spirit, returning to the owner of the fetish, and keep on afflicting him until he had given it a new figure? Had he any idea of the fact that if a native had done the damage he would have had to pay for the renewal of the figure ; but that if a white man did it—well, he was only a white man, after all, and might be forgiven for his ignorance ? It is hard indeed to get ‘‘ at the back of the black man’s mind.” Bits of looking-gla are often to be found fixed in trees, and in the eyes and stomach of Another collection of fetishes, including several of the “nail” variety. |

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many fetishes. This is closely connected with black man’s magic. It is xina—a thing forbidden—to throw the light re- flected from a mirror upon a person, and BLACK MAN’S MAGIC. — 77 Fangaree is a small drum beaten witk a hammer made of bamboo. The charm stuff, made into a parcel, is composed of a dead man's bone herbs, ants’-hill earth, and charcoal. is placed on a frame made On the top a small live do—is attached by means being rious parcel of bamboo sticks. imal n insect will 1e charm ks into the ground fixed with wooden Articles used by fetish-men in the Belgian Congo. when the light passes across the face of an individual he cries out: ‘‘ Leave me alone! I have nduds medicine in my body.’’ It is not a crime, but more of the nature of an insult to throw this light upon a person. The light thus thrown is called ntenia lu muéno. A clear distinction must be made between fetish and witchcraft. The former is regarded by the black man as perfectly legitimate; the latter he looks upon with hatred, and all over Africa summary methods are used, as in olden days in England, with witches. One or other of the law-god-cult societies—those secret societies bearing such names as Purroh, Oru, Egbo, Ukukiwe, etc.—intervenes, and a trial by ordeal follows. In fact, anyone can claim that right. A says to B: “ You're a witch.” ‘I’m not !’’ ejaculates B, who immediately takes a calabar bean and swallows it. B dies, or is very sick; therefore he is the guilty person, and this long before the elaborate mechanism of the law society has heard of the dispute. If B wants to have a big palaver, and run himself and his accuser into a lot of expense, he has a right to call in the aid of the society; but he needn’t. Witchcraft is a dangerous word to utter in an African village. Miss Kingsley Telates that you have only to shout ‘ Jfot’’ at a man or woman in Calabar, or ‘‘ Ndo tchi’’ in Fjort-land, and the whole population, so good- tempered the moment before, is turned blood- thirsty. But, mind you, the ordeal must prove the guilt first, before the witch is literally torn to pieces. The methods of the witches of Africa are numerous and subtle, and often horrible. The use of poison is frequent. Deadly charms, as those of the Kufong society, are also used. Take the Fangaree charm, found among the Mendi tribe, as a typical example. on either side. The would-be murderer places this close to a path his victim will pass along, and there he sits waiting. When the victim comes, he is allowed to pass by; but no sooner has he done so than the murderer breaks a dry bamboo stick. Whereupon the victim—if he be unwise—turns round and looks on the charm. At this moment the murderer hits the live animal and calls out his victim's name—and the charm is said to be upon him. If the animal is struck on the head the victim’s head is affected, and he will doubtless suffer from violent fits until, say those learned in African witch-lore, ‘‘he dies from breaking his neck ’’ in one of them. Let that be a warning to anyone who travels in Africa. Take my advice, followed by all experienced travellers, never to look behind you when you hear a noise in the bush. Another piece of witchcraft practised under Kufong, according to several natives frem its region—the hinterland of Sierra Leone, Liberia, and Ivory Coast—is that known as “ throwing ” aface 9na person. The person bewitched hardly knows anything is wrong at first, but by and by he or she notices that everything looked upon bears a face, ‘‘ not a filmy vision of a thing, but quite material in appearance, only it’s in abnormal places for a face to be, and it is a face only.’’ That face follows the person about night and day, until he or she becomes so sick of life that death is sought—an ill-advised action, for ‘‘ on the other side ’’ that face is still there ! Africa is a land that is steeped in superstition, magic, and the like. The more we study con- ditions of life and thought there, the more con- vinced we become that we must “ revise entirely oy view of the black races, and regard those who now exist as the decadent representatives of an almost forgotten era, rather than as the embryonic possibility of an era yet to come.”

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I.—TWIXT THE SNAKE AND THE ROCK. By F. A. M. WEBSTER. ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. The thrilling adventure of a sergeant Se conan k 2 Guten. peek st ibe ledisa sation. of Delolali. “The following remarkable incident eccurred just before I reached 20th April, 1918, from Delhi,” writes the Author. Delolali ca “The N.C.O. who had survived the kept very quiet about it, but s rumour reached me, and, seeking him out, I got ies te, toll no’ the ‘arsasiog tale ‘of bie terrible experiences. is still in the service he requests that % be withheld from I give you his name, but as he i Otherwise the story is publication. @ fathfal account ef a dasing climsb of an exceedingly difficult peak.” OST old soldiers will recall Delolal, j in the Bombay Presidency, the place where drafts of time-expired men assemble before the final journey to Bombay, where they embark for home. During the war the station took on an extra air of activity, and when I visited it towards the end of April, 1918, it had outgrown all knowledge. There were leave drafts, sick drafts, drafts for home, and drafts for East Africa, Mesopotamia, and the Northern Frontier coming and going, week in and week out, some of them resident for months on end, growling at their luck and fuming in the boiling heat. For the men of these drafts which were held up here there was absolutely nothing to do but walk through the native bazaar during the morning, sleep through the afternoon, and play cricket, football, or cards at sun-down. . Occae sionally a concert or cinematograph show was arranged to vary the monotony. Under these conditions service palled and time hung heavy on everyone’s hands. Gradually the men got into the habit of wandering off on long rambles across country after morning roll- call and breakfast. Occasionally parties would set off to visit the Hill Temples on Pandua Lena by Nasik; but asa rule the men wandered down to the banks of the Godavari River, or out across the open plains. Beyond the British Details Camp, Temple Hill stands up, with the officers’ polo-ground to the right, and beyond that again a broad nullah, on the far side of which, and about two miles farther on, Telegraph Hill rears up its tremendous crest above the flat stretch of plain. The men were always wondering—as soldiers in idleness always will speculate—what the view would be like from the top of the hill, and whether the climb would be difficult or not. From the distance of a few miles the ascent certainly pro- mised to be an easy one, but distance is ever apt to lend enchantment to the eye. One morning, when the heat haze was dancing and shimmering above the parched earth, in Promise of a particularly hot day, a young sergeant of one of the drafts set out on an objectless stroll towards Temple Hill; as he had already been up this small mound several times, he passed it on his left and wandered out towards the polo-ground, near which a survey party were busy setting out a new rifle-range. For maybe half an hour he watched the surveyors at their work, then wandered on across the nullah. Telegraph Hill lay dead in front, and suddenly the determination formed in his mind to see what lay on top. Sitting down, he studied for some time the rocky face presented to him. At close quarters the hill appeared much higher than he had expected it to be; moreover, the base covered so much ground that he would have no time to walk round it in search of an easy way up, if he was to be back in time for the midday meal, True, he might walk a bit to the right or left, and follow either of the gradual side slopes up to the summit, but that would waste time, and still present a more difficult problem when he reached the final peak, the sides of which seemed, at that distance, far steeper than the face which fronted him. Therefore he chose the steeper initial ascent, firstly, to save time, and, secondly, because he fancied the final climb of the last peak itself would be less hazardous. At the foot of the hill he found grass and thorn bushes growing plentifully, with, here and there, a sharp spur of rocky out-crop. For half an hour he tramped on, the gradient growing ever steeper as he ascended. After a while the bushes vanished, and the grass gave place to burning rocks, so heated by the sun as to be unpleasantly warm to the bare flesh of his hands. The heat from them struck back into his face, too, making him slightly dizzy. When he was well above the grass-line he sat down on a rugged boulder to rest for a while. There, below him, lay the sun-bathed plains, stretching mile upon mile beneath the shimmering

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heat-haze ; across them men and bullock-drawn carts moved like crawling ants. Beyond the nullah, the position of which he could mark by the line of trees, he saw the survey party still at work ; far off to the right he noticed the flash of the waters of the Godavari River, and in the centre of it all his eye was caught by the gleaming white walls of the building surmounting Temple Hill, whiter far than the tents below it and beyond. Soon he turned to his task and commenced climbing upwards once more. The gradient now became very steep, and sharp enough to force him to use his knees occasionally, and as he was in ‘shorts ’’ he suffered accordingly. The sun beat pitilessly down upon his back, covered only by a thin cotton shirt; his mouth was parched and his lips very dry, and he began to wish that he had brought a water-bottle with him. Once his iron-shod boots failed to grip the smooth rock face, and he slid several yards downhill before his lacerated finger-tips caught in a crevice and arrested the rapidly-gathering momentum of his downward passage. This should have warned him to give up the attempt; but, instead, it only served to harden his will and stir up his obstinate determination to succeed. On he climbed, the sweat streaming down his body, soaking his clothing and blinding his eyes, which he cleared with the back of his hand from time to time. By the time he reached the base of the crowning peak he was very tired, and his head throbbed abominably where the constraining band of the helmet gripped his temples. He might well have been satisfied and climbed downwards, but he had made up his mind to scale the hill, and scale it he would, no matter what personal inconvenience and dis- comfort he might endure in the accomplishment of his purpose. Looking up as he rested, he saw the last stretch of rock-face rising perpendicularly above him, and offering hardly hand-hold enough for a monkey. Nor was this all, for the edge of the summit appeared to jut out, so that he would need to lean back over space to get his body over the protruding rocky shelf and on to the crest of the hill. An experienced climber would have left the affair alone, or have worked round to another side of that final task; but the sergeant knew nothing at all of the trained mountaineer’s craft. Then he was a little muddled by the heat of the sun, for he told me afterwards that in that moment he felt that he must conquer that peak by direct frontal attack, or be for ever afterwards disgraced in his own eyes. Working cautiously and moving slowly, he began the last stiff ascent; every foot of the way he felt for hand-holds with his fingers, and tested every resting-place for his feet before committing his weight tothem. When a quarter of the way up he very nearly met disaster. Failing to find a hold for his left hand, he grasped the stem of a small bush growing in a crack in the rock face. Putting his weight upon this frail support, he essayed to draw himself upwards. He felt the bush give as he pulled upon it, and QUEER FIXES. 79 in the fraction of a second it was loose in his hand. For one desperate pause, which seemed to him like eternity, he swayed dangerously back, but his right hand remained firm in its hold, so that he was able to regain his equilibrium, and by taking the risk of a sudden effort he obtained a grip for his left hand higher up. For a few minutes he rested, breathing hard, and then reached down his foot to make sure that his retreat was secure, in case of need. To his horror he found that he could not reach the last spot where his foot had rested. He tried with the other, but with no better fortune. He sought a hold higher up, but could find no place fur his hands to grip; he tried to look upwards, and felt his helmet slide back over his sweat-soaked hair and drenched, slippery fore- head. With a quick jerk he righted his head- gear and saved it from falling. Had it have fallen, nothing could have saved him from sun- stroke. He tried to look down, but with his body pressed close against the rock-face he could not do so. There he was, stuck like a fly on a wall, unable to look either up or down, and unable to find fresh holds above or below for feet or hands. It was a ghastly position to be in. The sun beat down upon him, until his spine felt like a rod of white-hot steel in his body; the backs of his bare knees were blistered and burned, while the heat of the rock in front almost blinded his eyes. Pictures began to form in his mind of himself hanging crucified on that awful rock until his cramped fingers should lose their hold through sheer exhaustion, and he should go crashing down to his death. Directly in front of him was a long, narrow fissure in the rock-face, but that offered no help. A wave of sheer exhaustion swept over him, and he shouted until he was hoarse. After a minute or two he grew more calm and then he saw, with horrified eyes, the long, sinuous body of a snake sliding down the crevice towards him; he dared not move, and could not take his eyes from the gliding death drawing rapidly nearer. Disturbed by the menace of the man’s voice, the venomous reptile was crawling out from its resting-place, intent only upon escaping. The man’s face blocked its only means of exit. Slowly the flattened, evil head reared up, swaying slightly from side to side, the wicked, forked tongue shot in and out between the tight- drawn lips, and all the evil of the world seemed to be concentrated in the horrible, glittering CVES, The man thought quickly, desperately, how he might combat this new menace, so close to his face that every marking on the reptile’s skin became indelibly imprinted upon his mind. Absolute silence reigned, save for a low hissing which seemed to follow the darting tongue. Sweat poured profusely from the man's limbs, but still he did not move. Time seemed to stand still, awaiting the consummation of the lonely tragedy. At last the man could bear the strain no longer; even the lingering death and the torture of shattered limbs upon the boulders below were preferable to hanging there on the

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8 THE.-WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, ~- rock-face, awaiting the inevitable blow which should set him free. In a superhuman effort he shot out his right hand with outspread fingers, groping upwards to find a fresh hold. The sudden movement startled the snake, and instantly it struck at the white face before it. Quick as lightning the man averted his head, and in the same instant caught the writhing neck in his right hand, sweeping the body out from the crevice with one wild snatch as he did so. He felt the sinuous coils grip fast about his bare arm, but he knew he was safe for the moment, for he had grasped his antagonist in such a MN ere way that it was impossible for it to harm him while he retained his hold. This did not, how- ever, appreciably lessen the danger, for he could not release his grip and throw the snake from him. The coils wrapped about his arm would prevent that, and give the reptile time to strike again before he could shake it off. Moreover, he was still pinned to the rock-face, unable to move either up or down. “He saw, with horrified eyes, the long, sinuous body of a snake. sliding down the crevice towards him.” He slowly turned his head to right and left, seeking a sure path to safety on either hand. In the menace of the moment his exhaustion had vanished, and he could think clearly and coherently once more, To the left the ascent seemed less precipitous and the face of the cliff more rugged. Cautiously releasing the hold of -his left hand, and at the same time pressing his body close against the rock, he locked the fingers of his left hand into a crevice that he could just reach by stretching out to the fullest extent of his arm. His position was now precarious in the extreme. He had leaned his body far over to the left to gain his new hand-hold. In his right he grasped the snake, and so could not use that to lower himself back into his former position if he failed to make progress in the new direction, He must continue now that he had started, for, without the aid of his right hand, he could not withdraw. As soon as he had allowed his weight to slide forward on to his left arm, he began to feel cautiously for a hold for his left foot. After a second or two, he discovered what seemed to be a long, narrow shelf running along the cliff- side. Tentatively testing this, he finally come mitted his balance to his left leg. Now came the crucial moment, for it was necessary for him to move his body forward several feet. The task would not have been difficult with the aid . of his right hand, but that was out of commission, for it held the snake. At the instant his right foot was brought up beside his left he swayed dangerously, but to his immense relief found, when he had recovered his balance, that the new section of rock-face to which he was now committed leaned in from the perpendicular slightly. Inch by inch he worked his way along the shelf, broad enough for the fore part of his feet only at first, but widening a little as he went on, until he found he could stand squarely and, by leaning his body forward so that it rested against the rock, release his left hand to hold his helmet while he looked up to pick out the Path he load follow to the summit.

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He would have liked to have dealt with the snake there and then, now that he had his hand free; but the shelf upon which he stood was too narrow to permit of his turning round, and he dare not bring that deadly head with the hissing tongue too close to his body, which would have been necessary to have reached it with his left hand. Looking up, he could find no path by which he might climb to the summit with any reason- able degree of safety, handicapped as he was, nor could he see any way down which would be more easy to negotiate. There was no option but to follow the ledge he was on, which disappeared after a short distance round a shoulder of rock. Once round that, a fresh way, either up or down, might be found. Working up to the extreme end of the shelf on which his feet rested, he slid his hand out- wards and around the shoulder of rock, where his fmgers wandered gropingly up and down for a few seconds before closing on a fairly thick stem of a bush. He tugged at it steadily for some seconds, to make sure that its roots were securely bedded. With his arm thus stretched around the jutting rock, and his feet still on his own side, his position was constrained to such a degree that he could only maintain it for a few seconds. It was at this point that the climax of faith and fortitude was reached. He had no means of knowing what foothold, if any, awaited his left foot on the far side of the jutting rock, around which he could not see, and, once he had put his leg round it, he would not be able to draw back. If he found a resting-place for his foot, well and good ; but if ne such foothold awaited him, then he would go crashing down, and nothing short of a miracle could save him. Thus he reasoned while his cramped muscles were rapidly stiffening. He had no choice but to put Fate to the proof and Fortune to the venture. With a half-muttered prayer, choked back in his throat by a sob, he swung his leg round, and felt it rest on a broad ledge. The path, which in some former age had run around the buttress, continued on the far side, and further progress was thus assured. Immediately to his left, twenty feet below QUEER FIXES. 81 and perhaps as many away, lay a broad expanse of flat rock, which marked a safe resting-place and the beginning of a fairly easy descent to the plains far below. But between him and that haven of refuge lay as nasty a piece of rock- climbing as any man might be asked to tackle. The sight of this last test of endurance swept all thoughts of discretion from his mind. He felt that his reason was leaving him. He went at the work like a madman, taking unthinkable risks in his last frenzy of energy. He never will know how he accomplished those last twenty feet. He dimly remembers an age-long period during which he shouted, leapt, and climbed, and then dropping down exhausted upon the broad rock of refuge, sinking into a swoon with the thought firmly fixed in his mind that he must retain his dire grip upon the snake at all costs. When he revived the reptile was still gripped in his tightly-locked fist, but it was quite dead. Its head, in fact, was literally smashed to a pulp. One can only suppose that in his frantic struggle across the last twenty feet of rock he dashed the snake against the cliff-face, and so killed it. At the sight of his now harmless burden the sergeant gave way to the maniacal laughter of extreme hysteria. Shout after shout of gleeful mirth he sent pealing and echoing around the hills, until at last he stopped from sheer exhaustion and flung the remains of the reptile from him. He commenced the downward climb, and from time to time his shoulders shook to the subdued chucklings and gurglings of suppressed, hysterical laughter. On the plains below some Hindu drivers of the Government Bullock Train found him, still laughing, and brought him back to the lines in one of their carts. A strong hypodermic injection of bromide “somewhat soothed his nerves, and after he had slept the clock round he got up, apparently little the worse for his adventure, except that his torn fingers were badly scarred, and his blistered knees had to be kept in bandages for many days. He did not succeed in seeing what was upon the top of Telegraph Hill, after all; but nothing would induce him to make a fresh attempt to find out ! Ii.—DRAGGED BY AN AIRSHIP. By WILFRED E. JONES. ILLUSTRATED BY E. H. THOMAS. While on duty as a “gas guard” at an airship station the writer met with an exciting experience which nearly cost him his life. 7 N October, 1917, I enlisted in the | Royal Naval Air Service as an air- R craftsman. After a month’s pre- liminary training at the Crystal Palace and Fort Tregantle, Cornwall, I was drafted to one of the largest airship stations in the country, situated on the Goonhilly Downs, a dreary and desolate tract Vol, xliv.—@. “I have recorded the incident exactly as it happened,” he says. of unbroken land within a few miles of the Lizard and Land’s End. The country is, for the most part, open and bare, but about half a mile from the camp there are dense woods, admirably suited for the purpose of mooring out the smaller type of airship when no accommoda- tion can be found for them in the main sheds. The weather for some time previously had been

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82 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on its very worst behaviour, and consequently the ground surrounding the woods was nothing more than a quagmire. The pit—a large hollow, dug to a depth of six feet, to allow the car of an airship to rest in, leaving the envelope just above the surrounding ground—was fully a foot deep in slimy, sticky mud, and it was no unusual thing to find one of your gum-boots missing when walking or, rather, paddling through it. On the night of December 15th, 1917, T was one of a party of six detailed off as“ gas guard "’ to the airship S.S.Z. 15, which was then moored at the pit some little distance from the sheds. The two coxswains in charge divided our number into two, and we arranged to work in “watches "’—two hours on and two hours oft. My companion and myself took the first watch, and everything went well, the pressure being maintained without any difficulty at all. Here I might add that the first and foremost duty of a ‘‘ gas guard ”’ is to see that the air pressure in the envelope is maintained at a certain figure, registered by a clock-like instrument fixed in the car, known as a manometer. He is also responsible for the ‘ well-being "’ of the airship, seeing that the guy-ropes are firmly secured to the trees, and that the car is well weighted down with ballast bags. The method of keeping up the pressure is as follows. A small hand-blower is fixed some few yards away and connected to the envelope by means of a fabric hose, twelve inches in diameter ; so that, when the pressure is decreasing, the blower is started, thus pumping air into the proper chambers inside the envelope, which is duly registered by the manometer. We came off duty at eight p.m., and tried to get ‘forty winks ’’ in our bell tent, but it was too cold to sleep, and we were not sorry when the time came to relieve our companions. All went well during the night, there being scarcely a breath of air, but towards three o’clock on the Sunday morning the sky became over- cast and threatening and a slight breeze sprang up, which necessitated re-securing the guy- ropes. Our fears and anxiety as to the condition of the weather were not without reason, and when my companion and I went on watch at six a.m. (this being the last watch before the day gas guards came on duty at cight a.m.) a stiff breeze was blowing which caused the “ ship ’’ to toss and roll about like a vessel in a stormy sca. In addition to this, the pressure was now going down very rapidly, which so alarmed the coxswains in charge that they deemed it advis- able to report matters to the duty officer at the camp. At first we put the decreasing pressure down to a leakage in the valves, but learned afterwards that the rolling of the ship had gradually torn a hole in the bow of the envelope —a fact which I was to be very thankful for, as the following events will show. Before going, one of the coxswains mentioned that it would be as well for one of us to sit in the car, as it was necessary to keep an eye on the manometer continually, as the pressure was fluctuating so considerably, and also to make additional ballast for the car, which was now required. I thereupon agreed with my companion that he should work the blower some few yards away on the bank whilst I occupied the pilot’s seat. I installed myself in the car, which was sunk down into the pit below the surface of the ground; but, what with the intense cold and wet (it was now raining steadily) and the con- tinual rolling, dipping, and plunging of the ship, my position was far from being an enviable one. But still worse was in store. Suddenly, without any preliminary warning, a terrific gale burst upon us. I learned after- wards that in scientific terms it was known as a “cyclonic suction,” blowing at over sixty miles an hour, and its occurrence in this country is very uncommon, The first effect it had upon the airship was to uproot the car and dash it wildly against the sides of the pit, which were luckily in an extremely soft and muddy con- dition, thus leaving the sides of the car un- damaged. Almost simultaneously she shook herself like a huge dog and shot upwards, ripping the guy- rope attachments off the side of the envelope like paper. Imagine, if you can, my horror. Here was I, quite a novice of the service, alone in an uncon- trollable leviathan of the air, and absolutely helpless. I raised myself from the bottom of the car, where I had been thrown after the first jolt, and looked over the side. Never to my dying day shall I forget the sickening sensation that went through my whole system. : It was still dark and raining very heavily, so that I had great difficulty in discerning my position, A terrific crackling and tearing told me that we were dragging our way through the trees. No'sooner were we clear of the branches than another sudden gust caught us in its grip, and the next minute we were dashing headlong for the ground. The realization of this proved too much for me and I swooned off into unconscious- ness. I have a very faint recollection of feeling a terrific thud (probably caused by the car striking the ground, mercifully without exploding the two one-hundred-pound bombs with which she was armed), and the next minute I found myself thrown into the mud, clear of the car. My mind was in a very confused state, but it did not take me long to decide to get away from the wreckage. I struggled to rise, but could not, as when I was thrown out of the car I had caught my legs and feet in the wire suspensions, and was now held captive by the monster. Misfortunes never come singly, and in a few seconds the gale again increased in fury, causing the airship to career off wildly across the open ground, dragging me with it. Over and over I was tossed, like a cork in a raging storm, helpless. The terrific thuds and bumps as I came in contact with the ground were something cruel, nearly driving me to distraction. ———_

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QUEER FIXES. 83 » “Almost simultaneously she shook hervelf like a huge doz and shot upwards.”

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Never in all my life shall I forget that journey. Every now and again I would find myself en- gulfed in the folds of the envelope, and to this day I still have a remembrance of the horrible stench of the stale gas in my nostrils. Gradually I could feel my stre -gth ebbing away, and I felt that surely the end must come soon. Trivial incidents during my youthful career came crowding through my brain with hideous distinctness and rapidity. I could even picture the salvage party from the camp hunting about among the wreckage for my mutilated remains. I felt myself floating away into space. Where, I knew not. A sudden gust of gas from the envelope overwhelmed me, and I remembered no more. ‘When I regained consciousness I found myself lying on my back in a field, and upon looking round I could see, although but dimly, my late captor, some hundred yards distant, being carried away rapidly with the wind. My thankfulness knew no bounds. At last I was free. Although the above happenings could only have occupied a few minutes, to me it seemed a veritable lifetime. I tried to get up on to my feet, but stumbled down again, the very effort causing me excru- ciating pain. I lay still for a few minutes trying to collect my scattered wits, but my brain was in a hopeless jumble and I could scarcely bear to think. Eventually I managed to get up, and tried as well as I possibly could to crawl away from the scene of my misfortune. Truly I was in a pitiable condition. What with my clothes badly torn, my face and head bruised, and caked all over with mud, [ must have cut a grotesque figure. I would have rivalled a ‘scarecrow’ of the raggedest order. TI felt numb and stiff in every joint, and could have sworn that every bone in my body was broken ; but a rough survey soon eased my mind considerably on that score. It was now pouring in torrents, so T commenced to make my way, feeling more dead than alive towards a light that I could faintly see in the distance, and great was my joy when I discovered that it belonged to my fellow gas guard. Never was a meeting more hearty and welcome. He had seen the ship become uprooted from the pit and carried away on the wind, and had immediately secured a lantern and followed in the same direction, as he jokingly said, “‘ to pick up the pieces.” With his very necessary assistance I eventually succeeded in reaching the camp, and was very quickly installed in hospital. The other gas guards had given notice of the unfortunate happenings, so that things were prepared for our arrival. I was sobbing and trembling all over as though I had the ague, and the hospital orderly told me afterwards that my language almost set their water afire. I was then “ cleaned up” and fitted out with dry clothes, of which I was badly in need, and by the time the doctor arrived on the scene I was feeling slightly better. He was a thorough hard-headed Englishman, not easily roused as a rule, but I shall never forget the excited way in which he subjected me to a most careful and minute examination. He could scarcely believe it possible for anyone to have undergone the knocking about that I had and still be alive, or at least sound in wind and limb. E He prescribed absolute rest and no food of any description for a few hours. But I am afraid that the former part of his prescription was not strictly adhered to, because I received visits during the morning from all of the officers on the station, and they made me feel as though I had done something great. To me it was not a case of having done something—it was a case of having been sadly done. P Later on in the day I was able to leave the hospital, looking a perfect study in bandages, and a few weeks later, save for feeling a bit “* shaky,’’ had completely recovered from the shock, though the sight of an airship even now sends a shudder through me, as I recall that awful experience. The “ Temple of the Tooth,” at Kandy, Ceylon, where a sacred tooth supposed to have belonged to Buddha 1s kept. OvR illustration depicts the Temple of the Tooth, situated in Kandy, Ceylon, and is a gaily-coloured place. The octagonal building seen on the right is called the Pattrippuwa. They are both surrounded by a moat in which are many turtles. Inside the temple Buddhist priests make an ear splitting noise with tom-toms and other native music. Once a year a proces- sion called the Perahara, leaves the temple with the sacred tooth, said to be the tooth of Buddha, which is carried around the town on the back of a large elephant. A number of Kandyan chiefs, in their splendid and quaint costumes, accompanied by more than one hundred elephants, and much native music and dancing, take part in the picturesque pro- cession. ie

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Ohe OSTLE/ Crear The wonderful properties of the coco-nut are proverbial, and natives are known to subsist almost entirely on its flesh and milk. But in the German New Guinea islands there is an educated European who declares that the coco-nut is the proper and onl: food of man, and is anxious to convert the world to this “I was introduced to the ‘Apostle,’” writes the Author, “by the Australian Administrator of the German territories, Sir Samuel Pethebridge, and remained on his island for some time, being able to freely converse and watch this strange man. His diet of coco- nut, however, I was quite unable to manage, though I met a few of his disciples, who confirmed all the benefits to be derived from a course.” Englehardt, nut.” This his own Kabakon, sessions of persists that from the hea: claims that the world. hundred, wit! live and end by Chiomas NWVahon ERGS VERY charming and inter- esting character in which Jack London, in his travels through the islands of the South Pacific, would have delighted has come to light in the person of Auguste the “Apostle of the Coco- remarkable personage lives on beautiful little tropic isle of one of the Duke of Yorke group of the German New Guinea pos- the South Pacific. The ‘‘ Apostle’ has a new, and even a weird, doctrine, teaching that living on the coco-nut as food, and the coco-nut milk as drink, is the one and only possible road that leads to the sure calming of the nerves, the certain curing of all diseases, especially of the mind, and the positive banishment of all the evil passions from the mind and heart of mankind. He the coco-nut is a rational diet of man, as research, he maintains, proves it to have been the original food of mdn, the daily menu of Adam and Eve. Auguste Englehardt will tell you that a coco-nut diet will most effectually drive out rt of man every vile ambition, those particularly that lead to strife, argu- ment, and devastating war. The “ Apostle’’ prior to the war he had many hundreds of disciples in many countries of In America he has over four th whom he maintains a regular correspondence, and with whom he hopes to his days as soon as the world The “Apostle of the Coco-avt.” settles down to its peaceful occupations

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8 THE WIDE WORLD once again. Before the war he edited and published in America an attrac- tively-got-up little monthly journal, entitled the Naturopath, and from which he expounded his doctrine. On his little island he is the merriest and kindest of men—in short, a most attractive person, a gent!}eman to the tips of his long. elegant fingers, and as a host perfectly charming. He is so earnest in his teachings. so full of detail in his explanations—with every argument that he offers he has a hundred incidents or facts to back it up—-one almost becomes convinced and converted under his gentle and per- suasive appeals to give his “ noble ”’ teachings a trial. This wonderful man will say to you, “ Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are,” a new, strange, and uncanny method of reading character! MAGAZINE, Drying coco-nuts in the sun to make copra. are devils stowed Cranks are to be found in all parts of the world who proclaim ideas as to life and health- giving, and even, as in this instance, character-forming methods, by ad- hering to certain foods. The ‘‘ Apos- tle of the Coco- nut” maintains that it is what you eat that makes you either happyorsad, God- like or human, good or bad. His doctrineis that the human passions away in the sys- tem, to come into action, or remain quiescent, just ac- cording to the class of food that is eaten. Some foods, such as meats, fire the blood, while most foods, even many of those of a vege- table nature, are so unnaturally dished up that they are respon- sible for many unsatisfactory de- Natives of Kabakon Island making food of coco-nut and seaweed. The chiei food and drink of these natives is the coco-nut, Tne “Apostle” on his bed of sand. fects in the char- acter and habits of man, The “ Apostle of the Coco-nut ’’ is a Naturopath— one who directs the way in the matter of food so as to acquire a care-free future, a healthy state of verves, a clear brain, and a mind above the distress of death. Men and women, while retaining their outward human semblances, can, by a course of this ‘spiritual’ food, it is claimed, become God-like beings, living an existence unknowing the bitterness and struggles of the ordinary life. The coco-nut stands in the fore rank of these spiritualizing edibles. Kabakon, the elegant out-of-doors home of the “ Apostle,’’ where he lives his simple, sublime, and unsinful life in happiness and contentment, is a coral isle some five miles in circum- ference, luxuriantly covered with thousands of coco-nut palms in full bearing. It is in the midst of a garden of delightful isles, surrounded by clear, sparkling waters, in the depths of which one can see the PS ee eID ER AE CS Te ey

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THE APOSTLE OF THE COCO-NUT. 87 wound, and a severe sickness, and then flight and disappearance to some un- known land, far away beyond the Equator, and so the “ Apostle,’’ seek- ing comfort and happiness, found a new life and his strange doctrine. He speaks English not only fluently but with a style that denotes the ardent student of Shakespeare, which, indeed, he is. He possesses a charming cultured voice, and is that rare dis- covery among Germans, a polite man of the most perfect manners. His library—perhaps one of the largest in the Southern Hemisphere—shows him to be the master of many languages, for books from all nations are on the shelves. He hated the war, as it is — contrary to his doctrines, and declares The “Apostle” entertains a guest. that the world-upheaval has been brought about by the passions, the wonders of coral vanities, and the land, every shade of pink and white mingling with the marine vegetation that is delightful beyond — descrip- tion. Here, on this beautiful isle, in the shades of giantoaks, gnarled and knotted, and with great limbs and branches intertwining and spreading out like the pictures of the old Druid groves of ancient Britain, he lies without a a fantastic and pillow, using a rug romantic spot, The “Apostles” bedroom. It is built of coco-nut palm leaf. to cover him only with the music of on cool nights. rustling palms ever moving in the gentle breezes that create an even tempera- ture, not at all tropical, and in a scene of perpetual spring, this peculiar indi- vidual has his home, his great library, and his playground, about which he roams dressed, as are the natives that attend him, merely in a “ lava-lava"’ (loin-cloth), bare-headed and __bare- footed. On festive occasions, or on visits from tourists and others, this dress is augmented by a wristlet watch and a walking-stick. Englehardt, a University student of Wiirtemberg, is a singularly handsome man of about thirty-five years of age, with golden hair, worn in a long curling fashion, and well groomed. His face and body, from constant exposure to the sun and open air—for, being a sun-worshipper, he is never indoors— are almost black. A love affair in which a famous and lovely Austrian countess was involved, a duel with a fellow-student, remorse, repentance, a The Author (on left) and his staff on the island. ambitions of men through eating unnatural foods. His sleeping apartment is a thatched native hut, without fur- niture. In the centre is his bed, a mound of sand, with four bed- posts to carry the mosquito nets that shield him from the malaria mosquito. Upon this bed of sand

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838 When he rises in the morning the impression of his body is deep in the sand, but he affirms that he always has a healthy and refreshing sleep. For sixteen years Englehardt has lived at Kabakon to demonstrate his teachings. He is apparently happy and contented, but, having recently sold his intends, after the war affairs settled, to go to Ame and live among his disciples. A weird personage a; first to see in his scanty dress, he very quickly at- tracts a listener by the manner in which he puts forth his argu- ments, unpopular as they are likely to be. He has hun- dreds of stories to illustrate and point the sense of his doctrines. He tells of a ship of four hundred souls encountering a great stress of weather, and being obliged to secure safety in a harbour of one of the Pacific islands ; food soon ran short, and eventually ran out altogether, and for eighty days the people were compelled to live on coco-nuts only; yet not one case of sickness was reported. It was ca warded ss signs A native woman of Kabakon and an albino child. These children are re- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. this story that attracted him to the Pacific, and he has so persisted in his research that now he is convinced that the coco-nut is the most God-like of foods, and he is quite satis- fied as to the results to be obtained. He maintains, “He that eateth the coco-nut eateth God, and he that eateth God becometh God-like ”— that is the key of his doc- trine. This means a spirit- ualizing of the body, a sacrifice by restraint that reveals mas- tery of oneself. The coco-nut has all the qualities of a perfect food and drink, though Englehardt admits that getting into the way of living on it only is at first a severe test of the digestive organs, and even of the teeth ; but this once overcome and conquered by persisting in the pa ae Fe unpalatable diet—-which he also the af good admits is trying —ends in feelings of satisfaction because of the healthful, delightful, and even joyous clearness of‘ brain and the new strength of body caused by- ~ the curative power of the wonderful coco-nut. AN R.AS.C. correspondent in Salonica writes : “ Please find enclosed photograph of my pet sheep Daisy. She is a living contradction to the cold axiom, ‘Silly as a sheep.’ The p.cture shows her balancing a see-saw—a pastime of which she is very fond. She is also great at opening doors, standing up and pushing the catch with her nose, and she will stand on her hind legs and beg for biscuits. She also plays football, butting the ball with her head. Daisy possesses the digestion of an ostrich, eating, amongst other things, biscuits, sweets, c.garettes, porridge, Mosquito netting, fish, and boot-polish. Her taste in drinks is very catholic; she likes tea, dish-water, and wine, and turns up regularly every night at the mess for her pint of beer. She was found amongst some rocks out here when only three or four hours old, and I reared her on Nestlé’s milk, administered by means of an invalid feeding cup and a piece of rubber tubing. She has become very much attached to me and goes to all our football matches.””

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va he at ef ee THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a 2onyoe 2 wonderful $4.00 shirts for only $5.75. Save at least $2.00. Everybody wearing these semi-dress Gray Flannel Shirts for business, work, and sport. Cadillac Broadcloth on, $h15 FLANNEL SHIRTS 4. Only Yes—two $4.00 shirts for only $5.75. Made of fine quality Cadillac Broadcloth Gray Flannel. Special winter weight. Two extra large button-down-flap pockets, faced sleeves, and matched pearl buttons. Cut extra full. Coat Front Style. Wide Front Pleat. Double- Stitched throughout. Soft turn-down collar with sateen-faced ee ee ee neckband. Thoroughly shrunk. Try to match these shirts BERNARD-HEWITT & COMPANY anywhere at $4.00 each. Desk F.S. 9711, 430 S. Green St., Chicago, Ill. Send the shirts at once. I will pay price on arrival Write today. Send with-onderstanding that if 1 do not want to keep ~ Money. Shirts a Ne fre pier can send them back and you will refund u sent at once, transpor- ? tation prepaid. Pay only | $5.75 on arrival—no more. Money back at once if not more than pleased with the wonderful value. Be sure to give neck-band size. BERNARD-HEWITT & COMPANY pe: Desk F.S.9711, 430S. Green Street, Chicago, Ill. I Size of Neckband U Address a Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE NS ADVENTURE =~ TRAVEL ™ SPORT Vol. XLIV. DECEMBER, 1919. No. 260. WRITTEN _& AND ILLUSTRATED by RALPH aaa — people know what the exterior of a submarine looks like, but very few folk outside ice know anything about the daily life of the men who man these under. --water cruisers. ‘This vivid little erticle, weithen by giceen who bet had practical experience, will bring home to you some of the MONG the many different branches of the Navy there seems to be none with more power of attraction to the keerest men—both from ward and gun rooms, as well as the lower deck—than the submarine service. It is probably the “sporting clement ’’ about it Vol xliv—7, the hardships of the submarine service. which appeals to them, and it is essentially a young man’s service, making those large demands on physical and recuperative powers in which older men have to yield the palm to youth. The standard of efficiency, mental and physical, is a very high ore, and the best of brains and brawn is demanded. The rate of pay is consequently

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92 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A submaiine’s mascot. higher than in the more prosaic branches of the Navy, and considering the dangers—not so great now, per- haps, as in the earlier experimental stages—the discomforts, and so forth, it is well earned. The majority of people are familiar enough with the appearance of sub- marines when on the surface, either from actual observation or illustration, but the internal economy, as well as the routine of daily life, is known to few outside the service, though novels and stage productions, greatly daring and drawing upon fertile imaginations, have represented all sorts of weird and wonderful things as taking place. One production, for instance, showed the commander of a submarine in diffi- culties telephoning frantically from the depths for help, whilst arouid him were the heroine and other visitors—plenty of them, male and female—as well as the crew, all in contortions, choking and gasping for air! Wireless tele- phony has hardly reached that stage yet, nor do men indulge in calisthenics and whirligigs when, from some acci- dent or prolonged submersion, the air has become foul. As a matter of fact, a drowsiness overcomes them, and death mercifully supervenes in sleep. It must be remembered that it is the natural air only, contained in a sub- marine, upon which the crew exist when submerged. Artificial air has so far proved to be impracticable for respiration, its action upon the lungs being too dangerous. If likely to be submerged for a long time, officers and men have to sit by their jobs and silence is enjoined, as movement or talking tends to use up the air more rapidly. When, from any cause, the air has become foul, the admission of fresh air creates a thick fog throughout the vessel, and even after three or four hours it becomes misty. As the fresh air rushes in a decided bump is felt upon the ear-drums. Twenty hours is quite long enough for most men to remain submerged, and a peculiar effect, from breathing fresh air after a long bout of foul, is that it will often make men physically sick, Learned men will give rhyme and reason, for all this; the writer only knows of the actual happening. The first thing which usually strikes the lay visitor to a submarine is the narrowness of the space available for moving about and the extraordinary mass of intricate machinery—“ a regular box of tricks.’’ One gets the impression of being in the works of a gigantic watch, every available inch being occupied by some sort of mecharism, wire, or pipes. There are two sets of engines, one, oil-driven, for surface running, whilst the “The look-out man reports a suspicious object on the horizoa.”

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The two coxswains are seated by the diving and stability gauges. motive power for running submerged is electricity, and a-certain amount of sur- face running is needed in order to make the necessary electricity— juice,” as it is called—for the storage batteries. In war-time, therefore, it is usual to do the surface running at night, inci- dentally recharging the batteries, and keeping submerged during the day. The living and sleeping quarters for officers and men are very constricted. The “ward-room”’ is divided from the main gangway down the middle of the ship by an imaginary line. In a few submarines there is a curtain which can be drawn across when privacy is desired, but it is not general. A mere two-foot flap affair is the officers’ dining table, and two or three collapsible chairs, with what looks like a chest of drawers, but is really the officers’ sleeping bunks, are about the extent of the furnishings. A few attempts at decoration are some- times indulged in, but they consist at Gong “up” with the periscope to get as long a view as possible, IN A SUBMARINE IN WAR-TIME. 93 The “C.0." at the periscope. most of some photographs pinned up and—as sailors are proverbially superstitious—a_ mascot or two, and often a board bearing a brass plate showing the number of the submarine and some- times a motto, in the composition of which a deal of amusing ingenuity is exerted, for “ Jack” likes a little joke. Two examples which occur at the moment are: “She stoops to conquer,”

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94 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and “ Ha, ha, ha! He, he, he! but you can’t see me.” The wireless room is the merest cupboard which any housemaid would turn up her nose at as utterly unfit for her pails and brooms, and, as may easily be imagined, the culinary department is not luxurious. Tinned meat, and tinned food generally, forms the staple article of diet, but there is a small electric cooker for the officers and another for the men, though “ hotting up ’” and stews are about all the submarine cook ever attempts in his highest flights. The complement of a submarine consists, as a tule, of three officers—the “C.O.,"’ or commanding officer; ‘“ No. 1,” the second in command; a navigator, usually called ‘ Pilot ’’—and about thirty men, engineers and A.B.’s. Not only do the officers understand all the intricacies of the machinery, but many of the ‘‘ gadgets ”’ are their own invention, and the efficiency which submarines have reached is mainly due to the im- provements invented by them or suggested by their own practical experiences. On the whole, submarines are fairly good sea boats, but in rough weather, owing to their small size and shape, they naturally have anything but a pleasant or dry time; even when submerged they roll about from the movement of the water caused by the waves far above them, the motion of which penetrates to considerable depths. A smooth sea, but with a broken surface, is what submarine men like best to work in, for then they are hard to “ pick up’’ and the wash caused by a periscope 1s extremely hard to distinguish amongst the general ‘‘ tumble.” Let us presume one of our submarines has been patrolling through the night. Just as dawn comes creeping, pearly and grey, over the sea, the look-out man reports a suspicious object on the horizon. Immediately the command, “ Diving stations,” is called down the speaking tube, and every man springs to his post. Bearings and distance of the object are rapidly taken, and the two or three men ip the conning-tower descend through the scuttle. The “C.O.” is the last through, and, hav- ing seen everything is in order, he closes the trap after him. He then gives orders as to which tanks are to be flooded, accord- ing to the depth he wishes to dive; the usual depth for working with a periscope 1s about twenty feet. This is very quickly done, and the two I can see you, The “victim” as seen through the periscope, coxswains, who are seated by the diving and stability gauges, are constantly at work whirling round the wheels which control the diving planes (like huge fins) fixed to the outside of the submarine. A_ little “‘ tell-tale”’ spirit-level shows them whether they are on a level keel, and a needle marks the depth which has been reached. These coxswains are carefully over- looked by ‘‘ No, 1,” as this is one of the most important “jobs” in the ship, and one which, so long as she remains submerged, Las to be con- stantly worked, for it must be understood that a submarine below the surface is nearly as liable to lose her balance as an aeroplane in the air, and many a submarine has come to 2 “‘sticky end”’ by diving at too steep an angle and burying her nose in a muddy bottom. The “C.O.” takes his position by the peri- scope, which is carried, when not in actual use, drawn down into the body of the vessel, and can be raised above the surface and lowered again without interfering with the twenty feet or so of depth at which the submarine is travelling. The “C.O.’’ now orders the periscope to be raised, and, finding his ‘“ victim,” gives” the helmsman, seated beside him, the course he desires to be steered. Beyond the drone of the motors, all is silence. No one can know or see anything except the “C.O."’ His orders ring out sharply and clearly, and are repeated by the man to whom they are addressed, so that no misunderstanding shall arise. “‘ Dive to twenty- five feet.” “‘ Dive to twenty-five feet ’’ is echoed, then, as the submarine reaches the depth, “ At twenty-five feet, sir,” is reported to him. All this time the submarine is steadily ap- proaching her objective. The favourite position, and one which she always tries to obtain when about to torpedo, is on either the port or star- board bow. Arrived there, she “sits ’’ and waits for her victim’s approach till the most favourable angle for firing is reached, The officer at the periscope has to carry out his ob- servations quickly and correctly. He never keeps the periscope raised above the surface for a longer period than he can possi- bly help, in case it should be “spotted” by the enemy. Conse- quently, when he orders the peri- scope to be raised, he goes down on his knees and lets it pull him up, also coming down with it, so that he does not lose a moment of the

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IN A SUBMARINE IN WAR-TIME. 95 The helmsman. ment is above the surface: He has to trust entirely to his judgment as to the distance, speed, and so onoftheenemy. The object of ‘‘ dazzle” painting our merchant ships was to deceive the German U-boat commanders as to their course and distance, and not, as many people seemed to think, to ‘ camouflage ’’ them and make them disappear or merge with surrounding conditions, which, under the varying light at sea, is an imposubility. Most types of submarines carry tubes forward and aft, and some beam tubes as well. All are kept ready loaded with torpedoes, the spare “ fish,” or “ mouldies,” being slung in position over the tubes. They cost a little under a thou- sand pounds apiece, and generally about ten are carried. The tubes are watertight, and are only flooded just before firing. They are fixed, and therefore the submarine itself has to be so manceuvred as to bring the tube about to be used to bear on the enemy. The “ C.O.” now gives the order which tube he intends using, and it is promptly “flooded” and a man stands by prepared to pull the lever, re- porting “all ready.” The “ C.O.” will probably have the periscope momentarily raised again to take another quick observation, and, if neces- sary, gives his orders to the helmsman as to alteration of course, or to the engineer as to the speed at which he wishes to travel. Again all is silence, and one can feel one’s heart throbbing, knowing that the moment for which there has been so mruch study and preparation is at hand. The “ C.O.” waits silently, calculating the time and gauging the moment. when he thinks he will be in the desired position. The motors drone steadily. All is bright with electric light, the Polished and painted parts of the engines catch- ing and reflecting it in innumerable pin-points. “Up periscope!’ rings out the order. The “C.0.”" goes down on his knees, and as the peri- scope slides silently up, he is pulled with it, his eye glued to the reflectors. A sharp order or two to the helmsman, repeated by him as he puts

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96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the helm over; then, as the boat answers to it, bringing the tube to bear, the order “ Fire!” snaps out. “ Whang !”’ goes the lever, and the torpedo, forced out of its tube by compresred air, has a trigger automatically pulled, wlfich sets its own engines revolving, and away it dashes, under its own power, its whirling screws forcing it through the water at forty knots upon its deadly mission. There is a moment of fearful suspense, then a dull “ boom” is heard and a trembling is felt throughout the whole vessel, which proclaims the aim has been true and that the torpedo has found its mark. Should the “ C.O."’ think fit, diving tanks are then ‘‘ blown ’’—which means the water in them is blown out by compressed air—and the sub- marine comes to the surface. Up the narrow iron ladder leading to the conning-tower springs the “C.0."" He opens the trap, and—" ouf !"’— the fresh air, with a few drops of water, rushes in. Above, everything is glistening and wet, and the white ensign, heavy with water, flaps lazily against the staff. The sunlight sparkles gaily on blue sea and crisp salty waves—but what is that, some quarter of a mile away? A Hun U-boat, reared end-up in its last agony, with some human beings bobbing about grotesquely for a little before sinking for ever beneath the sea. How many of our own seamen have they seen thus— and laughed at! But perhaps our men don’t remember this, or, at any rate, it doesn’t prevent them succouring those who may still be alive. On one occasion when they were engaged on such an errand another U-boat came along to attack, so that ours had | to dive and leave them to their fate. “When Greek meets Greek, then comes the tug of war,’’ and there have been some exciting “scraps '"’ between British and German sub- marines, cach seeking the other beneath the waves to get in first blow. Our invention of “ depth charges ’’ was hor- ribly feared by “ Fritz.”” They are ingenious articles, yet very simple, and can be dropped by aship at full speed, as a moth lays eggs. Shaped like an iron drum, they can be set to explode at any desired depth, their power extending to a radius of eighty or ninety yards, and many a German submarine met its end by having its plates blown in or by being sent rolling over and over, upsetting its storage batteries, the fumes from which quickly settled its crew’s career. Many and various—some amusing, some grue- some—are the tales told of happenings to our submarine men. The service itself is exciting enough, but when it comes to “ war ”’ there is sufficient excitement in one “ to last a lifetime. scrap” “*Whang !” goes the lever.”

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Bill the Kid E.A.BRININSTOOL Iustrated (by) ERNEST PRATER “Billy the Kid” was the name bestowed u202 « notorious outiaw who for years terrorized the Western States of America, and who is believed to have shot a larger number of men than any other of the desperadoes who flourished in the late ‘seventies and ‘eighties. Our Author describes how he was finally tracked down, and the tragic end that overtook him. Mr. Brininstool has been assisted in this task by Mr. John W. Poe, to-day a prominent American banker, who at the time was U.S. Deputy Marshal, and with his friend, Sheriff P. F. Garrett, succeeded in running the bandit to earth. represented by the six: 'T may be said with a considerable H degree of accuracy that the days fed when men of the Jesse James type, My the Dalton brothers, the Sontag and Evans bandits, and others of the real “‘ professional ’’ gun-fighters, who started many a frontier graveyard with victims who “died with their boots on,” are over. No longer within the limits of the United States is there a “ frontier ’’ where desperate characters can wink at the law, and indiscrimi- nately work their deadly six-shooters. It is an epoch that has departed, along with the hostile Indian and the buffalo. The most notorious of the frontier “ bad men "’ who infested the South-West in the middle ‘seventies and early ‘cighties, particularly New Mexico and Arizona, was a slightly-built youth, whose real name was William H. Bonney, but who was known from Texas to the California line as “‘ Billy the Kid.’’ The career of the “ Kid” was brief, but exciting. In the five or six most eventful years of his life—during which time his name stood in the Territories for everything bad--from the middle of 1876 until 1881, when he was shot and killed, his deadly gun claimed twenty-one victims—a man for each year of his life, as he was but twenty-one when a bullet from the six-shooter of Sheriff Pat F. Garrett laid him low. “ Billy the Kid "’ was born—of all places for a frontier desperado to spring from—in New York City, in November, 1859. Bonney, senior, removed with his family to Southern Kansas when Billy was but a small child, and died shortly It is a stirring story of the days when law was -shooter and life was held very cheaply. after. The mother, by various stages, travelled about, until, after her second marriage to a man named Antrim, the family finally settled in Santa Fé, in New Mexico. Here young Billy grew up among a turbulent element, and later, after the family had removed to Silver City, conditions did not improve for this lad with a Sheriff P. F. Garrett, who killed “Billy the Kid.”

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98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Mr. John W. Poe, President of the Citizens’ National Bank, Roswell, New Mexico. At the time of this story he was_a deputy U.S, Marshal under Sheriff Garrett, restless, adventurous nature. Billy’s mother died when he was but twelve years of age, and, as his step-father was one of the bullying, abusive sort, Billy found home life anything but agree- able. He claimed, later in life, that his step- father was the chief cause of his going to the bad. About the time Billy reached his twelfth year, he became mixcd in a saloon row, in which he pulled a jack-knife from his pocket and killed a man who was beating one of his friends. For this act he was obliged to fice the country, and later turned up in Arizona with a companion of his own calibre. Here he found plenty of chances to get into trouble, and he was not long in again steeping himself in crimes of various sorts, from “ cattle-rustling ’’ to murder. In various gambling resorts he killed two or three more men, and was, by that time, known as a bad youth to go up against in a gun- play. The Lincoln County Cattle War, which forms the bloodiest portion of New Mexico’s frontier }.istory, gave the ‘Kid’ still greater opportunities of adding to his list of victims. He took an important part in the fighting carried on between the Murphy and McSween factions, arraying himself with the McSween clement. Hundreds of men were engaged on both sides in this frontier war, and murder after murder was piled up. There was absolutely no law whatever in that section of the country, save the law of the six-shooter. “Get there first, and don’t miss,” was the watchword. In one way and another, the “ Kid ’’ continued to add to the notches on his gun, until, by the time he was nineteen or twenty years of age, he was looked upon as a born leader and the greatest gun-fighter along the South-West border. About that time (1880) Pat F. Garrett was elected sheriff of Lincoln County, and he at once set about bringing to justice some of the leaders among the wild element on the frontier, chief of whom was now “ Billy the Kid.’ Garrett was a tall, lanky specimen, six feet five inches in height, and remarkably slender. He was finally fortunate enough to round up the “ Kid " and two or three members of his gang nine miles east of Fort Sumner, and, after a hot scrimmage, the “‘ Kid '’ was captured alive and two others killed. The balance of the gang surrendered. The “ Kid " was tried and found guilty of murder He was sentenced to be hanged on May 13th, 1881. While in an old building—used in lieu of a jail—and under the guard of two skilled gun-fighters, the “ Kid’ managed to kill both his guards with their own weapons and escape. It was now “‘ war to the death ’’ between Pat Garrett and ‘‘ Billy the Kid.” The latter, with marvellous cunning, managed to elude Garrett and his deputies for some time. The “ Kid” had a Mexican sweetheart at Fort Sumner, whom he was in the habit of visiting when he could do so under cover of darkness, and it is likely that this infatuation is really what brought about his sudden demise. At any rate, John W. Poe, now a prominent banker of Roswell, New Mexico, but at that time a deputy United States marshal, and living in the Texas Panhandle, was asked to co-operate with the New Mexico authorities with the view to putting an end to the wholesale stealing of cattle and horses which had been, and was then, carried on by the “ Kid’ and his gang. The career of the “ Kid’ was a brief one after that period. Ind iscussing with the writer the manner in which the notorious outlaw was finally run to sarth and killed, Mr. Poe gave the following facts -— “Pursuant to my agreement with the New Mexico authorities to assist them in sunning ‘Roswell, W.M. Jan. 19, '30- TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERK:- I hereby certify that the story of the capture and killing of “Bil Kj", notorious New Mexioo outlaw, as given by me to B.A. Brininstool of Los Angeles, Cal . ip absolutely true in every detail as described by (signed), _Mt, Poe's cestificate a0 to the suthenticity of thie persatire.

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down the ‘ Kid ’ and his gang, I, in March, 1881, went to White Oaks, Lincoln County, New Mexico, which place was at that time quite a booming mining town, and a sort of rendezvous for tough characters generally, including the follow- ing of ‘ Billy the Kid’ and his friends and sympathizers, of whom there were many. It was here that I first met Pat Garrett, who was at that time sheriff of Lincoln County, and after an interview with him, in which I explained the nature of my business in New Mexico, it was agreed that I should be commissioned as one of his deputies, which was done, and that we should co-operate in every way possible in an endeavour to suppress crime in that region generally, and ‘ cattle-rustling ’ in particular. “It should be remem- bered that at this par- ticular time the ‘ Kid’ was lying in jail—or, rather, held under guard —at Lincoln, the county seat, under sentence of death for murder. How- ever, a number of his fol- lowers were still at large pursuing their vocation of stealing cattle, com- mitting robberies and various other crimes,and they were operating from the Texas Panhandle through a great part of Arizonaand New Mexico. “ At our first meeting it was agreed between Garrett and myself that I should make a trip to Tombstone, Arizona, which was then in its palmiest days as a min- ing camp. Some of the stolen cattle from the Panhandle had been driven to this place, and Thoped to recover them. It was further under- stood that, upon my return to White Oaks, within a short time, we would again meet and confer together over the situation, and decide upon further movements. This programme was carried out, and on the day of our second meeting in White Oaks, some time during the month of April, information came from Lincoln, some forty miles distant, that ‘ Billy the Kid’ had escaped from his guards, killing both of them, and was again at large. This occurred only a few days before the time set for his execution, and naturally caused a great deal of excitement throughout that region, as well as some rejoicing on the part of his friends and sympathizers, “Upon receipt of this information, Garrett immediately started for Lincoln, while it was “Billy the Kid.” From an old “ about a year before he was BILLY THE KID. 99 agreed that I should remain on the look-out for the ‘ Kid’ at White Oaks for a time, as it ‘was not known in what direction he would go after getting out of Lincoln. “Upon arriving at Lincoln on the night following the day of the ‘ Kid’s ’ escape, Garrett found that two of his deputies (Bob Ollinger and a man named Bell) had been killed by the ‘ Kid,’ who, partly by means of a cunning ruse, and partly by reason of the carelessness of the deputies, had broken into a room containing firearms, adjacent to where he was guarded, securing a shot-gun and a six-shooter, by means of which he added two more to his already long list of victims, and then had compelled another man on the premises to secure a horse for him, upon which he rode away, leaving the people of the little town com- pletely terrorized. “Garrett at once or- ganized several posses and scoured the country in all directions for sev- eral days, but failed to find any trace of the ‘Kid.’ He finally gave up the hunt in the full belief that his man had gone into Old Mexico. According to my recol- lection, this killing and escape occurred in the latter part of April, after which we were unable to learn any- thing whatever indicat- ing the whereabouts of the ‘ Kid,’ until the July following, notwithstand- ing that we were con- stantly on the alert, and made the most strenuous efforts to locate him, “During the interval between the time of the escape of the ‘ Kid’ and the July following, I continued to make my headquarters at White Oaks, during which time I scoured the country thoroughly, finding many stolen cattle which had_ been slaughtered, belonging to the association I was represent- ing. I had a number of arrests made and prosecutions instituted, being assisted in all this by Sheriff Garrett,;who co-operated with me in every way possible, and whom I found to be a very brave and efficient officer. “ Some time in the early part of July following the happenings above related, I was approached by a man in White Oaks whom I had formerly known in Texas, who, although addicted to habits of dissipation, was a man of good principles, and who had, on previous occasions, shown a desire to assist me in the work I had in hand. tin-type” photograph token illed.

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Too THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “This man told me a story in strictest con- fidence, the gist of which was that for want of a better place he had been sleeping in a vacant room in a certain livery-stable, owned and operated by two men who were known to be friends of ‘ Billy the Kid,’ and that a short time previous, while in his sleeping quarters at night, he had overheard a conversation between the two men which convinced him that the ‘ Kid’ was still in the country, making his headquarters at Fort Sumner, about a hundred miles distant from White Oaks, and that he had on two different occasions been in the vicinity of White Oaks, where he had met or communicated with the two men whose conversation he had gverheard. “‘T was somewhat sceptical as to the correct- ness of this information, as it seemed almost unbelievable that the ‘ Kid,’ after a period of three months, with a price on his head and under sentence of death, would still be lingering in the district. However, in view of the peculiar conditions then existing in the country, and the fact that the ‘Kid’ had many friends and sympathizers who looked upon him as a hero, and who would probably shelter and protect him, I came to the conclusion that there was possible truth in the story, and I immediately went to the county seat, where I laid the matter before Garrett as it had been told me. “Garrett was more sceptical regarding the report than I was, but finally said that if I desired it he and I would go to Roswell, where we would find one of his deputies named McKinney, and from there the three of us would go to Fort Sumner and see what we could run down. On the following day we went to Roswell, where we found McKinney, who expressed his disbelief in the White Oaks story, but willingly joined us for the expedition to Fort Sumner, which place is some eighty miles from Roswell. “ After a few hours in Roswell arranging for the trip, we started about sundown, riding out of town in a different direction from that we intended to travel later, as it was absolutely necessary to keep the public in ignorance of our’ plans if anything was to be accomplished. After we were well out of the settlements, we changed our course and rode in the direction of Fort Sumner until about midnight, when we stopped, picketed our horses, and slept on our saddle-blankets for the remainder of the night. The next day we rode some fifty odd miles, halting late in the evening some five or six miles out of Fort Sumner, where we again picketed our horses and slept until morning. “It was then agreed that, as I was not known in Fort Sumner, while Garrett and McKinney were, I should ride into the place with the object of reconnoitring the ground and gathering such information as was possible, while the other two men were to remain out in the sand-hills for the day, and in case of my failure to return before night they were to meet me after darkness at a certain point agreed on some four miles out of Fort Sumner. “ Pursuant to this plan, I left my companions and rode into town, where I arrived about ten o'clock, Fort Sumner at that time had a popu- lation of only two or three hundred people, nearly all of whom were natives or Mexicans, there being not more than a dozen or two Americans in the place, a majority of whom were tough characters, and a large part of the population were in sympathy with the ‘ Kid,’ while the remainder stood in terror of him. “When I entered the town I noticed that I was being watched on every side, and, soon after I had stopped and hitched my horse in front of a store which had a saloon annexe, a number of men gathered around and began to question me as to where I was from, where bound, and so forth. I answered with as plausible a yarn as I was able, telling them that I was from White Oaks, where I had been engaged in mining, and was on my way to the Panhandle, where I had formerly lived. This story seemed to allay their suspicions to some extent, and I was invited to join in a social drink at the saloon, which I did, being very careful that I absorbed only a very small portion of the liquor. This operation was repeated several times, as was the custom in those days, after which I went to a near-by restaurant for something to eat. After a square meal, I loitered about the town for some three hours, chatting casually with the people I met, in the hope of finding out something definite as to whether the ‘ Kid ’ was there, or had recently been there, but was unable to learn anything further than that the people with whom I con- versed were still suspicious of me, and it was plain that many of them were on the alert, expecting something to happen; in fact, the tension was very high in Fort Sumner that day, as the ‘ Kid ’ was at that very time hiding in one of the natives’ houses, and, if the object of my visit had become known, I should have stood no chance for my life whatever. “ Tt was understood when I left my companions in the morning that, in case of my being unable to learn anything definite in Fort Sumner, I was to go to the ranch of a Mr. Rudolph (an acquaintance and supposed friend of Garrett), whose ranch was located some little distance north of Fort Sumner at a place called Sunny- side, with the purpose of securing from him, if possible, some information as to the whereabouts of the ‘ Kid.’ Accordingly, I started about the middle of the afternoon for Rudolph’s ranch, arriving there some time before night. I found him at home, presented the letter of introduc- tion Garrett had given me, and told him I wished to stop overnight with him. He read the letter, and said that Garrett was a very good friend of his, and that he would be very glad to furnish me with accommodation for the night. “After supper was over I engaged him in conversation, discussing the conditions of the country generally, and, after some little time, I led up to the escape of ‘ Billy the Kid’ from Lincoln, remarking that I had heard a report that the ‘ Kid’ was hiding in or about Fort Sumner. Upon my making this remark the old gentleman plainly showed that he was getting nervous ; he said he had heard that such a re- Port was about, but did not believe it. By this

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— —e—— = “A oumber of men gath red round and began to question me as to where | was from.” time I was pretty well convinced that Mr. Rudolph was naturally well-intentioned, but, like so many others, was in almost mortal terror of the ‘ Kid,’ and, on account of this fear, was reluctant to say anything whatever about him. I then told him plainly the object of my errand—that i had come to him for the express purpose of learn- ing, if possible, where the ‘ Kid * could be found ; that we believed he was hiding in or near Fort Sumner, and that Garrett expected that he (Rudolph) would be able to put us on the right trail, Upon my making this statement, my host apparently became more nervous and excited than ever, reiterated Lis reasons for be- lieving the ‘ Kid’ was not in that part of the country, and showed plainly—so it seemed to me—that he was not only embarrassed, but alarmed. The truth was, we afterwards learned, he was well aware that the ‘ Kid ’ was then, and had been for some time, hiding about Fort Sumner, but his dread of the outlaw caused him to make misleading statements while withholding facts. “ Darkness was now approaching, and I told Mr. Rudolph that, as both myself and horse were well rested and fed, I had changed my mind about stopping overnight, and would, instead, BILLY THE KID. tor saddle up and ride during the cool of the evening to meet my companions. This I accordingly did—much, I thought, to the relief of Mr. Rudolph. I rode directly to the point where I had agreed to meet my companions, and, as I approached from one direction, they came into view from the other. “ This proved to be a night of strange happen- ings with us. We now held a consultation as to what further course to pursue. I had spent the day endeavouring to learn something definite of the man we wanted, but without succes:, save that from the actions of the people I had met at Fort Sumner, together with Rudolph’s nervous and excited manner, I was more firmly convinced than ever that our man was in that vicinity. . “ Garrett seemed to have but little confidence in our being able to accomplish the object of our trip, but said he knew the location of a certain house occupied by a woman in Fort

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102 Sumner which the‘ Kid ’ had formerly frequented, and that if he was in or about the town he would most likely be scen entering or leaving this house during the night. He proposed that we should go into a grove of trees near the town, conceal our horses, then station ourselves in the peach orchard at the rear of this house and keep watch. This was agreed on, and we entered the orchard about nine o'clock that night, stationing our- selves in the gloom of the trees, as the moon was shining very brightly. We kept upa fruitless vigil here until some time after eleven o’clock, when Garrett stated that he believed we were ona cold trail; that he had had very little faith in our being able to accomplish anything when we started on the trip, and proposed that we should leave the town without letting anyone know that we had been there in search of the ‘ Kid.’ “JT then proposed that before leaving we should go to thercsidence of a man named Peter Maxwell —a man whom, up to that night, I had never seen, but whom, by reputation, I knew to be a man of wealth and influence and a leading citizen of the place. I reasoned that, as he had large property interests, he should. be glad to furnish us with such information as he might possibly have to aid in ridding the country of a man who was looked upon as a scourge and curse by all law-abiding citizens. “ Garrett agreed to this, and thereupon led us from the orchard by circuitous by-paths to Maxwell’s residence, which was a building for- merly used as officers’ quarters during tne days when a garrison of troops had b:en stationed at the fort. Upon our arriving at the place, which was a very long, one-storcy adobe, standing end-to-end and flush with the street, having a porch on the south side, which was the direction from which we approached, we observed that the premises were enclosed by a paling fence, one side of which ran parallel to and along the edge of the street up to and across the end of the porch to the corner of the building. Garrett then said to me: ‘ This is Maxwell's room, in this corner. You fellows wait here while I go in and talk to him.’ He then stepped on to the porch and entered Maxwell’s room—the door having been left open on account of the extremely warm weather. McKinney and I stopped on the outside, McKinney squatting on the outside of the fence, and I sitting on the edge of the porch in the small, open gateway, leading from the street on to the porch. “Tt should be mentioned here that, up to that night, I had never seen ‘ Billy the Kid,’ nor Maxwell either, which fact, in view of the events occurring immediately afterward, placed me at an extreme disadvantage. “ It was probably not more than thirty seconds after Garrett had entered Maxwell's room when my attention was attracted to a man approach- ing me on the inside of the fence, some forty or fifty steps away. I observed that he was only partially dressed, and was both bareheaded and barefooted—or, rather, had only socks on his feet, and it seemed to me that he was fastening his trousers as he came toward me at a very brisk walk. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “ As Maxwell’s was the one place in all Fort Sumner that I had considered above suspicion of harbouring the ‘ Kid,’ I was utterly off my guard, the thought coming into my mind that the man approaching was either Maxwell or some guest of his who might have been staying there. He came on until he was almost within arm’s length of where I sat before he saw me, as I was partially concealed from his view by the post of the gate. “Upon catching sight of me, he covered me with his six-shooter as quick as lignining, sprang on to the porch, and called ou, in Spanish, * Quien es ?’ (‘ Who is it 2’), at the same time backing away from me toward the do -r through which Garrett only a few seconds beiore had passed, and repeating his query, ‘ Who is it 2?’ u: Spanish several times. “At this I stood up and advanced tovard him, teiing him not to be alarmed; that he s*ould not be hurt, and still without the least suspicion that this was the very man we were after. As I moved toward him to reassure him, he backed up into the doorway of Maxwell’s room, where he halted for a moment, his body concealed by the thick adobe wall at the side of the doorway, whence he put his head out and asked in Spanish, for the fourth or fifth time, who I was. “T was within a few feet of him when he dis- appeared into the room. After this, and until after the shooting, I was unable to see what took place, on account of the darkness of the room, but plainly heard what was said on the inside. An instant after the man left the door I heard a voice inquire, in a sharp tone, ‘ Pete, who are those fellows on the outside ?’ “ An instant later a shot was fired in the room, followed immediately by what everyone within hearing distance thought were two other shots. However, there were only two shots fired, the third report, we afterwards learned, being caused by the rebound. of the second bullet from the adobe wall against the headboard of the. wooden bedstead. “T heard a groan and one or two gasps from where I stood in the doorway, as of someone dying in the room. An instant. later Garrett came out, brushing against me as he passed. He stood by me, close to the wall at the side of the door. “«That was the “ Kid” that came in, and I think I've got him,’ he said. “*Pat, the “ Kid’ would not come to this place ; you have shot the wrong man,’ I answered. At this Garrett seemed to be in doubt himself as to whom he had shot, but quickly spoke up and said, ‘ I’m sure that was him, for I know his voice too well to be mistaken.’ “A moment after Garrett ame out of the door Pete Maxwell rushed out squarely on to me, in a frantic effort to get out of the room, and I certainly should have shot him but for Garrett striking up my gun, saying, ‘ Don't shoot Maxwell !’ F “As, by this time, I had begun to realize that we were in a place not above suspicion, such as I-had thought the residence off Maxwell

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BILLY ‘HE KID. 103 “He covered me with his six-shooter as quick as lightaing.” to be, and as Garrett was so positive that the * Kid ' was inside, I came to the conclusion that we were up against a case of ‘ kill or be killed,’ such as we had from the beginning realized would be the case, whenever we came upon the man we wanted. We afterwards learned that the ‘ Kid’ had frequently been at Maxwell's house after his escape from Lincoln, but Maxwell stood in such terror of him that he did not dare inform against the outlaw. “ By this time all was quiet within the room, but we were unable to see what the result

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104 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the shooting had been. After some rather forceful persuasion, we induced Maxwell to get a candle from his mother’s room at the far end of the building. We placed the candle on the window-sill outside, which enabled us to get a view of the interior, where we saw a man stretched out on his back dead, in the middle of the room, with a six-shooter lying at his right hand and a butcher’s knife at his left. Upon examining the body, we found it to be that of ‘ Billy the Kid.’ Garrett’s first shot had penetratcd his breast just above the heart, thus ending the career of a desperado who, while only twenty-one years of age at the time of his death, had killed a greater number of men than any of the numerous ‘bad men’ and ‘killers’ [have ever known or heard of during the forty-five years I have been in the South-West. “Within a very short time after the shooting quite a number of native people had gathered about, some of them bewailing the death of their friend, while several of the women pleaded for permission to take charge of the body, which we allowed them to do. They carried it across the yard into a carpenter’s shop, where it was laid out on a work-bench, the women placing lighted candles around the body, according to their ideas of properly conducting a ‘ wake’ for the dead. . “ All that occurred after the ‘ Kid ’ came into view in the yard, up to the time he was killed, happened in much less time than it takes to tell, not more than thirty seconds intervening between the time I first saw him and the time he was shot. From Garrett’s statement of what took place in the room after he entered, it appeared that he left his Winchester standing by the side of the door, and approached the bed where Maxwell was sleeping, arousing him and sitting down on the edge of the bed near the head. A moment after he had taken this position he heard voices on the porch and sat quietly listen- ing, when a man appeared in the doorway, and a moment later ran up to Maxwell’s bed, saying: * Pete, who are those fellows outside ?’ It being dark in the room, he had not, up to the moment, seen Garrett sitting at the head of the bed. When he spoke to Maxwell, Garrett recognized the * Kid’s’ voice and made a move to draw his six-shooter. This movement attracted the * Kid’s’ attention, and, seeing that a man was sitting there, he immediately covered him with his gun and backed away, demanding several times in Spanish to know who it was. Garrett made no reply, and, without rising, fired, with “the result stated. “This occurred at about midnight on July 14th, 1881. We spent the remainder of the night on the Maxweli premis keeping constantly on our guard, as we were expecting to be attacked by the friends ot tne outlaw. Nothing of the kind occurred, however. The next morning we sent for a justice of the peace, who held an inquest over the body, the verdict being such as to justify the killing, and later, on the same day, the body of ‘ Billy the Kid ’ was buried in the old military burying-ground at Fort Sumner. “There have been many wild and untrue stories of this affair, one of which was that we had in some way learned in advance that the ‘Kid’ would come to Maxwell's house that night, and that we had concealed ourselves there for the purpose of waylaying and killing him. Another story was that we cut off his fingers and carried them away as trophies, and in later years it was said many times that the ‘ Kid’ was not dead at all, but had been seen alive. and well in various places. The actual facts, however, are exactly as stated herein, and, while we no doubt would, under the circum- stances, have lain in wait for the ‘ Kid’ at Maxwell’s place had we had the slightest reason to believe he would come there, the fact that he did come was a complete surprise to us, absolutely unexpected and unlooked-for, as far as we three were concerned. “The killing of the ‘ Kid’ created a great sensation throughout the South-West, and many of the law-abiding citizens of New Mexico and the Panhandle contributed substantially and liberally toward a reward for the officers. whose work had finally rid the country of a man who was nothing less than a scourge. “The taking-off of the ‘Kid’ had a very salutary effect in New Mexico and the Panhandle, most of his followers leaving the country, for the time being, at least; and-a great many persons who had sympathized with him, or been terrorized by him, completely changed their attitude toward the enforcement of the law. “The events which took place at Maxwell’s ranch on that July rqth, 1881, to this day seem to me strange and mysterious. ‘The ‘ Kid’ was certainly a killer—was absolutely desperate, and “had the drop’ first on me, and then on Garrett. Why did he not use it ? Possibly because he thought he was in the house of his friends, and had no suspicion that the officers of the law would ever come to that place searching for him. From what we afterwards learned, there was some reason for believing that we had been seen leaving the peach orchard by one of his friends, who ran to the house where he was stopping for the night, warning him of our presence, upon which he had run out half-dressed to Maxwell’s, thinking, perhaps, that by reason of the standing of the Maxwells he would not be sought there. How- ever this may be, the episode is still, in view of his character and the condition he was in, a mystery.” oy |

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e VALLE cwO ” John lVon Blon The “Royal Gateway,” « singularly striking formation two hundred feet high. The first description and photographs ever published of Red Rock Canyon, a marvellous gorge in fornia that is full of extraordinary temples, castles, towers, and carvings—all wrought by the hand of Nature during countless ages. The Author practically storehouse of discovered this natural wonders, and as a result of his visit the President of the United States has been petitioned to declare the Canyon a national preserve. HERE is now before the President of the United States a memorial asking him to set apart Red Rock Canyon, in Southern California, as a national monument. This en- ; chanted spot, rich in unique beauty and of peculiar scientific importance, has only just come to light—a hitherto unturned page in America’s book of natural wonders. It is a romantic, rainbow-hued gorge, containing a wealth of amazing structures, reared, carved, and even painted by the elements, and comparable only to the classics of ancient and modern architecture. Its fossil beds, virtually untouched, give promise of rich. prehistoric treasures, and educators and archeologists are concerned over finds in its caves. It is incredible that so remarkable a region should so long have escaped notice, but the fact remains that it has done so, and it has been left for the Wip—E WorLp Vol. xliv.—8, MaGazineE to print the first description and photographs ever pubiished of Red Rock Canyon. The canyon itself is a gash in the lower end of the mighty Sierra Nevada Mountains. Its mouth opens upon the north-western edge of the Mohave Desert, near the El Paso range. a hundred and sixty miles from Los Angeles, and about an equal distance from Bishop, the only city in eastern California. The prosaic pioneers of the olden days passed that way, but paid no heed to its vivid charm. Now it sud- denly finds itself on a main trail of civilization, and tens of thousands of tourists and others are beginning to admire it with rapture and astonish- ment. Through its length of fifteen miles ex- tends the southern branch of the Roosevelt National Highway (formerly the Midland Trail), a transcontinental automobile route from Montauk Point, Long Island, and Washington, D.C., to Los Angeles and San Francisco, which enters :y Google 8 It lies -

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106 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. preserve. Some account of what Isaw there, illustrated with my own photo- graphs, may interest Wme WorLp readers. The section of the valley which con- tains the chief surprises embraces a little less than four square miles, is several miles removed from the desert, and lies at about three thousand feet altitude. In approaching from either direction a turn brings the walled-in miracles of form and colour into sudden view. It is a marvellous and entrancing picture—arcades, temples, castles, cathe- drals, towers, domes, spires, sphinxes, and gargoyles, all perfectly moulded and exquisitely adorned by Nature, and unmarred by the vandal hand of man. Standing on an eminence at the can- yon’s head is the “ Temple of the Sun,” an impressive grey pile a hundred and twenty-five feet high, with a series of terraced entrance-ways and partially- crumbled walls, forming an elliptical en- closure approximately a hundred and fifty feet in diameter—an ideal amphi- theatre. Those who look upon this temple find difficulty in believing that it is not the ruin of some great building of human handiwork. Near by, domi- nating the entire region, rises the mas- sti ? ‘A 5 ase: sive ‘‘ Sentinel Tower,” imposing rather = edral,” a oe than beautiful. It stands more than ‘The “Closed Cathedral,” a study in magnificent colouring. 4 hundred feet high, and is appac the Golden State centrally véa Westgard Pass, rently harder rock than its crumbling neighbour. and turns south and north. California has Geologists say it has probably held its command- designated this as a main line of its highway ing bulk aloft for thousands of centuries. The system, and within a year it will be paved through _ walls are pinkish-grey and the ponderous lava-cap Red Rock Canyon, where its survey passes close by some of the spectacular marvels which the Government is now being petitioned to preserve and protect. This road leads to the Sequoia and Yose- mite National Parks, travelling along and across America’s loft- iest and most magni- ficent scenic ranges. It was recently the writer’s privilege to pass some time in this wonderful can- yon, explore it, and name its most inspir- ing works, at the same time bringing it to the attention of leading organiza- tions and men of the West, with the result that the President was petitioned to pro- claim it an inviolable a ES ee

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a. dark red—a wonderful contrast with the dagzling blue of the Californian sky. A mile diagonally opposite is the “* Acropolis,” colossal and supreme. More than four hundred and fifty feet high and a thousand feet long, it bears @ marked resemblance to the Athenian Acropolis, and also to the mammoth temple ruins of Baalbec, in northern Syria. Seen from any angle it is mys- terious, awe-compelling, certain to leave a lasting imprint on the mind. Here is a standing invitation to troglodytes and cliff-dwellers seeking a new home. In the days of the Californian pioneers a band of desperadoes lived in secret chambers in the “ Acropolis,” and preyed upon the gold freighted through from the Gerro Gordo mine at Owens Lake to Los Angeles, but there have been no occupants since. ‘ A veritable natural masterpiece is the “Closed Cathedral,” a study in magni- ficent colouring, so gorgeous and yet so softly harmonious that no mortal artist’s brush could hope to equal it. The edifice is of tremendous size, with an entrance twenty-five feet high and fifteen wide, solidly blocked at a depth of twelve feet. Pure white, deep blue, red, yellow, green, and all the inter- vening shades are blended in the de- corative scheme. One of the results is the suggestion of an immense stained- glass window.. The whole aspect is of vast an- tiquity, enhanced by a crack or fault extending diagonally across the front and through the THE VALLEY OF WONDERS. 107 The “Temple of the Sun.” general formation—evidence of an earth-slide before or possibly soon after the processes of erosion began, realistic is the cathedral effect that one in- voluntarily listens for bells calling the pious to prayers. The “Buried City,”’ where masses of burned “clay, broken up like com- mon bricks, have crashed down and crushed or covered some of the best examples of natural construction, parti- cularly a. group of “pagodas, is a some- what melancholy sight, reminiscent of Herculaneum and Pompeii. Fortu- nately there still remain several rare pagodas and a num- ber of dainty sculp- tures such as the ‘gracefully - curved, lace-like parapet in the foreground of the photograph Here also may .be

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108 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, It leads to a sculptured foyer extending back six hundred feet and having the characteristics of a superb art gallery in which almost any figure desired, heroic or miniature, may be found by giving the imagination slight leeway. In the centre, at a considerable dis- tance from the opening, stands a separate group of five columns on a tall base. Gateway and foyer are both white as snow. Four hundred feet up on the hard, corrugated grey slope, with the moun- tains for a background, is perched majestically a castellated palace, the “Citadel.” At a glance one associates this with impregnable old-world heights overlooking fertile vales or sapphire tides. It is a castle of dreams, among crags where baid eagles nest. The gigantic “ Pillars of Hercules,” dwarfing those of the Temple of Bacchus, symbolize enduring strength, and secmingly defy time. Light grey and red in colour, with supporting half-lengths at regular intervals, each with an ornate abacus, they appear to hold up the weight of the Sierra. A car can readily be driven direct to the foot of these pillars. The “ White Chapel” is very appro- ‘ priately named. At the corners the zs walls are heavily buttressed, like the The “White Chapel. old. Spanish missions of the South- West. In general outline it resembles seen Oriental building types which escaped the some of Mexico’s ancient churches. Unlike avalanche. The “ Buried City’’ occupies an them, however, it is elegantly embellished. area of eight or ten acres. Above and behind There are many niches containing appropriate it the canyon walls are five hundred feet in height. The avalanche came from the nether side of the top stratum. Enor- mous ledges _ still continue to break off and go tearing down their destruc- tive course; a broken rolling column swept the tripod from under the author’s camera even while these pictures were being taken. Rising nearly two hundred feet above the level floor ina deep pocket of the canyon is a stately columnar entrance of such symmetry and elegance that it was unhesitatingly christened the “ Royal Gateway.”

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statuettes—figures which might have been placed there by the old-time padres, had any come that way. Another of the many curiosities is the ‘Sphinx,’ a salmon-hued leaning rock weighing more than a thousand tons, with detached base and cap- stone of dark red. It is distinctively Egyptian in design, and faces the noonday sun. Another striking phe- nomenon is “ Pan’s Pipe Organ.” The pipes measure from five to thirty-five feet in height, and the “instrument”’ stands on the side 2f a mountain. Red Rock Canyon—so named be- cause red is the predominant colour —was evidently, in the late tertiary period, a swamp teeming with fauna, perhaps the only drinking-place in an extensive territory. To-day it is a fossil field which is likely to yield abundantly to expert exploration. Cursory search recently has disclosed remains of land mammalia all about —camels, horses, elephants, masto- dons, and innumerable smaller species. These are embedded in clay and shale, and occur in all parts of the canyon. At the base of the “ Temple of the Sun,” William Mulholland, chief en- gineer of the Los Angeles Aqueduct, picked up the petrified heel-bone of the largest sabre-toothed tiger ever found in the Western hemisphere. It was classified, and its remarkable size commented on, by the Smithsonian Institution THE VALLEY OF WONDERS, 109 tion Park Museum, Los Angeles. This is the “springing-bone’”’ of the tiger. The at Washington, and is now in the Exposi- specimen is four and a half inches long. The “Pillars of Hercules.” .The canyon walls are indented by countless caves and caverns, some a hundred feet in depth. In one of these a member of a passing survey- party discovered a collection of Indian pottery worth thous- ands of dollars. It consisted of forty Pieces, placed in or- derly fashion along the walls, and was covered inches deep with dust. Had they been selected by a professor of archzo- logy fcr his own use, the choice and ar- rangement could not have been improved upon. Most of the Pieces are delicately shaped, very thin, and beautifully glazed, pigments having been applied

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110 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, before burning. Originally this was a part of the region occupied by the Piutes, Shoshones, and related tribes, but the pottery from the cave is infinitely superior to any of their known craftsmanship. None like it has come to light elsewhere ; its source is unexplained. The Red Rock formation consists in the main of volcanic mud, primarily pale pink, and com- posed of clays, gravelly sands, silica, and a cement-like binder that imparts to the combina- tion some of the qualities of concrete. Volcanic action and heat are the agencies responsible for the lava strata, the cappings and battlements, and the startling colour-effects. The canyon is treeless, save for, here and there, a group of scraggy yuccas, the grotesque Joshua trees. An occasional patch of greasewood or clump of silvery sage adds tone and fragrance. In the spring the lower area is a glorious sheet of wild bloom, gold and blue and white, relieved by dashing scarlet splotches of ‘‘ Indian Paint- brushes ’’ or the rare magenta Mariposa tulips. Millions of “ Baby-blue-cyes " cpen wide in wonderment at the strange grandcur above and all about. Most of the year it is waterless, only one or two feeble rivulets surviving the long dry season. Frequently in summer huge black “ thunderheads ’’ come roaring and boom- ing up from the Mohave’s terrific heat-blasts, and cloud-bursts drop their watery cargoes in the canyon. It is not unusual for a yellow freshet several hundred feet wide to form in a few minutes and rush down the canyon for hours or days. It is in time of torrential rains that the elemental forces do most of the quaint shaping of the make-believe edifices they ultimately raze. ; The canyon is always easily accessible, and pleasant climatically. In addition (o its thorough- fares, the Southern Pacific Railroad carries pas- sengers within a few miles, and abundant water will be available from the Los Angles Aqueduct. The romance of gold weaves its irresistible spell about this mysterious valley. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of the precious metal have been taken from the dry placer diggings of the clean sand bottom. Old prospec- tors, lured by the eternal hope of an undis- covered “‘ mother lode” as rich as Ophir, still linger there and seek the hidden source of the yellow flakes that every mountain torrent washes down. Under cross-marked mounds by the roadside, where lupins blow and desert primroses nod to the evening star, sleep men of forgotten names who were in the same quest long ago, and found peace if not fortune. Three years ago, in Bonanza Canyon, a smail branch of Red Rock opposite the “ Acropolis,”’ a lucky hunter flushed @ nugget worth six hundred dollars. Miners have burrowed far under the cliffs to garner the precious dust. Close at hand is Goller Mountain, so named for a famous “ lost mine ’'—one of the few ever found again. This is historic in the South-West by reason of a thousand-dollar nugget which lay on the surface. Though I had been in the canyon all day I remained when evening came on. Then, indeed, every minute proved a revelation. As the sun sank low and the shadows of the long, gaunt arms of the Joshua trees stretched farther and farther, the soft haze peculiar to the arid country enveloped the scene like a purple silken veil. It was a magical panorama, but it lasted for a short space only. The curtain of darkness fell almost simultaneously with sunset, for this is a lend of brief twilight. An hour later the moon Pan's Pipe Organ,” wd >

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THE VALLEY OF rose and wrought another thrilling transformation. The spectral.. city was sublimeimits mellow loveliness, weird’ in its solitude and silence. Without any strain on the fancy I conjured up the heroes and gods and elves required to complete the picture, and watched their revels. My ee oF reverie was ‘ wl ‘ broken by a My Jobe 1 Yeo Bice: hosoresically wild cry that rang through the stillness—the wailing bark of a coyote. The enisaace to tue cavevia which the collection of Indian pottery was iound. WONDERS. rir A hideous chorus of answers came from other ranging beasts. The spell was broken, and I drove away out over the Mohave Desert and its inscrutable desolation. Red Rock Canyon is in the public domain, uninhabited, and at present well-nigh unknown. The highway and its companion, the auto- mobile, are opening it to one and all. If it is declared a national preserve it will be a match- luss addi ion to the three dozen already pos- sessed by the United States. the greatest of which is the Grand Canyon ot the Co.orado. AN OSTRICH Here is a quaint photogra from Pasadena, California, show.ng an oeraph that has been trained | to draw a light run-about. The bird is called “Black Diamond”; he is eight years old, IN HARNESS. ie wf and weighs three hundred and twenty-five pounds. He is valued at two thousand dollars, and is supposed to be the finest trained ostrich in the world.

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ne CEJOLLEN IMAGE by EUGENE L.CUNNINGHAM A very remarkable story, con- * a caché of buried treasure, and the man who held the secret of ham’s narrative rouses all sorts HE Plaza in San Diego, California, is my favourite haunt when in that city. In good weather I usually visit it at least once a day, merely to sit idly upon a bench near the fountain. One summcr morning, three years ago, when I dropped down on my favourite seat, I observed that it had another occupant. ~ ; He was a short, thick-sct man of thirty-two or three, dressed in well- worn overalls and flannel shirt, with a battered felt hat pushed back on his flaming red hair. His face was broad, and burned to a shade almost as fiery as the hair above it. The square protruding chin, and wide, thin-lipped mouth lent an air of grimness to his countenance, which was lightened only by his round, twinkling blue eyes. Our introduction was effected when he asked for a match, with which he lighted a villainous-smelling Mexican cigarette. : “Gracias,” he murmured, absently ; then, as if he had been caught in an indiscretion, shot a suspicious glance at me. “ Just up from Mexico?” I inquired, more to make conversation than because I was curious. I was rewarded by a searching stare that travelled up and down my whole person and rested finally upon my face. “Why ?”” he parried. “Qh, you said ‘ gracias,’ instead of ‘ thanks,’ and that, coupled with your tanned face, led to my surmise,” I replied. “ Yo-es,” he agreed, absent-mindedly. just up from Sonora.” | PN XM y eS “Tm Illustrated ; cerning a little-known island, the mysterious disappearance of the hidden wealth. Mr. Cunning- of speculation in one’s mind.* Suddenly he turned to me, his air of pre-occupation gone. “ You’re acquainted here ? ” I nodded affirmation. “Could you refer me to a capital- ist—one not too big to be half-way honest ?” ““Why, yes, I know one,” I re- plied. half seriously. “ Think he’d handle a good thing —and keep his mouth shut ?” “If it’s in Mexico, I don’t. He doesn’t dabble in wild-cat schemes.” “ This ain’t an ordinary proposition in any sense o’ the word, mister. It would come under the head o’ re- movals and repayments, F reckon.” “ Look here,” said I, growing a bit irritated by his enigmatic manner. “Suppose you're a trifle more definite ? If I’m to advise you, I must know something of your plan.” He subjected me once more to a long, probing scrutiny, then, seemingly satisfied, edged over close to me and lowered his voice. “ What do you know about Tiburon Island ?” “Nothing !”’ I replied, promptly. “ Right you are, mister. Neither does anyone else, except me—‘ Bull’ Hayden. My partner knew a little, but he’s dead.” His voice trailed off into silence, and he stared thoughtfully at the ground in the manner of a man dwelling in the memory of past events. “‘Tiburon’s up in the northern end o’ the Gulf 0’ California,’ he explained, after a while. “It lies in latitude 28° 22” North. There’s always been more or less talk about a big pile o’ gold hidden on the island, but the Indians, who are the only inhabitants, ain’t what you * Mr. Cunningham writes; ‘I hereby affirm that the narrative ‘The Golden Image’ is set down just as the incidents happened, allowing only for the natural blurring of unimportant details attendant upon the delay (since 28th August, 1916) in writing down the story as I now relate it. While Iam not in a position to vouch for the truth of * ull’ Hayden's stury, my own knowledge of the locality described by him, as gained from conversation with residents of Guaymas, Sonora, Mexico, leads me to believe his adventures not one Possible, but probable, His description of the topography of the island has been checked by me, and found correct —(Signed) E. L. Cunningham, ES Se Fa OE ae ee ee LY Ee a

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ee could call hospitable. In fact, the death-rate among tourists would assay about ninety-five per cent.—only there ain’t any tourists. The Mexicans won’t land for love nor money.” He regarded his cigarette-end thoughtfully for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, then continued:— “Me an’ Tommy Adams was partners in a forty-foot gasolene-ketch plyin’ out o’ Guaymas, Sonora. O’ course, we hear the talk about this gold on Tiburon—how it was an old Aztec treasure hid from the Spaniards and guarded now by descendants o’ the old priests—but we were too busy skirmishin’ around tryin’ to make a moderately honest livin’ to give it much thought. “Then, early last month, we make a trip up to Angeles Bay—what for is neither here nor there—an’ comin’ back toward Guaymas the engine went on strike. We put into a little crescent-shaped bay to repair, runnin’ the Chita close inshore an’ anchorin’. “T decided to go huntin’ while Tommy tinkered with the engine, so I got out my °30-30 an’ a belt 0’. shells, filled a canteen with water, an’ pulled ashore in our skiff. “*Come back here, you blinkety- blanked, double- barrelled, sixteen varieties 0’ idiot,’ yelled Tommy when I was some fifty yards away. He’d been a cow- puncher in his time, had Tommy, THE GOLDEN IMAGE. 113 livin’ thing in sight, an’ I was just turnin’ away when I noticed a narrow path twistin’ and turnin’ along the cliffside, and endin’ in front of a hole some ten feet below me. “There didn’t look to be enough foothold for a mountain-sheep to go down that cliff, but I scrambled down somehow, first lowering my rifle with a length 0’ codline. “ T put my head close to the cave-mouth an’ listened, but there wasn’t a sound to be heard, so I slipped inside. It was pitch-dark to me at first, but after a bit I was able to see the floor ahead of me, and went tiptoein’ along the passage. “That passage was very crooked, but by lightin’ matches to show the way I negotiated about fifty yards of it, an’ came out in a great big room with daylight shinin’ through a hole in the roof. When my eyes got focused to the light I tooked around, an’—Great Buddha! I surely got the shock 0’ my life ! “ Against one wall there was a pile o’ bars the size of a cord 0’ wood, an’ stacked up similar. In a corner o’ the room was a little pile o’ bracelets and the like, an’ a bunch o’ little rough gold images. “T stood there stiff with surprise for maybe two minutes; then I let out a whoop an’ jumped for the corner. The bars were rough silver—that much I knew as soon as I touched one of ‘em—so I grabbed up a bracelet an’ and he sure had the gift 0’ colour- ful speech. “*Ym goin’ huntin’, you little shrimp,’ said I, resting on my oars. “*Don’t you know them Indians is canni-~ bals ? ’ he squealed, but I just waved at him an started pullin’ for the beach, “When I got ashore I ran the skiff up on the sand and looked around me. Mister, Tiburon’s sure a dismal-looking place! The island’s a mass 0’ big, raw hills, black an’ burnt-out like cinders. “T got well up in the hills before I saw a thing, then a little Mexican deer jumped up ahead of me, and I chased after it for a good three hours. Every time I started tu draw a bead it slipped behind a rock. It kept climbin’ all the time, with me hot on the trail, until eleven o’clock found me on a little plateau among the hills, with the deer vasnoosed. “After a swig o’ water an’ a rest, I hiked over to the opposite side o’ the plain an’ looked cautiously over the edge. On this side it ended in a steep cliff about two hundred feet high, with a little valley at the foot. There wasn’t a The Author—taken on a ranch in Texas, December, 1918. one o’ the images. I was just reachin’ for another when T heard a rustlin’ sort 0’ noise behind me.”” My incredulity must have been strongly marked, for Hayden paused and stared at me inquiringly. “Do you expect me to take stock in a_yarn like that ?"’ [ inquired. There was a certain rude dignity about the man, despite his rough appearance, as he looked me frankly in the eye. “ ['m sorry if you don't,” he said.“ For, so help me, I'm telling it just as it happened. If you're like the average city guy, who can’t believe a thing because it didn’t happen in his own front-yard, I'd better knock off an’ go about my business.”” ; “Go on,” said I, impressed by the man's sincerity, in spite of the sheer improbability of the yarn he was unfolding. “When I[ whirled around,” he continued, “there was a tall, skinny Indian standin’ against the opposite wall an’ blinkin’ at‘me. He looked to be a thousand years old, at least. for his skin was shrivelled an’ Jeathery-lookin’, and his

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-114 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “There was a tall, skinny Indian standin’ against the opposite wall an’ blinkia’ at me.

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tibs stuck out like barrel-hoops. Except for a breech-clout an’ big gold bracelets on his arms, he was stark-naked. “We stood there for maybe a minute, just starin’ at each other, then I threw up my rifle an’ he squealed like a pig an’ jumped through a crack in the wall behind him, with me followin’. “That passage ran right up on to the little plain I'd found. There weren’t no rocks to hide the old native, but when IT got up there into the light he’d gone. I figured that he probably had friends in the neighbourhood, and would bring them after me, so I humped myself for the boat. It’s a rough trail, but you can bet I made speed. “ About halfway to the beach I turned to look back, an’ there were about twenty Indians hotfootin’ after me. They were all nearly naked an’ wearin’ gold bracelets, an’ too blamed close for comfort. “An arrow tore through my hat—you can see the hole—an’ half-a-dozen more hit the ground all about my feet when I stopped to look at ‘em. This kind o’ got on my nerves, so I dropped flat an’ let go with the old ‘30-30 into ‘em. Two of ’em fell, an’ the rest jumped back behind rocks. “Well, we staged a pretty runnin’ fight all the way to the beach, an’ when [ finally shoved off for the Chtfa there were two arrow-holes in my left arm, an’—which was more important— only one shell in my rifle. When I got afloat the whole crew came runnin’ down to the water’s edge, an’ kept on shootin’. Believe me, mister! I sure bent myself over them oars in the hundred an’ fifty yards to the ketch. “When I was twenty yards from the Chita I noticed one o’ the natives aimin’ an old musket at me, so I dropped flat. The gun went off with a roar like a young cannon, knockin’ its owner flat on the sand. A bunch o’ slugs whined over my head, an’ I heard a yell from Tommy. He'd raised himself over the side just in time to get three copper slugs through his chest.”” Hayden’s eyes were glinting frostily, his square face very grim, as he turned to me. “Mister, did you ever lose a veal pal, one that you'd bunked with an’ fought with for years? If you haven't, you can’t sabe how I felt when Iheard Tommy's crv. There was a ted mist before my eyes at first, an’ I was killin’-mad. Then the mist cleared away an’ I Was colder then ice. “I dropped the oars and picked up my rifle. The Indian who shot Tommy was just gettin’ to his feet when I drew a bead on him. It’s a kind 0° hard shot to make from a tossin’ small boat, but I got him. Then I pulled on to the Chita, “The engine was all ready for runnin’, so I started it goin’, Tommy always said he wanted to be buried at sea, an’ he w I slipped him Overside gently, with a spare anchor at his feet, and then made a quick run into Guaymas. Once there I hiked up to see old Manuel warcia, the slickest, crookedest, richest fellow tt those parts, When he understood that my business with THE GOLDEN IMAGE. 115 him concerned el oro -gold--he treated me hke along-lost brother ; called me his buen amigo, an’ set out the cigars an’ drinks. Then I give him most 0’ the yarn, only holdin’ back the location of the cave. “He wanted me to draw him a map o’ the last, an’ let him furnish the men to do the fightin’ and packin’ the silver bars down to the beach. Also, he said, his ranch-foreman, Mendez, would go along to boss the peons on the job. “ But none o’ that suited me. Tis foreman was nothin’ more than Garcia’s paid killer, an’ I figured that once I'd led the way to the caché my days on earth depended entirely on how far I kept from the foreman’s knife. “So I disagreed with Don Manuel, an’ pro- posed instead to take his men, with the exception o' Mendez, get the bullion, an’ go halves with him in it at Guaymas, then shove off in the ketch for the States. Like a fool, I plurted out that I'd made a map, but wouldn‘t part with it. He told me to come back the next day and he would let me know what he had decided. So TI shoved off. hat night somebody took two shots at me from behind a ’dobe house, an’ when I was in a dance-hall gettin’ a drink a soldier started a rough-house an’ tried to knife me. I knocked him out, an’ started back to the CAtta, intendin’ to sleep aboard. “The American Consul met me on the dock an’ informed me that sailors from the Mexican gunboat —the General Guerrero—had taken possession o’ the Chita, an’ that the police had orders to capture me—dead. if possible. He advised me to hike for the States. “Tt wasn’t hard to see that Garcia was behind all these manoeuvres, figuring on grabbin’ that map. Of course, I could have given him the location and taken a chance of keeping my eye on Mendez, an’ then bullyin’ Garcia out o’ half the swag. But he was too powerful in that locality, standin’ in as he did with both the civil an’ military authorities, an’ I was afraid to take the tisk. So I hid out in the brush till midnight. cursin’ myself for ever goin’ to Don Manuel with a money proposition, and then gave a boy ten pesos to row me out to an American schooner lying off Pajaros Island. RS The skipper o’ the schooner was_ short- handed, he let me work my passage to San Dicgo, and T landed here yesterday with just ten dollars in my pocket. “ Now if this friend 0’ yours will put up the money to charter a small gasolene auxiliary schooner an’ hire three men, [ll go fifty-fifty with the treasure, an’ if we hit it, pay half the expenses o’ the trip from my share‘o’ profits.’” He paused and looked inquiringly at me. “A highly interesting story, Mr. Hayden,” T observed, with, I fear, an incredulous smile. “ Unfortunately for your plans, my friend is primarily a practical man, and I’m sure he’d laugh at a proposal to finance a chase after mythical treasure.” “ Bull” Hayden’s face was puzzled for an instant, as he groped for the meaning of my

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116 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, speech; then a hot flush of red surged up in his tanned cheeks. “Are you insinuatin’ that I’m a liar ?’’ he demanded, angrily. “Well,” said I, more conciliatingly, ‘“ you'll have to admit that your yarn is pretty im- probable—taken without proof.” “ But I have proof!’’ he protested, eagerly, and after a quick glance around thrust his hand into the pocket of his flannel shirt. Then suddenly he ducked his head and stiffened visibly. “ Keep quiet !’’ he whispered. me by name, for Heaven’s sake !’’ Two full minutes passed; then he raised his head cautiously, even furtively. “Did you see him?’ he demanded. “See whom?” I snapped, wondering if the man had suddenly taken leave of his sanity. “The Mexican— Mendez! He passed within ten feet o’ us just then. I don’t know whether he got a look at my face or not. Here’s hopin’ he didn’t. Listen! That was Pedro Mendez, Garcia’s foreman an’ killer. He’s followin’ me—I feel it. If he wasn’t, he’d not be here in San Diego. That kid told ‘em what ship I shoved off on, an’ Garcia set Mendez 3... to trail me an’ get the map. I feel it, man !’" “Nonsense, Hay- dent” I said. “You're not in Mexico now. I didn’t notice anyone pass- ing who stared at you, and even if this Mendez is following you, he won’t dare trouble you while you’re within call of the police.”’ “Maybe not,” he replied, still unconvinced. Then from the pocket of his shirt he produced a small object wrapped in a dirty silk handker- chief. This he unrolled on the bench between us, carefully shielding his movements from the passers-by. An involuntary cry of amazement and delight came to my lips, for it was the rude image of—apparently—an Aztec god, roughly moulded from soft yellow gold. Two small turquoises were set in the éye-sockets. “Now what do you think of my yam?” demanded Hayden, triumphantly. “Til make an engagement with my friend to-morrow,” I replied, excitedly. “Can't we see him to-day?” “I don’t know where he is just now,” I “Don’t call An involuntary cry of amazement and rejoined. “I'll have to look him up and tell him your story.” “Well,” said Hayden, philosophically, “ if you can’t get hold o’ him right away, you can’t. Fix it up for me to talk with him about the deal, if he’s willin’ to go into it. You can get me at the Z-—--,”’ naming a cheap lodging-house, “ an’ I'll come up to wherever you say, with the map. I’ve got it stowed away now where nobody but me could ever find it. Adios.” He had gone but a few paces when he wheeled abruptly and retraced his steps. “Say,” he said, ‘‘ I guess this’ll be safer with you. If you don’t mind, I'd like to have you take care o’ it for me.” He held out the handkerchief-wrapped image. “* But how do you > Imow that I won’t run away with it?” I protested. “ Because I’m a pretty good judge of faces,’’ he returned, withasmile. “I'm bettin’ you won’t.” He dropped the image into my hand and strode rapidly away before I could make further pro- test, so E shoved the little package into an inside pocket. I telephoned Hay- den’s hotel earlynext morning, but the clerk informed me that he had not been in since the previous morming. He did not appear again, and I could not discover the slightest trace of him. Whether he be- came panic-stricken at thoughtof thesup- posed Mexican assassin on his heels, and disap- peared of his own volition, or whether Mendez found the opportunity he sought, I cannot say. The image, curiously enough, was stolen from beneath my pillow in the hotel, the very night I received it. I am a sound sleeper, but it has always impressed me as strange that I failed to waken. The doors of the room were secured with cheap locks, which could easily have been opened with an ordinary door-key, so that it would not have been difficult for a midnight intruder to gain admittance. But why was it he only took the golden effigy, and nothing else ? And how did he know I had it ? All this happened three years ago, and to this day I have never heard anything which would throw the slightest further light on the affair. There must be some connection between Hayden’s disappearance and the theft of the image, but 1 have failed to elucidate it. Now, I suppose, it will always remain a mystery. As they say in Mexico— Quten sabe?” Who knows ? delight came to my lips.”

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IN QUEST CANNIBAIZ Exploration and Adventure in Unknown New Guinea LIEUT E.W P CHINNER'’ Mlustrated by ARCH. WEBB. This narrative will be found as full of interest and “thrills” as any adventure story ever written. The Author—a district officer in New Guinea—describes his experiences while engaged in a prolonged man-hunt for cannibal outlaws who, to avoid paying the penalty for their misdeeds, retreated into the unknown interior of the country, among tribes who had never seen a white man before. Lieutenant Chinnery’s account is illustrated with unique photographs taken by himself, and we can promise our readers plenty of excitement and some vivid glimpses of the “white man’s burden” in this vast No Man's Land of mountains and swamps. I. some parts of New Gninea the fj period between May and October is called the ‘dry season.” Then it is that the south-east monsoon, or trade wind (as it is more popularly known), blows steadily all day and most of the night. In Port Moresby the Government has provided a huge surface of galvanized iron, which slopes into a reservoir to catch the precious rain during the north-west monsoon—from November to April—and to store it for use while the dry south-east runs its course. At Kikori, in the Gulf of Papua, however, where I was engaged with the aggressive man-eaters of the jungle, the rainfall, like the inhabitants, obeyed no laws of control. It tained when it liked, and in May, 1916, while the inhabitants of the civilized area castward round Port Moresby were anxiously studying the gauge-glasses of the reservoir, and calculating the average rate of consumption per day in the pious hope that the supply would last longer than their estimates allowed, the denizens of the jungle in the deltas around Kikori were wallowing waist-deep in the month’s rainfall, which the station gauge measured at fifty-five inches !_ Try to imagine, dear reader, the plight of officers engaged on exploration work under such con- ditions. Certainly the limestone formation of the - cleared of growth ; country allows a great deal of soak- age; but with such a rainfall this is scarcely noticed. The jungle is one vast swamp—tangled undergrowth, water, and mud. Officers and men plough blindly through this trackless waste, eagerly scanning the bark of the trees, and the shrub-tops that appear above the water, for indications that will give them a suggestion of the whereabouts of what once were tracks. More often than not, the whole party is hopelessly lost; but, in spite of this, all stumble doggedly on until the approach of night warns time for camp. And what a camp it is! The spot chosen is young trees are felled and driven into the mud: others are lashed hori- zontally, and in due course a platform is built a foot or two above the level ot the water. This is covered with a roof of canvas, and the members of the party—voluntarily for the first time in the day—seat themselves and proceed to scrape the mud and filth from their bodies. In) some miraculous way fires are kindled from the damp wood, and dense, pungent smoke speedily fills the structures. A chorus of sneezing lends a touch of music to the scene, and, though everyone is half-blinded and well-nigh suffocated, one The Author.

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118 joyfully reminds the other that ‘the mos- quitoes are driven away, anyhow,’’ and consoles himself with that. Food is presently passed round, and in a short time those not on sentry-go curl up under their blankets and dreamily meditate on the wor!d- wide distribution of comforts. The rain patter- ing on the canvas roof, the quaint, gurgling voices of the swamp, the deafening crash of the thunder, and the vivid lightning do not disturb the small band of black and white Britishers. In the past are the hardships of the day, the torn limbs and feet are soothed with soft ointments and com- fortably swathed in bandages, the cruel sago thorns have been extracted, and the wounds touched with antiseptics. What though to- morrow will be but a repetition of to-day ? The black sighs contentedly and croons weird, sweet melodies, while THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, chests, despatch boxes, instruments, and rifles are all covered in the same way, and so is the food supply of the party. In patrols through new country rice is carried for the police and carrier, while the white men of the party subsist on tinned foods; but in a district such as Kikori, where indigenous sago-palms abound, the quantity of rice is reduced, because the native food of the district is available in such large quantities, and a large stock may be pre- pared for consumption in a very short time. The food is the pith of the sago-palm. The tree is felled, and oyt of the trunk is cut longi- tudinally a rectangular piece of the outer skin, about one foot by twenty feet. Water is poured into the trough-like opening,. and the pith is roughly beaten and hacked into chips. These are crushed into a pulp, and, after the fibre from the pulp has been the white wakes from in half-slumber to assure f himself that there are worse places in the world than his rickety bed of tree - trunks somewhere in the sago swamps of the Gulf of Papua. Life comes again with the morn, and, with it, endeavour. For the duty which takes men out in such conditions is no ordi- nary task of routine, but a search for the hiding-places of des- perate men who have broken the law and are determined not to be .captured and punished. And when the jungle man hides his tracks he needs no help from the forces of Nature to baffle the pursuer. But such is luck, and the district officer must strained, an edible sub- stance remains. In ap- pearance it resembles a block of gum-coated flour, but when well washed it-boils into a delightfully clear, jelly- like food, agreeable to the palate (if taken in moderation and fla- voured)and sustaining. Nearly eighty thousand natives in the settled portion of the Gulf of Papua depend on their sago-swamps for food, and, as IE have not heard of any deaths from hunger, it may be assumed that Nature attends kindly to their needs. During patrols it is quite customary for an officer to halt a day in a sago-swamp, and prepare a supply of food that will carry his party on for several days. This not only keep on until his task is ended. If he is lost he must find himself ; with instinct to guide him and a compass to record his wanderings, he just plods on day after day until his objects are achieved. Such were the conditions with which we were faced while I was at Kikori, and as the patrols on which we were engaged threatened to keep us employed for some time, I took advantage of the rest at the station to get my transport gear in good order. First of all, canvas bags had to be cut and stitched to hold the maximum weight a man may carry—fifty pounds. These are cut to a rectangular pattern, lashings are stitched at the top to fasten the opening, and shoulder- straps of canvas are fixed behind, so that the bag may be carried securely on the back. To protect the contents, the bags are soaked in oil and painted until they are waterproof. Medicine The launch in a sago swamp, reduces the expense of an expedition, but pro- vides a change of diet for his natives when they have been living for some time on rice and other introductions of civilize tion. As well as solid food, the sago-palm offers small delicacies such as luscious grubs, which are greatly relished by the Iccal cannibals. Nor is sago the only source of food in the jungle. Many plants have edible leaves, most palms have palatable “hearts,” and the bush teems with choice tit-bits fiom a native point of view. such as beetles, reptiles, and worms, while the rivers are well stocked with crocodiles, fish, and turtles, all of which, with the birds and animals of their native land, provide diet to the Gulf man, who has no fads where food is concerned. His methods of fishing are skilful and successful. Usually small tidal streams are blocked with fish-nets and traps of the kind shown in the

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accompanying photographs. As the tide rises or falls the fish coming with it find their progress stopped by the net, and in their efforts to escape are caught in small hand-nets by people standing in the water, or—if a trap is used—they find themselves in the trap and unable to get out. So little time is IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 119 we were “ hungry for crab:,’’ and implore them not to keep us waiting much longer. But, to our astonishment, he broke into hilarious mirth, and all who happened to be within hearing stopped their work to hear what it was all about. In his own way, stopping now and then to give relief to his mirth, lost in cooking the captive that it is doubtful if the fish realizes he is caught at all until he actually feels himself frizzlingon a fire, for such preliminaries as scaling and clean- ing are unknown to the man of the Gulf ; indeed, they would be looked upon as so much time wasted and a good dish spoiled. Fish spearing, both with the lance and arrow, is another method in which these people excel ; but the line and hook, introduced among the more civilized, is not very much in favour, for to make the hours between bites tolerable it demands a certain amount of patience and concentration of thought, which the native is not prepared to give, because fishing is to him no more than a search for food. While waiting for the moment to A fish-net used in the Kikori distri The continue the patrols, I tasted for “Crab- the first time the land-crabs of the Women.” = district. These creatures infest the mangrove swamps on the coast, and women are constantly engaged in catching them. Having found their tracks, leading to a hole in the mud, the women dig them out with short sticks, securely fasten the mandibles for safety (for the crab can make a nasty wound), and this is what he told us :— “Master, no good you wait for dat fellar woman. He go along swamp to look out for crab belonga you and me fellar. Big fellar alligator he go too. That's what for no good you wait for that woman and that crab. Altogether he stop along belly belong alli- gator. Fault belong woman; he savee fashion belong alli- gator; but all same fool he no look out good, and that’s what for he finish. Plenty woman he stop along village. By an’ by I go talk along some nother woman ; be catch ’em crab belong you. We found on investigation, however, that it was some other hapless woman who had been taken by the crocodiles, and after a few days our crab-getters reappeared, with smiles and fine big crabs, and explained that the delay was unavoidable, owing to some rites which had to be performed for one of their number who had been taken by a crocodile in the execution of her domestic duties. One of the boys told them what the humorous man had informed us, and they departed in high dudgeon to interview him and have it out with him for daring to suggest that they didn’t “ savee fashion belong alligator.” While discussing . made from the ribs of sago-leaves. take them back to the village. The larger crabs meas- ure about a foot or more across the back, and they are filled with delicious meat. Three old women visited us. with wares every day, and on ac- count of their regu- larity they became known as the“ crab- women belonga the crab, it is an in- teresting fact that this is one of the most important articles of barter between the coast and the bush tribes. The coastal people on occasions set out with a fleet of canoes laden with crabs, which they exchange with the bush people for tobacco-leaf. Guv'ment.” At last, however, they came no more, and being loth to give our orders to others, for fear of disappointing the old women who had been so reliable, we went without crabs. Some days passed without word of them, so one of the old men of the same village, who happened to be at the station, was told to tell the women Another type of fith-net. These bush people cultivate the tobacco plant, and cure the leaves by drying them over a smoking fire on a small pronged bamboo rack. The method has most excellent results, and the coastal people place high value on the weed, which they cannot cultivate in their own regions, just as the bush people esteem

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120 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the crab-meat, which is not obtainable in the bush. This exchange in commodities is probably the only occasion on which the bush and coast people come to- gether without blood- shed. Time after time I have met the parties proceeding to the mar- ket-places, which are sometimes held in the villages and sometimes at a rendezvous. Each side is armed and equipped for hostilities, but it is seldom that one hears of a truce of this nature being broken. The study of these tribes filled many interest- ing moments during my rest Hunt on the station ; Again, but at last we were ready for the “walk about.” A selection was made from the detachment of armed constabulary, and at daylight one morning the launch, laden with transport, quietlyslipped her moor- ings, towing two large canoes filled with a picked team of armed constables. The women and children of our men stood on the headland and waved us farewell until a bend in the river hid us. from sight. Our party consisted of the resident magistrate, an engineer patrol officer and myself, thirty picked men, and guides and interpreters. We were destined for the head- waters of the Omati River, where the Mati murderers were supposed to be in hiding with friends in a district which had never before been seen by a white man. All day long we made our way through the nct-work of water- ways which form this part of the district. More often than not we had occasion to leave the launch and push her off mudbanks, which abound in these uncharted waters ; but every moment was interesting. Now and then the engine would be “‘ slowed down ’’ to give the guides a shot with their arrows at flocks of “ flying- foxes '’ which flew overhead. Some fell and were put in the bottom of the canoes to be eaten at the camping-place. but just as many flew away with arrows through their bodies—much to the disgust of the owner of the arrow and the amusement of the rest of us, for an arrow represents some hours of patient labour, and its loss in this way brings forth quaint expressions of rage from the loser. Tree snakes, too, fell Ready for the Man- A Kikori woman's “new dress"—a handful of sagoteaf! ™) to the skill of the bow- “| men, and with the fly- ing-foxes contributed a queer assortment of meat diet for the even- ing meal. - As we passed through this maze of waterways many interesting fea- tures of plant life were seen. Dense jungle covered the banks, right to the water’s edge, and where the streams were so narrow that we had to cut a way through the growth stretching from bank to bank. the flowering vines offered wonderful colour and fragrance. Festoons of the beautiful red d’Al- bertis creeper fell on the deck of the launch under the ruthless knives; “they also— which we did not ap- preciate—wound them- selves round the pro- peller as if in protest. Startled flocks of many- coloured butterflies, dis- turbed by the advent of the launch, flitted help- lessly into our midst, as if fascinated by the strange monster. Savage wasps and hornets, brushed out of: their nesting - places, darted among us, upsetting us badly with their lightning stings until, with frantic haste, we hacked our way out of their reach, many of the boys hanging to the canoes with their heads and bodies under water—less afraid of the possibility of a stray crocodile than the certainty of a wasp assault. Early in the afternoon we left the network of waterways, through which we had taken a short cut, and entered the estuary of the Omati River. At this spot the river is about three- quarters of a mile in width. A heavy south- easter was blowing, and a nasty choppy surface forced us to cast off the tow-lines of the canoes. The crews put their paddles over the sides and followed in the wake of the launch, the fattest man sitting with his haunches jammed in the open stern to keep the canoe from swamping, and others baling the whole time to get rid of the water as it spiashed aboard. By nightfall we had ascended the Omati a considerable distance, and found a camping-plade in an old sago-making village on the river-bank. We whites camped aboard with the cooks, but the remainder of our party went ashore and, as well as they could, made the old sago village habitable. Very soon we could hear them commenting on the excellence of roast flying-fox and snake,

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and soon afterwards their soft native su. ,> reached our ears—the melodies that precede slumber. The sentrics were posted, and after a final visit we whites curled up on the hard sheets and knew nothing tiil after midnight, when a rifle-shot from a guard warned us that something was wrong. Hastily jumping to the deck, and poking our heads outside the awning into the blinding rain, we found we had drifted some distance below the camp, whence the police were hurriedly tumbiing into the canoes to come to our assistance. On climbing forward, we found that a huge tree had drifted athwart us, and, fouling the anchor-chain, was steadily pushing us down-stream. With the aid of the police, we managed to cast it off, and the engine throbbed us back to a less-exposed anchorage, where, aided by numerous hurricane lamps, we managed to make ourselves secure. Dry sleeping-suits were put on, and very soon we were again in the arms of slumber. Before daylight the cooks were astir, and with the first streaks of dawn we were once more under way. The tide, fortunately, was in our favour, and we made good progress. The low- lying swamp country was left behind, and lime- stone valleys were entered. The river at this point was full of boulders, and to avoid tearing the bottom out of the launch we had to keep a careful watch. At about four o’clock we entered a small creek, and passed the remains of hunting villages on its banks; but up to the time of camp- ing at nightfall no natives had been seen. Just as on the previous night, we camped aboard and the native party ashore. The tidal bore came up the Omati River during the night, and its in- fluence in the creek caused us to drift some distance from camp. We were made aware of the fact by a prickly sago branch which brushed across the resident magistrate’s body as he lay asleep and deposited one or two spines, some inches long, in his flesh. His howls of distress brought us quickly to our feet, and, after vainly peering into the darkness for some- thing to give us our position, we had recourse to the rifles, which roused the sentry and brought Vol. xliv.—9. The launch towing the canoes through the swamps. IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 121 the canve and police to our rescue. A court was promptly held, and the defaulting sentry relieved from duty and remanded for further treatment. The remainder of the night was spent comfortably by all except the resident magistrate, who sutfcred some inconvenience from the sago spines. At daylight the launch was left In Touch in the creek under a guard, and with the the rest of the party set out to Fugitives. track the Mati murderers. Hav- ing no idea of their whereabouts, we followed the creek in the hope of picking up signs, and we had not proceeded far when we heard voices ahead. The locality was promptly surrounded, and the people—some women— captured. From them we learnt that the Mati were all hiding near the headwaters of the creek. They gave us an idea of the district, and, after presenting them with some beads and allaying their fears, we continued on our way. Our next sign was a log bridge over the creek which led to a clearly-marked track. After following this for some time we again heard voices, and our encircling movement this time bagged two men and some women of the Mati tribe, who had blocked a small creek and were setting a net for fish. From them we learnt that the people of the main body were hiding in a swamp village a short distance ahead. In due course we reached the swamp and commenced to surround it, but as some of the boys were hacking their way through mud waist-deep and dense swamp under- growth, the people, who were in houses on a limestone knoll in the centre of the swamp, beard us and demanded to know who we were. We tried to deceive them by imitating the voices of our captives ; but their suspicions were aroused, and when we reached the out- skirts of the village they were already in flight, andstopped only a moment to give us one flight of arrows, which for- tunately did no damage. Five of them were captured, however, and, while the resident magis- trate and some of the boys remained in the village to dress the cuts and scratches they had received during the rush through the

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122 swamp, the remainder of us searched the bush in the vicinity, and captured two men who were fast asleep in a small hunting village near by. As we were about to leave the village and return to the others, a man, laden with a huge cassowary he had just killed, walked right into our arms. The police greeted him with quaint expres- sions of thanks for the present of fresh meat, and his dis- gust was comical to witness. Joining the resident magistrate, we all returned to- gether to camp. The next two days were spent in getting into touch with the inhabit- ants of the district. Some of them were perfectly friendly, and, as this was the first occasion on which they had seen a white man, we did our utmost to give them a good impression of the race and its Govern- ment. For the food they brought us we paid in tobacco, beads, calico, and steel knives, and hatchets. So well did we succeed in winning their confi- dence that they told us all they knew of the Mati people who had _ hidden in their district, and they informed us that many settlements of Mati were in the bush towards the Kikori. Well content with the progress we had made in winning a new tribe for the Empire, we now retumed to our original camping-place in the creek, and decided our future movements. The resident magistrate and patrol officer, with some of the party, would rectum next day in the launch to Kikori, while [ with the others, was to examine the country between the Omati and the Kikori and march overland to the station. Next morning the resident magis- “The locality was promptly su women—ci A Wild trate duly set off, and I prepared Man of for my land journey. Stores the Woods. Were packed, and the party moved towards the sago village where we had caught the Mati men. We found that the people had returned after our former visit and taken their belongings to new pastures. Their tracks were soon discovered and the hunt began. I, with the guides, interpreters, and round: THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. some of the police, formed the vanguard ; the carriers, under escort, followed some distance behind ; and in the rear was a strong party of good police. were heard ahead. At five in the afternoon voices We spread into the bush to investigate, and dis- covered right in our path a huge hill of hmestone, — honey- combed with caves, and covered with rank, straggling un- dergrowth. Word was sent back to the party to hurry upand encircle this network of caves; but, as the wir gs of our movement were closing in, the alarm was given, and all escaped but one man, named Hopi- mati, who fought like a tiger and left the marks of his hands on four of my best boys. This was a most im- portant capture, Very seldom, even in) New Guinea, which is a country of splendidly-built men, have I seen such a perfect specimen of man- hood as Hopimati, a veritable wild man of the woods. His face was more like that of a wild boar than a man; his body was seamed with scars and wounds which told of many bloody battles with pigs, and other wild men; and—-what was more interesting still—his legs showed two wounds, unmistakably bullet-hole:. On pointing these out to him, he admitted that he had been in the fight with the Government party at Mati, and had re- ceived the wounds on that occasion, He was also concerned in the Moreri massacres. Well satisfied that we had secvred one of the ringleaders of the recent troubles, we pitched ou. camp in the caves and settled down for the night. Sentries were posted at intervals in the bush, in the hope of catching anyone who might, from curiosity, return to the camp. Once again were our slumbers. disturbed. One of the sentries woke me during the night, and in- formed me that he could hear a curious noise. The party was quickly under arms, and presently the stillness of the night was broken by an eerie sound which seemed to come from the centre of the hill. The feeling it produced was most uncanny. Many of the boys allowed their teeth led and the people—some aptured.” %

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IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 123 “One man, named Hopimati, fought like a tiger.”

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124 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, to chatter with fear ; but one of the “‘ Orokaiva ” police showed his contempt for ghosts by entering the cave whence the noise seemed to come. He returned after a time, and, in a voice which elicited a deep groan from the others, said, “Ghost he stop inside—more better we go sleep.’’ This was said in a tone altogether too normal for a man who had just satisfied himself of the proximity of a ghost, so my suspicions were aroused, and I told him to take a lamp and bring the “ ghost ’’ for me to examine. He did, and presently returned with the author of the strange sounds—a tiny infant who had been deserted by its mother! Now, it is a well-known fact that the native is very fond of children, and the action of the mother in leaving that child behind was the subject of many uncom- plimentary remarks; but when I praised thie boys and told them that, in consideration of their humanitarian attitude, the child would be left to their tender care for the time being, it would have been difficult to discover which of the three was the most unpopular—the mother, the child, or myself. So sheepish and ill-at-ease did That they appear in the dim light of. Baby! the lamp-lit cavern, and so simultaneously did each one commence a stealthy backward movement. into the night, that I deemed it wise, for the sake of the baby, to give it a camp under my slecping- stretcher. Accordingly, a blanket was folded beneath the bed, and the child wrapped up for the night. All of us turned in again to sleep— all, that is, excepting baby, who was evidently The Resident Magistrate's cooks, with local drums and a conch-shell trumpet. in the humour for a night’s music. An hour passed; weary men plugged their ears with calico, meanwhile beseeching the ghosts of their ancestors to give the mother of that child a pain in the stomach for her thoughtlessness, or imploring them to deliver into their care the father of the child that they could more fitly express their opinion of his paternal short- comings. With bitter sneers they invoked their spirit hosts to animate their tired limbs lest slumber overtake them and cheat their ears of the child’s sweet music. This they said, and more ; but still the air rang with childish notes, till suddenly a memory of my own childhood’s days inspired me. I flew to the “ tucker box” and unearthed--an unopened tin of Nestlé’s Swiss milk. Eager faces pecied through the opening of my sleeping cave ; tired, red-rimmed eyes became bright with a new light ; even baby blinked and seemed conscious of a change in the atmosphere. Ready hands ransacked the camp for the tin-opener, and ready tongues cursed the cook when, after many wasted minutes, it was tound soaking in a creck near by with the dinner dishes. Round the tin the implement flew, as if inspired, and then—no one knew how to feed the infant! He would not take it from a spoon, nor would he take it from a cup, even though water had been warmed and mixed with it. Despair stole slowly back into the cave, but in a moment came another memory, and baby, with the top joint of my finger, smeared with Nestlé’s, half-way down his throat, sucked blissfully, while his little toes beat a happy tattoo on my wrist. So slumber came to us at last, but for a time only, for such was the fascination of Nestlé’s that baby made his demands at regular intervals through the night—and saw that he got them satisfied, too ! In the morning the cave-hill was closely examined. It showed signs of having been recently occupied by large numbers of people, who, in their anxiety to avoid capture, had left all their posses- sions behind. Hundreds of bows and arrows were found and destroyed. That they were ex- pecting us was indicated by the number of new arrow -heads of black palm,some of them hal f- finished; but our sudden appear- ance had cvi- dently demoral- ized them, for everything was in disorder. A wide search was made inthe bush, and it was ascertained beyond doubt that the whole party had retreated towards Mati. Numcrous large netted bags, such as are carried by the women, were found in the cave and in the bush. Each cf these held skulls and bones of deceased relatives, for it is the cheerful custom in this district for women to carry the bones of their relatives when the tribe makes a move. The most important resuit of the day’s l

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search, however, was the discovery in the bush of three more infants. This decided me to break camp at once; the transport was hurriedly packed, and we lost no time in picking up the trail, hoping to come on some of the mothers of the deserted infants. The route lay over broken lime- A stone beds which sounded hollow Subterranean undemeath. As we passed along Labyrinth- — we could hear the sound of water running beneath the rock at our feet. In fact, there was evidence of a system of subterranean galleries and waterways all along the route. Every now and then we came to a small creek and found, after following it for some time, that it would mysteriously disappear into a cave, only to reappear again, in some cases more than a mile from where it had entered the ground. The vegetation along the route was sparse jungle. Heavy rain fell all the time and everyone, except- ing the babies, was soaked. They reposed in nets on a soft piece of blanket; a canopy of leaves protected them from the rain, and each one was carried by a man, with the string yoke of the net passed over his head and the baby reclining comfortably on his back. These men, on account of the special nature of their task, were permitted to divide their loads among the other carriers, and in order that they might be encouraged to exercise the greatest care of the children, I offered a prize of tobacco for the man whose baby cried least. It was a most interest- ing sight to watch the efforts of those great, hulking “ nurses’’—who were themselves can- nibals whenever occasion offered—tenderly swing- ing their charges to and fro at the first sign of weeping, and crooning soft, savage music to them. So, in this way, the queer assortment of humanity proceeded, and late in the afternoon arrived at the headwaters of Ututi Creek, where a camp was made in one of the deserted villages of the fugitives. No natives had been seen on the way, but it was clear that they had all returned to this district. Sleep was impossible, for the News of the babies took it in turn to wake the Murderers. camp and demand their food, so the morrow found us all eager to reach the station as quickly as possible, and hand the troublesome infants to the police wives for attention. The Mati murderers were accord- ingly left in peace for the time being, and the party made haste towards Kikori. After a dreadful day of floundering through the sago swamps, the headwater of Himiti Creek was reached. At this place the prisoner, Hopimati, with eager gestures directed my attention toa small creek which joined the Himiti, and told me that at the head of that water was a system IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 125 of hill caverns in which many of the people were possibly hiding. I should have liked to explore at once, but as the supply of Nestlé’s was ex- hausted, and the needs of the babies were the first consideration, I made a note of the locality on my map, and we followed the banks of the Himiti towards its junction with the Kiko, reaching at nightfall the end of the caves through which the stream had been passing at intervals. Open water continued from this point, and the party made rafts to float down to the station some ten miles away. After a tedious journey against the tide, we reached Kikori, where the babies were handed over to the police women. In the morning, with the aid of a piece of rubber tubing and a fountain-pen-filler, I was able to manufacture a “ comforter,” through which the babies contentedly sucked a mixture of milk and warm water. The prisoner Hopimati was duly examined, and from him we learnt that the chiefs of the Mati tribe and others concerned in the Moreri massacre and the attack on the Government party were hiding in an elaborate system of caves in the district, at the headwaters of the Himiti Creek. Owing to the wonderful system of bush-signs used in this locality, Hopimati had been able to detect indications of the pre- sence of certain men during our marcl.. A leaf placed in position here and there along the route, the totemic plant of certain men, had told him all he wanted to know, and his knawledge of the locality enabled him to guess their whereabouts. To get them, he said, we should be forced to crawl into the caves where they would be hiding in the darkness. This information gave us much food for thought. The prospect of chasing the Mati cannibals through these dark, subterranean galleries, in which one would risk broken limbs at every step, was interesting enough in itself, but, with the additional possibility of a series of encounters in the cave-ends with men as capable of a desperate resistance as Hopimati, the prospect became positively thrilling—par- ticularly if the method of progress through the caves forced one to crawl snake-wise on one’s stomach, as had been demanded in the caves on the Omati headwaters where Hopimati was captured. It was decided to spend another day at the station to refit. Next morning the party, reorganized and considerably refreshed, left the station for the Himiti headwaters, with two curiously different objectives in view. The first, of course, was the arrest of the cave-men ; the second to find and bring back the mothers of the four babies. My next article will show how we fared in our odd quest. {To be continued.)

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Short I.—SNIPE-HUNTING. By JOSEPH GRAY ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L. WOOD. The Story of a practical joke that ‘came back” very badly on its perpetrators, — “| BOUT four years ago I chanced to be out of employment in a small town in the San Joaquin Valley of California, when I heard that a “ bale-buck ’’ was wanted on a hay- baler which was working some two miles from the town. I shouldered my bed-roll and went out to the ranch where the baler was working. I had no difficulty in getting the job, and after he had hired me, “ Big Dick ’’ Redfield, the baler foreman, who was a friend of mine, drew me to one side and said :— “Now, Curly, there’s just one thing I want to tell you before you start in on the job. What- ever you do, be careful and don’t say nothing about snipe-hunting to this outfit, because you are liable to get your head bitten off if you do. The outfit got stung pretty bad last week, and they are still very sore about it.”” A word to the wise is sufficient, and I decided to take Big Dick’s advice and steer clear of the subject in question, but as he had aroused my curiosity I decided to get the story out of him. I finally persuaded him to talk about it, and the tale he told me made me doubly careful to say nothing while I was with the outfit. For the benefit of those who have never known the joys of snipe-hunting I would say that it is a peculiar form of Western sport, without initiation into which no tenderfoot’s education is complete. As my own experience of the game is fairly typical, I will describe it first. Fortunately for me, I managed to turn the tables on my joking friends, and so I can tell the story without raising too big a laugh against myself. T had been in California about two months, having arrived there direct from England, when one evening a fellow ranch-employé, with whom I was out walking, looked up and remarked that it would be a fine night for snipe-hunting, and he guessed he would have to go after a bag of them. My bump of curiosity immediately started working overtime, and I would not be satisfied until he had told me all there was to know about the wonderful snipe. Just about the time he got started another ranch-hand came up and joined in the conversation. Before you laugh at my readincss to believe all that they told me, please remember that the contrast between England and California is so great that I had already seen things with my own eyes which seemed more incredible than their story. They told me that the Californian snipe only flew at night, and could be attracted by a light just like a moth, provided a person went afield for it. They also told me that it was fine eating and that a dish of them would taste very fine for Sunday’s dinner. Being green and gullible, I drank in all they said and agreed to take a part in the hunt. It was finally decided that I should do the hunting and they should do the cleaning next morning. They explained that the snipe might not begin to fly till about midnight, and therefore the fellow who did the hunting was allowed to lie abed the next morning. About nine o’clock they took me out, armed with a sack and a lantern, to show me how to work. After they had lotated me in what was deemed a suitable spot, they left me and said that they would go back and go to bed in order to be up early and clean the snipe I caught. At ten o'clock I was still holding the sack and the lantern, but had caught nothing but moths and flying ants. Remembering what they had said about the possibility of having to wait till midnight. I was satisfied te stay where I was, but as the lights were still on in the bunk-house, I finally began to get suspicious, and decided to do a little scouting for mysclf. T hunted about and found a stake, to which I tied the lantern and the sack. Then I sneaked up to the bunk-house very quietly in order to find out what was going on. The bunk-house had two doors, and seated on the steps of the one facing the field were the two fellows, smoking ard chuckling at the neat way they

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Stories had fooled me. I glanced back to see if the lantern would continue to trick them, and then I sneaked quietly round to the other door. I took off my shoes and overalls before I went inside, and as my bunk was next to this door I managed to slip in and get into bed without them hearing me. When they came in a few minutes later, having got tired of watching the light, they were astonished to find me fast asleep in bed. They relieved their feelings by dumping me out on the floor, but as I had turned the tables on them, that was the last I heard of snipe-hunting. Naturally, once a man has been initiated into the ranks of the snipe-hunters, he is always anxious to entrap others, and it was because he Imew this that Big Dick had cautioned me not to “start anything’ while I was on the hay- press. It seems that about a week before I went to work on the outfit a Swede nad strolled into the yard of the ranch where they were working and had asked Big Dick for a job. Dick was short of a man, and so the Swede had been told was given an elaborate account of their habits and eating qualities, in which every man joined with some wonderful piece of information. At the supper table, ‘‘ Red Kelly,’’ the wire- tier, looked up as if struck by a sudden thought and said :— “ Hey, fellers ; what’s the matter with sending the Swede out for a mess o’ snipe to-night ? Shure an’ he’s the new man, an’ that’s always a new man’s duty.” This suggestion was hailed with enthusiasm, and finally Jack Wayne, the bale-buck, turned to the Swede and said :— “How about it, Ole ? out and get a batch?” “Oh, yes, I bane ready to go, but she bane cold and I bane got no clothes.”’ Carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment, “ Red Kelly’’ said :— “* Oh, we-can arrange that, Ole; we'll fix ye up with the odds-and-ends around the bunk-car, and you can return them in the moming.” This was the end of the matter till after supper, but when the boys trooped back to Are you game to go to take a fork and get on the stack. This was about nine in the mom- ing, and by noon the crew were joking the life out of the Swede because of his green- ness. Very soon, by popu- lar consent, he was se- lected as the victim for a snipe-hunt. During the after- noon such _ remarks were bandied as :— “Geel but I'm hungry for mess 0’ snipe.” “Yes; it’s getting about the time of the year when they ought to be good.” “Yep! I think somebody ought to go out and get some to- night.” These remarks-finally produced the desired result, and after the the bunk-car the busi- mess was taken up again. It was late in the fall, and the Swede’s plea that he was not fixed up for a night excursion was amply justified. He had just come off a drunken spree, apparently, and all he had on was a cotton shirt, a pair of overalls, an old hat which exposed his head to the atmos- phere, and a broken- down pair of shoes. He had no underwear and no coat. “Red Kelly” went to his bunk and pulled out a good suit of underwear aod a heavy pair of socks. He handed these to Ole with the remark that he could use them if he would wash Swede had _ inquired about the snipe, he The Author at the time of this stery. and return them after he finished with them.

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128 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Seated on the steps were the two fellows, chuckling at the way they had fooled me.”

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Billy Dempster, the teamster, found a pair of corduroy pants, which he had bought on his last trip to town. Jack Wayne produced a good coat, and Big Dick lent a good cap. The only pair of shoes in the outfit that Ole could wear belonged to ‘‘ Slim Jim ’’ Smith, and these chanced to be a pair of high-cut laced boots, nearly new. They had told the Swede that if the snipe did not fly by midnight. it was useless to wait any longer, so ‘“ Dutch ’’ Hartmann lent him his watch, a seven-jewel Elgin, in order that he would 4now when to come in. At the last minute “ Red Kelly’ drew out a pair of gauntlet gloves, which he handed to the Swede to keep his hands warm. Taking every- thing into consideration, the ready generosity of the boys had left Ole pretty well equipped to stand the cold. The sack and lantern were next produced, and the guileless Swede was led to a spot that was deemed suitable and left there for the night. All night long the boys kept looking out of the bunk-car door, and each time someone reported that the Swede was still there they would chuckle and laugh at the neat way they had hoaxed him. Finally they turned in, still laughing at their own cunning. “* Clangety-clang-ety-clang-ety-clang.”” Before daybreak the next morning the cook’s triangle bell awakened the outfit for another day’s run, SHORT STORIES, 129 and the boys began slipping lazily out of their bunks into their clothes. The crowd were about half-dressed when “ Slim Jim" startled them all by roaring :— “Say, boys, that Swede ain’t got in yet, and he’s got my good boots on.” The crew looked up rather apprehensively, and a» their eyes took in the empty bunk, where the Swede should have been, they suddenly awoke to action and made a concerted rush for the door. They finally managed to scramble through and tumble down the steps. ‘' Red Kelly’ was the first to arrive at the lantern, and the string of oaths he let loose was soon supplemented by the rest of the crowd when they found out what had happened. There was no Swede to be found, but the lantern and sack were hung upon the - fence, and pinned to the sack was a scrawled note which read :— “T ban tank dere aint no snipe around here, but there sure bane planty of suckers. The shoes and pants fits me tine.-—The Swede.” It was a very sore and disillusioned crowd who made their way to the cook-car for breakfast, and when the cook inquired in all innocence if the Swede was still out snipe-hunting, he narrowly escaped getting the coffee-pot thrown at him. Needless to say, snipe-hunting was one subject I did not mention during the time 1 worked with Big Dick and his outfit. + Il—A SAPPER’S NIGHT OUT. By CLIFFORD DAWSON. ILLUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER. Every soldier knows how important the telephones were at the Front, but not everyone realizes what their maintenance meant. JOINED the Royal Engineers in April, 1915, and, after service in Gallipoli, Egypt, and Palestine, I crossed to the Western Front in Mm May, 1918. I was attached, with two other Engineers, to the 117th Brigade Headquarters, R.F.A., and our work consisted of laying tele- phone lines to the observation posts, batteries, etc. This work frequently meant long, un- broken spells of hard work in strange country, and as our brigade—indeed, the whole division —was used as a flying column, we were always advancing into new positions. The particular night which I am about to describe was that of September 2oth, or there- abouts. We had been advancing in fine style, and on the previous day the Brigade Head- quarters had been safely installed in a large quarry near the village of Templaux-la-Gerrard. This quarry was honeycombed with tunnels and This vivid little story will give you an idea. dug-outs. and we decided to have the telephone Near one entrance of the largest, called the “ Bakerloo Tunnel,” in which were about a thousand beds in ticrs of two and three. I, of course, had my bed quite close to the ‘phone, so that in the event of a cable being broken by shell-fire, the man on duty could inform me right away. Thad worked hard laying the lines to various batteries, whilst the battery linemen had run a cable out to the trenches. This cable was of vital importance, as in the event of the enemy massing for attack, or of any activity of the Hun, the news was flashed by this line to head- quarters, and thence to the guns, with, the exact range. No one was more aware than myself of the necessity of this line being kept “up,” and I made careful inquiries as to its direction, etc., before turning in. The nervous strain of the previous fortnight was beginning to make itself felt, for during that time I had

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¥30 THE WIDE WORLD) MAGAZINE, been out alone on repairs night afier night, my slecp being reduced to a doze of two hours or so. On. the night in question I felt I could have slept? ior a week, but I knew that I should be lucky if I had the average two hours. One of the three linemen had broken down, the other was on leave ; that left only myself to turn out if any of the dozen or so lines were broken. I turd in, all standing, at about Ir p.m. Everything was fairly quict, although all day “ Jerry's’ knowledge of the existence of the dug-outs had induced him to strafe the quarry badly. So high was the tension to which I was drawn that the first whisper of the duty tele- phonist roused me immediately. His next words, ‘ O.P. line down,”’ brought me out of bed, and after a few seconds of fumbling in the semi-darkness, I was ready to start, with telephone, gas-mask, stcel helmet, and spare wire. My watch stood at 12.30-as I crept out- side and, allowing the wire to run through my hand, toiled up the slippery path that led out of the quarry. It was blowing half a gale, and a fine moon was being obscured every few minutes by flying clouds. After the first glance round, I knew that I was in for a pleasant trip, as right in the direction which the line took shells, apparently of the deadly 5:9in. variety, were plunging and roaring. About fifty yards from my starting-point I came to the first break. A shell had taken about six feet of line out. I let in a similar length and spoke to my chum, who answered. Gathering my traps, I made off again, and in the next four hundred yards I mended more than a dozen breaks. By this time I was fairly amidst the flying metal, but had no thought of stopping, as the boys in the trenches would have suffered should an “S.0.S."" have been wanted. Time and again I thought I had ‘stopped one,”’ as stones and earth struck me stinging blows, and once, whilst on one knee, my tin hat was forced back by the concussion of a shell close by. My chum at the far end kept asking me to speak louder, as the din of the shell-bursts, which he could plainly hear, ob'iterated my words. I went forward again, crouching nearly doub'e, and the next break was a fair poser. The line fell through my hand broken, and, following the usual tactics, I left my ‘phone to mark the spot, and walked round in a semi- circle, dragging my feet so as to catch in the missing wire. At the fourth attempt I stumbled over what was undoubtedly wire—but what a mess it was in! It was a tangle of many yards, and—which was worse-—many different brands, including much German wire, of all colours. Mine was a red wire, but there were four or five rels in that bunch. However, after closcly comparing the inner cotton binding and stiff- ness, I decided on one, joined it on, nd spoke to heatavarters, When I went forward again, however, it was not with nearly such a good heart, because I could not be certain that I had hold of the right cab'e, A few yards farther on I came to a thick barbed-wire entang:ement. At the same moment a cloud covered the moon, so,-tec.ing carefully for a gap, I slid>one leg forward after the*other, trying to worm my way through; but it was quite useless—every strand seemed to know its job and held me firmly. My puttecs, trousers, and tunic were torn to shreds before I at 1 released myself with my blunt pliers. All this time, about three hours, I had not scen anyone ; but on looking up.then I saw five tall figures coming towards me, and when I made out that they were Germans, I began to busy mysclf with the job in hand, the while watching them carefully. To my great joy, they appeared to be unarmed—I had not so much as a toothpick to defend myself wi h— and were evidently coming in to give themselves up, as there were no ‘‘ Tommies ” with them. These men, walking in like that, gave me some idea as to the state of the front, which must have been “ anyhow ”’ at that time. and I began to think that the line I was following would finish up in Hindenburg’s bathroom, or somewhere like that. Remember that I had covered over one and a half miles, speaking back all the time, but quite uncertain as to whether I was on the right line or not. heat A little farther on I had a second shock. The cable refused to leave the ground, and on stoop- ing to release it I found that a dead B che had it caught in the crook of his elbow. Although I had passed and fallen over many bodies that night, it was decidedly unpleasant releasing that wire. By this time the shelling had died down to an. occasional salvo with a few shells of smaller calibre in between. I was beginning to breathe more freely, when from under my very feet sprang a large white cat ! The two previous shocks had somewhat unnerved me, but at the sight of this commonplace animal, amid such unlikely surroundings, I nearly died with fright, and I shall always believe that it was fully a minute before my heart resumed its duty. I went nearly four hundred yards before I came to my next break. The two ends lay across either side of a shell-hole from which the smoke still issued. If I had arrived on the spot half a minute sooner——! I mended this, but had to retrace my steps some distance, where the line had broken behind me, before I could speak. By this time I was convinced that I was on the wrong track, and was growing despondent, when I was jerked back to animation by a loud b1zz and a few strange pops. Gas shelis! Before the second salvo had arrived I had my gas- mask on and went stumbling forward. If it was hard to see before this, it was trebly so now, as the moisture collects on the eyepicces, making them no more transparent than so much stone. To add to my troubles, a thin rain started, clouds covered the moon entirely, and with this “ line- man’s friend” out of action, I felt like sitting down until morning. But the thoughts of “ Jerry” attacking with no artillery barrage of ours to stop him made me start forward again into slimy shell-holes, barbed wire, and over corpses. Idid not miss one of the " attractions * of the front, and all the while the whistle and

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SHORT STORI “When | made out that they were Germans, | b-gan to busy myself with the job in hand.” plop of the gas shells warned me of the painful mile, and found yet another break—a bad one— fate which awaited me should I remove my mask. which required ten yards of wire to repair. In this way I covered another quarter of a Hoping against hope, I adjusted my earth-pin

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132 and tapped in. What was my joy to hear a strange voice and immediately after the voice of the duty man from headquarters. The line was “up”! Meaning to leave that unpleasant district as soon as possible, I spoke just long enough to assure myself that it was O.P. speaking, and then grabbed my ‘phone and departed in haste. Sume- thing, however, had annoyed our friend the enemy that day, for scarcely had I passed through the deadly gas zone when—wheezz! borrop !— THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. another shell-storm broke all around me. Even then my thoughts were partly for the line, as I followed that blessed wire back, while showér after shower of fragments flew past me. But it was my lucky night for sure, for Icame through all right. As I staggered into the ‘‘ Bakerloo Tunnel” at five in the morning I managed to mumble, ‘‘ Line O.K.?”’ and, on receiving an assurance, fell into my bunk jyst as 1 was and dropped off to bye-bye—wet, bleedmg, but happy. AN INDIAN JUGGLER’S REMARKABLE FEAT. THE two snapshots here reproduced show a remark- able feat performed by an Indian jugger. “On my way out to India,” writes the correspondent who sent the pictures, “ I heard of many strange and almost un- believab'e tricks and feats which the native jugg’ers were alleged to be able to perform. Needless to say I took every possible opportunity of watching the jugg’ers at their work, and saw many things whch I could ne‘ther understand nor explain. When I was stationed at Deolali, in the Bombay Presidency, I shared a tent with Lieutenants Le Mare, of the rst Royal Irish Fusiliers, and R. MacDonald, of the Yorkshire Reg'ment. To us there came one day a slim young native accom: panied by a grey-bearded assistant, carry:ng a couple of large baskets, from the first of which was prceduced a big python, which the young nat ve proceeded to ‘charm’ with his p:pe. Then followed the basket, mango tree, vanishing ball, and many other tricks, all executed to the accompan’- ment of the qu:ck-running, counting ‘patter,’ which goes, ‘Eck, do, teen, char. hundred, t’ousand, mil.ion,’ at which point the trick usually reached its climax. After the ordinary stock tricks had been performed the juggler said, in his Litting the heavy basket by the grip of the eyelide, broken English, ‘ Sahibs give four anna, I show good thing!’ When the four annas had been produced the juggler took the larger of the two baskets, contain- it upon a large cloth, the four comers cf which he knotted together with a strong, thin rope. At the ends of this rope were affixed two litt'e hollow leaden cups. These cups the man placed over his eyeballs in such a way that a vacuum was created; he then shut his eyes firmly so that the lids were outside the cups. The two sides of the rope were then passed over his ears, and, rising up from his former squatting position, he lifted the heavy basket containing the snake by the grip of his eyelids and the suction on his eyeballs alone. After the feat was finished and the cups had been removed, to the accom- paniment of a horrid sucking sound, Iexamined the man’s eyes, which were terribly bloodshot; moreover, he seemed to have difficulty in seeing for several minutes, and the tears streamed down his cheeks. I have never heard of this feat being performed either before or since, but I can vouch for its authenticity, for both Mr. Le Mare and I took several snapshots at the time, two of which are reproduced herewith.” ing the python, and placed’

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA The story of a wonderful journey, full of adventure and incident. The Author spent four years in exploring South America, not travelling with a well-equipped expedition, but alone and on foot. He tramped down the whole terrible length of the Andes—a feat probably never accomplished before — T was after I had experienced a trying time as a Canal Zone police- man that my friend Leo Hays and I sailed from Panama to South America, and twenty-four hours after our last Zone handshake we marched down the gang-plank among the little brown policemen of Cartagena, Colombia, and fought our way through a mob of dock loafers to the toy railroad train that eventually creaked away into the city. We had reached the land of ‘‘ easy money.” Merely to step into a bank with a five-dollar bill was to errerge with a bulging roll of five hundred. We could not repress a millionaire swagger when we tossed a hundred-dollar note on the counter to pay for a pair of socks, though it quickly wilted when a few nickel pieces were tendered in change. Hays dropped into a dingy little hole- in-the-wall to buy a cigar, but though it was certainly the only five- dollar cigar he had ever strutted behind, he soon tossed it away in dis- gust. The newcomer is apt to be startled when he hears a Colombian casually mention pay- ing ten thousand dollars for a mule — until he realizes that the speaker is really talking in cents. The Colombian notes, even those of the in- trinsic value of our cop- per coin, are elaborately engraved, and the won- der grew how the Gov- ernment could afford to print them. Our destination at that time was Bogotd, Colombia’s cloistered city, and the most tapry A ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. HORNE. 1. "Every inhabitaat under Gfteen kissed his hand.” and mixed freely with the na- tives, Indian and white, studying their manners and _ customs. Needless to say he met with all sorts of odd and exciting experi- ences, which are here set forth. Our readers have a treat in store in this narrative, which will be found as entertaining as the Arabian Nights. isolated of South American capitals. The day fol- lowing our arrival at Cartagena saw us on board the Alicia, a three-storey craft with a huge paddle- wheel at the stern, which plies the Magdalena to within three hours’ train journey of Honda. Thanks to the English agent of the line, we were treated as cabin passengers, although frequently for days at a time there were only the two of us to occupy the cane rocking-chairs that embellished the upper fore-deck. Herc day after day we watched the monotonous yellow bank unroll with infinite slowness, like a film clogged in the machine. Here and there on the extreme edge of the stream hung a few scattered thatched villages, the inhabitants all apparently engaged in the favourite occupation of doing nothing, living on the few fruits and vegetables that grew of themselves, and drinking the ye luw water of the Magdalena. On a Sunday morning we reached the village of Zambrano, where the en- tire population, headed byits curate, and dressed in every imaginable mis- fit of sun-bleached gaiety, swarmed on board, We waited a long hour while they took leave of the priest. Every inhabit- ant under fittcen kissed his hand, which each of the women pressed fer- vently, after which the men approached him in procession, padre and layman throwing an arm about each other's neck and slapping each other some seven times between the shoulder- blades. It was only the customary Colombian abrazo and the formality of seeing the curate a

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134 little way on his journey. Lime, is of no value in this happy land. ‘We moved at about the speed of a log-raft towed by a sunfish, and five days up, in the region known as the Opon country, there appeared on board a native trapper of wild animals, who had been shot through the face with an arrow by tne savage Opones, but had performed the rare feat of making his escape. Colombia includes within her confines several tribes of Indians not only uninfluenced by the Government, but entirely without an inkling of its existence. The Opones live far back along the tributaries of the Magdalena, descending them only in certain seasons, and attacking any human beings they come upon. Armed with a species of crossbow, Cannibal they shoot Indians, an enormous arrow with a point of iron-hard black palm barbed both ways, that can be neither pushed through nor pulled out of the body of the victim. A few weeks before the trapper reported, a harmless fellow, fishing somewhat back from the main river, had been made into a verit- able pin-cushion with thirty-two such arrows. The trapper had it that the Opones were canni- bals, asserting that a recent expedition into the Opon country had found a Colombian woman of good family who was being fattened in a cage of bamboo! At La Dorada we took Icave of the Alicia, for cataracts make this the end of the run for steamers plying the lower Magdalena. Next afternoon a diminutive train, which wound away in a half circle through the forest, with now and then glimpses of hazy, far-off Andean ranges, set us down in Honda, a city as aged and intricate, as full of its own local colour, including many blind and leprous beggars, as any old town of Spain. Bogota, from which we began our journey afoot, is decidedly a white man’s city. Indeed, there is hardly another of its size south of the Canadian border in which the percentage of pire white complexions is higher. It is a city of plump, robust figures, particularly among the women. Many of these may frankly be termed beautiful, in spite of a widespread tendency of the sex to wear distinctly noticeable black moustaches. Short, yet sturdy, muscular carriers and ayrievos, as often female as male, pass noiselessly through the strects with the pro- duce of the country patches. From girls barely | ten to old women, many of comely features in “Four wayferers with long sheath-knives in their hands.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. spite of the encrusted dirt of years, but-more often so brutalized by toil as to seem hardly human, dressed in matted rags, their feet and legs bare almost to the knees—they plod past under burdens an American workman could not carry a hundred yards. It is a commonplace sight in Bogot& to see a mere girl in years grasp the nose-ring rope ofa bull and throw him to his knees, or lay hold of a cinch-strap in her calloused hands and, with one foot against the animal’s ribs, tighten the girth with the skill of an experi- enced arrtero. Girls and boys alike are trained from their carliest years to this life of bovine toil, never looking forward to any other. Of the existence of such places. as schools they have hardly an idea. Curious There are Shop curious local Signs. customs in Bogoté. Her small shops, for ex- ample, have a system of signs intelligible only to the initiated. A red flag announced meat for sale; a red flag with a yellow star, meat and bones; a white flag, milk; a green one, veg- etables and grains. A cabbage or a lettuce- head thrust forth on the end of a stick marks the entrance to . a cheap restaurant; a tuft of faded flowers, a chicheria, or saloon. The Bogotano sees nothing incongruous in a build- ing that announces itself a ‘Primary School” above and an “Ameri- can Bar" below. A sinister bappening at ths time almost brought our journey early to grief. On the morning of the second day after leaving Bogot& I suddenly realized that my companions were not with me and sat down to wait. Half an hour passed. I strolled back along the road and then hurried upward at a sharper pace. Fully a mile up I sighted Hays, driving the wobbly-kneed carrier before him. They had tip-toed on the edge of an adventure. Barely had I passed from view when there had fallen in with them, one by one, four evil-faced fellows carrying sugar-cane staffs. As thirst came, each fell to peeling and sucking his cane. Hays . looked up to find the four wayfarers, long sheath- Imives in hand, still ostensibly engaged in peeling sugar-cane, but closing in around him and the shivering cargador. Hays had taken for fiction the stories of dangers on the road, and his automatic pistol was packed away on the carrier's back. But he had been too long a soldier to betray anxiety in the face of. danger. The quartet continued their innocent occupation,

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ON Crowding ever closer, but had not quite sum- moned up courage to try their fortunes against so stera-faced a gringo, when they fell in with another group of travellers, whereupon the four gradually faded behind. Thenceforth we took care to wear our weapons in plain sight. The road, now chiefly unmade, descended swiftly into the genuine tropics, as we struck off for Ibagué and the Quindic Pass over the Central Cordillera of the Andes. We took this longer, route to Quibo in order that we might traverse the great Cauca Valley. These upland plains, perfectly level, and _ cov- ered with grass, afford the finest walking in the world. They make the journey like strolling acress an endless lawn or through some vast orchard. Nowand then we passed a tinkling mule- train, a horseman, or an Indian short- distance pedes- trian, but never a vehicle to disturb the reflective peace of a perfect tramp. Every species of pack-animal ap- —mules, horses, donkeys, steers, bulls, women, children, and even men, all toiling eastward. Often adozen horses marched in a sort of lockstep, the halter of each tied to the tail of the animal ahead. Many had one or both ears cropped short, not by some accident or gra- tuitous cruelty, as we at first im- agined, but as a system of branding. Now and then a shifting load brought an ayriero running to throw his vuana over the animal’s eyes, blindfolding it until it was prepared to go on again. It was after leaving Ibagué, the capital of the province of Tolima, that we began one of the greatest climbs of our tramp. Round and round, in intoxicated zig-zags, went the trail. The Quindio Pass lies only eleven thousand four hundred and forty feet above the sea, but that by no means represents the climbing necessary to surmount the Central Cordillera of the Andes. Toiling like draught-animals, gasping for breath in the rarified air, we fancied a score of times FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. The Author, Mr. Harry A. Franck, authorities insisted upon giving him this Indian boy-soldier as an escort. 135 that we had reached the summit, only to see the trail take another switchback and disclose the perfidious fact that it had found another ridge to surmount. It was the highest point either of us had ever reached in the world. While we appreciated the eminence, however, it was no place for men gifted with profane vocabularies to linger, and we were soon thankfully legging it down the western slope out of cloudland. On the Cauca side, like the French slope of the Pyrenees, the Cen- tral Cordillera of the Andes de- scends almost abruptly to the valley. Suddenly topping a jungled knoll we caught sight of the long- sought town of Cortago, although it was hours later that we reached the level of the valley floors, and strolled in heavy grass through a bamboo-built sub- urb into the weedy central plaza. Swinging due south next morn- ing through the perpetual summer of the flat, grass- carpeted Cauca Valley, we fell in with a straggling band of nearly a hundred youths. They were con- scripts recruited under the new military law of Colombia, Antio- quenos chosen by lot to make up the quota of the Province of Antio- quia, bound south from Medellin for six months’ com- pulsory service. The majority were crude-minded countrymen. Some, dressed in the wrecks of “ European ’” suits, were undeveloped boys of the towns, hobbling painfully along on bruised and blistered feet, bare except for their cloth alpargatas. As we descended through a shallow valley, locusts, called ‘‘chapul’’ in the Cauca, rose in vast clouds as we advanced, covering the ground before us and veiling the landscape as with a great screen, new myriads rising at every step, until they struck us incessantly in the face and filled our ears with a sound lke some great waterfall at a distance. The Cauca was suf- fering one of its periodical droughts, and the At one stage of his journey the

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136 THE WIDE WORLD pvcompanying scourge of locusts, after which it would bloom again like a tropical garden. It was now a broad, dry, trecless region, with- out streams. As we advanced the drought grew more and more in evidence. Across the sun- cracked valley floor lay scattered the bleached bones of scores of cattle that had died of thirst. Falling behind, we were in danger of suffering the same fate; for the band of recruits, like another locust horde, drank the world ahead wholly dry. The rare hovels and amateur shops along the way were prepared to feed and minister to the thirst of only the customary few daily travellers; not to the ninety-four of us that suddenly descended upon them out of the north without warning. Hays and I were forced to stride on past the sponge-like avalanche of humanity for sheer self-preservation. MAGAZINE, From Cali we strode light'y forward, and before long the character of the country began to change, with the promise of mountains to climb far ahead in the hazy heat after to-morrow. Though still in the tropics, we were now in the temperate zone. The population was still dark in colour, and presently, for the first time since descending from the plateau of Bogota, we met full-blooded Indians. They were of the Guajiro tribe, dull-brown, sturdy, thick-legged fellows, in white pyjama-like garments reaching only to the knees. All, male or female, young or old, greeted us in a sing-song as we passed. Four days from Cali, we pushed mcre swiftly forward, for we were nearing the famous old city of Popayan. Here we found coca leaves for sale for the first time, and met Indians whose cheeks were The party of recruits who, like a swarm of locusts, ate all the food supplies along-the ‘road. For a few hours we remained in The Holy the ancicnt city of Buga, one of City of the largest in the Cauca Valley. Buga. Buga is a holy city to which pilgrims flock from hundreds of miles around. To the Buguciios themselves, however, their “ miracle’’— a modern Gothic church filled with more religious trophies than any Hindu temple—scems to offer little more than a means of easy income, through the liawking of crucifixes and holy lithographs to their pious viitors. Like Puree, Benares, or Lourdes, the holy city is more holy at a distance than to those who lo!l through life in its shadows. We next plodded on to Cali, the chief com- mercial city of the Cauca Valley. Cali was en féte. From end to end on the day of our en- trance the place was crowded with happy, rather dusky, throngs, and gay with the national flag and the bishop's banner and mitre. For on that day the ancient church of Cali became a cathedral, and one of her sons a bishop. By sunset fully half the visible population was reeling drunk in celebration of the honour that had fallen upon their native town. disfigured by a cud of them. Long before the white man appeared on his shores, the Indian of the Andes, unacquainted with the tobacco of his North American brother, was addicted to this habit. The leaves—from which is extracted the cocaine of modern days—are plucked from a shrub not unlike the orange in appearance, that grows down in the edge of the hot lands to the east of the Andean chain. Once dried, they are packed in huge bales, or crude baskets made on the spot, and sold in the market-places by old women who weigh out the desired amount in clumsy home-made scales or in handfuls by eye measure. The Indians thrust the leaves one by one into their mouths and as they become moistened, add a bit of lime or ashes, dipped with what looks like an enlarged toothpick from a tiny calabash which, with a leather pouch for the leaves themselves, constitutes the most indis- pensable article of the aborginal equipment. How harmful the habit may be it is hard to gauge. Its devotees are, it is true, languid of manner and slow of intellect ; but they show no great contrast in this particular from the biaitzea by GOOLE fe)

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. 137 A section of th= ancient highway built by the Spa» cds over three hundred years ago. |r was not designed for wheeled traffic and is laid in steps. gente decente, their neighbours, who rarly indulge in the leaves, except on some long and weari,ome journey. So marked is this languor in Popayaa that, as in most Andean towns, brawls are rare, despite the half-ararchy that reigns; the people are simply too tired to quarrel ! We remained in Popayan until it had dwindled from the romantic city of the past our imagjnations had pictured, to the miserable reality, and then we set our faces once more towards Pasto and the equator. Pasto was said to be something like a week distant ‘“‘ by land,’ and the route “ very dan- gerous,’’ though from what source was not clear. We were following now what the Colom- bian calls.a cuchillo, a ‘“‘ knife ’’ road, treading the very edge of its blade. Along it, miserable mud huts were numerous; and every Indian we met had a cheek distorted and his teeth and lips discoloured by a coca cud. Evidently the region heid foreigners in great fear. As often as we paused to ask for lodging, some transparent excuse was trumped up to get rid of us. The naiveté of the inhabitants was amusing. At one village hut two women met our plea for lodging with :— “No, senores ; los maridos no estan" (‘ the husband: are out "’). “We are not interested in the husbands, but in a place to sleep.” “Yes, but the husbands will be out all night, and they would make themselves very ugly.” Further on my compar.ion tried his luck again. Two plump girls, not unattractive in appearance, bade him enter. Could they give us lodging ? They thought so; mother usually did, but she was out just then. Vol. xliv.—10. Jiradot, where the railway to Bogot4 begins,

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138 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ All right,” said Hays, sittmg down, “ I'll wait for her.” Some time had passed when it occurred to him to ask :— “When will mother be back ? ”’ “Oh, perhaps in a week,” answered the innocent damsels. ‘‘ She went to Mojarras with a load of corn.” For days at a time we tramped the trails of the Andes. It was no mountain-flanking road of easy gradient, such as abound in the Alps, but one that had chiefly built itself; so that all day long we climbed and descended stony buttresses of the range. Here and there a hut and clearing hung on the opposite mountain wall, or above us, in places where plougas were useless. The Indians cultivated their “ farms " by burning off a bit of the swift slope. Then they threw a brush fence about it, dropped their seeds into careles:ly-dug holes, and sat back to wait tor whatever Nature chose to send them. For days now there had been persistent rumours of salteadores, highway robbers, reputed experts in the art of shooting travellers in the back from any of the countless hiding-places along the trail. Every town, in turn, asserted that its own region was eminently safe; the danger was always in the next one. Each traveller we met—and they were never alone --carried a rifle or a musket. Once, at an awkward defile, we suddenly caught . sight of an ugiy- looking group of ruffians on a knoll above, and our back muscles twitched uneasily until we had climbed out of range. The fact that our own weapons hung in plain sight may have been the cause of their inaction. And so we The City came to San of Hats. Pablo, in the floor-flat river bottom of the Rio Mayo—the city where every house is a fac- tory of “ Panama” hats. The “straw”’ is furnished by the 1o- quila plant, a reed somewhat resembling the sugar-cane in ap- pearance. If left to itself, the plant at length blossoms or “leaves’’ out in the form of a fan-shaped fem. Once it has reached this stage, it is no longer useful to the weaver of hats. For his purposes the leaves must be nipped in the bud, so to speak—gathered while still in the stalk. The green layers that would, but for this prematvre end, have expanded later into leaves A street in Bogots. The flagstones in the centre are for the use of Indians and pack-animals, are spread out and cut into narrow strips with a comb-shaped knife. The finer the cutting, the more expensive the hat. Between the material of a two and a fifty dollar “‘ Panama ” there is no difference whatever, except in the width of the strips. Boiled and laid out in the sun and wind, these curl tightly together. They are then bleached white in a sulphur oven and sold to the weaver in the form of tufts not unlike broom straw or a bunch of prairie-grass. The weaving of the ‘‘ Panama ”’ begins at the crown, and the edge of the brim 1s still unfinished, with protruding “ straws,’’ when turned over to the wholesale dealer. Packed one inside the other in bales a yard long, they are carried on muleback to Pasto. There, more skilful work- men bind in and trim tke edges. They are then placed in large mud ovens of bechive shape, in which quantities of sulphur are burned. Next they are laid out in the back yard ot the establish- ment---with chickens, dogs, and other fauna common to the dwellings of the Andes wandering over them, be it said in passing—to bleach in the sun; they are rubbed with starch to give them a false whiteness, and finally men and boys pound and pound them or blocks with heavy wooden mallets, as if bent on their utter destruction, tossing them aside at last, folded and beaten flat, in the form in which they ap- pear cventually in the show-windows of our own land. The best can be woven ‘only at morning or evening, or when the moon is ful! and bright, the humid- ity of the air being then just sufficient to give the fibre the re- quired flexibility. Virtually every in- habitant of San Pablo is, Jrom childhood, an expert weaver of hats. We were told that in all the history of the town only one boy had been too stupid to learn to weave, and he was now the priest of a neighbouring ham- let 1! The Government telegraph operator of San Pablo—who pro- bably averages a dozen messages a week—ha‘l a record of one hat a day, six hats a week the year round. That was probably at least double the average output, for very few worked with any such marked industry. The over- whelming majority are amateur weavers, making one hat a week merely as a pastime in the inter- vals of their more regular occupations of cooking, planting, shopkeeping, school-teaching, and loaf- ing. The boy in need of spending-money, the

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. village sport who plans a celebration, the Indian whose iron-lined stomach craves a draught of the fiery cana, the pious old woman feartul of losing the goodwill of her cura, all fall to and weave a hat in time for the Saturday market. On the first anniversary of the beginning of my Latin-Americar journey we swung onr packs again, after reaching San José from San Pab!o, anxious to get to Pasto, the capital of Colombia’s southern- most department. At first sight Pasto has the aspect of a mighty mart of trade. Every street is lined by the wide-open door- ways of shallow shops crammed with wares incessantly duplicated. To all appearances, there are more sellers than buyers. Pride in hidalgo blood, however diluted, is evidently so widespread that no one works who can in any way avoid it, all pre- ferring to sit behind a counter in the hope of selling ten cents’ worth of something a day to earning as many dollars in some prod.ctive oc- cupation at the risk of soiling their fingers. In the streets we saw not merely the now familiar “civilized” Indian of the highlands, plodding behind his stolid bulls, laden with the produce of his chacras, but also no small number of “ wild men” from the wilderness. These have a free, happy, independent air, in marked con- trast to the manner of the dismal mountain Indian, They appear to hold the domesticated Indian in great scorn, and mix far more freely with the other ciasses of the population. Dressed in what could easily be mistaken for the running pants of an athlete, their marvellously developed bronzed legs are bare in any weather. A light ruana covers their shoulders. A few wear a grey wool skull cap; most of them only their matted, thick, black hair, cut short across the neck in ‘‘ Dutch doll” fashion. There were always several women in each group, but one must look sharply to make sure of the sex, for they are dressed identically like their male companions, bare legs, hair cut and all. We took leave of Pasto four days after our arrival, and as we neared the frontier the popula- tion grew less and less frequent. There were long stretches without an inhabitant. In the after- noon we turned aside from the “ royal highway ’’ to visit the “ Virgen de las Lajas,’"’ the most famous shrine in Colombia. To it come pilgrims from all over the Repub'ic, from Ecuador and Hays, the Author's companion during this part of his journey. 139 even farther afield, to be cured of their ills. On the way down to it we fell in with an old man driving an ass, and heard the simple story of’ the founding of the sacred city. Centuries ago the Virgin had appeared here and given a small child a statue of herself—‘‘ descended straight from heaven, because it has a real flesh-and-blood face that bleeds if it is pricked, or if hair is pulled out.” Then she had ordered the B’shop of Riobamba to build a chapel in the living rock of the mountain on the site of the ap- parition. Our infor- mant was vociferous in his assertion that the Virgin daily cured vic- tims of lameness, blind- ness, and a_ hundred other ailments ; but he offered no explanation of the fact that though he himself had lived in Las Lajas ail his life he was almost sightless from ophthalmia. To our surprise, there were no frontier form- alities whatever. Ecu- ador was not even represented ; the two Colombftan Customs officiais—diffident, slow-witted, but kindly pastusos—asserted that no duties were collected on goods passing be- tween the two countries, unless they were of foreign ongin. Their task was merely to keep account of whatever passed the boundary, for what purpose was not apparent, unless it was to provide a sinecure for political henchmen. We entered San Gabricl shortly after crossing the frontier into Ecuador, and it was there that we came upon a game new to both of us. In the itregular field that formed the plaza before a bulking mud church, half a hundred barefoot Indian men and boys, each in a ruana of distinctive gay colour reaching to the knees, were pursuing a sphere about half the size of a football. Each player had bound on his right hand, like the cesta of the Spanish pelota player, a large round instrument of raw hide, of the form of a flat drum or a double-headed banjo. Sud- denly the bell of the whitewashed church sounded. The players piled their ‘ gloves” hastily in the form of a cross, and every living person in the plaza, male or female, snatched off their hats and poured into the place of worship, from which arose some weird species of music as we pushed on into the town. We arrived at Ibarra, founded three hundred years ago as a residence for the white men of the region between Porto and Quito, on the site of the old Indian village of Caranqui, on the day

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140 sacred to the ‘“ Virgen de la Merced.” The celebration began early in the afternoon. An endless train of Indians in a medley of colours trooped across the town under great bundles of dry bush, gathered far away in the hulls, a haughty chief on horseback riding up and This map shows the Author's wonderful journey in detail. down the line giving his orders in sputtering Quichua. Men, women, and children deposited their loads on the bare plaza before a weather- tarnished old church, and ambled away for more. Five immense heaps had been laid out in the form of a cross when a priest sallied forth to sprinkle them with holy water. In the thickening dusk the entire town gathered amid a deafening THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, din of bettered church bells, the explosion of | thousands of home-made fireworks and “ cannon crackers,’’ the blare of a tireless band, and the howling of the populace and its swarming curs. The brush cross was lighted by a priest in rich vestments, and pandemonium raged the whole night through. The driftwood of the festival, in the form of chicha vic- tims, sprawled on their backs in streets and gutters, littered the town when we set out to climb to the frozen equator at Cayambe. Fer off to the hazy south- west the horizon was walled by a vast range, the highest point of which was evidently Pinchincha, at the foot of which lay the end of our present journey. In a shelter at the road- side an Indian woman, selling steaming soup with bits of meat and tiny potatoes in it, served us in a single earthenware plate with wooden spoons as impassively as she did her own people. Farther on, groups of aborigines were burn- ing off, over brush fires, the bristles of slaughtered pigs that lay in batches of a half-dozen, split open, at the road edge. A carriage passed—the first we had seen for weeks ; then an auto- SOUTH AMERICA mobile ; a man in “European”’ clothes, wearing shoes, yet TME SOLID LINE REPRESENTS . COVERED ON FOOT ; THE BROKEN LINE OTHER MEANS OF TRANSPORTATION. THE THINNER LINES SNOW AuTi ROUTE HOME. actually walking; a - clean child of well-to- do parents. A motley crowd, chiefly Indians in gaudy ponchos, came and went; and all at orce Quito in its May-like afternoon burst out before us in its mountain hollow. Fifty-seven days had passed since we had walked out of the central plaza of Bogota, during fifteen of which we had done no walking. Our pedometer marked the distance as eight hundred and fifty-four miles, and we had each spent @ dollar for every day of the journey.

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i A veteran sportsman’s story of a glorious hunting-trip in the Umpqua Mountains of Oregon. The “bag” included a_ splendid black elk, several bears, and quite a lot of deer, and the adven- tures of the two hunters are described in a very racy fashion. weermeg HE hunt that I am about to describe took place on the headwaters of Evans Creek, away up in the # Umpqua Mountainsof Oregon, where, § at the time I write of, deer and bear were plentiful, and wolves more numerous than in any other part of the State. It was lucky for me on this hunt that I had a man with me who was a first-class shot and hunter, and also a man of nerve, or I should probably have lost my well-known bear-dog, “Trailer.” This man was Riley Hammersly, who has hunted big game all over the Pacific Coast and in different partsof Aleska, has been @ game warden, Gov- ernment hunter, and so forth, and is known from end to end of the West. Ofall the hunt- ing we everdidtogether, he himself will tell you that this trip of ours on the Umpqua Divide was the most exciting. Our starting point was Woodville, Oregon, Tight at the very mouth of Evans Creek, which we followed up for , several miles to where it made a big bend, and here we took a cross- cut over the mountain, passing byanold battle- ground where the Whites’ and Indians had a terrific fight in 1855. We found an old blazed trail that led to Evans Creek and ILLUSTRATED by WARWICK. REYNOLDS The Author, Mr. John B. Griffin, followed it down, and when we got to the creek we crossed and went up the other side a half mile or so and found a prairie with lots of grass, and here we made our camp. There was an old cabin here that had been built many years before, probably by a trapper or prospector. This place was afterwards called Wilow Flat, and was made headquarters for the wardens and Government hunters. The next morning we packed up and started for the headwaters of the creek. We travelled until towards noon, when we came to a big burat area on the opposite side cf the creek, where there were lots of old burnt logs and quite an extensive flat. All at once I saw a big brown bear running along among the logs. I jumped off my horse, and just as he leapt up on a log I fired, and off he scurried. Away went the dogs after him, across the creek and over to the other side, going like a hurricane. We tied our horses up and followed them. The first thing I did was to go to the place where the bear was when I fired, as I knew I had a good bead on him and was positive I had hit him. Sure enough, when we got there we found blood, but in the meantime thé dogs had gone over a ridge and down into a canyon out of hearing. We went on up the hill, and when we reached the top we heard them away down below in the canyon,

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142 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. barking furiously. We knew then that they had the bear treed, so we went on down, and when we got within about fifty yards of the tree, the bear started to climb down; he had caught sight of us and concluded to make another run for it. Riley was ahead of me and brought his gun up and fired, hitting him again as he scrambled down the tree, whereupon he let go his hold and tumbled down right among the dogs. There were three of them—* Trailer,” * Ranger,”’ and ‘ Weaver,” a dog that Riley had brought along to train a little. Well, he got trained quite a lot on that trip! The first thing he did was to jump in and grab the bear by the head. Next instant he went spinning about fifteen feet away-—just what every dog does when it catches a bear by the side of the head. He lay there stunned for a few seconds, and the bear made a dash for him, but “ Trailer ”” and “ Ranger ”’ sprang forward, seized him by the flank and turned him back, wisely letting go zs he reared and plunged to get at them. Riley and I both fired again at the first op- portunity, and down he went once more. All three dogs piled in on him, but up he came again, hurling them right and left, and rushed right at Riley, who had by this time got down to within ten paces of him. I was still about thirty yards behind and called to my companion to run behind a tree, as both dogs were right in line with the bear and I knew there was danger of hitting a dog if either of us fired. Riley realized this also and ran back towards me, while ‘Trailer’ and “ Ranger’? caught the bear again by the hams and swung him round. This gave us a chance, and we promptly put two more bullets in him and dropped him dead. This was one of the liveliest scraps Riley had ever been in, and he remarked that if we were liable to have many more like that he would need some nerve tonic. I told him that if there were many bears in that locality we were likely to have an even bigger battle, especially if we got after an old grizz'y. We went back to camp after killing the bear, and as there was plenty of grass we decided to stay there and hunt. We took the horses and brought the bear in that evening, erected our tent, made a fir-bough bed, and were ready for business. The next morning we left camp tog: ther, intending to go up the creek for some distance and then separate, one going to the right and the other to the left, and scour the country on each side to find out which side was the best hunting-ground, and also kill a deer or two for meat We left the dogs.in camp, as I did not like to have “ Trailer” following me round when I was hunting deer. We saw deer-tracks all up the creek, where they had been crossing, but no deer showed up, so we decided that they were probably on the hillside, lying down. Riley had got several yards ahead of me when suddenly I saw him stop and begin to examine something on the ground. I thought he had discovered a bear track, but I was mistaken. “ Hurry up, John,” he called out, ‘ J want to show you a cow track.” When I saw the track, however, I said, ‘‘ Cow nothing! That is an elk track, and a big one, too. There isn’t a cow within forty miles of here.” Riley could hardly believe it, as he had never seen an elk track, and did not think they were so large, but when I told him I had seen many a one that was as big as a four-year old steer’s, he was astonished. We were, of course, in regular elk country, where in yeare gone by there had been lots of them, but they were scarce now, as they had been killed off by hunters when driven lower down by deep snows. While we were examining the tracks I told him of the story I had heard of a big black elk that had been seen on Grave Creek by old hunters on several different occasions. One man had told me he saw him once away down within a few miles of the settlement, and came very near getting a shot at him, but he disappeared in the brush too quickly. I had never heard of this big black fellow being killed, and I was almost sure that these tracks were his. The prospect of getting this monster elk caused us to forget deer, bear, and everything else. The track looked fresh, and we were fresh. too, so we decided what to do in mighty short order, setting off without any ceremony on the trail of the Big Black Elk. I wished for “ Trailer’ now. but it was too far to go back for him. The track was easy to follow, as the animal had sunk in at every step. We started off pretty briskly at first, but soon slowed down. We took it in turn to follow the track, the other man keeping a sharp look-out ahead all the time. We crossed the creek on a log and found where he had come out on the other side; the ground was wet where the water had dripped off him. The trail went straight ahead, over ridges and across gulches, and it soon become evident that he was travelling to get to some certain point ; he had never stopped to browse anywhere. We followed him in this way for miles befure he even made a halt. Then we came to a small open space on a low flat ridge where he had stopped, pawed up the earth, and stamped around a little. We could tell by the track we had not scared him, as he was still going at a walk. From this point he had travelled south round the side of the hill and passed through a big burn of perhaps a hundred acres, full of new vegetation and with old logs lying about all over it. It was an ideal place for deer and elk, and I was sure we should get him started here, but he had kept going, jumping over logs and through the brush. Here we began to find deer; they seemed to be every- where. First we saw five, a doe and two fawns, a spike, and a fork-horned buck. They just got up out of their beds and stood looking at us without moving, until we passed them. They were within fifty yards. It was a great tempta- tion, as the fork-horn was a fine-looking fellow, and we should have liked him for camp meat. The doe and fawns we would not shoot under any circumstances; in all my hunting with Riley Hammersly I never knew him to kill a doe or a fawn. To make a long story short, we saw that day, by actual count, twenty-three deer, twelve of them bucks.

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ON THE The chase had by this time led us a long way from camp, and we were beginning to wonder how long it was going to last, when all of a sudden the trail made a turn down-hill until it got near the lower end of the burn, and then made another turn round the hill in the direction whence it had come. This encouraged us, as it would be getting us nearer to camp all the time. After a while we came in sight of a small prairie covered with high grass. We went out across the opening, and when we got to the farther side we found where he had been lying down. I thought the elk might have heard us coming and got scared, but on examining the track we found he had merely walked off, which was evidence enough that he did not know we were following him. From the way he was acting, however, we came to the conclusion that he was hunting for other elk. We were puzzled, for it looked as if he was never going to stop. I told Riley he would probably go right back to where he had started from before he stopped. We would stay with the track until we found where he crossed the creek ; then we would go back to camp and start out again the next morning. Sure enough, the trail took us around the hillside and passed not more than a mile from our camp, finally reaching the creek within seventy-five or a hundred. yards of where the elk had crossed before. This was very annoying. We had followed him for miles and miles, and if we had only sat down and waited he would have come to us! We smothered our disappointment, however, and struck out for camp, getting there just before dark, having been out all day without a bite to eat. The dogs were delighted to see us, and I told “Trailer ’’ that I had a job for him in the morning. We were both considerably excited over the elk, and all our conversation that evening was about what we were going to do on the morrow. [I had already decided that I was going to take ‘Trailer’? with me, follow that elk to his jumping-off Place, jump off after him, and stay on the trail till I got him. The next morning we were up early, had our breakfast, and looked after the horses. We fixed up some provisions to take along with us and then started out, taking “ Trailer,” and leaving the other two dogs in camp. “Trailer” took up the track immediately, and went right off on it, too fast for us to keep up; Ihad to stop him and make him go slow. He was a very intelligentdog and soon “caught on ’' to what I wanted him to do and settled down to TRAIL = = “Trailer,” Me, Griffin's famous bear-dog. OF THE BIG BLACK ELK. 143 business, which meant trouble for the game ahead of him, for it was a sure thing that he would never quit until he had hunted down that elk, whether we killed it or not. The trail took us up a long ridge for three or four miles. Soon we came to a little prairie, with a few scattered trees. Here we found where four or five elk had been lying, two big beds and some smaller ones. Now we knew why the big fellow had taken such a round! There had probably been a larger bunch together and they got separated in some way, and he had been out on a scouting trip to hunt them up. However that might be, they were up and gone, but not very long, for “ Traiier’ showed us plainly that the tracks were fresh. He was so eager to go that just a hint was all he needed to send him flying after them, but I kept telling him to go slow and we proceeded cautiously around the hillside to the top of the ridge, where we could see across to the other side. Going down, we crossed the gulch and could see where they had been all around. It was getting pretty exciting now. We went on up towards the top of the next ridge, and had got within fifty yards when all at once we saw the big black elk right on the summit, standing there like a sentinel. He saw us as quick as we saw him, gave a snort, and dashed off down the other side aut of sight before we had time to get our guns off our shoulders. We ran just as fast as we could to get to the top, and when we got there, we saw the whole bunch going up the hill on the other side of the gulch, a big cow and calf in the lead, the others scattered a little behind, and the big black bringing up the rear. They were going at a trot, and it was a grand sight, but only lasted a few seconds, for the leaders were over the ridge before we had time “to get our breath. The big fellow, however, was a little too late, for just as he reached the top both our Winchesters rang out, and the levers went down and up again, but he was gone. “ Trailer’ was wild with excite- ment, and as I knew it was our only chance, I told him to “Gol” —and you can rest assured I did not have to tell him a second time. He never made a sound until he got to the top of the hill, and then we ‘heard him turn loose, tearing straight down the hill onthe jump. We were sure now that the elk was wounded, and perhaps badly, or he would not go straight downhill. Going at a run down to the gulch, we scaled the hill, and when we got up to the top we found bltod. I knew now that “ Trailer’ would get him, for I had never lost an animal Sx

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144 that I put him after when I drew blood. We could hear him going down, down, and in a short time we heard him commence to bay. “ Trailer’ had him for certain. We hurried along the top of the ridge at our best speed for about two miles, by which time we were near enough to begin to be cautious. After going about a hundred yards farther we came in sight of them. “ Trailer’? was on a big fir-log that lay across ‘the creek, and the elk was standing in the middle of the creek, looking up at the dog. and now and then trying to strike him with his horns, but he could not reach him. There were some big trees near the creek, and we kept behind them until we got up as near a3 we thought was necessary, and then made ready to shoot. T told Riley to aim for the neck, and I would do the same. When the guns cracked, down he went, and no sooner had he fallen than “ Trailer’ jumped off the log right down on top of him and began to shake him, but it was all over. By the time we got him dressed and returned to camp it was just about as dark as we wanted, and we were tired out. But we had killed the hig black elk, which was something I had never dreamed of when I heard the stories about him. He was not really black, but was a very dark cclour on his sides and back. But he was cer- teinly a monster, with six points on one horn and seven on the other, with a spread of fifty-one inches. I sold those horns to Jack Powers, of Ashland, Oregon; the hide I sent to a firm in San Francisco. We talked matters over that night and con- cluded to change our camp and go over to where the elk was. The next morming, when we began to pack up. the two dogs we had left in camp for two days were the happiest animals you ever saw. ‘“‘ If those dogs get a bear started to-day,”’ said Riley, “ they will certainly make it hot for him.” We had to take a rather different route with the horses, as the hills were too steep. We kept around the hillside and came up on the Divide south of where we had crossed before, and here we found that the summit flattened out and was literally covered with raspberries and black- berries. We began to find bear-signs, but none fresh. We had not got far, however, before we came to where a great big fellow had been mashing down the bushes, and “ Trailer’? and “ Ranger” were off almost Before we had time to think. As luck would have it, the bear had gone down the hill on the same side as the elk, and it was almost certain that he wouldn’t go far before he laid down, as a bear always does when he has had a good meal. We did not attempt to follow the dogs, but waited and listened, and we had not long to wait, for they soon had him up and going. In a very short time we covld tell by the racket that they had overtaken the bear and were fighting him on the ground. As he was evidently a big fellow, I told Riley I didn’t think he could be made to climb a tree, and that we probably had a job on our hands. Riley was anxious to follow them up, so I told him I would go on down to where THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, we intended to make camp, turn the horses loose, and then get in the game as soon as | could. The last I saw of Riley he was going down the hill at adead run. As for me, I hurried the horses along around the side of that hill to where I wanted to camp. When I got there the saddles came off in a hurry, I grabbed up my gun, and was off. Crossing the creek, I hastened along up the other side, and after a while I heard the dogs. Instead of coming straight down to the creek the bear had been working along the side, but getting closer to the water all the time. I could hear the dogs attacking him hotly; he would make a dash and run a short distance, and then they would bring him up again. I expected every minute to hear Riley tum loose with his Winchester, as I was sure he had had time to overtake them; but I found out afterwards that the brush was so thick he couldn't get a chance to shoot until the bear got down near the creck and attempted to cross a small grassy flat. Here the dogs made it so hot for him that Riley was able to get up to within thirty or forty yards. They kept the bear so busy turning and charging at first one and then the other that it was quite a while before he could get a good chance. Finally he fired, and away went the bear down into the creek and up the other side, and here Riley got in another shot. By this time ‘Trailer’ had tackled him again, and as the animal swung back to strike at the dog Riley got in another. Although he hit him with every shot, the bear never fell once. The fight was raging furiously now, and the bear and the dogs were in such a general mix-up that Riley could not shoot again without danger of hitting a dog. When I heard Riley commence firing I hastened towards him as fast as I could go. Noticing that they were coming my way, how- ever, I got up on a big log and waited. The ground was open here, and I knew if the bear came anywhere near me I could see him. Nearer and nearer they came, the dogs fighting him every inch of the way, and in less than twenty minutes they emerged into the opening. I didn’t try to shoot, for I could see that the bear was badly wounded and the dogs could handle him easily. When he got to the gulch, which was about eight feet wide and five or six feet deep, he tumbled right down into it and stayed there. All the dogs could do now was to stand on the bank and bay. I went down, got to within ten or fifteen paces, and waited for Riley. When he arrived I motioned to him to come where 1 was and shoot the bear in the head. This he did, and the fight was over. When we got back to camp it was about three o'clock. We found the elk was all right, and after dinner we went to work, skinned it, and got it ready for cutting up and “ jerking,’’ which took us the best part of the next day. This gave the dogs a good rest, as they were pretty sore after their fight. Next morning we decided to each go his own way. So I took “ Trailer ’’ and “ Ranger ”’ and went out east from camp, straight up the hill fora mile or more, and found the country up there

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146 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE was all covered with low buck brush and small gulches, the finest kind of a place for deer. So [ turned and hunted around the hillside, cross- cutting the gulches. I began to find signs at once, and it wasn’t long before I saw a doe and two fawns over on the opposite side of a gulch. I went over towards them. and away they went, bouncing off down the hill. I crossed the next two ridges without seeing anything, and crossed the next gulch. Just as I got to the top of the next ridge out came two big bucks, and went bounding down the hill and across the gulch and up the other side, where they stopped to look back. I had already brought my gun to my shoulder, and was drawing a bead on the one that was in front, when he stopped. I pulled the trigger and sent a bullet through his heart. Throwing in another load, IT fired again at the other one, and at the crack of the gun he whirled and ran back down towards me for about thirty yards, and then went head over heels. One was a five-point buck; the other had four on one and three on the other. I went on around the hill for a mile or two farther without seeing anything more, and decided to change my course and go downhill and so back to camp. All at once a big buck jumped up less than ten paces distant. At about the fourth or fifth jump the Winchester cracked, and he fell instantly—stone dead. I dressed him and hung him up, and had gone not two hundred yards before a big five-point got up within sixty yards of me, stretched him- self, and stood looking at me. It was just the work of a moment to catch a bead on his neck and fire, and he went down. ‘“ Gee-whiz!”’ I said to myself. ‘ How many more?” This was four, and all big bucks.’ I set out for camp now and got there about two o’clock. Riley was there already, getting dinner. He had killed one big buck and wounded another. After dinner we took “ Ranger’’ and went back to where the blood was, and it didn’t take the dog long to get him. When we got within about fifty yards, Riley shot him in the head. He was a huge brute, having ten points on one horn and eleven on the other. The meat had to lie in salt for a day or two, so we put in the time hunting for bear. I told Riley I would take the dogs and go up to the berry patch, and he could go around the other way. WhenI got tothe berriesit was notimeat all before the dogs struck a track and were off. Down the hill on the oppo:.ite side they went, towards our old camp; then around the hill for about a mile, when they commenced to bark up a tree. I tore down the ridge as fast as I could go, for to tell the truth I was awfully afraid that Riley would beat me to the tree, as I knew that he was down in that direction somewhere. But he didn’t, and when I got there I found the dogs with a big brown bear. He was up only about twenty fect, and was lying on a branch close to the trunk, panting like a lizard. I was a little bit out of breath myself, and thought I would rest a few minutes before I shot him, but I came very near getting left, for a'l at once he raised himself, gave a snort, and began to come down. I jerked the gun’ to my shoulder and commenccd to shoot, once, twice, three times, as fast as I could work the lever. At the third shot he stopped to bite at the place where the bullet hit him, and that gave me a little more time to aim, and I gave him a dead shot. He let go his hold and came tumbling down. That night we heard wolves for the first time on the trip—the most dismal howling imaginable. I told Riley I did not like to take ‘ Trailer” out in the woods with wolves around, but he said he didn’t think there was any danger in the daytime, so next morning we struck out again. I took the dogs with me and went up the left side of the creck, while Riley took the right. As I went along I kept getting farther and farther away from the creek, until I had travelled perhaps three miles, when “ Trailer” struck a bear-track, and he and “ Ranger” went to work on it. They followed it down to the creck and up the hill, and I heard them working around for quite a while. They hap- pened to pass close where Riley was, so he thought he would go down and take a look at the track. When he got there he saw that it was a bear, and started to follow them up, when all of a sudden he heard a wolf howl, and soon discovered that they were coming towards him. It flashed into his mind instantly that the brutes were on “ Trailer’s ’’ track. There was a gulch they had to cross, and he could get a good view of them as they came down the other side, so he :nade up his mind to await them there. . If there were too many to tackle he would climb a tree. In less time than it takes to tell they came in sight—four of them, three big, ferocious-looking beasts and a smaller one. They came on like a hurricane, straight toward him. Riley was ready, and fired at once. The foremost wolf gave a spring into the air and went rolling down the hill. Quick as a flash he sent another ‘bullet into the next one. The other two crossed: the gulch, and one of them jumped up on a log to look around. Bang! went another bullet, and he rolled off dead. The fourth disappeared. Riley now went over and found that he had only wounded the second one, and it had dis- appeared also. As soon as I heard the racket start I ran down the hill, but it was all over, and I found Riley tracking about trying to find the missing wolf. I told him to let it go and we would follow: the dogs up, and then come back and make it hot for Mr. Wolf. So we went on after the dogs, and presently found them; they had a small black bear treed. I pulled up and shot him, and as it was downhill we took him to where it would be handy to get to him with a horse. Then we went back after the wolf. When the dogs struck the blood they weren't long in rounding him up, but he had been smart enough to crawl in under the roots of a tree, which pro- tected him. They could not get at him, and there we found them, both barking in his face. Now and then he would grab at them, making his teeth snap like a big stecl trap. He was a fierce-looking beast, but we soon put an end to his career with a bullet in the head. ( i

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ON THE TRAIL OF THE BIG BLACK ELK. 147 “Next instant he went spinning about fifteen feet away.” And now our hunt was over, and all that was of the relics of that hunt, either Riley Hammersly left to do was to look after the hides and meat or myself can show them to you, and among our and get them home, which we did after quite a trophies is the skull of one of the bears, with all strenuous time. If anyone wishes to see some the teeth in it. that we killed on tMis trip.

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TOLD BY ACK WEST AND er pown’BY GLEMEN YT HANDLEY ILLUSTRATED BY T. H. ROBINSON. As Mr. Handley truly says: “I doubt if, in the whole of South Africa, one could point to a living man to-day who has had such an adventurous career as Jack West,” and the following story of his life, which has been set down for the first time for the benefit of “Wide World Magazine” readers, is a document of extraordinary human interest. As a young man Jack West trekked into the wilds of the then unknown North, and his pioneering days were full of excitement. He has filled the rdle of hunter, trader, storekeeper, miner, and navigator, and that he has been in some tight corners is evidenced when it is stated that he was once con- demned to be shot by the Boers as a spy, and was actually led out to execution when he miraculously escaped. Incidentally, too, the narrative throws some remarkable light upon the belief of many that when large quantity of gold. Kruger fled the country he caused to be taken away a Jack West tells how the bullion was smuggled out of the country, how it was lost in transit, and his daring attempt to recover it. IV.—IN SEARCH OF “ KRUGER’S MILLIONS.” FTER the catastrophe at East (7 Ae London, where his business had yA U4 been ruined by fire and his two PAW trading vessels lost, Jack West made eam up his mind to try his luck farther afield. Seized again with the wanderlust, West decided to explore the country north of Kimberley, penetrating into the strip of practically unknown territory wherein lay the N’Gami lakes or swamps. It was a dangerous journey, and many were the tales told of the hardships endured by explorers in those waterless regions, and of murders committed by roving bands of bushmen. West recalls a curious incident, which occurred in Pondoland East while he was on this tmp. With a friend with whom he was travelling he encamped near a Pondo village, and asked a native woman if she could bring them some hot water, milk, eggs, etc. To their surprise, she brought the hot water in a kettle—an article unknown amongst the ordinary natives, and still less among the raw Pondos. He continues the story as follows :— aR | I felt curious to know where the old dame got possession of this kettle, but she refused to tell me, and I received only evasive answers to my questions. I scraped the side of the kettle, and found it to be of solid copper. I suggested that it might have been made a present to her, or that her son had brought it from the Rand. Perhaps it had been stolen, and the old dame was afraid of police interference ? But no answer could I get to my questions. At last I offered the old woman a blanket from my kit, if she would tell me how she got the kettle. This won the day. I handed her the blanket, and, carefully folding it up, she squatted upon her newly-won treasure beside the fire, and related the following remarkable narrative, which I give as nearly as possible in her own words. “ There came a party of six white men on foot, and built a hut close to the place where we are now at this moment. They dug a deep pit, and while some worked in the pit, others went out hunting. We were awfully afraid of these white people at first, but afterwards got quite friendly with them. In fact, about twelve of our tribe worked in the pit with the white men. So far as I can remember, these white men used to search the earth that came out of the pit, and wash it with water brought from the stream there’ (pointing in the direction of a stream about four hundred yards away), “and they found a lot of beads ” (diamonds) “ similar to those we buy at the trading store, only these were of different sizes, and all white. “Our great chief, the father of Faku, was very angry when he heard there were white men in his country, and wanted to have them all killed. But the councillors stopped him, and so arranged that, through the native spies, the chief knew from day to day all that took place in the little camp. “ After these white men had stayed about six moons ” (six months) “ they prepared to go away. They had become very friendly with vs, and we were sorry they were going to leave us.

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MY SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURES, We could not understand why they worked so hard, while in return they had only a small package of white beads, about this size” (demonstrating by holding her two hands together). “There was a big, fat man, who always kept the findings, and he kept guard over these beads, allowing no one to touch them. Our chief was very angry about these white men going, and at a meeting of all the councillors it was decided that they would not allow them to leave the country without some payment. So the chief sent a message to the white men that he wanted to see them. To this messenger the white men said they had no desire to see the chief, and they. proceeded to com- plete their arrange- ments to leave. “This made the chief very angry, and he called out an impi’’ (regiment), “ and early the next morming they sur- rounded the whole camp and killed all the white men. This did not satisfy our chief, for he then called up all our inen-folk who had worked for the white men. There were about thirty, with the little boys as well, and the impi also killed the whole lot. They then threw the bodies of the white men in the pit they had dug, and also the bodies of the others. We were ordered to collect everything belonging to the white people, not a stick nor any article whatsoever being left. Everything was buried with the bodies, and then we covered up the hole, until nothing could be seen. The place is just over there” (pointing with her long, skinny arm to a place about a hundred yards away). “And this kettle—well, it was some years afterwards when my little girl went to gather some firewood that she found this kettle.” With that, as if to stop any further questions, the old dame jumped up as though in a great fright and vanished into the darkness like a frightened rabbit. This trip north was followed by an attempt by Jack West to find “ Kruger’s millions ’’— the treasure which was said to have been shipped for conveyance to Europe, at the time of the Boer War, on the Dorothea, the vessel being CAPE COLONY East Londen This map refers to the old native woman's story of the diamond-diggers. star indicates the locahty where the unfortunate prospectors were murdered. 149 wrecked off the coast of Zululand. West's venture forms a unique treasure-hunt story, and I give it in his own words. The barque Dorothea was lying The in Durbar Harbour, when she Treasure was bought by some mysterious Ship. person through a firm of ship- brokers. The vesscl was roughly overhauled, and after a few days she was cleared and set out for Delagoa Bay (Lourengo Marques), which port she eventually reached after a few days’ buffeting. The crew was a mixed one—a scratch lot, picked up at Durban—and several men deserted the ship on her arrival at Delagoa Bay. The vessel was berthed alongside the wharf to await the loading of the ex- pected cargo. No one appeared to know what kind of cargo she was to carry, or where the ship was bound for. After waiting a few days, a small party of men came aboard one evening with the news that the cargo had arrived and was alongside the wharf. That afternoon the Dorcthea was moored out in the bay. It seemed strange that the ship should be moved from her berth the day the cargo had arrived! Four men in a boat hailed the barque that evening, this boat being followed by a second one, containing six men, and shortly after- wards a lighter arrived with the cargo. The new arrivals, together with the crew, worked with a will, and very soon the cargo, which consisted of ten barrels of cement, about thirty bags of sand, and a large number of small but very heavy boxes, similar to ammunition- boxes, was got on board. The six men in the second boat were evidently bricklayers or masons. They proceeded to open the casks of cement, which they mixed with the sand into mortar. Acting on the instructions of the first four men, who appeared to be overseers, the boxes were laid on the bottom of the vessel and then completely covered with the mortar, the whole thus forming a solid bed of cement or concrete at the very keel of the ship. The work was very * An account of @ previous attempt to locate this treasure appeared in our issues for May, June, and July, 1904.—Eprror,

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150 «THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, heavy and laborious, and was not completed until about three o'clock the following morning. The lighter and the boat containing the six bnckiayers left shortly after this job was finished, but the four overseers remained for the next two days, guarding the odd cargo until the cement was fairly well set. On the fourth day the captain received instructions to get along- side the wharf again to load ballast. It was explained that the balance of the Dorothea’s cargo had not yet arrived, and, as the vessel could not wait any longer, she was to be cleared for Guam in ballast. A few days later she was wrecked off the Zululand coast. A very significant fact must be noted at this point. Just about this time Kruger embarked on a Dutch man-of-war, which “ casually” happened to be in Delagoa Bay Harbour. It has been said that an enormous amount of specie was shipped aboard this man-of-war, and there is little doubt that a fairly large amount was put aboard. It should be noted that the Trans- vaal Government worked certain gold mines during part of the time of the Boer War, and the amount of gold extracted in this way was no small item. One must also remember that all the gold so extracted from the mines has never since been fully accounted for. The missing millions in specie and raw gold would form a huge total. I was determined to find out the truth about the treasure. I interviewed Mr. Charizze, of Durban, who had had certain transactions in regard to the Dorothea in the first instance, and, having got this information about the vessel, and other details, I proceeded to Delagoa Bay, where, after a great deal of trouble, I eventually ran to earth a certain Portuguese sailor, who happened to be employed on tke harbour works, From this man I obtained further information, the truth of which I had ample opportunities of proving. After making suitable arrangements, I left, with a party, for the scene of the wreck, follow- ing the shore as closely as possible. I need not give all the details of the long, tedious, and at times exciting journey, but we eventually arrived at our destination. We had a couple of days to wait, so as to take full advan- tage of the spring tides. The ribs of the ill-fated Dorothea were very plainly visible at low tide, but unfortunately she lay embedded on a rocky bottom, which, with a continuously breaking sea, made the work of examination extremely difficult and full of danger. At the most we could only work about two hours out of every twenty-four. Even then the sea was always rough, and at last we were compelled to abandon all hope of being able to salvage anything, at least from the shore. After a few days’ rest, I decided upon another method of continuing the search. I succeeded in getting a tug, named the Germania, and determined to try my luck from the sea. I secured the services of an experienced diver and a crew of half-a-dozen men, as keen and Plucky a band of workers as could be found anywhere. My experience of small craft on the South African coast now came in very handy. In fact, my pilot’s certificate enabled me to com- mand any small craft up to a certain tonnage, and the Germania came under this clause. Having obtained a fairly good stock of pro- visions, and got the ship’s papers cleared, I took the wheel and Ieft Durban one bnght morning about daybreak. Towards evening, however, the sea rose very considerably, and we feared that we should have to turn back; but when we made the Zululand coast the weather for- tunately moderated somewhat. Just after lunch the next day we came within sight of the land- marks I had made on the shore. We hove to until low tide, and then steamed within easy distance of the projecting ribs of the wrecked -Dorothea. Were we cast anchor, but took the precaution of keeping full steam up. Our hopes ran high, but we found that the task we had set ourselves was even more dangerous than we had anticipated, owing to the extraordinarily strong current sweeping in towards the shore. It was only with the greatest difficulty that we kept our ship from being thrown on the top of the wreck, and our anchor from being torn away. We had to stand out to sea several times during the fcllowing day to escape the dangerous breaking waves. At night we had no alter- native but to go out to sea and lay to until daylight. For three or four days we could do nothing but simply wait and anxiously watcl our opportunity. ¢ At last it came, and the diver The Diver managed to get down, but not at Work. for long, and his signal for coming up was too sharp to be of a very cheering nature. When we eventually managed to get him aboard he was scared out of his wits. The currents were so powerful, he explained, that whilst one current would be trying to take him off his feet, another, coming in the opposite direction, would nearly break the air-pipes. After a little rest he made another attempt— this time with better success; but his sojourn below was too short to be of any real service. The sea getting up again with the incoming tide, it was another couple of days before we could approach anywhere within reach of the wreck. At last, after spending eight days and nights under most trying and dangerous circumstances, we were rewarded by hauling one of the small, heavy ammunition-boxes up from the bowels of the oid Dorothea on board our vessel. Chisels and hammers were soon procured, and we proceeded to inspect our prize. Imagine our disgust, however, when we found that it con- tained not gold, as we expected, but—lead! To make sure we were not all dreaming, we each of us cut the bars with the chisel. Sure enough, it was only lead. To say we were all astounded is to put it mildly ; we felt as if we had all been the victims of a huge swindle. To make matters worse, the engineer reported there would hardly be sufficient coal to carry us to port, and that if the weather freshened to a gale we should be in a bad predicament. I therefore determined to temporarily abandon the treasure-hunt, and get

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MY SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURES, 151 as near our destination as possible while we had some coal left. I had turned in for a little sleep when I was awakened about three hours later by a strange stillness. Hastily going on deck I found the boiler-tubes had been leaking so badly that they had almost put the fire out. I urged the engineer to draw what remained of the fire, and, by gently spraying the boiler and firebox, he managed to get them cool, so that the work of repairing could be commenced with as little delay as possible. We found some one-and-a- half-inch bolts, and by cutting these into lengths eventually managed to make sufficient plugs to stop the leaking boiler-tubes. This left us with only half the original number of tubes to work with ; however, a little steam is better than none at all. There was not much coal, it was true, but there were plenty of wooden bunks, tables, and even a couple of bulkheads made af very stout timber. In fact, the deck would have gone too, if the Bluff Point at Durban Harbour had not hove in sight within the next hour or two. My stay in Durban was only a matter of minutes, for immediately I stepped ashore I heard that the liner Margraf was on the point of leaving for the East Coast, calling at Delagoa Bay. I hastily made preparations, and within an hour I was on board the liner, bound for Delagoa Bay once more. By the time the vessel arrived there I had formulated further plans to solve the mystery of the Dorothea. It was not very long before I received further valuable information, but only by disguising myself and running the risk of being arrested by the Portuguese authorities. I had almost given up hope when, by accident, I came across a native fisherman, who, I believe, took pity on my apparently destitute appearance and offered me a job as a line fisherman. I accepted his offer and joined his boat, together with five others—three natives and two Portuguese- I being the only Englishman among them. I found this native a very decent sort of fellow. He spoke very intelligently, and, for that matter, was better educated than his Portuguese helpers. Moreover, he spoke the Dutch language fluently. As I also spoke that language. we could carry on a conversation without being understood by our fcllow-fishermen. I discovered this man’s name was Hans Pretorius. I had several times introduced the subject of the Dorothea in a casual way in con- versation with Hans, but he either knew little or nothing about it, or he mest skilfully avoided the subject. I was eventually rewarded, how- ever, for my perseverance. It appears that Hans and one of The the Portuguese fishermen had Missing been having a very heated argu- Link. ment about the flight of Kruger. I need not enter into the different points of view, but to settle their respective argu- ments they agreed that I should be the arbitrator. It happened that both of them were on the train with Kroger and his staff when they left the Transvaal for Delagoa Bay en route to Holland. They were the porters who handled the baggage, and were thus the actual link, the missing link, for which I sought. By skilful questioning I managed to find out that Hans was actually on that part of the train which brought the men, cement, sand, and the supposed specie. He also helped to load the ill-fated Dorothea. The side issue of their argument was very svon settled, satisfactorily to both, and that night I managed to get Hans’ full story of the missing gold. No wonder I had been misled—the same as a great many others —-for the Dorothea’s gold was a myth t I will repeat Hans’ story as near as I can remember. ““My owner was old Koos Pretorius. I belonged to him; he bought and paid for me, from the Portuguese, when I was a tiny child. Wherever my master went I went also. He was a great hunter ; he shot lions and elephants, and often lived in the forests for months at a time. He was a rich man, and owned a number of farms, which he visited at intervals. Some- times there would be meetings at the main home- stead, when the great Old Boss (President Kruger) would be there. This was during the war with the British. I was at all these meetings. I heard the talk that went on outside the house, because my work took me all amongst the white people at the gatherings. “T remember well my owner calling to me when he was engaged in conversation at the table under the large tree, where there were six or seven other men, including the Old Boss. I received instructions to go and get the best span of oxen and the strong, new wagon, and to prepare for a long journey. I did so. We trekked the next day, with the wagon. There were four other white men, together with my owncr. I was the only native. We trekked for a good many days, until we reached the rail- way line, near the border of the Transvaal and Portuguese territory. We waited there for two days. During the evening of the second day a horseman arrived with instructions that we were to trek during the night to a certain point in the railway-line. We did so. There was no station at the place mentioned, but we found a train waiting for us. There were a lot of people there also, including the Old Boss, “ Everyone scemed to be excited and ina great hurry. I saw no natives anywhere, I being the only black man. All the men carried arms, except a few I saw sitting in a carriage by them- selves. I was not asked to do any work, for my place was in front of the oxen, as the leader, but I saw all that was going on. The men off- loaded a quantity of very heavy little boxes from a railway-truck, and placed them on our wagon. I often wondered what kind of stuff these boxes could contain, for they were very small, and yet it took two men, and sometimes three, to carry them the short distance. I saw the Old Boss come along to the wagon where my owner was standing, carrying a lot of papers in his hand. They had a long consultation together, and before the Old Boss left he handed these papers to my owner.

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152 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Imagine our disgust when we found that it contained not gold, as we expected; but—lead!”

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MY SOUTH “They both stood quite close to where I was, so that I heard every word that was spoken. There seemed to be some misunderstanding about a certain mark on the boxes. Some had a black distinguishing mark, while others had another colour. It was some time before this was cleared up, as the boxes had to be examined. After some considerable time, my owner seemed satisfied that the boxes we had received were the correct ones, and I saw him sign some paper and hand to the Old Boss. “T heard him say that all details and his full instructions were written on the documents. Afterwards they shook hands, and then the train moved backwards with the engine pushing the carriages. I noticed this particularly, because I had never seen a train go backwards before. There remained only the four white men and myself with the wagon. My owner placed one of the white men in charge, gave him certain instructions, and then joined the party in the train and went with them, I heard it said, to Pretoria. “We commenced trekking immediately the train left us, bound for home—the same direction we had come. The wagon, whilst to all appear- ance not loaded, was indeed very heavy. We trekked until daybreak and outspanned in a place where there was thick bush everywhere. I had instructions not to allow the oxen to stray, but to let them feed quite close to the wagon. Whilst I was getting a drink of water from the wagon water-barrel, I overheard a certain con- versation between the four guards who were inside the wagon. tent. . “In the ordinary way I never The Gold: listen to the conversation of white Thieves; men. I mean that I never go out of my way to listen, because their ways are not our native ways; but, as I heard my ‘name -mentioned, I listened, and by my listen- ing I saved my life, because these four white men were bad men, and at the very moment I was listening.they were drawing lots as to who should shoot me! I was to be shot the next evening, because there was no one to lead and look after the oxen in the meantime. Why I was to be shot I do not know, as I could only gather snatches of the conversation; I seemed to understand, however, that if I were killed, and thus out of the way, there would be no witnesses to see who stole one of the boxes. It appears that these men had decided to steal one of the small boxes that were on the wagon, and were to equally divide the contents between them. “* So I stole off as quietly as I could, and went to herd the oxen. I knew it would be useless to try and run away during the day-time, because I could easily be overtaken and an excuse would thus be found for shooting me without any risk to themselves. So I waited until just before sunset before making off. I decided to go to the wagon first and get some food, under the plea of being hungry. “« As I approached I saw that the white men had broken open one of the boxes, and it was full of gold coins. I pretended not to see, and asked Vol. xiv, —11. AFRICAN ADVENTURES. 153 for food. They all looked up at me as if they were startled, and they showed signs of great anger. I was awfully afraid of their wild looks, and they cursed me. I apologized for daring to come near the wagon until I had been called, but pleaded I was hungry. The man in charge swore at me again, and took up a sjambok which was lying near, and threatened to thrash me. One of the others suggested that I should be shot. ‘Oh, let him first bring the oxen,’ said one. “Tran towards the cattle, and drove them before me for a long distance, as it was about sundown. Then I ran and ran until I could run no more. I did not take the direction I was going in when I left the wagon, but doubled back through the bush and scrub and made towards the Portuguese border. As there was no moon, I knew it would be quite dark within a couple of hours. “ T hid in a large tree, and it is a good job I did so, because the whole of that night there were jackals and wild dogs all around. Some tried to climb the tree where Iwas. At daybreak I got down and made my way towards the railway line. I was terribly afraid I should be caught by one of the wagon guards, as I knew they would all be out searching for me, especially as they knew I had seen what they had done. I man- aged to evade being seen, however, and towards sunset I came within sight of the border railway station. I then hid myself so that when dark- ness fell I could try ard board some train which I hoped would stop at the station. “My chance came during the night. Although it was very dark that night I recognized the train that stopped at the station as being the identical one I had seen a couple of evenings ago, and from which the boxes had been loaded. There were the same carriages, and the great Old Boss and a lot of other people as well. The train did not stay very long, but just long enough to allow me time to board it unobserved. I crept under one of the sails covering a truck and must have gone to sleep for hours. When I awoke the train was standing on the wharf here (Delagoa Bay). I slipped out of the truck, and saw the men commence off-loading some barrels, some bags of sand, and also a lot of the same kind of boxes that we had taken on my owner's wagon. I left the truck unobserved, and quietly joined the party, for I was too frightened to ask for work at that hour of the night.’’ Hans’ story fully convinced me that the placing of the supposed “specie” on board the Dorothea, and her subsequent shipwreck, were all part of a faked job, and so far had succeeded admirably in putting everyone off the track. It appeared to me that only a small portion of bar gold went to Holland, the greater portion being buried in the Transvaal to await a more convenient season for disposal. After a deal of persuasion Hans eventually agreed to accompany me, show me the spot where he ran away from the wagon, and the route taken by his owner’s wagon. He further agreed to act as guide, even to old Koos Pretorius’s main homestead.

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134 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. "The man in charge took up a sjambok and threatened to thrash me.”

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MY SOUTH As I began to feel that IF was at last On the on the trai!—the real trail—of the Trail. missing treasure. After carefully thinking out a scheme I eventu- ally decided that the expedition should consist of two persons only—Hans Pretorius and myself, Jack West. The territory through which we were to pass was most difficult, trackless and almost unin- habited. My plan was to journey on foot, with Hans as the guide. On the way he told me how bis owner had met his death—an_ incident which has considerable bearing on the mystery of the gold. A few days after Hans ran away from the wagon containing the boxes of gold, it appears, old Koos Pretorius returned from Pretoria by some other route, and not finding the wagon with its load, nor any of the four guards at their destination, the main homestead, he became suspicious and went in search. As Pretorius knew the country so well, it did not take him very long to find the wagon, although there were no roads. He instinctively went almost straight to the place where the wagon ought to be. He was not mistaken. There was the wagon, and near it were two men struggling on the ground. The wagon had been out-spanned under some large trees at the side of a patch of veldt which was quite clear of bush or scrub, and resembled a field of grassland, with dense forest on all sides. Pretorius entered the clearing and, being mounted, got a clear view. He was a big, heavy, powerful man, but strong as he was he had to use great strength to separate the men. But it was too late, for one of them had been throttled, and his lifeless body fell limp from his grasp. The other man was almost in a state of collapse, bat was finally brought round. There were no oxen to be seen anywhere. Some of the boxes of specie had been removed, the newly-turned earth showing that it had been buried, and close by lay the bodies of the other two guards. They had been shot. Pretorius, after an examination, retraced his steps to where the remaining guard was lying. He had, by this time, practically recovered. What conversation passed between the pair will never be known, because the only living creature who witnessed the terrible drama was too frightened to show himself—-an old native from whom Hans later heard the story. The guard so far recovered that he could walk, and shortly afterwards both men set off in the direction of the main homestead. ‘When near the edge of the clearing, where the tiny footpath enters the forest, Pretorius gave his horse to the man, as he still appeared weak from the effects of the fight. It was just about sunset. Although the homestead was only a few miles away, Pretorius never reached it, and nothing has ever been heard of the two men since that day, except that it was rumoured Pretorius had been attacked and mauled by a Icopard and had died from the effects. In cross-examination of the native witness all that Hans could get out. of him was that he thought he heard a single shot shortly after the two men entered the forest. AFRICAN ADVENTURES. 155 In reply to my question as to why the native did not give information to the authorities, Hans said that he was so frightened at the spectacle of seeing white men killing one another that he immediately left that part of the country. It was a beautiful clear morning when we left the train at Komati Poort railway station for our long trek away from the beaten track. Our route lay approximately north-north-east from Komati Poort, winding in and out amongst the low-lying hills. Hans seemed to know the country fairly well For nine days we tramped, without mecting a single white person, and then Hans astonished me by saying that we had reached the spot where the wagon had stood with its load of gold. At daybreak I began my observations. Al- though there was no doubt that some of the boxes were buried, we could not find any trace, al- though we made a thorough search in all likely places. For three days I thoroughly examined the country round about, but in vain; there was no trace or spoor of any description to give one the slightest clue to the missing boxes or of the wagon. So I decided to have a look at the headquarters of old Koos Pretorius. I was surprised to see that Hans did not relish the idea atall. When he saw I was determined, however, he agreed to accompany me. When we reached the site of old Koos Pretorius’s homestead we were terribly disap- pointed to find that the whole place had been burnt. There was not a single structure standing anywhere. Everything had been destroyed, and unmistakable signs showed that even the walls had been pulled down. We camped under a huge tree, and I decided to make a thorough examination of the ruins later on. Our first consideration was food. So we searched until we found the place where the inhabitants of the homestead had obtained their water supply. Having made our plans we hid in an adjoining tree until just about sunset, when we knew, by the spoor at the fountain, that game of various kinds came to drink. Fortunately for us the country abounded with game, and we had not very long to wait. Four sable antelope came trotting towards us as we sat behind a screen of branches, and T was able to kill one with my revolver. We had now sufficient meat to last us a few days, and having thus settled the food question we turned our minds to the thorough searching of old Pretorius’s homestead. . Ultimately we found the charred remains of what appeared to be hardwood boxes, also three iron bands, about eight inches square. These Hans immediately recognized as being similar to the iron bands on the boxes that were loaded on the wagon. Here, then, was a cluc ! At a distance of two hundred paces from the ruins, amongst the scrub, we found the remains of a wagon. Only the ironwork was intact, and a few pieces of charred wood. Hans recognized the remains as being his old master’s wagon—the identical one which con- veyed the boxes of gold. There were certain Another Clue.

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156 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. marks on the ironwork, by which Hans estab- lished its identity. From these clues I came to the following conclusions : On the train which carried Kruger and his party from Pretoria to a point within a few miles of the Portuguese border was a truck containing three kinds of boxes. All were of the same kind and size, but were marked with a distinguishing mark; (a) Ammunition boxes containing specie ; (b) Ammunition boxes con- taining lead ; and (c) Ammunition boxes con- taining bar gold. Secondly, a number of boxes, of the (a) and (c) classes, were loaded on to Koos Pretorius’s wagon. Thirdly, the second train which took President Kruger and party to Delagoa Bay contained some boxes marked ‘‘a These were taken aboard the Dutch man-o’-war, and the boxes marked “‘b’’ were sent aboard the Dorothea as a blind. The boxes which were loaded on Pre- torius’s wagon con- tained specie and bar gold, and these were placed in charge of four armed guards, their des- tination being the homestead of Koos Pretorius. On the «K road, the guards correctly surmised that the boxes did not contain what they were led to believe—ammunition —but specie. They agreed amongst themselves to steal a box of specie and to equally divide it. The exact nature of their quarrel will OF GOLD s1000 FoR Two YEARS When the wagon did not arrive at its destination at the appointed time, Pretorius went in search. He found the wagon and gave up his horse to the remaining scoundrel to assist him in reaching the homestead safely. This murderer got Pretorius to lead the eas and, when in the thick bush, deliberately shot his preserver. Then he went to the homestead and, for some reason, burnt it to the ground. On _ his! retum he found the wagon where it had been left, with the load still intact. He removed it to the ruins of the old homestead, where he buried the treasure and burnt the wagon, afterwards leaving that part of the country, hoping to return again for the gold. Without inflicting all my evidence upon you, I may say briefly that I am convinced that, with the exception of a single box of specie, three - quar- ters of the wagon load of specie and bar gold is still the immediate vici- nity of the ruins of Koos Pretorius’s homestead. Some of the boxes—pro- bably two—are hid- den at the place oy pian where the wagon SPOT WHERE AWAGGON LOAD __ stood for such a long time, and where the guards fought and killed one another. 1 could discover no trace of the miss- ing gold, however, and eventually de- cided to return. After suffering great hardships we reached Delagoa Bay, but 1 buried somewhere 1n - never be known, but they buried some of the boxes near the spot where the dis- pute ended so fatally ae x ronal Let rrr a ec Peay The Author's map of the localities concerned in his hunt for " Kruger's millions.” ne CUE wag yaapege OOS ell hi Dy still hope that the day may come when lcan make a further search for Kruger's millions.

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One half of a big steamer afloat after the “surgical operation” was completed. CUTTING SHIPS IN HALVES. How a Difficult Transport Problem was Solved. By BERNARD ST. LAWRENCE. i instars Seber hake cut in two, sent on sie iobet bese idea icisad (togeon ceain na ear loatly muicwe: coaction te “ ship-curgery.” gi a time when the Governments of the United States and Canada were striving their hardest to meet the enormous demands for food among § the troops on the battlefields of the Old World, a grave consultation took place in the offices of the American Ship- building Company, situated at Cleveland, Ohio. It was between the engineers of that great company, those of the Welland Canal, and the representatives of at least three Allied nations. who had come with an urgent request for the acceleration of the transport service vid the Great Lakes. “It is indispensable that means be found of getting more food over to Europe,” said one of the last-named, who acted as spokesman, “More food, more munitions, more of all the things we need to win the war. We know how intense the traffic is on the Great Lakes, how

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158 many thousands of ships cross in all directions. But the stumbling-block is the Welland Canal. These big grain and prairie-produce transport vessels have to break their cargo when they get to the Welland, because the locks are not big enough to take them. What are we to do to remedy that? This a question, it seems to us, for you engineer: Whereupon the said engineers, before whom a big scale map was stretched, asked to be allowed a few minutes’ time for reflection. Put- ting their heads together, in a little group of half-a-dozen. at one end of the large table in the directors’ room, they conversed in low tones for nearly a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time one of their number rose and made a startling announcement. “Well, gentlemen,”’ he said to the intent listeners, “‘ there is only one thing to be done. Since the locks of the Welland Canal are only two hundred and seventy feet long and the transports are very much longer than that, we must either increase the length of the locks or decrease that of the ships; and since altering the canal system is utterly out of the question, the only thing to do is to cut the ships in two.”’ “Cut them in two!'’ exclaimed more than one of the Entente’s officials. And another added: ‘Is that really within the power of naval engincers ? "” “ Undoubtedly,’ came the immediate reply. “We admit that the proposed means of solving the problem are drastic and unusual. The work THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, on the whole fleet will entail considerable time and expense, but once it is carried out you will have no need to regret it. Weare prepared to guarantee success if you will give us a free hand in the matter.” No sooner said than done. The contract was signed there and then, and within a week the first ‘‘ surgical operation ” was being performed in the yards of the American Shipbuilding Company. Before describing how this extraordinary piece of work was carried out, let me explain that, as has well been said, ‘‘ the Welland Canal acts like the constricted central portion of an hour-glass.”” It unites Lake Erie to Lake Ontario and constitutes the last link between the ports of the Great Lakes and the River St. Lawrence. Though less than twenty-seven miles in length, it has no fewer than twenty-six locks, due to the fact that the falls and rapids of Niagara are situated between Lakes Erie and Ontario. The canal, indeed, was built to get over the otherwise insurmountable difficulty of the celebrated falls. Three times since 1825 has the size of the canal been increased. The last time was in 1875, when it was decided to make the locks two hundred and seventy feet long, forty-five feet wide, and fourteen feet deep. This was done, and the canal, which was itself deepened to fourteen feet and widened to a hundred feet at the bottom, was reopened in 1882. Other work on the St. Lawrence canals having been completed, vessels of a thousand to the two halves of a cut™ ship together preparatory to joining them again,

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CUTTING: SHIPS IN HALVES. fifteen hundred tons were able to go from Lake Erie to Montreal. The “ freight- ers,”’ as the great cereal or frozen Meat transports on the Great Lakes of North America are called locally, have a very much bigger tonnage. No one ever dreamt, when they were being built, that the day would arrive when an urgent appeal would come from Great Britain and France _necessi- tating their trans- formation in such a way as to allow them to make the voyage from Port Colborne to Port Dalhousie and on to Montreal. A few years ago such a proposal as cutting one of these. large iron ships in two would have been. regarded as bordering on the im- possible. Now, however, engineers possess the most marvellous tools for performing apparently miraculous feats. One of these—the identical tool which the engineers at Cleveland had in mind when they undertook to cut the ships in halves—is the blowpipe, fed with either oxygen and acetylene. or oxygen and hydrogen. An oxy-acetylene. or oxy-hydrogen -blowpipe is composed of a very light conical tube, slender and slightly curved at the end whence the flame issues, and provided at the other extremity with two nozzles, to which the india-rubber tubes from the oxygen and acetylene, or oxygen and hydrogen, cylinders are attached. The principal point about the most up-to-date apparatus lies in the: fact that the two gases, instead of being separated up to the very point of ignition, are thoroughly mixed in the interior of the blow- pipe, in such proportions as to bring about complete combustion. All danger of explosion has been avoided by giving to the gas a speed of delivery greater than that of the propagation of-the flame, in accordance with a scientific law laid down by a French official Commission which inquired into the subject of fire-damp. As an additional precaution against accidents. an appliance called a ‘‘ safety-mixer’’ has been inserted at the juncture of the oxygen and hy- drogen pipes, the mixture then passing to the blowpipe by way of a single tube, which greatly Adjusting. the two, halves betore riveting them togather.. This. was.a jelicate operation requiring great care. 159 facilitates the handling of the tool Now, with either an oxy- acetylene or oxy- hydrogen _ blow- pipe the most wonderful —_ feats of cutting, as well as welding, are performed daily in shipbuilding yards. For in- stance, sheet-iron three-tenths of an inch thick can be cut with it at the speed of three feet three inches in four minutes and ahalf; whilst in the case of iron three-quarters of an inch thick the cutting, per metre, takesonly six minutes. Knowing these facts, one can realize that cut- ting through the hull, deck, and girders of a big ship is not such a formidable undertaking as it sounds, and that, given a large body of men with a sufficient number of blowpipes, the job can be performed in an incredibly short space of time. Nevertheless, the work is not without its technical difficulties ; it requires to be done, if it is to be wholly successful, under the eye of naval experts, and due provision must be made for joining the halves of the ship together again when there is no further reason for their re- maining asunder. The engineers of the American Shipbuilding Company chose the oxy-acetylene blowpipe. One after the other the “ freighters” were placed in dry-dock. The point of section was then decided upon—as a rule, amidships. The machinery was in no way interfered with, since this, in the vessels of the Great Lakes, is located in the after section. A line was then marked on the hull, right round the vessel, as a guide to the men with the cutting blowpipes. Whilst these were performing their work inside and outside the hull, others were busy severing the iron plates of the deck and the ship’s frames and girders. The sawing through of the woodwork was mere child’s play. When it was ascertained that a complete cut had been made, the two halves were pulled apart. The next thing to do was to close the ends and make them absolutely watertight, this being done by means of planks and caulking.

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160 Water was then let into the dock, from which the “‘ half-ships ’’ were navigated into the canal and towards the succession of locks which they were then able to negotiate without the slightest difficulty. The entire machinery of the “ freighters,” as has already been mentioned, being in the after section, many of these “ half-ships "’ were sent down to the sea under their own power, the rear section travelling stern first and towing the forward section. The sight was a curious one. \Very satisfactory progress is said to have been made in smooth water. On reaching Montreal the two halves of each :vessel had, of course, to be joined end to end by riveting and bolting the hull, at the point of -section, with enormously strong iron plates. In order to make sure that the joint was accurate to a fraction of an inch, each half, before separa- tion at Cleveland, was carefully marked with "the draught figures as shown in the accompanying photographs. Though this highly original means of over- coming a technical difficulty in time of stress is worthy of transatlantic engineers, ship-surgery of the kind described can hardly be recommended _ ~s.a rule; and, as a matter of fact, is not likely to be resorted to again, now that the war is over. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The difficulty of getting big ships through the locks of the Welland Canal will be solved in another way in the future. It will be met, in all probability, by the United States building an entirely new combined ship, sanitation, and power canal from Lake Erie to Lake Ontario. According to Dr. Waddell, the well-known consulting engineer, this is under serious con- sideration. The total length.of the new canal will be forty miles and the depth thirty teet. The total fall is three hundred and twenty-seven feet. By such a construction the largest lake vessels and barges will be able to travel from Erie to Ontario ; and it will enable about eight hundred thousand hydro-electric horse-power to be generated. The raising and lowering of ships will be done by huge lift-locks capable of handling six hundred and fifty-foot ships through a vertical height of two hundred feet. At the same time, one, must not forget that there is a new Welland Canal ‘actually in course of construction. This the Canadian Govern- ment started several years ago, and the canal, with locks eight-hundred feet- long, would have been completed in 1918 but for the outbreakof war. Thus, in the not very distant future, there will be two ship canals, a United States and a Canadian one. linking up the Great Lakes. . YOUNG TURTLES JUST HATCHING OUT. THE photograph here reproduced is very curious, showing turtles actually hatching-out on the sand. wl. was taken at Peal Island, off Rockhampton, Queensland. Directly they are free fromthe shell ae - the baby turtles head straight for the sea. The eggs are soft and round, and about the size of a billiard-ball. Note the turtle on the-left, emerging from his shell, and the egg at the top of the picture, just about to break.

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BL ING WING ADJUTANT ( Major W.7. Blake ) a Bast are absolutely authentic,” writes Major Blake. Mustrated re E.H. Thomas A fascinating account, by a well-known airman, of some of the difficulties and dangers that attended our men while flying over the deserts of Sinai, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Persia. They faced many dangers—starvation and thirst, and attacks from Bedouins and robbers. “All the incidents here given of daring feats and miraculous escapes of our airmen in the “ For obvious reasons, however, their names are withheld." EMBERS of the Australian Flying Corp:, who operated in Palestine and the Hedjaz, have many tales to tell of how they ‘ strafed’ the Turks fen and the adventures which befell some of their officers who were unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the Arabs. Whether in Palestine or in Mesopotamia, the “Bedouins betrayed the same characteristics—an utter unscrupulousness, a facility for changing sides without warning, and an inordinate greed for “ felus,”” or money. There was nothing which an Arab would not do for a few coins, and it was on this account that all officers undertaking expeditions, cither cver or through the desert, carried with them a certain number of gold picces as part of their equipment. The desert dwellers would not take notes—they evidently mistrusted them—but gold, whether English, Turkish, or of any other nationality, was always a sure bribe, and they would work marvels for the sake of gaining a reward in hard cash. Another precaution which was always taken when sending an aeroplane over the desert was to send an escort with it in case of a forced landing. The work of the escorting pilot was not necessarily to land and pick up his less fortunate companions, but to mark the spot where the machine descended and the direction in which pilot and observer set off after burning the aeroplane, so that help could be summoned rapidly and the stranded peopie saved from death. On this account airmen who came down many miles from the lines usually kept by their machines until help arrived, as the chance of I. their being found and picked up in the desert if they strayed away was very remote. If circumstanccs forced them to leave the aeroplane they placed an arrow-shaped piece of cloth on the ground, pointing in the direction they had taken. One day, yn returning from a reconnai:sance over the Hedjaz Railway, two Australian officers were forced to land in the desert, near El Shobck. Their engine. “ cut out” * without Marning and the pilot could do nothing but pick out the best spot in the surrounding sand and glide to earth. The escorting aeroplane circled overhead to watch the trend of cvents befcre returning to headquarters to report. Much to the surprise of the pilot he saw the stranded machine go up in flames, almost at once. An arrow was put out pointing to the north, though the way home lay more to the west, and the two airmen set out in great haste in the direction indicated. The escorting machine then turned about and made all speed back to the aerodrome. .Meanwhile, the pilot and ob- Turning the server hastened north to an Tables. Arab village, which they had detected just before the engine gave out. As the village lay within the territory governed by the King of the Hedjaz they imagined it to be friendly, and they hoped to gain assistance there, They concluded that the escorting pilot would take it for granted that they had sought shelter in the village, which he could not have failed to see. Unfortunately for the two airmen, however, their lyck was out. They had pi-ceeded barely a mile when the observer drew his companion’s attention to an approaching camel. They dropped flat to the

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162° ground and crawled behind some rocks which cast a dark shadow, ‘in ‘which they hoped to rémain concealed. From his attitude they did not think that the rider had seen them. Ag the camel drew closer they noticed that the Bedouin drowsed, trusting to the sagacity of his beast to guide him to his destination, and they breathed more freely. But though the rider was three-parts Asleep, his camel was very wide- awake, and, sighting the crouching men, shied violently and gurgled aloud in his evident dis- pleasure at secing two khaki-clad figures hiding under the rocks. The startled rider quickly glanced about him, and at once saw the cause of his beast’s alarm. : There was nothing for it but to surrender, As the Arab dismounted, with his rifle at the° ready, the two airmen rose from their undignified posture. Their captor did not leave them long in doubt as to his intentions. Ta Arabic and also by signs he ordered them to tur out their pockets. “ Felus,” he gruntéd—the one word which every Arab takes it for granted is known to every other inhabitant of the earth. There was nothing but to obey, and slowly the two emptied their pockets, and the man’s eyes glittered at the spoil. His greed, however, proved his undoing. The contents of breast and side pockets—note-books, papers, knives, and pencils—awakened his cupidity, and it was with. difficulty that he could restrain himself from rushing at these treasures ; but when the contents of their trouser pockets came to light, and each officer dropped several gold coins upon the sand, he was unable to restrain himself any longer. Casting his rifle to one side, he dashed forward to pick up the money. Without hesitation the observer threw himself upon his captor, while the pilot gained possession of the precious rifle. The tabies were turned with a vengeance. After lashing the Bedo--in’s hands behind him the two airmen once more set out for the village, driving the prisoner before them, his camel being attached to him by its head-rope. In this manner they marched forward for several hours until the huts of the village ap- peared in the distance. Not knowing whether the villagers would prove friendly or not, the pilot went forward alone, leaving his companion to guard the prisoner. Walking boldly into the village, he demanded to see the Sheikh. Te was taken to a tent set apart from the others and greeted by the head of the village, an old, white- bearded man. Assured of his loyalty, the cfficer explained: what had happened, asking shelter, food, and protection until help arrived. This was at once granted and messengers were dis- patched to fetch the observer and his prisoner.* The Sheikh was completely won over when he received the captured camel as a gift, and promised in no uncertain way that he would deal satisfactorily with the cantive. Next day help arrived in the shape of two aeroplanes, which had followed the guiding arrow. On receiving the signal one of the machines landed, the other circling round on the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. watch for treachery. The Sheikh, being accom- plished iii ‘the-art ‘of~writitig—a' Yare’ ‘gift—in- scribed a letter tothe Governor of. Beersheba, detailing the adventures of the two offiters and promising to bring ‘then and the, , prisoner into the town on the mortow. This letter was taken off by air; and once more the Australians were left alone -with the Arabs, anxiously watching the departure of their friends, and wondering if the old man would carry ont his promixe. They had not, however, long to wait, for camels were prepared, and with a fitting escort they sect out for Beersheba, which town was reached next day, as promised. Before a week had passed the airmen were once more back with their squadron, carrying on the good work, whilst the friendly Sheikh was the richer by a good reward. An officer, carrying a mechanic A Desert as observer, was forced to land Tragedy. in the Sinai Desert whilst return: ing from a reconnaissance. There appeared no way of repairing the machine, and as this occurred in the early days of the war, no escorting aeroplane had witnessed the landing. Bedouins might appear at any moment, when the fate of the airmen would at once be scaled. Night was drawing on, and as nearly as they could calculate they were about two hundred miles from the nearest British station—two hundred miles across one of the worst deserts in the world. All night they waited, hoping that with dawn a machine would be sent out to * search for them as they had failed to ‘return. When two hours had passed and no help had arrived they determined to undertake the long march across the burning, rock-strewn sand. Accordingly they fired the aeroplane and set out in a westerly direction, the fierce sun striking hotly upon their backs. They had only about a gallon of water between them to last out a journey of at least four days. Mile after mile they tramped, their eyes ever cast upwards to the sky in the hope of seeing a rescuing machine. When night came they had covered on!y a small fraction of the journey and had drunk almost half their water, having made the mistake of travelling through the heat of the day. They rested a few hours and then once. more resumed their tramp, stecring their course’ by the stars. At. dawn they eagerly licked a little dew collected on the desert shrubs, hoping thereby to save a portion of their precious fluid. Then the sun commenced to strike down on their backs again, and they were forced to give in, sheltering from the glare in the shade of a rock. Though they had used their water sparingly. not much remained, and only.a little was taken when they set out once more. That night they talked but little; their tongues were dry and beginning to swell, and a deadly fear gripped their hearts. ° ‘ The third day’s heat was gasped away lying- in the scant shade obtained by scraping away the sand from beside a boulder. When the sun rose to its height near midday, however, the shade gave out, and for several hours they lay in

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163 DESERT FLYING. ptor.” “The observer threw himself upoa his ca:

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164 agonies, That evening the officer examined the water which remained. There was about half a pint, and home was still some sixty miles away. The strength of both was giving out and water was needed before the. last stage could be at- tempted. Possibly, if he could hold out, one man might win through, but two could not hope to cross those remaining miles on such a scanty _ supply. There was only one thing to be done, and this the pilot did. Writing a last message, and leaving it beside the water, he set out, saying he would have a look round to see if by chance a well was near. A few minutes later the mechanic heard the report of a revolver and found his officer dcad-— dying, true to the Service tradition, to save his man. The mechanic won through. Another tragedy of the desert occurred when, in a similar manner, an aeroplane was forced to land ‘in the wilds many miles from a British outpost. What exactly happened will never be known, but the main facts were easily pieced together by the occupants of the machine which set out to look for the missing airmen. Sceing something which appeared to resemble a wrecked aeroplane, the rescue machine planed down and. the pilot landed close beside it. Many empty cartridge cases and a jammed Lewis gun on which still remained the last half-used drum of ammuni- tion showed that a fight had taken place. The aeroplane itself was hacked to pieces, the strips of fabric fluttering in the wind. The sand around was trampled in many places, and here and there were stains of blood. From the wreckage ran canfused tracks, leading to a huge rock, where the footprints ended. Here, amidst a welter of empty cartridge cascs, were the remains of two bodies in uniform, stabbed through and through. It was easy to reconstruct the story of the forced landing, the arrival of the Bedouins, the stand by the aeroplane until the Lewis gun jammed, the retreat, step by step, to the rock, whilst the two officers kept their foes at bay with their revolvers, then the last rush and the whirl af scimitars under which the devoted men had died. These desert flights, however, did not always end in tragedy. On one occasion, towards the middle of 1917, it was thought that the Turks were trying to concentrate on Nekhl, a village in the certre of the Sinai Peninsula. Aerial reconnaissance had revealed the fact that tele- graphic communications were in the process of being erected, and it was found that the wells, which had been filled in by an expedition some time previously, were being cleared for use. Besides the wells the village boasted a hospital and an ancient fort. As it was not known what resistance would be encountered, the powers-that-be decided to send out a desert column to capture the place, cut the communications, and blow up the wells. Tt was not safe to allow a place to exist where the Turks could concentrate for an attack. To the body of sappers and Camel Corps which set out to settle the fate of Nekhl was attached a flight of machines from the Royal Flying Corps at Ismailia and Sulg. The duties of the pi’ots and observers were to fly out every day until the THE WIDE. WORLD MAGAZINE. desert column. was overtaken, reconnoitre tht country for fifty miles around in‘all directions, and, if no unusual events were notioed, to drop a message bag at the head of the column saying that the country was clear. The aeroplanes were to be used solely as a means of ascertaining the freedom of the desert from Turks. Except for minor happenings, such as forced landings, all went well until Nekbl was reached and entered without opposition. The sappers cut the telegraph wires, uprooted the poles, and then set about demolishing the wells. Only then was it discovered that instead of the three wells which had been expected and prepared for there were at least seven which would have to be blown up if the place was to be rendcred useless to the enemy. Only a limited supply of water and rations had been carried, sufficient for the journey out and home, and allowing for a stop of three days at Nekhl. It was impossible for the column to wait whilst camels returned to the base at Serapcum for more gun-cotton, and equally impossible to obliterate the wells with the limited amount of explosives they possessed. It was at this point that.the officer commanding the flight squadron came to the rescue by sending a couple of machines back to Suez for additional gun-cotton. They made the trip across the desert, each carrying one hundred and fifty pounds of explosives, and safely handed over their touchy cargo to the sappers, who were enabled to blow up all the wells and complete their job within the allotted time. During the same operations Aeroplanes aeroplanes were first used as as ambulances. When: the column Ambulances. had got half-wayacross the desert, about a hundred miles from the nearest hospital, an Australian trooper fell ill with typhoid. His case appeared hopeless, and the medical officer who accompanied the expedi- tion stated that his life could be saved only by his being properly treated in-a hospital.’ This seemed an impossibility until an aeroplane landed that evening by the column to report the result of the day’s reconnaissance. The pilot, hearing of the case, offered to do his best to save the man’s life by flying him. back to Ismailia. Accordingly the M.O. wrapped his patient up, tucked him in the passenger’s seat of the machine, and hoped for the best. During his flight back to hospital the pilot tapped out wireless messages asking for an ambulance to be ready on the aerodrome to take off the sick man. All was prepared for him when he landed, and the Australian trooper was whisked off to hospital. It is good to know that his life was saved. The observer who had given up his seat tor the trooper stayed in the desert all night, and was picked up by another aeroplane the following morning. A pilot flying alone over the Turkish defences outside Gaza had his engine badly hit and the petrol tank pierced by machine-gun fire. Forced to descend, he steered out to sea to avoid falling into the hands of the enemy, and also in the hope that he might be picked up by one of our monitors operating off the coast. Unfortunat¢ly,

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his failing engine proved insufficient to carry him far, and he was forced to descend into the water about a mile from the shore. The enemy immediately commenced to shell the floating acroplane, and as their shots were falling very close the airman decided to swim for it. It only wanted about three-quarters of an hor to sundown, so he swam steadily out to sea before turning along the coast, eventually landing some miles away from the walls of the town. As he sat resting after his efforts, he heard the approach of troops. Not daring to be seen, he remzined for some time lying flat on the sand, hoping that the men, whom he found to be Turks, would pass on and leave DESERT FLYING. 165" inland, hoping to miss any patrols which might be out along the coast. In this he was des ined to failure, for almost at once he ran into a body of coastguards, who challenged him and, with- out waiting for an answer, commenced to fire. For the third time the luckless aviator took to the water and wearily swam out to sea. This time he did not attempt to land until dark, and then staggered ashore and fell on the sands almost fainting from weariness. How long he lay in a state of semi-coma it is hard to say, but when he heard voices in the distance he was far too tired to attempt escape ; he just lay there waiting to be picked up or killed as the case might be. “Bullets commenced to fall aroun hit lim free to continue his journey. As luck would have it, the party decided to rest a while, and settled down less than fifty yards away from the spot where he remained crouched in a hollow of the sands. He determined to creep down to the water’s edge and swim for it again, trusting to his own powers rather than remain in such a dangerous ncighbourhood. Inch by inch be crept along the sand, and all would have been well had he not stumbled when he rose to his feet to enter the water. The splash attracted attention, and as he dashed away into the sea, swimming as fast as his limbs could carry him, bullets com- menced to fall around him. Luckily, the Turks soon gave up their efforts, and in the failing !ight their aim was bad, so he escaped unscathed. A little later he landed again, and at once struck Then, for the first time, he distinctly heard the voices ot the approaching men. “ Tt’s so dark in this benighted place that Johnny Turk could walk all round us without our being any the wiser,” said a’ voice. Like magic his strength returned. He sprang from the sand and literally ran into the Australian patrol. During the final operations in Palestine an aeroplane went ont to do a reconnaissance over the Jordan valley. Pilot and observer intended sending back messages by means of wireless, and when they had arrived at the part of the country they wished to reconnoitre, let out the aerial and prepared for work. The weather was hot, for the month was July, and flying conditions were far from ideal, the machine bumping about so much in the air currents that

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166 THE’ WIDE.WORLD MAGAZINE. the airmen could hardly keep their seats. . The pilot ‘was so much occupied in controlling the machine. that he had little time to look about him, and .it was the observer who first saw severab rising columns of dust in the desert below. For a time these pillars of sand were ignored, but as: they persisted the observer drew the pilot’s attention to them, asking him to fly to the spot so that the matter could be investigated. The pilot took the dust clouds for bursting shells, but, in accordance with his observer's wish,. throttled back his engine and planed down towards the disturbance. The closer the machine got to the ground the more difficult it became to control; the bumps growing worse and worse as the height grew less. When about a thousand feet from thé ground the observer saw that the bursting “ shells’ were whirling sand-spouts: Before the pilot could open his throttle to rise again, however, the machine, without warning, plunged nose downwards, spinning as she fell.. At that low altitude there seemed little possibility of the pilot righting the machine, but -he wrestled manfally with the “ joy-stick,” endeavouring to pull her out and get her under control again. - Then suddenly, just as the ground was rushing up to meet them, the aeroplane ceased to spin and flattened out of her own accord.’ Unfor- tunately, the incident did not end there. Although the aeroplane had recovered. from the spinning nose-dive, and was flying on a fairly level keel, the pilot found that he was quite unable to control the machine in any way, and there was no option but to land and ascertain what was wrong. This they did, and quickly discovered that the wireless aerial, which normally trails out below the plane, had got wrapped round the fuselage and -elevator, binding ailerons and rudder fast in one position. Evidently the sand-spouts had lashed the long wire about so vigorously as to cause’the jam. The two airmen repaired the damage to the best: of their ability, and managed to stagger home before their absence had been reported. What the airmen feared was that the Bedouins would pounce upon them before their machine was repaired: This was the fate of two of their companions who descended circumstances. They were captured almost before they landed, and being quickly over- powered, were tightly bound with camel-hair ropes and hurried off into the wildest parts of the desert. Once secure from pursuit, their captors pitched their tents and waited: No actual harm was done to the captives ; indeed, the Sheikh seemed peaceably inclined towards them, but the women of the camp had evidently made up their minds what should eventually happen to the airmen, and signified their wishes by meaning gestures across their own throats. 7 After waiting for nearly two Captured weeks a fresh body of tribesmen by the = arrived at the camp. Evidently Bedouins.: they had previous knowledge of the cap’ives, and that night a conference was held. Judging by the frequent gestures in their direction, the airmen had no in similar - difficulty in: realizing .that ‘their ultimate fate formed the: chief pdint ‘of the debate,’ and :-when the women again interfered: with their significant gestures as to throat-cutting, they had. little hope of living through the night. When the flames of the camp fire had‘ dimmed, one man left: the circte and approached the prisoners with the evident intention of question- ing them. Once out of earshot of the group about the fire, he addressed the two in English, saying he had heard of their plight, and had arrived to take them to the King of the Hedjaz, who would give him a’ good reward. - Unfore tunately, the others feared to trust themselves with the Hedjaz troops, and desired to hand them over to the Turks. Some few were openly in favour of cutting the prisoners’ throats and dividing the spoil among themselves. It was hard to say which side would carry the day. But the English-speaking Arab promised to do his best to carry news of them to the Hedjaz, ~ where one,: “‘ Orinz’’ (Colonel Lawrence), pos- sessed great authority, and would doubtless . make plans for their rescue. - The discovery of a friend in their midst gave the pilot and observer fresh hope, but their fears were renewed next day when camp was struck and the whole band moved north towards the Turks with all speed. They discovered that the English-speaking Bedouin was missing, having departed in the night on a special journey. For two days they travelled north, ever approaching closer to the Turkish lines. On the third day, when they pitched camp, Abdul, the Arab who had promised help, returned. On the pretence of ascertaining if their bonds were secure, he spoke to them, saying that he had journeyed to the Hedjaz, but “ Orinz’’ was away, and: there was no one else who would listen to him. He told them not to give up hope, as they were approaching Damascus, where~ he thought he might be able to secure their escape if he was well rewarded first: Neither of the airmen, strangely enough, had been. robbed -of his belongings, and. between them they mrustered about ten pounds, which they gave him,: with the promise of a gift of a hundred pounds. more if they got safely back to their friends:. Next day Damascus was reached, -and both officers were handed over to the Turks. All hope now seemed lost, especiaHy as their friend had again vanished, and they resigned them- selves to a long period of captivity in the prison camps of Avia Minor. Their one consolation was that they were allowed to walk. in the streets of the city, though under guard. One day they saw their late captor, mounted on a white donkey, riding proudly along, wearing two Turkish decorations which had beep bestowed upon him in recognition of the safe delivery of his prisoners. After the usual examinations by the Intel- ligence Corps, pilot and observer were entrained for’ Asia Minor. At Adalia they were taken from the train and imprisoned. in a filthy hut. During their journey they..were given little te eat except beans and oil, and daily they became weaker from bad food and ill-treatment, As

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at Damascus, they were allowed out in the town, though were carefully watched. They were delighted one day to see their old friend Abdul. As he passed them he thrust a piece of paper into the pilot’s hand. The message was that he could do nothing, and henceforth they had better expect no help from him. A fortnight later came the order to move DESERT FLYING. 167 before it stopped both prisoners caught sight of British naval uniforms. Still more strange, the naval men seemed free and in command of the place. Thoroughly excited, both airmen forgot their weariness and jumped out on to the platform. “Where are we?” they exclaimed, almost simultaneously. “The machine, without warning, plunged nose downwards, spinning as she fell.” again. No information was vouchsafed as to their destination, but they were treated with more consideration than hitherto, and were placed in a comparatively decent compartment, instead of being huddled in with native prisoners and criminals, For days the train crawled along through the mountains, beside pleasant valleys, over great gorges, until one day they saw the sea shining in the distance and a great concourse of shipping in the harbour. Slowly the train puffed into the station, and» almost “Why, Smyma,” was the answer from i. smiling lieutenant. “ But what’s happening? What are you doing here? Have we captured the place ?”” “Surely you know the war’s over? We are here repatriating prisoners. Expect you'll sail with us the day after to-morrow.” Overcome with surprise, both men were stricken dumb for a time, but it was a very- much-questioned officer who took them in tow and gave them food a little later.

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THe Savino’ FREDDIE WiLSON Told by Near the village of Soledad, Nuevo Leon, Mexico, in Sep. tember, 1917, an i woman, one of hundreds who have met the same fate, was brutally done to death by armed Mexicans—bandi's, revolution- ists, or soldiers of the Govern- ment; no one lives who can tell which. While she was being made the prey.of these jackals, her husband was compelled to witness her death. Then he was beaten, tortured, and car- ried away by the marauders. He has never been seen since. During this outrage, an old Negro woman lay hidden in the thatched roof of an outbuilding, the baby boy of the ill-fated couple in her arms, keeping him silent until the Mexicans left the place. It is two hundred miles, as the crow flies, from Soledad to the port of Tampico, in the state of Tamaulipas, Mexico. ENDERSON AND SET GOWN BY HH DUNN ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. Across this two hundred miles of mountain and desert, through bands of bandits, past revolu- tionists’ camps, and throvgh the sentries of the so-call f by day, tre~alling by night, ofter eating nothing herself for thirty-six hours, in order that he might have food, she brought the child safely to Tampico, and there set to work to maintain both of them until she could discover the boy’s relatives. Here is the story of that old Negress, the story of a love that con- quered inherent racial fear, of a cunning that outwitted armed force. It constitutes an experience that could happen nowhere save amid the barbarians who have made Mexico what it is to-day. Y name is Agnes Hen- derson, and many years ago— I think the white folks told me it was in 1880, but I am not sure— my mother and I went with Major Thomas Hender- son and his wife to live on their plan- tation at Santa Lucrecia, down be- low Vera Cruz. My mother hadbeen a slave on the Hen- derson plantation, near Memphis, and that’s where I got my name. Then Mrs. Hen- derson died, leav- ing a little daugh- ter, and that daughter married Philip Wilson, a young man from Mexico City. After they were married they went to Sole- dad. away up in northern Mexico, and they took me with them. There, in 1913, little Fred Agnes Henderson and Freddie Wilson in Tampico, Mexico. was born. Mr. Wil- son made friends with the revolu- tinonists in 19g10and tori—or thought he did—so they only took what they needed for faod for themselves and their horses, and sometimes they paid him far what they took, so he did not lose much until the Carranzistas and the Villistas began fighting. They were not fighting for right or wrong, for the country was a lot more free and the people better fed and clothed before 1915and 1916tham now, but they just fought and killed whoever fought back, so that they could steal every- thing around ; and then they fougbt between th m- selves to see who would get all the lo. tthat theystole.

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THE ‘SAVING OF FREDDIE WILSON. Mr. Wilson still kept friends with some of the lcaders on both sides, by giving them food and meney, and so they didn’t take everything there was on the farm, while he continued to make enough to live on out of the mine which he had in the mountains about a mile behind the house where we lived. He was honest with both sides, but both he and poor Mrs. Wilson trusted the Mexicans too far, and they repaid her with death, and I suppose he is dead too. In the fall of 1917 the trouble which had been so bad on the border began to get worse as the bandits and revolutionists moved south. They had stolen everything in the north and were moving down farther from the frontier into the farming and mining country, where they could get food and bullion and money. The revolutionists would come and take what they wanted, and then the Federal soldiers would come after them and seize the remainder. The soldiers called this “‘ commandecring,” but I never could see that they paid for anything any more than the rebels did. One by one all our hired helps went away, most of them without telling Mr. Wilson about it, and afterwards I used to see them, sometimes in the Government forces.and sometimes in the rebel bands. Finally they came sneaking around the house at night in small parties, four or five or ten or a dozen at a time, or just at dusk when Mr. Wilson would be out finishing his work at the mine. Then I knew that it was Mrs. Wilson’s white skin and _ pretty face that had attracted them. I tried to tell Mr. Wilson about it, but he just said they were his friends, and would take nothing but food. Then, late one day in September, 1917, a larger band than usual came to the house. Some of them wore white uniforms, like the soldiers of the Government wear, some wore the tight charvo suits of the countrymen, but they-had no flag, and we could not tell whether they were Federals or rebels, or just bandits. I guess they were all three mixed up. All of them had horses, and among them were some women, but we had seen many of these fighting girls, so we did not pay any more attention to them than we did to the usual bands that came to the house at least once a week. Mr: Wilson was out on the farm, and Mrs. Wilson went to the door. As soon as she opened it, a big black fellow, as black as I am, almost, grabbed her and pulled her outside the door. I recognized him as Emilio Lobrano, an Indian who had worked for Mr. Wilson, but who had left, and for his cruelty had afterwards come to be known as the “ Tiger of Nuevo Leon.” Even as he pulled Mrs. Wilson out of the door, she called to me in Eng'ish to save little Fred. Then it seemed as if I woke up, for I grabbed him and ran out of the back door, around the barn, and into a one-room cement building where Mr. Wilson kept the grain for the horses. This house had two roofs, each of dry grass, for these double roofs keep buildings cooler, and are common in the warm. parts of Mexico. There was about two fect space between the two roofs and I crawled in there with Freddie. Vol. xliv.—12. . house. 169 There was a little hole in the thatch at one point where I could look down the side of the house and see all that was going on. The Mexicans dragged Mrs. Wilson from the house and argued about her, while others of them went through the ‘rooms, bringing out everything they could carry. I kept Freddie quiet by telling him there were bad Indians around and he. would be killed. if he made a noise before his father came and scnt them away. Just then Mr. Wilson came running up. He had no gun, and did not seem to expect trouble, for he walked right up to the Mexicans before he saw his wife. By this time her dress had been almost torn’ off her. Then Mr. Wilson seemed to go crazy. He jumped at the throat of a Mexican who was holding Mrs. Wilson, but another Mexican hit him on the head with a pistol, and he fell down. I thought he was dead, but presently a third Mexican got a -pail of water and threw it into his face until he revived. Then they tied him to a big oak tree near the house, and left him there while they continued the argument about Mrs. Wilson. Apparently they were disputing as to who should take her. While this was going on the soldadevas, or women soldiers, made fun of poor Mr. Wilson, poking sticks and knives at him. I could see him struggling to break the rope that bound him to the tree in order to go to his wife’s help, but he could do nothing. I could not bear to watch, and I turned back to Freddie, who had begun to whimper. Suddenly I heard a scream, and looked out in time to see Mrs. Wilson fall to the ground. Whether she grabbed a knife from one of the men around her and stabbed herself, or whether some loser in the argument for possession of the white woman stabbed her so that the winner wouldn't get her, I don’t know, but she must have been safe from them then, for sheclay still; they all turned away from her and began to torture Mr. Wilson. They beat him with their pistols and pricked him with knives, and burned his feet with matches and cigars and cigarettes. Then they untied him and threw him about, striking him with their hands as‘ if he had been a ball, until he fell from exhaustion. They also took him within a few feet of his wife’s body and laughed and beat him when he tried to reach her. It was a dreadful sight. I had to tell Freddie that his mother and father were hiding too, for he cou'd hear the noise the Mexicans made while they looted the. They even came into the building ‘where we were, but we lay so still that they never suspected we were there, though they took all the grain they could carry out to their horses and fed them. They wrecked evervthing they could not take away with them, and then, after what must have been two or three hours—for I know it was dark—they threw Mr. Wilson over one of their horses and rode away, leaving poor Mrs. Wilson lying on the ground. I waited a long time, for Freddie went to sleep, and then I climbed down and went over to Mrs. Wilson. She was quite dead—stabbed through the heart, I think. I couldn't bury her,

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “He jumped at the throat of a Mexican who was holding Mrs. Wilson.”

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THE SAVING:.OF ‘FREDDIE WILSON. and I couldn't leave her there for the coyotes and the buzeards:to eat, so I picked her up and carried her into-the barn and laid heron a pile of hay. - Then I set fire to the barn:with some matches I found inthe kitchen. It was a-smaH wooden building, nearly full of hay, and it burned fost-’ I don't know whether what I did was right,-er not, but it was the only way I could think of-to save her poor. body from the wild: beasts, and I think Mr. Wilson, if he had known, would ‘have wanted me to do that. Then I got ‘Freddie out of the roof, gathered what scraps of food I could find in the kitchen, and started for Soledad, the village about two miles away: along down-a deep gully until I got close enough to the town to hear shooting and yelling and to see that the rebels or Federals, or whatever they were, were in the place. I could have gone in safely myself, for I can talk Spanish and there are many Mexican Negroes about this part of the- country, but I couldn’t take the little white boy with me, so I turned round and walked with him -asleep in my arms about five miles back into the low mountains that lie east of Soledad. He only woke up once, and then, when‘ he found he was in my arms, he went quietly off to sleep again. When it began to get light again I stopped and hid -both of us in some heavy brush near a littke :creek- where we got water. I wanted to sleep, but I soon found I couldn't keep Freddie quiet: while I slept. There was no one in sight along the mountain edge, so we rested for a little while and then went on again. Freddie walked, but'we made very slow progress. I had some bread and a smoked ham, but we couldn’t make a fire, so we had to eat the ham raw with the -bread, and Freddie kept crying for his mother and father. I couldn’t tell him yet that they were gone for ever, for I had first to get away from the ‘Mexicans. TI kwiew that a few miles around the mountain there.-was a town called Cruz and that a railroad ran through it, and I thought if I could get to that: town I:couid find people who knew Mr. Wilson,‘ and .who would:.help Freddie and me. So we walked and rested and walked and rested all that-day; until the baby was so tired he couldn’t walk any further. Then we found a plree- to-hide in some heavy juniper bushes where there was water, and slept all night, though Freddie cried a good deal for his mother. Next day we got -to the top of a little hill where ‘we: could see the town of Cruz, but I could see that it-was full of men on horseback, and: could hear shooting, so I-knew I couldn't go there. ~ I didn’t know what to-do, and I sat down and cried.and prayed, and when Freddie saw-ime+he asked me for his mother and father again, and I had to tell him they would never come baek. I told him they had been carried away by:the bad Mexicans, for I coutdn’t bring myself to'tell: him: they were dead, or that he woutd never see his dear‘! muzzie,"” as he used to calt her, again.” He'cried for a long time. Thad heard Mr. Witson say that the railroad ran to Tampico, but I didn’t know where Tampico I didn’t foliow the trail, but stole - 17 was, but I thought if I followed the railroad track I should surely come to some town, so I started out, keeping as far as I could from the tracks, but staying near enough to'see them all the time. The country was dry and sandy and covered with thorny bushes and cactus, so- we went very slowly.. I don’t suppose we walked more than -two or three miles before. night. Then, when I found a place for us, J got-Freddie , to-slecp and then-sneaked over, most of the way ‘on my hands and knees, to the railroad.. There ‘TI almost ran into ‘some soldiers or rebels—I “don't know which they were—sitting on the ground around a fire, and up and down the track I could see other fires. I suppose they were Waiting for trains so that they could rob them. + When I saw I couldn’t get to the railroad, and ‘so couldn't ‘find anybody to help me, I didn’t know what to do, but I went back to Freddie, and slept a little. In the morning, still following the track as best we could, we crept through the bushes until about noon, when we came on a hut with a little garden at the back of it,-and a lot of strips of jerked beef hanging up to dry. There was nobody about but an Indian woman and four or five children, so we hid out in the brush again, and Freddie was so tired he slept most of the afternoon. That night, while he was still asleep, I slipped over to the Indian's hut and took as much of the dried meat as I -thought I could carry. Then I woke Freddie up and we started walking again. In the morning, while we were still hidden in the brush, keeping away from the trails, I heard voices, and, finding a place where I could look through, saw we were near the- bank of a river (probably a small. branch of the Rio Tamesi) and that there were a lot of men in uniform scattered along the bank. We turned back into the brush, for I had learned enough to be just as much afraid of the Government soldiers as of the bandits, and walked toward the railroad, -which ran along the river bank.- On the rail- road were more Mexicans, all with guns, but they wore no uniforms. By this time I had talked to - Freddie until he understood that he would be killed if he did not keep quiet, so he seldom spoke, and never cried. But there we were, between two lines of Mexicans; -I couldn’t go -back into the interior of the country, and I passed all the afternoon trying to decide what to do. If the Mexicans could be made to think that Freddie-was a little Mexican boy, I thought, they might leave us alone, seeing that I was only a poor old woman. I explained it all to Freddie,‘and he acted like a little man and let me do- what I thought best. So I- gathered some green leaves and’ some: nut shells and mashed them with two stones and rubbed the juice all over his-face and hands, and down into his collar and up into his sleeves, till he looked like a little Mexican boy. Then I took off his little knickers and- rolled them up: with my handkerchief into a bundle with our food and his shoes, and left him in just his little shirt, and ~ “barefooted. like a Mexican child. It was then pretty nearly dark, and we went ‘out to the railroad, right past a camp of Mexicans.

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172 They stopped us, but I spoke to them in Spanish, and they couldn’t see how black I was, so they let us go by with some low joke about an old woman. We walked along the railroad track till it was nearly moming, and then, as I was afraid to try taking Freddie past the Mexicans ia the daytime, we hid in the brush again and Freddie slept, but I couldn’t sleep much. I couldn't help wondering what I was going to do with the little fellow, for I didn’t even know where I was, or how I could ever find his folks away down at Santa Lucrecia. That night and the next night we followed the railroad without any trouble, though we were stopped several times by the armed men who seem d to be patrolling the track, but the thitd night, when we got off the track a little way to avoid a big party of men around a fire, we ran right into two Indian women. They saw us before I saw them, and the orly thing we could do was to talk it out, but they never suspected anything, and they told me I was then more than a hundred miles from Tampico, not far from a village called Escandon, where there were some “ Gringees ’’~-the Mexican name of contempt for Americans—who were going to be killed when the rebels attacked the town. Of course, these women did not know I was looking for white people, nor that the little boy with me. was white; they just told me because they thought [should think it good news te hear that the foreigners were to be killed. Following these women’s directions, and pretending to want to see the attack on the town by the rebels, I got into Escandon, but as far as I could find out the Americans had left, and I knew I couldn’t get any help from the Mexicans, so I fetched little Freddie from where I had hidden him in the outskirts of the village and we went walking on. We got safely out of Escandon, but about five miles further on, at Pretil, we walked right into a patrol of Federal soldiers. They took us before the commander, who said his name was General Aguilar and told) me that he had closed the railroad into Tampico. They kept us for two weeks, and I earned enough to buy us food by doing washing for the officers of the Government. They never molested me nor asked any questions about Freddie after the first day, when I told them he was my grandson whose parents had been killed in the fighting. Marriage between the Negroes and the lighter- coloured Mexican Indians is not uncommon, and the stain on Freddie’s face made him look quite like a little Mexican. After these two weeks the Federal soldiers went away, and we started out again for Tampico, travelling by night as much as we could and sleeping by day. for by this time Freddie under- stood that everything depended on his doing just what I told him. Two nights after we left Pretil we were held up by another band of Mexicans, who said they were Federals, but I think they were rebels, trying to get into Tampico to do some looting. They took Freddie away from me for two days, saying that all orphans had to go to Government schools, but I finally got him out by paying one of the officers ten THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN pesos (about four dollars)—all the money I had, except a few centavos. These Mexicans hadn't had their clothes washed for weeks and had no money to pay for washing them, so there Freddie and I were, still a long way from Tampico, with no money and little food. The night before I got Freddie out the seven or eight officers had a visit from another band of bandits or Federals or rebels, who brought with them a number of young women that they had captured, and both gangs had a drunken dinner in a big hacienda (farm) house near the railroad. I got two pesos for helping them get their food and drink together, and I stole enough food to last us two or three days. While they were all getting over their debauch I got Freddie out and we fled into the country. We followed the general direction of the railroad, and got away safely, but once a gang of armed Mexicans nearly ran us down as they came galloping through the brush, though they did not see us, or, if they did, had no time to stop to bother with an old woman and a little boy, We got safely to Rosillo, but just as we entered the village T caught sight of the same band of Mexicans who had killed Mrs. Wilson, with the same fellow, Lobrano, at their head, so we had to leave that town and walk six days more to get to Gonzalez. There we met the real Federals-~probably from) Tampico--and they at once arrested both of us, and questioned me closely. I thought it best to tell the commander, a Major Ortega, the whole story, and when I had finished, and he had asked me some questions about the rebels I had met, he said: “* Better get the little Gringo out of this country right away ; this is no place for Gringoes any more.” He. gave me a passport into Tampico, but I found out that he had little authority and that it was of no us As I was coming out of the little house Ortega used as his headquarters, I almost ran into Lobrano, in the uniform of Federal officer, but he was so drunk he did not see me, and Freddie was down in the cuartel or jail, where I had to go to get him, for they had arrested the poor baby at the same time as they took me. Thus I found out that Lobrano was both Federal and rebel— Federal when he wanted Government protection and rebel when he wanted loot. For two weeks more we walked on and on, sometimes without anything to eat, sometimes with only the berries and nuts and wild fruit we could find along the Tamesi river, and now and then with a good meal which I bought or begged from some Indian’s hut. After I saw Lobrano in the uniform of one of Carranza’s army officers I was afraid to go into the towns, and we travelled out in the brush. My shoes gave out, and we both had such sore feet that we could scarcely walk, but at last we got into Tampico, but even here I could find no one who knew Mr. Wilson, or Major Henderson, so it seems there is only one thing I can do, and that is work for Freddie and myself. I hope to be able to get us enough to eat, and some day to try and get him back down to Santa Lucrecia, where, maybe, we can find his grandfather.

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A well-known hunter's thrilling experiences with the more deadly serpents of East and Central Africa. j cussing Africa with people, I have noticed what a lot remark: “T should not like to live in that country because of the snakes.”” By JOHN A. JORDAN, F.r.c.s., F.z.s. not encounter one. _ In- deed, some districts would appear to be so free from them that one might imagine St. Patrick had been there and repeated One would imag- ine that these creep- ing: things covered every foot of the Sround, whereas one might travel a thousand miles and his famous eviction cere- mony. When my wife and I crossed Equatorial Africa, from east to west, travelling over three thousand miles, we did not see six snakes. On the other hand, you might venture into the bush and run up against the most deadly of reptiles every day. In East and Central Africa, where I have done a consider- able amount of hunting and trading, over forty different species of snakes are known to exist. Most of them, however, are small and harmless, but a few of the larger are not only dangerous but, when suddenly approached, very vicious. First among these come the ‘ mam- bas.” There is the black mamba, which is really a’ cobra, and the most deadly of the poisonous snakes. Then there is the green mamba. This is not so large and belongs to “The icounrd fought and clawed, but the © niest was soon over:

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a4 the viper family. Being poisonous, its bite-can prove fatal. Another nasty creature to encounter unex- pectedly is the puff idder. This brilliantly- coloured serpent runs up to six feet and more in length. With its large flattened head it is most hideous and repulsive in appearance. Then, Central Africa is famous as the home of the python, which runs up to thirty feet in length, and is capable of crushing the life out of a good- sized deer. What makes the black mambas or cobras so dangerous is that they are always ready for a fight and never trouble to get out of the way. I remember holding a big “ shauri”’ talk with a lot of Lumbwa warriors, who were seated in a circle round me, when we noticed a long gliding object approaching. We soon realized it was a deadly black mamba, about eight feet in length. It came straight towards us and promptly broke up the meeting. T found a flexible stick, about ten feet long, and gave the ugly reptile a blow, but this only added to its rage, and it came straight for met I gave ground, when an inqui:itive black retriever dog rushed in. He was promptly bitten and died within five minutes. When it attacked the dog I managed to get home a stinging blow on its tail. This somewhat checked its pace and gave the natives an opportunity of which they quickly took full advantage. Rushing in upon the wriggling and hissing serpent with their spears and weapons, they promptly hacked it to picces. The combat proved exciting, and taught me a lesson—never to attack these monsters.with a stick. I always got my shot-gun afte erwards and blew holes in them. My next experience with these cobras was while hunting clephan $s. Thad a number of boys with me, and like most natives their feet were bare. While going through some high grass a mamba , glided out, passing between my legs and over the feet of some of the boys without injuring them. The reason for this was because everyone stood still. Ido not think any poisonous snake would deliberately attack a person unless he made some movement first. The reptiles realize the motion of fear or anxiety to get out of the way, and, thinking they are going to be attacked and believing that the first blow is half the battle, promptly strike. A sudden movement on my part. when a deadly snake was close at hand, nearly cost me my life. Thad gone on a trading and recruiting expedition to a place named Mumia, towards the borders of Uganda. I had been very successful in purchasing large quantities of hides and skins, and also in having recruited nearly a thousand Kaverondo natives needed for a ballast contract on the Uganda Railway. I intended to start the following morning on my return journey to Port Florence, a distance of about forty-five miles. I dined with the Padre that evening, and whether his wine or the success of my trip excited me or not I cannot say, but I found it impossible to sleep. Feeling very restless I got out of bed in my bare feet, intending to make up THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. some accounts and write letters till it became light. - After I had been at work for some time I shouted to my boy to make some tea. When he brought it in and placed it on the table; he looked down and saw a snake, which had been asleep under the table, but had been aroused by the boy throwing back the flap of the tent. He at once shouted “ Njoka, Bwana !’’ (Snake, Master). Very foolishly I moved my feet, and at once got a nip at the bottom of the little toe. We promptly killed the intruder, which was a green mamba, about two feet long, and then I looked at my foot and saw that instant action was necessary. I had no medicines with me and the nearest doctor was forty-five miles away, so I took my skinning knife and cut out a piece of flesh where the fangs had punctured the skin. The boy brought in a fire-brand and I cauterized the wound with the red-hot stick. .It gave me a good deal of pain. I then took a nip of neat brandy and lay on the bed. When dawn came I was ina terrible state. My foot and leg were swollen, and I kept on vomiting till I longed to die out of my misery. My boy struck campand I tried to stagger along. Find- ing that impossible, I told them to cut some poles and sling a blanket, so that I could be carried. This they did, and after we had travelled about ten miles we luckily met Dr. Henderson going to Mumia to attend Captain Stevenson, who was down with blackwater fever, from which he died before the doctor could get there. I told him my experience and he looked at my foot. He declared that the drastic treatment I had administered had saved my life, but advised me to hurry on and see Dr. Hanan as soon as I arrived at Port Florence. The vomiting had now stopped and I felt very little pain. We took four days getting to Port Florence through some hundreds of the recruits deserting. Thinking I was too sick to trouble, they ran away and left their loads lying by the roadside. .. This necessitated my stopping at an influertial chief's place while he sent and ordered the boys to return. After giving over the boys with their loads T called on Dr. Hanan, and he gave me some lotion to dress what had now become a nasty wound. The place would not heal, keeping open for quite two months. At last it did so and has never troubled me again, but I have the scar still. Another very dangerous snake is the puff adder. They are fairly common in certain parts of Africa, especially during the rainy season. They attain a length of six feet, though those generally encountered measure from three to four feet in length. They mostly live on rats, and I have found as many as six of these rodents in the stomach, quite complete. The colour of this reptile is yellow and brown on the back with black markings. When annoyed it inflates the body and gives out a puffing sound, and if you are near enough to be puffed on, the flesh that comes in contact with the breath swells up for a day or so. T have had dogs go blind through being puffed

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upon by these creatures, and in some cases it has. takem a week for the inflammation to go down, so ‘that the dog could see again. I have also heard of lots of natives being temporarily blinded: fashion. iw the-same strange . These reptiles are ~* a: AFRICAN. SNAKES:! 175 very poisonous, but, being of a very slugyish disposition, it is easy to get out of their way or kill them. .- . i : Now the pythons, or great serpents,.are held: in. respect::-by most people, since they are as meer “soa made it loosen its hold by striking. it over the bead.”

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176 THE WIDE WORLD. MAGAZINE. thick round as a man’s thigh, weigh many hundredweight, and reach a length of thirty feet, though twenty to twenty-five fect is the length more ordinarily met with. They can move, climb, and swim with eqnal facility. They. frequent localities in the vicinty of water, venerally lying on the bongh of a tree near the spot where animals come to drink. I have also come across them mils away from any water. . The python kills by contraction, and T have heard many discussicns as to how this is done, some stating emphatically that they must get . their tail round some sclid object to get a leverage. T prefer to keep an open mind on the subject, and can only rdate what hag come under my* own observation. Mest agree, however, that the viant python can overpower od kill almost any animal. Some declare that the width of their jaws will only allow of the possge of an animal about the size of a goat. This i@ not correct, for T have killed pythons with the horns of a Topi hartebrest sticking out of the jaw, and the Topi weighs well over two +hundred pounds. A python once attacked a donkey of mine. I heard the commotion and saw the reptile wound round the animal which Iving on the ground. T soon made it loosen its hold. by striking it over the he:d with a heavy stick. Then I blew some holes into it with a shot-gun loaded with buck- shot. The serpent was only eighteen feet in length, so I do not know if it would have been big enough to kill the donkey or not. My only experience with the python which nearly ended in a tragedy occurred when J tried to make a short cut from the Kisi to the Lumbwa country. From the Kisi hills the intervening valleys and plains looked like a field of corn easy to traverse. But when we got down amongst it the thick clephant grass in places reached six feet above our heads, and while forcing our way through we felt like being suffocated. Every now and then we encountered a swamp in which we waded nearly up to our waists in black mud and water. Occasionally we followed a path made by elephants ti'l we found it continuing in the wrong direction. We heard. clephants and buffaloes near us, but could not see them for the miles of grass. At last we came to a river near some hills, and T decided to camp here and push on by moon- light, when it wovld be cooler marching. We halted on the slopes of the hills near some trees. T sent one of the beys to get some svater to make tea. Tle made towards a piece of the bank that was devoid of vegetation, having been trampled flat by elephants. While on the way he disturbed a rhino which, getting his -wind, gave chase. The boy threw the kettle and water-bottle down and dashed back towards us. The animal, losing the scent, continued his course and was soon out of sight, but the boy could not see this end continued his flight, We had to laugh at him when he arrived, it had been so funny. He refused to go back, so-I sent Masoni, my favourite warrior, who was as brave as a bull buffalo and possessed the strength of three men, being champion wrestler of the Lumbwa tribe. T watched him from the rise and saw him pick up the kettle, and then something big seemed to be enveloping him. I heard a frantic shout for assistance and we all rushed towards the spot. There we found Masoni in the coils of a huge python. He had put up a gallant fight, having stabbed the beast repeatedly with his free hand. We took hold of the brute, pulling the repulsive head away till it was out of line with the warrior, and then I placed my 455 Webley revolver along- side and fired and smashed the head. This seemed to give it more strength, and it knocked us yards with its mad wrigglings. but the coils had loosened about Masoni so that he could get free. I gave the reptile some more shots, which soon ended the struggle. I then heard Masoni’s story. He had just picked up the things for water when he felt a cold, clammy thing gliding over him. He promptly drew his knife and stabbed at it, but the serpent still wound round him till the weight made him fall down. Then, according to the boy, came the tussle, the python trying to roll him towards the stump of a tree that was near, and Masoni struggling in the othe> direction. In the midst of the combat we arrived, or the serpent would have proved the victor, for it was a giant, measuring thirty feet in length. I have the skin by me now. Masoni was badly bruised, but soon recovered. I have often wondered why one does not come across these serpents more often, seeing that the female hatches out nearly a hundred eggs after her period of incubation, which takes nearly two months. I do not know ,pf. any’ animal that preys upon them unless thésattack one another. Bat [once had the rare gxperience of seeing a python tackle a leopard. I was following the Icopard on this occasion, having wounded it, and as it was in a patch of forest with no under- growth I had a clear ficld of view. I had been dodging about from tree to tree, when all of a sudden I spotted the ycllow body of my leopard, but before J could get the sight of my rifle on the animal a python entered the ficld, and swinging its body like a flash of lightning out of a tree, had the animal gripped in a vicetike hug. The leopard, which was a female, fought and clawed, ripping big chunks out of the python, but the contest was soon over, the big cat being crushed to a pulp. I took care to shoot the serpent before investigating. I found the python had discharged a great quantity of saliva over the body. Its prey is hooked into tlie throat by the right and left motion of the well-toothed jaws. - Small pythons cause great havoc among the natives’ poultry. Once a good market is found for their skins there is no doubt these pests will be so hunted that they will be exterminated.

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“THE ASSAILANTS AT ONCE MADE OFF IN THE DIRECTION OF THE MOUNTAINS.” (SBE PaGE 185.)

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ————————E—E————————— ADVENTURE -~ TRAVEL ™ SPORT Vol. XLIV. JANUARY, 1920. No. 261. During the summer of 1918 and the spring of 1919 a series of crimes occurred in the Franco-Italian villages on either side of the frontier in the French department of the Hautes Alpes and the Italian district of Monte Viso, which startled the inhabitants and alarmed the numerous families who select this beautiful mountain region for their annual holidays. These crimes were committed by the “ Blue Bandits,” as they were called—three Italian deserters who were aided by a remarkable young woman named “Ginger Mary,’ who adopted so many different disguises that the police were completely baffled. So daring were the exploits of the brigands that police and military were both called into action, and the last has not yet been heard of the affair. This exciting narrative. especially compiled by a “ Wide World” commissioner— gives the full history of the “Blue Bandits,” and will be found as thrilling as any story of the old “Wild West.” 1. N the night of Tuesday, May 21st, smuggling between Belgium and France, and 1918, a party of Italian Carabineers Italy and France. In the present case, however, (Constabulary) were out scouring the Italian Carabineers were especially anxious the mountain-side in the neighbour- _to capture the smugglers, for there was a reward hood of the Valente Pass. These of five thousand Hye for their capture. Two of men, four in number, had left the the smugglers were deserters from the Italian constabulary barracks at Torre-Pellice in an Army, Alessandro and Luigi Baudissart by attempt to capture a small gang of smugglers name. These latter were well known personally who had made themselves particularly obnoxious __ by sight to one of the four Carabineers, Brigadier to the Excise officials in consequence of their Rossi, for he had formerly been quartered in the many successful expeditions between Italy and village from which these men hailed, and had France. It had hitherto been impossible to at the outbreak of war arrested Alessandro for detect these smugglers in the act, owing tothe failing to report to the military authorities, and complicity of a number of villagers scattered had conveyed him to the military depot at Coni. Over the mountain-side and in the plains below, After pas:ing the night in the mountains who reccived the goods from the smugglers and without meeting the smugglers, the Carabineers id them away, prior to selling them to pedlars began to work their way back towards the plain, who acted as the actual intermediarics for the each man taking a separate path, and arranging to Sale of the goods to the peasant population. In meet at seven in the morning at aspot where the all continental countries where high protective mountain tracks converge on the road to Paesana. taiifis shut out the goods of neighbouring Brigadier Rossi, then separating from his nations, a great deal of smuggling goes on. comrades, took with him the youngest and eople, especially in country districts, will run least experienced of the men under his orders. &reat risks to buy smuggled goods, because such “You had better accompany me,” he said, articles are considerably cheaper than the goods “for you are still comparatively new to the that can be bought in an orthodox way in the mountains, whereas the other two know the Country itself. Since the cessation of hostilities paths as well as I do.” Berta been a great increase in the amount of Rossi had not left the other party more than liv. 1,

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180 an hour when Z his young sub- Wer ordinate, Cam- palonghi, in climbing down * a narrow gully, slipped and fell some distance, seriously in- juring his left foot. Indeed, he would probably have lost his life but for Rossi’s quickness in catching hold of him before he rolled over a precipice. There was only one thing to be done, and that was to prop up the wounded constable in a secure corner, and make him as comfortable as possible whilst his chief went down to meet his men and bring back assistance. This would require some hours. Rossi, having done his best for the injured Man, proceeded on his way. After walking for an hour, he appears to have made up his mind to climb down a very steep rock so as to get on to a little-frequented goat-path which con- stituted 2 short cut to another path lower down. After the descent, he stopped at a point where the goat-path winds around a huge boulder, and is joined by a second path leading down to the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, SENS 2 EERO iy, village of Paesana. Here he sat down for a moment, and he had just filled and lit his pipe— it was afterwards found full of tobacco—when his sharp ear caught the murmur of voices. He listened for a few minutes and then, putting his pipe back into his wallet, and sheltering himself from sight behind the boulder, he glanced up the path which joined that which he had just descended. Some five hundred yards higher up, he espied a couple of men bearing heavy packs on their shoulders, and carefully picking their way down the precipitous path with their alpenstocks. Rossi, no doubt, at once came to the conclusion that these men must be smugglers, for who else would be travelling down this difficult and little- known path, with heavy loads, at six o’clock in the morning? Unslinging his magazine carbine, and making ready for all eventualities, Rossi

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lay in wait, well out of sight, behind the boulder, but commanding the path which passed just beyond it. As the first heavily-laden man passed within his view—twenty yards away—Rossi immedi- ately recognized him as his erstwhile prisoner, the notorious smuggler Alexander Baudissart. A short distance behind came his brother Ernest, also carrying a large pack on his back. Now, Rossi was well aware that there was a third brother, Louis, and that the three always worked together, but as he had only seen two of them coming down the path, he no doubt assumed that, for some cause or another, Louis THE BLUE BANDITS. 181 “He was shot through the back of the head by Lous Baudissart.” was not with his brothers ae, on the present expedition. ee The two men had no sooner passed beyond the boulder, proceeding down the steep path with their backs turned to the Carabineer, than Rossi put a metal whistle—which he carried attached to a chain—to his lips and blew an ear-piercing blast. At the same time he care- fully covered the leading man with his carbine. The sound of the whistle echoed again and again amidst the mountains and could not fail to be heard a long way off. Indeed, the wounded man, left some thousand feet above, distinctly heard it, and answered the call with his own whistle.

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182 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The Baudissarts, greatly startled, glanced fearfully round, to find themselves facing the threatening muzzle of a magazine carbine held in the steady hands of their arch-enemy, Briga- dicr Rossi. The smugglers were fairly trapped ; they could not even reach round for the revolvers which they carried in their side pockets, for they were encumbered with their heavy loads and their thick iron-shod sticks. “Good morning, the Brothers Baudissart,”” shouted Rossi. ‘‘ Don’t stop for me, go right on; but if either of you attempt to throw away your packs, or to turn round, I shall shoot instantly.”” There was nothing for the two brothers to do but to obey. Apparently the Carabineer’s intention was to march his prisoners down to the spot where he knew his men would be waiting for him. The two smugglers walked sullenly on, followed at a little distance behind by Rossi, holding his carbine ready to fire. Unfortunately for himself, Rossi had taken it for granted that the third brother, Louis, was not accompanying his brothers. Asa matter of fact, as afterwards trans- pired, Luigi, or Louis, had halted for a moment, and some minutes passed before he restrapped his pack and followed his brothers. On hearing the believed to be staying 1n the village of Revello. It was quite a couple of hours before the two Carabihcers who were waiting below discovered the dead body of their unfortunate chief, and it was not until late in the afternoon that they found the injured Campalonghi. In their hurry to get away, the smugglers had left one of their wallets behind, and the contents of this served to identify the brothers Baudissart. A large force of Carabineers scoured the mountains for several weeks, but beyond the discovery of some articles of clothing left in a cave in the mountains, and the evidence of a goat-herd who had seen the men on the day after the crime, they were unable to secure any clue to the outlaws’ whereabouts. An anonymous letter advised the Italian authorities to keep a close watch on the girl Maria-la-Rossa, who was believed to be in close touch with the brothers Baudissart, but the police were unable to find her, for a week or ten days after the crime she had disappeared from the village in which she was employed as a farm servant. The Baudissarts were tried, in their absence, for the murder of the Cara- bineer, Rossi, and sentenced to death. According to Italian law they would be at liberty to appeal against this sentence if they were ulti- mately arrested. whis:le, Louis knew something was wrong; he threw down his pack, drew his revolver, and hurried down the path after his brothers. Soon he came in sight of the Carabineer. Rossi, owing to the noise his own feet and those of his two prisoners made on the stony path, did not hear the man coming up behind him until it was too late. Just as he became aware of steps behind him he (Rossi) was shot through the back of the head by Louis Baudissart, and his body rolled down the steep mountain-side. Meanwhile, the answering call of other police whistles could be heard in the distance. There was no time to be lost. The brothers hurriedly consulted together, and agreed that it would be the height of folly to proceed on their journey to the farm-house below to which they were bound. Now that they had killed a representa- tive of the public authority there would be a hue and cry after them, and the entire constabu- lary force of the district would be at their heels. They therefore resolved to retreat to the moun- tains until such time as one or other of them could venture down to the plain to dispose of their wares, and—moye important still—get into communication with ‘ Maria-la-Rossa,” or “ Gingey Mary,” their close friend, companion, and spy, of whom more presently, and who was A curious story It was in this sort of country, across glaciers and high, snow-covered passes’ that the bunt for the bandits took piace, was attached to the good - looking girl known as “ Maria-la-Rossa,”. or “ Ginger Mary.”’ so nicknamed from her fine head of flaming red hair. It seems that in 1914 a troupe of travelling mountebanks and comedians had given a show on the village square at a place where Alexander Baudissart was staying at the time. He had been to the show and taken a great fancy to the red-haired girl who formed one of the company, and who made the people laugh with her clever mimicry and her impersonations of different characters. Alexander followed the show about for several days, had a fight with the son of the proprietor, and ultimately succeeded in inducing the girl to run off with him, by making her a number of rich presents. It seems, according to her story, that she was the daughter of an ‘“ Americano” from New Orleans, who had brought her to Italy. Whilst still a mere child she had been stolen by some gipsies, who had brought her up and taught her all the tricks of their tribe, until one day she had left them to join the troupe of travelling comedians. The proprietor’s son, however, had ill-treated her, hence the facility with which she followed Alessandro Baudissart. Maria soon became very friendly with Alex-

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ander’s two brothers, and took a great liking to the wild life they led. They plied her with rich presents of showy jewellery, and taught her to become as expert a smuggler as themselves. She learnt to handle a pistol and to fire a rifle, and often accompanied the brothers on their daring expe- ditions across the frontier. Owing to the cleverness with which she was able to disgvise herself, she soon became invaluable to the trio, by the information she was able to bmng to them of the movements of the police, and about the people they could trust and those it was best to avoid. In a word, she acted as the spy of the band, and, on Alexa der Baudissart—from a pic- tare taken when he was in the Italien Army. BLUE BANDITS. 183 They could no longer ply their trade, for even the intermediaries would be afraid to deal with them, for fear of being themselves com- promised in a murder case. The brothers therefore appear to have crossed over to the French side, where the French gendarmes were also on the look-out for them, but not, apparently, in so incon- venient a manner as the Italian Carabineers. Being unable to trade as smugglers, they took to thieving in order to live, and the fowl- runs and pigsties of many of the villages in the neighbourhood of Briangon begap to suffer. The villagers complained, and the vil- lage policemen, or “‘ Rural Guards,” kept watch. occasion, as th ir cook, mender of clothes, and On several occasions they caught sight of the Louis Baudissart. maid-of-all-work. They did not ill-use her, but kept her supplied with plenty of money and with numerous trinkets, of which she was very fond. No doubt, soon after the killing of the Cara- bineer, the outlaws found means of letting Maria know of their whereabouts, and with the knowledge of the mountains which she had learnt from them, she was able to join them. The report she gave the brothers must have shown them the danger they ran in at- tempting to go down into the Italian valleys. ia ia believed to be the onl This is behets te festale ai photograph in existence of bral <3 jary.. Exnest Baudissart. thieves, but were fired at, and one of the Rural Guards was wounded in the leg. Nobodydared . go after the outlaws in the mountains, and the goat-herds and others, who detest all Excise men, tax-collectors, and Customs officers, never gave any information that was of use. From the description of the thieves given by the “ guards "it began to be assumed that these miscreants must be none vther thar the re- doubtable Baudissarts, for whose apprehension the Italian Government across the frontier was offering a large reward.

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184 The thieves who had fired at and wounded one of the guards were described as being dressed in blue overalls; and for this reason, and for another which will shortly be described, they became known as the “ Bandits Bleus,’’ or “ Blue Bandits.” It was not until the middle of July, 1918, some two months after the murder of Rossi, that the Baudis- sarts began to give sc1ious concern to the French police. Then a rural post- man was waylaid, some miles from Saint Crépin by four masked men and relieved of several hundred francs in cash as well as of a number of Ictters contain- ing postal orders. The moncy was for the purpose of cashing post- office orders, payab‘c “ at domicile,”’ viz., to the person entitled to receive payment at his own house, a system which does away with the necessity of going to the post-office to obtain payment. The postman, who had grown grey- haired in the service, declared that as he rode along on his bicycle, a man dressed in a blue blouse and wearing large blue sun-goggles had stopped to ask him the way, and had then threatened him with a revolver. Before he knew what was happening, three other men jumped from the side of the road and surrounded . him. All of them wore blue goggles and blue blouses. They had forced him to hand over his post- man’s box, and after tearing open a number of letters and ex- tracting several postal orders, they had compelled him to hand over all the money in his possession, laying him down and thoroughly search- ing his pockets and satchel. They had then de- camped, taking his bicycle with them, threatening to shoot him on an early occasion if The village of Vallouise, where the brigands lived for several months while carrying on their smuggling operations, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, other cities, the matter was hushed up so as not to alarm the tourists, who are a source of wealth to the district. Nevertheless the police set to work to try to unearth the robbers. Official inquiries move slowly in France, and it was not until much later that an investigation showed that all the stolen postal orders had:been cashed at various post-offices between Briangon and Embrun. It transpired, too, that a ccuple of days before the robbery, the post~ man, who in the course of his rounds went into many an “ estam- inet’ or inn, had accepted a drink from a little weasened - faced old fellow, who spoke in a high cracked voice, and who had asked him a number of questions as to how he could send a sum of money to his grandson serving with the Italian Army. It seemed to the postman that he recognized in the smallest of his assailants some- thing that reminded him of the little old fellow who had stood him a drink a couple of days before. Three weeks later the whole district of L’Argentiére, near Briangon, was startled by the report that an armed atiack had been made at night on the post-office in the little village of La Roche de Rame, and that a young lad whose family were spending their holidays near L’Argentiére had been carried off into the moun- tains and held to ransom in the sum of two thousand francs by the “Blue Bandits.” The attack on the post-office at La Roche had taken place on the, ‘night between _ Thursday, the 8th, and Friday, the 9th August. Madame Bouteille, the post- mistress, who lived -alone, over the ‘office, was dis- turbed about one * o'clock in the eres 3s) he stirred for half an hour. The postman was positive that his assailants were four in numbcr and that one of them was of smaller and slighter build than the other three. As the ncighbourhood was frequented by a number of holiday-makers from Lyons and La Roche de Rame. The post-office attacked by the bandits is indicated yy | cross, morming by an unusual sound which caused her to wake suddenly. On going to the window and opening the fastcring she perceived in the gloom a shadowy figure standing against the side of a wall, which projected about four feet out into the roadway, whilst below, at the

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post-office door, she made out another shadow. Somebody was evidently attempting to break into the office. Madame Bouteille at once concluded that the house was being attacked by burglars, but she had no fire-arms of any kind with which to defend herself—though the con- trary was stated at the time in the local news- papers. She remembered, however, that one of her nephews serving at the Front had recently presented her with a large electric torch, and she immediately sought for this and turned it on to the road below. As the‘bright beam shot forth she saw a masked figure, in a blue overall, endeavouring to prise.open the door below, whilst another man, also wearing a mask, kept watch at the projecting wall. Madame Bou- teille shouted “ Thieves !’’ Thereupon a volley of revolver shots immediately struck the window shutters and window frame—fortunately without hitting her. Then, alarmed by the ams. the assailants at once made off in the direction of the mountains, as Madame Bouteille saw by turning the electric torch towards the retreating men. The story about the kidnapped child is as follows: Whilst the lad, who was about seven years old, was playing alone in a ficld close to the house in which his family was staying, he was suddenly lifted up by two men and carried off, his cries being stifled by a muffler placed over his mouth. He was carried off into the moun- tains, and before his absence was discovered by any of the family, an aged woman, leaning on a stick, called at the house and left a packet to be delivered at once to Madame Durand, the boy's mother. Madame Durand was out at the time, but on returning an hour later and opening the parcel, she was horrified to find wrapped up in an old piece of newspaper an almost mummified human ear! The accompanying note, in a scrawled hand, read :— Mapam,—Your son has been kidnapped by the people known in this district as the ‘‘ Blue Bandits.” If you wish for his speedy return you must agree to pay two thousand francs. No harm will come to the child provided you remain silent, but should you inform the gendarmes, we will cut off and send you his left ear, even as you will find enclosed the ear of one of our dead enemies. If you do not wish to lose your boy, who will be sent off to Italy within a week, you must pay che money within three days. If you agree, tie a white handkerchicf to the rail of your window and send your servant to the end of the road to speak tothe person who will approach her. THE BLUE BANDITS. 185 The note was unsigned, and written on a dirty Piece of paper. The mother was a woman of prompt decision, and though at first terribly i sed, she soon made up her mind. Having questioned the servant about her son, and thus learned that the lad had not been seen for some * hours, she told the woman to go up the road, and inform the mysterious writer of the letter that she had no such sum as two thousand francs with her, but that, if the boy was returned at once, that same evening, she would give five hundred frances. The servant was afraid to go alone, but offered to accompany her mistress. Accordingly, after putting out the white handkerchief, as agreed, both women went together, and proceeded to the end of the road as directed. Here they mct an old woman, who approached them with sur- prising agility. A long conversation ensued in which the mother showed that, notwithstanding her distress, she was no fool. She pointed out that she did not believe they would kill the lad, and that he would only be an encumbrance to the bandits, moving about to avoid the police as chey were. Finally she offered five hundred francs provided the boy was returned at once. Otherwise, she said, she would go to the gen- darmes the same night. Finally the old woman, who spoke with a strong Italian accent, promised that the lad should be returned before dark, on condition the money was handed over when the boy ap- peared. Meanwhile, nobody was to leave the house. The bargain seems to have been carried out as agrecd, and the lad, who was probably being kept at a little distance off—at all events, within half an hour’s walk from the house—was safely returned. The family left the district the week after. It is only right to state that the police profess entire ignorance of this incident, which only became known through the tale told by Madame Durand's servant. A few days later the ‘‘ Blue Bandits ’’ were to make themselves still more notorious by a cruel murder, which ultimately led to Nemesis over- taking at least two of their number. We shall see, in the next instalment, how the woman, “Ginger Mary,” helped them,in the startling series of crimes which led to the death of one of the brothers and to the capture of another, though, at the moment of writing, the third is still at large. defying, with the help of the elusive ‘‘ Ginger Mary,” the police and military who have been hunting him for many weeks. (To be concluded.)

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How }~ LOST M CHRISTM One of the funniest stories you ever read. Seeking a new experience, the Author—whose home is in New Zealand —decided to spend Christmas among the unsophisticated Maori adherents of a self-styled native “prophet” called Rua. Everything went merry as a marriage- bell until the advent of the much-discussed and eagerly-lqoked-forward-to Christmas dinner. Then—but read the story for yourself and see what happened ! HARLY one, morning, the day before Christmas, 1908, at | a time when the greater part of the aboriginal inhabitants of the then but little known Urewera country of New Zealand were under the despotic influcnce of the Maori religious fanatic Rua, I left the farthest outpost of European occupation equipped with the smallest camping outfit possible—in which, let it be whispered, a tin of “ Keating’s” figured conspicuously—and set out astride of a small but hardy “ brumby”’ pony to visit this strange chief at his isolated village of Maungapohatu, forty miles farther inland, where, rumour said, Christmas festivities on an unusually elaborate scale were about to becarried out. Afternoon had far advanced when, emerging from the depth of the long, tortuous bush track, I beheld the singular-looking, two-storied, rotunda-shaped temple of the prophet, with its less pretentious cluster of smaller split-paling build- ings of his disciples, looming up pleasingly near across an intervening gully. Stem meeeere ; DINN ee George Bouin ILLUSTRATED BY F.GILLETT. R.I. While yet afar off the discordant yelps of innumerable dogs disturbing the somnolent stillness of the village an- nounced my approach, and as if by magic every point of vantage became peopled with the remarkable-looking, long-haired followers of the dusky potentate. As the last rise was breasted, the high- pitched falsetto of shrill-tongued wahines (women) chorusing the usual welcome of ‘‘ Haremai, Haremai!”’ fell upon my ear, to clash harshly a moment later, as the more keen-sighted recognized my features, with the swelling hail of ‘‘ Taipo! Haremai, Taipo!”’ If not exactly discon- certing, there was, to the uninitiated, something deliciously funny in this seemingly strongly-worded greeting of “Welcome, devil, welcome!” coming as it did from the adherents of the self-styled ‘‘ Messiah,” and that at the very gates of his stronghold, known throughout the length and breadth of the land as the ‘‘ New Jerusalem ” ! The fatigued traveller, however, found something friendly and comforting in the strangely suggestive epithet—a complimentary nick-name resulting from a little sleight- of-hand work I had performed on a previous visit. Dismounting, I forced my way up the steep “street” through a closely-pressing crowd of eagerly curious people, moved out of thcir usual stolidity by the

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HOW I LOST MY CHRISTMAS DINNER, unexpected advent of a white man, to where a@ goatee-bearded hunchback dwarf, the secretary of the high priest, waited to greet me. As he conducted me to the rest- house, a detached rough slab building with a gaping hole in the steep shingle roof, and minus a floor, but resplendent with the modern convenience of a big four-posted wooden bed- stead, I gathered that my arrival had broken in abruptly upon the big man’s afternoon siesta, and the bewilderment of the rudely- disturbed prophet upon hearing his disciples clamorously extending a press- ing invitation to His Satanic Majesty to enter the sacred pre- cincts of his dominion had given rise to the alarming thought that an opposi- tion ‘ prophet ”’ was ingratiating himself with his (Rua’s) followers. This had caused him to send his right-hand man post-haste to in- vestigate the disturbance. The explanation that followed seemed rather to increase the sus- Picions of the timid hunchback as to whether the matter was not really moreserious that first sup- posed. His con- viction was strengthened by former witnesses of my unfortunate conjuring efforts, who strained their imagination, but not the secre- tary’s incredulity, by describing legerdemain feats of great impossibility. Exactly what passed between the secretary and Rua is a matter of conjecture, but shortly afterwards the diminutive fellow returned, accompanied by the imposing and strik- ingly picturesque figure of the high priest himself, with his plurality of wives in close attendance. 4 After the customary handshake—a little more cordial than I had expected in the circum- stances—the prophet ordered the dwarf to close the door upon himself and the too-inquisitive rabble outside. Then he produced a pack of soiled cards and demanded, in slightly sarcastic The Maori “ Prophet Rua at the upper door of his strange temple, . 187 tones, an exhibition of my alleged mystic powers. It is quite safe to say that, though the great man kept commendable control of his features, he was obviously impressed, if not a little startled, by what followed, only momentarily dropping the mask when a handful of cards or a number of coins were, in a matter-of-fact way, abstracted from the voluminous blouse or hair of one of his semi-petrified consorts, who, with an imperative gesture, was immediately ordered into the background—a position seemingly very acceptableto the overcome lady. By the time the impromptu enter- tainment had come to an end, Rua’s proverbial good humour had been completely restored, and he showed his appre- ciation by a friendly pat on the back, and the doubtful compli- ment of “ Just like me, Ehoa. Plenty of ‘blains '(brains).”” He then dismissed the agitated wives and took me off upon a tour of inspection, or rather explora- tion, of his quaint village. Happy to have come out of a situation that— considering I was entirely depend- ent upon this man’s reception for food and lodg- ing in that other- wise inhospitable locality—could easily have been awkward, I diplo- matically en- thused over every object brought under my notice. Later, upon returning to the rest- house, I discovered that during our absence the energetic members of the harem had converted it into a very inviting sleeping apartment by the erection of a tent, canopy fashion, between the ragged roof-hole and the bedstead, and covering the cold, hard, clay floor with a profusion of native mats. A bed fit for a prince had been made up of a pile of new rugs direct from the shelves of an adjacent storehouse, the whole surmounted with pillow-slips of the old antimacassar variety, embroidered with laboriously-stitched, lovingly-

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. worded sentences, so dear to the heart of young Maori maidens. The most noticeable, translated literally, read: ‘‘ Sleep, beloved.” I did not flatter myself it had a personal application. The necessary conveniences for performing one’s ablutions had for the moment been over- looked, but upon a dressing-table improvised out of a cretonne-draped packing-case I blushed to see conspicuous, even in the dim evening light, the now manifestly wholly-unnece: y tin of insect powder, standing out in all its brightness, where the loving hands of one of the prophet’s ‘ives had placed it—under the impression, no doubt, that it gave a final homely touch to the surroundings ! Fortunately, Rua was too engrossed in watch- ing my otherwise pleasantly-surprised expression to observe the offending article, and shortly afterwards, with the intimation that a bugle- call would notify me of meal hours, he withdrew to the solitude of the sacred upper chamber of his temple, obviously delighted with my frank admiration and approval of his arrangements. Shortly after his departure, the startling apparition of a tall, bare-footed, long-haired Ruaite, reminiscent of a character from the Arabian Nights, and carrying an enormous bullock-horn slung trumpet-fashion from his shoulder, that caused one mentally to christen him “Gabriel” upon the spot, blocked the doorway, and made the quaintly - worded announcement that it was “Time for te kat (food), Poss!” As I made a hurried toilet, covetous glances cast by this queer-looking escort in the direction of the still painfully-conspicuous canister gave me a happy inspiration to get rid of it in a quarter where it might probably be fully appre- ciated, and beckoning ‘‘ Gabriel’ to enter, I forcibly pressed the tin into his hands, to his genuine surprise and delight. Transferring the unexpected and seemingly very acceptable ‘present ” to. his pocket, he stepped outside, and, placing the horn to his lips, produced a blast that must for a certainty have caused another hole in the roof. Then, with myself in close attendance, he started up the hill for the place set apart for eating, situated just beyond the precincts of the tapu circle that surrounded the high priest’s residence, wherein to drop even the smallest crumb of food would be a sacrilege of inconceivable proportions. At the door of a one-storicd structure that obtained a two-storied effect through the con- figuration of the hillside, the pleasant-faced wife and children of my escort, evidently highly delighted to be singled out to entertain the “ distinguished visitor,” expectantly waited our coming. The evening meal, consisting of wild pork and potatoes, with milkless tea, though not exactly Christmas fare from a pakeha’s (white man’s) point of view, was at least substantial, and “ Gabriel ” apologized for any shortcomings by explaining that “te missus he neber expec . te pakeha,” and that ‘te missus he guive te best kad to te pakeha to-morrow !"” Long before the meal came to a conclusion, the cookhouse was surrounded by the whole of the inhabitants, assembled en masse, solicit- ously anxious to see with their own eyes some of the uncanny wonders I was able.to perform, and which had apparently lost nothing by frequent recapitulation. Rua’s sanction bcing obtained, an adjournment was made to the lower floor of the temple, where, I learnt later, the majority of my deeply-impressed audience remained for the night, not caring to face the darkness between the place of entertainment and their various abodes, after beholding such convincing proofs that I possessed, as one thoroughly-frightencd Ruaite put it, ‘ More tan a tonsand Taipos (devils) 1” Later, much to my own discomfiture, my simple-minded guide, who, presuming upon his position, had pressed close to my immediate vicinity, and consequently had received more attention than he either desired or appreciated, failed in his duties as escort, and I was forced to find my way back to the rest-house along the rough track as best I could, the nego- tiation of innumerable invisible, protruding roots and projecting timbers giving rise to ejaculations of a painfully emphatic nature. Desirous of removing the travel-stains before retiring, I scoured the near vicinity of my Testing-place for greatly needed water, without success, but the unexpected and vivid flashes of my electric-torch caused great consternation among a party of returning natives, who, taking courage from numbers, were pluckily braving their way home in the darkness. The long day of exertion and the comfortable couch accounted for a night of perfect repose, and the strong sunlight was streaming in through the many crevices of roof and walls when the deep harmonious chanting of an early-assembled dusky congregation aroused me from heavy slumber and announced the advent of Christmas Day. When I arose the problem of washing again presented itself, but a survey of the neighbour- hood from one of the many _peepholes unfortunately indicated the nearest water to lie at the bottom of a precipitous gully on the far side of the worshippers. Apart from the undesired publicity of passing in their near vicinity, the possibility of trespassing upon tapu (forbidden) soil, or inadvertently polluting the drinking water of the village, kept me from investigation until the gathering had dispersed. After an interminable time of waiting the monotonous intonation died down, and shortly afterwards, the moment seeming opportune, I stepped out of my vault-like quarters. To my confusion and astonishment, I was amazed to see that the whole of the inhabitants of the village had gathered noiselessly in the short interval since the cessation of service before the door of the rest-house, which to my further great surprise had been gaily decorated with flowering shrubs and evergreens while I slept. Loud cries of “ Melly Clismas, pakeha !”’ greeted my appearance, the chorus being led by no less @ personage than the “ prophet ” himself, who,

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resplendent in a gorgeous check suit, with his long wavy hair dressed comi- cally in a sausage- shaped roll, held in position over his forehead by orna- mental combs, after the manner of his wives, had lent his august presence to the unexpected proceedings. To my great delight a stool, placed at a studied angle that led in the direc- tion of the prophet, carried a jug and wash-hand basin of exquisite design, and —more astonishing still—each of the now daintily-dressed members of the harem, arranged with military precision before the high priest, was cquipped with some article appertaining to a pakeha’s toilet ! Returning the salutations of the assembly with all due solemnity, 1 prepared, there being apparently no alternative, to perform my ablutions before the embarrassingly critical and highly-interested audience. At a signal from Rua, the youngest consort poured out the ardently-wished-for water, soap being taken from a receptacle held by the next wife, and Number Three offering the necessary towel. Numbers Four and Five supplied comb and brush, and passed me on to Six and Seven, who supported between them a large, richly- framed, old-fashioned mirror. At the end of the line, stationed sentinel-like, stood my old friend “ Gabriel,’’ who—after calling up that unheard-of innovation in a Maori village, a bootblack !—gave the signal for dis- persal and breakfast by a display of tooting which, if not exactly as musical as he assuredly believed it to be, at least gave evidence of abnormal lung capacity. Partly because of the high priest’s intimation that the commencement of the day’s proceed- ings depended upon my presence, but more Particularly to leave room for thorough enjoy- mert of the mid-day repast, which “ Gabriel” Teiterated was to be “te pest kat (food) te pakeha ever did sce,” breakfast—a duplicate of the preceding meal—was soon dismissed, and under the escort of my voluble valet I set out for an open space situated in a small valley beyond the village proper, where a scratch band of five brass instruments and a drum was dis- turbing the atmosphere with a painful medley of discordant sounds. Rua and his consorts, surrounded by a large display of feathered mats and plaited flax baskets—native-manufactured prizes for the Some of the “ Prophet's” wives on their way to the scene of the festivities. day’s events—sat apart upon a hastily con- structed dais situated upon a small knoll that overlooked the proceedings, where the clang of the event bell, the report of the starter’s musket, and the hoarse cries of amateur ‘“ bookies almost drowned the nerve-trying efforts of the persevering band. The bright colours of the animated assemblage, backed by the green of the encircling bush, and the slowly-ascending steam-clouds from many cooking-places—where, among other culinary preparations for feeding the hungry multitude, a bullock was being roasted whole—made up a Ppicturesquely bewildering scene. After the manner of wtite ‘“‘ back-block ”* gatherings, there were foot races for both sexes, tree-felling competitions, trials of strength and endurance, and “‘lollie scrambles ’—the last- named, much to the chagrin of innumerable expectant kiddies, being eagerly participated in by their elders. At intervals a company of brightly-dressed and much beribboned girls were called upon by the high priest to give an exhibition of the graceful poi-dance, while anon the exuberant spirits of some of the younger male members of the village would find expression in an im- promptu war-dance, inconceivably funny in the accompanying display of disorderly curls and pigtails that flew out comically to every grotesque movement of the excited performers. With so much to interest, time passed rapidly, but as noon came and went a pronounced emptiness of the inner regions made one long ardently for the sound of the greatly overdue dinner call. Time has no meaning for the une sophisticated Maori, however, and the day had well advanced before active preparations began for dishing-up dinner for the hungry gathering, and though this food may not have been handled in the most hygienic manner from a fastidious

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199 white man’s point of view, its aroma had a very tantalizing effect upon my pair fully-insistent appetite. The only consoling feature to me was that ‘‘ Gabriel ” had disappeared in the direction of the village some time ago. For the time being I was left to my own resources, and I strolled about keenly interested in watching the army of dusky waitresses placing inviting plaited flax platters of steaming meat and potatoes at spaced intervals along avenues of spread matting. Presently a long musical note, doubling and trebling as its echo was taken up by the surrounding hills, reverberated throughout the valley, and instantly a hundred voices took up the cry: “ Pakeha! Pakehal Clismas tinner, pakeha.”” Even Rua, about to take his place at the head of the alfresco spread, could not resist rising, and in tones and wording somewhat reminiscent of the words of a well-known song that runs, “ You take the high way and I'll take the low,” said, to an accompanying dramatic wave of his hand, “ Down here for te Maori. On the hill for te pakeha!"’ Then, as if afraid that dinner to a pakeha might be a matter of no great importance, a crowd of mischievously merry girls propelled me with much laughter through the outer entrance of the sacred village. Though extremely glad that the much-vaunted and now most ardently-wished-for meal was within measur- able distance, I did not forget that the eyes of the populace were upon me, and with what dignity I could assume I slowly made my way towards the childishly-expectant figure of the trumpeter on the skyline. In various attitudes of unrest and anticipa- tion, a crowd of scraggy dogs of indefinite breeds, attracted by the savoury smell, had formed a cordon around the dining-room, whose bare interior had now been pleasingly relieved by fern decorations. At the farthest end of the table the obviously freshly-washed offspring of ‘Gabriel’ held the valued domestic pets of Rua’s favourite wife—two small fluffy-white dogs and a beautiful Persian cat--in temporary leash, their high position in the animal world of the village securing them, no doubt, first position in the inevitable gorge of scraps that as a matter of course would follow so great a banquct as this promised to be. Unfortunately a vast crowd of flies had also gathered for the feast, flashing their bluish bodies incessantly in the sharply-defined streaks of sunlight. Several dishes, seen through a covering of cloth, indicated that whatever the quality there was to be no stint in quantity. On the upper step that led up from the kitchen, equipped with a clean flour-bag serviette carried after the manner of an orthodox waiter, “ Mrs. Gabriel,” looking radiantly happy, smiled me a welcome as I seated mysclf at the table. Then “ Gabriel” cleared his throat—for grace, I thought, but no; Maori-like he could not resist the oppor- tunity for a little speech-making. “ Poss,” he commenced. ‘My missus he kook you te good kat.” As I muttered my appreciation the proud “ missus,” plucking at THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, her serviette, like a bashful schoolgirl, backed downastep. “ Yes, Poss !’’ continued “ Gabriel,” warming to his subject, “‘my missus neber get te sreep last night.” “How the way of that?” I queried, sympa- thetically. “Well, Poss, te missus neber kook tis kat for te pakeha pefor,” adding as an afterthought : ‘SEasy te Maori way; put tis tifferent.’’ As he made this preamble, filling me with great expectations, he approached the table with short, studied paces, after the manner of ancient Maori orators. Stooping quickly, with a dexterous flourish he removed the upper covering, to the great discomfort of the ever-increasing swarm of buzzing insects. Truly here was a Christmas dinner indeed ] The carefully-thought-out menu, consisting of four well-filled large tins of the ordinary baking-pan variety—representing no doubt a morning’s arduous toil—were arranged in a sort of semi-circle upon an unusually gay- looking tablecloth made up of squares of bunting, the centre dish of steaming potatoes looking invitingly white in contrast with its equally hot but more greasy-looking companions. In the dish on my left, their bodies appearing ludicrously small in contrast with their abnor- mally large heads, a dozen birds of the parrot species, commonly known as kaka, cooked with heads, legs (and, let it be whispered, “ innards ” as well), held the attention because of their comically-grotesque attitudes. But partly de- nuded of their feathers, with claws outstretched towards the ceiling, and big beaks agape, they certainly presented the most extraordinary spectacle imaginable, compelling one to pass hastily on to the next dish. Investigation prov- ing this to consist of over-baked slabs of wild beef I shifted my gaze with some apprehension towards the last remaining item upon the strange and so far uninviting Christmas bill-of-fare—a yellow, stew-like mess of not too appetizing appearance. ‘‘ What's this, ‘Gabriel ??”’ Tinquired. “ Curry 2?” “Ah!” he exclaimed, smiling knowingly towards his beaming better half. “Tat te kurry, Poss!” adding. solicitously: You tike him?” Though as a matter of fact in our hot Decem- ber climate curry would be the last dish one would expect at a Christmas dinner, it is a dish that I have a particular weakness for, and I said so—to the great delight of them both— for of the three dishes it seemed not only the most palatable but the most hygienic, as was evidenced by the fact that every fly that essayed to sample its rapidly-cooling surface died imme- diately in its tracks. The plump countenances of host and hostess fairly radiated with pleasure as I stood up preparatory to helping myself to a liberal supply of the adhesive conglomera- tion, and “ Gabriel ” gave me the cue to their sup- pressed happy satisfaction by explaining that it was their mutual anxiety to bring off this one particular dish to my absolute satisfaction that had so persistently interfered with their night’s repose. :

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A few of Rua’s chief disciples. is hunchback Secretary is in front, Struck by its brilliant colouring, I remarked, jocu- larly: “Tt looks rett hot, Teste! . “Py golly, yes, Poss!” he Ghooked. gleefully; “te missus he empty te tin!” Raven- ously hungry as I now was, this Raa’s village, the “ The “temple” is to HOW I LOST MY CHRISTMAS DINNER, 191 announcement rather killed any pleasurable anticipations I may have had of gastric enjoy- ment, but I nobly determined that no considera- tion of my own feelings should lessen their pleasure. Besides, the other meat dishes had already been hurriedly removed, leaving me no alternative in the matter. There was something elusive about this par- ticular concoction that puzzled me persistently, A holiday display of bunting at Rua’s village. lag 1s seen at the top of the The “Prophet's” special staff. for with an intimate knowledge of Maori ways Thad never known curry to figure at any of their meals or ceremonial feasts before. The only feasible ex- planation was that it was one of the “prophet’s ” many European innova- tions. “Rua like this kat?” Thazarded, as I ladled out the last spoonful. “T ton’t Imow, Poss,”” answered my host, without interest. “Plenty in the storehouse?” J queried, further. “No, Poss; he neber keep tat stuff.” “Well, then,” I persisted, more perplexed than ever, “where this curry from?" The persistency with which I had kept Dicitized by G.OC gle

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g2 to the one subject had changed the happy smiles to alook of concem, and after staring at me fora few seconds in undoubted amazement, “ Gabriel” ejaculated aggressively, “‘ Why, Poss, you give him me last night!” Isat back in astonishment. Heavens above ! Could 4t be that they had mistaken the tin of Keating's for curry powder ? The idea seemed absurd, yet there seemed ample indication in the dead insects lying suspiciously thick in the neighbourhood of this special preparation.. Like a cloud before the sun the previously bright, pleasure-radiating features of “ Gabriel” and his wife were now overcast with scowls of uneasiness. ‘‘ Gabriel ” cleared his throat again and commenced an explanation. “ You see, Poss, when I guive tat tin to te missus, she say, ‘What tis?’ I say, ‘I tun no; suppose we hab a rook.’ Well, Poss, we hab a rook, and I neber see tat stuff befor, put te missus, he say, ‘Tat te kurry stuff.’ Plenty rangatira tourists at Rotorua he rike tat hai.” To make a long story short, they determined to see to it that a pakeha who liked curry enough to always carry a tin with him should not be disappointed through any fault of theirs, and so they had made it the king pin of their Christmas bill of fare! The mystery of the steadily-accumulating heap of suddenly-deceascd flies was explained ! “ But, Ehoa!’’ Lejaculated. ‘‘ It’s poison!” “ Poiton!’”’ he echoed, looking fixedly at me for the space of a minute, as if the ways of a white man were beyond all comprehension ; then he asked, weakly, in bewildered tones, “ What for te pakeha bling te poiton ?” “ That’s the kad stuff to kill te flea!” I ex- plained, restraining with difficulty a wild desire to laugh. “ O-we-e-e !"’ cried poor “Mrs. Gabriel,” in a long-drawn-out, pitiable wail, and dropping with one bound to the floor of the kitchen, she fled. through the open door down a faintly- discernible track in the direction of the near-by forest. “Gabriel,” with mouth agape, stood momentarily petrified ; then, with a shout of, “My missus, he trown himself!”’ rushed impetuously after her, while the forgotten and terrified children, witha combined yell of fear, literally fell down the overworked steps and with intermingling sobs and screams set off as fast as their short legs could carry them in the direction of their vanished parents. In a state of great trepidation, I hastily followed, with loud en- treaties for them to Aig aod bal an pct the ay to be muted for th THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, return, and to my joy was soon confronted by “ Gabriel,’’ who sheepishly explained a3 he drew near, ‘Te missus he too shame to guive tat flea stuff to te pakeha. He hide in te bush.” As we stepped back across the threshold of the hut a peculiar, inexplicable tearing sound, to the accompaniment of a heartrending wail, struck our ears, and before our already overworked senses could adjust themselves and conjure up an explanation, a snarling, spitting, yellow, meteoric mass, in which we could discern faintly the outlines of what a short while back had been @ beautifully-marked cat, shot out of the dining- room door with a thud, and with a final con- vulsive movement expired at our feet ! Words are inadequate to describe the look of horror, fear, and bewilderment that came into “ Gabriel's ” eyes. Apart from his responsibilities in the’ matter of the valued pets one could see that, with the remembrance of my recent conjuring performance still fresh in his mind, the conviction was being forced upon him that I bad put a “ hoodoo” upon the house, and with a yell he threw up his hands with a gesture of fear and ‘despair and rushed distractedly into the Protecting shelter of the adjacent forest. Thoroughly upset with the unexpected and tragic termination to my Christmas ‘dinner, I climbed slowly back into the dining-room, where, to my further horror, I was confronted with a sickly scene of almost indes¢ribable confusion that fairly staggered me. : Half the decorations were down, with yellow lumps of “curry” stuck flower-like ovér their broken foliage, while the potatoes—nbw like lemons—were strewn about the floor in wild confusion. The cloth had become a yellow lake in which lay a sulphur-coloured fluffy” dog— dead—while on the floor below its companion was fast combnitting suicide by greedily lick. ing up the stowly- congealing streams of ‘| ° overturned “ This tragit an incon- ceivable sequet! to the day’s happenings, combined with the unpleasant vision of the prophet’s wrath,’ forced the conviction upon me that I might do worse than follow the lead of ‘‘ Gabriel,” for in addition to justi- fiable rage at the loss of his valuable domestic pets, Rua would of a surety also put this regrettable termination to what had otherwise been an enjoyable and memorable day down to my accredited Satanic powers, so convincingly expressed in the epi- thet “ Taipo "|

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HOW I LOST MY CHRISTMAS DINNER. Thankful that the festivities dewn the valley kept the whole tribe from wit- nessing these disconcerting yet ludicrous proceedings, I stealthily made my way back to my place of lodg- ing, packed my few be- longings, located and saddled my horse, and set off unostentatiously on my fh 193 “A snarling, spitting, yellow, meteor.c mass shot out of the cining-1com door.” return journey. As dusk settled down a vigorous return of a temporarily-suspended appetite set Me searching mypockets on the off-chanceof locat- ~ Ing astray crumb, and I discovered the dried rem. nants ofsome “ nikau kat,” a Maori vegetable one of the girl: i i VoL eeeihed given me to try. Making my “dinner ” from this stringyand scemingly tasteless substance, as my patient pony ambled stolidly forward, the great (and, alas, painful) contrast between it and the dinner that might have been mine, had I decided to spend Christmas as usual with my family, made it doublv bitter eating.

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA The story of a wonderful journey, full of adventure and incident. The Author spent four years in exploring South America, not travelling with a well-equipped expedition, but alone and on foot. He tramped down the whole terrible length of the Andes—a feat probably never accomplished before — and mixed freely with the HERE isa popular saying that it rains thirteen months a year in Quito, but this is slander. During my stay, extending over a period of a few months, there were, to be sure, few days when it did not rain, but the shower came always at a more or less fixed hour in the afternoon, and the resident soon learns to make his plans accordingly. And while at Bogota, the Colombian capital, we were always suffering more or less from cold in our waking hours, in Quito it was possible to sit comfortably on a plaza bench at midnight. As in all high altitudes, however, there is a marked difference between sunshine and shade. The fifst greeting in a Quiteno house is sure to be “ Cubrese usted ” (‘‘ Put on your hat ”’), and none but the unwise will disregard the suggestion. Only when one has become accustomed to the temperature of the room may one uncover with impunity, for to catch cold in Quito is a serious matter, and in this thin air the road from a cold to pneumonia is short and swift. Hapry A. Hapry A ILLUSTRATED BY the A. B. HORNE. natives, Indian and white, study- ing their manners and customs, Needless to say he met with all sorts of odd and exciting experiences, which are here set forth. In this instalment Mr. Franck describes the remark- able life in Quito, the city of Equator, and the con- tinuation of his tramp through Bcuador. There is not a chimney in Quito, A City and no breath of smoke is ever Without a mown to smudge her trans- Chimney. parent equatorial sky. Factor- ies, in the modern sense, are unknown; but there are shops enough, to all appearances, to supply the demands, if not the needs, of all the miilion and a half inhabitants of Ecuador. These are, for the most part, small, one-room dungeons without windows, flush with . the sidewalk, with no other front than the doors that stand wide open during business hours, and present at other times their blank faces, ormamented with several enormous padlocks. The Quiteno puts no trust in the small locks of modern days. Many a shop, the entire stock of which is not worth a hundred dollars, is protected not only by bolts and bars within, but by half-a- dozen of the huge and clumsy contrivances that the rest of the world used centuries ago. Religiously, Quito is still in the Middle Ages. It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that half the city is taken up by the Church. Besides its many large Quito, the city without a chimoey, “temples” and in- numerable chapels, enormous sections of the town are swal- lowed up within the confines of convents and monasteries. The largest is San Fran- cisco, reputed to be the most extensive in America. Quito is regarded, not without reason, as the most fanatical town of South Am- erica. Less than a year before our ar- Tival, the perennial struggle between the Liberals and the Con- servatives, the latter ies

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. The people of Quito are very fond of using many buge old padlocks. the Church party, broke out again in revolution. A queer-looking little man, with a white goatee sprouting from a mild-tempered chin, and wear- ing habitually a hat that would have been the envy of a music-hall comedian, had for years been President of Ecuador. The queer little man ob- jected to surrendering his office to a newly-elected incumbent, and when the populace rose and drove him out, he went down to the coast and gathered an army of supporters. But luck had deserted him. After a few battles he was captured, together with several sons, nephews, and hench- men. Brought to the Quito penitentiary, a priest, noted for his eloquence, preached a sermon that lashed the church-going masses into such fury that they fetched the little ex-President and his companions from the prison, stripped them naked, tied ropes to their ankles, and dragged them for hours through the cobbled streets of Quito, the frenzied populace raising the echoes of the surrounding Tanges with shouts of “Long Live the Church!” “ Viva la Virgen Maria!” Through the entire length of the city the 195 barbaric procession continued. When the mob reached the Ejido, the broad green playground of Quito, they hacked the bodies of the victims to Pieces with machetes and whatever other imple- ments came to hand. Some carried to their huts as souvenirs the heads of the hapless ex-President and his sons, and they were recovered with difficulty only after the frenzy had died down and been slept off. The rest of the victims were piled in heaps and burned. Such were los arrastres (“the draggings ’’) to which the educated Quiteno refers, if at all, in shamed undertones. No picture of Quito would be complete without reference to its most conspicuous inhabitants— the Indians. There is not a house, from the bright-yellow three-storey adobe dwelling of the President down, without its Indians—family servants and burden-bearers huddled in the mud cells about the cobbled patio of the lowerstorey, or homeless wretches who lie by night in any unoccupied corner and pick up a precarious existence by day in competition with donkeys and pack-animals. Theirs is a purely animal existence. They have not the faintest notion of any line between filth and cleanliness, avoiding only that which is obviously poisonous by an instinct common to the lower animals. They literally never wash so much as a finger, except on some such occasion as a church fiesta, when they may pause at a pool or mud-hole on the edge of the town to scrub their feet with a stone. In build, the Indian of the Andes is stocky and short, very muscular, with the strength of a mule for carrying loads on his back, indefatigable on foot, but weak for other labour. His co!our is between a tarnished copper and a more or less intense bronze. His teeth are white, and always in splendid condition. His long hair, worn sometimes flying loose, sometimes in a single braid wound with red tape, is jet-black, without lustre, abundant, perfectly straight, strong and coarse as that of a horse’s mane, and without even a tendency to baldness. He is broad- shouldered, with a chest like a barrel, but slender of leg and small of foot. He grows no beard, and has almost no hair on the body. Indians form a very large proportion of the population of Quito,

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199 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, He is never seen without his ruana, or poncho, which serves him as a cloak and carry-all_ by day, and as a bed and covering by night. This is always of some startling crude colour, deep red predominating, with such screaming com- binations as magenta and purple, carmine and yellow, though when sufficiently soiled and sun- bleached, the old rose and velvety brown, the brick red or turquoise blue, take on all the soft richness of Oriental rugs. It is this commonly homespun garment, and the corresponding one of the women, that makes Quito such a colour- splashed city. i The woman wears a beltless blouse of coarse cloth, either open or thin and ragged; sev- eral strips of coloured bayeta (a woolly shoddy) wrapped tightly around her hips from waist to calves in the guise of a skirt, always slit open on one side to show an inner petticoat, and a gaudy blanket, thrown round her shoulders like a shawl. She is completely devoid of feminine charm. She needs none, for she is well worth her keep as a beast of burden. As far as I Imow, there is no law in Quito requiring an Indian woman not to be seen without a babe in arms, or, rather, in shawl; but if one exists, it is seldom violated. In an hour I have seen, by actual count, more than three hundred female aborigines pass my window, and all but about a score of them bore on her back a child of from two weeks to two years of age. In both the half-breed and Indian classes the women are more un- cleanly than the men. Like the latter, they work at all the coarser unskilled tasks—shovelling earth, mixing and carrying mortar, cobbling streets; while in the matter of loading there is nothing under two hundred pounds in weight which, once on their backs, they cannot jog along under at a kind of limping gait that seems tireless. . The chief water-supply of Quito is a constant string of Indians from the fountain opposite the Government palace, with huge red earthen jars sitting on their hips and supported by a thong across the forehead. It is a commonplace to meet an Indian carrying the gaudy image of The Indian women are mere beasts of burden. just the same work as men, and in babies everywhere. some saint larger than himself. Cheap coffins of half-rotten boards, painted sky-blue or pink and decorated with strips of gilded paper, frequently mince past, secured by the brilliant poncho of the carrier, knotted across his chest. The merchant of Quito who The Patient required a carrier to deliver a Indian. bundle does not wait for one to offer himself. He steps into the street and snatches the first Indian who passes, though he be on his way to a dying parent, or preparing his child’s funeral; and the Indian performs the task as uncomplain- ingly as some mechan- ical device, and returns to wait perhaps an hour or two for the few cents the merchant . chooses to give him. The new- comer’s sympathy for the Indian of Quito gradually evaporates with the discovery that he is utterly devoid of ambition, as‘completely indifferent to his own betterment as any four- footed animal. To pass over in silence its uncleanliness would be to give a false picture of Quito. Only its alti- tude saves the city from sudden death. Its per- sonal habits are inde- scribable. The place is surrounded by an iron ring of smells which the susceptible stranger, accustomed to the moderate decencies of life, can pass only in haste and trepidation. The condition of the best kitchen in Quito would arouse a vigorous protest from an Amer- ican ‘“‘hobo.” " Among all the tramps of the United States I have Never seen anyone so filthy as the inhuman creatures that hang around hotel dining- rooms, kicking about the earthen floor the rolls which the waiter a moment later religiously lays before the guest with silver-plated pincers. Yet clients in frock-coats and outwardly immaculate garb are never known to raise a voice in protest. It was on a February morning, after a rest of several months in Quito, that I resumed my tramp southwards. Before me lay a new world. The highway descended into a great distance- blue hoya, one of those saucer-shaped valleys that abound all down Ecuador’s avenue of volcanoes, Occasionally a horseman in shaggy They do addition carry their

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. goatskin trousers stared curiously at me; now and then there passed a file of donkeys under sheet-iron roofs—a cargo of corrugated-iron, the importer of which still preferred this primitive transportation to the more hasty railroad, with its startling freight charges. Here the way followed more of less the route of the great military highway of the Incas. There were two of these; one of the Janos, or low- lands of the coast, and this more famous one along the crest of the cordillera, built during several reigns and finished under Huayna Cc&pac. Near the village of Macachi, twenty-one miles from the capital, I turned aside to the hacienda of a Quiteno PC acquaintance. He was Lf, a boy of eighteen, scion of one of the old “ best families"” of Ecuador, to whom had fallen the ownership and manage- ment of an enormous tract of his little country. Educated in our land, he spoke a slow, pedantic English. Among his equals, he was soft-spoken almost to the point of diffi- dence. But his voice was commanding enough when he gave orders to his mayordomo or escribante, or to any of the hundred Indians who lived clustered about the central ha- cienda house, all of whom addressed him as ‘Su Merced” (Your Grace) and kowtowed as often as he looked at them, as their an- cestors might have done to the Incas. The average wage of the Indian peons was five cents a day, with hwasi-pongo—space for their miserable chosas, in which the only furniture consisted of a few odds-and-ends of home-made pottery and some sheepskins which spread on the earth floor by night, served the family, its guinea-pigs and mangy curs, as bed. The women and children worked for nothing, wages being reckoned by family rather than individually, except that the women who milked the cows were each paid a dollar a month. In reality, the Indians were serfs of the estate. When first hired they were enganchados, ‘‘ hooked’’ by a labour agent, and having spent their “‘ advance ” in a prolonged chicha debauch must often be arrested and forced to carry out their part of the contract, usually remaining for years, if not a lifetime, in debt to the hactendado. Some seventy-five miles south of Quito begins a veritable desert. From a distance the ranges to right and left seem green, yet the ascending “Occasionally a horseman in shaggy goat- skin trousers stared curiously at me. 197 valleys grow so dry and arid that even the scanty scrifp trees svon die of thirst. Ere long I was tramping the cobbled streets of Ambato, the “winter” resort of wealthy Quitenos, a mere eight thousand feet above sea-level. Am- | bato claims the title of ‘‘ Athens of Ecuador"; and, indeed, four of the country’s principal writers have lived and died there, which is more than can be said of the capital. The place of honour in the main plaea, gorgeous with geraniums of every shade of red, is occupied by the statue of Juan Montalvo, commonly rated the country’s chief literary light. At the entrance to Riobamba, the chief city between Quito and the coast, I saw the first Hamas y South American journey. Once an Indian passed driving a llama and an ass hitched together; farther on several of these absurd “Peruvian sheep,” pasturing beyond the cactus hedge, craned their long necks to gaze curiously after me. Times without number I had been assured that not only was the llama never a draught or a milch animal, but that it could never be ridden ; that it would carry exactly a hundred pounds and would irrevocably lie down if another ounce were added, and that it could in no circum- stances be urged beyond a slow, dignified walk. Imagine my sur- prise, then, when suddenly I beheld a llama, bestridden by a full-grown Indian, come down the road at a brisk trot. and watched them fade away in the eucalyptus-lined distance beyond. In the town farther on there was one llama for every two donkeys. Only when the sun was high did I venture across to Ecuador’s metropolis and far-famed death-trap, Guayaquil. Outwardly the low, heat-steaming city looked far cleaner than Quito, but here filth grants no immunity. During three hours we saw the black funeral street-cars pass nine times—and by no means all the population can afford so splendid an exit from the world. Yet here were clectric tramways for the first time since Bogota, large: shops and more ambitious displays than in Quito, and signs of greater commercial activity. The houses were of wood or split bamboo, low and earth- quake-fearing, all the windows with wooden blinds hinged at the top, from behind which peered half the female population, seldom seen in the streets.

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1938 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Next morning the passenger- train lifted us back*to Huigra, where a new experience awaited me. That evening I sat writing in the railroad quarters. Two fellow-country- men were parading the broad second-storey veranda of the light wooden building. The only other sound was the muffled chatter of the stream below. Suddenly the heavy table be- neath my arm began to move as at some spirit- ualist séance, the windows took to rattling as if anxious to escape from their frames, the wall decorations swung backwards and forwards like pendulums, and for what seemed like a long minute the entire building shook as with a fever. I opened my mouth to protest against what I took for a moment to be physical exuberance of the veranda paraders ; but I closed it again as I realized that I bad passed through my first earthquake, and had gone on writing for a line or more before I recognized my good fortune at being in a wooden house. Outside, the strollers had not even interrupted their chat, except to remark, ‘‘ Pretty good one, eh?” Inthe morning the telegraph wire brought word that the instruments of Duran had registered seven ‘ quakes,” and that several adobe houses and a church had fallen in the interior. An experienced gringo had assured me I was now approaching the most impassable region in Ecuador, a place where it rained steadily and heavily every week in the year, where my mules would sink to their My First Earthquake. man, and even at that now and then sprawling on all fours. As to direction, I could only trust to luck. Then I felt water-soaked bunch-grass under foot, and all efforts to find the trail again were wasted. Vaguely I felt that I had come out on the nose of a mountain. Through the rain-drenched night there came faintly to my ears the sound of a waterfall, and from somewhere far off the dismal howling of a dog rode by on the raging wind. The ground under my feet took on the angle of a steep roof; it required stick, hands, and extreme vigilance to keep from pitching headlong down into the bottomless unknown. I felt my way inch by inch several hundred feet downward without finding a level space as large as my hand. In the end I could only sit down on my bundle in the mud, brace my fect against a tuft of bunch- grass, and, piling my most perishable possessions in my lap, button my Ilama-hair poncho over my head, make my supper off a three-inch crust of bread, and settle down to keep my precarious seat until daylight. Dawn showed the lost trail zigzagging in three branches down the face of the mountain. The waterfall lay directly below me, yet so steep was the slope on which I was perched that I had to crawl back again up the trail on all fours and descend with it. Far away across a valley lay what I knew to be the town cf Canar, a mere white speck half-way up the great mountain-side beyond. It is chiefly noted for its outlook upon the world. From a distance, it seemed to hang ears in mud and be left to perish, and where I myself would infallibly die of exposure if my caravan were overtaken by night out on the lofty paramo. I easily forestalled the peril to my mules, and the second I re- solved to avoid by not letting night overtake me. It was not, cer- tainly, an ideal road. There were places where the writhing trail was for miles a series of earth - ridges with deep ditches, often effaced, where it was impossible to keep to the route in the dark. For a time I stumbled along irregular rock- littered ground, full of leg- breaking holes, picking every step ahead with my upright on the ver- tical mountain flank; once arrived, I found it occupied the flat top of one of the countless hillsthat pile higher and higher into the sky, to culminate in a great Andean chain. Here was a land of stone. Evcrywhere, in field and valley, great rocks lay pro- fusely. It is per- haps the existence of stone, rarer to the north, that ac- counts for the pre- sence near Canar of the first ruins of unquestionably Inca origin. Cuenca, the next place I reached, has no fitting excuse for not being one of the richest agricultural cities on earth. Yet its only * “hotels” are dirty = little Indian eating- stick, like a biind The undertaker's boy taking bome a gaily-decorated houses without

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. sleeping accommodation, and the traveller must fall back on the prehistoric system of hunting up a friend’s friend. It is hard for Europeans and Americans, with their wide outlook, and accustomed to the complicated existence of our cities, to realize the narrowness of life in these placid old adobe towns hidden away in the Andes. Virtually cut off from the outside world, the Cuencanos are a peculiarly bookish people. Two things only are 199 Just over the range from Cuenca are to be found the Jivaros, the widely - renowned _head- hunters of the upper Amazon. A proud, untamed race, engaged in almost con- stant warfare with the neighbouring tribes, they consider the white man an equal, and treat him as a friend so long as he does not transgress their strict tribal laws. The Andean Indian, with his slinking air and his heavy clothing, they look The Head- Hunters. necessary to enable one to join the upper caste—a white collar and visiting - cards. The former above a patched suit was more effective thana new hundred -dollar outfit worm with a flannel shirt; and the man who bas his name printed on bits of cardboard, to ex- change with regal courtesy and pro- found bows with every upper-class acquaintance, is instantly accepted as of “ gente decente”’ origin. Indeed, visit- ing-cards should be as fixed a part of every Andean traveller's equipment as heavy boots. In all Cuenca there is only one mean little bookshop, selling religious tracts and translations of American and English “ penny dreadfuls.” The ineffectual eagerness of the “‘ intellectuals ”” to learn was pathetic. The most nearly educated young men of the town had rented a second- storey hall near the main plaza and decorated its facade with huge letters announcing it the “English Language Club.” so of more or less English-speaking residents of the male sex gathered together several evenings a week. Barely was I settled, therefore, when I was hurried off to an evening at the “ English Language Club,” convoked in special session. For an hour I sat like the chief buffoon in a comic-opera ensemble in the centre of a horseshoe circle that included a score of doctors—Cuenca swarms with doctors, home-made and book- trained—the grandsons of Presidents, and sons of Ministers to Washington and the Court of St. James, while the whole gathering, like self- conscious schoolboys, got off a sentence or two in alleged English in regular rotation round the circle, until some shining genius suggested that, as they had so illustrious a guest with them, it was merely a “social evening’ and not a regular meeting ; hence the rule demanding that only English be spoken was not in force. With a veritable explosion of relief the entire club burst into Spanish, and Alfonso was himself again. Here the score or. Past of the “rosd” through Southern Ecuador. down upon as a weakling and a very inferior being. Having dispatched an enemy, the Jivaros cut off the head well down on the shoulders, extract the skull by a vertical cut at the back, sew up this and the lips, and, by the insertion of hot stones and a process only im- perfectly understood by outsiders, reduce the head to the size of an orange, with the original features essentially recognizable. The desiccated head must, according to tribal laws, be kept until after the yearly ceremony to appease the spirit of the dead man, after which it is hung up as a trophy over the entrance to the successful hunter’s house, or—what is far more usual of late years—traded to some passing white man for a rifle or a supply of cartridges. A few years ago a tall, lanky German arrived in Cuenca and went down among the Jivaros to study their customs, and especially to find out exactly how they shrink heads. Month after month passed without a word from him, but the Cuencanos knew the Teuton way of pursuing an investigation step by step in all its details and ramifications, and thought nothing of the pro- longed absence. Then one day, more than a year later, there was offered for sale in the market of Cuenca a splendid specimen of shrunken head, with long blonde hair and beard and a scholarly cast of countenance! The in- vestigation had been thorough ; but the outside _ world still remains in ignorance of the arb of shrinking heads as practised among the Jivaros. At the summit beyond the chaotic chasm into which the world falls away below Ona, the

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200 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. nature of the country changed. From an endless vista of barren and often soilless rocks, the entire land- scape was trans- formed to a heavily- wooded region of hardy undergrowth, somewhat like small bushy oaks, at times almost approaching a forest, a shaggy world rolling away as far as the eye could follow in every direction. I had reached the famous Vale of Za- raguro, the Land of Corn—zara is Qui- chua for maize—and climbed at last into the scattered grass-grown village itself. Ensconced in the great hoyo of Jubones, dividing the Azuay from the province of Loja, Zaraguro is a little world of its own. The great majority of its population is Indian, but a new type of Indian, of darker skin and more inde- pendent manner than those of the north, still humble to the “ gente decente ’’ when facing them singly, but verging on insolence when gathered in groups with chicha at hand. Each man owns a little patch of land and refuses serfdom. His dress is sombre, in marked contrast to the gaudy colours of his Quiteno cousin. In place of the loose white panties, he clothes his leg to the knee with a close-fitting coffee-hued woollen garment, and covers all the rest of his body with a poncho of the same colour. He wears an immensely thick, almost white, felt hat of box-shaped crown, the brim drooping about his face, and his long jet-black hair, instead of being confined in a tape-wound braid, is commonly flying about his head and shoulders. He buys nothing from the outside world—ex- cept masses and indulgences—and shears his own sheep, the wool of which, usually black, his women spin and weave into the heavy cloth that provides the sombre garments of both sexes. Besides supplying its own wants, the valley of The house in Cuenca where the Author stayed. The well-to-do clastes paint outdoor scenes on the Zaraguro exports by way of Puerto Bolivar a little coarse cascarilla bark, the basis of quinine, at about five cents a pound. Loja was once the centre of the commerce in cascarilla, the bark of a tree not unlike the cherry in appearance that abounds in the ravines of the mountains to the eastward of the city. Nearly three centuries ago a missionary in the region found the Indians grinding the bitter bark in their stone mortars and swallowing it as a specific against .ntermittent fevers, as they do to this day. When the wife of the Conde de Chinchon, Viceroy of Peru, lay ill of fever in Lima, the corregidor of Loja sent to her physician a parcel of powdered bark. Upon her return to Europe the countess carried a quantity of the magic powder with her, and in consequence it was for a long time known as chinchona. Mean- while Jesuit missionaries of Brazil had sent parcels of itto Rome, whence it was distributed among the brotherhood, and the name “‘ Jesuits’ bark” became widespread. The tree, however, has always been known to the Indians by the Quichua name of ‘‘ wuina-quina,” and in time the refined product took on its modern name of quinine. The tree in its original habitat has been ruth- lessly treated, being often felled merely to avoid the labour of barking it standing, and to-day, with large chinchona plantations in India, Southern Ecuador has but a frac- Loja, the southernmost city in Ecuador, tion of the income it might have from one of its most valuablé indigenous products. It is typical of Latin- American conditions that a capsule of quinine, reimported from Europe and pay- ing heavy Customs duties, costs four times as much in the chemists’ shops of Loja as it does in the United States. (To be continued.)

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“Ghee LAST VOYAGE H.M.S. “DRAKE” by the Rev? WA.B. Yerhurgh MA.RN ILLUSTRATED BY RALPH CLEAVER Now that the smoke-screen of the censorship has been lifted, this story of the last voyage of the big armoured cruiser Drake can be told. She was getting old and frail, but she worked as hard as any ship during the war, and seemingly bore a charmed life. Her time came at last, however, and a Hun submarine sent her to the bottom, though she died game to the last. Mr. Yerburgh’s story gives one a vivid glimpse of the perils of convoy work and the “price of Admiralty.” @) HE wind had died down, and the sea was smooth, as we steamed towards the Mull ot Kintyre, which loomed up on the port bow in a bluish haze. Away to starboard the green fields of the North Coast of Ireland, with the cliffs of the Giant's Causeway, were beginning to stand out more distinctly in the fresh morning light. It was not the first time by any means that the’ cruiser H.M.S. Drake, of 14.100 tons, had made this passage. Her work for a year and a half had been to carry troops and bullion to and fro across the Atlantic. At one time she had “ put into Plymouth, going south of Ireland, at another she had taken the northern channel, choosing Greenock or Liverpool for her port of call. During these eighteen months from her commission in February, 1916, up to the present time, she had made a dozen or more passages. Her log-book registered eighty thousand miles, and she had orobably done more sea-time than any other ship of the British Fleet. So far, however, she had been fortunate. Ships had been sunk in front of her, behind her, and all around her, in those deadly waters to the north and south of Ircland where the Hun was doing so much damage and where bales of hay, up- turned boats, and other wreckage were passed every day, telling of many a good ship that had gcne down. The feeling of most people on board, I think, was that we bore a charmed life. A few, how- ever, held it to be only a matter of time. Sooner or later Fritz would bag her, like so many others. The old vessel was no longer the crack ship of the Fleet and pride of the Service as in the days of her youth; her bulkheads had worn thin. Had not a stoker put his foot through one of them ? Still, for all that, the Admiralty found her a very useful packet. She was still capable of doing twenty-three knots, and was just the ship to deal with the German raiders that were known to be at large in the Atlantic.

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202 On this particular occasion we were on convoy work. The convoy consisted of food ships, oil tankers, and one ship which we shall meet with later, carrying a cargo of fifteen hundred tons of dynamite and explosives. Some fifteen to twenty vessels had been collected at Newport News, and after careful instructions as to ‘ coding- watch,” “evolutions,” “ formation,” and “ zig- zageging,” we had set sail from Hampton Roads, bearing with us the good wishes of many charming American ladies, who had entertained us most royally. The escorting of food ships is a slow and wearisome business. Unlike the faster and larger troopships, they do not keep good station ; one here and there, occasionally, disappears during the night, and the coding staff is kept busy, especially if there is, as is often the case at Hampton Roads, a dense fog that lasts two or three days. So far, though, the voyage had passed off smoothly. After fourteen days’ slow steaming we had successfully rendezvoused with our destroyers four hundred miles out in the Atlantic, and four of these vessels, with six or seven armed sloops, were now zigzagging in our wake, shepherding the ships laden with the stores and provisions that were so badly needed by the country at this time. Where were we bound for? Was it Greenock, with Helensburgh and Gourock for the country lover and Glasgow for the diner-out ? Or was it Liverpool, with the Adelphi bar calling to the cocktail connoisseur, and Hoylake, Walla- sey, and Formby beckoning to the golfing enthusiast ? Where were we bound for? The curious- minded, when breakfast was over, drifted along to the coding office. There was a ward-room sweepstake on the return journey, and the only three likely names were Greenock, Liverpool, and “the Ditch.’”” The latter is an affectionate term for the bottom of the sea, which had more than a sporting chance of claiming the bet and the stakes. A head came to the window. “Well, Padre! Soon be on the Hoylake links, eh?” But the coding office is bound to strict secrecy, and the officer on watch was not to be drawn, A buzzing of wires had been taking place overhead, and a crackling of sparks from the ““W.T.” room next door. Presently a message was pushed throungh—" from the S.N.O., Bun- crana, sir.” Our orders had come at last! The correct cipher book was taken from the shelf. A hasty decode, and the message read : “HLM.S. Drake is to proceed ahead of convoy at high speed.” The messenger was dispatched at once with the signal to the fore-bridge. From there orders were sent to the engine-room to increase the revolutions, and soon the doctor and paymaster, who had been aroused by the buzz of the wireless and had once more entered the coding office, were calculating the increa:ing speed. The propellers began to thud and chum; a broad, smooth, oily wake like a shiny level path lay behind us in the sun; a wave rose astern and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. followed on either side; and the ship took on an ever quickening speed till ninety-five revo- lutions told us of nineteen knots, or twenty-two miles an hour. The convoy was gradually left behind us as we forged ahead. We were bound for home ! This time we had no destroyers to escort us. It was the only occasion on which we had not had them; probably the convoy needed them badly, and no submarine would be likely, unless exceptionally fortunate, to hit us going at twenty-two miles an hour, and zigzagging at high speed. The zigzag course, I should explain, was a clever device for outwitting Fritz, who had the greatest difficulty in estimating your direction and speed, and was consequently unable to get a bearing to enable him to send an accurate shot home. We were zigzagging now and making for the passage called the North Channel, between the Mull of Kintyre on the Scottish Coast and Rathlin, Ireland. This course would bring us down past Troon, Prestwick, and the Isle of Man to Liverpool. The waters here were a happy hunting-ground for submarines, and scarcely a day passed that ships were not sunk and mines swept up in their channels. We felt, however, that nothing could touch us; we had safely run the gauntlet once again. We were rushing along at nineteen and a half knots, and we set to work to make our plans for leave accordingly. Presently the major of marines blew in. “ Well, Major; shall you be able to persuade the captain to give you a trip to town with the confidential book ? ”” 3 ““T expect Hoylake will see you on the links to-morrow, Padre?” “ Doc., are you going to get your missus up ? ” On all sides there were cheery anticipations of the good time coming ; the sky was blue and the air keen. It was a joy to be alive. Banv! Crash! The air seemed to dance before the cyes, in the way that you may see it rise and shimmer from the baking earth on some hot summer's day. The whole ship shivered and trembled ; objects rocked to and fro and appeared double. Then complete silence—a silence almost eerie in its stillness after the throbbing of the engines and the drive of the propeller shaft and screws. The great ship had been a living, pulsing, vibrating thing, full of life. And then—silence. The only sounds to be heard were the splash of water falling from a height on the quarter-deck and the soft wash of the sea as our way carried us on. “Well, there's no doubt what thatis!" said the paymaster, whose hand had involuntarily gone up to his head to ward off the cipher logs that came tumbling down from the racks above. In with the lead-covered confidential books ! We bundled them into the iron safe, which is fitted with special holes to let the water enter —the safe that must be thrown over the side _ Should there be any danger of the ship falling into the enemy’s hands. Out with the signal pad! The message had always been kept ready coded in the danger-zone. <A_ blank only had been left to enter ‘“ Mined’ or

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THE LAST VOYAGE OF H.MS. “DRAKE.” “ Torpedoed,”” as the case might be. Which was it this time ? Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! The gun on the starboard side roared out and the echoes rever- berated along the crags, as the six-inch projectiles screamed away and plunged into the sea on the starboard quarter. A submarine! There could be no doubt now. Fill in the blank space on the signal pad! Soon the wireless operator was rapping out: “S.0.S. H.M.S. Drake torpedoed ; position latitude oo00 degrees, longitude oo000 degrees ; request immediate assistance.” The message had gone, and the books were 203 made an extremely fine shot. She must have gauged our speed and position correctly and we had been unfortunate enough to zigzag towards her. Apparently the torpedo struck us on the starboard side, in the for’ard coal bunker. Number two engine-room had been blown com- pletely out and was flooded up to the grating. All the nineteen men there had been killed by the explosion. The question to be answered now .was how long the remaining bulkhead, which leaked like a sieve, would hold. The carpenter and his crew were endeavouring to shore it up and a collision mat was being got “*There's no doubt what that is!’ said the peymaster.” in the iron safe, so that it was possible to step outside and obtain some general idea of what was happening. Words of command, among which could be distinguished ‘“ Work main derrick!” and ‘Man the boats!” reached our ears from where, tumbling up on deck, came the members of the ship’s complement of nine hundred souls. From an engineer officer who passed, drenched with water, the perspiration pouring down his face, we obtained a brief summary of what had occurred. We had been torpedoed. The submarine had over the side to cover the hole as far as possible, In the meantime the ship had taken on an enormous list to starboard and seemed to be rapidly settling down. The main derrick, fortunately for us, had refused to work. Had the weight of the picket boat and steam pinnace been removed from the port side, there can be little doubt that we should have turned over at once. As a matter of fact, owing to the angle of the davits, no boats could be lowered at all. The only thing that remained to be done, therc- fore, was to get together the rafts and Carlev floats and make up our mind on which side it

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204 was best to go into the water when the final plunge came, trusting to be able to keep afloat until the destroyers arrived on the scene in answer to our S.O.S. Away in the distance behind us the convoy appeared to be making for the narrow passage between Rathlin Island and the Irish shore, while on the Scottish side a strange wake caused by some tide-race was sending the waters rippling over one another like some miniature river bore ; this for a moment we took to be the wake of the submarine. A step outside and down the ladder brought us to the quarter-deck, where men were standing about in little groups. Everybody was quite calm; there was no excitement. Indeed, it was rather a relief to chatf one another and exchange views with members of the concert party as to the prospects of giving another concert on board. Most of the men seemed to regard the affair in a sporting spirit. “It was a fine shot, sir!’ ‘ Anyhow, it is fair this time ; there are no women and children on board!” “ Where is she now ?”” We were not to be left long in doubt. ‘ Look out! Torpedo coming!’ sang out a voice. “Lie down !” called another, who had evidently been in the trenches, and did not realize that a shell coming from above is one thing, and the splinters from a torpedo that explodes below quite another. Bang! An ear-splitting crack, a flash of flame above our heads, and the after twelve-pounders opened fire. Bang! Bang! The quarter-deck was no place for us, and we retired to the bridge and took our stand behind the gun. The torpedo must have missed. Some said it passed under- neath us, but astern. There could be no doubt about it ; a small black knob moved along the surface. It was the periscope ot the submarine | Bang! Bang! A shell passed over it, another fell short, and it disappeared for a moment, to appear again farther off. As is usual at such times, the most unlikely men came to the fore, and now took charge of the two twelve-pounder guns, which they loaded and fired as fast as a column of boys could bring ammunition along the gangway from the fore-bridge. The fore-bridge was always rather supercilious on such occasions. The officer on watch had veen the torpedo coming just before it reached the ship: it had been fired at such close range that it had been impossible to avoid it, but no submarine or periscope, he vowed, had broken the surface. The fore-bridge. therefore, was inclined to say afterwards that we on the att- bridge had seen no periscope either, but the fact ins that for fifteen minutes some twenty of us watched most excellent shooting at a small moving round object until one shell seemed to pitch right on it, when it disappeared. Men on the quarter-deck, too, saw at least two torpedoes pass underneath the ship. The writer is fully convinced that one of the chief reasons for a second shot failing to get home was the fine shooting of the seamen and marines who manned those two twelve-pounders. Had another torpedo struck us it is probable that this story THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, would not have been written, for the Drake carricd enough shell ammunition to blow up a great part of London, to say nothing of mines and- depth charges, while besides the large magazines for the 92 and six-inch guns there were long ammunition passages filled with shells that ran the whole length of each side of the ship. We could not expect a second torpedo to strike us in a bunker full of coal as the first had done. Back in the coding office, the staff, with the help of the major of marines, were making the most of it. That resourceful soldier had con- trived to unearth a tin of pressed beef and a bottle of whisky. In the absence of a corkscrew he had knocked the neck off the bottle and was dispensing refreshment to all and sundry who passed by. The party was quite a cheerful one, and the situation was being reviewed. Ap- parently there was a chance of our being taken off or picked up; for astern of us a destroyer was racing up from the direction of the convoy, while ahead, two mile: off, four more destroyers, with the white bow-waves foaming before them, were rushing to cur rescue at full speed. Once they were with us there would be a chance. It was to be a race agairst time. Would Fritz get another shot in before they came up, or would they arrive first ? Would the old ship hold or would she turn turtle, as she seemed inclined to do? The answer to these questions can only be given by those down below. What was hap- pening in the stokchold and the engine-room ? Let us turn to them and see. Immediately the torpedo struck the ship, number two boiler-room was blown out. The nineteen men at work there must have been killed immediately by the explosion, for the room was at once filled with water up to the grating. The bulkheal between this boiler-room and the next one was bulging so badly that at any moment it might give way. When this happened the old ship was bound to plunge to the bottom im- mediately. Just picture the condition of these men in the stokehold, in pitch darkness, not knowing what was occurring. and caught like rats in a trap if the ship went down. The same condition of affairs existed also in the engine-room. The engines of the Drake were the largest of their kind in the world. A visit to them a moment before the disaster would have shown you the vast piston-rods working up and down at express speed, great blocks of metal heaving over and over and round and round, the whole place a whir of revolving machinery and hissing steam. And then, suddenly—Crash | Everything had stopped at once. It was bad enough on deck, but what it must have been down there, to the men walking about amidst the machinery, Heaven only knows. Yet not a man made for the gangway to get on deck. If there had been a stampede, every officer carried a revolver and anyone who tried to leave would have been promptly shot. But there was never a thought of leaving; there was only an eagerness to volunteer and help. The steam had fallen to fifty pounds pressure, for one boiler-room was completely useless. The only thing to be done

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205 “ DRAKE.” THE LAST VOYAGE OF HLM. “They loaded and fired as fast as a column of boys could bring ammunition.”

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206 was to try to raise it again in the others. Up to their waists in water, the carpenter and his crew Were working at the damaged bulkhead, while volunteers were called for to get the highest pressure of steam possible from the undamaged boilers. They volunteered to a man, until slowly the pressure began to rise again, the engines moved once more, and the stricken ship slowly forged ahead. It was a curious semi- circular course, for the steering gear was damaged and could not be worked, but it was a course for all that, and as such held out to us a chance of making Jand. Immediately after the explosion occurred the engineer commander went down to see the extent of the damage. He greeted his staff with: ‘‘ Well, old birds, how is it all going ? What ?”’ On his arrival he held a consultation and ascertained the true extent of the damage, and the engineer lieutenant was instructed to report to the captain, who had sent for him on the fore-bridge, that, provided the bulkhead held, way could be once more got on the ship. The engineer lieutenant went on to say that all the men below were ready to “ stick it should it be decided to try to work the vessel in, On receipt of this report, the captain decided to make for Rath!in Island, for by this time enough steam had been raised to produce five or six knots; and though the ship was not under control, yet by the aid of the hand steering gear some sort of course, in enormous semi- circutar curves, could be set towards the land. The first ing destroyer had also arrived and was describing a circle round us, emitting thick volumes of smoke to produce a screen. The others were coming rapidly up, and would soon be dashing round and round with the white and black clouds of oily smoke belching from their funnels. The distance to the land could not have been more than seven or eight miles, but the course that we were compelled to steer, first to this side and then to that, owing to our damaged steering gear, took some four hours—-hours that seemcd like a lifetime. The list was developing so that it was difficult even to walk along the deck and to keep your feet. The gun-room was already flooded, and the engineers and stokers, soaked to the skin, were working up to their waists in water. The collision mat had been placed over the large rent in our side, but cach time that we turned to starboard the pressure of water increased and the bulkhead bulged. Those down below knew that if once it gave way there would be a sudden final plunge and no possibility of escape. Yet they stuck manfully to their work down there in the dark, as so many others have done on similar occasions, determined to save their ship and their messmates. In the meantime, what was happening to the convoy ? I have said that it had been left a long way astern. And now, as soon as it had realized that all was not well with us, it was making for the inner passage between Rathlin Island and the Irish shore. No doubt it hoped to avoid the mysterious ‘something’ that lurked happening in the larger passage between Rathlin Island and the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Scottish Coast. However, it was not to escape so easily; Fritz had been at work there. Probably he had known of our arrivat long ago ; at any rate, he had mined the channel, and two minutes later one of the big merchant ships strick a mine and went to the bottom. The others, while small row-boats and coracles from the shore were picking up the survivors of the crew, came through safely. They crossed well ahead of our bow, with the exception of a ship called the Mendip Range, which, in some strange fashion, steered straight for us. What precisely happened we do not know. Apparently her captain had not realized that we were com- pletely out of control. At any rate, there she was right in front of us, and a collision was inevitable. She was carrying fifteen hundred tons of dynamite, and as the slightest shock to us, with our enormous list, would put the finishing touch to the Hun’s work the prospect was not a pleasant one. But there was nothing to be done. On she came, fairly across our bow. One moment’s tension; then the Drakes ram drove into her side. For a minute the two ships remained locked ; then they drifted apart again. The Merdip Range made forthe beach and sank. Two ships down and one crippled—not a bad morning’s work for the Hun! But there was more to come yet. A glance at the map will show you that Rathlin Island possesses a sandy opening called ‘‘ Church Bay,” with a gently sloping shore. Into this bay Captain Radcliffe decided to steer the crippled Drake. And in we went accordingly, followed by the destroyers and two sloops. Its waters looked calm and inviting. The gorse bloomed yellow on the hills a quarter of a mile away. We could either anchor or run the ship ashore, and most of us thought we could manage to swim to the beach should she turn over. Already we were con- gratulating ourselves, when there came a puff of smoke, a thrashing of the water, a muffled report, and there was a destroyer blown clean in half! The fo’c’sle floated one way and the stern went off in another, for all the world like a wasp that has been cut in two, but still struggles up the window-pane. What was it? Had the submarine followed us in? And would she get us yet? Off went the other destroyers, while the sloops drew closer to us to ward off the threatening danger. The enemy had done his work well. Not content with mining Rathlin Channel, he had also mined the bay. How we had drifted over the minefield, and escaped, passes comprehension. But in one brief moment thirty men on the deck of that destroyer had passed to their account. Two ships and one destroyer accounted for, and it was now apparent that we, too, could not last. The list was increasing more and more, so that it had become difficult to stand on deck at all. Biscuits and bully beef and cigarettes were accordingly handed out to the crew, and the safes for the confidential books were got up from below. Various people fetched from those cabins that were not flooded any small treasures that they valued. The engineer lieutenant fetched his fishing rods. The chaplain selected

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THE LAST VOYAGE OF H.M.S. “DRAKE.” = 207 “The gallant old Drake turned over and sank.” a book of ten years’ sermon notes in preference to his golf clubs. “Most people secured their photographs. The corporal of the ward-room servants had dived below and fetched up the ward-room gramophone, and now he showed his sense of humour by putting on the record: “When you come to the end of a perfect day.” It was suggested that as a reward for his enterprise, should he salve the instrument, he should consider it his own. He promptly dived below again and fetched the other fifty records. Tt was now only a question of a few minutes, for it was apparent to everybody that the ship was sinking rapidly. The captain gave the signal to one of the sloops to come alongside. First the sick were Jifted across, and then some four huncired men went aboard her. Two hundred mmore were taken off by, a destroyer, and, at thee end, just before we sank, the decks were cleared and the second sloop took the rest of us on board. The captain, as is usual, was the last to leave the ship. For a moment we stood by to watch the end. It was not long in coming. Slowly the list increased and the water came creeping up; slowly the masts and funnels went bending down, and the bilge keel showed more and more clearly. At last, with a final odo rattle, as guns and fittings came crashing across her deck, the gallant old Drake turned over and sank, a few feet of her keel lying just awash. It was a sad sight. There’ was none of us who did not feel it keenly. It was almost as if one watched a friend passing, for you grow attached to a ship when you have lived a long time in her. There had been many discomforts and hard times on board, many weary and monotonous days during her eighteen months’ commission. But there had also been many good times, and we only thought of them now. We had grown to know one another better than our own brothers. And now the home where we had lived together was gone, bearing with it those who, cut off in the full vigour of life, would return no more. We who had becn spared would soon be dis- persed to the different quarters of the earth, possibly never to meet, certainly never to serve together again. There is little more to tell. Some of the crew were taken to Glasgow, some to Dublin; others of us, including the writer, went by sea to Buncrana, and from there on to Londonderry, where we experienced the proverbial Irish hospitality, and officers and men were fitted out by the Seamen’s Mission with fresh clothes.

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The rts Upp Some cynic once said that women have no sense of humour. This most amus- ing narrative conclusively proves the contrary, for without a sense of humour the Authoress would never have survived her manifold misadventures or been able to set them down 50 viva- ciously. Evidently, to judge from this story, it is not en- tirely a bed of roses to be memOLLY, MOLLY! Have you the very faintest notion of how re- markably and appallingly plain you really are?” i I reached Dick's room in double- quick time. Such a query from a husband of only three months’ standing called for immediate action. “ You remarked ? ” I asked, coldly. “ Plain?” went on a muffled voice—“ Not That is hardly the word. Hideously and re- pulsively ugly is the only adequate description | Love must be blind, for a camera cannot lie 1” ‘Then I understood. Dick was evidently developing our honeymoon photos ! I had opened my lips to tell him exactly what I thaught, when the chuckling laugh of the Best Friend caught my ear. This was his first visit, and I had determined to make a good impression. “ If you are trying to be funny——” I began, politely. “ Funny ?” echoed my husband. “ It’s screams ing! Absolutely screaming! Wait a moment until I tone you down!” “You need it, Mrs. Dick! You need it!” chuckled the other man. ‘“‘ Oh, it’s great 1” Undecided whether to adopt the hurt or the dignified pose, I decided on the latter. Crying is so unbecoming. “Tam going to my room,” I said, stalking grimly towards the door. “Oh, no, you’re not, sweetheart 1 Wait just a moment !”’ and the dark-room door flew open, and two blinking, hypo-stained creatures stag- gered out, carrying huge porcelain trays. “Come and see 1” Curiosity overcame wrath. I looked; then I sat down heavily and’ said all those things which were in my heart respecting the devoted Uncle who had presented the Naturalist with -ixty-pound photographic outfit as a wedding ait. By “°M.B.B.” MLUSTRATED BY? LR. BRIGHTWELL L the wife of a scientist and accompany him to the wild places of the earth in search of specimens. All sorts of odd experiences are divert- ingly described by the writer, and we can promise our readers many achuckle. In this instalment the Authoress “ sets forth the disasters that befell when the young couple first set up house- keeping. “The least, the very least you can do, Dick,” I said, “is to destroy that camera, root and branch, legs and lenses! I shall begin now!” With that I laid savage hands on the author of the outrage and tore it from its leather case. Dick upset the pan of hypo over the table as he sprang towards me, and we closed in fearful combat. He won, and standing triumphant on the back of the sofa, with his precious camera clasped tightly to his breast, spoke to me sorrow- fully of the evil of my ways. The Best Friend lay helpless in the nearest chair, and’ F wistied ‘I . could slay him for his untimely, mirth. * ‘Alto- gether, it was a horrid scene. “Tam astonished at you, Molly!” said the Naturalist, trying to look dignified while balancing himself on a jumpy spring. “What’s the good of the wretched thing ?” I demanded, furiously. “If it can’t take a decent photo, what are you going to use it for?” “ It’s a magnificent camera!’ he retorted. “ Perfectly magnificent ! Look at those photos of terns, and that one of a humming-bird’s nest ; and as for that one of the Japanese deer, it’s—it’s unique.” I examined the said productions, and Dick descended from his perilous position. “What lovely things they must be—really,” I said, cuttingly. “What do you mean? They ave lovely.” “If the originals are as much an improvement on these as I am on that,” I replied, “ they must almost be worth photographing!” “How can you be so foolish, Molly?” ejaculated my loving husband, coming nearer and speaking very seriously. ‘Of course, when taking anything really valuable or beauti- ful——”’_ But here a how! from the Best Friend illuminated even the Naturalist as to the tact- lessness of his remark. Once more I nearly said what I thought, but happily stopped in time, and contented myself with leaving the room in high dudgeon.

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. 209 All of which shows the futility of trying to be nice to one’s husband’s bachelor friends, for I had tried in every way to be nice to Bob. Dick says he doesn’t see the point, but I’m sure all newly-married wives will agree with me. Not that Bob was the greatest trial of my married life. I have so many I hardly know which takes pre-eminence. Dick, I suppose ! And yet on reflection it seems to me that the only desirable thing about the profession of a Naturalist’s Wife is the Naturalist himself ! Certainly one of my first trials was the Best Friend! Next in order, I think, came my house. S) Most newly-married wives will own up to the little weakness of being “ house-proud.”” I was, for I had been brought up to believe that the care of the house was one of the primary joys and duties of the mistress of the establish- ment, and by her success or failure in household matters, she established her claim to be held in high honour and reverence by all other model wives, or to deserve unending condemnation as an incompetent failure. But now I can confidently affirm that this is not so. The harmony in browns and greens, and the old-world beauty of the dining-room in our newly-furnished home, touched even the heart of the Naturalist when I dragged him in triumph to admire the finishing touches. The walls were panelled with oak, the carpet was a lovely red and golden brown, the furniture oak and green morocco, the curtains heavy tapestry, and in the dark corncr a magnificent Japanese screen of solid gold embroidery—one of our honey- moon spoils—added the necessary touch of light. ee Ripping!" said Dick. ‘‘ What a_ jolly room itis. I think you are most awfully clever, sweetheart 1" I beamed, for I had thought so, too. “It is so sunny, too, and so bright. Don’t you think the would do well here?” “The parrots,”” I must explain, are three evil spirits in green and gold and red feathers, brought by the Naturalist from a far- distant isle, and very dear unto his soul. They are very rare, and very precious, also very evil in rots!”’ Texclaimed. “ All three? Not Pops! He always gets out!” “Oh; that’s easily managed,” was the gay Oh, Dick! reply. ‘‘ And, besides—I don’t think he would really do any harm if he did. He’s not vicious.”” “Why not put them in the hall?” “Much too dranghty.” “Then why not leave them where they are, in the kitchen?” “The changes of temperature are too great” “Then put them in the aviaries, with the other birds !”” «Think, child, think! too cold.” There was a little more conversation, but eventually the creatures were brought in and installed on a table in the corner. That evening at dinner I fairly gloated over my dining-room. It really looked charming by candle-light, and I could honestly call it a complete success. “Quite a triumph,’’ agreed my husband. “Good heavens! What on earth is that!” As a rule I make a point of remonstrating with Dick whenever he mixes up his exclama tions, but this was no moment for being collected. The air rang with wild and unearthly yells and shrieks, and until I realized that they all emanated from one small table in the dim corner, I was paralyzed with fright My Phyllis flew at the fiends and fed them with bananas, sugar. potatoes—everything she could get hold of. But it was useless. “Cover them up!’’ cried Dick, and they yelled the louder. With horrid words he seized their cages and shook them until I feared for their necks, but their cries only rose shriller and shriller. “You shall stop!’ he shouted, and laying violent hands on the soda water siphon he waited untd “ Pops ’ opened his mouth to its widest extent; then he squirted the cooling dose straight into it. It would be much It stopped them. But alas! It was at the expense of two of my new green morocca chairs, the spots from the soda- water giving them the appearance of diseased green apples | At breakfast the next morm- temper and dis- ing there were Position! | faint squeak. “The pare “He aquirted the cooling dose straight into it. ings, but the Vol. xliv.—15,

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THE WIDE 210 in “ He was caimly tating to bits a length of velvet,” sight of the siphon had a magical effect. The meal finished, 1 dutifully went about my housc- keeping duties, at once the joy and anxiety of my life. Suddenly I heard a piercing cry from my usually model housemaid. “Madam, madam! Come quick! On!” Cook and I tore to the dining-room—the joy of my heart—and there (think of it, you hotse- proud women), there sat Pops, out of his cag on the top of my glorious Japanese screen, from which he was calmly biting to bits a length of velvet, the remnants of which waved in ribbons on the breeze. I gasped ; then I flew for the Naturalist and marched him in in speechless wrath. “Why don’t you catch it?” said he, and, grabbing my new table-cloth, made a dash for the bird. Pops gave a contemptuous screech and flew for the mantelpiece, knocked down a precious old tea-pot, and settled on the clock. “Pops! Pops!” called the Naturalist, lov- ingly. ‘‘ Come along! Come along!” “Pretty Polly!’ shrieked the demon, and flew straight for the fire. With a wild yell I threw myself in front of it, and held out my skirts to save the little wretch from a fiery grave! I felt Pops’s claws in my ankles, and at the same moment my loving husband seized the hearthrug, and before I realized What was happening, enveloped both me and the struggling, swearing bird in its folds. “Your dress was on fire!’ he gasped. When we had somewhat regained our scaticred senses, I sat and regarded the wreckage with dismay and black anger in my housewifely heart; then, secing the sorrow and grief written on the face of the Naturalist, I choked back my tears, and refrained from saying all those things that rose to my lips. Oh! Oh! WORLD MAGAZINE. “Never mind, darling,” I said, bravely, ‘it can soon be made all right again.”’ “ That all depends on whether he has swallowed any of the gold thread,’’ he replied, anxiously. “‘ T do hope he hasn’t, it would make him so very a * * . * s Even after this I retained a little house-pride. My pretty dining-room was still very charming, in spite of all it had gone through. True, the screen was patched, and the chairs were not all that they might have been, but still the whole effect was quite good enough to make me wish to instil jealousy and envy into the hearts of my neighbours and friends. “I think I shall give a dinner-party, Dick,’ I announced. “ Good notion !”’ said he. I sent out my invitations, and when the eventful day arrived busied myself during the morning with the flowers for the table. “Give the hall a special wash and clean-up,” LT enjoined Phyllis; ‘‘ nothing looks worse than a neglected hall.” She scrubbed and polished and made it like a new pin, and I smiled contentedly as I went through after luncheon. It had rained all the morning but had cleared now, and I resolved to pay some calls. I did so, returning at tea-time. Phyllis threw open the door with the air of a tragedy queen, and stood silent and motionless as I entered. I stood aghast ! There was mud everywhere! The footprints of big dogs, small dogs, and middle-sized dogs were in every corner! My pretty hall was a horrible sight. “ Phyllis 1!’ I gasped, ‘‘ what has happened ? ” “The master has come in,’’ she replied, slowly, and then in a rush she added, “ and is having tea in the dining-room |” “The dining-room ?” I faltered. “ Why did you take it thers?” “My loving husbaod s-ized the heathrug and enveloped both me and tht struggling, swearing bird in its folds.”

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HE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S “Those were “my orders, madam,” was the reply. “ Mr. Stones is here.”” Mr. Stones is eighty and rheumatic, and the. library stairs are an impossibility for him. I opened the dining-room door, and bcheld my luving husband doing the honours most blissfully, while on my beautiful new carpet lay four of the muddiest dogs I have ever seen. I greeted Mr. Stones coldly. | “We had tea in here instead of the drawing- room because of the dogs,’’ said Dick, geni- ally. When Mr. Stones had gone, I spoke to my husband, calmly —I am sure it was calmly—but very de- cidedly. He took it badly. “Tam sorry if you are annoyed, of course,” he said, “but after all, the servants can wash the hall clean again, and surely we can do as we like in our ewn house? And if our carpets are too good for the dogs, the sooner they are shabby the better!” He shut the door quite sharply as he went into his dark-room. The dark-room leads out of his library, and is over the dining-room, and while Phyllis and I endeavoured to remove the mud-stains from the carpet, I heard him stumping about over-head. He stayed in there until it was time to dress for dinner, and so forgot to go down to the cellar for the wines. While he hunted frantically for his only sharp razor, therefore, I descended to the depths, and if there is anything in this world I really loathe, it is a dark and gloomy cellar ! Consequently I was not at my best when my guests arrived. They came frightfully punc- tually, and Dick was shockingly late, as the bird-keeper came in at the last moment to say that a bird was ill. When I explain that birds, and anything to do with birds, are the dominant note in the Naturalist’s life, it will be easily understood that dinner, guests, and everything else had to wait patiently until the sick Bird was seen to! I will give Dick credit for not being long, but when he returned he smelt distinctly of the fish he had been coaxing the invalid to eat. When I afterwards taxed him with it he vowed that he had washed his hands well, but fish smell has a most insidious way of obtruding itself. However, we began dinner at last, and every- thing went swimmingly. My guests were charmed, or said they were ; my room looked swect ; the dinner was good, and I was quite proud of it all and pleased with myself. Siddenly the nice man on my left started and looked round ; then he clapped his hand to his collar. WIFE. 21r “‘T could have swom someone dropped some- thing down my neck!" he said. “Your collar-stud, perhaps ?”’ I suggested, politely. “No,” he said. “Ah! there itis again! What can it be ?’’ He looked up; then dabbed at his cheek with his handkerchief. “Mrs. Dick!” he cried,‘ your leaking!" | T looked up. My new ceiling, just papered, was the most terrible sight a young and haughty house- wife has ever had to face! It was the most horrid conglomeration of all the most sickly colours that can be imagined! Brown and blue and bilious greens just tumbled over themselves in horrid forms. “ Dick!” I cried. “The dark - room tap!" he ejaculated, and without a word of apology tore upstairs. I did the only thing possible, and laughed until I cried. “T'm awfully sorry,” I said to my guests, “but we must just shift the table.” “Oh, Molly, how dreadful for you, and such a pretty room!”’ they cried. ‘ Your ceiling is quite ruined |” Well, we shifted the table, and Phyllis put basins and baths and towels about to catch the drops, but after that night there was no reason at all why the dogs should not be as muddy ag they liked, for the ‘‘ chemical ’’ water took every bit of colour out wherever it touched the carpet. “Tam awfully sorry, I really am,” said the Naturalist, as he carefully wiped his ‘‘ chemical ” hands on my best hemstitched towel. “I can’t think how I forgot the tap. I am most unlucky!" Next day I went to stay with mother for a few days. On my return I was met by my husband with a look on his face which I knew foretold trouble. “Molly !’’ he said, “‘ I must ask you to give Phyllis notice at once !”’ “ Phyllis ?’’ I said, in dismay. Dick? What has happened ?” “ She does not like the dogs |” Thinking of the state of the house on a rainy day, I did not wonder ! “Well, really, Dick dear,” I ventured, “ it seems rather unreasonable to ask me to dismiss an otherwise perfect servant simply because she does not love the dogs !”” F “IT shouldn’t mind a bit about the loving,” said the husband, decidedly, ‘ but she hears them whining, even barking, outside the doors, and pays absolutely no attention !” Here I am afraid I lost patience. “Really, Dick!’? I said, “you are too absurd! Phyllis is not nursemaia to the dogs! roof’s “ But why,

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212 She has her own work to do, and cannot be running about and waiting on them all day!” For answer he marched me round to every door of the house. My beautiful doors! The doors I had just paid the decorator an appalling bill for painting and varnishing so smooth and clean! The doors I had even visited each morning with a silk handkerchief to remove any stray and defiling mark! Think of it! Every one was mot merely scratched, but Jacerated, with cruel dents and long white markings where the wicked claws had torn my dainty paint off and left ugly jagged scars. I talked awhile ; bravely. “The mischief is done now,” I said, “and I do not see that we need add to it by dismissing Phyllis.” “Evidently, she is not fond of animals,” replied the Naturalist, ‘‘ and, besides, Thompkins does not like her.’ Thompkins, I should explain, is the bird- keeper. I stared in open-eyed amazement. “‘ What on earth does that matter ?"” I ejacu- lated. “She is cheeky to him,” Dick Went on, “ and he says he will not stand it ; either she goes or he!” “Then he had better go quickly,” I said, decidedly. “There you are—so foolish!” sighed the Naturalist. ‘I shall never get anyone to look after the birds as Thompkins does. He has been with me eight years and knows how to look after them better than I do myself. He is invaluable.” “ And he knows it!” I retorted. “ And in addition he is a drunken, impertinent, lazy old swindler!" “‘T know that,” agreed Dick, ‘‘ But he never neglects his birds.” “‘ And do we live here for the sake of the birds, or do we keep them for our pleasure ?” “‘ We keep them for scientific study,” he replied, “‘ and certainly we live here for the sake of the birds! Why else do you sup- pose we live in the country?” Poor Phyllis left. then I faced the situation The day after she left Cook came to me with a face like a thunder-cloud. “May Task you to speak to Mr. Thomp- kins, ma’am ?” she said. ‘‘ He sends in the boy to take my pie- dishes and basins for the birds, and ’e never sends them back! And ‘then 'e takes the knives to cut up the fish, and now ’e ‘ave sent for my wash-pails !"’ “You should “Thompkins is the bird-keeper.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, not let kitchen things go outside the kitchen, Cook,’’ I said, severely. “T did say ’e shouldn't ‘ave them, ma’am, and ’e swore something awful, and it’s not what I’m accustomed to, ma’am, and I think I better leave on this day month |” “‘Oh, nonsense, Cook !’’ I returned. speak to Thompkins.”’ I spoke! Also I journeyed to the nearest town and returned laden with pots and pails and knives and pans enough to last the birds for several years to come. After dinner that night my new hand-maiden appeared at the drawing-room door with white cheeks and staring eyes. Could she speak to the master at once ! Dick went, and I followed, trembling. “It's Thompkins, sir! He's ‘orrid drunk, and Cook says will you please turn ’im out 1” We flew to the kitchen. There stood Thomp- kins, flushed and fiery. Cook sobbed in the corner. “You're naught but a waster and a mischief- maker ! ’ stormed Thompkins. “‘Thompkins, leave the house!” said Dick. “*Aven't I bin with you now these eight years come Christmas and never a word between us, sir? And this ’ere woman comes and maksa trouble just to put trade in the way of ’er cousin ! Didn’t she tell you to go to Jones for the pans, ma’am? Of course, and ‘e ’er second cousin, and my poor brother got 'is business just across the way! I tell a *“ Leave the house, Thompkins |!” “ Eight years, winter and summer, I’ve bin with you, sir, and never while I live will I see you cheated and put upon! I] ike you; I do, sir! And when I see anything wrong——” Bat Dick had closed the door in his face and locked it. Cook left. The fiend who took her place stayed two days; then I paid her a month’s wages to go. Otherwise we should have died, for her cooking was the most awful experience I have ever been through. “Though, I must say, Dick,” I remarked as I rescued my pet Worcester saucer from the can- aries’ cage, “I think you are to blame for all this, for if you only dismiss Thomp- kins——” “T will

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i THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE, “And who would look after the birds?” “ Certainly queried my exasperated husband. not you, my darling, for even now I see you robbing the canaries of their bath!” “I will give them another,”’ I replied, coldly. “ But, Dick, what is this awful smell?” “What a particular nose you said, nervously. ‘‘ I—I don’t smell anyth “Dick! You must! What is We were in his library. I Under the sofa I found it ! It was a bath, and in it were four of the have!” he ha it?” about peered dirtiest, most evil-smelling birds I have ever come across ! “Dick!” Then the Naturalist arose in his wrath, “This is my own room, Molly, and I will keep what Tlike in it!” “ But you can’t like these, Dick!” f “ Well, I do!” looking at me, darkly. ‘I like all kinds of strange things |’ “Oh, but not these, Dick!" I wailed. “ Must they smell so? Can’t you fumigate them or carbolic them or something ? ” “No, I’m afraid they must smell a little. They are Japanese herons, and live on fish; they are very rare and very delicate.” Again I went to stay with mother. On my return I brought her back with me, and poured out all my woes for her comfort and advice. “Look, mother!’ I cried. ‘‘ Look at these rents and tin-tack holes in my best linen sheets ! These have been used for a magic-lantern screen to show some horrid microbe slides! Look at this wreck of a pretty cake-stand! That was Pops on the rampage. And look at this horrid thing creeping down the stairs—an escaped snake! Behold the four filthy dogs in the clean hall! Observe the faces of my three new domestics, all of whom are leaving because Thompkins swears so. Weep with me over my new table-cloths with a hole in each corner where Dick’s tame mice made their nests.”’ “Mice ?’’ gasped my poor mother. ‘‘ Does Dick keep mice?” “ For experiments |!’ I replied, sadly. ‘‘ When I was with you last a pair escaped and chose the pile of table-cloths for their nest! They ate through ten folds before they were found !’’ “ But, my dear child——” ““And this is not all! Look also at- rf But here I broke off with a shriek of horror, and cold perspiration stood out on my brow! From under the library door streamed a horrid, sticky-looking river of deep dark red ! Blood ! Had Dick found a wife and a mother-in-law too much for his sensitive nature ! An agony of repentance for my former com- plainings swept over me. He should keep ducks in the drawing-room if he wished ! “It was a bath, and 213 I burst open the door—and found the Natural- ist cutting the pinions of a merganser ! “Dick! Dick!” I cried, ‘‘ I thought you were dead |" He straightened his cye-glasses. in it were four of the ugliest birds I have ever come across." ““The basin seems to have upset,” he said. “Tam terribly sorry, Molly. Don’t you think it had better be wiped up?” Mother left. * * s s e When a Naturalist’s wife wanders into far lands with her lord and master, there are a few things she must learn to do which are absolutely essential if she wishes to lead a happy and contented life. In the first place she must learn to shoot, to career madly after butterflies in the torrid heat, to skin animals and birds, to like the smell of naphthaline and spirits, and to love nursing animals and birds in her bedroom! She must be able, also, to smile kindly at the forcible and rude remarks of irate hotel-keepers, and in ad- dition must have no nose, no sensibilities, no self-respect, and no pride. She must not know the meaning of a nerve, but must learn to love the unexpected ; she must put up with disgrace and discomfort ; and when she has done all these things she must expect to be looked upon as a poor fool, if not an absolute lunatic, by all her loving friends and relations ! An example of the necessity for all these virtues occurred some years ago when we were investigating China. In the intervals between hair-breadth escapes from destruction, and palpitating excitements over the capture of some weird bird, beast, or insect, the Naturalist and I had a serious difference of opinion over the relative virtues of the Japanese and Chinese nations. As individuals, I adored the Japanese, but the very sight of a Chinaman, for some reason, filled me with wild and unreasoning terror. “It’s so silly, Molly,’’ argued the Naturalist when I refused to venture alone into the streets

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214 of a Chinese city, ‘‘ It’s as safe as—as Piccadilly ! Far safer than Soho !’’ “‘ Maybe,” I replied, “ but it’s safer still, is the calm repose of this little room, though even here I do not feel exactly happy!” Never shall I forget the humiliating experience I went through one evening in Shanghai. Thad been writing letters in the public drawing- room of the hotel until fairly late, and when I went upstairs to bed I found that most of the lights in the corridor had been turned out. I reached my room fairly trembling. “Dick!” I said, “(I smelt a Chinaman is every corner !’’ “That’s a very good instance of your foolish- ness,’’ he growled from beneath the mosquito “Am escaped snake ! curtains, ‘Chinamen don’t smell, and even if they did a “Oh, bother !’’ I interrupted, “ I’ve left my silver inkpot downstairs |’ “Then you had better go and get it, or it will be gone in the morning !’’ I peered out. The corridor was dim and empty; a single light burnt low in the corner. I gathered up my skirts and prepared to make the plunge. I ran down the corridor, round the corner, down three steps, turned sharp to the right, and—Heavens! I went “‘ plop ’’ over some horrid object lying on the floor ! I fell heavily and with emphasis on something warm and living. Horrid words I did not understand flew round me. I rose to my knees, and the wobbly mass on which I knelt departed, sending me sprawling once more! Iclutched wildly at the first thing handy, and my hand closed over a human face ! Then I yelled. There was a sound of scurrying footsteps ; then a door opened near, and the light streamed out, revealing me, a dishevelled heap, sitting on @ most unuttcrably filthy mattress ! THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The occupant of the room, a clean-shaven young American, took in the situation at a glance. “Guess you've sort of collided with the Chinese helps!’ said he. ‘‘ They just love to camp round the corridors! I kick them out times out of number when I find them roosting anywhere outside their own chick-coop!" I crawled off the mattress to his feet. “Tf you don’t take me back to my room J shall camp here all night!’ Isaid. ‘ I couldn’t face those corridors again for a fortune.”’ He disappeared, donned a dressing-gown, lit acandle, and then piloted me to safety. Dick called it a most disgraceful episode. I thought it most upsetting, and after that night my dread of Chinamen was not in any degree lessened. I even shook in my shoes when circumstances obliged me to enter one of their horrid rickshaws and be carried along completely at their mercy. By the time we reached Hong-Kong I ‘was even more frightened of Chinamen then when I first beheld them. One evening we were to dine at Government House—much against my will, for my travelling kit, reduced to its lowest possible limits by strict orders from the Naturalist, was hardly equal to the ordeal of a State dinner. Much experience of British Colonies had taught me to be thoroughly appre- ciative of the almost royal state maintained in the charmed circle of ‘‘ Government House,”’ and I knew from previous knowledge of Hong-Kong that this Colony was no exception to the rule. Consequently, not being personally acquainted with the reigning Excellency and his lady, I besought the Naturalist to plead fever or illness of any sort as an excuse from the honour. He looked at me despairingly. “And you know, Molly,” he said, plaintively, “that my one ambition is to go to Chimaforo- cheow to collect birds, and we can get leave only from His Excellency, amd you want to offend him from the very first! Really, darling, you ave thoughtless |” “ But, Dick!’ I pleaded, “‘ it will offend him much more if I am not properly garbed !” He opened his cheque-book with a sigh. “ There are shops,” he said. So I tore round all day, striving to get some- thing decent with which to cover my anatomy, and any ladies of the Colonial Service who have ever been stationed at Hong-Kong, or for the matter of that all Colonials in general, will understand what I went through that day, endeavouring to find ready-made garments at all fit to put on ! At last, weary and very cross, I arrived back at the hotel with my several packages, and with horrid temper and great wrath tried to coax myself into the only dress for sale on the Island. It was several inches too long in front, and the top was most hideously too small everywhere. I got in by degrees, and with the aid of many Pins persuaded it at last to meet, but only fora

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. few inches! The hooks at the waist’ absolutely refused even a nodding acquaintance with the eyes! Dick laced me up until I could hardly gasp, and at last I covered up the defici- encies with a wide silk sash, stuck in some flowers over the fasten- ing, and announced that I was ready. ‘We are awfully late,” announced Dick as we tore downstairs. “I hope we shall find rick- shaws waiting.” There were! As we dashed out on to the steps we saw before us a seething, howling, gesticulating mob of rickshaw men, clamouring for fares ! “ Quick! Get into the first!’ shouted Dick from behind me. I shrank back and hesitated, and the shouting and bellowing grew louder and more frantic. It was pitch dark save for the lights carried by the men, and the scene—to me—was gruesome and terrifying. “Oh, Dick!’ I began, but my indecision was too much for the excited, struggling fiends. Two of them dropped their handles, dashed at me and seized me on either side, and before I could say a word had lifted me bodily into the rickshaw and set off running as hard as they could ! I clung to the sides and yelled. The only result was an appalling screech of rent seams “The light streamed out, revealing me sitting on @ most” unutterably filthy mattress.” 215 from my wretched bodice, and the men broke into a gallop! Where were they going? In imag- ination I was already kid- napped, killed, cooked, eaten, tortured, and lost for ever | We turned down a dark and empty alley! With a jar the men deposited me on the ground and_ tumed round grinning ! “Where Missie want go?” they asked. I told them—lots of things-—and with chas- tened steps they resumed their way, and event: ually landed me at my destination just not late for dinner, in spite of the fact that I had to borrow a lace shawl from Her Excellency’s maid to hide my gaping scams ! I saw a puzzled, wondering expression in her Vice-regal eye as she looked furtively at my borrowed plumes, and when, after dinner, I confided the whole of my sartorial and other trials to her sympathetic ears, she laughed until even I began to have some faint glimmerings of the joke ! His Excellency was more sympathetic. “A Natural'st’s wife seems to have almost as many trials as a Governor’s better-half,” he said. ‘‘ Now where was it you wanted to go Come and tell me all about it !’’ ° i And so we got leave to go to Chimaforo- cheow. “1 clung to the sides and yelled.” (To be continued.)

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I FFICIENCY in, the mat ter of equip ment wa certainly not the strong feature of the Army in Mesopotamia in the earlier days. And the antiquity of the matériel in the land arms was reficcted also in that employed in the air. Our composite body of Indian Army, Australian, and New Zealand airmen com- menced operations with two Maurice Farman “longhorn” or front elevator aeroplanes, and one “shorthorn”’ ‘plane, fitted with engines that left very much to be desired. The force—one brigade of British and Indian troops—landed at Fao under the covering fire of its gunboats on November 6th, 1914. Supplemented by two more brigades toformthe famous Sixth Division, which, after so many suc- cesses, was eventually taken in the siege of Kut-el-Amarah, and with two brigades of the Twelfth Division oper- ating in the Euphrates, thig little army brought the whole of Mesopo- tamia, from the Persian Gulf to within fifty miles of Bagdad, under British domination in a year of successful cam- piigning. And this in spite of the heavy handicap of inefficient matériel, inadequate transport, and the trials and hardships of a semi-tropical climate, with the accompanying disabilities of sickness and disease. pamanih dons Cd aning Scone — ty Cart TW While. DEC MLLUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER This narrative—specially written for “The Wide World Magazine ’—de- scribes the thrilling experiences of an Australian flying officer who was cap- tured by the Turks while endeavouring to cut some telegraph wires outside Bagdad. Bnduring all kinds of hard- ships, Captain White was taken from prison-camp to prison-camp, always on the look-out fora chance to escape, for he consistently refused to give his parole. Not for two weary years, however, did his opportunity come, and then he got away in a very clever and daring fashion. A series of night- mare adventures followed — narrow shaves of recapture, of death at the hands of Bolsheviks, and nerve-trying spells spent in hiding and disguise— until at long last he reached Salonica and safety. No more remarkable story of personal adventure has emerged from the records of the war. A feature peculiar to the Mesopotamian front at that time was that one was safe only within the precincts of one’s own tamp. All the con- quered territory in rear of the most advanced fighting troops, and ab most back to the base, was a ‘* No Man’s Land,” roamed over by ruthless and merciless Arabs. This may be difficult to understand by those not cognizant of circum- stances as they were at that time, or those who may have been on that front after the Arab had been rendered in- nocuous. But in 1915 very few troops could be spared for line-of- communication work, 30 that the fighting force and the troops at the base occupied what were practically entrenched camps, with intervening towns guarded by meagre garrisons in blockhouses and forts. When a battle was pending the Arab tribes in the vicinity would foregather and camp on the flanks and in rear of the contending armies, only the intervening stretch of country over which the armies would advance being left clear. True sons of Ishmael, “theirhandagainstevery man,” these treacherous marauders hovered around the camps like human jackals, cutting off and annihilating small parties and stragglers, sniping the ships that brought reinforcements and supplies, and on the day of battle killing and looting the wounded. They fell upon the beaten side—whether they were their Turkish

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. co-religionists or mnot—and anticipated the victors in reaping the full fruits of victory. Luck, having two aspects, is necessarily a variable quantity. And though the good and the bad variety are more or less evenly and indis- criminately distributed, one is apt to imagine, when favoured for a while with good luck, that such a state of things will continue. Active service, however, with its plethora of thrills, adventures, and excitements, is apt to bring one quickly to reason again, and when the change does come it is all the more surprising and disconcerting by its very suddenness. Such a fall was mine, one autumn morning in 1915, after several adventures in which I had been conspicuously lucky. 5 We had finished our aerial mapping of the enemy positions; reinforcements had been brought up, bringing the strength of our little army to about eight thousand men. The Division had made two demonstrations, in which our aeroplanes co- operated, against the nearest enemy position; there was increased activity by our cavalry, and we daily expected the advance on Ctesiphon for the capture of Bagdad. There were rumours in our mess of special “‘ stunts ’’ being required of the Flying Corps. A bombattack from a low altitude on 217 was only capable of fifty miles per hour; and its tank held enough petrol for about three hours’ flying. With the chances of encountering a head wind and with the slower speed of climb- ing, this meant carrying tins of petrol and oil to refill the tanks whilst in enemy territory, to enable us to return. As it was believed that there were about six wires on the telegraph posts, the bright sugges- tion of a visitor to our mess to fly into the wires and break them, and of another to trail a grapnel behind us, had to be turned down. It was decided that we were to blow down the telegraph posts with necklaces of guncotton, and, if we could not destroy both lines in the same morning's flight, that we should destroy the westerly line, and then return next morning to destroy the other. Accordingly, after dinner, which someone “would probably be our - hurried off to the dug-out of a Sapper friend to prepare charges and fuses, whilst with two mechanics I stripped the machine of its bomb - carrier and all surplus weight, and gave the engine a thorough test run. Satisfied, and after scribbling a brief letter home and another to a sleeping _ brother- officer, regarding cheerfully observed last,””’ B— the boat-bridge connecting the Turkish positions of Seleucia and Ctesiphon was mooted; also the destruction of the railway running north from Bagdad, by landing from an aeroplane in enemy territory and demolishing it with explosives. When the guesswork had subsided, however, it was found that the only unusual -“ stunt” required to be done by ‘plane was the destruc- tion of the telegraph lines running north and west from the city. One line approximately followed the course of the Tigris, and, passing through the provincial towns en route, ultimately reached Constanti- nople. The other ran west from Bagdad till it reached the Euphrates at Feludyah, and from there stretched out to Constantinople along the Euphrates route. Our C.O. asked for volunteers for this task, and as B——, my observer, heard of it first, he asked me if I thought we might manage it together. I agreed that we might—though I saw the very probable possibility of a quite useful Maurice and two perfectly healthy officers ** going West.” The country in that vicinity had not been closely reconnoitred, but by our maps we found that we should have to travel at least sixty miles to our first objective. The aeroplane Captain White in a Maurice Farman biplane. the disposal of my effects should we fail to return, I turned in for a few hours’ rest. In the half-light before dawn next morning, its tail supported by shadowy figures that, half-awake and indistinctly silhouetted, seemed like ghostly automata, the aeroplane was wheeled out to the aerodrome. The tanks were already filled. A mechanic swung the propeller, and, when the engine “ bit,” I throttled it down to give it a chance to warm up the oil. As it ticked away in steady rhythm, we checked over the “‘ goods’’ we wanted. A revolver each, a rifle—how we wished we could have transformed it into a machine-gun | —the charges, fuses, and matches, the tins of petrol and oil stored in the cockpit, and our maps and binoculars. I surreptitiously took my Kodak in case I should be able to snap the damage we would do. We had left at this same early hour on many a previous reconnaissance, and mechanically we saw that everything was right. But the task this day was different to any before, and we paid particular attention to all details. It was Friday, the 13th, too, though we didn’t let that superstition trouble us much. Satisfied at length that we had forgotten

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218 nothing, and that the engine was in its best mood, we adjusted goggles and mutilers, and, opening the throttle and letting the engine roar out to its full, with a valedictory wave to the mechanics and our native order! we were soon speeding to our objective, just as the sun appeared above a red horizon, flooding the desert with a sea of light. As we rose above the mists of the camp, and felt the cool, exhilarating air in our faces, we could see a broad-decked paddle-steamer ap- preaching Aziziych from the south—the first ship to come through for some days, owing to the plundering of a convoy by Turkish and Arab horsemen and the sinking of a mahala in the fairway. We thought of the mail from home that would be waiting for us on our return. Crossing the Tigris to the right bank, so that no advanced enemy posts should see us and telegraph to the main positions in rear, we passed over the abandoned and blackened ruins of the mud village of Boghdadieh, which had been demolished two days before by the guns of our newly-arrived monitor. Approaching the cool gardens and palm groves of Jumacia, we saw about a battalion of the enemy in bivouac close to the town, and _ re- gretted that we hed no bomb with which to sound their réveillé. But we made a note of their presence for report on return, as it was quite possible that they were marching to make a demonstration against our camp at Aziziych. Seleucia, where we had caught some gunners napping about a week before, we left on our right hand. Some vehicles drawn by white horses, looking strangely like china toys placed on a child’s map, halted in the road beneath us, the occu- pants waiting, no doubt, to stare and to shoot. On the flanks of the position, straggling out into the distance, were innumerable Arab camps and mud villages. Dozens of white puffs betrayed them, for an Arab can no more resist a shot at a low-flying aeroplane than the ordinary sportsman could resist a shot at a hare. But our business was not with them, and, bearing more towards the Tigris again, so as to land as close to Bagdad as possible and thus make the distance as short as we could, Bagdad itself, like an enchanted city, presently loomed up above the mist in the east. A few minutes later, on a bare road running east to the city, we saw the wires that we had come so far to destroy. Unfortunately,this road was the chief thorough- fare to Bagdad from the west, and troops of all arms were marching along it towards the city. As the wires kept to the road, and were not at some distance from it, as our maps had shown, this made the task more difficult. Secing a tolerably level piece of ground about four miles from the city that was clear of troops, I decided to land there, and had already com- menced to descend when I saw a large body of cavalry approaching. These horsemen would undoubtedly reach us before we could finish our task. We decided, therefore, to follow the road THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. awey from the city till we could find a space clear of troops, and land there. Infantry, cavalry, transport, and an enormous column of camcls that, fearing bombs, scattered at our approach, passed in a drab, coluurless pageant beneath us. We considered the advisability of return, in case our Intelligence people did not know of this obvious reinforcement, and we hesitated as to which was the more important, this news or the destruction of the wires. We were confident we should return, however, and in any case it was necessary to land some- where in order to refill the tanks for the return jeurncy. Sceing a patch of enclosed ground about eight miles from the city that was crossed by the telegraph wires about two hundred yards from the road, I decided to land there. It was a piece of land that had once been cultivated, and was bounded on two sides by canals and on the other sides by the road and bad ground. There were a few solitary individuals in its vicinity—probably Arabs and shepherds, we thought ; and, about a quarter of a mile distant on the other side of the road, what looked like a ruined caravanserai. From previous experience I considered that we could keep the Arabs occupied long enough to complete our task, especially if, as was quite likely, they did not attack us at once. Quickness was the great essential, however, so as to attract the least possible attention. So, throttling the engine down, I commenced, a spiral descent on to the brown square beneath us. x There was no wind when we left, and there appeared to be none now, and as I could not land parallel with the telegraph lines on account of the narrowness of the ground, I considered it quite safe to land facing towards them. Instead of “ zooming ” around at a low altitude before landing, I decided to spiral right on to the ground to save time. But over-confidence and a combination of circumstances led to unexpected disaster, and this little improvised acrodrome proved a trap that ended our active service for many weary months to come. I had completed the last circle quite close to the ground, and, facing the telegraph wires, was passing over the road at about thirty feet, fast approaching terra firma, when, looking down, I observed a brightly-uniformed Turkisb horseman directly beneath, calmly gazing up atus! This was rather disconcerting, for it meant that in all probability there was a body of Turkish cavalry close by. B——, seated behind me, I could feel was arranging his gun-cotton charges ; and, stretching out a hand, I jerked at his leg and pointed the man out. * We landed lightly almost at the same instant. and only then did I realize how hardly the Fates were beginning to deal with us. A ground breeze, in the contrary direction to the prevailing Shamal, or northerly wind, had

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. = 219 mee : with a following wind = . takes more room than when running against it, and though I used aileron and rudder I came round in a broad sweep, and to my utter chagrin saw my left “lower plane, longeron, and ribs, for about four feet from the wings } tip, collide with and = crumble to matchwood - , cy against one of the telee } graph posts ! I switched off the engine and jumped down to make an ; 2 t q : . : 3 é 3 t 4 t i J “With a crash, his well-placed charge of : explosives brought » telegraph-post down : in a cloud of dust.” ; sprung up during our flight, and now, blowing behind us, swept us along the bare ground towards the wires. Had I had plenty of room this would not have mattered in the least. But travelling at speed in a confined space made a turn im- Possible, and-I had cut it so fine, so as to land as close as possible to the objective, that I had no room to spare. ig I saw that I must take the sD alternative of running into the wires, with the certainty that f my front elevator would be knocked off, or examination, while B—— ran off with a neck- chance a capsize or crash into the canal, and lace to the nearest telegraph post. 1 decided to take the latter alternative. As Some Arabs about three hundred yards away all airmen know, however, a turn on the ground immediately opened fire, making quite good Digitized ty GOOLE

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THE WIDE WORLD 220 shooting, for the bullets kicked up the dust close by. A moment later the ground in the vicinity seemed veritably to spawn Arabs; on both sides of us and on the read, we could see them running towards us and hear them calling to each other; while the solitary cavalryman, after ashort conversation with a group of them, set off at full gallop down the read. A hasty examination revealed that besides the broken longeron and ribs, the two outer struts, which separate the planes, were hanging loosely in the air, and that unless I could keep the Arabs off whilst I attempted some sort of Tepairs, such as wiring the struts down to the chassis, the aeroplane would never be able to leave the ground again. And as the ground off this little patch of earth was very rough, “ taxi- ing ” was impossible. First and foremost, I decided to check the Arabs a little, for they seemed in no fear of us, and were advancing on us, firing as they came, from all directions. So, taking the rifle from the cockpit, I knelt in the observer’s seat, and took careful aim at the leading man. He jumped, though I doubt if he was hit, and dropped on the ground close to the canal. Others had already gained the canal, and, with its mound as a parapet, had good cover and could fire at us with impunity. After one or two more shots, I commenced to fill the tanks. Taking a can each of petrol and oil from the cockpit, I crawled out on to the tanks, unscrewed the cap, and poured in the precious “juice,” while bullets zipped past uncommonly close, kicking up the dust beneath me, or whizzing overhead or through the machine. B—— returned at this moment, as I was perched uncomfortably and conspicuously on top of the tanks, wrestling with the cap of the can of oil. With a crash, his well-placed charge of explosives brought a telegraph-post down in a cloud of dust. The Arabs were fast approaching nearer, though the explosion checked them momentarily. And though I had not told B—— yet that the machine was unflyable, I began to foresee that there would be no time for repairs, and—like two of our number on a previous occasion— we should simply have to kill as many as possible of the enemy before being killed ourselves, for Arabs take no prisoners. B—— returned to the fallen pole to place another gun-cotton charge among the insulators, so as to properly sever the wires; while I re- opened fire with the rifle so that he might be able to finish his job. At this moment a party of Turks, with two or three horsemen among their number, appeared on our right, and opened fire from the canal which faced the Arabs. We had thus a cross- fire from canals on either side of us at no greater range now than about two hundred yards. This distance was being steadily reduced as they crawled along the canals towards us. Getting out of the machine, I decided to try my aim from a prone position on the ground, where I could get a rest for my rifle. But T found that I could not see them there, so I MAGAZINE, climbed back into the machine and replied as well as I could from a kneeling position in the observer's seat. As we were wearing large topees, I can only put down to excitement and consequent wild shooting on the part of the Arabs and Turks the fact that we were not hit, for neither of us at any time took cover from their fire. B , having lighted his fuse, ran back to the machine, and I told him the state of affairs. As we could not fly, were sixty miles from home, and behind the enemy’s position; and as we could not attempt to ‘taxi’? owing to the circumscribed ground, our case seemed hopeless. As soon as I ceased fire to work the switch, whilst B-— swung the propeller so as to get a little farther away from them, their fire increased to the maximum, and some of them including the mounted men, commenced to rush forward again from about’ a hundred yards away. But the engine “ bit,” and I held it throttled down for B —— to get in, so that we might get another hundred yards or so away, and put up a fresh stand. Just then my com- panion’s second charge crashed out, sending telegraph insulators in all directions. It did worse, for it allowed the springy telegraph wires to recoil, and as they flew backwards they entangled the acroplane inextricably in their coils | Only then did I realize our utter helplessness, and, seeing the Arabs and Turks racing up to us, decided to surrender. Leaving the engine running, so that it might incapacitate itself—for there was no reason why the already-wrecked machine should be utterly destroyed by fire with the fall of Bagdad so imminent and the probability that the aeroplane might soon be taken again—I stepped down. In a moment we were surrounded, though B—, before he realized the hopelessness of it all, made a frantic effort to get away. The first man to reach us I imagined to be wearing a dark uniform, until I observed, on his closer approach, that he was a_ hideous savage, wearing nothing but two broad bandoliers of cartridges crossed over his black skin. He covered me from about ten yards with a large- bore rifle that would have slain an elephant; and, hardly expecting that I would be taken prisoner, I put my hand in my jacket-pocket for my revolver. But the twirling propeller attracted his attention at this moment, and he left me to loot the aeroplane. His horrible looking companions, however, rushed me with clubbed rifles, yelling ‘‘ Ingrazzi ” (English) with the most vehement hatred. T endeavoured to evade their blows by warding them off with my arms and by ducking and dodging. One blow, however, caught me on top of the topee, knocking it down over my ears. They were utter savages, in various stages of nudity and variously armed ; while the Turks, who were uniformed and armed, appeared to be a rather smart detachment of gendarmerie. Though in the minority, the Turks seemed to be for making us prisoners ; and without them

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ro s ¥ j 3 tS ee eae MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. 221 “His horrible-looking companions rushed me with clubbed rifles.” we should have received short shrift from the Arabs. My helmet was dragged off, and somebody struck me on the back of the head with the empty petrol tin that a few minutes before I had thrown away. Next I received a stunning blow on the top of the head from some instrument which I believe was an adze, for I saw several of them among the party. This made a cut about three inches long which bled profusely, covering my face and clothes with blood, and as the instrument must have been blunt, it raised an enormous lump on my crown as well.

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222 Thankful that my head was so hard and that I had not gone down with the blow, I wrested myself away from this group, and was seized by another party that included two Turks. Some of the Arabs had come straight from tending their flocks and herds and had various articles of husbandry with them, and I saw one of them strike B—— between the shoulders with a hammer. They all carried arms, however, and one of them had a rusty sword. As my rubber-necked flying coat covered my uniform and they could see no badges of rank, they naturally supposed I was an ordinary soldier, and as I had exasperated them so much by shooting at them I seemed to get their particular attention. He of the sword commenced chopping me across the back in endeavours to cut off my flying Coat, but the heirloom with which he was armed was fortunately so blunt that I felt its weight more than its Meanwhile the Turks were attempting to lead, or rather drag, us away from the Arabs towards the dilapidated building we had seen before land- ing, and which we had supposed was deserted. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Min: Be tae Y The exciting drive through the bazaar, with fanatical The Arabs, however, did their best to hinder them, and endeavoured to hold us back. They repeatedly struck us, tore off B——’s shoulder- straps, and relieved us of our hats and everything we hadin our pockets. They also fired repeatedly over our heads, spat on us, and meanwhile kept up a horrible, discordant, and deafening din, dancing wildly around in an ecstasy of fanatical savagery. It seemed hours, though it could only have been a few minutes, before we were led into the battered caravanserai which served as the gendarmes’ headquarters, and the heavy door was closed against the howling mob. It was the irony of fate that we should have landed so close to this military post, but the Turks showed us every kindness. A rather elderly N.C.O., who had been very helpful im getting us away from the Arabs, brought out a pomegranate each, and some coarse bread. With water in a stone jar, he spread these out before us. Though we had eaten nothing that morning, we felt too depressed to eat, but drank copiously of the cold water. A Turkish colonel, or Kaimakam, who was

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MY TWO tuffians trying to get at the capti-es to kill them. Governor of the district, asked us our names and, with a sharpened reed that he dipped in thick ink, wrote them down, drying the ink with sand, in the manner of our ancestors of a century ago. He asked us what valuables we had lost to the Arabs, and, after jotting down a list and insti- tuting a search, salved a cigarette-case of mine from one of his staff. He was efficient and intelligent, and in his smart, greenish-khaki uniform, woolly fez, and black leggings, looked strangely incongruous among the blue and red of his rough-looking, swashbuckling men. He spoke very little French, but managed to make us understand that we were to be taken at once to Bagdad. The Arabs were still beating upon the doors ; shots were being fired, and the din grew louder and louder as their numbers increased. No doubt the Kaimakam feared that the Arabs would force the doors and overpower his guard, and he imagined that I needed urgent medical attention for my head, though I assured him it was not so bad as it looked. When the doors were swung open, mounted YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. gendarmes cleared an avenue through the yelling and hostile crowd towards a four-wheeled, hooded vehicle, like the toy ones I had seen from the aeroplane a short hour before, and which the Colonel had commandeered. With a mounted escort of about eight men, we moved off, with the Colonel on the box beside the driver, along the road to after a very hostile final demonstration by the Arabs, who seemed greatly disappointed that the Turks had not handed us over tothem. We fancied that the Turks were glad to see the last of them, for the Arab tribes in that vicinity are no respecters of persons, and accept no masters other than their own sheikhs. We had travelled about three miles on the way, sitting uncomfortably on the floor of the arvabah, when a great chattering and excitement among our guards attracted our attention. Our horses, three abreast, were whipped into a gallop, and, as we looked back from the swaying vehicle under the flap of the hood, we could see horsemen far back on the horizon galloping after us, strung out across the plain. Evidently the Arabs had not given up hope.

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224 It was an exciting chase, though there could only be one result. The stocky little horses in the arabah, though they galloped magnificently, could not outdistance the bigger animals of the Arabs who pursued us. They steadily gained on us, and, holding their rifles above their heads, firing them off at random in the air, and oecasivnally at our little cavalcade, they gradually overhauled and circled round us, till the carriage was brought to a standstill. As we watched the chase and the ‘ hold-up,” and reflected on the sudden turn of events during the past hour, it all seemed like some wonder- fully vivid ne on a cinema film. But I had only to put my hand to my head to feel reality in the egg-shaped bump that had formed there. Most of the Arabs were splendidly mounted and rode bareback. Their sheikh, a stout, most villainous-looking ruffian, who rode beautifully and eyed us as a hungry man would cye a good dinner, had a long parley with the Kaimakam. The Turk, who had had to step down to talk with tke Arab, said, as he left us, “ [f necessary, you can fight with us against them.” We most heartily agreed ; for we should have loved the opportunity of paying off some old scores. Authority eventually prevailed, however, and the Kaimakam rejoined us, the Arabs falling in with the members of our guard, vying with them as we proceeded in caracoling, racing, and pirouetting around ; and, it must be admitted, giving a fine display of horsemanship. We learned afterwards that the sheikh in whose territory we had landed con.ended that we were his prisoners, and, hearing that we were being sent to Bagdad, sect out in pursuit. During the long parley with the Kaimakam, he demanded that we should be handed over to him, so that he might take our heads to the Turkish commander at Ctesiphon for a reward. Diplomacy won, however. Whether the Kaimakam said he would send the heads by post, or promised to pay the reward, I do not know; but, with these motley warriors as an addition to our party, we continued our journcy to Bagdad. Some of the party rode ahead to Bagdad to spread the glad tidings, and as we approached the city we could see a black concourse of people coming out to meet us. They swarmed round us like locusts, and all who could approach near enough to spit at us, or to strike us with sticks, did so. As we drove through the bazaar—the bazaar that figures in so many stories of the Arabian Nights—the din was deafening. In every doorway and alcove numbers of black-robed Arab women stretched out clawing hands towards us, and appeared to be urging the men to attack us with a continuous high-pitched wailing that chilled our very marrow. The escort and the Turkish soldiers on duty in the bazaar did yeoman work in dealing out b'ows with rifles to those who attacked us ; but, il spite of their efforts, the hood was stripped from the vehicle. Two ruffians, one of whom THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, carried a long knife, with which he tried to stab us in the back, took some dislodging from the back of the vehicle. : It natural that there should be some little excitement, for at any time the expected attack on Bagdad by the British might commence. And the vacillating Arabs, anxious to make an impression on the Turks, took this very suitable opportunity of showing which side had their sympathy by wreaking their vengeance on us. We put up with the ignominy and indignity of it all as stolidly as we could, though, being unarmed, we felt very helpless. And it was maddening in the extreme, though it would have alienated our guard had we done otherwise, not to be able to kick at some of the repulsive faces that peered in at us to spit and jeer. Eventually we left the narrow, winding streets of the bazaar and arrived at a large barracks. As we entered on foot, loud cheers arose from rows of fezzed youths who lined a balcony overlooking the courtyard. Very dishevelled and dirty, we were led across the quadrangle, through a small doorway, and upstairs into a very ormate but tawdrily- decorated and much-mirrored room in shabby red and gold. A short, bearded Turk sat on a divan in the centre of the room, and on our entry rose and greeted us in broken English. He was, he informed us, R -— Bey, the local war corre spondent. Naturally, we had nothing to say, and only with difficulty understood him, as, he said, he had not spoken English for many years. We were led out again, and pushed and led about to different doorways to be gazed upon by various magnificently-uniformed and _heavily- moustached officials. The square was now lined with a double row of soldiers with bayonets fixed, and we simul taneously remarked to each other, with a sickly grin, that we supposed we were now to be shot. After being led first this way and then that, however, amid more outbursts of cheering and waving of crescent flags by the military cadets on the balcony, we were taken down to the river. The bridge of boats having been removed to connect the Ctesiphon and Seleucia positions below the city, we were ferried across the Tigris in a small boat, followed by the execrations of the disappointed mob, who had only just realized, when it was too late, that we were not going to be executed after all. On the other bank, along a narrow street held by soldiers, we were taken to a large hospital building, where, after an examination by a bevy of red-fezzed doctors, my head was shaved as smooth as an egg and some yards of bandage swathed about it and finished off around my neck. Then we were put in a small white washed room, furnished with two beds, where, utterly depressed by our bad luck. and fatigued by the excitement of the past few hours, we were left, with a sentiy in the room with fixed bayonet, to sleep—if we could | (To be continued.)

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he OONSHINE . The enforcement of prohibition in the mountain counties of Virginia, North Carolina, Kentucky, and Tennessee will be an exceedingly difficult problem for the United Stat als, for “ moonshiners” and i stills flourish - everywhere. In this exciting story the Author describes how he blundered into a camp of Tennessee “ moonshiners,” and what happened afterwards. “The narrative is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Thomason, “but for obvious reasons I have changed the name of the sheriff.” {N the Fall of 1907, while employed | as an inspector in the Agricultural Department on the quarantine line which borders the mountain counties of the State of Tennessce, I met with a decidedly nerve- trying adventure. I had ridden through the better part of a beautiful autumn day on the long mountain road that runs due north out of Jamestown, in the County of Fentress, before I came to a habitation of any kind. Then I arrived at a double log-house, with a long low porch in front of it, by the side of the road. I halted a sufficient time to inspect the owner’s herd of cattle and take a cup or two of buttermilk before resuming my journey. From this place I rode directly to the eastward towards the Scott County line through the timber of the Cumberland plateau. I went on for hour after hour without meeting a human being or seeing a house. As it was growing dark, I began to think that I should have to make a dry camp under the trees for the night, something that I did not wish to do, as my horse was badly in need of water. Just as I was despairing of finding a house I came to the edge of a small clearing in the woods, and a hundred yards farther on beheld a small squared log-cabin by the roadside, with a “ stick and dirt ’’ chimney, from the top of which a slender thread of blue smoke was curling upwards. I halted in front of the cabin gate, and called out “ Halloa!”’ A bare-footed boy, of about ten years of age, came to the door, gazed at me for a moment, and said :— “‘Pap’s gone to the spring after a couple of buckets of water. He’ll be back directly.” While waiting I took a quick survey of my surroundings. Directly in front of the rustic Vol. xliv.—t8, HUGH THOMASON ILLUSTRATED BY DUDLEY /TENNANT gate, on the other side of the road, there was a turnip patch about twenty yards square, surrounded by a rail fence. Six or seven cowe and yearlings were lying in the road, and a “ razor-back’’ sow and cight black-and-white spotted pigs were rooting in the soft earth round the corners of the fence. Presently I saw a swarthy-looking man of medium build, with a shock of black unkempt hair and a sunburnt straggling moustache, coming up the hill towards the house carrying a pail of water in each hand. He went in at the back door, set the pails of water on the floor of the cabin, and passed out through the front door to where I was standing. Both doors being open, I could see through the house. When he arrived at the gate, I introduced mysclf to him, and he in turn informed me that his name was “ Bill Highsmith.” I asked him if I could stop with him for the night and get food and provender for myself and horse. He said that I could, provided 1 could put up with what he had. I led my horse into the yard, off-saddled him, and then took him down under the hill to the spring, where I gave him his fill of water. On returning to the house with the horse, I found no place to put him, so I made a bowline around his neck with the bridle-reins and tied him to a post at the back of the cabin. There being nothing to feed him with, I purchased some green corn that I saw growing in the garden. Highsmith and I then went into the house, where Mrs. Highsmith, a tall, gaunt mountain- woman, was getting the supper ready. This meal consisted of soggy corn-bread and potatoes boiled with the skins on, washed down with strong black coffce. There were two beds in the room, which the husband, wife, three children, and myself were supposed to occupy for the night. The room was only eighteen by twenty feet, and contained no windows. All the fresh air that was to be had came in through the two open doors, which were later closed for the night.

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226 After supper, while’ we were sitting around the fireplace, the little dog belonging to the place began to bark violently at something under the bed that had been assigned to me and two of the children. Highsmith got down on his knees and peered under the bed; then, muttering an oath under his breath, reached over and seized the axe, which was leaning in the chimney- comer, and threw it at an object back by the wall. He then went to the foot of the bed, reached under it, and calmly drew out a“ copper- head" snake measuring at least four feet in length! The snake was minus its head, which had been neatly severed by the flying axe. The “ copper-head ” is the most deadly of the Poisonous snakes of North America. This one had probably crawled into the house after Tats. Finally the fire burned itself out, leaving only a few live coals lying in the ashes. The light was extinguished and we all proceeded to tum in for the night. I removed only my coat and shocs, as the bedding did not look clean enough for me to become too familiar with it, and lay on top of the covering in my shirt and trousers. Do what I could, though, it was impossible for me to go to sleep. Various insects worried me, and I could not get that snake out of mind, no matter how hard I tried. I kept wondcring if its mate would dropin during the night, look- ing for it. I remembercd several instances of “ copper-head ” bites where the victims turned black and swelled up, dying within forty-five minutes. About midnight I heard a slight noise ; then the wooden bar which secured the door from the inside was slowly and carefully drawn back. The door swung noisclessly open ; a dark shadow was silhouctted against the grey of the night- sky for an instant, and then blended with the darkness. The door was left swinging open. Twenty or thirty minutes passed ; then the door was closed from the inside, and the pale greenish- blue flame of a sulphur match sputtered in the darkness, which light was at once transferred to the wick of the small kerosene lamp. As it flared up I saw Mrs. Highsmith advancing towards my bed with the smoking lamp in her hand, and as she did so I sat up. “You'd better git away from here, stranger.”” she said, in a low tone of voice. “ Bill thinks you’re a Revenuer (Excise officer), an’ has gone to git the gang. They’ll kill you if you stay here.” I sat on the bed in a daze. “ Hurry up before the children wakes up,” she continued, in a stage whisper. “‘ I’ll show you a path you kin take. It’ll be all right. I'll tell Bill you-all got skeered an’ lef’ right sudden.” I hadn’t even a small pockct-revolver in my Possession, so resistance to armed men was out of the question. It took me but a very few minutes to get ready, after which I stole silently out of the cabin behind the woman, who extin- guished the light as she stepped into the yard. I quickly saddled up, and led my horse out of the yard to the road, where I was joined by Mrs. Highsmith, who guided me to a trail which THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. left the main road at right angles about fyrenty yards below the house. “You-all just keep right on this here ‘path an’ it’ll take you to White Oak Creek,” she told me. ‘‘ You-all cross the creck at the ford, an’ the path’ll take you up the mountain-side to the big road which runs to Jamestown. Thar ain’t but one path to put you wrong, an’ that’s where it forks down thar on the ridge. You-all kecp to the left hand. I just declare I cain’t see nobody's blood shed. Good-bye, mister.” I thanked her warmly, and rode away down the mountain-path under the starlight, thanking my guardian angel that this good lady disliked the sight of blood. Presently I came to the fork of the path, as the woman had predicted, and rode to the left down the mountain-side. When about a mile from the creek day began to break, and it gradually grew lighter. Just then I reached a point in the trail-where the heavy rains had washed the sand away from a small ledge of sandstone, forming a miniature precipice at least five feet high. There was absolutely no way of flanking it, as on either side lay a chasm from two hundred to a thousand feet deep. I dismounted and manceuvred my horse over to the edge of the rock, ina broadside Position, and then suddenly shoved him over the edge. He struck the soft sand on his feet, landing without any injury to himself, or even discomfort. Then I jumped over myself and mounted again. I now rode down to the creek, which I found very high, and flowing like a mill- race. I could see where the trail entered the water on the near side of the stream, but could not make out where it left it on the other side, which was thickly screened with laurel bushes. The hoof-marks of horses could be plainty seen in the sand where someone had forded the creek during the past twenty-four hours. The water was rising all the time, and I came to the conclusion that I had to cross quickly or not at all. I would have retraced my steps, but knew that I could not get my horse back over the ledge of rock from which I had pushed him. The animal I was riding was a small Western bronco, blind in the right eye, and much too light for the weight of water that would be thrown against him by the current should I attempt to ford. However, I had got to get across, so presently I spurred the bronco into the flood, and almost instantly we were swept down -stream like a feather. I had already withdrawn my feet from the stirrups and tucked them high up on the sides of the horse to keep them from getting wet, so all I had to do was to slip backwards out of the saddle and grab his tail, as we were carried away. The iittle horse swam pluckily, and after a while we made a landing on a small sloping gravel bar, fringed with the ever-present laurel bushes, over a mile down-stream. I threw the reins over the horse’s head and led him up the bed of a small brook which ram down to the creek through the thick trees and underbrush—and by so doing walked directly into a camp of “ Moonshiners,’”’ who were busily

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THE MOONSHINERS. 227 “*You'd better git away from here, stranger,’ she said. “They'll kill you if you stay.’” engaged in making sour-mash corn whisky! thought I was an Internal Revenue officer and They were as much surprised as I was over the _ the scout of a raiding-party. ‘eae meeting, and instantly sprang to arms. They A double-barrelled shot-gun was thrust into

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228 1 my face, and I was told to throw up my arms, which I lost no time in doing. I never knew before that the barrels of a gun could look so large ; these two seemed to me like twin pickle- kegs. The men searched me for arms, but, of course, found none, as I was not armed. I was then allowed to sit on a bench, while a squint- eyed fellow armed with a ten-gauge double- barrelled shot-gun stood guard over me. The rest of the party took to various points of observa- tion to sec if I was telling them the truth about being alone. At the head of this little valley a limestone bluff arose perpendicularly for a hundred or more feet, with a width of twenty or thirty feet, its face all covered with green moss, with long ribbons of serrated ferns trailing in clusters from cach crack and cranny. From under the foot of this great stone ledge there gushed a magnificent spring of clear cold water. On one side of the stream that flowed down the valley from the spring there was built a long low shed of white oak posts and clap-boards, the floor being laid of poplar lumber. Thickly ranged around on either side under the shed were tubs of sour mash, while in the centre stood a vat made of dressed poplar planks, which would hold ten or fifteen barrels of liquid. This vat was filled with white fermented beer, ready to be poured into the copper container for distilla- tion. Troughs made of small sassafras trees conveyed a continuous stream of cold water from the spring into a barrel in which was placed the “ worm” of the still. A pen containing a dozen or more hogs was in close proximity. There were six men and two women working at the place, and from the amount of stock I saw on hand they must have been doing a good business. In Iess than an hour all the ‘ Moonshiners ”’ returned to the camp, seeming very much relieved. The man in authority was a big, stockily- built fellow, with a heavy reddish moustache, whom the others addressed as Brent. He came over to me and asked : “ How did you get in here, anyway ?’” I told him the whole story, not omitting the fact that I was mot an Internal Revenue agent. “Well, you moughtn’t be a Revenuer, an’ then agin you mought,” he said. ‘‘ Howsome- ever, we ain’t takin’ no chances. You are the fust man that’s been nigh this still since she was started by Pap nigh on to twenty year ago— exceptin’, of course, them that works here an’ our friends. We don’t bother nobody, an’ the com we make into liquor is ourn. We raised it—we didn’t steal it—and we calculate we're going to do what we please with what’s ourn. The mountains is so rough that we can’t get our’ corn to market, so we just have to make liquor%out’n it, an’ feed the slop to hogs. If I knowed positive you was a Revenuer I'd cut your head off an’ tromple on it. A low-down yeller hound dog is a gentleman beside a Revenue spy. If you ain’t no Revenue man, I feel sorry fer you, for we just has to shoot you. Thar ain’t no gittin’ aroun’ that. If you went away from THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, here you’d do a lot of talkin’, an’ this place wouldn’t be safe for us no more. If you’re anyways religious you can git to praying. “Here, Jeff’ ’’ he continued, turning to one of the men. “ You an’ Wade dig a hole over thar in the elders that'll fit this here gent.. When yer gits it finished let me know.” “T ain’t aimin’ to butt into yore business none, Brent,” said the tall thin man in faded brown jean pants and shirt, whom they called Jeff, “ but I suggest we tie him up in one of the long meal-sacks, with a couple of rocks in the ends, an’ dump him off the bluff into the eel- hole.” “Tf I was certain he was a Revenuer I’d do it,” replied Brent, “ but he mought be inner- cent, an’ I surely would hate to do an innercent man that-away. No, Jeff; I reckon we’d better shoot him.” Thereupon Jeff and Wade started off to do their appointed task, each armed with a mattock and spade. Wade was a villainous-looking fat man, with one tooth out in front, through the gap of which he squirted tobacco-juice. Had I had any choice in the matter he would have been the very last man in the world that I should have selected to dig my grave. I felt down-hearted to the last degree. I knew that no amount of talk would change these people in the least, so I sat silent, wet and miserable, waiting for the retum of Jeff and Wade. I began to wonder whether they were fast workers or not. Then I began to hope that they would strike a ledge of rock when they were about half finished with my last resting-place, and have to start a new one. The tall ruffian who had been detailed to guard me never took his eyes off me for a moment, and from the careless manner in which he handled the full-eocked ten-gauge shot-gun I felt sure that the grave would be needed before Jeff and Wade could get it finished. Presently I heard a voice out in the bush calling, “ Halloa, Brent! I hear you’ve got a rooster here whose comb you're going to clip.” Hope swelled within my breast ; I recognized the voice! I tried to speak, but my throat grew hard and dry. I could make only inarticu- late whispers.- I waved my arms and pointed at the bush, trying my best to speak, but my vocal cords refused to respond. My guard evidently thought that I was going crazy, for he fell back a step or two and brought the gun up on a level with my stomach. At this moment Bob Moore, the big, genial, good-natured sheriff of an adjoining county, rode out of the laurels mounted on a large black mule. Tied to the off-cantle of the saddle was a two-gallon jug with a corn-cob stopper. As soon as he saw me he called out: “ By the great horn spoon! If it ain’t Cap!”” Hastily dismounting, he ran up and shook me warmly by the hand. His next act was to reach over and take the gun from the hands of my guard, uncock it, and lay it on the grass. “Tt’s all right, Bill,” said the sheriff. “Cap here and I are old friends. I'll vouch for him any day in the week and twice on Sundays.”

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THE MOONSHINERS. = 229 “I was told to throw up my arms,” Brent came up and shook hands with the sheriff, said Brent, “ for the way you've been treated ; who introduced me to him. but when you-all comes blunderin’ into camp “ T certainly want to apologize to you, Cap'n,” from the creek-side we-all was took with a case

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230 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of shivers. But I surely was mistook in you. A little mistake like that, though, is liable to happen to anybody, ain’t it ?”” I admitted that it was. “ Let's liquor up,” said the sheriff. “ I’m as dry as a covered bridge.” “Hold on a minit, Bob,” said Brent. “ I’ve got some stuff in the shack that’s ten year old in the wood.” “Melvina! You Melvina!’’ he called to one of the women. ‘‘ You go over to the cabin an’ git a jug of that liquor out’n the keg in the jamb by the fireplace.” “You will excuse me, Mr. Brent,’’ said I, “but if you are not going to need that grave, you might recall Jeff and Wade. They are probably thirsty by this time.” Brent smiled sheepishly, and said that he reckoned I was right. He dispatched a mes- senger for them, and in a few minutes the pair of amateur sextons came trailing over the hill. I was introduced to them by the sheriff, who at the same time informed me that they were fine whole-souled fellows. They may have been, but I could not forget Jeff's proposition to tie me up in a meal-sack and dump me into a water- hole like a blird puppy. “‘T never seed sich a country for rocks ’’ said Wade to my late guard, in an aside. “It seemed like every place we-all started in to dig had a shelf of rock in it. Never did git one finished. When yer in a hurry, and someone’s waitin’ on yer, it seems like somethin’s aller happenin’.” While Melvina was gone after the whisky Brent gathered a handful of nice tender juicy mint from the cool waters of the spring, and on her return Bob Moore made the best mint-julep that I ever tasted. : We had dinner under the long lov. shed, and it was a bountiful one. We had fried young chicken, poached cggs, corn-pone, and a pot of black coffee strong enough to float an iron wedge. Of course, we had plenty of corn-whisky, which Bob Moore said had never been disgraced by an Internal Revenue stamp. I returned with Bob Moore to Jamestown, after his jug was filled. From that day, during all my stay in the mountains, I was never bothered again by the “‘Moonshiners.” They found out that I was after the breakers of quarantine regulations, not the makers of wl isky. THE PLACE TO GO TO “SEE SNAKES.” The re photosraoh, here reproduced will give people who dislike makes : sewnraht shock, depicting i itl does literally thousands of igali irmit i ken in spring—tl jing-time—at Klamath Fal wri e picture was tal en in spring : e snakes bees dine. eels a rming 61 behi bart jot all covcerned, the rept Is, Oregon, U.S.A. Fortunately

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Che ONDERLAND A trip to Danish Greenland, says the Author, is a journey through Time— back ten thousand years into the Great Ice Age. Mr. Pocock went there by courtesy of the Danish Government — the second English- man to visit the country since 1735— and he gives a most interesting description of the remarkable things he saw. HAVE a tale to tell of wonders and great marvels concerning Greenland. The tale begins in the very long ago, when all our ancestors were savages. Ten thousand years ago the North Atlantic region was very cold, with an Arctic climate. The clouds brought snow, which did not melt in summer, but drifted deep, and hardened into ice. The North Atlantic shoal was frozen solid. North-Western Europe and Canada were parts of a single ice-field, just as the Antarctic Continent is to-day—an ice-cap miles high and edged with giant glaciers. West- ward this ice-cap filled Canada as far as the Rocky Mountains. Southward it reached St. Louis, where the Mississippi and the Missouri Rivers meet. It covered the sites of Chicago and New York. In England it came down to the edge of the Thames Valley, and a glacier covered the north- em heights of London. Berlin and Moscow were within the ice- field, and the eastern edge of it reached the Ural Mountains, on the borders of Siberia. Scientific men have written the dullest books on earth about this subject, but they do not really and truly know what caused the Great Ice Age, or why the ice-cap melted. Northern New York was clear in 7100 BC. and Finland free from ice in 5200 B.C., but there is one of the ihe ROGER POCOCK The Author. CTIC fragment of the ice-cap which has not melted yet. This fragment is still about two miles thick in the middle, and it covers the little Continent of Greenland. Its glaciers provide the icebergs which endanger shipping in the North Atlantic, and caused the tragedy of the Titanic. So one comes to the first great marvel con- cerning Greenland. To go there is to make a journey through Time, a voyage through the ages, a ten-thousand-year excursion back to the Great Ice Age. On the flanks and outskirts of the glaciers there were tribes of savage hunters, who hunted the mammoth, a big woolly elephant, on the site of London. These hunting savages followed the shrinking glaciers into the North, and they are known to-day as the Eskimos. They have a coating of fat between their flesh and their skin, which keeps them warm so that they need no fires. They have a blue mark the size of a bean just in the small of the back. They have no word in common with any language spoken by the rest of man- kind. Excepting the Greenland tribes,the Eskimos of North America hew blocks of hard snow and build a winter house which is a true dome. Even the Egyptians and the Greeks, with all their mighty powers as archi- tects, never con- trived the building of a dome. It is nearly two centuries now since Dr. Hans Egede, a Danish Lutheran clergy- man, settled among the Green- land Eskimos. To- day the Green- landers are Chris- tians, and one meets pure-

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232 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, . The most northerly bouse on earth, at Tassiusak, Greenland. blooded Eskimo priests and physicians. There is even one journalist, who edits an illus-. trated magazine, pro- duced by native writers, artists, and engravers. It was to help the Mission that the Danish Government planted trading posts, very like those of our Hudson’s Bay Company, to buy seal - oil, eider - down, skins, and walrus ivory, in exchange for Some two hundred and forty unarmed Danish gentlefolk are surrounded by twenty-two thousand armed Eskimos, who run their own affairs without the least interference. There is no law and no policeman—and there has been no crime for a hundred years back. It is the pure anarchy which politicians and philosophers dream about, and the only example ever realized in this wicked world. It is possible because the Eskimos area very fine people, while the Danes are wise, kind, able, and unselfish beyond all example. About a dozen foreigners have been permitted by Denmark to visit this amazing Colony for special work in scientific research. Of these foreigners, since the year 1735, the English- speaking men were the late Edward Whymper and myself; so I am the only living witness to testify in our language to the magnificent experiment of the Danes. While most of the world’s primitive inhabitants are steadily dis- appearing, they have carefully preserved one race living practically the life of ten thousand years ago, as it was in the days of the Great Ice Age. So one may study at first hand the origins and beginnings of human speech, of human _ habits, arts, and crafts, thought, Ppolitics,-and religion. Denmark has a treaty with the Great Powers by which their subjects are forbidden to land in Greenland lest liquor and disease should reach the Colony. A little gun- coffee, sugar, cloth, boat, not very fierce, needles, and other spendseverysummerin treasures of the white the port of Godhaab, man. The “ Royal (Good Hope). Once Trade.” as it is called, . The cliffs at “Saunderson’s Hope.” upon a time the captain loses about £5,000 a year, but that is because the Danes help the Eskimos, keeping them alive in times of famine. With us the microbes of measles are, so to speak, domestic pets, and we are able to withstand the assaults of smallpox, influenza, and many other diseases, all of which are taken very seriously by savages, whole tribes and even races being swept away. The savage also takes eagerly to liquor, which may be good for us, but is very bad for him. That is why the people of the “ Royal Trade ” are sworn to give no liquor to the natives, and every one of them—clergy, doctors, traders, craftsmen, and mariners—has to be stripped and medically examined before he is allowed to sail for Greenland. So carefully is the rule enforced that the last case of contagious disease in Greenland was one of smallpox in the year 1825, ninety-four years ago. While the Eskimo tribes in Siberia, Alaska, Canada, and Labrador are rapidly dying out, the Greenlanders show a steady increase of numbers. In Danish Greenland there is no Government.

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THE WONDERLAND OF THE ARCTIC. 233 got sick of Godhaab, went for a cruise, hit a reef, and lost his little gunboat. A party of enter- prising American tourists once chartered a steamer, called at Sukkertoppen (Sugar Loaf), eleared from that haven, went four miles, hit a rock, and went to the bottom. Some American fishermen lost a deal of money fishing for halibut on the banks, but they are the only casual visitors who had the luck to escape from ship- wreck. Of course, there were the Dundee whalers, massively built, double-manned, and magnifi- cently handled, which visited the Greenland seas, and some of these escaped all perils of the coast. And there are the Polar expeditions, with only five ships lost per hundred voyages. But on the whole the odds are ten to one that a visiting ship will be wrecked. It is this fact, and not the funny little gunboat, or the International Treaty, which keeps people away from Green- land. The law is backed by the menace of an unbuoyed, unlighted coast, uncharted tides and currents, the ice-pack, the berg-stream, and fog. The law does not, of course, apply to ships of the “ Royal Trade.” The Hvalfisken (Whale- fish) was a hundred and three years in the Trade before she re- tired and became a Yacht Club head- quarters at Copen- hagen. The brig Pert 1 saw in Baffin’s Bay, with the high poop and low bows of eighteenth century shipping, and she also was a cen- tenarian. The barque Thorwaldsen, which took me to Greenland, was quite ridiculously The prettiest girl the Author saw in Greenland. Upernavik, the “farthest north” village in the world. A typical Greenland landscape at Upernavik. young —only in her fifty-third year. How then are these ships safe in the deadly Greenland seas? Partly, I think, be- cause they are gener- ously manned and equipped, and handled with magnificent sea- manship; but mainly they owe their safety to the secret Pilot Book. No Dane has ever betrayed that sacred trust. I was allowed to see, and even to read the volume; but as I could not understand - one word of Danish I shall not betray any secrets. The Danes are much more civilized than we are and of the seventeen people inthe Thorwaldses no fewer than ten spoke English. The seamen slept in sheets, and were much better housed and fed than those of an English sailing ship. She carried studding-sails—the ¢xtra canvas tigged out on booms’ from the yard-arms which helps a ship to claw up wind—once common, but now very rare, if not extinct. She also had an instrument for recording the direction and strength of the wind, a thing which dates from the time of the ancient Vikings, but is now so long forgotten that I doubt if any other specimen still exists. When she met a sister ship of the “Royal Trade” both vessels dipped their colours, while each ship's company lined up along the bulwark and drank a glass of beer to the other’s health— Skald!"” That custom belongs to the days when the Danish Vikings invaded and conquered England. At meal- times, if the cabin boy served up a dirty fork, the captain made him stand to attention, and

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234 gave him with thumb and finger three smart flicks on the nose. The pain brought tears to the boy’s eyes, but he did not whimper—blubbing is not good form among the sons of the Vikings. But the prettiest thing which happened was on the homeward passage. It was blowing very hard indeed, and the mate took in his upper top-gallant sails for fear we should lose them. This operation was just finished when we sighted ahead a Norwegian barque hove to, unable to face the weather. For sheer pride of sea- manship the mate promptly set his sails THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Greenland Inspectorate, and showed me to the people as a curiosity, the only Englishman ever seen in those parts. My countrymen have a good name there and the Eskimos gave me little presents, kecpsakes, which I have treasured ever since. The Eskimo winter house is partly a dug: out, and partly built of turf. with beams of driftwood. The entry is a tunnel where the dogs live, and one crawls on all fours into the room. This is perhaps five feet high, and lit by a small skin window. The rear half of the room has a low dais for again. went roaring the bed-place. and in down the storm to the front part stands show the labouring the stove lamp, filled Norseman how to with seal oil and rag handle a ship—and A trading post. wick, which serves for when we were out of light, heat, and cooking sight took in his canvas once more The shirs during the eimonth night of the Arctic winter. of Denmark’ ‘ Royal Trade” are swaggering aristocrats, the timber droghers of Norway are coffins which no sailors except the Norsemen would dare to sail in; but. whether in the rich ships or the poor, Scandinavian seamanship has the profound respect of all real sailors. Danish Greenland extends from the southern headland, all up the western coast, past the bie is'e of Disco, past Upernavik, the most northerly village of the world, and on to 73° 40’ N., the trading port of Tassiusak, the last house on earth. I give pictures of the Jast village and the last house. From Tassiusak the Governor of North Greenland took me a day’s jour- ney by boat to a turf hut which is sometimes occupied as a summer outpost. This is at the edge of the “ Land of Death ’—a three- hundred - mile archi- pelago with many ruins of turf huts where all the folk perished dur- ing a time of famine. At the other end is Cape York, where dwells a little tribe which, until lately, had never heard of the Greenland Eskimos to the southward Here begins Smith’s Strait, the route to the North Pele, six hundred miles farther on, but human life comes to an end at Cape York. During that boat-voyage the Governor took me to all the villages and camps of the North An Eskimo widow. During the four-month day, when the sun does not set at all, the people live in camp. Their skin tent is shaped like one half of a bell, “with a low and narrow bed-place at the rear, while in the wide, high open front burns a “smudge.”’ a smoke fire to choke the big mos- quitoes. These are so large, ferocious, and numerous that nobody has a good word to say for them. The Eskimo dogs are “ huskies '’—half-tamed wolves—useful in winter transport, drawing a loaded carriole or sled. In summer they are not useful, so the owners maroon them on the nearest desert island. There is no country so well sup plied as this with desert islands. During their holiday the dogs catch fish for food, and thrive, devoting theis spare time to voice: production, choral singing, and battles. Eskimo critics who have been to Europe say it is a wretched country, and pity the poor Danes. Denmark is painiully flat, with a deadly climate, ne reindeer, ice - bears, walrus, or sea-birds, few fish, and, worst of all, no seals. No wonder the more reasonable Danes settle in Greenland ! The fur seal does not visit the North Atlantic, and the Greenland seal is a hairy animal. His inside arrangements, heart, kidneys and so on,

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THE WONDER“AND OF THE ARCTIC. are exactly like those of a sheep; his meat is a fat, streaky mutton. His skin makes nice hairy breeches for men, women, and children. The skin with the hair rotted off, scraped clean, and oil-dressed makes soft-soled footgear, perfectly waterproof ; hip-boots 235 in coloured leather. Indeed, the Danish ladies have persuaded one or two of the Eskimo girls to wear skirts, and they look dreadful. But the girls in their native dress, well built, lithe as deer, and full of fun, are altogether charming. They like the seamen for the women, and knee - boots for the men ; also the hunter's shirt. Witha frame of driftwood this trans- lucent and invaluable skin makes the summer tent, the women’s boat, the hunter’s canoe or kayak, and the dog- train harness. For winter clothes, of course, one uses fox- fur, dog-skin, reindeer- skin, or _ bear-skin. The driftwood makes roof beams, tent poles and canoe frames, har- poons for sealing, lances for hunting wal- rus, bear, and reindeer, darts for fish and sea- birds. Bones are good, too, and walrus ivory for weapon points, buttons and toys to please the children. Hollowed stones make lamps, and sharp stones are knives and scrapers for dressing skins. So rich Green- land supplies everything needed by sensible people, excepting cloth or serge for summer shirts, the coffee, the sugar, and tobacco. As to candles and other sweetmeats, they are mere luxuries. Eskimo diet would very soon kill the white man with scurvy or leprosy, but raw blubber is exquisitein flavour,and oneGreenland delicacy, Eskimo girls, too, take kindly to kisses and dancing, and are mighty proud to marry and have children whose sires are Danes. The father has part of his pay stopped and paid to the mother, while the girl wears a green ribbon round her top- knot in honour of the event. This top-knot is one of the many curi- ous things in Green- land, the hair being pulled up and tied with a ribbon—blue for a maid, green for the mother of a Danish child, red for an ordi- nary wife, black for a widow. Unhappily, the strain on the hair causes baldness above the ears, so middle-aged women wear a silken kerchief to hide that disfigurement. The top-knot is no longer quite in the first fashion. The photographs will show better than I can describe what a kayak looks like. It is the hunter’s little decked canoe, the “ p.t.o. boat ” which turns upside down if one winks. The hunter wriggles his legs into the fore part of the craft, sits on a dog-skin rug, fits the edge of his skin shirt over the edge of the ring opening in which he sits, buckles the skin of the white whale, is a thing for epicures. It was my privilege to supply three tins of this de- licious stuff to con- noisseurs at the Ritz in Paris, the Carlton in London, and to Queen Alexandra, who had it served for the Christmas dinner at Sandringtam. I hoped toestablish thedelicacy in our market, and so help Denmark to put an end to the yearly losses of the “ Royal Trade.” Unhappily, political events in Denmark ruined this adventure. The Danish men in Greenland wear Eskimo dress, but the ladies are shy of the pretty native costume, the hooded shirt, the hairy brechees, and the thigh-boots with their dainty ornament Some of the men-folk. the wrists tight and the hood close round his face, and puts on a pair of long-sleeved mitts. Ship and man are then as water-tight as a duck, and a skilled kayaker, with strokes of his double - bladed paddle, can turn up- side down and right himself again! The transparent skin canoe is light, swift, and so flexible that it is safe from being crushed by ice. When after seals the hunter wears a white over-shirt, and has a cotton screen in the bows, so that as he approaches a seal the animal mis- takes him for a bit ot berg ice. He launches the harpoon, and as the head strikes home the shaft floats away. When the seal dives a line runs out from the barbed weapon-head to a large

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236 bladder, which floats, showing the animal's position until he comes up to breathe, when the death-stroke is given with a lance. When the hunter tows the carcass home, the meat is not his own, but the property of all who may be hungry. Only four white men, Dr. Nansen among them, have learned to use a kayak, only two-thirds of the Eskimo men are able tu master the art, and of all the men one fourth are drowned out hunting. The coast of Greenland consists of a range of mountains half sunken in the sea, so that the foot-hills are islands, the dales channels, and the inner valleys of the high alps dark and awful fjords whose sheer mile-high walls are crowned with the jade-green of everlast- ing ice. It is the sea- front of a larger, loftier, and grander Norway, “and beliind it loom the heights of the inland ice. The ice-cap over- flows the mountain tops and pours tre-. mendous glaciers through the valleys, down to ice-choked channels, whence the icebergs come in slow procession, by Baffin’s Bay and Davis Strait, to the Atlantic deeps. A three-days’ journey with no sleep—the mosquitoes saw to that—brought me to the top of a mountain overlooking the gigantic Jakobs- havn glacier. To north, east, and south, far up in the sky loomed the heights of the ice-cap. It is not white, but, like a mirror, reflects the splendours of the sky ; and on towards midnight, In the fords, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, wnen the sun was low in the north, the sunset light made all the heavens and the ice-field one blaze of blinding colour. The silence was breathless, deathly, terrific. The space between the stars is not more lonely. Down at the mouth of Jakobshavn fjord there is a shoal—the depth is a mere twelve hundred feet—where the bergs from the giant glacier have grounded, forming a city of ice. It is about the size of London, its pinnacles rising six hundred feet in air, its walls two hundred feet, of perfectly trans- parent ice, like clear glass. The shadow of the wall goes down into glassy water, so clear that one cannot see it save when a breath of wind flaws it with silver. Our transe parent skin boat seemed to be hung in space as we threaded our way through the berg-drift for hour by hour. You will find that wonderful city de scribed in the last chapter of the Book of Revelation. It is a land of awful beauty and majesty, unearthly, spiritual, like some tremendous dream. Look northward and one sees the sunward slopes of all the mountains, a blaze of alpine flowers. Look southward and every shadowed alp, from its splintered spires down its gaunt walls of rock to the sea, is crowned with glacier and streaked with ice. It was good to be there. remember. It is happiness to THE “DEATH CLOCK.” Verily, the Hun has a strange mentality. We have had many instances of that during the recent hostilities, and still they continue to be brought to our notice. A reader in Paris sends us the annexed photograph of a clock produced by a German workman, and comments upon it as follows: ‘“ Who but a German would ever want to have such a piece of decoration as this in his house ? I am told that this Death Clock was produced during the war, but that the average Hun has always been fond of this sort of thing. When the Huns came to Paris in peace times they were the best customers at the Cabaret de la Mort, at Montmartre. They have alw been attracted by gruesome subjects, they seemed to revel in ideas of Death and Decay. Well. they are welcome to their choice. Personally, I prefer French taste in art. How different is another clock which I have just seen in this beautiful city! Perched on a globe, within which are the works, is a Gallic Cock, crowing victori- ously—a cock magnificently carved out of wood by a master carver, Monsieur H. Guemet. ‘The Clock of Victory’ he calls it. Placed side by side with the * Clock cf Death,’ they show very strikingly where the two nations that produced them now stand.” Digitized by GOOle Cc

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IN QUEST CANNIBAI Exploration and Adventure m Unknown New Guinea LIEUT E.W P CHINNER’ Mustrated by ARCH, WEBB. This narrative will be found as full of interest and “thrills” as any adventure story ever written. The Author—a district officer in New Guinea—describes his experiences while engaged in a prolonged man-hunt for cannibal outlaws who, to avoid paying the penalty for their misdeeds, retreated into the unknown interior of the country, among tribes who had never seen a white man before. Lieut-nant Chinnery's account is illustrated with unique photographs taken by himself, and we can promise our readers plenty of excitement and some vivid glimpses of the “white man’s burden” in this vast No Man's Land of mountains and swamps. — Ut. (——iegee EFORE the birds had finished their if song announcing the dawn, we were speeding in the launch up-river, on top of a spring tide, at a good ten knots, taking up once more the quest of the head-hunters and the mothers of the babies left on our hands. E-Eri, chief of the Kerewa tribe, with his family, stood on a platform over the river and wished us good luck, while Mrs. E-Eri greeted me with the following: ‘‘ Master, we want you find alto- gether Mumma belonga that feller pickaninny. All the time he cry, cry, cry.”’. The shrill voices of a number of Kerewa children from a canoe drawn up close to the river bank also joined in the expression of good. wishes, and begged us to “look out good along arrows belong the Mati devil-devil people.’’ It is one of the greatest pleasures in the life of a district officer to feel that he has the loyalty of his people, and such expression of good-will, from representatives of a tribe that in the past had been a sharp thom in the side of the Government, gave both the police and myself no little gratification. In a short time we had entered enemy country, and everyone preserved a: strict silence, which was broken only by the “ chug! chug:”’ of the engine. Asharp look-out was kept for wandering canoes, and shortly after reaching the waterways of the Irumuku district we noticed a number of canoes stealing quietly along, under cover of the vegetation overhanging the banks. Our course was set towards them, and the majority of the men in them promptly took to the bush, but one remained, and a‘sured us that he was of the Kumu-Kumu tribe, and had been with his fellows on a visit to trade crabs with the Mati refugees. Having been unable to find them, they were now returning to their village. The canoes were examined, but A Suspicious no crabs were found; instead, Cargo. huge bundles of arrows filled each canoe, and as the man, who was one of the chiefs of the Kumu-Kumu tribe which lived lower down the river, failed to explain to my satisfaction the presence of these arrows, I accused him of harbouring Mati refugees and sent him, under escort, to the Resident Magis- trate, with a note asking the latter to hold him until I returned from the Mati district, where I hoped to find further evidence of their visit. The prisoner was, greatly upset at this; and vehemently assured me that they had not even seen a Mati man. I invited him to call to the men who had cleared off into the bush and tell them that he was under arrest, but would be released if the Mati men were brought to the launch. This, however, he sulkily refused to do, repeating that there were no Mati men. He was taken to the station, and the launch went on up-stream, but when we turned the first corner that hid us from the canoes under the river bank, we anchored the launch, went ashore, and crawled back through the swamps to a site which overlooked the canoes. Here we waited patiently for the fugitives to return. The

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238 sandflies and mosquitoes, unfortunately, waited with us, and caused us much discomfort. An hour passed, but there was no sign of the Kumu-Kumu. Two hours of misery; two hours of exquisite torture—sandflies and mos- quitoes in clouds, but no Kumu-Kumu. We imitated the voice of their chief, but there was no response, so, convinced that they had re- turned through the swamps to their village, we went back to the launch and proceeded to Mati. Here there were indications of a large feast of crabs. The bush around the village was searched, and the tracks of many people who had come and gone were found. Undoubtedly the Kumu- Kumu had scen the Mati, and possibly some of the murderers had returned to Kumu-Kumu in the canoes. Most of the tracks went in one direction, and I decided to follow these on the morrow. Camp was made in the large house in which the cannibal feast had been held. No fires could be lighted, for fear of disclosing our presence to the enemy, so, after a meal of biscuits and water, the whole party turned in for a much- needed rest—all excepting the sen- tries, who took up positions near the main tracks leading to the vil- lage, in the hope of laying hands on night prowlers. The night was passed in strict silence, broken only by the whispered instructions of the sentries when changing, and the snores of the slumberers. At four a.m. the cooks were wakened by the guard, and encouraged by the repeated applications of fect . to “get up quick time and get breakfast ready.” Early dawn found us following the trail again, comfortably fed, and eager for the job ahead. Three hours of wallowing up to our waists in mud through swamps of sago and prickly pandanus brought us to the headwaters of Himiti creek. We followed this, and presently arrived at a large cave in a number of limestone knolls. The tracks broke into different direc- tions at this point, so I divided the party and we encircled the limestone. It was literally honey- combed with caves, and in the ridges there were smal] shelters, but the whole place was deserted. While the rest of us sat down for a spell, the skilled bushmen of the party scoured the locality for a clue as to the direction taken by the people whose tracks we had followed. An hour passed before they succeeded in their search. so we decided to lunch and then go on. While the cooks were busy inside the caves, I searched the rocks for signs of recent habitation. This was the place described to us by the prisoner Hopimati, and there was no doubt that a few days before a considerable number of people had been living in it. One or two platforms had been erected on the outskirts for the interment of dead bodies, but the corpses had evidently — A skull shrine, with offerings to the tribal deities of the skulls of men killed ia warfare, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. been moved, for no trace of them could be found. My rambles were cut short by an abrupt reminder from the cooky boy that ‘' kai-kai (food) ready.” Soon after lunch we were again on the move. The tracks, as before, led us waist-deep through sago swamps. One cannot imagine the tortures of such a journey unless one has personally undergone the experience. The feet and shins are being continually jarred by roots under the mud, and one is often sent sprawling on all fours in the filthy mess, for the vines and other ob stacles out of sight in the mud are always tripping one up. While the submerged portions of one’s anatomy are suffering from knocks and scratches, that part of the body out of the mud is hardly more comfortable, for myriads of biting insects and the ubiquitous mosquito make life a burden However, we struggled on, and were at last rewarded by finding a footprint made but a few minutes before, and this stimulated us greatly. Soon afterwards we saw a shelter on the track ahead, and smoke was obverved issuing from its roof of sago-lcaf thatch. Moving with the utmost caution, we managed to creep up and surround the place before the occupants were aware of our presence, but the moment they observed us, fierce yells of alarm rent the air. We secured the two old women who had made all the noise, and a guard took charge of them while the rest of us dashed ahead to a spot from which the yells of the old women had been answered. The swamp opened into a larg» clearing, sur rounded by limestone ridges, in which some rude shelters had been erected. The people had fled from the shelters to the bush on receiv- ing the alarm, and immediately on our entry from the cover of the sago swamp a shower of arrows grected us. We were ready for them, however, and, by stooping low, managed to hide ourselves from the snipers as effectively as they had hidden from us. Dozens of small caves occurred in the limestone, which extended in ridges for some distance. Each cave was searched without avail until late in the after noon, when one of the scouts led me to the entrance of a small cavern. Fresh footmark led into it; the trail was getting warm ! The party entered by crawling on their stomachs through the low opening, but, inside, it widened to a deep gallery high enough to stand upin. For fear of arrows from inside no torches could be carried, but occasionally, as we found our progress hampered by a forest of stalagmites and stalactites, the whole party would lie down while the leader struck a match to see the way. The air became foul and the cavity narrow; one would turn one’s head to avoid an obstacle in front, and it would be unmercifully bumped by a hard mass of wet kimestone protruding from the roof.

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239 4 a a _ 4 a oO i) ° eg “The men at bay made noises like vicious cats while they stabbed at the boys with spears.”

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240 Presently the tunnel broke up A Fight into a number of galleries run- in the ning in different directions, Some Darkness. of the party remained at this point to guard the openings, while the remainder of us separated to search the galleries. My party took the largest opening, and for some little distance we proceeded in a stooping position, lighting matches at intervals to reveal the obstacles ahead, but eventually we were forced to crawl snake-like on our stomachs again. The coral-like stone was very hard under the knees, and the quality of the air made one feel most uncomfortable. Suddenly there came a ghastly yell from the boy ahead of mc. In pitting his hand for- ward to feel his way he had touched a human body! It was a man, and he was crouching at the very end of the cave. He must have heard us approaching him, and, as soon as my policeman touched him, he apparently wriggied over his body, for just as I moved forward to ascertain what was the trouble, a head bumped me in the face with such force that I saw thousands of bright lights in the inky blackness. My yell threw the whole party into confusion. The man behind me jumped upto come to myrescue, forgetting entirely that the cavern had a roof, with the result that he got a bumpon the head that threw him ina heap on top of me. In his excitement he then grabbed the toes of the policeman in front, who was struggling frantic- ally with the lower half of the Mati man. Feel- ing the twisting of his toes policeman No. 1 kicked frantically, and one of his feet struck my mouth. As a result, the blood rushing from my nose from the forcible contact with the Mati man’s head was rein- forced by another stream from my mouth. A yell of pain behind me showed that one of the boys, in attempting to crawl over my body, had come in painful contact with my boot, and an awful cry from the policeman in front told that one of his legs had found its way between the sharp teeth of the Mati man. So the nightmare struggle continued in the darkness until a lucky tap kept the Mati man quiet for a few minutes; then we were able to Yearrange ourselves and, by the aid of matches, A bush scene near the Himiti caves, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. examine the scene. The policeman in front had a nasty wound in the calf of the leg where two sets of teeth had met; the boy behind had a lump as big as an egg where his head had touched the rough cciling; my nose and top lip were split, and the Mati man had a bump on the back of his head. The end of the cave was in sight, so we returned to the junction of the openings, and there found the others awaiting us. They had six prisoners and a number of women, two of whom, we discovered, were mothers of two of the children we had left at Kikori. Two of the police had been badly mauled in an exciting affray at the end of one of the other caves, where the menat bay had made noises like vicious cats while they stabbed at the boys with spears. Not one was badly hurt, however, so, well satisfied with the day’s results, we re tured to Mati village with the men and women captured. After a meal we took them backto the station. Next morning we refitted the expedi- tion, taking new police in place of those injured. The patrol officer with half the number pro- ceeded in canoes to the Himiti caves, with in- structions to remain there, while I took the others in the launch to the headwaters of the Veru river, some dis- tance behind Himiti, where we suspected there was another hid- ing-place. This part of the country was literally covered with immense outcrops of limestone, full of caves and sub terranean galleries. Very soon we picked up tracks which led us through numerous villages of rough shel- ters and huge cave. systems, but no traces of our quarry re warded the search till late in the afternoon, when we came suddenly on a large camp of scattered shelters amongst the broken limestone boulders. It was impossible to surround them, for only here and there could we get a glimpse of them through the jungle. Presently we got close enough to see men, and were astonished to note that they were just about to move camp. Each man was loaded with arrows, implements, and utensils, while the women were staggering under the weight of their netted bags, full of belongings. The reason for this exodus was disclosed when one man, apparently the chief, called out “‘ Make haste ; the Government is at

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IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. = 241 “The canoe tumed turtle,” Vol. xliv.—17,

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242 Himiti and we-must get far away before they find this camp.”” It was evident that they had placed a scout at Himiti, and that individual had reported the arrival of the patrol officer and his party. The difficulties of our task in approaching unseen and = un- heard were increased by the number of small shrubs that had been felled around the camp to prevent anyone approaching it without making a noise in the cracking branches. The obvious happened, for while we were completing an encircling move- ment round the habitations one of our boys fell through the branches of a fallen tree he was climbing over and the alarm was given. ‘ Govern- ment ! Government !"’ they yelled, and scattered in all directions. Dashing in amongst them; we succeeded in arresting some of the leaders before they could escape. They fought like wild cats, with sticks, teeth, and nails, and the women dropped their burdens and tore at the faces of my police with their nails until the blood streamed from» them. Eventually we managed to get them all together in one of the shelters, and to pacify the frantic women. Many of the ring- leaders were there, and from them we learnt that they were heartily tired of being hunted from swamp to swamp. Some of the others, they said, had gone to More Prisoners. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, but we managed to persuade a local native to carry a message to his people, which brought about the same result in a couple of days. Several Mati and Irumuku men who had been hiding there came in and gave themselves up, but, as the chief Siaki had not come in, I decided to go out again and look for him. The captured women were sent back to the district with the derelict babies we had found on the Omati patrol; they also carried a message from the Mati men to their chief Siaki, to come in and share their punishment. I returned to the headwaters of Himiti creek and joined the patrol officer. Together we hunted the swamps of the district, but did not succeed in finding anyone, so returned to the station, where we learnt that the chief Siaki and the remainder of the men wanted had already arrived. There now remained only the Irumuku, so the Resident Magistrate accepted the offer of a young man, who formerly lived at Irumuku, but of late years had spent his life in the Kerewa villages, to take a message to the Irumuku from the Mati, asking them to come in and surrender, so that they, too, could share the punishment for their misdeeds. The boy left for Irumuku, but was brought in a couple of days later by a friendly Kumu-Kumu native who had found him crawling through the bush near the bank of Kumu-Kumu fora little rest, but many, includ- ing the chief Siaki, were already on their way to Kikori to give them- selves up. Worn out with the anxiety and hardships of the past few weeks, they were Teally glad to be in custody, where, at least, they would be able to sleep in comfort. ‘We returned to the river at nightfall, and entered canoes to re- turn through the shal- low lagoons of the head- waters to the launch. At this juncture Ihad a very annoying mishap. I had just bathed and dressed myself in the only clean suit of clothes I had, when the canoe turned turtle, and de- posited me on the muddy bottom! Soon, however, we reached the launch and supped at the station about 9 p.m. The Kumu-Kumu man, when he saw the prisoners we _ had brought, offered to go back to his village and the river with one large spear through his thigh and another through his groin. It was some hours before we could revive him, but eventually we cleaned his wounds and stimulated his ebbing spirits. When he was sufficiently rested we asked him to tell his story, and this is what he told us :— “After The Fate leaving of the Kikori Messenger. I went straight to the place where my mother makes sago. There I found her and my young brothers. I sent them to bring my father and the tribes- men to a village in the limestone where we al- ways hide in times of stress. My mother went there with me and we cooked the sago and rested. During the night the people of the tribe joined us. I ad- vised them to come in and surrender, but they would not. ‘The Mati “| sister br = = => bring in the Mati men who were hiding there, The house in which the Irumuku people were murdered by the Moreri, 7 men are all caught now,’ I said, ‘and the iized by GOOQIE Oo

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Government will come to your district and hunt you from place to place so that you will have nowhere to sleep and no time to make sago.’ They agreed that it would be better to surrender at once than to live a life of misery and then be forced to surrender, so it was decided that we should all go to Kikori in the morning with the other people of the tribe, who were hiding in another, village some little distance away. We slept, and in the morning went towards the place where the others were hiding, but half way there were met by a man of that village with a spear through him. He told us that the Moreri and Aua-Boroma tribes had dashed into the village at dawn and killed all but him. “We hastened to the place and found the bodies of some old men all cut up and decapitated. The Moreri had taken all the heads and as many bodies as their canoes would hold. We remained in the village and cried all day and far into the IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. people after the Mati prisoners had been disposed of. The Aua-Boroma were a mysterious people, for whom the Government had been searching for many years. They were said to inhabit the man- grove swamps inland, but though many expedi- tions had been out after them not one had come in contact with them. The Moreri, too, had never been seen. They lived inland among the foot-hills of the Sirebi river system. It was said that th ese people had taken at least forty bodies with them, so I decided to lose no time in endeavouring to catch them red-handed at their cannibal orgies. The Resident Magistrate committed the Mati murderers for trial, and they were later sentenced to death and transferred in a small launch to Port Moresby, where the sentence was commuted to imprisonment for life. Some of them, in- cluding the chief Siaki, died in jail, and many of them escaped from the Port Moresby prison, but have not been heard of since. It is several 243 The Mati prisoners, under sentence of death, on board the launch, bound for Port Moresby prison. night until sleep came to us and we lay down. I was wakened at dawn by a sharp pain in the groin, and looking up I found a spear quivering in my body. It had pinned me to the earth, but I shook it out of the ground and crawled away. Another spear went through my leg as I crept into the bush. I heard the Moreri war- cry, and then there was silence. Some time after I crawled back to the village, but found nothing but blood everywhere. My people had been killed and taken away. I crawled back into the bush until I reached the river bank, where the Kumu-Kumu man found me while I was looking for a canoe. The Moreri people did this in revenge for the men my tribe and the Mati people killed some time ago.” I decided to visit the Moreri,and Aua-Boroma hundred miles from Port Moresby to Kikori; many wide, crocodile-infested rivers lie along the road, and it is supposed that the Mati escapees were appropriated by the crocodiles on their way home, for Mati district never saw them again. The man Hopimati was released for services rendered, and he returned to Mati and formed the nucleus of a settlement of people who had learnt the lesson which the Government has to teach those who offend against its laws. This settlement should be the foundation of a progressive tribe, the succeeding generations of which will be all the better for the training their fathers had. In the last instalment of this narrative I shal) relate my experiences while in search of the defiant Moreri and Aua-Boroma cannibals. (To be concluded.)

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Two Balloona 7] ionel Mander ICS Mustrated by A&M. BLACK In these days of transatlantic flights by aeroplanes and airships one is apt to forget that it is comparatively only a few years since balloons were the sole means by which man could travel through the air. before the war. N the carly days of flying I was induced by a friend, an aviator in embryo, to buy a machine and take \p aviation as a sport. We both adjourned to the South of France, and after a year or two of struggling against the elements, and the odds peculiar to pioneer enterprises, during which time but small progress was made in the world of flight, I be- came convinced that I was cut out for a more congenial form of pastime, and one entailing less expense. It was not long, therefore, before I decided that the older form of aerial navigation— ballooning—was going to occupy my. attention in the future. It all began one wintry day in November, just before the war. On my way home from business, about six p.m., I looked in at a well-known hostel in Dover Street, chiefly because, being chilled to the bone, I thought that a glass of their brown sherry would do me good. The smoke-room was fairly crowded, so I did not trouble to scan the faces of those present, but ordered my drink and sat down. A few moments later I was approached bya man whom I did not immediately recognize, but it was not long before a warm greeting and hearty handshake disclosed his identity. He was none other than Patrick Sherrin, an Trishman, and a very old friend of mine whom I had not seen for many months. In a few moments he had told me all his news. He was charmingly erratic and irresponsible in his manner and actions, besides possessing other racial characteristics. We talked for some time on all sorts of topics, but the conversation eventually turned to ballooning. Now, Pat had apparently heard that I was rather keen in this direction, and therefore suggested without more ado that I should give him a “ flight,’”’ as he chose to call it, in a balloon. “Tam afraid you have chosen the wrong time of year, old boy,”’ I replied. “ But if it is fine, why shouldn’t we go to- morrow ?”’ he urged. ‘Are you busy to- morrow ? Can you get away?” Well, there was really no excuse that I could think of, at least no excuse formidable enough to successfully counter his apparent determination, This story describes an exciting balloon adventure that happened just “It has the merit of being true in every detail,” writes the Author. He made the “ flight ’’ contingent on the weather, and as the odds against the day being “ right ” at that time of year were four or five to one, I was eventually persuaded to leave it open till we saw what the next day brought forth. After a good deal more palaver, therefore, I took my departure with an unsolicited promise from him to ring me up first thing in the moming. I was really glad to see Pat again. His typically Irish countenance, wreathed in smiles, together with his unquenchable thirst for some skylarking adventure, acted like a tonic on my town-weary nerves. To make a balloon ascent, with him as sole companion, however, was another matter. I felt quite certain he would contrive either consciously or subconsciously to engineer some contvetemps which he might deem amusing, but which I, not being possessed of a similar sense of humour, might not be able to appreciate in the same light. Nevertheless, no presentiment came to me that the climax of his happy-go-lucky career was to be reached the next day, with me a party to it. When I woke next morning, as luck would have it, the sun was endeavouring to break through the clouds, and little beams were per- colating through the cracks in my window-blinds and coming into the bedroom, I quickly flung aside the curtains and threw open the window. The day, on the whole, was a suitable one for our proposed trip. A gentle north-west wind, veering to the north, chased the somewhat heavy clouds across blue patches in the heavens. It did not look like rain; the wind was not too strong; it was not blowing from the west. These three salient points are usually taken into consideration when making a balloon ascent from London. A westerly wind will take one straight down the Thames into the North Sea, and unless one is desirous of crossing, and equipped for it, a forced descent near Gravesend or Canvey Isle, or some similar undesirable spot, usually results. I had not finished drying myself after my bath when the telephone bell rang. Needless to say, it was Pat. He was highly elated at the

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weather conditions, and thought we should start in half an hour—it was then 9.15! I ex- plained that a balloon was not a motor-car, and could not be prepared in less than an hour or two, so eventually he was persuaded to meet me for lunch at 12.30 p.m., with the idea of making a start immediately afterwards. He had no sooner rung off than I got through to the Battersea Gas Works and ordered the old “ Zodiac ”’ to be prepared for an ascent at 2 p.m. The ‘‘ Zodiac ’’ was a rubber balloon of fifty thousand cubic feet capacity. THis type of balloon is undoubtedly the most serviceable for making trips in England. It would not, of course, be large enough if a long overseas trip to Germany or Russia were contemplated, and although the Channel has been crossed on many occasions in a “ spherical ’’ of this type, a larger one would be infinitely preferable if it were desired to undertake a long-distance journey. As we drove down to Battersea in a taxi no blue sky was to be seen, and the ordinary ob- server not conversant with the rudiments of aeronautics would have formed the impression that the day was far from desirable for the purposes of ballooning, as the clouds were now apparently of low altitude, and had rather thickened since the early morning. The general dampness of the air was obvious to anyone, but although these conditions did actually exist, I myself was fairly certain that we could soon penetrate the gloominess and emerge into warm sunshine such as Mother Earth rarely experiences in the winter-time. As we drew up at the gas works we could sce the top of the huge yellow envelope peeping over the railway embankment, gently swaying, and looking for all the world like the top of an enormous orange. We were not long in paying off our taxi and entering the precincts of the gas works. On approaching the envelope it presented the appearance of being thoroughly satiated after a heavy meal of coal gas. Catching hold of the ropes which suspended the basket from the wooden hoop above, I hoisted myself over into the basket in order to estimate and arrange ‘how many bags of sand we should be able to carry aloft. This accomplished, I turned my atten- tion to the setting of the various instruments which we were to take with us, and to disen- tangling the ropes which operated the valves. During all this, Pat remained an interested onlooker. Standing a few yards away, with his hands in his pockets, he gave me the impression of being slightly awestruck, slightly nervous, perhaps, concerning what was to come. He did not hesitate a moment, however, when I shouted to him to jump into the basket. With the help of the attendants we “weighed up” the old “ Zodiac,” allowing her to leave the ground for a few feet, then hauling her down again, this performance being repeated several times until the desired equilibrium was reached. Everything was now ready for starting, and the breeze at that moment being propitious. I shouted to the attendants to let us go. The indescribable sensation of soaring through TWO BALLOONATICS. 245 the air now scized us. It is beyond mortal man with pen and paper to portray at all adequately one’s feelings during the first few moments after leaving the ground. It is a time above all others of supreme happiness. All your troubles and worries, all the jarring and unceasing strife of that world beneath you, are thrown off like so much dust from your feet. At two thousand feet the smell of gas in our nostrils seemed to vanish, and on examination, the statoscope and aneroid barometer indicated that we had “ balanced ’’—that is to say, we had reached the maximum height which the atmospheric conditions would permit us to rise to with the weight we were now carrying. We were, howe ever, still in thick clouds ; and in an endeavour to reach the sunlight, I jettisoned some sand, and after a moment or two we again commenced rising. Up, up, we climbed, still enshrouded in thick, damp clouds, until, at an altitude of about six thousand feet, we eventually emerged to behold the most gorgeous panorama that can be witnessed, a panorama sacred to aviators and aeronauts. We seemed to have reached another planet. The almost appalling grandeur of the snow-white billows formed by the silken clouds below us, contrasting as they did with the spotless azure of the heavens above, held us spell-bound, and we were almost tempted to step out of the balloon basket on to the snowy surface below. Pat, who had maintained comparative silence up to this time, could contain himself no longer, but the exuberance of his spirits mastered all his endeavours to give vent in words to his con- dition of ecstatic wonderment. He decided there and then to become an aeronaut, and to spend as much as his meagre income would allow in the furtherance of this decision, even to the exclusion of hunting and polo which, until this moment, had reigned supreme in his estimation of sports and pastimes. In due course a bottle of champagne enhanced our exhilaration, and, I must admit, played no small part in causing me to relax some of my customary caution. On, on, we drifted, discussing matters both topical and general, the sun all the while keeping us in peaceful oblivion of the depressing realities of things mundane, until without warning it disappeared, and we again became immersed in thick fog. The natural consequence of this was to cause the balloon to descend, and on looking at my watch I discovered that we had been up a little more than an hour without secing the earth or being able to take our bearings. I therefore deemed it advisable to descend to within a few feet of the ground in order to ascertain where we were. Owing to the humidity of the clouds we were not long in descending, although I had not released any gas by “ valving.’”’ In fact, I was compelled to break our rapid descent by throwing several scoops full of sand ballast over the side of the basket. We were about five hundred feet from the ground when we finally emerged from the clouds

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246 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and again beheld old England with her undu- lating fields presenting the appearance of a patch - work quilt or chess-board ; and as we were now descending very slowly, I decided to release our trail rope in order to prevent the balloon, if possible, from touching the ground. The trail rope is usually about two hun- dred and fifty feet long, and is curled up before - starting and hitched on < outside the basket, with one end securely fast- ened to the hoop. When it is desired to land or to trail, the rope is allowed to unfold itself, and, thus released, hangs at its full length below the basket. As the balloon de- scends, and the rope touches the ground and starts trailing, some of the weight of the rope is in this manner taken off the balloon and ——<—~— checks its fall, and the journey may be con- tinued for some considerable time with the end of the rope dragging along the ground. This procedure we now adopted, and when we came within shouting distance I hailed a man in a farmyard over which we were passing, and asked him how far we were from the coast, and what might be the name of the neighbouring village. Neither Pat nor myself could catch the name of the village, but both of us clearly understood that we were thirty-one miles from the coast. On examining our maps we came to the conclusion that the place must be Godstone,-and as it was only 3.20 p.m. we were reluctant to cut short a trip which had so far been most enjoyable, so I threw out some more sand and up we went again into the murky and nebulous skies. What actually happened then I have never to this day properly fathomed. All my most elementary calculations went awry. We had ascended to a thousand feet, and were maintain- ing an even keel at about that height, still lost in an impenetrable barrier of fog, when I suddenly realized that the daylight appeared to be on the wane. I looked at my watch and found that it was 3.45. We had, therefore, only been up five-and-twenty minutes since our descent, but my companion and I agreed that it was un- doubtedly getting dark. At first I thought the atmospheric conditions might be responsible for this apparent illusion, but did not feel content to let it go at that, so I seized the valve line and released a few feet of gas. Hardly had the valve snapped back into its seating when a sound reached my ears which struck terror right through me. I called to Pat to be quiet, and listen. No; I was not mistaken, It was quite distinct now—the noise of surf “TL hailed a man in a farmyard over woich we were passing.” breaking on a beach! A feeling of nausea rose in my breast. The worst had happened ! I must ask my readers to try and picture fora moment the predicament in which we found ourselves. Here we were, two rather cowardly mortals, enveloped in a dense fog—so dense that Digitiz sty Google (eo)

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the envelope to which we were suspended ap- peared quite hazy—drifting out to sea over a part of the Channel which I knew must be at least seventy-five miles wide ; the blackness of a November night fast approaching; and with only sufficient ballast to keep us aloft for a few hours. This last item, ot course, was the most serious. I have always had the greatest horror of death by drowning, but now it seemed to be at hand. At that moment the weird moan of a fog-horn announced our position in unmistakable tones. I reckoned it must be the Royal Sovereign light- ship, and automatically made a rough guess at our bearings. The chances were that we had crossed the coast between Hastings and East- bourne. I looked at Pat and realized by his expression that he understood we were in a tight corner. ‘I think we're ‘ goners,’ Pat,” I said. * T suppose so,’’ he answered. Then he laughed ; and so did I. why. As I leant over the side of the basket I could feel the cool, damp air rushing upwards into my face, and I knew we were descending fairly rapidly. My first precaution was to climb into the hoop and tie up the neck of the balloon to prevent the escape of any more gas—the gas on which our lives depended. It was new quite still, and getting darker every moment. The ominous sound of the surf on the beach was gradually dying away. The wind secmed to have entirely dropped, and I again looked over the side. There, fifty feet below, the dull, greyish sea was just discernible. Our fall appeared to have been broken—perhaps by the trail-rope, the greater part of which was now buried in the depths. At first I regretted having released it earlier in the afternoon and having allowed it to get wet and heavy, for I thought we might have used it as ballast by cutting off small lengths bit by bit; but I now think it proved more efficacious as a sea-anchor, checking the speed of our drift seawards. After all possible precautions had been taken we gradually became reconciled to our fate, and I tried to persuade Pat that we might possibly be rescued. At one time we could hear and see a steamer, which passed us about half a mile away, but although we shouted ourselves hoarse it proved to be a “ship that passed in the night,’’ and all became quiet again except for that in- cessant fog-horn on the lightship, which blared out intermittently as if deriding us in our quandary. We still had one bottle of champagne unopened as well as our brandy flask. We took a swig at the latter from time to time to try and instil a little Dutch courage and warmth into our bodies, but all hope finally vanished when the lights of another steamer appeared and passed on, despite our cries for help. We were closer to the sea now, and were gradually getting lower and lower. Pat wrote a note to his wife and child on one of our maps and threw it overboard in the empty champagne bottle. It appeared quite futile, Ican’t think TWO BALLOONATICS. 247 especially as we had no cork for the bottle, but I suppose our wits had become dulled. It was a pitch-black night, with no sign of a moon, and we were both now lying in the bottom of the basket, half dozing and almost indifferent to our fate. Hour after hour seemed to pass. The lapping of the small waves a few feet beneath us was now quite audible, and at one time the basket actually rested on the surface of the water, but the envelope seemed to make a mighty effort and pulled us clear again. It appeared, however, that in a few moments we must settle in our icy grave. While thus ruminating, I was suddenly brought to my senses by the sound of voices. Was it possible 2? For the moment I thought a form of insanity had overcome me; but, no! Pat had heard them, too. We both sprang to our fect, but there was nothing to be scen, although the fog appeared to have lifted a trifle. We listened again—silence. I shouted. There was an answer, a human voice! I yelled again. Yes, it was no hallucination. We were going to be saved ! “ For Heaven's sake save us. Who are you? Where are you?’ These and many other questions we shouted. Presently there came the reply :— “We are in the middle of a catch; we can’t move from here.” Our hearts momentarily sank. Trealized that there was not a second to be lost, for we were fast drifting away, so redoubled my efforts. Pat, in his excitement, would persist in shouting at the same time, which made it much harder to explain our position. _However, I prevailed on him to be quiet, and forthwith made offers of untold gold to recompense the fishermen, which we now knew they were, for any loss that they might sustain. The greatest difficulty was to make them understand that we were in a balloon and not a boat. They persisted in telling us to “ row up” to them; but after much difficulty they at last grasped the situation, Things were looking black again, however, as all the time we were drifting farther and farther away from our would-be rescuers. We could not see each other, which made matters harder ; so Pat and I both fumbled for a light. It is not advisable as a rule to carry matches in a balloon unless they are of the safety variety; and it was the greatest picce of luck when we managed to raise three between us. The first we endeavoured to strike proved useless, as the head came off. The second flickered for two or three seconds, and the third must have been damp, as it would not strike at all. The second probably saved our lives, for by its brief light the fishermen were able to see the direction in which we lay, and without further delay aban- doned their nets and pulled up to the balloon. Under our supervision they caught hold of the trail-rope, very little of which was now visible above the water, and hauled us down into their little craft. Three men held down the baskct in the boat while Pat and I jumped out. I then seized the ripping-cord and tore a large hole in the side of the envelope. As the gas escaped the balloon subsided like

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “They caught hold of the trail-rope and hauled us down into their little craft.” a wounded animal on to the sea, and it became necessary to make two or three further incisions before she finally emptied, and we were able to haul her on board. The fishermen then hoisted their small sail and made for Eastbourne. Our rescuers consisted of two Englishmen, a Scotsman, and a Spaniard. They informed us that we were eleven miles off the coast and were, when picked up, drifting westwards towards the Atlantic Ocean, We had salved the remaining bottle of “ fizz,” and now divided it amongst us—and I can assure you my drop tasted sweet ! When we arrived at Eastbourne and sought refuge at The Grand, I expected to find that it was three or four c’clock in the morning, but the clock said only 10.15 p.m. I suppose it was right, although it was hard to believe. Anyway, I know I had a good sleep that night, and I think Pat did alsa

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REASURE |SLAND — by Shs f. An account .of Nauru, a remote little island in the South Pacific lM? Mahon eras 7 administration, has become a kind of Utopia of the South Seas. Mr. — that formerly belonged to Germany. f — McMahon tells some very interesting It is a great storehouse of phos- 2 stories concerning the last days of the phate of lime, the richest fertilizer }— German occupation, and his photo- in the world, and is coveted by — graphs give one a vivid idea of the every nation. Nauru, under British — conditions of life in this fortunate isle = = AURU is a mere dot in the Pacific, twelve miles in circumference, five thou- sand acres in extent, some thirty odd miles to the south of the Equator, two thousand three hundred and sixty miles from Australia, and fourteen thousand miles from England. It is a veritable “Treasure Island,’’ and the Germans valued it beyond all their other South Sea possessions. Now Australia claims it, New Zealand wants it, and at the beginning of the war Japan demanded it as part of the Marshalls, the group which that nation occupied tor the Allies. Nauru is the island whercon British enterprise has eg- made, palm-shaded road, the “‘ Rotten Row” of the British inhabitants, and the daily exercise ground of the British administrator. Fifty years ago this island, so valuable to-day, was practically unknown, the rendezvous of American whalers and traders. It was, too, the hiding-place of a gang of beachcombers, the most notorious scoundrels of the South Pacific, men idle, callous, and degraded, who had escaped from the penal settlements of Australia. Their lives were given up to drink, murder, and name- less crimes. A visitor of forty years ago describes the wretched existence of these degenerates, who out-savaged the savages, and “‘ whose feet trod soil that was tablished one of its pluckiest efforts— the industry for the mining and distribution of phosphate of lime, a prime fertilizer and plant food that is almost magical in its ac- tion. Small as the island is, it is most picturesque, with broad foreshores thickly planted with coco-nut groves. Allround the tiny islet runs worth untold mil- liens, and they never knew it.” The natives, once numerous, aggressive, and vigorous, were broken up bythese men into rival camps, one side of the island con- tinually fighting the other, until the native popu- lation dwindled to no more than a thousand or so. In those wild days, with guns, pow- a beautifully- e One of the many beautiful lagoons of Nauru Island. der, and shot

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250 THE WIDE WORLD supplied by pirate Germans, the warring sides ‘‘ potted’? one another day and night, and men and women had to creep by stealth from coco-nut tree to coco- nut tree in order to get food and water. A few more years passed, and then came German traders, advance agents of the Kaiser, on the look-out not for trade, but-for island territories—links to the chain with which Germany hoped to surround the Pacific and eventually drive out British power and influence. A German administrator called a “ sta- tionmaster”” and some officials were put on the island, and it became a German possession. The story of the lives of these officials, their brutal treatment of the natives, and the orgies they carried on in what is to- day called the ‘Slaves’ Cave” are too shocking for publication. That cave is still stacked feet high with empty bottles from these men’s debauches, and human bones tell a tale, not of cannibalism, but worse—the awful torture and death of innocent native girls. Germany, in losing Nauru, will sustain a loss that will bring intense regret and bitterness, for the rich phosphate fertilizer was a much- needed essential to the impoverished agricultural lands of the Fatherland, whence huge quantities were shipped every year, and where great depots, it is said, were filled to overflowing in readiness for the war. Much as the Germans valued this wonderful product, however, it was British enterprise alone that gave it to the world. The islands being German, one-third of the employés of the industry were Germans, in accordance with German law; but the manage- ment was purely British. On the outbreak of war the German officials and employés together outnumbered the British, and taking advantage of that fact they behaved in a very cowardly fashion. Led by the administrator, or “ station- master,”” and a notorious missionary, they held up the industry, insulted, robbed, and even imprisoned the British and Australians. The Germans took possession of all wines, spirits, and beers, raided the stores and private dwellings, A typical group of young Nauruans. MAGAZINE. Dancing-girls of Nauru. and for weeks caroused in a truly Hunnish style. The Britishers were compelled to remain indoors after dark, and to report themselves at every turn. An incident that will show how far the Germans were prepared to go in their tyranny over the British is that of the attempt to shoot Captain Anderson, who, for his courageous refusal to hand over his steamer, the Messina, might well be compared to the gallant Captain Fryatt. The Messina was engaged in the phosphate- carrving trade, and, being without wireless, arrived at Nauru unaWare that war had been declared between England and Germany. He came to Nauru in the early days of August, 1914, and as he drew up to the great buoy to moor his ship he was struck by the unusual silence and the quiet appearance of the phosphate settlement. Leaving careful instructions with his chief officer, he went off, as he was always wont to do, to report himself to the German officials, remarking to the chief officer as he left, “ Keep your weather eye open and a full head of steam, and if I don’t come back by a certain time you know what to do.” The brave captain did not return to time, but a whaleboat containing some German officials and native armed police put off from the shore and approached the steamer. The chief officer did not wait to receive these sus- picious visitors, but, siipping his moorings, steamed off at full speed, leaving the Germans frantic with rage and disappoint- ment. Let it be told now that had the Germans captured the Messina and taken her over te Rabaul, the seat of govern- ment in German New Guinea, matters in the Pacific would perhaps have been very different for the Australian Navy and Australia itself, and Captain Ander- son's wise action saved a deal of trouble. Furious at being baffled in his wicked designs, the “ stationmaster "’ ordered the imprisonment of Captain Anderson. The Germans completely lost their heads over the incident, and after a meeting deter- mined to shoot Anderson the very next morning at daybreak for his act of

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i ed a ee Le ae ne eR “treachery,” as they termed it. At ten that night a squad of native police were brought from their barracks and rehearsed in the shooting they were to carry out in the morning; and it was through this event that the British resi- dents learned the fate of the captain. Several of them went at once to the “stationmaster "’ and told him plainly that if Anderson was shot they would hold him directly responsible, and when the first Australian Navy ship came along he would be strung up to the yard-arm. The ‘stationmaster "’ was undoubtedly impressed, though he took until daybreak to make up his mind. Then—much to the chagrin of his officials, who were keen to avenge themselves on the captain—he countcr- manded the execution. Strange to relate, the tables were soon com- pletely turned, for a few days later one of the Australian warships arrived, and the captain was instantly released, while the discomfited Germans were ordered to get ready for their internment at Sydney New South Wales. The Messina was brought back from Ocean Island, to which British port she had gone, and, instead of taking a cargo of phos- phate of lime, she took a cargo of Germans, and Captain Anderson, the erstwhile captive, was in charge. A typical act of Ger- man “ Kultur" was King Oweida, the rule in his ofcial full-dtess. aul ‘The former German “stationmaster's” house, now the British Residency. TREASURE ISLAND. 251 The Kiog of Nauru and his chiefs, performed on this little island of Nauru. On one occasion the Union Jack was hoisted to the top of the flag-pole of the British company’s offices. Around stood the “ stationmaster,” his officials, and all the other Germans of the island. As the flag floated in the breeze salvoes of jeers and curses were hurled at it, and the “ station- master "’ dramatically « imed, “ Foul flag, your day is ended in the Pacific !’’ It was then hauled down and spread out upon the ground, where one by one the Germans came forward and spat upon it. It was then put into a box, a funeral procession formed, and to a mock service it was buried, the filthy Germans befouling the grave. British administration has been greatly to the advantage of the island, and very much to the taste of the natives. The island has been cleaned up, roads constructed, the villages made sanitary, a splendid hospital built for the natives, and the native coco-nut plantations are so well managed that they are now quite profitable. The Nauruans never re- member such pros- perity, and to a man, from the na- tive king down, they have petitioned King George V.— who once visited this island in his trip round the world in the old Bacchante —to hold and ad. minister the island for the British. The Nauruans are a very handsome race, tall and well made, the women being accounted to possess the best figures in the I oo — Pacific Islands. The islanders are noted for their pleasant manners. They are

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252 divided into two classes—the king, chiefs, and chief women, or high caste, and the common people, or slaves. There is, however, nothing slavish in the existence of the people ; they are all more or less well- to-do, as native peoples go, though they still retain a very great rever- ence for their king and chief. The king, Oweida by name, is a remark- ably intelligent old gentleman, and is descended from a Jong line of rulers. He is President of the native Red Cross Society, and is to be seen at- tended by a stal- wart young native —the Master of the Bicycle—riding seuad the villages on his own machine, to which is attached a Red Cross flag. On festive occasions he appears in top-hat, frock-coat, well-creased grey trousers, ironed collar, smart tie, black boots with brown laces, and a gold-topped walking-stick. The Nauruans are very fond of sport of all kinds, and they take readily to cricket, football, and other civilized games. The national sport, however, is frigate-bird capturing. This bird is mopy-looking, and apparently incapable of any exertion ; but it is almost human in the way it can be trained to decoy other frigate-birds for capture. The natives keep hundreds of these creatures ; they feed them well, and spend all their spare time petting and training them. The birds have voracious appetites, and devour fish in great quantities. A native will sit for hours a few yards away from some of his pet — birds— which are either free or tethered to roosts —and_ toss hunks of fish at them, which they catch with the ut- most dexterity. Some of the old decoy-birds roam where they like, and spend a good deal of their time out at sea chasing down other birds, and it is interesting A Nauruan and his pet friente-birds, favourite island bobby. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of Royalty. On certain gala days in the year some open stretch of sea-beach is chosen as a rendezvous, and here all the villages meet with their decoy-birds, which are carried to the rendezvous with great cere- mony and on huge roosts like the un- covered roof of a house. These roosts are set up, hundreds of na. tives assemble, the native king and” his chiefs are present, and alto- gether there is much chatter and excitement. Not a wild frigate-bird can be seen when the decoys are first sent up, but the harsh cries of the decoys very soon bring thousands of wild birds about, and then the clever work of the decoys begins. They show almost human intelligence in enticing or forcing the wild birds to come down to the roosts. The decoy gradually comes down with its prey, pushing and pecking at it, until from sheer fear the new bird, seeing other birds on the big roosts, flies for safety, as it thinks, to one of these, the decoy carefully urging it on to its own master’s roost. Once on the roost, a young native lying underneath and screened from observation secures the new bird. with coco-nut string, or string made of women’s hair, to the rafter of the roost. At the end of the day a count is made, and the village with the biggest number has the right to boast of its superior decoy-birds. Feasting, dancing, and singing, carried on for many hours of the night, terminate a real good time. There is no more cogent argument for the continu- ation of British administration than the excellent work that has been done since 1914, _ in striking contrast to the neglect by Germany. It never occurred to the Huns to start the phosphate indus. try; it mever oc- curred to them to The keeping of these birds is a to watch how they Practica ly every is ander owns compel these heel birds to disgorge their supplies of newly-caught fish. Great rivalry exists between villages as to the numbers of birds owned, the village with the greatest number claiming the praise and favour for the rooi of bis hut, try to improve the lot of the natives. All they were con- cerped with was making the island a wire- less and submarine base whence they could destroy British trade and influence in the South Pacific. This man is taking home palm-leaf Disitized by GOOQTE Cc

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fe ILLUSTRATED BY G.SOPER AD MILLIONAIRE, i, G.F WEEKS of Mexico Cay What would you do if, after working hard all your life for a mere pittance, you suddenly found yourself a millionaire? This amazing story describes how vast wealth came all unexpectedly to 1 Mexican Indian, and the tragedy that ensued. : HE amazing story of Juvencio 8 Robles, the full-blooded Mexican Indian who became an oil million- aire, and did not know what to do with his money, did not even know how to spend it foolishly, imew nothing better than to pass sleepless nights watching and protecting it from fancied robbers—even those of his own family—has never befcre appeared in print. And yet it is a story well worth the telling. Away back in the time of Cortez, the Huasteca tribe of Indians inhabited, as they do now, the region which has since become the northern portion of the State of Vera Cruz, with parts of the States of San ‘Luis. Potosi and Tamaulipas. They were a war- like tribe, as history shows, and did not take kindly to the Conquistadors—perhaps because the Conquistadors themselves did not evince any especially friendly feelings toward the natives, whom they sought to ‘convert ’’ by the pleasant process of roasting them at the stake, and in other amiable ways. They fought the invaders to the best of their ability and annihilated one band, but, of course, were finally conquered. They have always re- mained, however, a distinct tribe to a large extent, and to this day many are still proud of their unmixed blood. In the valley of the Panuco River, some distance inland from the port of Tampico, is the town of Panuco, an old Indian village, erected into a pueblo by the Spaniards, and in later days attaining importance as an oil centre. At the commencement of the last half of the last century it was a quiet, sleepy enough place, though one where considcrable - business of one kind and another was trans- acted. In the outskirts of this town, in a hut of bamboo and palm leaves, with an earthen floor—a comfortable enough home when climatic conditions are considered—a man-child was born to a full-blooded Huasteca Indian couple, and, being a man-child, it was duly taken to the town church and there christened Juvencio Robles by the parish priest. Like most of the rest of their tribe, the Robles family were not inveterate wanderers, though, of course, taking an occasional trip by canoe to the mouth of the river and to Lake Tamiahua, to enjoy the fishing and hunting and even the bathing. But their home was where they and their ancestors had always lived, and they had no desire to go farther. So here, on the banks of the Panuco, the little Juvencio tumbled up with his brothers and sisters, without education, and with precious few clothes; sometimes they had but little food. Like all the other young people, Juvencio and his brothers had to go to work at an early age in order to gain the wherewithal to fill their frequently hungry mouths, to say nothing of covering their bodies with the scanty garments of manta and the infrequent pair of huaraches that sufficed for protection. He was early apprenticed to a dealer in fresh meat, whose blood-red advertising banner hung suspended from a bamboo pole in front of his little carniceria on the main street of Panuco. His wage was scant, his work was hard, but he was in part compensated by the gift of scraps that could not be sold, and which he gladly bore homeward at the end of his long day’s toil—beginning before daylight and ending far in the night, after the animals for

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254 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the next day’s traffic had been slaughtered and dressed. Commencing with a wage of but a few centavos daily—indeed, his entire weekly earnings were never more than forty or fifty cents—by the time Juvencio reached a marriageable age, eighteen or thereabouts, he was drawing the munificent honorarium of three pesos weekly, cach and every Saturday night ! This was prosperity, at that time and at that place, and aightway he set about having a home and a family of his own. With such an income, and with an assured future, it was not difficult to find a girl willing to share his prosperity with him, and so Juvencio and his wife set up housekeeping together, the neighbours, as was customary, joining in a house-building ‘‘ bee,” and erecting a suit- able home with a few hours of labour, followed by a jollification that lasted well into the night. Juvencio was a hard worker, like most of his fellow-tribesmen. He had few, if any, bad habits, and was always dependable. Mescal or sotol or any of the native liquors did not seem to have any attraction for him. Of course he smoked—he always had, as long as he could remember. He never gambled, he never played monte, or panguingi, or even dominoes. Nor did he ever bet on the cock- fights or bull-fights, which were almost the only amusements of a public character. Ina word, he was very much of a model husband and father—for he soon became -one, and continued in that course until he had a goodly little household. Always on Saturday night he took his wage of three pesos—usually in copper and small silver coins—home to his wife, she having at once assumed the office of family treasurer. It was always late on Saturday night when Juvencio sought his humble little palm-leaf and bamboo jacal, in the outskirts of the town. Usually, in fact, it was Sunday morn- ing, since the meat shop seldom closed its doors before midnight on the last day of the week. It was a treadmill sort of life that Juvencio Ied, but he never complained. In fact, he was seemingly without ambition to better himself in the world, following that maxim which the wealthy are so fond of impressing upon the poor—that it is their religious duty to be “content with the station to which God has called them.” Not so Mrs. Juvencio, as will be seen. Had he been asked, Juvencio would un- doubtedly have acknowledged that he would enjoy being the owner of the meat-shop in which he worked instead of a poorly-paid toiler, but since there was no earthly possibility of such a miracle ever happening, there was nothing to be gained by indulging in longings that could never be satisfied, and he was therefore content with his lot. But one day something happened —something that changed the whole course of Juvencio’s life and that of his family as well— whether for better or worse is as may be. Year in and year out he had gone on his way, following the same monotonous routine, appar- ently with never a thought of even the possibility of a change. Then-there came a memorable occasion when Juvencio did not reach his home at the usual hour one Saturday night. Nor was it until long after sunrise that he finally appeared. to be greeted by a very angry wife. Without waiting for an explanation, she showered such objurgations upon his head as only an angry wife can shower, Where had he been ? What had he been doing ? Had he been passing his time and spending his money at the cantina of the “‘ Lluvia de Oro” (the Rain of Gold), kept by that man without shame, Jesus Maria Sinverguenza ? Had he been drinking mescal and sotol, or what not ? What had he done? Of course, his wages were gone—she was sure of that—but an explanation she must have. Shamefacedly enough, Juvencio acknowledged that some companicns had persuaded him to join them in their games, some form of gambling, and he had become so interested that it was daylight before he knew it. No; he had drunk nothing, but he had indeed gambled. Then Mrs. Juvencio literally turned herself loose, and rated her husband for his dissipation until she was out of breath, the while he stood meekly and answered never a word, the children looking on with amazement. After she had exhausted both herself and her vocabulary, very quietly and very calmly Juvencio told her that she was mistaken—he had gambled, it was true, but he had not lost his wages. On the contrary, he had won—the “ Lluvia de Oro”’ had proven true to its name— and then he poured out on the table a great fistful of silver! One—two—three pesos—there was the weekly wage. But what a lot was left! Four, five, six, seven, eight—Gracias a Dios! There were twenty-one dollars, including the wage. Yes, he had gambled, something he had never done before in his life, though he had watched others do it and thought them fools when they lost. * His companions had plainly counted upon getting his earnings away from him, knowing him to be inexperienced, but somehow, he knew not how, he had turned the tables, and he had won all their money—cighteen dollars in all! It was the first time he had ever gambled in his life—and, incidentally, it was also the last. Now Mrs. Juvencio had a good business head on her shoulders, even though her tongue was a bit sharp. An income of three pesos a week upon which to rear a family was not even at that time calculated to produce and maintain any excessive amount of good-nature. Recog- nizing the opportunity afforded by this un- expected ‘ Lluvia de Oro,’ she at once took charge of the capital. Twenty-one pesos! Never had they thought that they would ever be blessed with so much moncy at any one time. Never had they expected to hear Fortune knocking at their door after this fashion. But knocked she had, and Mrs. Juvencio was deter- mined to make the best of it. As to the winner of the small fortune, he had no ideas upon the subject. Perhaps the shadow of his coming

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THE MAD MILLIONAIRE. 255 “It is a draft for one million pesos.” fate was even then over him—a fate brought upon himself by having no idea of the proper use of money. “Now, Juvencio,” said the wife, ‘ you shall go into business. You shall no longer labour day and night for that cochino of a butcher, but you shall become a maestro yourself. With these eighteen pesos we can buy the half of a beef and set up a shop for ourselves.” And so the half of a beef was purchased, and was scon retailed at a good profit—for Juvencio had many friends. When this was gone, another was bought, and then a whole beef, and then a goat or a kid or a sheep or a pig, and so on, always doing business at a profit, hiring no help, since his family afforded all that was needed. Finally, Juvencio had one of the most thriving butchers’ shops in Panuco. Then it became necessary to purchase live cattle and other animals—sometimes a con- siderable number, when bargains presented themselves—and it was, of course, necessary to have pasture for them until such time as their sacrifice upon the altar of profit was due. An acquaintance—the widow of a man who had left her a considerable tract of what was regarded as almost worthless land, owing to certain peculiarities that it possessed—was willing to allow him to pasture his cattle thereon for a moderate compensation. There was one draw- back. There were some extensive and very dangerous springs or pools of that altogether devilish and worthless substance known as chapopote, black, sticky, and bottomless, and in which many a fat steer and valuable horse had met an untimely end. Once let them place hoof across the border of one of these pools, and there was no chance of escape. The more the animal struggled, the deeper he went, until finally swallowed up in the depths of the pool. It was necessary to put barricades of brush about these infernal places, which were the ruin of the land, and thus prevent the cattle from straying into them. And Juvencio did this, heartily cursing the existence of such things that made so much hard work necessary in chopping down trees and building barricades. Now the owner of this worthless land, with its deadly springs, was not a good business woman. While Juvencio prospered and laid up money, which was stored away in an olla hidden in a cavity in the brick brasevo that reached entirely across one end of their kitchen, she, on the other hand, became poorer and poorer. She had no income, her relatives were rapacious and were always demanding money from her, and at length she began borrowing from Juvencio. He was always willing to accommodate her, but finally, when she had borrowed six thousand pesos in all, a halt was called. There was no possible chance that she could ever repay the loan. The land was worth no mére than this amount, if indeed so much, and at length she made the tract over to Juvencio and thereupon drops out of the story. Meanwhile, Juvencio waxed prosperous and More prosperous. He had a tract of several thousand acres upon which to pasture his cattle and other stock, while his butcher shop had become the best one in town. To be sure, there

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256 was the drawback of those confounded chapopote springs on the, land, which made constant vigilance necessary, for, despite his watchful- ness, every little while animals would disappear, and indications would be found that they had been swallowed up in the depths of the liquid masses. Years passed, and Juvencio’s family approached maturity. Then there _came a time when stran- gers—foreigners — made their appearance in that region. They pervaded the country. They looked at and examined everything, but their attention was especially attracted to those worth- less pools which had at one time and another swallowed up so many fat cattle and calves. About them they lin- gered long, and seemed to study them carefully. These were not the only pools of this kind, and the same thing was happening in other por- tions of the Huasteca country. Finally, reports began to be heard of the discovery of petroleum beneath and adjacent to the deadly springs. Soon one man after another had sold or leased his land at a price infinitely greater than anyone had ever dreamed of. Excitement spread, and the owners of other lands became wary and sus- picious when approached. Repeated attempts were made to induce Juvencio to enter into an arrangement regarding his land, but he was obdurate. He needed it for pasturing his cattle, and was loath to part with the control of it in any manner. But at last, after months of arguing and bargaining, a compromise was arranged. He could pasture his cattle, but the right to bore for oil was what was wanted, and they were willing to pay well for it. Juvencio, or rather his wife, had heard a great deal about the oil development that was going on elsewhere, and they had a shrewd idea regarding values. So after much talk and con- sultation with friends, and much discussion with the foreigners, it was at last agreed that the men who wanted the use of the land should pay a million pesos in cash for its control, together with a certain royalty upon all the petroleum that was produced. A mecting was arranged at the office of the oil promoters, the papers were all drawn up and ready to be signed, but when asked to affix his name, Juvencio asked wnere the money was that was to be paid to m. “Here it is,” said one of the negotiators, handing him a draft for the agreed amount. A typical “chapopote™ spring. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “What is this ? ” asked Juvencio. “Why, it is a draft for one million pesos.”’ “ No—it is only a piece of paper.” They tried to persuade him that it was as “good as gold” and silver, but to no effect. Juvencio picked up a piece of paper from the table and asked: ‘‘ What is this? What is this worth?” “That! Oh, that is only a piece of paper—it is worth nothing.” “Then neither is this woith anything,” replied Juvencio, throw. ing the draft upon the table.. “It is only a piece of paper, just like that other. No,” he added. “ You have agreed to pay me money for my land, and I want money. I want gold and silver, and not a piece of paper.” And he resolutely and stub- bornly refused to sign the agreement until the actual coin was delivered to him! No amount of persuasion could change either his o» his wife’s determination— it was the coin or nothing. So the busi- ness had to be postponed while there was a hurry: ing and scurrying to secure the million pesos in coin—no small task. At last it was obtained and taken to Juvencio’s house, as he had insisted. There were literally :tons of it— hundreds of sacks of silver coin, with only a fair proportion of gold. It was piled up on the floor, where it made a small-sized mountain. Juvencio was at first struck dumb with the sight. He gazed at the sacks without a word. Several of them were opened, and he took up handfuls of the metal and allowed it to drop slowly through his fingers. “What! Is all that money mine?” he asked. ‘‘Is that mountain of sacks of coin mine?” When assured that it was indeed his he replied: ‘‘ Valgame a Dios! I did not believe there was so much money in all the world!” After gazing in silence for a few minutes at the great stack of sacks of gold and silver (the regulation-sized bag of silver pesos or tostones contains just one thousand of the former and two thousand of the latter, and is quite a heavy load), he insisted that the money must first be counted, and that he himself would do it before he would sign the papers. So he poured the contents of a sack upon the table and laboriously proceeded to count the pieces and pile them up in stacks of twenty—the usual method of handling silver coins in this country. But that was about as far as he could go, and he soon found that it

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mes would be a task “requiring many days’ work before all the coin could be counted by himself. Then he demanded that the negotiators should open each of the hundreds of sacks in his presence and count the contents, and no amount of argu- ment could persuade him to desist. Each individual coin must be told out and counted— and this was finally done! Then, and only then, was he willing to complete the bargain ! So the papers were duly signed and witnessed, and the oil men entered into possession of the land, while Juvencio sat and looked at his money. The ownership of so much coin filled him with both surprise and fear. At once he became suspicious of everyone—even of his family. So, with weapon in hand, he sat ail night in the room with the coin, guarding it against robbers. All the efforts of his wife and children could not persuade him to seek his couch and sleep. Not he! No robbers should get his money! And so for a month he kept guard, occasionally falling into a doze, but never voluntarily sleeping. He would not leave the treasure room for his ” meals, refusing even to taste what was brought him, mean- time watching with suspicion Vor, xuv.—18, THE MAD MILLIONAIRE. 257 the members of his own household who ventured into his presence. r As the days passed his mania took on a strange character. He had a great chest brought into the room, and in this he emptied many of the sacks of both gold and silver, amusing himself by plunging his hands into the glittering mass and throwing handfuls into the air and about the room. He even undressed himself and lay down in the chest, covering himself with the coin. Other sacks he emptied on the floor, and then rolled about in it naked. Occasionally he fell asleep while amusing himself in this manner His only thought was of his money, and he “He even undressed himself and lay down in the chest, covering himself with the coin.” Digitized Goog e

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258 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, played all sorts of pranks with it, all the while maintaining a jealous watch and guard against thieves. He never left the room where the coin was stored, refused to eat of the food his wite brought him, slept at long intervals, and would not listen to any suggestion to utilize some of the money in building a more comfortable home for his family, and in providing comforts and luxuries. refused with the utmost determination, mingled with suspicion, and he regarded everyone who came near him as a potential thief. Ile was so suspicious of the members of his own family that he would not eat any of the food they brought him, fancying that they wished to poison him so as to obtain control of his wealth. Repeatedly did his wife bring him appetizing dishes and beg him to cat, but he refused with great determination, even though she tempted him with his favounte viands. That he should be able to go for days without food finally aroused their suspicions, and a watch was kept. It was discovered that after the family had retired for the night, leaving Juvencio to his own devices and to his baths of gold, he quietly slipped out, went to the hen roost, caught a chicken, killed and dressed it, built a charcoal fire in a brasero in the room where he was guarding his coin, and cooked and ate the fowl. Sometimes, too, he went out into the street with face well muffled in a blanket—a common enough custom—and bought a handful of ¢fortillas from a pedlar. These he could eat with safety and without fear of being poisoned All the royalties from the wells that were sunk were paid to him in coin, for he adhered to his original resolution never to accept any “‘ scraps of paper.’’ and these payments were added to the original hoard, which was never diminished, the family being maintained from the business Every request or suggestion was > of the butcher shop, which was carried on by the sons. Finally, poor Juvencio became so violently in- sane that it was considered dangerous to allow him to continue his freakish life, and it was de- cided that the only thing to do was to put him in an institution provided for such unfortunates. Accordingly he was taken to the great ‘manicomio"’ at Mixcoac, in thé outskirts of Mexico City. His family gave instructions that he was to have every possible care, and that his whims were to be gratified within reason. At first, after he was taken to the asylum, he refused to eat and it was found necessary to feed him through a tube. But he finally grew more reasonable in this respect, and ate with the other inmates. He was, however, ever on the alert to escape, and frequently offered immense sums to anyone who wovld assist him, When eating at the table with the other inmates, where the utensils were of the crudest kind, it was Juvencio’s frequent boast that he himself could eat from golden dishes if he so chose. He never wearied of boasting of his great wealth. And there he is to-day. He wanders about the institution and the gardens, wearing a straw hat fantastically decorated with feathers in genuine Indian fashion, and apparently enjoying himself as only the mindless can. There are no more worries for him in this life. He has even, apparently, lost all memorv of his sudden acces sion of wealth, and of his baths of gold and silver, But the good business sense of his wife still persisted after the tragedy o1 her husband's fate, and she and her children have made reasonably good use of their wealth. At all events, they have not been crazed by it, nor have they taken any baths of gold, being content with the ordinary variety. And that is the story of Juvencio Robles—the man who eed ruined by wealth. Here is a striking study in reflections, The island shown is known as the “ Phantom Ship," and is situated in Crater Lak: show-places of Oregon, By holding the picture sideways, with the right hand at the tottom, the island and the shore beyond look surprisingly like a hand-iamp, with giass complete. a es ee oe

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es Mountain Picturesgue Tibelan Pilgrimage by LIEUT. F KINGDON WARD. ERGS. Away in the remote fastnesses of Eastern Tibet is a beautiful snow-peak—the Sacred Mountain of the Tibetans. Every year thousands of pilgrims, travelling on foot from far and near, make the toilsome circuit of this mountain, thereby, they b:lieve, acquiring much reli ious merit and ensuring another year of happy life. The Author made the circuit of the Sacrz:d Mountain, and illustrates his description with some very interesting photographs. OWN in parched, dusty Mandalay, in the neighbourhvod of the lovely Arracan pagoda, you may at any Christmastide, during that short three weeks of what in Burma is facetiously called the “cold weather.’’ meet with certain incongruous horse- dealers, barbarously contrasting with their surroundings. They are tall men, swarthy of complexion, monstrous dirty, disdaining water even in this mild land, with greasy unkempt locks tied in a short pigtail. Their dress is shepherd-like —a loose gown of coarse cloth, low-necked and wide-sleeved, reaching to the ground, but tied up above the knees by day with a girdle from which hang flint and stcel, and maybe a short sword thrust through; shapeless, tight- fitting cloth boots, reaching to the knees; and to crown all, perhaps a bashed -in Homburg “hat picked up with childish delight at a local auction ! How ill these scarecrows contrast with the daintily-gowned Burman, cleanly and debonair, and with his sparkling, flower-decked wife ! But speak to them in Chinese —or better still in their own tongue, if you can command its intricacy—and you will find them the most charming and simple folk. They will greet you with smiles of welcome, showing rows of milk-white teeth, spreading out their hands, as the custom is, to prove that they grasp no treacherous weapon. They will certainly ask you to share their frugal meal, for they are a. generous and hospitable people ; and when thcir tongues have been unloosed with a little of tle dangerously-fiery spirit which the Chinese mis- call Asiao-chin or “small wine,” they will open their hearts to you and tell you of the great green grass plateaux, blue lakes, wide windy spaces, and snowy mountains beyond the hot Monsoon jungles of Burma. Their talk makes you long to get away from the dust of royal Mandalay, away from the scented evergreen jungles, away even from the tranquil peace of dreamy Burma, into the free solitudes be- yond, where the silence is broken only by warrior rivers fighting their way through the mountains, by shrieking winds, and the thunder of the avalanche. So, with your head in a whirl, you bid farewell to your hosts who are starting homewards on the morrow, and at parting they pay you the friendly roadside compliment of their country, by sticking their tongues out at you ! The secret is out with the tongue, and you all know now that our uncouth horse-dealers can only be Tibetans !

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260 A party of pilgrims in the Mekong Valley. There came a time when I set out to see these people in their own country and make the Circuit of their Sacred Mountain—though I acquired no merit thereby, walking round it the wrong way, with the mountain ever on my left instead of my right. I went in the first instance to collect plants—alpines from the high Tibetan ranges, and became a pilgrim out of curiosity. It is a far cry to the Sacred Mountain of Eastern Tibet—forty long marches across the Most mountainous country in the world, Yun- nan (“ Land of the South Cloud ”’), from the last British outpost on the banks of the Irrawaddy. Here in Bhamo, or ‘“ New Market,” as the Chinese inaptly call our Shan-Burman village, with its handful of Englishmen, its native regiment, bazaar, pagodas, and swamps, we hire mules, and set out down the white dusty road which leads to China. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Passing through shady teak forests, by villages of thatched huts, where Shans in wide flat hats of woven palm-leaf urge lazy buffaloes to the plough, we reach the edge of the plain and, entering the jungle, begin to climb. So long as we are in British territory the road is fair. One might, in fact, ride a motor-cycle along it—preferably someone else’s. Soon we are high upin the hills, passing through a fine gorge, our ears filled with the glamour of the river below. Hark! the silver notes of a gong ring through the forest. Look to the mules! The road is narrow and a caravan is approaching us. On the fourth day the frontier is crossed, and, leaving the Burmese jungles behind, we emerge into the open cultivated valleys of China. Now we have our first experience of Chinese ‘‘ mule inns.”” The mules are tied up in the courtyard, from which open bare rooms—dark, dirty, and malodorous. A solid square table, a hard chair without arms, and a filthy wooden bedstead, with boards for springs and a straw pallet for mattress, comprise the fittings. So I set up my camp-cot. As we travel east the mountains grow higher, the scenery wilder. Cultivation is confined to a few isolated plains, all of them over five thousand feet above sea-level. We cross the great Tibetan Trivers, Salween and Mekong, by sus- pension bridges built of iron chains hung from stout masonry towers, across which boards are laid. Though several hundred years old, they are quite strong, but only two mules at a time venture on them, and they sway heavily in a strong breeze. There is much to see by the wayside now. It is market day in one village, and on the raised platform of a gaudily- coloured open pavilion, in the courtyard of the little white Buddhist temple, a troupe of wonderfully-dressed actors are performing one of those unending plays (with several morals, but no plot) beloved by the Oriental. Since women are not permitted to act in China, their parts are taken by men, with shrill-edged falsetto voices. Hard by, the crowd are noisily buying and selling, arranging marriages, casting horoscopes, discussing crops and prices, telling fortunes, gambling and quarrelling. Here and there, on the steep boulder-strewn tracks which do duty for roads in mountainous China, are wayside stalls where thirsty mule- teers sit sipping bowls of weak tea. For less than a penny—say twenty or thirty brass “ cash,” the currency of rural China—you can have as many cups of tea (sams milk, sams sugar !) as you will drink. One always carries a few “strings of cash’ for inn money; a thousand threaded “‘cash’”’ (each has a square hole in the centre) go to a “string,” which is worth

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in English money pernaps half a crown, and weighs several pounds. At the end of the twenty-first day’s march we reach a_ lovely city with a deep blue lake on one side, and tower- ing mountains dusted with snow onthe other. All round us are waving fields of beans, flax, and pulse, with the beautiful opium Poppy in out-of- the-way corners. It is a great sur- prise coming through the mountains on to this lovely plain, six thousand feet above sea-level. If the great triennial fair is on, you will meet men from half Asia here ; now is the time to buy curios. It is a long business buying anything in China, and the following conversation ensues over a pair of earrings on which my fancy rests. Of course you will not do anything so gauche as to pay up, without a murmur, the price asked ; that would disappoint the seller terribly—tor © not having asked more. “* How much do you want for these earrings ? ” “ These, ta-jeu? five taels of silver.” “ It is too much ; I will give you two faels.”” * Ta-jeu is a great official, therefore he is rich.”" A aroup of Tibetans. THE SACRED MOUNTAIN. 261 Mules crossing the Mekong sus,ennoo Lsicge. “Only Chinese officials are rich. Yun-nan is a beautiful country, but there are many bad men. Where do you come from?” “ From Li-kiang. How much will tajew give for the earrings?” “I have been to Li-kiang during the great fair, at the Temple of the Water Dragon. Will you sell that bangle ?” “This ? No, I do not want to sell it.” “It is a poor bangle, but I will give two taels for it!” “ How much for the earrings, ta-jeu 2?” “IT do not want them—they are poor ear- rings.” “Yes, it is getting hotter every day now. Very well, you shal) have them for three taels, ta-jeul” “‘ What, the bangle ? I do not want it! } cannot wear it.” “The earrings, ta-jeu?”’ “Oh! two taels! 1 will give it you, but they are not worth it.” “ Very well, two anda half taels. Take them !" Travelling on, now northwards, we come ip a few days to the last cultivated plain, the last Chinese city, before entcring on the green pastures of the Tibetan country. In the narrow cobbled street crowds stare at us till, parted by the cry“ Sunko-lai-le” (mules coming), our caravan

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262 A pilgrim crossing a stream, splits them in half, bells jangling, muleteers shouting strange oaths. We notice that the women here, though garbed as Chinese, no lunger distort their feet, and are, in fact, quite different in appearance. They are Mosos, a strange tribe, once a power in the land, whose chief claim to notice is the fact that they have a picture-writing like Egyptian hieroglyphics. Leaving the last city in China, we climb up to the green grassland plateau—green in summer, that is, but in winter white and frozen. There are no more suspension bridges, and when we come to cross the Yangtze, here called the Gold Sand River, we find only a great clumsy flat-bottomed scow. How the mules hate jumping the high boarded side of this awkward-looking craft! It is with the greatest difficulty that the muleteers goad the last of them over into the already-crowded scow, where they are packed like sardines. In mid-stream, when we are rushing down with the swift current, they become restless, and one, jumping up, puts his forelegs over the free- board, as though he intends to commit suicide. The scow lurches, and I hold my breath—and my tongue, for our boatmen are skilful and experienced. The wayward mule is coaxed back with a stick, and we are safely landed, despite alarms. We have been swept four hundred yards down-stream in crossing. « Up on the plateau, herds of shaggy-haired yak, annoyed at being disturbed, raise their heads menacingly, and glare at us through bloodshot eyes. Huge rug-headed dogs, almost as big as the yak, guard the substantial houses, and bay fiercely at us, straining to be at our throats. Over the brow of yonder hill glitter two golden domes, where endless roofs and walls, painted red and white in stripes, and pierced with small THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. window-frames, rise in endless array. Several red-robed men of coarse features scowl at us none too pleasantly, for the lamas are suspicious of Europeans near their great monas- teries. It is all so like medieval England, I cannot help thinking. When I see these thievish monks in their secluded moun- tain monasteries I am reminded of Merrie England, and Shake- speare’s plays, and the Wars of the Roses, as though it were all in real life again. Now we have another experience of Easten Tibetan country—the hot, arid, almost lifeless gorges of the great rivers. Bare brown cliffs tower up for thousands of feet, a hot wind blows incessantly, and after a few miles of this we are thankful to stop at a village perched high up above the river, and drink sour yaks’ milk with the kindly Tibetans in the large dark kitchen. You, reader, must realize that we have been marching now every day for five weeks, and are slowly, but surely, nearing the starting point of our pilgrimage round the Sacred Mountain. To-day we are faced by a peak which rearg its head fifteen thousand feet above sea-level. For two days we toil up the steep path through forests, till on the third day we are above the trees, and the wind from Tibet is blowing straight in our faces. On our left rises a grand range of snowy peaks, apparently but a stone’s throw distant. At last we reach the pass, breathing hard, and, looking ahead, see, across wooded valleys, a clear-cut pyramid of snow and ice rising proudly above all the surrounding mountains. It is the Sacred Mountain of Eastern Tibet. Dropping down into the valley, we presently reach a poor little village of flat-roofed, mud- walled houses at the head of a glen. Mountains tower all round, and groups of buxom Tibetan girls are out on the house-roofs amongst shocks of barley, singing to the rise and fall of the flails ; the mountains fling back their voices and the slanting sunshine stains their faces a deeper red. Through this village every year, from the north, so as to keep the Sacred Mountain on their right hand, pass all the pilgrim bands from Eastern Tibet ; men, women, and children, dirty, ill-kempt, ignorant, and cheerful. They begin to arrive in October, and thence almost daily, in long lines, till the passes are finally closed in February; for there are four passes over twelve thousand feet—two of them over

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fifteen thousand feet—to be crossed during the ten or twelve days’ march round the mountain. In autumn and early winter, however, the weather is at its best, the snow peaks ever in view, the night vivid with stars, and by day the turquoise sky of Tibet is undimmed by a single cloud. Sitting under the rhododendron blossoms, high up on the mountain-side, looking across a deep rent torn through the mountains—the Mekong Gorge—to the glittering snowy pyramids opposite, a great longing came over me to become a pilgrim as well. So when autumn came, and the crops were gathered in, and the merry Tibetans gave themselves over to pil- grimage, I packed a few things, hired a few baggage animals, and set out. . Daily minstrels were coming into our village, to sing and dance; the rains were over, the forests gorgeous with orange, red, and yellow livery ; and daily strings of pilgrims marched sturdily down the steep cobbled street, packs on their backs, staves in their hands, loose sheepskin coats flying open in the breeze. Save that on their heads they wore conical sheepskin caps, with large ear-flaps, they were dressed very like our horse-dealers of Mandalay. By day a bare arm and shoulder are thrust out of the coat for coolness’ sake, and the heavy fold in front serves as a receptacle for various articles, such as a sword, a wooden eating-bowl, a fowl or two, and a pipe. It is like a grotesque conjuring trick to see these men dive into the recesses of their huge coats and produce a mis- cellaneous collection of articles. At night the girdle is undone, and the long robe shaken out till it reaches the ground, when the pilgrim, wrapping it round him, sleeps on the ground beneath rock or tree. The women do their share of the work, each carrying a load like a knapsack on her back, and a good weight of silver, also heavy earrings and an amulet box slung round her neck in which is an image, or written prayer. So the pilgrims move on day after day, the men twirling in their hands the little prayer- drums in which lie coils of paper covered with prayers; children march bravely along, some- times holding their mothers’ hands, sometimes being carried; and all mutter as they go: “QO mant padme hum! O mant padme hum! (“Sacred jewel in the lotus!’’). Our party, marching in the opposite direction, stopped at night where the pilgrims camped, under cliffs blackened by the fires of generations; and here, seated round the fire with our friends —for all pilgrims were our friends—we watched the big iron pot bubbling. Into the pot had been’ cast herbs and a pinch of salt, to make broth, and tea was being churned in a tall wooden brass-bound cylinder, in which someone stamped a piston up and down, to emulsify the butter. The Tibetans, by the way, make their tea with butter and salt instead of milk and sugar. Save that the butter is apt to be hairy, owing to the playful method of - manufacture, which consists in kicking around a yak-skin of milk (hair inside), buttered and THE SACRED MOUNTAIN. 263 salted tea is pleasant enough, though really to appreciate it, such is the association of ideas, one wants to look upon it as soup, and not as tea. The frothing, chocolate-coloured fluid is drunk liberally from wooden cups and kneaded with tsamba (parched flour) to form a bolus. These are the staples of Tibetan fare, and no Tibetan ever travels without his rawhide bag of tsamba, a wooden box of butter, a brick of tea, and a little bag of gritty red salt—the last three, perhaps, carried within the ample folds of his cloak. After supper there is music—soft haunting airs such as the Tibetans love, while the mothers fondly croon their children to sleep. Then the men will comb out the women’s hair for them, and butter it; and the women will attend to their menfolks’ matted locks. Grease is the great feature of Tibet, as it must be in all very cold countries. Everything is greasy—men’s hair, women’s complexions, but most of all, clothes ; for in winter they wear but one garment apiece, the sheepskin coat, hair inside, next the skin—and what a fine temperature that greasy, matted sheepskin maintains ! A Tibetan gitl of the Mekong Valley.

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264 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Sected prayers: and Buddhas carved in the rocks of the Salween Valley. Gradually the men begin to nod. One by one their heads fall on their breasts, and, lean- ing against cach other, feet to the blaze, cloaks wrapped round them, they fall asleep in strange attitudes. Towards dawn, someone awakoning replen- ishes the dying fire; at last day breaks, the white ashes staring into the limpid sky. But the men.soon blow new life into them, a red spark springs to life, and the fire is soon burning merrily again. How welcome is the hot buttered tea now, with twenty degrees of frost on the ground | And now comes the crossing of the Mekong. There are no chain suspension bridges here. Instead, the passage is effected by means of a bamboo rope sloping from bank to bank, one cach way, down which you slide, suspended helpless in a leather loop hung from a bamboo slider. With a push you are heaved off the platform into space, trussed like a chicken. A quick rush through the air, a view of the river roaring below, a smell of burning, and you are being untied on the far bank, none the worse for your adventure. Animals and baggage are sent across in the same way, but are even more helpless; if anything goes wrong, they remain suspended in mid-air till a Tibetan, working his way out along the rope, can aid them. Crossing the first high pass, we find the sum- mit crowned by a heap of stones, to which, if we would acquire merit, we must each add one ; in the centre of the pile, which we pass on the left side, is stuck a bundle of bamboos from which flutter ragged flags and pieces of paper, wafting prayers to heaven. There are a number of altars sct in the cliffs, too—each a slab of stone laid flat, with offerings of food, such as slices Dig of pear, wainuts, tice, or tsamba, “ set on them. “Crossing the mountain range ‘and coming _down from the snow and _ ice into the tropical warmth of the Salween Valley, we find the limestone cliffs beautifully carved and sculptured. In _ past ages, con- _ cavities have been worn in the rock; and with a patience fitly to be com- pared with the works of geo- logical agents, devout pilgrims have carved A “chorten” on the pilgrims’ road in the Mekong Valley. » Google Lo

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long prayers’ and pictures of the Buddha inside these hollows. There is also a small chorten here, with rows of big leather-bound prayer- drums—five-foot cylinders attached to fron spindles, carrying literally miles of paper, on which is written the sacred prayer. The pilgrims = walk round these in pro- cession, setting cach one groaning = and squeaking in turn, thereby acquiring merit; for this twirling of prayer- drums is equivalent to saying the prayer many thousands of times, and repetition, vain or otherwise, is the secret of religious success in Tibet. Presently we come to the hot springs, where a patch of green, with shady trees, stands out in the bare gorge like an emerald in a brazen setting. At this spot warm water gushes from the base of the cliff, forming a tiny oasis in the khaki-coloured valley, and here the pilgrims halt and wallow. All around the rocks are covered with neatly- executed inscriptions and pictures, testifying to infinite patience, for the spot is surely sacred. Hot water from solid rock in a desert—it is a miracle f A native brdge over the Wi-chu River, on the pilgrim ront-. THE SACRED MOUNTAIN, 265 Lams outside a t mple. After crossing another high pass we reach the swift little Wi-chu. Stark and grim, colossal walls of rock rise all round us, cul- minating at last in the glittering twin peaks of another snow mountain, standing sentinel over the awful solitudes. Between these mazes winds snake-like! coil against coil, the Wi-chu ; and from the next pass we look down on it both ahead and behind, flowing in opposite directions and gleaming blue as a Damascus blade. At last we reach the monastery of Pitu, a fine big build- ing, white- wash.d, with a large central temple, hung ‘with heavy black cloth in front. On the steps leading up to the doorway, and round a chorten close by, loll a number of dissolute-l 0 0 k- ing yellow-robed priests, who eye us with dis- favour; but the villagers — wel- come us. Next day we attend a service in the monas- tery. Rowsand tows of yellow- robed __ priests sit cross-legeed on the floor, and Google ©

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266 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sreerestye oor Bien ie ages on a dais above, supported by high priests, sits that awesome figure, a “ living Buddha,” or reincarnated priest. Rapidly, in a deathless silence, he drones a prayer, while the little butter lamps on the altar flicker and scarcely penetrate the gloom of the big hall. Then the voice ceases, and immediately the answer is caught up by a hundred guttural throats, and as they too sink into silence there comes a sudden blare of trumpets and conch shells, the roll of drums, and the clang of cymbals. And now cups of tea and rolls of bread are handed round by silent monks—the interval for refreshments has arrived. On our way out we are set upon by an enor- mous mastiff which has been unloosed by some playful monk. There is a scramble for back seats, someone hits the brute over the head with a stick, and before any damage is done order is restored. Night finds us round the fire again. Someone brings out a bamboo whistle and plays a sad air in a minor key, while another twangs a bamboo comb, very like a ‘jews’ harp.” In the cold dawn they churn the salt tea in the big wooden cylinders, and pack up their belongings. Nearing the last high pass, a great dome of glittering snow suddenly pops up its head close at hand. This is the nearest we ever get to the Sacred Mountain, and for a few minutes we gaze at it entranced. Even from the deep Mekong and Salween Gorges we have seen that pure summit, and it has rarely been completely hidden throughout our tour. Descending to the Mekong once more we must go very slowly, for the snow above, melting in the bright sunshine, has trickled down into the forest below and, freezing again, glazed the path with ice. We reach the river, and cross by a rope bridge. Toiling upwards once more, we look back and see the mouth of the glen blocked by the white peaks—our last view of the Sacred Mountain. Here is a pretty village with large flat-roofed houses hidden beneath spreading green trees and scattered amidst cultivated slopes; there is no winter here, only autumn, and presently those slopes will be emerald green, and the pear trees freighted with blossom. Continuing to climb, we are in the grip of stern winter again, and soon reach the last pass. Below, mellow in the afternoon sunshine, nestles the village from which we set out ten days ago. From a neighbouring roof comes the jingle of bells and the wail of a Tibetan fiddle—yak hair stretched across snake-skin. Some strolling minstrels are amusing the crowd. The man, wearing an apron of bells, is dancing as he scrapes the fiddle, while the woman, dressed in a bril- liant blue skirt and emerald-green jacket, sings in a quavering falsetto. Two children, who complete the troupe, are banging cymbals and performing strange antics; from time to time the leader fires off old, old gags, in a loud voice. and the crowd roars with laughter. Just beyond, a wild-eyed, rug-headed sor- cerer, sitting cross-legged on the ground by a bed of sickness, is ringing a hand-bell and mumbling prayers. He is casting out a devi) on best Old Testament lines. But our pilgrims go quietly to their homes. Their pilgrimage is over; they have acquired much merit along the hard and narrow way, and will live happily, so they believe, for another year.

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THE RESURRECTION OF “RED” WILSON, Ass told by CHRIS GILSON, and set down by HUGH THOMASON. ILLUSTRATED BY HY. COLLER. An exciting story of the old days in the South-West, when the Apaches were still a terror in the land. Mr. Gilson relates how the remnant of a pack-train party was providentially saved from the fury of a band of outlaw Redskins led by the notorious “ Apache Kid.” may GENERATION ago the Indian ( x |) territory of Arizona and New Mexico Dy A Wa was by no means so peaceful as it is AWE to-day. Then the settler took his EDke Sy life in his hands. The districts were policed by the United States Militia, and we often had brushes with the more daring of the Redskins. You never knew when they would break out on the war-path and terrorize the surrounding country with their horrible deeds. The Apache Indians were far the worst and the most unreliable. We were always up against them. Among the Sioux and the Cheyennes we found some real friends, but none among the Apaches. Now and again we struck an Apache whom we thought we could trust, but in the end we discovered that no reliance could be placed upon them. There was Apache Kid, for instance, who for years was in the service oi the United States Army. But in the end he turned bandit and led us an awful dance. I struck his trail once and had an experience I shall never forget. The Kid, as we called him, was Springfield carbine on the head of the offender, _ thereby causing a funeral to be pulled off at Fort Grant. The commanding officer at the Fort incarcerated him in the post guard-room until the civil authorities could come and take him to the county seat to be tried for murder, One day the sheriff and a couple of deputies came for him, with the intention of taking him up to Silver City. He was bound hand and foot and thrown into the bed of a Mexican cart on a pile of straw. The cart was drawn by a couple of oxen, and driven by a peon, who sat on the fork of the tongue in front of the bed of the cart. No one ever knew what happened on the way, for they never arrived at their des- tination. The sheriff, two deputies, and the cart driver were found dead, horribly mutilated, and piled on top of the carcasses of the two disem- bowelled oxen. The cart was wrecked and strewn in frag- ments all around the vicinity of the deed. It is conjectured that the prisoner slipped his hand- cuffs and killed the guard who rode in the cart with him, and then used this man’s weapons to kill the others in the fight that fol- lowed. First Sergeant of Apache Scouts at Fort Grant, and I must say he performed his duties in an able manner. Unfortunately he had such a winning way with the ladies that the husband of one of them tried to intro- duce eight inches of the blade of a hunting- Imife between a couple of the Kid’s ribs. This annoyed the Kid to such an extent that he splintered the perfectly good walnut stock of a Chris Gilson, who tells this exciting story. Kid now took to the mountains and was joined by sixteen or seventeen other cut- throat Apaches, who kept the United States Army chasing them for years. They were, in fact, never caught. The Kia and his bunch roamed around in the Peloncillo mountains for awhile and then went north to the Mogolions; then he would drop down into the Mimbres range for a bit of a change. When things got too hot for

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268 him he would slip over into Old Mexico for a spell. A soldier has to eat and his horse has to have a reasonable amount of forage, and on this point the hostiles had the advantage of the soldiers. The country amply supplied the Apaches with all they required to eat, because they ate lizards, rattlesnakes, and such-like food. They would also take cactus leaves, scrape the spines from them, bruise them, and roast them on the coals, converting them into a swectish material like syrup. As the principal crops raised in Arizona were rattlesnakes and cactus, you can readily see that the Apaches never suffered for want of food. On the other hand, our pack trains were carting bacon, flour, beans, and coffee all over Arizona and New Mexico. At this time I was ordered to take a pack train of thirty-six mules, loaded with supplies, from Silver City to Fort Cummings, down in the mighbourhood of Cook's Peak. I had seven packers with me, and we were all well armed with Colts and Winchesters, calibre forty-five. We had no escort, as all the Indians were thought to be on the other side of the Rio Grande. The Kid had last been seen in the heart of the San Andreas mountains, and the troops were paying that part of the country special attention. When we were within about two miles of the Mimbres mountains, Jim Sparks, a Globe, Arizona, man, who was in the advance, came tearing back on the dead gallop, spurring his mule at every jump. “* Apaches !”’ halloaed Jim; “‘ they’ve cut into our road and left a trail as big as a bunch of long- horns. There’s a large number of them, too.”’ I rode ahead, and, sure enough, there was a trail plain enough for a blind fiddler to follow, and not over three-quarters of an hour old. There was nothing clse to do but to push on to the mountains and make a defensive fight if the worst came to the worst. Had the Indians cut into our trail a little later we should have been in for it, and luck might have been against us. These Indians had dribbled back through the unguarded passes in twos and threes and were now in rear of the soldiers, being also joined by another contingent from San Carlos. At a water hole in the foot-hills of the Mimbres we ran into a dreadful scene. The Apaches had killed and scalped a Mormon family of seven persons. We were delayed some considerable time burying these people, but finally finished it and once more hit the trail for old Fort Cummings. After crossing the Mimbres river, we rode into the town of Mimbres, which had been entircly wiped out by the Apaches. The dead bodies of the inhabitants, all of whom had been scalped, Jay around on every hand. The carcasses of cows, sheep. and hogs dotted the vacant lots, but I did not see a single dead horse. I attribute this to the fact that the Indians had driven them off for use. Quite a number of chickens were scratching around in the gardens as uncon- cernedly as if nothing had happened. We pulled out o1 here pretty well wrought up, and expected to be jumped any minute ourselves. We had been on the march only a couple of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hours, when all at once a ball of blue smoke appeared on the top of a neighbouring mesa, and at the same time four hundred and sixty grains of lead came hurtling through the air, striking a pack-mule under the left ear and killing her instantly. Then two or three more shots rang out and the hot lead sputtered in among us, causing some commotion among. the mules and I might add among the men too. Not eveo then did we observe a sign of an Apache. When an Indian hides, he is hidden; and they can hide in any place where there is a sprig of grass and a fist-full of sand. An Apache wilt flop down in the sand and instantly disappear from the face of the earth. You can walk within ten feet of one and never see him. He wil tie a handful of sage-brush to his head, throw himself on his stomach, crawl to the edge of a mesa where he can see everything that takes place within a radius of ten miles, and stay right there for a day or two if necessary, without moving a limb or winking an eye. We hurriedly corralled the stock and unpacked them, and as we did so piled the apparajoes ind packing boxes around us in a circle and prepared for the coming fight. From the mesa to the north of us rings of smoke went sailing up in the air. The Apaches were signalling to the rest of their crowd, who were scattered around throughout the mountain passes. There is no doubt that we had been under their observation from the time we left Mimbres City. They simply did not want to molest us until we had arrived at a point in the trail which best suited their purpose. An Indian never attacks until he is doubly sure that he has the advantage. When the first shot was fired there were probably not more than ten or twelve Apaches in our immediate neighbourhood, but inside of an hour there must have been fifty or sixty. They did -not show themselves, but crawled up to within range and fired at every living thing they could see with our party. The hot lead was spitting in the red sands around us like an angry cat. The Northern Indian puts up a spectacular fight; in paint and feathers, with streaming scalp-lock, and weli mounted on his war pony, he gallops out to meet his foe with great élan and dash. Not so the Apache; the viper of the human race, he crawls through the dust and sage, and the first knowledge that you have of his presence is the whine of a leaden messenger of death. It was hot and dusty out there on the sand, and lying behind a lot of packing boxes in the broiling sun was far from pleasant; but there we were, shooting occasionally at some spot on the mesa over which temporarily floated a wisp of filmy smoke from the black powder the savage was using. The Apaches were chary of their ammunition, never shooting unless they had a chance of hitting something. We knew that they would never charge our improvised fort, and we also knew that they would not fight after nightfall Their plan was to wear us down, kill off all our stock, and then get us. According to the rules of the game they held the

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SREeer ay pg = ses ea aes es THE RESURRECTION OF winning hand, and they were perfectly well aware of that fact. They knew that another day without water would finish the animals and put all hands on foot without a chance of getting away. We kept them at a respectable distance with our rifle fire, but in spite of this they would drop a mule occasionally. Jim Cook crawled out of the barricade to get acanteen of water which had been left lying out in the brush in our hurry to get under cover ; but he did not go very far before he let out an. awful yell. It was his dying call, for an Apache had stabbed him through the heart. The Indian was lying there in the dust not more than twenty feet from the barricade! He was soon riddled With bullets, but the question was : how did he get there ?- Ican only conclude he was there before We arrived and threw off the packs for the fight. Plan was to lie low until he could get away or else kill someone in the crowd. With the sinking of the sun the firing ceased, the Apaches, true to their ancient habits and traditions of not fighting after nightfall, leaving Us quietly alone. We scooped out a grave and buried Jim Cook, “RED” WILSON, 269 knowing full well that the Indians would dig him up and scalp him later. The dead Apache was left where he lay, but we made sure that he was dead. As the night grew older we concluded to try and make our escape in the darkness, and to that end carefully selected seven good saddle- mules, ones that had not been wounded, and saddled them up. The remainder of the mules we turned adrift to shift for themselves. It was our intention to ride during the rest of the night, for right well we knew that we would meet our Red friends on the morrow. It was as dark as pitch when we were ready to start, and while we were adjusting our saddles a voice came out of the darkness, quite close at hand, saying: “ Halloa ! Chris Gilson |" I at once recognized the voice of the Apache Kid. He could speak as good English as anyone. “An Apache had stabbed him through the heart.” Then he laughed, and said: “ Have you got a good saddle-mule for me ?”’ “ Yes,’”’ said I; ‘‘ come in and get it.”’ “Not me,” he said; ‘‘ you just tie him to a packing box, and I will get him when you leave. You see I am no wild Indian afraid of evil spirits ; I walk around of nights. I tried hard to get my people to pay you a visit to-night, but it was no use, so Thad to come alone. But what does it matter? We will get all of you to-morrow morning, anyway.” Just then Jim Sparks, the Globe, Arizona, man, loosened up his artillery and went into action. He fired in the direction of the voice, and the blaze of fire from the muzzle of his Colt lit up the surroundings, but the flash of the revolver ry Gooste i ALI OU gle

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270 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. revealed nothing but the bare sands all around us, with here and there a clump of sage-brush. No sign of an Indian ‘could be seen. Then the Kid spoke again: Chris. I'll sce you in the morning.” We mounted and rode away in the darkness to the eastward. At the coming of the day we were fired on again from ambush and Ed Young and Patsy Grady fell from their mules dead. We got three of the Apaches before they could get clear of us, which evened scores up somewhat. We left Young and Grady where they fell and pushed onward, fighting every step of the way. Our mules were dead tired now, and of no use to us, so we abandoned them and took refuge in a buffalo wallow out in the middle of the valley. There were no hills here for our enemies to shoot down on us from, consequently we were in a better position for a siege than the day before. We had enough water in the canteens to last us during the day. We fought -the Apaches here for a whole summer's day, and I have several scars on my old carcass to remember it by. Jack Glauson was badly wounded and died about an hour afterwards, and later two more men were shot dead. Jim Sparks and Red Wilson also received several unimportant flesh wounds. How we escaped getting wiped out entirely was a miracle, for the Indians grew desperate and wanted to finish the job off-hand. At times the bullets “* Good-bye, “TL woke and sat up, and saw standing before me the ghost of Red Wilson.” seemed to rain around us, kicking the dust up. in our eyes and occasionally slightly wounding ts. The last shot fired by the Indians at dark on that day hit Red Wilson in the stomach, crumpling him up like a green leaf on a camp- fire. He was standing up at the time, thinking the Indians had finished for the night. We did not want to leave our comrades without burying them, so with mess-tin tops we scooped om Digitized oy GOOle fe)

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THE RESURRECTION OF “RED” WILSON. shallow graves in the sand and placed them gently therein, filling in the sand over them and packing it down. Jim and I—the sole survivors now--hit the trail to the eastward in the darkness on foot, and after marching for about three hours came to a water-hole in a little valley, where we stopped and filled our canteens, after drinking all we could hold. “If something don’t hapyen, we shall never survive to-morrow,” said Jim. “Yes, Jim,’’ I replied, “‘ we are sore tired and hungry. If we stop walking these bullet wounds of ours will stiffen us up so that we shall be unable to march. The way the cards are falling our scalp-locks will dangle from the headstall of the Kid’s bridle no later than to-morrow morning.” “Let’s stay here, Chris,’ Jim went on; “we might as well be bumped here as a mile or so farther on. What's the difference ? "” We lay down on the side of the water-hole, and were. so dog-tired that almost instantly we fell asleep. In the grey dawn of the marning I woke and sat up, and saw standing before me the ghost of Red Wilson. There he stood in.the same boots and faded blue wool shirt, and looking just as he did when Jim.and I buried him. I‘felt as if some giant had grabbed my heart in his great hands and. was squeezing it. I was so scared that what few scattering hairs I had on my head seemed to shove my old “ Stetson "’ straight upwards. Then Jim woke up, rubbed his eyes for a minute, then scrambled rapidly away from the apparition to the other side of the water-hole, saying: “ Are you alive, Red; are you alive?” “ Oh, yes,’’ came the irritated answer. ‘‘ What's the matter with you fellows ? Not satisfied with burying a chap alive, you act as if you wasn’t glad to see me when I show up!" I felt relieved at once. Even if it was a ghost, he was acting sociable-like. “‘T should think the pair of you ought to be ashamed of yourselves for the way you planted me,” he continued. ‘‘ The next time you start 271 a burial ground try your hand first on a pack- mule. If you had to inter me, why didn’t you wrap a sack or something round my head? I had a small chance, with my nose, cyes, and ears full of dry sand. I sha'n't get the gravel out of my hair for the next ten years.” “‘ We meant you no harm,” said Jim ; “ we just wanted to hide you from the Kid’s outfit, and maybe cheat them out of a second-class scalp of red hair."’ “I’m not complaining about being interred,’’ returned Wilson, ‘‘ but your careless methods I strongly condemn.” We apologized, and after awhile got him pacified enough to tell us what had happened after we left him. It appears that during the early hours of the morning a bunch of Indians had gathered around our last stand to take stock of what they had done. They dug up Jack Glauson and Red Wilson, and very carefully dusted out the hair of these two deceased gentlemen preparatory to relicving them of their scalps, at the same time making exceedingly merry, as became Apaches of the old school. Wilson had only been struck by a spent bullet, and was not really dead. He was in a state of what the doctors call ‘‘ suspended animation.” When the Redskins poked him in the chest, and the cool breezes of the morning fanned his cheeks, he came out of his stupor and sat up. In describing the incident, Wilson said: “Those Indians were clectrified. The one that was about to scalp me let out a howl like a wolf in a bear-trap and bolted, with the others at his heels. Those boys can run, and I miss my. guess if they ain’t running still. They didn’t wait for ponies—simply darted off as hard as they could, as if some evil spirit was after them.” We were not molested further, and made our way into Fort Cummings on foot. Kid’s band crossed over into Old Mexico. and stayed there for some time. What finally became of the Apache Kid wafnever known. He was chased by both the United States Army and’ the Mexican Army for years, but was never killed or captured. THE WORLD'S MOST PICTUR- ESQUE VESSEL. HERE is a photograph of one of those picturesque New Guinea craft known as lakatots. These odd- looking vessels are composed of from five to ten dug-outs lashed securely side by side. A deck is then laid across and a superstructure built upon it. There is not a nail in the whole fabric, and every part of the vessel is composed of home-grown products, from the steering paddles to the curious matting sails. From time immemorial a fleet of these /akatols has left the Motu village annually at the end of the south- east monsoon, laden with pottery manufactured in the district, and sailed away to barter with the Gulf tr.bes as far as the Purari River, two hundred miles away. This quaint armada returns with sago during the north-west monsoon. So characteristic of British New Guinea is the Jakatol that the postage-stamps of the country bear a representation of one of these craft.

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~ ODD ENDS. HE huge figure seen in our photograph is a statue of the E'ephant God, the god of success. Small replicas of the god in stone or brass are common enough ~~ in India, but this immense image, which stands in the private grounds of the Rajah of Indore, is in a class by itself, and apparently little known, Presumably its fashioner thought the bigger the god, the greater his power for success. As will be seen, it has a deformed human body with an elephant head and a remarkable head-dress, while its upraised hand seems to be lifted in protest at being discovered and photographed. top of @ roundabout, Airmen have been compelled to come down at Various times in some very strange places, but it is safe to say that few aviators have landed in a more unlikely place than the pilot of the machine An odd landing-place, The pilot of this plane was forced by engine trouble to alight on the A huge figure of the Elephant God, the deity of success. seen inthis photograph. The incident hap pened in Canada, at the Calgary Industrial Exhibition on July 5th, 191g. Captain Fred McCall, D.S.O., D.F.C, M.C.,had gone up witb two passengers, when, through engine trouble, he was forced to descend when only about a hundred and fifty feet up. Large crowds filled every part of the Exhibition grounds, and, owing to his low altitude, the aviator had no room to manceuvre, In order to avoid loss of life, therefore,he very pluckily landed on top of the merry-go-round, which had just stopped and still had about a dozen people under its roof. This extremely difficult feat was successfully Performed, and Captain McCall made a very spectacular landing. Happily to relate, no one was injured.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a 10 Lessons in PUBLIC SPEAKING joer} She had gone to change into her trav- cling. dress—a few minutes later he found her in her room—the womamhe had just made his wife in company with his best friend. What would you have done? What did hedo? Find.out from the story by Write quick—for particulars of this extra- ordinary offer; an.offer you will never forget if you take advantage of it. Ten lessons in Public Speaking:absolutely :free to those who The most popular set of books in the world today is the marvelous'stories of O. Henrys Over two million separate~ volumes have - been. sold. No other publication has approached such a tremendous success. Second only to O. Henry in popnlanite iis Jack London. Never has there been a man like-him, : Hehas adventured everywhere. Hewas Qn: officer, a roustabout,’ a. miner, a farmer, a tramp, a prisoner, a sailor before ‘the mast. He: is our great+ est writer of pure, real) adventure. Sy Big Book Bargain Simply fill out and iS bj mailithe Inspection ' Coupon, which brings the completesetof O. Henry, 12 volumes, New: Fabrikoid binding, and the set of Jack London; 5 volumes, silk cloth’: binding — altogether 17” volumes—shipped- for your examination: Look the books over, forten days; read isome-of the fascina- ting stories, and if youvare i satisfied send us $1.00 only asa first payment and.$3.00 per month thereafter, till our special price of $29.00 is paid. If you are notiens tirely. satisfied notify. us within. ten days» and. we will give -you shippingyin- structions for their return. localities where it is not already known. We teach you, by mail, to become a power- fal and convincing talker:and speaker—to dominate and control the decisions of one listener -or-an audience of a thousand. We have trained hundreds and helped them to increase their earnings and their popularity, Learn:in your spare time, at ‘home, how to overcome “stage-fright” and conquer fear of others; how to enlarge your vocabulary; how to develop self-confidence and the qualities of leadership; how to RULE others bythe power of your speech alone; how to train your memory. Our New, Easy Method Perfected and taught by Prof. R. E. Pattison Kline, former dean of the Pubiie Speaking Department of the Columbia College of Expression, can be Jearned in 15 minutes a day. Prof. Kline is one of the foremost guthorities in the country on public speeking. and mental development. Do not delay and miss this opportunity» of a-lifettme. OFFER LIMITED foney This Special Offer of ten lessons free:is made strictly for advertising purposes and will be withdrawn. without motice. Write now, before it expires; and receive full parttoulars with enrolimentblank by return matl.. Jvst tearoff and mat! free coupon—ora postal, North American Institute, 1352Manhattan Bidg., Chicago Send This NORTH AMERICAN INSTITUTE, 1352 Manhattan Bidg., Chicago, It. I am 1nterested in your course in Effective Public Speaking and your offer of 10 leasons free. Please send full particulars. This request places me under no obligation of any kiud. THE RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING CO. 140 So.Dearbora St; Chicagopll WNAMOins-.......-nserersernenenes sccesssersccszcanseceees iki data becet apuantcninieerechorouehitanes natiamey New Fabrikord binding, gold tope Jack London bound im atik cloth. Tf 8 ceived and $3 per mont ©. Henry ‘set only is: pai Jack Lon without BUHCCHs...cercecneccecccceees cone ceenceceeneseees RIEG sRacinsisscccecocasenasenssey Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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‘HE KNOCKED OVER A THREE-LEGGED TABLE WHERE AN ARAB WAS SEATED.” (SEE PAGE 275.)

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. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ADVENTURE -~ TRAVEL ~™ SPORT Vol. XLIV. FEBRUARY, 1920. No. 262. HE “Black Hand" of Egypt is an ex- tensive society of ptians, mostly of the Effendi, or middle class, who have sworn to devote their lives to outrages and murders against the English or other Europeans, for the so-called “ liberty ’’ of their country: When one of these “ pa- triots” joins the society he is put through very severe tests of fidelity and courage. The service for the dead is read over him, after which his life belongs to the society, to be given up when required as a sacrifice to the cause. Thenceforth he must stop at nothing, to carry out the murder of designated vic- tims, and be hanged for his trouble if necessary. During the last six months or so many Euro- peans in Egypt have been found murdered in a brutal fashion after receiving the usual warning letters from the society of the ‘‘ Black Hand.” With this little explanation I will proceed to my story. One hot and dusty day some years before the Great War started, I was at Port Said, staying a few hours only on my way to the Far East. When passing a wine-shop, where music was being played, enticing one out of the glare into the coolness within, my companion suggested that we should enter. Pushing aside the straw matting which shaded the shop entrance, we entered and saw a woman, presumably a Greek, Vol. xliv.—19, ? A curious story of the abortive Egyptian revolution, told by an Army officer. Stay-at-home folk, because nothing ever happens to them, will sometimes tell you that romance is dead, but Capt. Moody's narrative goes to prove the contrary. oA Capt FAM Jilustrated by Leo Bates sitting at one of the far tables strumming a man- dolin, She was dressed in a short green skirt with faded gold lace, a semi- Corsican bodice, and a lace cap. She was not a woman of great beauty, but her large black and dark hair made her attractive. Possibly when my com- panion entered the shop he was looking more at the woman than where he was going, for he knocked over a three-legged table, where an Arab wearing the flowing head-dress of a Bedouin was seated, smoking and drink- ing wine. It may have been the manner in which my com- panion set the table on its legs again and ordered more drink which made an im- pression on the Arab, for at once he was salaaming and rendering extensive thanks in broken English in a manner we certainly did not deserve. We sat close by, at a neighbouring table, and we found the Arab’s company most entertaining during the short period we enjoyed the cool of the wine-shop. His long robes were spotlessly white, his flowing turban—not unlike that of the King of the Hedjaz’s troops—nearly concealed his face, whilst his fingers were adorned with heavy gold rings, set with stones or scarabs, suggesting great value. A prominent nose, an iron-grey moustache and beard, both closely cropped, spoke of a man about forty years of age. On his right temple he had strange

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276 unintelligible tattoo-marks and on the back of his right hand further tattooing, suggesting a broken triangle in a serrated-edged circle. We left him on very friendly terms as he lifted the screen for us to go out. The incident then passed entirely from our thoughts, and it was not mentioned between us again. It was in March, 1919, after we had come down from Palestine, that I saw the Arab again. We were waiting week after week under the shadow of the Giza Pyramids for demobilization --waiting for those ships we heard so much about, that would not come to take us away from the glare of the sands. It was just a little before the time when the cry of ‘ Long Live Our Country ” and “ Egypt for the Egyptians ’’ was suddenly raised from the Nile delta to the Soudan, when all railway traffic and communications were disorganized, and murders and outrages Were committed throughout Egypt. One evening I was walking round about the old Sphinx when I was accosted by the usual crowd of guides and hawkers with curios to sell and suggestions to visit the places of the long- ago dead which I had seen so often. They were mostly semi-naked boys, who would always run at the sight of an Egyptian policeman, but they were often a great annoy- ance to young officers. However, on this occasion, one man continued to follow me, and when I sat down on the sand by the temple of the Sphinx he stopped. “ Tell your fortune, Mr. Capitaine,”’ he said. I told him to go away, as I was bored with fortune-tellers. s Il very good fortune, Mr. Capitaine; no dam’ lie,’’ he persisted. I disregarded him, but coming close to me he drew a circle in the sand with his stick and, talking incessantly of his vast experience as a fortune-teller in Algiers, said :— “T tell no dam’ lie, Mr. Capitaine; I never lie ; my fortune always come true.” I told him to “ tmpshi,”’ that is, to go away, as I was bored. “Ts it a lie you have been wounded by the Turks, Mr. Capitaine ?’’ he cried, angrily. “I tell you truly you will be wounded again.” It was then, as he continued to mark the sand with his stick, that I saw the tattoo-marks I had seen so many years previously, and, looking at the man closely, I recognized him, although his beard was whiter, as the Arab of the wine-shop in Port Said. When I questioned him about this he recol- lected perfectly the small incident of our first acquaintance, and became extremely friendly again. We talked together until the rays of the sun left the Pyramid of ‘ Cheops,”’ for he was a man of wide ideas and intelligence and seemed well informed about most things, from the history of the old Pharaohs to the dispositions cf the military units in Egypt. “Mr. Capitaine, please take this as a token cf our friend-hip,”” he said, as I got up to return to camp. With that he handed me a small black hand of enamelled metal, engraved on one side THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, with a broken triangle, on the other with a serrated circle. A curious souvenir, I thought, as I took it, thanked him, and placed it in my pocket-book. It was not unlike the ivory mascot which the gharri<drivers in Cairo tie round their horscs’ necks as a protection against the “ Evil Eye.” If I had known then as much as I do now concerning the “ Black Hand "’ Society in Egypt, I should have understood what the Arab’s gift meant, for it was only ten days later that all ypt rose in revolt and the military were seriously disturbed by the doings of the ‘‘ Black Hand.”’ Outrages and murders were constantly oceurring in Cairo, Alexandria, and all along the Nile. Eng.ish people, officials and others, in these towns reccived warnings from the society, and if the warnings were not heeded the victim was later found murdered or else entirely dis- appeared. British officers were killed even in the streets, as well as at outposts and isolated places, and our demobilization was entirdy stopped. It was after the doings of the ‘ Black Hand "” became so prominent that the Arab’s gift became of real interest to me. Two wecks after the incident at the Pyramids TI was sent with my company to a post outside Cairo, where the rebcls had descended in force, torn up the railway lin awn down telegraph poles, and smashed up Government property. It was a dangerous quarter and one my men appreciated, although they were all greatly annoyed at the stoppage of demobilization atter their hard work on the rough hills of Palestine. Shots were constantly being exchanged with Egyptian hostiles, and armed suspects were brought in at all hours of the day and night. One evening, expecting an attack on the out- post, which was but lightly held, I sent an officer with a few men to lic in ambush two miles away on the railway line, which had been temporarily repaircd. They had to wait a long time be fore anything occurred to break the monotony, but their vigil was rewarded at 2 a.m., when anumb r of shadowy forms on donkeys were seen to stop on the line about three hundred yards from their concealed position. Two shots rang out; there was a yell, and two donkeys were seen to fall forward on to their knees. A few more shots and the donkey party surrounded. The officer afterwards reported to me that when he examined the party he found them to be peaceful fellahcen, whose sacks were searched and dates, pieces of sugar-cane, and coffee beans found in them. He also remarked, when asked for a description of the men, that one of them had a peculiar tattooing on his right hand, which description coincided with my acquaint- ance of the Pyramids and the wine-shop. A chief of the “ Black Hand” Society was known to be in the district. When the patrol returned at 3 a.m. I strength- ened my posts with two native police each. At daylight the same moming another patrol from a further outpost reported to me that the per- manent way had been torn up and pitched into a canal, at the exact spot where the donkey party

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was held up and searched. My acquaintance of the “ Black Hand ”’ had won the first trick. The revolution continuing to spread through- out the entire country, my post was handed over to garrison troops, our own fighting qualities being required farther away in the provinces. The idea of early demobilization had now to be forgotten. Bully beef and biscuits came to the fore again, and journeys in troop trains, patrols, and sleepless nights succeeded enforced leisure at the Pyramids and afternoon teas in Cairo. British troops were now scattered throughout Egypt, some fighting in armoured cars or behind barricades in the streets of Cairo, some at the Barrage, and some patrolling the Nile. My company entrained for Fayum, an oasis some distance west of the Nile and about eighty miles from Cairo, where some serious trouble was anticipated. Owing to special work, I was for a few days separated from my men and travelled from Cairo, on the Luxor main line, by a construction train, composed of three open trucks, a brake- van, a loco and tender. The occupants of the train were Royal Engineers, who sat on their picks, shovels, rails, and sleepers at the bottom of the trucks, whilst I travelled with my servant in the brake-van behind. We had been running smoothly for about an hour and a half from Cairo, when suddenly the train stopped with a jerk, and before one could ascertain what was wrong, volleys of bullets, shots, and stones were fired at the train. It was at this mo- ment that an empty bottle, directly aimed at the door of the brake-van, hit me a glancing blow on the knee, which for the time put me out of action. As I was wearing shorts the wound showed a quantity of blood, but, although it was only superficial, I was reminded of the fortune-teller’s pre- diction. In less than sixty seconds a mob of about two thousand Bedouins and fellaheen had surrounded the train. Some were carrying Egyptian or Turkish flags, others sticks, rifles, or old revolvers, and most of them were shouting insulting expressions in Arabic, together with “ Down with the English,” “Long live our country,’ and ‘Egypt for the Egyptians.” Most conspicuous in the mob was a Bedouin in a flowing turban seated on a fiery Arab stallion, with silver trappings, his general appearance one of command. “Looking at the man closely I recognized him.” THE BLACK HAND. 277 I instantly recognized him as my old acquaint- ance, the chief of the Black Hand. He was directing the attack. The Engineers, not expecting such a surprise, had placed their rifles amongst the construction material, so they were unable to get at them quickly. When the mob clambered on to the train, therefore, they at once found they were masters of the situation. One sapper obtained his rifle and fired two shots, which took effect on an Arab with a shot- gun, who tumbled forward off his donkey, but in face of such great numbers the rest of us were powerless to offer resistance. The mob now tore up the rails in front of the train, smashed the working parts of the engine, and finally, by sheer weight, overturned the trucks and derailed the tender. At the same time others of the rebels were busy gathering together the rifles and ammunition and fighting over the loose sacks of foodstuffs we had on the train. Just when the mob was having everything its own way, and the situation seemed hopeless, we heard the distant hum of an aeroplane, but we did not give it much attention. As it came nearer the pilot probably saw the train, the torn- up rails, and the excited mob, for like a huge eagle, down it came, firing its machine-guns into the massed body of natives. Overcome with terror at this sudden appear- ance of help, the mob fled in all directions, shouting and _ yelling, the donkeys and horses stampeding as aeroplane after aeroplane came on the scene and opened fire at close quarters. Soon the surround- ings were a mass of terrorstricken and

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278 wounded humanity, those in the shelter of the over-turned trucks and wreckage calling on Allah, those who were wounded struggiing painfully to get away. But where was the chief of the Hand ” ? When the first plane appeared and circled over the mob I saw him raise his gun and empty both barrels at it. Then, spurring his horse, knocking over many of the rioters, he galloped away amidst a great cloud of dust. By this time the Engineers, three of whom had slight shot-wounds, had obtained possession of some of the rifles thrown away by the rioters in their attempt to escape, and were now picking off the fugitives, who were so much scattered as to be no target for the planes. I was now unable to continue my journey ; the line was rooted up for three hundred yards, the fairway blocked with telegraph wires, poles, and sleepers, and the woeden structures near by were burning. The local inhabitants and the police took charge of the wounded, whilst the train party, taking possession of the ruined and smouldering buildings, put themselves in a state of defence, using the machine-guns of the planes, in case of another attack. Here we stayed two days, at work on the torn- up track, acroplanes bringing us food, water, and ammunition, until reinforcements and a perman- ent small garrison arrived, when I was able to continue my journey on an armoured train. When I finally reached Fayam after a slow but uneventful journey, it was to find our Indian troops behind barricades in the streets, prepared for fighting at close quarters. The Egyptian Governor had been warned that an armed demonstration was imminent, and so all the Egyptian police, both mounted and_ foot, were massed in the courtyard and around the buildings of Government House, two old orna- mental guns being pushed forward for moral effect. Across the road from the railway station at Fayum is the Anglc-Egyptian Bank, and it was in this building that the foreigners—men, women, and children, French, Greek, and Syrians—were ordered by the British authorities to take shelter. This building was surrounded by a few Indian troops with machine-guns, ready to hofd out to the last, for communications were now com- pletely severed and no help could arrive or be asked for. It was 10.30 in the morning when the noisy demonstrators first made their appearance in the streets. There were Bedouins from the edge of the desert, led by their different chiefs, fellaheen who had left their fields and crops, led by men of the Effendi class, all joined together, Arab and Egyptian, for “ Liberty and Independence.” On they came, a howling and clamouring mob, the chiefs on Arab steeds with silver trappings, the fellaheen on camels, donkeys, and on foot, shouting and waving coloured banners inscribed. with texts from the Koran, about three thousand in all, preceded by hundreds of youths and small boys with sticks and stones, the riff-raff and “ Black THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, scum of the town and outlying villages, bent on pillage. There was nobody to impede their progress, for all the Egyptian police had been withdrawn from the town for the protection of Government House, so the youthful robbers had their own way, and when they came to a Greek shop or one of Allied nationality it was at once attacked, smashed, and looted. When the mob first came in sight of the Indians behind the barricades, although nearly every Bedouin carried a shot-gun, revolver, or a police rifle stolen from the attacked outposts, no shots had up to then been fired. The mob had grown to huge dimensions when it neared the bank, and seemed determined to push on and attack the Indians, loot the bank, and make its way to the Governor, who was at the moment by no means popular, owing to his fidelity to the English. The small Indian detachment now received orders that if the rebels passed a certain spot on the road they were to be checked. As the yelling, frantic mob came closer, and our officers were drawing their revolvers, the figure of the leading Bedouin chief attracted my attention. Dressed in white and wearing a flowing white turban, surmounted by two coils of camel-hair, and scated on a beautiful white Arab charger, he looked every inch a leader. I recognized him at once ; it was my friend of the Pyramids! He was sitting with the butt of his double-barrelled sporting gun resting on his hip, and his followers were armed with guns, knives, and sticks. It was at the moment of recognition that one of his followers, who was seated on a donkey, fired the first shot—in the air. Instantly the small body of Indians opened fire with their machine-guns, and as they rattled out from the tops of buildings and concealed positions, numbers of the rioters began to fall. Although the ground soon became dotted with dead and dying, the rebels continued to push forward over those that had fallen. Suddenly, amidst the screams and yells, I saw the Arab chief’s horse rear and the rider fall wounded from the saddle. Instantly the crowd surged round, he was picked up, and lost to my view. I saw him no more that day, and his fall seemed to take the heart out of the mob. They hesitated, and after much waving of banners and firing of shots, finding that the troops intended to resist them at all costs, they turned round and scattered up the side streets. An hour later the wide thoroughfare was deserted, save for the fallen, two wounded donkeys, and an Arab stallion with a broken leg. During the two months that followed I was a member of a Military Court at Fayum, where day after day Bedouin chiefs, fellaheen, and others who had been caught red-handed in resisting authority received British justice. Each day Bedouins came before us, some to be found guilty and sentenced to imprisonment with hard labour or penal servitude, some to be discharged.

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THE BLACK HAND, 59 Pp 4 AP “I saw the Arab chief's horse rear. and the rider fall wounded from the saddle.”

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280 It was the last case to come before the Military Court. When finished, it would set me free to return to England. One Hussein Mohammed Mitali was charged with leading and inciting an armed band to resist pub.ic authority. The accused was brought before the Court in the usual manner, between two Egyptian soldiers with rifles and fixed bayonets. The prisoner was an elderly man in long, quiet-coloured robes and wore a fez. Being busy with my papers for the moment I did not recognize him, but when I glanced at him the second time I saw him smile. It was he of the dreaded “ Black Hand,” at last brought to trial, and recognition was mutual. When the charge was read to him he pleaded ‘ Not Guilty.” For the next two hours witnesses for the prosecution came forward, but no evidence was forthcoming that would commit the accused, and there was a feeling in the Court, as the chief stood there smiling, that each witness had been threatened by the dreaded society—threats that people living throughout the length of Egypt knew were rot idle ones. Halfway through the case we retired to the Egyptian judge’s room for coffee. I had finished my drink and reached for my sun-helmet, when from the inside dropped a letter, written in Arabic. The writing being quite unintelligible to me, Thanded it to the Fgyptian judge, who informed me it was what most of us had been expecting to Tl E WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. receive, a missive from none other than the “ Black Hand” Society, containing a warning referring to the case in hand. The proceedings continued throughout the day, and there was a big defence by witnesses with queer tattoo-marks on their right temples. The accused, however, was found guilty and duly sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment. The last I saw of my acquaintance, he was being led back to prison, escorted by three of our Indian soldiers. He was looking very dignifiid and composed, and I saw the children look up to his face with interest. A date-palm hid me from his view as he passed. T left Fayum next day. A wealthy Greek, who had given the most damning evidence against the Arab, and who:e whole family and relations had been threatencd in consequence, was on the railway platform before my train left for Cairo. Calling him over to me, I took the small black hand from my pocket-book and handed it to him. . “* Perhaps you may require this more than I,” T said. He looked at it, hesitated, but seemed to understand. Later I left Egypt safely. For once—they say it is only once--the dreaded “ Black Hand” Society had failed to carry out its sentence. It will have far to seck me now. Was it the Bedouin’s mascot which saved me ? T wonder. A STORM-PROOF HOUSE. AN ingenious method of saving houses from the terrific storms which sweep the low-lying shell islands along the Gulf coast of Louisiana has been invented by a wealthy resident of New Orleans, who raised his dwelling twenty-five feet above sea-level by means of steel stilts. Con- thirty-five feet into the island. The bars were then braced by steel trusses, and a house about ten by twelve feet built on the upper platform, with a heaty roof anchored to the structural steel by heavy iron eve- rods. The walls of this house are of two-inch selected cypress planking, cerning this novel structure a corre- spondent writes: - Determined to sur- vive any storm which might hit this coast and catch him on the island, Captain Barrow, after building a four-roomed cottage anchored by angle- irons and hog-chains to piles driven thirty-five feet into the shell bank and raised about six feet off the ground, drove eight more piles, in the lines of a square, directly in front of his house, and eennect h it by a ra 1 walk. From these piles he rai eight steel H-bars a foot wide by six inches thick to a height of twenty feet, andont p f the censtruected a platform of inch bars laid on six-by-six den beams, bolted to the steel and anchored to the carth by eleven hog-chains running to piles driven which neither rots nor splits in salt air. tered windows and a door give abundant ventilation, and at the same time shut out the wind. When storms rise suddenly, as most of these trop- ical hurricanes do, and try toblowall the water in the Gulf of Mexico inland to the Louisiana marshes, Captain Barrow simply climbs to his ‘crows-nest,’ closes thedoorandshutters, and the sea passes beneath him until it recedes and leaves his island high and dry once more. So far, the steel stilts have saved this house from disaster in every storm ; the evrie also serves asa ‘look-out’ post. Thousands of fishermen living in the surrounding marsh build their homes en stilts, but they usnally suffer the loss of their houses about once in every three years.” Digitized Google

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a the wife's ae ae Hed usbands THOS. J. MCMAHON, F.R.G.S. ILLUSTRATED BY W. E. WIGFULL. Away out in the wide Pacific, quite close to the Equator, there is a remarkable group of islands where from time immemorial woman has been queen of all she surveys. The husband takes name, all property and_ titles descend on the female side, and the men do aii the household work, even making their wives’ dresses! Divorce and marital unhappiness are quite unknown in these idyllic islands, and there is no poverty, for everybody makes a comfortable livelihood out of the coco-nut plantations and the many other picturesque native industries, YING to the north-west of the ! British Crown Colony of the Gilberts and Ellice, and just above the j Equator, are the remarkable group H of atolls known as the Marshall Islands. They have an area of a hundred and fifty square miles, and a population of twelve thousand. They were discovered in 1529, and fifty years ago were the busiest islands of the Central Pacific. In 1885 Germany forcibly took possession of them, and in 1914—against the wish of the people, wh» have always desired British protection—the Japanese occupied them, at the request of the Allies, and have now a mandate for their future administration. The group is divided into two parallel chains running in a north-wesi and south-west direction, that to the east bing known as Ratak, or “Sunrise,” and that to the west Ralik, or “ Sunset.”’ One of the reasons given for the poetical names “ Sunrise ’’ and “‘ Sunset ’’ is that the lagoons, which the low atolls surround in horse-shoe and circular shapes, are difficult of navigation unless, in the ‘‘ Sunrise ’’ chain, the sun when rising throws its beams at a cer- tain angle which focuses and lights up the “horses’ | heads”—sharp- pinnacled coral 9 rocks that abound in the deep waters, and which would quickly rip the bottom out of a ship. In the “ Sunset” group the sun, in sink- ing, has to be L_ at a certain angle ae The lagoon and village of the half-caste settlement of Leigieb. so as to again show up these dangerous rocks. Captains of trading ships seldom care to enter lagoons unless guided by these conditions of light. The Marshall Islands are among the best examples in the Pacific of the “‘ atoll ” formation, having no passages in the reefs, only one entrance to the lagoons, the tides rising and falling through the porous coral. Passages can be blasted through quite easily from sea tolagoon. Some of these lagoons are over a hundred miles in circum- ference. Jaluit, the capital of the groups, has a lagoon harbour that could hold the entire British Navy, and it was here that the German Pacific fleet prepared for its depredations in the Pacific and Indian Oceans. It was from Jaluit, more- over, that it started to the Atlantic, where it met its fate by encountering a scouting section of the British Navy. The highest atoll does not exceed eight feet above sea-level, and it is wonderful that, while a ship can rest practically motionless upon the tranquil bosom of the lagoon waters, a few paces across the land the Pacific Ccean is beating its huge waves furi- ouslyontheshingly and coral - strewn beach, the spray falling in heavy showers on the ship in the calm lagoon, While the north- erm atolls are sub- ject to long periods of drought, the southern are deluged with rains, and plant-life grows in tro~ical luxuriance,

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282 producing coco-nuts, a hundred and fifty different varieties of pandanus palms, and many extremely userul trees, including bread-fruit, bananas, paw-paws, and taro. In the lagoons the most gorgcously-coloured fish abound. Strange to relate, these fish, caught within the lagoons, are deadly poisonous; but if caught outside the recf arcas, or in the open sea, they are the most delicious eating. Fish are plentiful, and the natives cut shallow channels along the beaches, admitting the high tidal waters, which, receding, always leave hundreds of fish behind. These are caught by hand and put into salt-water troughs to be taken when wanted. + Under the present Japancse administration, the islanders are undoubtedly developing a charming national character--three parts Mar- shall, and one part Japanese. The Japanese do not talk ideals in the management of natives ; they actually live and perform them; and, while to British notions their methods may appear harsh, they are certainly awakening a new and more vigorous life within the Marshall people. They are realizing a sense of com- mercial importance ; they find there are many products of their islands that await development, and that there is great prosperity before them. The Japanese, by drastic regulations as to the care of health, have called a halt to disease and the rapid death-rate common in the German time. Under German rule these people were shockingly neglected and despised, a mere means to German comfort and trade. The natives are being taught to be effusively polite, and no official or stranger is passed without the low, sweeping bow of Japan. The offensive word “ Jap’’ is never heard; it is always “ Japanese.” No odious comparison in colours is admitted, and ‘‘ white man ’’ does not mean any more to Marshall islanders than a brown ora yellow man. At least, this is what the Japanese are insisting they shall learn. A Britisher must not be looked upon as superior to a Japanese. One month after the occupation of the islands the Japanese authorities called together all the native kings, the chiefs, and chief-women, and informed them they, with all their families, must prepare to leave for Japan to see and study the wonders of that mighty nation. Hundreds of these notabilities, with a legion of servants, for the first time left their native shores—the majority greatly scared at the prospects of their reception in Japan. On arrival they were placed in the hands of officials, and guarded night and day by police. They were first taken and presented to the Emperor and Empress; a special naval display was arranged for them, and visits to factorics and workshops of all classes completed a long programme of two months’ sojourn. Every step of these dusky potentates was fol- lowed up by Japanese moving-picture experts, and the films were later exhibited in the Marshall lagoons to the native inhabivants, who were struck with amazement at seeing their kings and chiefs in the midst of the crowucd scenes of the mighty Japanese nation. Japanese influence is nothing if not thorough. The native houses are ornamented with Japanese THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. maps, aimanacs, and books; highly-coloured portraits of the Japanese Royal Family adorn the walls and places where once the German Imperial family were reverenced. The Marshall Island chief carries a Japanese walking-stick; his European-cut clothes are made by Japanese tailors. The native women do up their hair @ la Japonaise; they comb and scent it with Japanese combs and pomades, and their wafd- robe is not complete without a brightly-painted fan and a much-beflowered kimono: A native chief-woman—a person of much distinction in these islands—has a Japanese umbrella, fantastically painted, carried over her by her maid and slave. Without a doubt since 1914 the Japanese have brought about a complete domestic upheaval in the Marshalls ; the native youth are Japanese cadets in smart khaki uniforms and glossy black peaked caps, immensely conceited with their military swagger, and highly respectful to their Japanese officers. The native girls, in pretty kimonos, and with fans in their hands, are adepts in all the accom- plishments of Japanese ladies ; indeed, they are perfect in their imitation of many pretty little Japanese female characteristics. The Marshall islanders, in their customs and characteristics, are perhaps one of the most interesting native peoples of the South Pacific. They have long since been civilized and Christian- ized. It will appear somewhat paradoxical, but is nevertheless quite true, that in the Marsha'ls the woman is the ruler, the superior being in every way. Quite contrary to the customs of nearly all other islands in the Pacific, here the woman is not a beast of burden, a mere chattel. She commands all the respect and gets all the attention ; she is first in everything. In mar- riage the man takes the woman’s family name, and the inheritance of name, wealth, and fame are from her side only. Before marriage the woman decides upon the man she wishes to make her husband, but he must do the courting, as it would not comport with her dignity as a woman to show such attention to any man. He is made to realize that a very great favour is being done him in being chosen fora husband. In the home life the man cooks the food, washes and feeds the baby, dresses the children, and not only makes his own clothes on the family sewing- machine, but cuts out and sews his wife's garments as well! She condescends at times to add the braiding and other ornaments, but that is all. The man is never allowed to be idle; it is a sacred duty with him to see that the family cupboard is always full, even if the food is only bread-fruit and paw-paw. He tills the garden, sweeps the house, and carries the parcels. From boyhood to grandfatherhood he is punctiliously respectful, attentive, and affectionate to all women. As a husband he is unfailingly faithful —always the lover, and remarkable for his gallantry. There is no such thing in the Mar- shzlls as domestic infelicity, and divorce, separa- tion, and strife are quite unknown. The Mar- shall man will attend to every wish and want of his spouse with a courtesy and eagerness which is Positively delightful to behold, and during his

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courtship he is constantly * fondling and kissing lady-love in public. man will spend hours combing and arranging his wife’s wonderful hair—every Marshall woman has long, rich, glossy black hair of which she is very vain and he very proud. When she is dressed and ready for a. fes- tival or an outing, it the finishing touches, placing is he who puts Deep-sea canoe-building. THE LAND OF MODEL HUSBANDS. 83 native hut, with a water-tight floor, so that the women and children may take their journeys or their outings in comfort. The men sit out in the open canoe, to be covered by spray or Goes his A Natives in national costum-, seldom seen nowadays, tormented by the fierce rays ofthesun. In the family the daughters are much petted, for they are the hope a bow or a ribbon to the very best advantage. and glory of the The native canoes—al- family. The boys ways called after the must shift for them- selves as early as possible. wives or sweethearts over the outrigger portion a complete little A family composed en- tirely of boys is regarded as a punishment, and to adjust this girls are When a native king has sons and daughters the succession »s to the eldest daughter. She y will the succession to a nephew if she chooses, but the female members of the family must have the first rights and privi- A woman who succeeds to a throne makes the man she marries king, and gives him full rights and powers. When any discussion arises as to inheritance of name or wealth the female side cf A Japanese trading store. adopted. leges. A Marshall Island fish-trap. of the men—have raised

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284 familics are first consulted, and their wishes accepted. In short, it is the tradition of the race that there shall be an unceasing acknowledg- ment of the superiority of woman. They are the beings who have all the intelligence, and the only means of obtaining aflluence. If the Marshalls are the land of the “ model husband,”’ they are certainly one of the very few countries where royalty thrives and is secure in the hearts of the people. The people are divided into two clas aste and slaves—not common. slav they tell you, “slaves out of gratitude." Every large lagoon has its king or queen, the smaller lagoons chiefs or chief-women, both with numerous followers of sub-chiefs and high-caste relations. The people are by no means oppressed by their monarchs ; they are, indeed, on free-and-vasy terms, but all business is done by the ruling class, and a monarch’s command is not to be disputed. The profits of the coco-nut plantations from which the kingdom's revenues are derived are divided into three equal parts. The king takes one, the people one, and---what is now considered most unfair—the Japanese authorities take another. The profits of some of the kings amount to over five thousand pounds a year, and they live in European-built bungalows, sumptuously furnished. The people are never poor; their simple wants are generously sup- plied, and in drought seasons the monarchs maintain their hold on them, as well as keeping their loyalty and affection warm, by seeing that food is never short. One old king who died recently left eighteen thousand pounds for the education of his subjects, the money being found hidden in hollowed-out coco-nut palms. A very famous female monarch of the Marshalls is Queen Luato, of Arhno Lagoon. She has been termed the ‘‘ Boadicea ’’ of the Marshalls, for only four years ago she Iced her army to battle aga‘nst a powerful neighbour, King Tobo. The contending armies met in one of Queen Luato’s plantations, and trenches were dug and forts built of rocks, under the supervision of a German planter. The Japanese authorities had been warned of the possibility of hostilities, and fortunately arrived in their patrol gunboat on the morning when the armies had their first engagement. A shot from the Japanese gun- boat caused a temporary cessation in the attacks, whereupon Japanese marines seized the warring monarchs and confi:cated the arms of the warriors—supplied by German traders. Queen Luato and King Tobo were brought before the Japanese commander, and an attempt made to settle their quarrel. The queen haughtily refused to consider terms, or even to enter into negotiations with her enemy. The Japanese officials then ordered both parties, with their famil to remain on the gunboat, and to send their servants to prepare the Royal wardrobes for a lengthy trip to Japan, where the dispute would be tried and a final decision given. Queen Luato refused to acknowledge the right of the Japanese to interfere, dec'ined to attend any trial, and kept aloof from King Tobo, who Wis anxious to abide by the decision of the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Japanese. In the end the Japanese favoured King Tobo, dispossessed Queen Luato of some of her coco-nut plantations, and appointed King Tobo sovereign-in-chief of the Arhno Lagoon. Immediately on her return to her prople, Queen Luato declared she would never allow King Tobo’s people to enter her dominions, and a quiet guerrilla war was maintained which the Javanese were powerless to prevent. In the midst of these troubles the queen—to the "great horror of her subjects—marricd a subject, and a commoner, her interpreter with the Japanese, and a very well-educated man. This was against all tribal law, but the proud queen endured the anger of her people because she realized that her husband—whom she had made Prince Consort, not King—was a very able man. He had already pleaded her case before the Japanese, and a fresh inquiry was opened. The result was that Luato had her plantations restored to her, while King Tobo, who in his excess of power had offended his people in many ways, was banished, and Luato acknowledged the sovereign-in-chief of Arhno. A much more romantic and less aggressive person is Queen Rae-Nehap, of Namerick Lagoon, a beautiful young sovereign, whose Marriage constitutes a regular romance. She became Queen of Namerick at the tender age of six, and at sixteen her wise men were much concerned to find her a husband of Royal blood, one who, like herself, stood in the first rank of ancient Marshall kings. Ambassadors were sent forth to seek such a prince, and they travelled to every lagoon. But no prince of equal rank could be found, and after many months the ambassadors returned and announced their failure. Thereupon, the Queen, calling her people together, said that she herself would go and travel and seek a husband, but, she added, “IT promise he shall be my equal.’”’ For three years Rae-Nehap was away from her kingdom, her people saddened by her long absence and her silence. Then came the joyful news that she was returning with a husband and a little prineess. Great was the feasting and dancing when the romantic queen set foot once more in her kingdom, but the people were somewhat disappvinted at finding the husband to be rather an elderly man. However, he became popular with his wife’s subjects, and she remained the queen regnant. Namerick is now one of the most prosperous of the “ kingdoms ”’ of the Marshalls. For some unaccountable reasen, it is usual to consider the Marshalls unimportant commer- cially. Such is not the case, and in less than five years the Japanese will show the world, by their many enterprises, what can be done with this little group of atolls to the north of the Equator. The growing of coco-nuts is the chief industry, but Panama hat-making from coco- nut and pandanus palm-leaves is an industry that is making great strides. These hats are remarkably well-made, and when passed into the European markets will certainly become popular. String and = rope-making and_ the manufacture of natural dyes from native recipes

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THE LAND OF MODEL HUSBANDS. 285 Re are industries that are also coming to the front under Japanese encouragement. The Marshalls are famous as the trading and hiding-place of a very notorious Pacific pirate, the giant “ Bully Hayes.”” He was a man six-foot-six in height, very handsome, and of the most engaging manners, a charming personality, native ruler 3 who won the admiration and love of most of the women bids that he came in contact with. But he committed many aatenal frightful crimes, and was chased for years in Pacific waters costume, wee by British afd American men-of-war. He seemed. to have @ a wonderful power of disappearing for long periods, turning ler up in amazing disguises, and dodging the police of Australia, dz China, New Zealand, and America. A man of giant strength, er he inspired fear into his crews, who be in every case were glad to leave his & service, yet never reported him or i his doings in the islands, and always * admired his courage. iv “Bully Hayes ’’ was a man of excellent education, and in his spare moments devoted his time to the study of languages. This ability, and a perfect address, helped him many times to success in most of his dis- honest deeds. On one occasion, while . in Hong-Kong, he heard of a ship . Jaden with merchandise for Melbourne, 3 and awaiting the arrival of a captain to take her to that port. Going to the shippers, he impressed them by and sold her | cargo to the German traders, who—pirates, in a measure, like himself—did not ask any incon- venient ques- tions. The ship was loaded up with coco-nut oil and taken to San Fran- cisco, where Hayes disposed of it at an enormous profit, selling big lots for the German traders of the Marshalls, who never saw their money. Although at that very time “ wanted ” by the American authori ties, this clever rogue enter- tained his friends in San Francisco in the most open fashion. He made the ac- quaintance of a _ leading citizen and his wife, who frequently entertained the “charming man from the islands,” and he, in turn, entertained them aboard his ship. He became fas- cinated with the woman, Queen Luato and the Prince Consort of Arhno Lagoon, King Lobo and the Royal Family of the Southern Group of Islands. his manner and his knowledge of Australia. This, and some stolen certificates he produced, quite won the shippers over, and they decided that he should take the ship to Australia, while the other captain would receive and decided to abduct her. the command of another vessel. z Inviting her and her hus- “‘ Bully Hayes" and the ship A bread-fruit grove, band to a farewell dinner on disappeared, and was marked board his ship, he drugged as lost. Within two years the true factscameto the husband’s whisky, and locked the woman light. He had taken the ship to the Marshalls up in a cabin. After nightfall he sent the

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286 unconscious man, with two of his native sailors, in a boat to the shore. Immediately on the return of the boys he set sail and left the harbour. The woman never stepped on land again, and remained on the ship for nearly three years. She was eventually instrumental in causing Hayes’ death. His ship was wrecked on a recf near the Marshalls, and a sma!) schooner came to the rescue. Hayes no sooner stepped aboard than he forcibly took possession of her, and headed away to the Carolines, some thousand miles to the west of the Marshalls. The first night out Hayes, while under the influence of drink, picked a quarrel with his chief mate about the course of the schooner. The argument ended in blows, and Hayes, enraged, rushed to the cabin to get a revolver, with the intention of shooting the mate. The mate, knowing the temper of the man when in drink, resolved either to lock him in the cabin until he was sober and reasonable, or knock him out by a blow on the head. It was too late to catch him in the cabin, and Hayes was rushing up from below when the mate struck him down with a bar of iron. The woman of many voyages, who had been watching the quarrel, no sooner saw Hayes fall than, rushing forward, she seized rape and wire near at hand, and firmly bound the pirate hand and foot. With the help of the mate, she dragged Hayes on to the deck, and, tying a heavy bar of iron to his feet, was about to toss him overboard when, opening his eyes and realizing what was the intention of the two, he begged and implored to be set free. So strong was the influence of the man that the mate became afraid, and was about to release him when the woman, grasping the revolver which was still tightly clutched in Hayes’ hands, turned on the mate and told him that if he moved one foot she would shoot. Another white man, the cook, and three native sailors stood by, _ watching the whole proceedings, but were cowed by the fiendish determination in the woman’s face. ‘ At last, ‘ Bully Hayes,’ it is my turn,” she shri¢ked. ‘‘ Day after day, for the last three years, I have watched for an oppor- tunity such as this.’” With that she pushed Hayes overboard. For years after both British, American, and Australian ships hunted for the notorious pirate, and no one believed him dead, for no one had~* heard of his death. The schooner, the mate, the woman, and the crew were never heard of again until last year the white man, who acted as cook, was found, a very old man, married to a native woman, and hidden away in one of the most unfrequented of the Marshall lagoons. “ Bully Hayes’ death took place thirty years ago, but the facts were not known till 1918. There is to be seen in the police office of the Crown Colony of the Gilbert and Ellice islands the latest warrant for the arrest of Hi “ blackbirding ” and murder. The criminal had been dead for years when that warrant was issued for his capture. The old cook knew nothing of the fate of the woman or the mate. The schooner was wrecked near the Northern Marshalls, and he was saved by the natives. -in the extreme north of the Marshalls. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. There is perhaps no more interesting settle- ment in the whole world than that of “ Leigieb,” Fifty years ago a young Portuguese grandee, on a trip of adventure round the world, arrived at Honolulu and there made the acquaintance of a young German trader. They formed a partner- ship to trade with the natives of the Marshalls, and, buying a hundred-ton schooner, loaded her with all the cheap and showy goods pleasing to the islanders of those days. The Marshall’ islanders of fifty years ago were notoriously unfriendly to strangers, and more than one massacre of white traders had taken place. The young traders, in their first efforts to trade with these natives, appeared to be successful, and this they accomplished by a clever stroke of business in being able to sell a most unusual commodity—soap. It came about in this way. A native king was induced to visit the ship, and when he saw the lather produced from the soap he bought up at a very good price the whole stuck, and for days afterwards the whole tribe did nothing but turn the soap into lather, highly interested and delighted with such a wonder. Once the soap was used up, however, the king and his people wanted some other plaything, and the traders were at their wits’ end to indulge ~ the royal and national taste. The natives began to show impatience, and, thinking the schooner must hold an unlimited supply of soap, which they might as well have for nothing, they made war-like demonstrations to frighten the young traders and their Samoan crew. Eventually, in order to save themselves, the Samoans proved treacherous, and allowed a band of armed natives aboard the ship. From the cabin, guns in hands, the traders parleyed with the intruders, and kept them at bay by shooting and wounding two. At the moment of greatest peril, the wits of the young Portuguese saved the situation. ‘At the end of the cabin was an unusual piece of furniture for a small trading schooner—a large mirror at least six feet in length. This had been covered up with flags and canvas and forgotten. Knowing the vanity of all natives, the Portuguese uncovered the mirror and invited two of the savages to come down into the cabin and sce themselves. Cautiously approaching, they no sooner saw themselves depicted in the large mirror, and all their actions repeated, than they were scized with fright and bereft of speech and action. Suddenly awakening from their stupor, they gave a ycll, and, running back to their comrades, pro- claimed the wonders of the mirror. For hours they debated as to whether it would be wise to bring along their king, and at last decided to do so. The king duly came aboard, but did not show the courage that was expected of him, as he feared some evil spirit had influenced his men. He was somewhat chary about going to the cabin and looking into the magic mirror, but after much persuasion he tremb'ingly crept up towards the glass, which was suddenly un- covered the moment he was close to it. The trick worked well, for no sooner had the king come within a few feet of the mirror when the canvas

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THE LAND OF A well-to-do half-caste planter and his fa The Author is seen on the right. Marshall Island men in Japanese kimonos, veil dropped, and the horrified monarch saw himself with his mouth wide open and his hands in a gesture that denoted great fear. He gazed at himself for a few seconds and then rushed at the glass, thinking the other self would fly at his approach. When he found the figure coming towards him he was completely over- come, and, yelling for his warriors, he fled, and the whole pack bolted to the deck, jumped overboard, and swam ashore. The young traders, finding they now had a great power over the natives, freely went ashore. The great wonder was told throughout the Marshalls, and though no natives could be induced to come aboard the schooner, the traders did much trade in coco-nut oil, and ina few years became very wealthy men. Both, however, had lost their hearts to the two MODEL HUSBANDS. ~ 287 a daughters of the king who had received the fright, and being a very extensive landowner, he promised on the marriage of his daughters to the young traders to give between theni the large lagoon of Leigieb. A German missionary was brought from the Caro- line Islands, and amid much rejoicing the traders were married to the dusky princesses. From these marriages the half- caste settlement of Liegieb had its beginning, and is to-day one A Japanese dentist at work. Oz One of the German signboards, of the’ most prosperous lagoons of the Marshalls. There are schools and churches, the people are well educated, and many white men —traders and sailors—have married into the families, all living in a simply happy way, sharing equally the work and profits of the vast cocc-nut plantations. Mr. De Broom, the son of the Portuguese trader, is the chief—the lawyer, doctor, and friend of all the settlement. He lives in a splendid bungalow, keeps a butler

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288 and staff of liveried servants, and possesses a library of books and a museum of native curios that prove him to be a most erudite man. He is altogether a most charming personality, and the prince of hosts. His family are noted for their musical and artistic talents, and his wife one of the handsomest and wealthiest princesses of one of the most ancient of the royal houses of the Marshall islands. The Marshall islands, now passed over to the Japanese, will be a “ New Japan.’’ The people, urged on by Japanese ambition, will realize their importance in the Pacific, and become a very THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, prosperous and energetic race. To this end the Japanese authorities are doing everything to build up the physical health of the people. Japanese doctors and dentists are out all over the islands looking after the health of the natives in a way which is highly commendable. Very soon the effect of the Japanese mandate will be to make busy the lagoons of the Marshalls, which, under German ownership, were unknown in trade and industry. Japanese ideals are active in this remarkable group of islands, and Japanese activity, it is very evident, wastes neither time nor opportunities. A PETRIFIED FOREST IN ARIZONA. THE United States Government has just decided, writes a correspondent, to protect the famous fossil forest situated to the south of Adamana, Arizona. Petrified trees are found all over the face of the globe, in Algiers, in Tunis, and even in France, but the spectinens are isolated ones, whereas in the midst of the Arizona desert there is an entire forest of them, occupying the bottom of a valley, several miles long and about two-thirds of a mile in width. Several of the trunks of these fossil trees measure seventy 5 in length, with an average diameter of over a ya Agates and chalcedonies are found at the heart of these petrified trees, hence the fact that they have been broken up for many years past by commercially- winded people. Scientists explain the existence of this wonder of nature in the following manner. Ata very distsnt period in the history of the world Arizona was invaded by the sea. Many of the trees of the forests were carried away by currents, but some re- mained standing, and these, under the action of salt and sand, became petrified. Hundreds of centuries later the ground rose, under volcanic action, and thus, through the action of cold, heat, rain, etc., the boles of the fossilized trees were by slow degrees rid of their surrounding matter and brought to light again. Fossil trees in Arizona, The trunks contain semi-precious stones. and vandals have been breaking them up to secure the gems. The U.S, Government has now decided to protect the forest.

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Blue Marus ~ Last J Really humorous true stories are rare. Here is one that will amuse you. “The incident actually happened as related,” writes the Author, “ but I have changed all the names, as some of the men concerned may still be alive.” HITE crazy old cutter ran helplessly before the wind, its gear too rotten to risk beating out to sea. The skipper and his mate were in dire peril, and they knew it. Had another seaman been aboard to ettend to the pump, matters might not have been so serious, but the mate had to work like a steam-engine to keep the water out of the hold, and the skipper had all he could do to hang on to the tiller, for the roaring nor’-wester fairly took charge of the cranky vessel, and every roll threatened to rip her open from stem to stern, so violent was the straining of her ancient timbers. Thajr one chance lay in the hope of being driven into some sheltered haven, where either anchoring the craft or running her up on a beach might offer an escape from the fury of wind and wave. The cargo consisted chiefly of Maori rum, a brand of liquor requiring no description to those who know New Zealand and its coasts. The skipper swore vigorously, and was ably supported by his mate. Night came down upon them, black and dreary, and the gale blew harder than ever. Despair settled upon the hopeless 'f Ty RG boa T. Suddenly land loomed up through the darkness ahead, and navigation engaged the skipper’s attention. They shot past a rocky headland with only a few feet to spare, their canvas reduced to a close-reefed stays’l, and presentiy they found themselves, to their utter astonishment and delight, in a snug little land-locked bay. “This is: better than gettin’ piled up on a bloomin’ rock,” cried the skipper. “Come and gimme a hand with these ‘ere mud-hooks !’ replied the unsympathetic mate. The two kedge-anchors rattled down into calm water, and, though the cutter strained to the Vol xliv. 20, UNC FT Gibson Sf Waiki New Zealand | ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY COLLBER. WYyinia'il 4 al rush of the rising tide, she soon pulled up and held fast. The tide was nearly full, and, in comparative safety, though doubtful as to their anchorage, the two men had no alternative but to wait for whatever the morning might bring forth. Too exhausted and played-out to set a watch, they decided to turn in and trust to luck for the night, hoping for a lessening of the gale on the Morrow. But the risk of losing their boat was greater than they had guessed ; for, unknown to them, and undiscovered in the darkness, record floods had swamped the valley for miles around. The creek had widened to a river a couple of chains across, and the Twilight had been driven so far up the river that her anchorage was far above high-water mark. So deep, in fact, was the water inshore that the diminutive craft might easily have been warped in amongst the trees on the bank. Also, unknown to them, the turn of the tide and the swirling out-take soon began to lower the water at the rate of several inches an hour, for the Waitipu Valley is both wide and deep. In btissful ignorance of both creek and flood, however, they went below to seck thcir well- earned repose. The cabin, however, offered but small comfort to the wet and weary men. The oil-lamp was hopelessly smashed, their bunks and rugs soaked with bilge-water and spray, the whole stock of food wet, and, worst of ail, so was their tobacco, and not a dry match was to be found. There is a stage of despair wherein mere words fail to express one’s feelings, and the very si'ence becomes profane. The crew of the Twilight had evidently reached that stage, for they were strangely silent.

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290 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. But Bill, whose bunk was next the bulkhead, suddenly straightened himself and commenced to sniff audibly and with remarkable energy. “Skipper!” he cried, “I smell There's a case o’ liquor bust 1!” ‘‘ What ?”’ exclaimed the delighted skipper. “ Bust ? Then it ain’t broachin’ cargo if we collars it! In you go, Bill, and institute in- vestigations! I'll take the consequences—and we'il take the rum!” Bill groped his way in the darkness, and en- tered the hold through the bulkhead manhole. His search amid the tumbled cargo was arduous and unpleasant, and the skipper’s totally un- necessary advice to hasten was irksome. But he presently scrambled back with a chuckle which told of success, and the ever-thirsty souls wasted no time, but immediately consumed much “‘tanglefoot '" rum, and speedily became so entangled, during the process, that’ very soon both the gale and the cutter were completely forgotten, and all thoughts of misery and despair disappeared and merged into dreamlands of bliss. The morning dawned fine and clear. Away up the Waitipu Valley, where the kauri-pine was being broken out, the bush engine-drivers be- rum ! stirred themselves early, for the flood-waters were fast going down. By the time that the dawn had awakened the pigeons and the tuis, the log-train had steamed off with its heavy load of junk-kauri, bound for the “mill. The old bush-engine, massive and cumbersome, and thepride of its driver, bore the name “‘ Blue Mary ”’ in dazzling scarlet paint. To the bushmen of the district its butting capabilities, and its grip of the metals in a collision, constituted a proverb—something to swear by—and collisions in the bush are by no means rare, for tree limbs and wash-outs are awkward obstacles on an incline on dark and dirty nights. Once, it was told, a rival contractor attempted to settle boundary disputes by building a stout bark-shanty fairly across the line; but he reckoned without ‘‘ Blue Mary” and her buffers, for she drove full speed at the obstruction like a battering-ram, and jauntily whistled her triumph as she steamed through the flying splinters. On another occasion, it seems, she charged a team of opposition bullocks, and, in the driver’s own language, “‘ carved the whole bloomin’ mob into sausage-meat and greased her axles with the suet!" “* Jum; he shouted, “there's a bloomi ”

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“BLUE MARYS” LAST RUN. 291 On this occasion, however, many scrious obstacles had been washed across the track, demanding considerable labour with crowbar and timber-jack to clear the rails. But all went well until the top of the stcep incline leading down to the bay was reached, «pening up the devastated Waitipu Valley, with its clay-tinted creck and fallen trees. Jack Morris gave a searching glance along the track ahead and suddenly shut off steam. He called excitedly to the stoker, who was acting as brakesman at the tail of the trucks. “Jim!” he shouted, “‘there’s a bloomin’ cutter lying across the bridge !”’ “Golly !"’ ejaculated Jim, as he ran up. “I wonder wot’s become of the pore blokes aboard of her?” “ Dunno; but I gucss we've got to shift that there boat outer that !’’ responded Morris, who was of a very practical turn of mind. They ran down the incline to investigate, and examined the offending cutter. Wind, tide, and flood had done their work, and the neglected craft lay helplessly piled up, with her hull athwart the railway-track, fairly on top of the bridge, cutter lying across the bridge 1°” her bow and stern projecting over the torrent below. During the night, while the befuddled mariners slept, the waters had subsided and left her high and dry, a sorry-looking object .indced, her mast broken short, her jib-boom smashed off at the butt, her bulwarks splintered, and her rigging hanging in a torn and mangled mass, while—the irony of it !—her anchors still gripped the uprooted scrub beside the creek. Morris climbed aboard and peered below. “Crikey! Jim!” he cried. ‘ Here’s the blokes, lying all stark an’ stiff!” The stoker quickly joined him, and, gazing down into the cabin, took off his cap and sighed heavily. “Pore fellers!’* he exclaimed. ‘“‘ They’ve gone to another world !"” With which ambiguous elegy he jumped below into a pool of water. “Golly! They're bleeding !"’ he cricd, as he observed the colour of the water, which was freely mixed with rum. Just then one of the prostrate figures stirred uneasily. “‘ What's up ? ” suddenly demanded a guttural Capt

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292 and heavy voice, a tomb. The startled stoker shot up to the deck as if all the demons in Hades were after him. “What's up?” repeated the voice, and the skipper of the Twilight slowly heaved himself to his feet. But Morris knew neither nerves nor sentiment. ** What’s up?’ was his unsympathetic retort. “Tl tell you what’s up! I'll give you ten minutes to shift this ‘ere boat off our bridge, or you'll jolly soon know what's up.” The demand and the threat were alike wholly inexpiicable to the bewildercd skipper, who was ever slow at sobering up. But Bill, the cutter’s mate, had by this time awakened at the sound of the voices. He caught sight of Morris, and heard his imperative demand. “Take that face off this ship!” he roared, “or I'll drive yer teeth up agin’ yer back hair!” as though it came from And he = sprang from below to endorse this ultimatum. But prompt acquiescence on the part of Morris rendered his attentions unnecessary. Bill stood six-feet-two, and displayed a fist like a shoulder of mutton. The skipper and_ his mate gazed around them in amazement. They clung to the — sloping hatchway, and slowly began to realize what had happened. The engine- driver, however, was im- patient and sensitive regarding his undignified retreat from the cutter. “* Now, then,” he cried, angrily, “ you just shift that there ‘oo er off our bridge !_ D’you hear ? "Git yer hair cut!” returned the skipper, amiably, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZI “Git yer hair cut!’ returned the skipper, amiably, and Bill, the mate, added a trite and caustic remark concerning the driver’s probab’e parentage. “You shift that there box o’ barnacles ! D'you hear? Or we'll smash it into tooth- picks !’ roared the now infuriated Morris. “Gar!” said Bi.l, with a patronizing smile. “You won't have no teeth left to pick if you do, old Squirt-oil !”’

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“BLUE MARY’S” LAST RUN. = 293 The driver » could stand no more. He seized his stoker by the rea shoulder. ‘ “Jim!” he cried, grinding \ his teeth,“ go and get up a full head o’ steam! We'll ’ show these here : maggots what we the “Blue Mary” A can do to them t and their beastly " punt!" With that the infuri- ated bushmen bolted off to their engine. “T hope you quite understand, Mister Greasy- face,” the skipper bawled after them, “that you've gota boiler and we ain’t, and that by Act o’ Parliament steanr has got to give way to sail?" “Sail!” cried Morris, turning furiously and shaking his fist. “Has sail taken out a licence to come a-squattin’ down on our rail- cy Gao S- AIF oe driver spat aggressively at the pleasing pro- spect. The cut- ter would be annihilated, the railroad cleared, and insults re. venged—all at one fell swoop ! Ti ’ The mariners had, meanwhile, also busied them. selves. The skipper hastily collected some ship's papers and a bottle of rum, while Bill gath- ered his scanty belongings. They cast a hasty a glance at the Wi thunderbolt pre- ‘N paring above and 7 ran to a safe dis- tance up the rail- way-line on the opposite slope. ° = Morris and the i stoker wasted no *ahey time. They opened the throttle to its widest extent, tookoffthe brake, and hastily jumped clear of the liberated 'é ft engine. wind + “Up to the very heavens there shot a suddea shower of iron, splinters, and spars.” way bridge, you grog-nosed old tar-pot ? We'll give you a Hact o’ Parliament you won’t like in a minute !”’ And off they ran. Stoker Jim quickly coaled up the furnace and got ready to let loose the heavy train upon its mission of clearance and revenge. The Away shot the train like a loosened spring ; it was a record trip! She gained speed at every yard as she rushed down the incline, until at the bottom of the long slope the pace was truly terrific. Fire seemed to flash from the wheels as she clattered and roared, a long trail of spark: Dig » Google Cc

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294 flew from the smoke-stack like an exploded comet, and the heavy-laden trucks rattled and swayed as if possessed by the spirit of an avalanche | In a few seconds she reached the level space immediately approaching the bridge. She tore along, and, with a deafening thud, hurled her massive weight against the cutter’s weather- beaten hull. Then came a pause in her mad career. Had she caught a Tartar? The vessel merely swung round a little and grated along the rails. The engine snorted, as if indignant at the unexpected resistance, and lurched ahead. The wheels skidded, the exhaust-pipe roared, and stcam flew in clouds ; but gradually the Twilight surrendered. Her timbers began to crunch and crack, and she was slowly forced along by the steady and powerful ramming of the buffers. Suddenly she rolled clean over and exposed her shattered keel. The engine thus had a clear run of a yard or two, and, fairly leaping at its prey like a thing of life, thundered into the sea-worn timbers. A grinding crunch, a blaze, a terrific roar, and up to the very heavens there shot a sudden shower of iron, splinters, and spars. In a moment the air was darkened, and through the clouds of smoke and steam were hurled aloft huge pieces of engine, logs and trucks, bridge, cargo, and cutter. Far and wide the wreckage spread, up and up; and when at last it began to fall, the very sky seemed to pour down timber and metal, coal and iron, and fireworks, in one tumultuous and devastating shower ! Never was an engine more completely and utterly destroyed than the famous “ Blue Mary.” Never was a vessel more thoroughly blown to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. atoms than the devoted little Twilight, and never was a railway-bridge more rudely torn from its supports and reduced to matchwood than the stout .structure which once had spanned the turbid waters of the Waitipu ! And, surely, never were engine-drivers more astounded and thunderstruck than Morris ard his mate. They stood as if petrified. They could only stare open-mouthed, struck speechless with bewilderment and surprise. They had breath for neither cry nor groan, for neither curse nor exclamation. But not so their enemies opposite! Those jubilant mariners were prodigal of remarks and sarcastic observations, and the gully rang with their raucous and derisive laughter. “Call yerselves engine-drivers, do you?” bawled the skipper, when the clouds of smoke and whirling wreckage had begun to subside, so that it was possible to see across the creek. “You'd better go ’ome and practise on the fambly wheel-barrer !”’ “Wot about them toothpicks ? ’’ demanded the mate. ‘ You'd better take one ’ome to the missis for a keepsake 1 Haw, haw !”” “‘ Good-bye, you fellers | ’’ shouted the skipper, finally, waving his hand in ironical farewell. “* We're off to collect the insurance money, and to drink yer health with it. Much obliged for the good turn you done us! We're insured for three times the worth of the bloomin’ cutter.” He did not add the information that, carefully stowed below the Maori rum, the cutter had carried a consignment of some forty cases of dynamite, detonators, and half a ton of gun- powder—also heavily insured ! THE MIDNIGHT SUN. A Remarkable Photograph. The unique photograph repro- duced on this page shows the Mid- night Sun in eight successive po si- tions. The picture was taken by a member of the Croker Land Ex- pedition, and by these cight separ- ate exposures on one plate he has demonstrated scientifically the movements of the sun, which shines + in those parts both day and night. Our correspondent writes as follows concerning this wonderful phe- nomenon: ‘“ The dip of the sun in the north depends upon the latitude of the observer. At the North Pole, for instance, such a line of suns would be nearly straight—ze, rallel with the orizon, gently rising until June aust, after which date it would fall until September zoth, when the sun would set below the horizon for the long night of six months.

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The tei Some cynic once said that women have no sense of humour. This most amus- ing narrative conclusively proves the contrary, for without a sense of humour the Authoress would never have survived her manifold misadventures or been able to set them down so viva- ciously. Evidently, to judge from this story, it is not en- * tirely a bed of roses to be the wife of a scientist and is absolutely imperative,” said the Naturalist, ‘“‘ that we should find some quicker way of getting about the country than we possess at present.’ And he contemplated my minute pony and the ancient plough-horse with disapproving eye. “ Bicycles ? ” I suggested. “Horrid things! You can’t carry anything on them worth mentioning. I want something that will take me and the gurs and the dog and cameras and some food, and even you, Molly, for y>u are absclutely no good on a bicycle.” “A motor ? ” I hazarded. “ Certainly not! Dusty, smelly atrocities, and no good at all off the beaten track. I want something that will take me in comfort into ali sorts of out-of-the-way places, and in which I can even sleep 1f I wish |” A brilliant idea came to me. “Tt is very evident,” I said, joyfully, “ that what yo. want is 2 caravan! What fun, Dick! We'll get one quite of our own, and tour in it whenever we feel inclined !”” My hisband gave me. stony glance. “IT said ‘ quick,’ ”’ he said, coldly. He spent the By “© M.B.B.” MLUSTRATED BY? LR BRIGHTWELL IL. _ Snapped. a accompany him to the wild of the earth in search of specimens. All sorts of odd experiences are divert- ingly described by the writer, and we can promise our readers many achuckle. In this instalment the Authoress describes what happened when her husband brought a launch and tried to run it from a book, and the dis- astrous results of the bee- keeping experiment. periodical journeys there. It was awfully cold. and I didn’t want to go. “Oh, Dick,” I entreated, “‘ Aunt Peggy won’t want to see us to-day!’ ‘* Do come,’’ he said, and I went. Arriving there—by Underground—we jour- neyed through extraordinary back streets and weird places that I should not have believed existed in respectable London. “Where are you going, Dick ?'’ I wailed, as I stepped into an extra-sloppy mud-heap. “I am sure this 1s not the shortest way |” “* Oh, yes, it is,”’ said Dick, cheerfully. ‘ Come along !’’ A turn brought us to a bleak and horrid spot, right on the banks of the Thames! Piles ot wood lay round us, tar and oil were on every side, and a biting wind almost froze the marrow in our bones. “ There !"’ said Dick, triumphantly. “What ? ’ I chattered. “ Isn't she a beauty ? ’’ beamed he. I looked round quickly and suspiciously. Not a soul to be seen. “What on earth are you talking about?” I “Don’t you think we had better be getting on?” next few days por- ing over catalogues of every ima- girable machine that ever travelled by land or water. Then he came to me. “Molly,”’ he said, sweetly, “I want you to come down to Putney with me.” A maiden aunt lives at Putney, “Just what I was going to suggest,’’ he ex- claimed; “if we can get on, you will see’ her in- side and how she works ! de For a moment I was petrified; then the herrid truth dawned upon me. Dick had set his heart on a boat, and we make The launch that caused all the trouble. and that ugly brown blob

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296 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, dancing on the waves was the “ Her” of his admiration. I begged him to come away with me ard let me point out to him the absurdity of his pro- position. I entzeated, and I argued; but all to no purpose whatever. “A launch is ideal, Molly—no dust, no side- slipping, no horrors of cold. I made the servants bring lamps and lanterns and set them in a row on the bank as landmarks for the lost ones, and in the intervals between running from one to the other to relight them, as the wind blew them cut, my imagination ran riot as to the possible and probable fate of my beloved. Was he stranded, hungry and ccld, in some dreary spot? any sort, and I can go down our river and all over the rivers of Eng- Jand, and down to the Fens and on to the Broads, and live on board the whole time.”’ “* But who will work it, Dick?” “*Her,’ not ‘it,’ Molly,” he remarked, in an offended tone. “Why, J will, of course, and I will teach you the mechanism and——” “‘What on earth do you know about its— her—mechanism ? ” “Oh, quite a lot! Besides, I have a book, and the present owner says that anyone of average intelligence can learn to run her froma book.” So the bargain was struck and orders given for the launch to be sent home. It had to come Was he distributed in small bits over the neighbouring landscape? Or was he lying at the bottom of the cold, grey water? I shivered and sobbed in terror. Just then I heard footsteps behind me and _ turned,and foramoment my heart stood still and I thought that my worst fears were realized ; for there, gliding through the mist, was the shadowy form of my darling husband ! “Good heavens, Molly!” he cried. “What are you doing ? Come in at once. or you will catch your death of cold!” I fell on his neck and half-strangled him while he tried to explain. He had actually gone a whole quarter of a mile in his brand-new by rail, and the nearest piace where 1t could be transferred from rail to water was Crawford, about ten miles from us. “Tl start early,’’ said Dick, “and bring her home by luncheon.”” He took the gardener to assist him, and with the “‘ book ’’ in his pocket bade me a gay farewell. Lunch-time came and passed. I had a solitary meal, and then went down to gaze at the river, but could see no sign of the voyagers. I went to an “ At Home,” and returned about five. “‘ Where is your master ? ” I asked my Abigail, as I entered. “Not back yet, ma’am,” she replied. Rather alarmed, I wandered down to the river again and gazed anxiously up and down, but still there was no sign. I returned to the house, had tea, and journeyed down to the river again. After half an hour’s wait, I got seriously alarmed, and dispatched a wire to the station-master at Crawford asking for news. The answer was disquieting :— “Launch and gentleman left here ten-thirty this morning.” I sat on the bank and shivered with appre- hension. What could have happened? In all probability they had turned on the wrong taps or screws in the engine, and the whole thing had blown up or ca: ght fire or gone wrong some- how! It grew dark and windy ard frightfully Tne Naturalist oiling the engine, launch, and then the thing had = stopped ! They had spent the rest of the day trying, with the aid of the book, to make the wheels go round againy but they had not succeeded. Next day it was towed home by a passing barge, and then Dick spent many happy days trying to make it go. I camped on board and did my sewing there. We never got more than five yards from the shore, so it was always conveniently near home. “What kind of a launch do you call this, Dick ?”’ I asked. “ An oil-launch,” he replied, and I can certify that on this point he was absolutely correct. There were, I think, twenty-five different kinds of oil on board (Dick confesses to twelve !), and cach was in constant use. There was petroleum. which smelt horribly, and a thick, sticky cil which looked like treacle and always upset, and another like butter, and another like water, and several like ordinary oil ; and then there was the methylated spirit, which invariably upset when alight and ran dow: to the bilge and set fire to all the multitudes of oil floating on the water there! Yes, it was certainly an oil-launch ! Before Dick had entirely mastered the ins and outs of his latest possession, I was obliged to go up to town for a day’s shopping. I was also to lunch with a smart young friend, so I put on my very daintiest freck for the occasion.

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE, I kmew Dick would not miss me, for he would be quite happy among the “oils” all day; so I pinned on my hat and coaxed on my whitest gloves with an unclouded conscience. Then I just ran down to bid him farewell. He emerged from somewhere in the bilge, grease from head to foot, but with a radiant smile. “ Molly,” he announced, ‘‘ I have found a new tap we have never turned before! Just come and hold this valve a minute, and let me see if it makes any difference.” I demurred, and held up my immaculately- gloved hands in protest. “Oh, take off your gloves and just hold it fer a second! Please do!” “ But I shall miss my train!” “The twelve-twenty ? Oh, you have oceans cf time.” So I turned my dress up round my waist, pulled off my gloves, and stepped warily on board. I pressed my thumb on the greasy valve and held it bravely even when scalding steam came shooting up, to the imminent danger of ruining my hat. Meanwhile, handle painfully and with great toil. The engine puffed, sno.ted, hissed, and thumped, and ther, to my horror and amaz:- ment, the boat began to move! At first she went very slowly, then quicker and quicker. “Stop her, Dick!’ I cried. “Ob, stop her quickly |” He flew to the steering-whcel, whirled it madly round, and got her nose pointed down river. “Get the book! Get the book!’ he shouted, above the ncise of the thumping of the engines. “ Quick! It’s lying about somewhere. Find it quickly |” “The owner came flying down, shouting and blaspheming.’ = -—< x —— Holding my dainty skirts aloft, I skipped frantically over the oily deck, but there was no book visible. “Look in the cabin!’ shouted Dick. must be somewhere |" We were tearing madly along, churning the water up behind us, and making great waves on either bank. I sped to the cabin. Alas! High heels were not made for greasy decks !_ I slipped, and went down gracefully—right into a mass of buttery grease. coat, and my feet reposed in a can of thick, brown “' treacle.” “lt Dick turned a massive A huge lump stuck to my pretty petti- - 297 “* Oh, do be careful ! ’’ cried my loving husband. “‘ For goodness’ sake, find out how to stop the thing!” 2 I picked myself up, mingling my tears with the oil, and reached the cabin. Here I found the book, and searched hurriedly for directions, of course appealing to the last page for information on stopping. But the man who wrote that book knew his engine! “‘ How to stop the launcn ” came before the introduction ! “Turn off taps one, four, five, seven, and eleven,” I shouted. “Turn levers four and eight, press valves seven and ten lightly, and put out the lamps, then turn off all oil—viz., taps fourteen, ‘eightcen, twenty, twenty-one, and twenty-four—and see that the cooling water is: ot “Oh, come here !’’ commanded my lord and master. ‘‘ Take the wheel and let me see to it !"’ Iseized the wheel and the wretched boat imme- diately swerved furiously, running straight on to the right bank. I twirled the wheel for all I was worth, with not the slightest effect except that we dashed only more directly to destruction. “Come quickly, Dick!‘ I .yelled. “ The beastly thing is broken!” He flung himself on to the wheel, turned rapidly in the opposite direction, and we shaved the bank by a hair’s breadth. “You turn to the left to go to the right,’ he said, severely, and sat down on a kerosene-tin to study the book. We pounded along, leaving all behind us. A family of ducklings were nearly ground up ir the screw, and cows and herses fled in terror from aS = the banks. Presently we came to a boat-house with dozens of little row-boats moored to the landing-stage. As we swept onwards our wash took the little craft and sent them tumbling and knochng against each other, to the ruin of their gaily-painted sides and imminent danger of submerging. The owner came flying down, shouting and blaspheming. “Slow down! Slow down, you—launch | Siow down, I tell you! Slo-o-0-0-w |” I gave him a despairing glance as we swept by and left him shaking his fists and foaming. A sailing-boat came into view.

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298 “Dick, Dich!’ I cried. ‘* What must Ido?” A groan from somewhere near the engine was the only answer. I clung to the wheel, leaving my skirts to sop up bilge-water and oil as they felt inclined, and concentrated all my energies on the steering. We passed with not an inch to spare, and carried away with us a lifebelt which was hung over the side. heir language was terrible. Then we passed a row of about twenty-five men engaged in a fishing competition. As our wash swept the banks and played havoc with their “ floats ’’ their faces were a study. When they realized that the same wave was sweeping over the low bank and carrying away their lunch, bait, tins, rugs, lines—everything-- their language became electrifying. Still we swept on, and row, to add to our joys, the little river we had started on cmptied itself into the main river with its traffic and strong current. “ Car’t we turn ?”’ I howled. “Not going at this rate!’ shricked the engireer. John Gilpin’s race was not in it! We shot bridges with just a foot or two to spare, we shaved big ships, and all the time the nver got broader until before us lay the sea. Dick had now turned off every tap on board—and the thing only went faster | At last we reached the wide bay into which the river empticd itself. “Try to turn now!” shouted Dick, as he unscrewed a new and promising-looking tap. I turned, and we slowly made our way up-stream again. Presently we reached a yacht at anchor, with a stout rope-ladder hanging from her side. Dick seized this ladder as we came alongside, and [ left the wheel and flung myself beside him. We hung on with the strength born of acute desperation and pulled like furi while the launch tugged madly. An aged seaman with —to me—the face of an angel saw our plight and leaped on board with an enormous rope, with which he lashed us to their anchor chain. “Cheer up! Cheer up, my beauty!” said he, patting me consolingly on the shoulder as -I sat in the bilge and sobbed. ‘‘ You did that pretty! I wouldn’t ha’ missed it for no money.” A week later the oil-launch was for sale, at halt original cost ! We sat in the garden—the Naturalist, the Best Friend, and I—and over the flower-beds came gaily sailing a little, harmless, innocent bee. “Why don’t you keep bees, Mrs. Dick?” asked the Best Friend. “ Because I don’t like getting stung!" I answered. “Ob, they don’t sting, and they are awfully paying. I know a man who makes seven pounds a year out of every hive.” “ Awfully good notion, Molly,” said the Naturalist. “I’ve often thought of keeping them.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Who's to look after them?" I asked, triumphantly, and received an unexpected shock. “T will,” he answered. “ You don’t mean it, Dick?” “Yes, I dot I'll do all the work and you shall have ail the profits! I call that a jolly good offer.” I considered deeply, for I was puzzled. That there was something behind this sudden gene- rosity of Dick’s I was certain, for a man does not keep bees for the love of the thing. “And what do you get out of it, darting ? ‘I asked, sweetly. “The pleasure of doing something for you, sweetheart,’’ he answered, “and also I shall study the habits of the bec.” TI ought to have been warned by that, but 1 was still young. “ But it will take pounds and pounds to start, won’t it ?’’ I objected. “ The initial cost is merely nominal,”’ quoted the Best Friend. “Have you ever tried ?’* I asked. “No,”” he confessed. “‘ But ""—gaily—" 1 have read lots of books about it! Have you ever read Macterlinck’s ‘ Life of the Bee’? “No,” I replied. ** Does he say, ‘ The initial cost is merely nominal ’? ’ “T don’t think so,” he allowed, doubtfully. “* But lots ot other books do. All you have to do is get a swarm for about ten shillings and a skep; that will cost you about three shillings more.” “ A what ?” I demanded, “ A skep—a straw covery thing to put them in. And then you leave them all alone until the winter, and then just take out the stacks ot honey |” “ And I'll do that,” added the Naturalist. A brilliant thought struck me. “ Dick!” I exclaimed. ‘* Why buy a swarm when there is a bees’-nest in the walls ot the house ?”’ ** By Jove,” he said, “so there is 1" We all proceeded to examine the hole, in and out of which the bees were flying. They had done this industriously ever since we had first come to live in the house. “There must be tons of honey,”’ I decided. “ If you can get them out, Dick, I will give you askep out of my housekeeping money 1” We measured and we tapped and we listened, and I am glad to say that the Best Friend got stung. Then we decided that the bees were too far in, and that for the present they should remain in peace. The next day I interviewed Thompkins. As I have already explained, Thompkins is my husband’s bird-keeper, and one of my many tnals. “‘Thompkins,”’ I said, bees.” Thompkins looked blank., ish you to find out where I can buy a I continued, ‘‘ and then go and get it “Tam going to keep “ Ma’am,” he said, “ there’s few—very few- things I am mortal skeered on, but bees is one !

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“You mean that you don’t want to go and get them for me? Well, we'll see. But, at any rate, I want you to find out where I can buy some,”’ I replied. I waited a week; then I made inquiries. “ Thompkins,” I asked, “ what about the bees? Have you heard of any?” Thompkins looked sad. ““You see, ‘tis like this, ma’am,’’ he said. “This ‘ere sof? don’t agree with bees. It’s too cold. No one, as I can ’ear on, says a good word for ’em, or can make a penny out on ‘em. They don’t make no ’oney fit to eat round ‘ere.’ “Oh!” I said, ard repeated the conversation to my loving husband. Cook happened to be within hearing distance. “* Well, I never did!” exclaimed that worthy, when my better-half had departed, somewhat low in his mind. “ An’ there’s my cousin’s aunt at Tatterham ’ave more bees than she mows! And ‘oney! Why, she do pay ‘er rent in ’cney!” ‘* Would she sell me a swarm ? ’’-I asked. “And willin’, ma’am. I’ll write to ‘er to- nigt t to come an’ see you.” Cook’s cousin’s aunt, it appeared later, was willing. I could have a “stock” and skep for ten-and-six if I liked, and a “stock’’ being a skep-ful of bees before they have swarmed, I thought I had begun rather well. I had to send to Tatterham for the “ stock,” so I bribed the only man in the village who was net “skeered ” of bees tc go and fetch them in his cart. : He did so, got well stung, and charged me five shillings. “ An’ now you ain’t got no stand for ‘em,’ TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. 299 With bated breath we gazed on the horrid insects. said he, wrathfully. “I’ve got one at ’ome I’ll let you ’ave foi ’alf a crown.”’ How we watched thet skep! With bated breath we gazed on the horrid insects creeping slowly and sleepily abcut the entrarce and over the straw. It was some days before we noticed that not once did they fly away, and never did we see any “ busy bees ” returning to their home laden with the fruit of their toil | “It's useless to try and keep bees if you don’t understand them,” said the Naturalist, at last. “You must buy a book on bec-keeping, Molly.” I did so-— price three-and-six. Then my troubles began. “Of course we are doing it all wrong!” announced Dick. ‘‘ It is impossible to observe or to keep bees properly in a skep. You must get a proper ‘ bar-framed hive,’ and I will drive the bees in for you from the skep! The book says that it is quite easy.” But here I struck. “No,’’ I said. ‘‘ These are my own bees, and I have no more money to waste.” Next day Thompkins appeared in great excitement. “Your bees is swarming, ma’am !”’ We rushed to the skep. Something was happening, sure enough! Great lumps of bees hung under the stand, and the buzzing was terrific. “Now you must get a hive,” said Dick “ Quick, Thompkins ! Putin the pony! Molly, you must drive to the town with him and buy a hive! I'll watch the swarm. Hurry! And drive for all you are worth !’’ I fled for my hat. Thompkins tore round with the harness. “The book says it must be painted, Molly! Get one ready painted,” shouted Dick. ‘ And don’t forget the frames, and a super, and some sections! Yes, and you had better get some foundations. Take the book and read as you gol They will explain what you want in the shop!”

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300 We were soon cutting along, Thompkins urging the fat pony to unheard-of feats. When we had got: about half-way in, I per- ceived a bicycle tearing after us. On it was the stable-boy. “Stop, Thompkins !”’ I commanded. wretched boy suffers from palpitations ! ’” “ Master says, be sure you get a bee-veil and a smoker and some elastic !’’ the lad howled when within speaking distance. We nodded hurriedly and went on. Half a mile farther, and I espied cook pounding after us on her machine. Red in the face, and perspiring from every _ Pore, she bore down upon us. “Master says, don’t forget the fumigating cloths and something for stings. He’s been stinged |” We whipped up the wretched pony and simply careered along. Reaching the shop, we bought up all the bee properties the man possessed. It was an exciting drive home. A small governess car, with two large people and a whole bee outfit, excited the wonder of the populace. We reached the gate of our own domain hot, weary, and thrilling with excitement. Were we in time? What had happened? Where’ was the Naturalist ? He appeared at the door with a bunged-up eye. We hurled our plunder at his feet, but he looked at us sadly. “The bees have gone in again,” he said. In the course of a few days the empty hive and all the various adjuncts thereof got on my nerves. “Let's hide them in the cellar,’ I suggested. “No,” said the Naturalist; ‘they may be wanted any day.” I did not read anything suspicious in his manner, and left them where they were. The next day I lost my loving husband. I wanted some money, and hunted for him with special care —dining-room, drawing-room, “ The THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. library, gardens, everywhere and anywherc— and each time I drew a blank! Then I heard a crash. It came from one of my spare rooms—a dainty little apartment with white furniture, rosy paper, an art carpet, and so on. Iran up hurriedly. And there I found him ! He had dragged the bed to the fireplace. On the bed he had balanced a little white chair; on the chair were three heavy books, and on the books he was standing! He wore his hat and a bee-veil ; the skep was on the mantel-piece ; the hive was on the floor, and the room was thick with smoke and full of the sound of many thousands of bees | The Naturalist turned as I entered. ““You had better go out!” he exclaimed, hastily. ‘‘ Shut the door after you, please.’’ Ishut the door, but remained inside. “What are you doing?” I said, slowly. Dick looked nervous and guilty. “It’s all right, darling! I haven’t hurt a thing! It can all be put quite right again.” : 1 looked about me, and for the moment words failed me. The overmantel had been taken down and placed on the floor; the wallpaper had been cut with a sharp knife and carefully peeled back ; the plaster had been torn away and lay all over the carpet ; the reeds and straw with which the three-hundred-year-old wall had been lined now lay in a heap on the floor, and in the wall was an immense hole. In this chasm hung a bees’-nest ! “ You have no idea how interesting this is |" said the Naturalist. I agreed. “TI have learnt more about bees while doing this for you,” he continued, “ than fifty books could teach me! Look! Here is the brood-comb, and here are the workers, and here is the pollen, and here is honey !_ Now, if you will hold the skep, I will cut it all down! Hold it so that they will fallin! They are quite harm- less, for 1 have smoked them well!” “Red in the face, and perspiring from every pore, she bore down upon us.”

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. “Cook and I and the under-housemaid banged on brass trays with silver spoons,” Smoke must be a wonderful sedative, for, in- credible though it may seem, I held that skep! And Dick took the nest ! To his credit be it said that he got most of the bees into the hive, and the hive into the garden. With averted looks I gave the orders to my servants to take down the curtains, get up the carpet, and, in fact, clear the room for the paper- hangers. For two days Dick kept the hive-door shut and fed the bees on syrup. On the third day he opened it, having previously blocked up theit former entrance into the house so that they could not re-enter there if they tried. I give these details so that all real beekccpers may see that we knew what we were about, for we had done little else but study the book since the evil day on which I bought it. We did every- thing which ought to have been done in such a contingency. On that point my conscience is Perfectly clear. It was, of course, unfortunate that just on + that very day the bees in my skep should take upon themselves to swarm! Hiveless and skepless, we had another mad day, and the fat pony suffers yet from the speed with which we got a further ‘supply of hives and etceteras ! These obtained, cook and I and the under- housemaid stood at a respectful distance from the scene of operations, and banged on brass trays with silver spoons—to the everlastirg detriment of both spoons and trays—while the Naturalist rushed about wildly with skeps and cloths and all a beekeeper’s armour. He got the bees, and lodged them safely in the new hive, and he was the only one of us all who did not get stung! Why this was I cannot say, for I certainly kept f r enough off and ran the instant a bee came anywl.ere near me; but one fairly chased me a:l over the garden, and eventually got me cornered in the rose-bower, and stung me savagely on the ear. I took ro further interest in the taking of that hive, but in the old one, which we had taken from the jor house with such skill and bravery, 1 was deeply interested. I went down with Dick in the even- ing just to see how they were getting on, and even stood inside the garden gate while he lifted oft the top to see if they were snug and warm. His face of speechless dismay av he peeped inside brought me to his side in double-quick time. Every single bee had gone; and they never returned ! In the autumn Dick had a big field-day and “took ’’ the honey. I invited the Bert Friend te spend the weck-end with us, and juin in our jubilation over the success of his scheme; and as we sat and gazed at the five small sections —value four shillings and twopence—-that the bees had produced, and I handed him my account of bee expenses up-to-date, I flattered myself that he experienced to the full the humiliating sensa- tions he deserved! Here is the balance-sheet :— RECEIPTS. s. d. Value of five sections of honey .. 4 2 EXPENSES. s. dad One stock of bees .. +. 10 6 Sending for same, and stool - 7 6 Book an is an o- 3 6 Two Hives .. se o +. 13,0 Super ae os . os 3 6 Smoker ait os ae ie: BG Bumers.. oe os fod TASO Veil oe on 26 Sections and foundation ee 4.0 More foundation and feeding-bottle 39 Quilts and excluders -- 3 6 More foundation 4.0 To plasterer 1200 Syrup for feeding bees 1 6 Elastic To Gloves 2 a fe 24 Cloths A »~ 39 To repapering room - 59 6 Total {7 0 6 (To be continued.)

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he malles Nepublicinileorld 4y Alice Rohe An independent State, whose total area is only thirty-eight square miles, with a population of eleven thousand, is something of a novelty. Such is San Marino, perched on the lofty heights of Mount Titanus, in Italy. hereditary peace. It is the smallest republic in the world—the land of liberty and Our Authoress gives a most interesting description of the people, their quaint age-old customs, and their novel form of government. == ] OMEONE in the motor as it plunged Gan up the mountain-side laughingly AIG remarked: “They ought to have ey held the Peace Conference at San eiatiee| Marino!” “Well, and why not ?"’ demanded a young Sanmarinese. ‘‘San Marino is the land of peace and has been so for centuries.’”’ Everybody in the motor, which plies daily between Rimini and the smallest republic in the world, began to voice opinions. “Tt would have been appropriate, but how The first glimpse of San Marino, perched on its mountain peak. could we have accommodated all the people ?” said one. ‘“ The Hotel Titanus wouldn't hold a tenth of them.” % “Tt certainly could not,’’ I reflected, listening to these good people, whose lives have been passed in the “land cf peace,” so far from the world’s problems. “‘ The army of correspon- dents alone would have more than filled all the available space in the citadel of San Marino.” Presently the little Republic rose before us, a dark silhouette in the glow of sunset, Vine- yards with gardens planted between the low vine-supporting trees softened the moun- tain-side with the colours of approach- ing winter. Great oxen, carting their heavy loads of wine and wood, panted up the steep inclines. A donkey, its huge panniers filled with faggots and a ker- chiefed peasant-girl on its back, crowded close to the road-side as the car chugged past. From low-lying farm-houses lights twinkled through the greying day. A convent bell rang from the dominat- ing mountain, whose three towers pointed finger-like toward heaven.

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THE SMALLEST REPUBLIC IN THE WORLD. 303 oe of tiny shops jutted unexpectedly into the narrowthorough- fare, their owners standing in the door- ways exchanging greetings with re- turning Sanmarinesi,. and giving the visitor/ a good-natured in- spection. During pre-war days tourists were common occur- rences. Then the curio shops thrived on post-cards and souvenic hunters. Since war stopped the tourist industry San Marino has been More tranquil and quict than ever, but with the coming of Peace the little Re- The ancient rosdway leading up to the Borgo. It was indeed a scene of peace, and as the car passed Serravalle and the Borgo, villages at the foot of the mountain, and approached the walls flanking the winding road, only the sound of the motor broke the spell of the Middle Ages which seemed to envelop the place. As the car stopped with a resounding “‘ honk ” before a massive medizval gate, the little piazza overhanging the valley buzzed with voices. Men, women, and children sprang to greet our passengers from gate and wall. ‘Well, did you bring Marino’s shoes?” cried an anxious mother, greeting a returning husband. “What did you pay for them? Oh! these prices!’’ They disappeared through the gateway to one of those homes crowding one upon the other up toward the fortress. “‘ Where's my package ?’’ demanded a man in overalls. “I can’t go on with my work without that bolt.” “And Grazianna’s medicine? Oh, what a forgetful man!’’ wailed a young wife, her baby in her arms. “Did you get the books that bag. What news——” The voices died away. The motor was put to bed outside the wall. It would be impossible to take our car through the crooked, narrow, steep streets of San Marino. From the church portico, near the gateway, and from the house built above the ancient gate, came the soft cooing of doves which, dur.ng the day, circle above the tiny Republic, descending into the piazzas to gct their daily food from the friendly inhabitants. Their soft cooing seemed symbolical of the peace of the place as I followed my luggage, carried by an old woman and a boy up those steep, winding streets into the picturesque tranquillity of the Republic. Bowed windows Here, give me public is anticipating a renewal of sight- seeing parties. Then there will be new interest in the arrival of the motor. When one lives in San Marino, many lights and shades of life’s emotions hang about the coming of that car, the chicf link with the out- side world. There are some whose never- flagging interest has a pathetic insistence. I remember, for instance, a man over sixty who every evening listened with tense anxiety for the sound of the motor-horn as the car passed a certain point on its upward climb. Others like him came out of hotel or home to go to the gateway or to wait in the Piazza della Liberta for the distri- bution of the mail. All were waiting for those earnestly - prayed - for letters which somehow or other never seemed to come. They were fugitives who dared not cross the The arrival of the automobile—San Marino's chief link with the outside world.

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304 boundary-line between San Marino and Italy for fear of arrest. These guests of the Republic are not penal offenders, for the laws of the coun- try forbid the harbouring of criminals. They are political refugees, men who look out over one of the most glorious panoramas in the world towards distant homes, wondering if they will ever see them again. T have talked with these fugitives and have found them the most ardent and loyal Sanmari- nesi on the mountain-top. One in particular, a man whose name is well known in Italian politics, a former member of the Italian Parlia- ment, devotes himself to the betterment of San Marino conditions. This man is a political fugitive, having been too free to suit the autho- tities in his published cr:ticisms of certain “‘ trust ’’ monopolies in the industzial world. Perhaps the most striking characteristic of San Marino, apart from its peacefulness, is the unswerving fidelity of the people to ancient customs, many of which exist unchanged from the fourth century after Christ, the year of the Republic’s foundation. Even the harbouring of fugitives is but following an ancient precedent established by San Marino, founder of the com- munity. He himself found shelter here from pagan persecution, and extended a welcome to all seeking a similar sanctuary. Down through the ages the gates of the little Republic have always been opened to the per- secuted. In the sixteenth century the Duke of Urbino found a refuge here when Cesar Borgia confiscated his realm, and the coming of Garibaldi and Anita, with their little band A characteristic doorway. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The “Co-operative Canteen.” This is the house where!Garibaldi and his wife sought refuge. of faithful men, when pursued by the Austrians, is an event which the Sanmarinesi remember with emotion. The. Republic—whose motto, “ Libertas,” is that of its fourth-century founder—naturally feels a deep sentiment towards the Great Liber- ator. His brief sojourn is recorded on tablets, and there is a piazza named after him, and a statue. As one climbs up the steep street from the Gate of San Francesco towards the Piazza della Liberta, one passes a door with a branch of shrub above it. Nearby is a sign which says, “Co-operative Canteen.’’ The branch alone would indicate a wine-shop. But the Co- operative Canteen is one of San Marino’s most thriving institutions. Here one may buy the finest wine for the lowest price. And, best of all, the canteen is situated on the ground floor of the house where Garibaldi and his wife Anita found refuge. Many a toast is drunk in San Marino wine by the old men sitting around the tables, beneath the branch of shrub, to the great Garibaldi and his brave wife. Perhaps no neutral nation in the world to-day feels so keen an interest in the Dalmatian ques- tion as does San Marino. The Sanmarinesi feel that they have a special right to be inter- ested in the fate of the Adriatic country. One of the sights of the Republic, beloved of all inhabitants, is from the fortress where, across the wonderful panorama, leaving the rolling mountains, with the medieval tower-topped

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THE SMALLEST REPUBLIC IN THE WORLD. 305 The citadel of San Marino seen through the pines peaks behind, the eyes pass Rimini and the pine forest of Ravenna and see the faint outline of &@ coast. “ That’s Dalmatia !”’ cried my friend, eagerly. “That’s where San Marino and San Leo came from. Our founder was a Dalmatian! We are all of Italian stock. See how near it seems.” Although the smallest Republic has been Officially neutral, it was only natural that it would see its young men leave for the front to fight for the cause of freedom and right. And it was only to be expected that these liberty- loving people would send a perfectly-equipped hospital to care for the wounded. It was inevitable, too, that a number of Sanmarinese youths should fall in the fight for a world- Peace and that many were wounded. ‘When the great the quiet com- munity. The minds of the people be- came awakened to the war cry, and the enhanced prices of all the goods they imported from Italy showed them something of what was happening in the outside world. Though pulsing with sympathy for the Allies, the Re- public realized how ridiculous it would be for a tiny com- munity, without a standing army, to declare war against the Teuton hordes. And so its young men marched to the front in the ranks of the Italian regiments, leaving the Republic itself officially neutral. Every San- marinese between the ages of cighteen and sixty is enrolled for military service in case of his country’s need, but there is no regular conscrip- tion, and to be embroiled in a cataclysm, political or military, is the last thing the Republic would ever want. In consequence of the Sanmarinese volunteers marching away with the Italian troops and fighting valiantly, complications arose. Several Sanmarinesi were taken prisoners, and when the Republic asked for their release the Austrian Government refused, on the ground that San Marino had broken its neutrality. This gave rise to the widely-circulated report that the smallest Republic in the world had solemnly declared war against the Central Powers ! war first broke out San Marino, safe in the tranquillity which, with a few brief interruptions. has characterized it for centuries, con- tinued on its peace- fulcareer. The little mountain Republic, dominating the whole landscape of Romagna for miles around, began to sce and feel the effects of war when bombs, falling upon Rimini, its nearest railway, connection, lighted the night sky. The stories of German atrocities rudely dis- turbed the peace of Vol. xliv.—21, A San Marino farm scene.

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306 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Despite its indirect war taxes on Italian imports, San Marino is one of the cheapest places to live in in Europe. As in primitive times, it is quite capable of existing on its own produce despite the fact that there are no industries. San Marino cattle are famous and the cattle fairs bring buyers from all the surrounding countries. The fairs are held in the Borgo, which is the com- mercial centre of the Republic, and are very picturesque studies for the artist’s brush. Up the mountain, from different direc- tions, peasants may be seen leading live stock of all kinds— girls driving fat pigs, children guiding flocks of sheep, boys conducting donkeys laden with geese and scolding chickens,old grandmothers with great flat baskets filled with brightly plumed fowls, and others with baskets of eggs—all wending their way to the piazzas and “fair grounds.” Looking down upon the cattle fair from the citadel, one’s first impression is of an encampment of tents. Nearer approach reveals the magnificent cattle with their long horns, the women here and there, bright hand- kerchiefs on their heads, making fanciful splashes of colour in the white sea of gentle-cyed beasts. Women with mounds of small round cheeses proclaim what is well known in the restaurants of Rimini—that the cheese of San Marino is qualche cosa squisita (‘‘ something exquisite ’’). Of milk there is plenty. It is carried morning and evening from the farms up to the citadel by girls and women, in baskets full of bottles. Whilé many vegetables are brought in from Rimini, the fairs attest to the fine onion supply. Huge garlands of onions stretched in the piazza make as decorative an effect as festoons of fruit. Chickens are plentiful, and while the surrounding districts of Italy had almost for- gotten the taste of poultry it was a common dish on the San Marino table. Before going farther into the modern life of this quaint little state which, in its customs and daily life, conserves the spirit of its primi- tive founder, a glance at the history of the Republic is necessary in order to appreciate its unique place in the story of the nations. In the middle of the fourth century, when Christian persecutions were at their height. many followers of the new religion were condemned by Pagan rulers to reconstruct the walls of Rimini. Numbers of Christians were sent to the quarrics up the River Marrechia to hew Washerwomen rocks from the mountains and to transport them to Rimini. The sufferings of these Chris- tians became known to their co-religionists across the Adriatic, and two stone-cutters, named Marino and Leo, wishing to aid their brothers in religion, left their native town of Arbe for Italy. They ascended the Marrechia and stopped before two towering mountains. Their experi- ence as stone-cutters gave them positions as overseers, and they were soon able to bring spiritual consolation to their Christian brothers. When the walls of Rimini were finished, Marino and _ Leo looked upon the two lonely mountain peaks and decided to seek shelter there from the surging world. Marino chose Mount Titanus, which, even before his time—unlmown, of course, to the simple stone-cutter —had figured in mythlogy as _ the mountain raised by the Titans in their attempt to over- throw Jupiter. Leo went to the other abruptly-rising mountain, six miles from Mount Titanus, which to-day beais his name—St. Leo, or San Leo. When the Dalmatian stone-cutters reached the heights of their respective mountains, whither they were followed by a few Christian slaves, they overthrew the Pagan temples and altars they found there, and Marino raised a cross upon which he inscribed “ Libertas.” Bits of Roman sculpture may still be seen at San Marino, while at San Leo fine columns of the ancient Temple of Jove support to-day the Christian cathedral and La Pieve. Many legends of those far-off days thrill the little children of San Marino. One of the favourite anecdotes is of how San Marino and San Leo tossed backwards and forwards—with Divine aid, of course—the different implements of their stone-cutting trade, from their respective mountains ! The rock-hewn bed upon which Marino slept and the site of his simple garden are pointed out reverently by the peasants. The fame of the saintly Dalmatian began to spread throughout the country and the nucleus of the Republic, with its quaint laws, was formed. The oppressed and persecuted began to find their way to Mount Titanus and the neighbouring San Leo, and small communities sprang into being about the two Christian churches built by the Dalmatians on the sites of Pagan temples. Marino’s reputation as a saintly man reached Rimini, and a rich Roman matron of that city, at the well,

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the owner of Mount Titanus, became so en- thusiastic and grateful at having received the light of Christianity, as had her two sons, that she presented the mountain to the Dal- matians as a perpetual and absolute Posses- sion. Upon this rugged height, which domi- nated the country from the Adriatic to the Apennines, the little community based upon a love of peace, liberty, justice, charity, virtue, and simplicity began to thrive. When the hour of death was approaching, Marino called his followers about him and be- queathed them the mountain free “ab utrogue homine” (from every other man). “ Remember,” - he said, raising himself from his rude couch, “to remain true to the faith and to live in harmony—freemen all. Follow my precepts of simplicity, charity, justice, and virtue. Never seek to extend the territory through violent means, and remember that war, while a painful necessity for those acting in self-defence, is an unpardonable crime in those who cause it.”” With these words still remembered by the modern Sanmarinesi is it remarkable that, though officially neutral, San Marino should have throbbed with sympathy for the Allies ? Until one lives among the Sanmarinesi the unusual preservation of primitive customs and laws cannot be appreciated. I shall never forget the impression I received one even- ing as I stood on the dominating pinnacle of the fortress, two thou- sand five hundred feet above sea- level, looking out over that marvel- lous panorama. Behind me the three towers rose, the “ Penne,” near at hand, and the other two more THE SMALLEST REPUBLIC IN At the foot of the mountaio. THE WORLD. — 307 me the world seemed stretching out towards sea and rolling moun- tain range. The whole scene, with its feudal towers capping moun- tain peaks, breathed the atmosphere of the Middle Ages. Of a sudden I was aroused from my reverie by a tremendous clanging of a bell. It was the famous “ campana”’ of the fortress announc- ing the “ Arringo”’ for the following day. The primitive form of government, pre- served through the centuries, came forci- bly to my mind. The “ Arringo,"” with its memories of the patri- archate, and its sug- gestion of the refer- endum, is a curious survival. In the earliest stages of the government the followers of San Marino had, as their head, the rectorofthe monastery. As thecommunity grew an assembly formed of the fathers and heads of families, presided over by the rector, became the governing body. In the tenth century the authority of the rector ceased and the “‘ Arringo "’ was replaced by the General Council, the heads of families having the right to assemble twice a year, with the privilege of petition, as to-day. The following morning I met with the Sanmarinesi in the great hall of the Government Palace, where petitions were being made in accordance with ancient customs. The Arringos are held on the Sundays following the inaugu- ration of regents, April 1st and October 1st. A farmer protested against certain violations of market regula- tions, another complained of the water supply, a third had a com- plaint against a school - mistress. The woes of the little community were all placed before the regents. The governing body of the Re- distant. About The convent of Valdragone. public, conserving

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308 the spirit of the fourth century founder, preserves its medizval customs with- out change. A committee of sixty citizens—the Grand Council, as it is called—is the chief authority. It re- tains the supreme power accorded it by the primitive Arringo. The original sys- tem of choosing one-third of the sixty from the The Regents leaving the Government Palace for the Cathedral. patricians, one-third from the land- owners, and one-third from the peasants, established” in the Middle Ages, has to-day reverted to the more ancient fourth century system. To-day, with its broad democratic principles, nobility is not officially recognized. The old families are, however, recorded in a golden book. Originally councillors were elected for life; to-day a three-year tenure of office exists, but as few changes are made the life term really con- tinues. From the sixty councillors, two consuls are chosen, who are called captains-regent. These, before class distinctions were climinated, were chosen one from the patricians, and one from the peasants. Six months is the length of an office term, and the regents can be re-elected only THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, is to prevent one or two men from dominating the Republic. A Council of Twelve is also chosen from the sixty, whose mission is to act between the regents and the Grand Council. The twelve have also the power of judging criminals in preliminary hearings and of acting in civil cases of the third grade, and in contracts for minors and women, Other officers, such as the Secretary for Foreign Affairs and an Economic Committee, are chosen from among the sixty. No local judges hold sway in San Marino —where, indeed, there is small need of a tribunal. Foreign judges administer high jus- tice, the ancient idea, still existing, being to preclude prejudices or favouritism which might arise in a small community where the web of social life is so closely woven. The medizval aspect of Sanmarinesi life is shown vividly on féte-days. Then the sound of the stone-cutters working the primitive quarries be- neath the walls can no longer be heard in the Piazza della Liberta. after three years have elapsed. This The Regents with their attendants and Noble Guards.

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THE SMALLEST REPUBLIC IN The three most important fétes are: the bi-annual inaugurations and the Festa of San Marino, though the medizval ceremonies of September 15th and March 15th, the election of regents, are extremely picturesque. On the evening of these last-mentioned dates, at Ave Maria, the great bell announces the election of the new regents. The whole popula- tion immediately concentrates in the Piazza della Liberta, before the Government Palacc. Inside an ancient ceremony is going on. First twelve nominators are chosen. Each of these names a candidate. The twelve names are then voted upon by the white and black ball system. The six names gaining the highest number of votes are coupled by amicable arrangement into three pairs. Then a cortege of medieval picturesqueness proceeds from the Palace to the Cathedral or, as it is ealled, La Pieve. The actual regents in their medizval state costumes of velvet knickerbockers, capes, silken hose, buckled shoes, and plumed bonnets are accompanied by attendants and liveried servants carrying torches. At the cathedral door they are met by the arch-priest, who blesses them with holy water. Beneath the canopy of a throne near the high altar the regents take their place. After a prayer to the patron saint, whose relics lie beneath the altar, the arch- THE WORLD. 309 pany the regents from their homes to the communal hall, where they don for the first time their official medieval costumes. At ten o’clock the procession proceeds to the Govern- ment Palace. As soon as the new regents have entered, the populace stands to attention. Then the flag of the Republic—white and blue, with its insignia of the three towers crowned by the word ‘ Libertas '’"—is unfurled and the national anthem is once more played. The great moment arrives when the regents leave the palace to attend mass at the cathedral. Later, there is the procession back to the palace, where the inauguration ceremonies, the passing of the seals of State by the old to the new regents, are held. The whole day is given over to fes- tivities, band concerts, and visits of friends and relatives from the villages to people in the citadel. The most primitive féte is perhaps that of the patron saint, when the little Republic is awakened with the ringing of bells. The same medizval processions are held, but solemn high mass is performed by many visiting prelates. Then the sacred relic, the head of the saint en- closed in a silver bust, is taken from the altar and carried through the town blessing its various institutions. At twelve the procession returns to the Government Palace, and the priest raises the relic to bless the priest reads the six names and puts the three slips of paper bearing the “couplets” in small silver balls. These are thrown into an urn and a child is ‘called upon to take out one of them. When the names of the new regents are tread the band bursts forth with the ‘national air and the cortége with the flaming torches winds back to theGovernment Palace. : The fétes which draw the greatest number of visitors are the inaugural ceremonies, when a series of parades seem to be wind- ing continually through the nar- tow streets. The Noble Guard, magnificent in be- plumed hats and gold-braided uni- forms, preceded by a band, accom- The religious procession in the Borgo. Republic’s govern- ing seat. The festa of Saint Agatha, on February 5th, is surrounded. with legends. One of these tells how on a winter day of unusual bitter cold and snow the people, shivering in their homes, decided not to hold the religious procession from the Borgo to the citadel. The next morning they found the snow covered with the footprints of wild beasts who had held the proces- sion to shame them ! Never from that day to this have the natives neglected the cere- mony. The fes- tival of Saint Agatha has an added interest, for it marks the anni- versary of the liberation from the Cardinal Alberoni occupation.

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3i0o THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A winter scene in Sen Marino, The autonomy of San Marino has, with a few exceptions, been respected since the fourth century. This has been due no doubt to its position, removed, as it is, from the great Roman roads, and also to its unpretentiousness. Czsar Borgia, after his destruction of the lordships of Umbria, the Marches, and Romagna, planned the usurpation of the Republic, but the death of his father, Pope Alexander VI., caused him to relinquish his schemes of conquest. The Court of Rome, basing its claims upon the Pepin grant, laid claim to San Marino, but the valiant little Republic maintained its independence. San Marino has, in a way, always had a “ big friend ’’—first the Dukes of Urbino and then the Papal power; to-day the Kingdom of Italy. The relations with Italy, which completely surrounds the thirty-eight square miles of the Republic, with its eleven thousand inhabitants, are perfectly friendly. Italian money is now used in San Marino, and the international telegraph and postal affairs are in the Italian Government's hands. There is an agreement also between Italy and San Marino that the latter shall not produce cert?in articles. For the suppression of custom duties San Marino receives a compensation of three hundred thousand lire from the Italian Government. Communal institutions, such as the public bakehouse, the grain magazine, co-operative canteen, and co-operative labour organizations, all reflect the spirit of the primitive community. The religious atmosphere of San Marino is peculiarly different from that of Italy. Although drawn into the hierarchy of the Roman Church in the tenth century, it has maintained the primitive simplicity of the early Christians. The social atmosphere, while tranquil and happy, is not what one would call gay. Pleasures are quietly taken. There is an occasional dance, or play or cinema. Out of respect to Italy all these diversions were suspended during the war, only to be resumed with the announcement that the Armistice had been signed. On that joyous day, when the whole civilized world rejoiced, all San Marino gathered in the Piazza della Liberta. There was great festivity, for the motto of the saintly Dalmatian stone- cutter was again triumphant in a long-tortured world. From his corner niche on the Govern- ment Palace, with doves circling about his head, San “Marino's statue looked down upon his “ neutral " children, surging in celebration about the Statue of Liberty.

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IN QUEST CANNIBA Exploration and Adventure in Unknown Ne Guinea LIEU? E.W P CHINNER Mustrated by ARCH. WEBB. This narrative will ‘be found as full of interest and “thrills” as any adventure story ever written. The Author—a district officer in New Guinea—describes his experiences while engaged in a prolonged man-hunt for cannibal outlaws wee. to avoid paying the penalty for their s, retreated into the unknown interior of the country, among tribes who had never seen a white man before. Lieutenant Chinzery’s account is illustrated with unique photographs taken by himself, and we can promise our readers plenty of excitement and some vivid glimpses of the “ White man’s burden” in this vast No Man's Land of mountains and swamps. Iv. gURING the next few days many | wonderful tales concerning the § Moreri and the mysterious Aua- Boroma reached my ears. One was to the effect that the Moreri were “small fellar man’ with skin alla white man” (light-skinned pigmies). same Another was that the Aua-Boroma dwelt in trees. All of these rumours received attention, for one never knows what one is going to meet in unknown Papua, and, as the Moreri and Aua-Boroma had never been seen by any Government official, I made what preparations my information led me to believe were necessary. The resident magistrate left with the Mati prisoners, and shortly after his departure the small launch set off, towing two canoes, with my party on board, bound for the Moreri district. First of all we called at Boroawe-ia village, where some of the Mati murderers had received shelter during our late operations. Leaving the launch at anchor in mid-stream, we went ashore to try to get information as to the where- abouts of the -Moreri and Aua-Boroma villages. The people of Boroawe-ia fled at our approach, but after calling for some time we succeeded in assuring them that our visit was a peaceful one. One after another cautiously approached us and accepted a small present of beads, but beyond a general idea of the direction we were to take we could not learn much concerning the mys- terious folk for whom we were searching. The launch went well all day, and we wound our way through the maze of waterways in a northerly direction, as Moreri, we were told, lay beyond the delta region. Many times, after proceeding for miles up a small stream, we found ourselves confronted by an impossible swamp, and were forced to retuin to the outlet and try another route in the hope that it would prove to be the right one. In this way much time was lost, and night found us still far from our destination and well within the delta. A camp was made by the boys in the swamps, on platforms of branches lashed to the nipa-palms, while I remained in the launch. A considerable quantity of wood and refuse drifted with the tide, and during the night a huge, uprooted sago-palm brushed its branches across the launch and carried away the awning shects and my mosquito-net. I was sound asleep at the time, with the bottom of the mosquito-net tucked beneath my bed-blankets, but the mon- ster swept past like an evil wind and left chaos in its wake. It was some moments before I realized what had happened, my first thought being that the Moreri had surprised us. It was not long before we settled down again, however, and but for the attentions of a number of wander- ing mosquitoes and sand-flies we were not disturbed till morning, when my boy Api-avi wakened me with a steaming mug of cocoa and a cheerful “ Gooda morning, master. My word, that big fellar tree he come night-time stealem altogether something belonga you and me, ‘nother kind tree that, alla same devil- devil.” After breakfast we made great pace up-stream,

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THE WIDE 312 The Moreri and at about eleven o’clock reached the edge of the delta and found solid ground on our north side. Dubai, a friendly Irumuku man who had escaped the massacre (though his people were among the victims), told me that somewhere in the vicinity was a river named Anu, on which were the Moreri villages. All hands kept a sharp look-out for signs of people. One or two rivers coming from the north were examined, but no signs were discovered until after mid- day, when a small raft of bamboo poles drifted down-stream. This was hauled aboard and it was found on examination that the poles had been cut that day; evidently someone had used it to cross the river from bank to bank. Not long after this discovery we entered a fairly large river, the Anu, and went due north. In a few moments we passed a creek with a fishing-trap erected therein. wards the launch was anchored and left in charge of a guard, while I, with the rest of the boys, took to the canoes and paddled slowly and cautiously up-stream. At the head of the river we found a track. Leaving the canoes hidden in the vegetation, we followed this path and in an hour were ascending a number of small limestone ranges. Many new villages were dis- covered, but there was no sign of the inhabitants. In one village a number of corpses were reposing on platforms, as if the locality had been attacked at a recent date; but the attack must have been unsuccessful, since no heads had been taken. We wandered among these hills until late in the afternoon, but still there were no signs of the elusive Moreri. While returning to the launch one of the boys was bitten on the thigh by a snake, which struck at him as he was passing it. A handkerchief was ticd above the wound, and the bite scarified with a piece of giass from one of the small wooden mirrors which the police always carry in the :ling-bags. Some crystal: of potassium permanganate were then rubbed into the wound, and the boy, apperertly none the worse for his experience, “long house,” where the cannibal orgy took place. To reach it the Author's party had to crawl up the log seen on the right of the picture, Immediately after- WORLD MAGAZINE. was hastened back to the launch. On the way we heard sounds of wood- chopping in the bush, apparently some distance away, on that side of the river which had pot been examined. The boy bitten by the snake had shown no_ bad symptoms, so, leaving him in the launch, with a few others on guard, the rest of us took to the bank, and fol- lowed it along some distance from the water’s edge in the hope of finding a track. Such a path was presently discovered, and it led us to a sago-sswamp where someone had been working only a short time before. A great many sago-palms had becn felled, and evidently, during the past day or two, the scene had been one of great activity. When a sago-swamp is hacked about as this one was, there is a reason for it, and generally the reason is a dance. Presumably, then, the Moreri were holding a dance, as one would expect after their easy victory at Irumuku. We followed tracks through the swamp, and in a short time came to another swamp. Here, too, were signs of recent sago-making. From this swamp the sago-makers had gone in different directions, and it was difficult to decide whick track to. follow. Finally, we close one that appeared to have been used more than the others, and this led us to limestone ridges. It was almost dark when we descended into a swamp and began to look. for a place to rest for the night. Fortunately, one or two broken- down platforms of old sago-houses gave us a_ sitting-place out of the mud, and, while the scouts scattered through the swamp to study our curroundings, the rest of us munched hard biscuit and tinned meat, and settled down for the night as comfortably as we could, all crowding together in the small space. The scouts returned after a few minutes, darkness having prevented them from going far. We were just preparing for sleep Revelry by when sounds of dancing broke the Night. silence at no great distance from us. We all kept quiet, and wished for light to enable us to finish our work. There was no sleep that night, for the Moreri kept up “an incessant chant, the drums beating time for the voices. As soon as there was sufficient light we moved quietly forward and in a short time approached @ limestone hill, which rcse from the centre of the swamp. Through the light jurgle growth on its

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IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 313 side. we covld see a “long house "on the summit. The occupants were too intent on their orgy to notice the noise of our advance, as we slipped and fell through the many bushes that lay in our way. With our force of ten police we had almost managed to surround the house when an old woman came to the ground from en opening in the floor, and screamed with fear as she saw the uniforms. Ne time was to be lost if we were to get amongst the cannibals before they grabbed their weapons, SO, with-one movement, we sprang into the long house at different points. Then occurred @ scene of indescribable confusion. So surprised were the Moreri that the majority of them simply rushed out of the building, jumped tothe ground, and, with one bound, were away in the bush without even having seen the disturbers of their feast. Two of them escaped from the house in this way, each with one of my boys clinging to his body ; but they managed to break loose as they fell in a heap on the ground. Inside the house the rest of us were busily engaged in securing five men who had been unable to get away quickly enough. They fought like tigers, and .their women helped them with claw-like finger-nails which tore the skin from our bodies and felt for our eyes to tear them out. “Master !"’ a hoarse voice called, and I turned, to “| termed to see my best boy oa bis back, a brawny Moreri man at his throat, with teeth fastened in bis shoulder.”

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314 see my best boy on his back, a brawny Morcri man at his throat with teeth fastened in his shoulder. One wrist was handcuffed, and to this the policeman hung gamely. It took the whole lot of us to manage the five men; but once they were secured they sat quietly enough, as did their women. “Are you going to eat us at once?” they asked Dubai. “The Government doesn’t eat its prisoners,” replied Dubai, with dignity. “Then why have you come to us?” they asked. “To take you to jail for killing the _Irumuku people,”” Dubai informed them. The Moreri people were hopelessly confused as to the purpose of our visit, so while Dubai sounded a trumpet outside the house, and tried to persuade the others to come in and give themselves up to justice, I explained to the prisoners our object in visiting them. When they realized that we were going to take them away they cried like children, and so did their wives. I assured them, however, that as they were new people, and had not known better when they killed the Irumuku, the Government would not keep them in custody for very long ; but, when they understood its laws, would allow them to return to their village and civilize the other people of the district. They cheered up a bit at this, particularly when I assured them that we would not hand them ove: to the Irumuku or Mati for punishment. Littered about the house were Gruesome portions of cooked human flesh. Relics. Some, chopped into small pieces, . had been cooked with herbs in bamboos ; limbs which had been roasted over the firé and boiled with vegetables in clay pots, lay here and there, half-eaten, just where their captors had thrown them in their surprise at our entry. In the netted bags which hung on the walls of the house were other portions of bodies in a state of semi-preservation through being partly smoked over fires. Dubai brought one lower-limb to me, and told me that it was part of his brother! He recognized it, he said, by the foot ; and he put it in his bag. Both inside and outside the house, stuck on Poles to dry, were the heads and skulls of the victims. The prisoners pointed out those which they had brought back from Irumuku, and they were collected. Some little time was spent in endeavourmg to get the others in, but no one replied to our invitations ; so, after instructing the women to find the others and persuade them to bring food to Kikori for the prisoners and make a peace with the Government, we made ready for our return journey. On our w back to the launch one of the prisoners quietly slipped his handcuffs, and was out of sight in the jungle before his guard re- covered from his astonishment. Pursuit was unsuccessful, for he left no traces behind ; he just disappeared as if the bush had swallowed him. The others looked longingly at the friendly jungle, but we had had our lesson as to the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, cunning of the wild men, and no opportunity was given them to cause us a second disappoint- ment. Soon the launch was reached, and we were bowling down-stream on top of a strong tide towards Kikori. Night fell just as we entered a familiar water- way, and we decided to continue instead of camping. A heavy storm broke when we reached Aird Hill, so I sent the boys ashore, and with the prisoners went on through the storm in the launch, for I wanted to get them safely under lock and key. One of the crew sat on the bow of the launch and waved a hurricane-lamp to show us the bank. The night was inky black, but with the aid of the lamp and regular flashes of lightning we managed to steer clear of the bank and other obstacles. It was impossible to identify any of the waterw in the occasional short glimpses afforded by the flashes of lightning, and after a couple of hours in the storm, when we should have been making the lights of the station, I found that we were hopelessly lost in the maze of waterways. There was nothing for it but to drop anchor and wait for morning; the tide had turned against us, so the risks of hitting floating timber were too great. With daylight we soon located ourselves, and reached the station early in the morning. The Moreri were safely housed in the station jail, and on the resident magistrate’s return committed for trial. A few days afterwards the resident magistrate was ready to proceed to the Vailala oil-fields, where he was to catch a launch for Pert Moresby, the capital, whence he was proceeding on leave to Australia. I took him to the oil-fields in the launch, and then left for Kikori. At the mouth of the Vailala River is the worst bar in New Guinea. Mountainous seas thunder on its shallow depths, and navigation, especially in small, open boats like our launch, is particularly unpleasant when there is any sea running. When taking the launch to the oil-fields. we were most fortunate in having a calm sea; but on leaving the river to return to Kikori I found a heavy swell running, and a big sea breaking on the bar. Coming up from the north-west was a “guba ’’ (a kind of mild hurricane), and lying on the horizon in the south-west was a nasty- looking squall. From the Vailala bar to the Ailele bar, where one re-enters the calm river delta, is a stretch of open sea known as Orokolo Bay, twelve mules in width. In this bar there is no place where one can run for shelter in rough weather. I had allowed myself twe hours from the Vailala bar to reach the Ailele at half-tide, when there would be just enough water to get over. After looking carefully at the two squalls, I decided I should just be able to make the Ailcle before they broke. The Vailala was successfully negotiated, and we set a straight course for the Ailele entrance, but when just halfaway across the north-wester hit us, with wind and rain from the land. It was impossible for our small launch to make headway against the force of it, and while we were fighting it, with the engine going at its hardest, the south- wester brought along its mountainous seas to

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“The next minute | was being swung through space, at the end of a mighty arm.”

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316 drive us back. For nearly an hour we wallowed in the valleys of wild, crested seas in the vain hope that the storm would expend itself. The boys (there were three) held the awning-sides out to windward to keep the crest from swamping us, and baled unceasingly. Suddenly a large sea broke on the bow and stove a hole in our side. One of the boys plugged the hole with a blanket and held it there. The kerosene-pipe of the engine also came adrift with the blow, but that was not serious, because I switched on the benzene and cut off the vaporizer. There was only one thing to do, so I turned her, and— nearly swamped in the act—ran before the gate with a course set through the blinding spray and mist towards where the Vailala bar thundered in the invisible distance. We could see no land at all, but simply bounded on with the crests of the huge rollers as they followed and overtook us. Presently I felt the stern of the boat lifted high in the air; there was a noise like thunder, and we flattened out on the crest of an enormous roller and shct forward at a pace that made me dizzy." Thus we returned to the Vailala River, and were helped over the furious breakers on the bar by a kindly Providence, with no more injury than a hole in the side, a broken connecting- pipe, and a boat half-full of water. Repairs were made in the shelter of the river, and next morning at daylight we crossed the two bars in a sea like a mill-pond and returned to Kikori without \ further mishap. Here we refitted, and set out in the launch once more, with canoes, on another search for the mysterious Aua-Boroma tribe and its chief, who, as we learnt, was called Titibari. For three days we searched the whole network of waterways for these people. Villages were found at the head of every small creek, but not a trace of the inhabitants. There remained another area, and we had almost com- pleted the search, when a small canoe was sighted creeping cautiously through the nipa- palms that overhung the bank on the side oppo- site to us. A canoe was sent 1n pursuit in the hope of catching its occupants and learning something of our quarry. The launch was anchored, and we were just entering another creek for a continuation of the search, when a whistle sounded, and I turned to see the guard in the launch beckoning me excitedly. Hur- tiedly we returned, and there, ahead of us, about sixty Canoes were creeping round a large bend of the river less than a mile away. It was the Aua-Boroma tribe, returning from an excursion of some kind! They saw us coming, but exhibited no great alarm, though they all got in fighting order, every alternate man standing up in the canoe with bow and arrows ready. It was a stern chase, with us about half a mile behind, by the time they had cleared the bend. They allowed us to get within arrow range, and then tested their speed with ours ; finding that they had the advantage they deliberately allowed us to creep closer, and then smacked their thighs at us, laughing loudly as they again paddled furiously ahead. A few arrows were fired at Found at Last! THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, intervals, but they went wide, owing to the move- ment of the canoes. For some time the chase continued in this way, but at last the Aua- Borema got tired of it, and, running their canoes suddenly into a number of small streams that entered the river at this point, disappeared from view. The waterways were too small for the launch, but we followed in the canoes until we found they had taken to the bush, where we followed them. Within an hour we had captured about twerty men and as many women. They were taken to one of the old villages only a short distance from the place of capture, and a camp was made for the night, as it was then too late to return to Kikori. Some of the men were concerned in the Irumuku massacre, but they informed me that the ringleaders of that affair were living in a village in the mangrove swamps some little distance away, under the leadership of their chief, Titibari. One of them offered to guide me to the village; so, after leaving an adequate guard in the camp with the prisoners, Iset out with the others in the launch and canoes, to search for Titibari. After about an hour’s tun the prisoner motioned us to anchor, and then signed to us to take to the canoes. This we did. I left the engineer in the launch, telling him to be in readiness in case we needed assistance. He was an excellent officer, and had shared all the hardships and experiences of the past few months. One or two of our guides took the paddles and stood in the canoes to deceive any stray adherents of Titibari who might be lurking in the vicinity, while the rest of us lay on the bottom out of sight. Carefully we wound our way through the aerial roots of the mangroves until we got into the very heart of the swamp. Then voices‘could be heard. The guide beckoned us to get out and surround the place whence the voices came. We tricd to do so, but the roots over which we had to walk were covered with slime, and it was rot long before we were slipping and falling in all directions. I fell in a deep pool of muddy water and lost my rifle in the mud at the bottom. While I was groping about under the water for it the alarm was given, and a rush was made to get there before they could grab their weapons. The boys outdistanced me, for I found it impossible to stand on the roots, !et alone run on them, and when I reached the village, a few seconds after them, I was just in time to see one of the finest of the police being bashed against the mangrove trees by a big man who was handcuffed on one wrist. He had thrown the boy off his balance while the latter was endeavouring to fasten the other wrist. ‘‘ Leave him to me, and go and get someone else, and don’t forget Titibari,” I told him; so he bolted off into the bush, where the others were struggling with their captives. The man looked at my white skin with terror in his eyes; his breath came in gasps, and he sank back on the roots, limp and helpless. It was a moment before I realized the reason for his fear, and then it came to me—he was afraid I was going to eat him! The humour of it struck me, and I smiled and pulled lightly on the

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IN QUEST OF CANNIBALS. 317 handcuff, with a motion for him to stand up and be reassured. He got up, and in doing so he gave me a sudden jerk, and the next minute I was being swung through space, at the end of a mighty arm. I hada couple of horrible moments, and some smacks against the trees that made me dizzy, before a lucky thrust with the butt of my rifle found the big man’s chin, and left the two of us lying exhausted among the wretched Mangrove -roots that had so _treacherously placed me in his power for that brief space of time. I fired a shot to recall the boys, and presently they came in, with their prisoners struggling and fighting like wild animals. The women clung to them and scratched like cats, but I managed to pacify them by telling them that we were not going to eat their men. Darkness was falling rapidly, so we made all haste across the swamp of slippery roots, with the prisoners resisting at every step. When we reached the canoes and boarded them the light had gone. The man who had so neaily finished the policeman and myself, I now discovered, was none other than the chief, Titibari himself, so I urged him to tell the women to bring food to them at Kikori, and also gather all other men who had eluded us and bring them to tne station too, so that we could make peace. When we left the village everything was quiet. The women returned to their houses after pro- mising to come in later with food, and we pushed out into the stream, firing a couple of shots for the launch as we got under way. Scarcely had we got into the current when the prisoners, who had been quietly gathering strength, again made a desperate effort to get free. In the struggle the canocs were upset, and we were all struggling in the water for some moments before we managed to right them and get aboard the launch, which fortunately came along at the right moment and ended our troubles. It was late at night when we returned to the camping-place and got our prisoners safely ashore with the others. Bitter recriminations took place between the betrayers and the betrayed, and the guard had to interfere to prevent blood- shed. All through the night, at intervals, the deep voice of Titibari could be heard denouncing the action of his betrayers and threatening ven- geance at the first opportunity. Ezrly in the morning we reached the station and deposited our prisoners in cells to await trial. The Aua-Boroma were divided and placed in separate cells to avoid bloodshed. Later the same day the prison guard rushed up and begged me to come and stop a fight that was going on in the Aua-Boroma cells. I hurried down, and found the Aua-Boroma and Moreri at one another's throats like wild beasts. Titibari had accused the Moreri of betraying the Aua- Borema, and when they had truthfully denied it he and his fellows pounced on them like cats ; but the Moreri, thougt there were only four of them, were not inclined to take this lying down ; hence the tooth-and-nail battle. A weck after this event the station was visited by the women and other men of the Aua-Boroma tribe, and after negotiations peace was declared, whereupon they commenced to make a new village on the large river. And so ended this particular cannibal-hunt. It owed its success to the loyalty and devotion to duty of the engineer patrol officer and the detachment of armed Native constabulary.

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ee ee = Se eS he SHIP THAT SOUGHT ADVENTURE by CAPT FRANK.H. SHAW. The story of one of the little “special service” ships that did such splen- did work for the British Navy during the anxious days of the submarine ustrated by Ralph Cleaver campaign. The skipper of the “ Zodiac” was a glutton for excitement; he tackled all sorts of hazardous jobs, from landing spiesin enemy territory to picking up escaping prisoners under the very noses of their pursuers or hunting and ramming U-boats. This account of one of his cruises will be found as thrilling as the most exacting lover of adventure could wish for. VEN now, perhaps, it is better not to mention her proper name, in case revengeful emotions trouble those who suffered by her activities. Let f} us call her the Zodiac; that is near enough to enable her friends to recognize her, and far enough from the real name to keep her late enemies guessing. In her remote, peaceful days she ran a regular service of cargo and passengers between a certain British port and other ports where the British flag flew. She was not a Mauretania in so far as size was concerned, but a big ship was not needed for the particular job she was roped-in for. She was fast, her draught was shallow, and she was extraordinarily nimble in the handling. In actual measurement she was perhaps a thou- sand tons register, certainly not more. She was given to a man who wrote “ Lieutenant, R.N.R.,” after his name; but before the war he had commanded much bigger and more important ships. He volunteered for this task because it came under the heading of “‘ Special Service,” and promised rather more varicty than some phases of naval life. Further, the Zodiac, by virtue of her peculiar réle, got away from the spit-and-polish and red-tape atmosphere that is as gall and wormwood to the soul of the merchant- man turned ‘“ Navy.”” She was almost entirely “on her own’; she was given somcthing in the Nature of a roving commission. Within limits, her C.O. was permitted to make his own plans and carry out his own undertakings. All that was demanded from him was results. He gave them. His particular beat was up and down the Asia Minor coast; and in the days of which I write there were more salubrious regions. People will tell you, not knowing, that the Turk was a clean and chivalrous fighter, misguided by his German leaders. That lie can be scotched any day of the week by any late member of the Zodiac's crew. The Turk was as full of real “dirt ’’ as an egg is full of meat, or an old Navy biscuit full of weevils. He made life such a hell for certain Britons and Frenchmen he captured during the Gallipoli ‘‘ show ” that they did their utmost to escape. They were good, valuable men, far too useful to be left rotting in Ottoman oubtiettes, with accompanying tortures. So the Zodiac's skipper determined to do his bit in the way of rescuing them. Word got through in some mysterious way that the attempt was meditated—we had our spies in Asia Minor, just as the Turks had theirs in Malta and Cyprus and any other of our Naval bases in the Mediter- rancan. ‘The Zodiac had landed a few dozen of such secret agents on occasion; creeping in at dead of night across enemy minefields—that was where her light draught came in handy—running the risk of being spotted by enemy forts and sunk out of hand by long-range gunfire. There is just one man who knows what the precise arrangements were, and that man is he who commanded the Zodiac. He is as close as an oyster, and when questioned he smiles com- placently, but he gives very little away. He did tell me, however, that, as it was likely food and disguises would be requisite and necessary for the escape, he put his head close alongside the head of a senior Naval officer who commanded the miniature base where he made his head- quarters, and got certain concessions made. He was also successful in enlisting the services of not a few enthusiastic lieutenants in the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, who knew remarkably little about seafaring, but who spoke most of the tongues common in Asia Minor and possessed the aptitude of disguising themselves beyond belief. These were also Special Service men; and they carried small phials of deadly poison concealed about them, because a price was on dll their heads for various daring things they had done. To his volunteers the skipper of the: Zodfac outlined his plans, and they were received with

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THE SHIP THAT SOUGHT ADVENTURE, enthusiasm. He guaranteed to land the party in the very heart of enemy country and to supply them with food sufficient for their own needs and for the needs of a fairly large party of escaping prisoners. He also guaranteed to visit periodically at least a dozen obscure points along the coast, in case anything was hidden there suitable for picking up. All such pvints were closely mined in; most of them were defended by guns of varying calibres. The skipper of the Zodiac, incidentally, had a twelve-pounder twelve-hundredweight quick-firer mounted on his forecastle head and a supply of ammunition stowed away down the forepeak. He was very proud of that gun—inordinately proud, indeed ; and he was also proud of his Maxim on a high- angle mounting ; to say nothing of his Lewis gun and his Lee-Enfield rifles. He drilled his gun- crews himself during short spells in port, and he held that they were as efficient a crowd as could be found afloat. He prayed nightly, he told me, for an opportunity to use the twelve-pounder against a worthy foe ; and when a man mentions such matters in his prayers he is not likely to be characterized by too great a caution. Knowing as he did where the British and French prisoners were confined, he landed his volunteers at a spot as near that town as could conveniently be arranged. It was somewhere about two o’clock a.m., with a half-moon show- ing in the clear purple of the Mediterranean sky. It was a task requiring an infinite amount of nerve to negotiate the guarding minefield, and the Zodiac went very slowly, with all lights dowsed and a spark-cap on her funnel. There were no shore lights to guide her; and the coast of Asia Minor is more conspicuous for a level monotony than for high characteristic peaks which might serve as landmarks. The Zodiac was navigated by compass and lead in the main, and by that coast instinct which perhaps one per cent. of sailormen possess. Her skipper had served an arduous apprenticeship on the African West Coast, and that meant he could tell when danger was near by the pricking of his thumbs. * He had assured himself, by previous excursions, that the mines were moored at such a depth as to Permit his keel—the ship was almost without ballast for the occasion—to pass over them with perhaps a foot to spare ; but there was, of course, always the risk that some of the big globes of ex- Plosives might have broken adrift from their Moorings in the frequent bad weather which blew up along that coast. “It was a bit nervy, certainly,” he told me, “to go paddling in, engines at ‘ dead slow,’ with the first lieutenant hanging over the forecastle head, a pair of night-glasses glued to his eyes and the button of an improvised electric bell in his Pocket. It wouldn't have done to shout, you see. If he saw anything he simply signalled by the ll: one ring to stop dead, two rings to go astern, three to swing hard a-port, four hard a-starboard. We'd rehearsed the whole business Carefully beforehand. But these half-moonlight nights are deceptive ; you can’t see nearly vo far as you fancy you can; and consequently I kept My ears wide open, knowing that as likely as not ~ like the real thing. 319 the first intimation we'd have of a mine being handy would be the harsh grate of it along the plating. And when your nerves are keyed upthat way it’s surprising the number of sounds you hear that might be a mine rasping along. Even the celank of the whcel chains, or the shuffle of a man’s boot-sole on the deck, or the creak of a boat hanging outboard in the davits—they all seem But likely enough, if we had hit one, the first thing we'd have known about it was secing the forepart go up in a whirl of smoke and flame and broken water. Still, we didn’t hit anything.” I understood his feelings by my own experi- ences, which do not come into this story. Going very quietly, then, the Zodiac drew in towards the shore. Her skipper was fairly con- versant with the defences there, thanks to a friend in the Air Force who supplied him with photographs on the quiet ; but he knew that the Turks might quite easily have got wind of some adventure and made preparations accordingly ; and though guns were mounted in certain positions, there was no law to prevent the Turks from shifting those guns to other positions. He also had a shrewd belief that an Austrian sub- marine was working in the neighbourhood ; and so the three principal things he had to fear were : amine or half-a-dozen mines, enemy gunfire open- ing suddenly before he had time to turn, and the sudden swirling run of a torpedo, which would blow the Zodiac into twisted scrap. He confided to me that at certain junctures he felt a!l kinds of a fool for taking on the job; but, having gone so far, he wasn’t going to turn back. He had his twelve-pounder crew closed up on the forecastle head, though, because he was very anxious to see whether his men were as clever shots as he believed them to be. Try to imagine his feelings, please. He had to watch the sea for mines and torpedoes, he had to watch the shore for the possible blazing forth of a high-powered search- light, followed by the vicious yellow stabs of gun-flashes. In addition, he had to navigate the ship. He did everything satisfactorily, and when the discreetly lowered lead assured him that he had come as far as he decently could without piling the Zodiac up in enemy territory he lowered a small boat he kept for such occasions, and saw to it that she was thoroughly equipped with all necessary supplies. He had previously seen to it that the tackle-blocks were well greased, so that everything ran without so much as a creak; and he had carefully muffled oars and rowlocks with his own hands, using some trea- sured mufflers of soft wool for the purpose. The secret agents got into the boat, whispered their farewells, heard in return a whispered résumé of the skipper’s intentions about picking them up, and then pushed quietly off. The Zodiac remained motionless. Once, as she lay there, the skipper heard the unmistakable thud- ding of a motor-boat engine; or it might have been a submarine on the surface. He actually believed it to be a motor patrol, looking for him; but the sound died away presently, and left another sound, only too painfully audible to his straining ears—the grind of

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320 the oars in his own boat. seemed thunderous. After a time the boat returned, and the first lieutenant, who had gone in her, reported that he had landed the agents without mishap. But the Zodiac still remained there in the othng, just in case anything went wrong with the landing party. The skipper felt greatly responsible for the daring men. As no disturbance occurred, however, he crawled back to the open sea again, aud by the time dawn came was well out of sight of land. Then he busied himself with his ordinary work. He cruised up to another part of the coast and there picked up seven or eight men dressed as tattered natives, but who, in the privacy of the Zodiac's cabin, spoke University English, and had many tales to tell of what the Turks were dving and planning. Then he moved to other points and examined not a few cunningly-con- cealed caches of provisions, placed there for the convenience of other possible escaping prisuners. Daylight surprised him on one such occasion, and he put in some fairly smart fighting, for a battalion of Turkish infantry, supported by a few field guns, was established near at hand, and the field guns proraptly opened fire on the Zodiac. It was a warm little scrap; but the shooting of the twelve-pounder’s crew left nothing to be desired ; they accounted for one of the Turkish field-guns handsomely, and sent the infantry battalion inland at the double. Then the Zodiac went back to her advanced base to refuel and refill her magazine, and for a while busied herself in sweeping up a few stray mines that might otherwise have impeded her activity. In addi- tion she picked up the crew of a torpedoed mer- chantman and brought them back to safety; and then went out on a free-lance cruise in search of the U-boat that had caused the mischief, but without success. At somewhcre about the appointed time the skipper made tracks for the place where he landed the secret agents, and went ashore himself to sce if he could find any evidence of their return. It had been arranged that the party should hide up amongst very lonely sand-dunes and loose rocks that were the characteristic feature of the country thereabouts. But he found nothing, no trace of their presence, no message to say they had been there. So he returned to the Zodiac and pushed off to try another place. He visited every rendez- vous, without result. Here and there, it is true, he picked up other returning agents, and one of them told him there were storics afloat to the effect that a few British officers had made an escape from their imprisonment ; but so far as could be gathered, they had been recaptured. The Zodiac's skipper, however, wasn’t satisfied yet. He believed that the men concerned were not the brand to surrender without a fight ; they were clever and daring fellows, full of resource. He therefore set off on a cruise up and down the coast by daylight. His idea was to show the men he had landed that he was still keeping to his share of the bargain. After a few days of this sort of work—Turkish batteries fired on him on several occasions—he was rewarded by seeing a To him the sound THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rag waved from behind some rocks. This was a part of the coast he didn’t know much about, and the Admiralty charts of the neighbourhood were far from being up to date. He therefore deemed it advisable to put in in daylight. This he did, going cautiously. He was anything but sure that he would find anything worth while on reaching the place, but there was a chance and it was not to be neglected. Within easy gunshot of the shore he stopped and lowered his boat. The rag showed again amongst the rocks as the boat slipped inshore, and from the Zodiac's bridge the skipper saw a somewhat ragged crowd of humanity appear on the side of some low hills about a mile or less inland. Whether these were Turks or escaping prisoners he could not tell, but he trained the twelve-pounder on them just in case. As he was watching this knot of humanity his attention was drawn to another occurrence. Still farther inland showed more moving figures, which the glasses resolved into mounted troops—Turkish cavalry, with light horse artillery. The knot of men who had shown on the slope of the hill were making as fast as they could for the shore, and the skipper decided they were fugitives. It be- came something in the nature of a race. The people who had shown the signal rag stood up from thcir concealment and made other signals, indicating that they were some of the men ex- pected ; but they said nothing about the second party coming towards the water. However, the Zodiac's skipper decided they were friendly because the Turkish cavalry inland were already firing on them. It was anything but an enviable position to be in. The skipper had every reason to believe that Turkish guns of heavier calibre and longer range than his own single twelve-pounder were dug in in the vicinity—guns big enough to blow the Zodiac clean out of the water. If he opened fire he stood a remarkably good chance of drawing the enemy's fire in overwhelming weight. And—this fact is worthy of considera- tion—until a short while before, the Zodiac's skipper had been a peaceful merchantman, un- accustomed to waging war. He was not a long- trained fighting man; he was an amateur at the job. ; But he did what common sense dictated. He ordered his boat to push inshore with all possible speed, and he instructed his gun-layer to open fire on the Turkish cavalry. This was done, and the first Zodiac shell—base-fused common— pitched a hundred yards over the enemy, ex- ploded, and kicked up a cloud of dust and refuse. “Down one hundred |” ordered the skipper ; and the next shell got the target. The cavalry- men scattered, but their guns unlimbered and got into action, firing, not at the fugitives, but at the Zodiac. ‘‘ They were rotten shots,” said the skipper, in narrating the adventure to me. “TI kept the ship moving this way and that, at quarter speed, but I reckon I ran more risk from mines than from their shells. I tell you, I got cold shivers up the spine as we steamed up and down that perishing bay. There were the shells “weeping ’ overhead and all round about, but

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Fe I he Le? ae eae ee ae, Se cree ae ee SM al AE aie aS igs, bg! jee ie Sa reat tee. as THE SHIP THAT SOUGHT ADVENTURE, 321 "The next shell got the target.” one had a natural contempt for Turkish marks- hitting a mine, and that scared me, because if we manship, and didn’t pay overmuch attention to were sunk it would be a bad look-out for those such sounds; but there was the thought of escaping fellows.’’ However, he continued the Vol. xliy.—22 ‘

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322 action, and made things so hot for the enemy ficld-guns that their fire became desultory and still more uncertain than before. Mcantime, however, the cavalrymen were not idle. They had scattered, leaving a few dead and wounded mcn and horses on the ground ; but when they saw the Zodiac's gunfire concentrated on their guns they gathered fresh courage and, sweeping round in wide arcs, drew nearer the shore, opening fire on the fugitives as they came. It was here that the Maxim and the Lewis guns proved their use. The range was fairly long—something like two thousand yards, the skipper estimated it at—but by dint of allowing extreme clevation, and swing- ing the machine-guns’ muzzlcs about like a garden hose, the enemy cavalry were so disconcerted that their fire degenerated into straggling volleys with no accuracy about them. The men in the boat, meantime, were bending their backs and straining their sinews to the utmost. It was very much of a race; but the boat’s nose grounded whilst the Turks were still in more or less of confusion, and the party on the rocks leaped aboard. The others, who had been hiding in the hills, still had some distance to go, and their pace was hampered by the fact that one of their number was wounded and had to be carried. Whilst all this was going on—and it was a hectic little show in many respects—otl er Turkish guns of heavier calibre, mounted some distance away from the little bay, opened fire on the Secret Service steamer, and “ straddled” her twice. “Tf they’d had an aeroplane observing for them, they'd have got us for certain,”’ the skipper told me. “ Fortunately, they hadn’t one; and though they cut away my wireless aerial, they did no real damage. Of course, I kept the ship moving a bit quicker, and zigzagged all over the shop.” : Under the arch of fire from twelve-pounder and machine-guns the refugees contrived to reach the beach and embark in the boat; but there were so many of them that it was impossible to carry them off in one journey. Consequently, the Zodiac had to continue her antics and remain under fire long enough for the buat to return to her, push off, make another trip ashore, and retum again. “ Tnever thought a boat could move so slowly,” said the skipper. ‘It seemed to me that she crawled.’ But he was giving small attention to the boat in reality ; he was leaving her to one of his officers, and was closely watching the Turks ashore. I gathered that his biggest worry at that time was that he was armed only with a twelve-pounder instead of the four-inch he con- sidered he was entitled to--a four-inch, with high-explosive shell. He thinks he might have been able to put up a decent scrap under those conditions. But the machine-guns kept on spraying valiantly, and one or two sporting stokers who were not on duty down below armed themselves with rifles and helped in the good work; and a shell from the twelve-pounder pitched so near to another Turkish gun that it was withdrawn in a big hurry, and the boat completed its second THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. journey. They even hoisted her up in the tackles before steering towards open water and safety, because the skipper was so afraid of Admiralty red tape that he dreaded any possible inquiry over its loss if he abandoned it. Once he was assured of the boat's safety—the carpen- ter put in some useful work plugging bullet-holes during the homeward trip—he rang for full-speed and charged out of the bay like a destroyer, with the Turkish guns firing their hardest at him and his own twelve-pounder silent, by reason of the fact that it could not be brought to bear on the enemy. When he came to reckon up his assets and debits, the skipper discovered that he had brought off ten perfectly good British prisoners of war—-one a fairly famous submarine com- mander, who had been captured up near the Golden Hom; another a flying man who had made a considerable mess of the stranded Goeben before he was compelled to make a forced land- ing in enemy territory. The adventures of these fugitives would make an interesting story enough, but they hardly enter into this narrative. Any- how, there the fugitives were, in temporary safety. After they had been given a much-needed meal and a more-necded drink, the survivors had a story to tell concerning another party who had attempted to escape. This crowd was aiming for a place up near Adalia, with the intention of capturing something there that would serve to transport it to Cy prus-—something in the nature of a motor-launch was what it fancied. It would be a pity to leave these adventurers in the lurch; so the Zodiac was headed up towards Adalia. On the way she was attacked by an enemy submarine, which fired a torpedo at her without warning. The navigator, who was on watch at the time, got his helm across at the opportune moment, and the “‘ mouldy ” missed by feet. Once again the twelve-pounder was manned, and eager eyes got busy looking for Fritz; but he failed to show himself. Maybe he had caught a glimpse of that twelve-pounder and was scared. The skipper, who had come on the bridge as soon as the alarm was sounded—he had taken advantage of daylight and smooth water to snatch a well-earned nap—calculated from what he was told something of the approximate position of the U-boat, and steamed rapidly in that direction. When he got to where Fritz might be he sprinkled depth-charges as extrava- gantly as confetti is sprinkled at a wedding, and saw oil and bubbles come to the surface. But he was wise in his generation, and he knew—had he not questioned captured German submarine men ?—that a pleasant little habit existed in the German Under-Seas Fleet of opening a valve and allowing oil and air to escape from a per- fectly intact submarine, in order to delude an attacking ship into the belief that her prey was scuppered. Therefore the Zodiac waited about the neighbourhood for an hour or two ; but Fritz did not appear. Thereupon course was shaped for the neighbourhood of Adalia, and when fully one hundred and fifty miles from that place a motor-boat was seen and picked up, containing the other survivors—and very little else. It is

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Ka ae RR RR eR Nee a es 2 PP beret Feat ee ees. eet eg THE SHIP THAT SOUGHT ADVENTURE, 323 “The first shell landed on Fritz's gun and certain there was no petrol, and though the six escaped prisoners in the little craft had rigged up a kind of sail, made of their shirts, on a boat- hook, yet they were making such trivial progress to safety that they would very probably have died of starvation had the Zodiac not appeared when she did. The Zodiac picked up fugitives and motor-boat —with my own eyes I saw that boat in Fama- gusta harbour a week or two after the event— and steamed back to safety. It was not a bad cruise in its way, but the skipper was not yet satisfied. I think it was as a result of his visit to our ‘‘Q” boat that he got the idea into his head that he would camouflage the Zodiac as a “Q.” He showed a great deal of interest in our blew it overboard.” various gadgets, and, as we were lying up to give our overworked crew a rest from the strain of “ mystery-ship "’ handling, he borrowed a ship- wright, an armourer, and a stoker petty officer. These he took aboard the Zodéac, and—judging by the sounds we heard—he gave them a job of work to do that kept them busy. The first thing of moment was to shift the twelve-pounder from its exposed position on the forecastle-head. The ship herself had been con- structed to carry cattle on her after well-deck, and to facilitate the loading of these animals her after bulwarks opened bodily, moving sideways, like a door. Our friend altered this ; he shifted the hinges and gudgeons so that the doors fell downwards as soon as a bolt was withdrawn.

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324 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, He remounted the twelve-pounder on the after well-deck and piled fruit crates all about it. It was not dockyard work by any means, but he calculated the gun would get off a dozen rounds before blowing itself away from its holding- down bolts. Actually, when the time came, the pedestal stood securely. During one busy night— half our crew volunteered to help, because it was all part of the same game—the Zodiac was re- painted fore and aft, from boot-topping to main- truck. Previously she was coloured battleship- grey, but now, when daylight came, she showed forth resplendent in a dirty grecn, with peasoup- coloured masts and upperworks, and a funnel that would have made Joscph’s coat seem Quakerish by comparison. She looked—they had used muddy-brown to some effect—exactly like a sluggish Greek cattle-boat. Anything less like a fighting ship it would have been difficult to imagine, unless perhaps we include ourselves, for we were a dishevelled Italian coasting brigantine converted into a submarine-killer. In this new guise the Zodiac put to sea. There were no escaping prisoners to rescue, and at the moment there were no secret agents to land. This was purely a holiday stunt on the skipper’s part. One or two of us got leave from the local S.N.O., who was a man of sporting instincts, and accompanied him on his quest. To all intents and purposes the Zodiac was simply a nasty merchantman, slow of specd, and hardly worth the expenditure of a torpedo. We had got wind of the activities of an enemy submarine north of Cyprus, and we trudged wallowingly towards Fritz’s beat. As it hap- pened, the simple Hun was completely outwitted. The whole show was run on approved ‘ Q ’’-boat lines. When the submarine saw us we displayed the Greek ensign and tried to escape; Fritz came after us on the surface. He fired a couple of rounds from a twenty-two-pounder he carried on his superstructure, and one shot came so near that we deemed it advisable to abandon the ship to her fate. She was, in consequence, stopped dead; and, amid a scene of great con- fusion, a lifeboat was lowered out and filled with gesticulating, protesting men, who were not dressed in British naval garb. Sixteen men filled that boat—as many as would be used to man an average Greek merchantman. To all outward appearance the Zodiac was now an abandoned hulk, harmless. As it happened, there were still twenty men aboard her; and seven of these were closed up about the concealed twelve-pounder. The skipper and we, his visitors, were lying down on the bridge, peering through holes stabbed in the weather-cloth with a marline-spike. The engineers were on duty down below, their hands on the throttles. Fritz fired another round or two. One hit us in a bunker and exploded there; but we sat tight. Thereupon the U-boat came closer, aiming, evidently, to pick up our boat, which was hanging off about four hundred yards from the stopped ship. “ Open fire!’ said the Zodiac's skipper when Fritz was within five hundred yards. As he spoke the Greek flag was dipped and the White Ensign took its place; the cattle-doors were let fall as if by magic, the twelve-pounder swung clear of its hamper, and fired. It was good shooting; the first shell landed on Fritz’s gun and blew it overboard, together with its crew. He tried to dive at once, but another shell lobbed into his conning-tower and burst inside. Another hit his upper deck and blew a consider- able hole in it. To make all things certain, the Zodiac's skipper rang for full-speed ahead, turned his bow to the U-boat, and rammed him. As he sank we turned about and dropped depth- charges, making a thorough job of it. There was not a single survivor; but the Zodiac got the usual prize-bounty for thirty men. After cruising about a bit, her boat was picked up and course was shaped afresh for Famagusta. There the Zodiac's skipper settled down to his legitimate work again. He was a glutton for adventure. A DRAPER’S FLOATING SHOP. Mr. J. C. CLARK, who, up to several years ago, was engaged in the millinery business in At- lantic City, New Jersey, spent his winters in aytona, in Florida. Though retired from business, he was tempted into buying a boat at Daytona and converting it into a millinery store. He was led to take this step from the fact that build- ings are not allowed on the shore side of Beach Street, and, therefore, rents are very high on the other side of the street. In this manner he combines home comforts with business. This boat is seventy feet long and twenty feet wide, and is lighted F * A inside and out with electricity.

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A fortreselike cave-villege in Tunisia. My One is apt to think of troglodytes as primitive creatures who existed in prehistoric times, archwologist. and only of interest to the In many parts of the world, however, whele communities of people still live in caves, and very remarkable some of these settlements are, as the Author shows, The striking photographs which accompany the article add greatly to its interest. E usually associate troglodytes, or cave-men, with the musty publica- : tions of archzologists, and fail to Hy. y conceive the possibility of their = having a living, human interest at the present day. When I first beheld cave-dwellings in Tunisia, and found that they were still inhabited by human beings, I imagined that they must be a unique link with the pre- historic past, or at least a startling instance of reversion to the manners and is so convenient and agreeable, warm in winter and cool in the dog-days. Indeed, did we but listen to them, we should soon grow ashamed of our more laborious architecture and make haste to turn troglodytes ourselves. At Sant’ Antioco, an island connected with Sardinia by a half-ruined causeway, the greater part of the population inhabit grottoes on the hillsides, furnished on very much the same scale as the average mud-cabin in the West of Ireland. customs of primitive man. I have since learned, however, that similar survivals of the old world are to be found else- where—in Mexico, the Canary Islands, in the Crimea, as well as in France, Spain, the © South of Italy, and up-to-date England. - The Italian troglodyte dwell- ings, at Bari, are little more than houses which it has been found simpler to cut out of the soft srock rather than to go to the trouble of collecting building materials. Here is the most modern and most civilized form of troglodyte dwelling, but an ex- ceedingly interesting one. Like all other modern cave-dwellers, the people who live in these homes in the rocks assure their visitors that no other dwelling The troglodyte settlement at Bai: Italy, one of the most modern and “ communit * civilized” ties of cave-dwellers.

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326 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. + Say bi times. There is also a wonderful cave-church, fitted with columns, a choir, and elaborate sarcophagi, The altar and cross are of 90 unique a form that antiquarians are unable to connect them with any known Christian sect. The principal troglodyte settle- ment in the Canaries is at Ata- laya, in the island of Grand Canary. The namc means “ the giant’s burrow,” and from a dis- tance the place closely resembles a rabbit-warren or a honeycomb Warming with bees. The caves are more or less in terraces on the side of a steep rock, overlook- ingaglen and river-bed. Atalaya is the Burslem of the Canaries, and supplies the whole group of islands with clay pots. Every cave has its own set of rude The people are extremely poor, eking out a precarious livelihood by fishing, but of a hardy constitution and a contented disposition. Their dwellings were probably, once upon a time, used as tombs, and are still decidedly sepulchral in appearance. Those islanders who do not inhabit caves have built themselves primitive cottages with the fragments of old Roman monuments. The chief headquarters of the Spanish troglo- dytes is the village of Burgasot, near Valencia. Their dwellings are practically entirely beneath the ground, and it is possible for an unobservant person to stroll about on their roofs for some time . before becoming aware of their existence. Then he may thank his stars if he does not fall down a ventilation hole into one of their courtyards. Many of these dwellings have been recently excavated and offer a fair standard of comfort. They are not more poorly provided than the average cottage of the neighbourhood, and often have a handsome palm-trce in front of the entrance. Close by there A terrace of cave-dwellings at Atalaya, Crand Canary, appliances for making pots, and the people display great ingenuity and quickness in the work. Men, women, and children squat about at the entrances to their caves, kneading the clay with their hands into elegant jars and using their finger-nails to apply decorative lines. These troglodytes live almost like wild animals, having no morals and very little clothing to boast of. During the summer the children run about almost naked and the women wear the shortest of skirts. They are probably the last remnant of the aborigines of Grand Canary, who are known to have lived in caves five hundred years ago. They are very different in nearly every respect from the rest of the islanders, who look upon them as pariahs, and would as soon think of intermarrying with monkeys as with them. For generations they have kept to themselves and the Church has long ago abandoned all hope of making any headway among them. : The cave-dwellers who most nearly resemble the old prehistoric troglodytes, perhaps, are those are a number of old Moor- ish caves, which were no d.ubt inhabited in bygone days, but are now only used as granaries. Throughout the whole of the Crimea there are endless successions of cave-dwellings, but the only ones still inhabited are in Inkermann, a name which itself means ‘‘cave- castle.” The people who live in these caves are for the most part quarrymen, and they are certainly for- tunate in having secured so palatial a_ residence. There are vast halls and cosy rooms, with ledges of stone which were doubtless [5 * bedsteads in prehistoric A subterranean chapel at Bretagne, France, showing curious sculptures oa the rocky

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CAVE-DWELLERS OF TO-DAY. 327 of the Sierra Madre, in the North of Mexico, and so far they have scarcely been in- vestigated at all, as they are exceedingly shy and almost inaccessible, occupying. na- tural caves in the perpen- dicular sides of cliffs. A traveller in those regions may only become aware of their presence by noticing lights in the sheer rock op- posite him at night time. Next day he will observe a meagre plantation of corn on narrow ledges outside the entrance-holes of the cave-men's lairs. Quite an acrobatic performance is re- quired to pay a visit to these strange people. First you must let yourself down a hundred yards or so from above by means of ropes into a gulley, and then you must clamber up either by notched sticks, which have been driven into the cliffside, or by means of natural crannies and projections, known only to the troglodytes themselves. To prevent an in- trusion, it is only necessary for them to remove some of the notched sticks, and then not even a monkey could make its way up. The children's playground in a French cave-dwelling. No army could dislodge them, but by cutting them off from their water it might be possible to starve them out. Near the Bacochic river they wall up the greater part of their entrance- hole, leaving only a gap for the purpose of ventilation and a kind of doorway protected by a ragged goat-skin. This doorway is so small that they have to crawl in on all fours. Some of the cave-dwellers of Atalaya.

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328 One of the most remarkable things about these people is their wonderful isolation, although they are, in many cases, within a stone’s throw of large towns. The Mexican town of Urique was founded early in the seventeenth century and now has a population of over seven thousand souls, yet very few travellers have ever pene- trated to it, still less turned a few yards aside from the main road to see something of these extraordinary cave-men and their marvellous dwellings, The complexion of these Mexican cave-men is darker than that of any other American na tive, and one is almost tempted to believe that they must pos- sess a strain of Negro blood. Their expression might almost be pleasing but for their excessive timidity, . and some of their younger women have passable good looks, which however, do not last very long. Their cos- tume gives them a very comical aspect, consist- ing of little more than .a_ broad-brimmed hat, a_ cloth round their loins, and sometimes shoes made of skins to protect their feet against the sharp edges of the rock. The utmost limit of their possessions consists of a bow and arrows, a small store of corn and a rough stone for grinding it, and perhaps a coarse, ragged blanket and an unbaked pitcher for holding water. They are sun-worshippers, and make a prac- tice of dedicating their new-born children to the sun by exposing them to its rays. They believe that some day Montezuma will come back and restore the golden age, as to which, however, their notions are naturally rather vague. The powers of evil are symbolized to them by the owl, of which they have the most superstitious dread. Except in the almost unknown event of their molesting strangers, they are never interfered with by the Mexicans, and are left to administer their own justice in their own rudimentary way. They yield absolute obedience to a kind of rough wooden sceptre decorated with cabalistic signs and handed down in the tribe since Heaven knows when. The holder of the sceptre is not obeyed for his own sake, for if a perfect stranger seizes it and brandishes it they all do instant homage to it and yield absolute obedience. A whole tribe has been instantly quelied by the seizure of one of these sceptres. The most uncivilized troglodytes of Mexicc _they wear to protect their feet. The entrance to a typical cave-house at Chenu, France. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, are those in the Barranca del Cobre. They are often stark naked except for the skin shoes They are exceedingly hardy, owing probably to the sur- vival of the fittest, as the winters are very sharp in their regions. What they can do as runners almost surpasses belief, and no horse can keep up with them on their own ground. I heard of one man who was employed to carry the mails. His journey to and fro covered a dis- tance of five hundred miles, which he accom- plished in six days without an effort! He then allowed himself a_ rest of one day be- fore resuming his work, as his contract was to carry one mail a week each way. In races got up by the Mexi- cans, one of these cave-men has been known to do ninety- four miles in eleven hours forty minutes, during which he allowed him- self only half an hour’s rest. An American. who tried to race one of them on horseback over a course of ten miles, was badly beaten, though he tried three times, and was once allowed a change of horses. At these races ‘‘ books ” are made, the odds being laid in sheep and oxen. Perhaps, however, the endurance of the troglodytes is most astoni h- ingly displayed in their hunting expeditions. They set out on a trail with dogs which have previously been starved’ for several days, but they are never left far behind, in spite of the keenness of the ravenous animals. Some- times they take two or three days to come up to a deer, but when once they have startcd on his trail he is doomed; such a thing.as his escape is unheard of. Their fishing is less sportsmanlike, for they merely dam up the streams and poison the imprisoned fish with the leaves of a narcotic plant. The cave-dwellers of Tunisia are very inter- esting, and deserve more particular attention than the French have yet vouchsafed to them, particularly as Tunis is the only place in the world where all the various degrees of cave- dwelling may be observed within easy reach of each other. All over the Matmata plateau, which extends from the frontier of Tripoli nearly as far as the salt lakes to the west of the oasis of Gabes, the greater part of the population has elected to live underground. They may roughly be divided into four classes, specimens of at least three of which may

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CAVE-DWELLERS OF TO-DAY. 329 often be found on the same hillside within a stone’s throw of each other. First comes the cave as it was fashioned by Nature. This is the humblest form of troglodyte dwelling, and its owners live in considerable poverty and squalor, though they are by no means the degraded, uncivilized creatures we have found under- ground in Mexico and the Canaries. The second class have attempted to improve upon the natural caves by erecting masonry at the entrance, but beyond this display of a distant nodding acquaintance with architecture there is very little to differentiate them from the less advanced category. The most curious thing about this elementary masonry is that, like the nests of certain wild creatures, whose interest it is to escape the notice of their enemies, it cannot, except at very close quarters, be distinguished from the natural rock all round it. South-west of Tatawine, near the edge of the Sahara, you sight a great pyramidical rock, which stands out clear and gaunt against the sky-line, with jutting crags and tower-shaped peaks, like some inaccessible fortress-town of the Middle Ages. You begin by marvelling at the success with which Nature has imitated art, until presently you recognize crenulated turrets and symmetrical rows of square holes. So precipitous is this fantastic citadel that you despair of ever contriving to scale it. On close approach, however, you find that an easy zigzag pathway leads you right up to a peaceful village consisting of caverns adapted for human habitation by the simple addition of rude masonry at the entrances. A. picturesque corver in a cave-dwellers’ village near So.ssons. Half, house, half cave, troglodyte dwellings at Chenu. The third class of Tunisian troglodyte dwelling is often similar in appearance, but has been entirely dug out of the soft rock. Perhaps the most extraordinary settlement of this kind is at Shnini, which is still more like a fortress than the rock near Tatawine, but has more picturesque accessories—a rippling stream in a romantic gorge, quite a little oasis of feathery palms, and smiling rose-gardens which load the air with perfume. So easy is the rock to exca- vate, and at the same time so free from all menace of crumb!ing, that the cave seems the only natural and obvious form of dwelling. The usual procedure is to carve out a central chamber, answering to the patio or courtyard which is the distinctive feature of every Arab house, and then make all the other rooms open out of it. Some ingenuity has been expended in leaving ledges of rock as bedsteads and shelves along the walls, where pegs have been driven in for hanging up pots and scanty wardrobes. Other furniture there is practically none, unless an occasional boulder, used alternately as a table or a divan, may be so styled. Coarsely woven but distinctly pleasing carpets are, however, occasionally to be met with, and are in quaint contrast with their primitive surround- ings. Elsewhere on this plateau of the Matamta we find the most perfect form of troglodyte dwelling, presenting quite an advanced standard of comfort. The site chosen is a flat space among the hills, where a wide courtyard is first dug out, open to the air. This is entered bya broad passage, often as much as ten feet high, cut horizontally out of a neighbouring hillside, and

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330 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. - — - A street scene in Buerre, where the houses are hewn out of the solid rock, with brick fronts, serving not only for the family but for the cattle and even the camels to pass through to their stables. These and various living- rooms either open out of the courtyard or are reached by further tunnels. The roofs are often finished with dome-shaped masonry, and confer a strange tomb-like appearance on the settlement, as though one were approach- ing a rather unusual kind of cemetery. What with the open courtyards and various holes for letting in air and letting out smoke, these underground villages are by no means ideal places for a moonlight ramble, for a single care- less step would suffice to send you headlong into the midst of a surprised family. Unlike town Arabs, the inhabitants of these untque dwellings are, as a rule, very pleased to receive visitors and show them all there is to see. In the courtyard you find great stores of provisions for man and beast, heaped up in some disorder, great Aji Baba jars, protected with woven esparto, for use as up in the walls of the courtyard are lofts for more extensive storage, and if you wish to inspect them you must show some agility in clambering up by little footholds, with the assistance of a pendent rope. The most elaborate construc- tion is the family’s living room, whose floor, as flat as that of any house, is provided with rugs, and whose arched roof calls for admiration. There is more furniture than would be found in any ordinary vilage of the neighbourhood ——a simple divan along the walls, a big bed with an esparto mattress in the middle of the room, a cradle or two on the same model, and an array of houschold goods on pegs. The walls are generally whitewashed and the whole impression is one of cleanliness. I am told there isa species of beetle which inhabits these dwellings and acts as an efficient scavenger. The kitchen is rarely more than a hole with a furnace, but an elaborate one would not be necessary, as the food is always prepared outside in the courtyard. The pecple are amiab’e and polite, very inquisitive in a and always very ready to afford any mn in their power, though, if you are ied by French officials, not always to be relied upon with respect to the extent of their possessions. On the whole I gather that they are fairly well-to-do and take full advantage of the opportunities afforded them by a bountiful Nature. The chief. interest about them is that their excavated dwellings, none of which are more than two hundred years old and many of quite recent construction, mark a distinct advance on the houses built by their race elsewhere. There are cave-dwellers on the Vezere and the Dordogne, on the Loir, the Dronne, the Loire, and even the Seine, in France, the more interesting of which are shown in our photo- graphs. In some places fair-sized villages have been half-hollowed out of the rocks and half-built against the neighbouring c'iffs. At lez Eyzies there is an hotel, the Auberge du simple silos, and a varicty cf rude saddlery. Farther A bedroom in a cave-house.

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CAVE-DWELLERS OF TO-DAY. Paradis, the guest chambers of which are cut out of the solid rock. At Tro, on the Loir, a chalk hill is literally honeycombed with dwellings cut one above another. A street of houses runs along the base, built against the cliff, with rooms quarried out behind, while under the road are storerooms and _ stables. The conditions of life among these French cave-dwellers, especially as regards sanitation, are not very satisfactory, the most wretched and poverty-stricken of all being a group of people who live in caves at Ezy-Anet, in the 33t Holy Austin Rock, which is honeycombed with habitations in three storeys, and families still occupy the rock at each level. The cave- dwellings are either entirely scooped out in the heart of the rock, windows and doors being cut in the stone, the front being a screen of rock, or, as in the case with the topmost storey, a brick front has been erected at the mouth of the cave. The chimneys are mostly made_ of brick. One of the inhabitants of the rock has gone so far as to dig a way through it, so that he can go through his rooms and look over Exterior of one of the remarkable underground villages of Southern Algeria. valley of the Eure, the sauvages, as they are called, though even these have bits of gardens with gay flowers in front of their primitive abodes. The troglodytes at Dieppe—few visitors to that resort know anything about them— live in cliffs looking out over the sea, and mostly spend their time in gathering shellfish and in begging. Some of them are a rather sordid, dirty clan who live in much less comfort than the troglodytes of North Africa, and are greatly despised by the Dieppois, but there are others in a higher social position whose homes are cleaner and more pretentious, and between the one and the other class there is quite a social gap. Why they live in these caverns, which are mostly disused chalk quarries and date probably from very ancient times, is a mystery, and they will probably soon be swept away by a progressive municipality. In spite of the housing problem in Great Britain, cave-dwellers are less common than m any other country. There was one group of troglodytes living in recent years at Kinver Edge, a ridge of red sandstone rising above the River Stour, near Stourton Castle. There is here a strange mass of isolated crag called the precipice on either side. These cave- dwellings are warm in winter and cool in summer, and very dry at all times. A mile or two beyond Holy Austin Rock is Drake’s Lowe, where there is a cove or “circus” in the old sea-cliff, and here again numerous dwellings are dug out of the rock, all provided with new chimneys of black brick. At the bottom of the cove is a small council school, and when the school bell rings the quaint spectacle may be witnessed of dozens of children coming like rabbits out of their burrows on the hillside and running down the steep zigzag paths. In Worcestershire, at Areley Kings, there is a rock-hewn hermitage in a bluff called the Red Stone, which, according to tradition, was the home of the Saxon poet Layamon when he wrote ‘“ The Brut,” the metrical history of England based on the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth, which is one of the earliest monu- ments of English literature. Near Stourton Castle is an old brick cottage with subterranean chambers—though no one would suspect this from its outside appearance—which at the end of the eighteenth century was a rendezvous of “ gentlemen” highwaymen of the type of Dick Turpin.

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on ILLUSTRATED BY T.mHM.ROBINSON, During the summer of 1918 and the spring of 1919 a series of crimes occurred in the Franco-Italian villages on either side of the frontier in the French department of the Hautes Alpes and the Italian district of Monte Viso, which startled the inhabitants and alarmed the numerous families who select this beautiful mountain region for their annual holidays. These crimes were committed by the “ Blue Bandits,” asthey were called—three Italian deserters who were aided by a remarkable young woman named “Ginger Mary,” who adopted so many different disguises that the police were completely baffled. So daring were the exploits of the brigands that police and military were both called into action, and the last has not yet been heard of the affair. This exciting narrative, especially compiled by a “Wide World” commissioner— gives the full history of the “Blue Bandits,” and will be found as thrilling as any story of the i BBrand old “Wild It. JN the first week of August, 1918, the whole of the district of L’Argentiére, near Briangon, was in a state of excitement and alarm at the nume- rous Crimes committed in the neigh- bourhood by the three brothers Baudissart, the Italian outlaws who had come to be known as the “ Blue Bandits.” The murder. of the Italian Carabineer Rossi, the numerous farm robberies, the highway attack on a postman, the kidnapping and holding to ransom of Madame Durand’s son, the attempt to storm the post-office at La Roche—all these misdeeds formed a succession of events well calculated to disturb the numerous holiday- makers who spend the summer in this picturesque mountain region. A large reward was offered by the French authoritics, in addition to that already promised by the Italian Government, for the capture, dead or alive, of the three brothers Baudissart. It Was even proposed to send out a detachment of Alpine troops from the depot at Briangon to scour the mountains in the Valouise and Pelvoux districts, but it was feared that, in case of failure, ridicule might attach to such a formidable dis- play of force. It was therefore decided to leave the matter in the hands of the squad of detec- tives who had been sent from Lyons under the leadership of Inspectors Valette and Favier. The detectives had the full assistance of the district brigades of gendarmes, and were to be given the help of the military, should it be required. West.” From the frequency with which the Baudissarts were committing their crimes, it was evident they were becoming desperate. The problem of con- tinually revictualling themselves in the inacces- sible parts of the mountains was a difficult one. Every time they came down to kill a stray sheep or goat, or to capture a cow, they ran the risk of being shot by the. hundreds of people who were now on the look-out for them. Their female companion, ‘‘ Ginger Mary,” spent most of her time, in one disguise or another, in the French villages of the Valouise, endeavour- ing to lay in a stock of provisions, watching for opportunities to rob, and keeping herself ac- quainted with the movements of the French police. Her job was no easy one, for, in the first place, the French population was at the time on official rations, and no baker would part with a loaf of bread without receiving in exchange the official bread tickets. Then, again, every gendarme could stop a stranger on the high road and ask him or her for proof ofidentity. ‘‘ Ginger Mary ” was therefore not only obliged to avoid meeting gendarmes, but also to exercise great caution in purchasing provisions, lest by buying too much at a time she might arouse suspicion. As for bread, she took to following the bread deliverers about and stealing a couple of loaves or so when their backs were turned. The detectives knew that the bandits were assisted by a female com- panion, and they kept a sharp look-out for the woman, but she proved most elusive, owing to the number of different characters in which she i

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THE BLUE BANDITS. 333 e ! ] 1 7 “Just as the train was well on the move the girl jumped out.”

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334 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. appeared in the villages. She not only changed her appearance, but also her apparent sex, being sometimes dressed as a man and sometimes as a woman. On one occasion, however, she very nearly fell into the hands of the detectives. One of the plain-clothes men from Lyons, whilst making inquiries in the little village of Saint Martin de Queyriéres, was suddenly struck by the conduct of a young woman whom he had observed making a number of pyrchases at the village grocery. Something in her manner attracted his attention, and he asked the woman who ran the grocery store if she knew who this person was. “ Ma foi! No!” replied the shopkeeper. “I have seen her come in here a number of times during the past fortnight. I don’t think she is lodging in the village, but I suppose she is a servant with some family staying at one of the outlying farmhouses.” The detective said nothing, but resolved to’ watch the girl, and, going out into the street, he followed her at a distance. She went into one of the village estaminets and purchased two bottles of wine. The detective got into conversation with her by paying her a jocular sort of compliment. The woman gave him a quick glance, as though taking stock of him, and then, with a strong Italian accent, made a pert reply. “ Ah, my beautiful one, so you are an Italian ? ” continued the detective. “ Surely, signor. I am from Coni,” replied the girl. “ Spending a holiday here with your masters ?”” “ How clever you are, signor, to guess such a thing !’’ she replied, sarcastically. The detective scanned her features carefully, so as to fix them in his memory, but if this was “* Maria-la-Rossa,”’ or ‘‘ Ginger Mary,’”’ she had not the red hair that the Italian police descrip- tion credited’her with, but, on the contrary, a fine head of coal-black locks. He invited her to take a “ Vermouth ” with him, and the “ patron” (landlord) and the young woman promptly accepted. She fenced all his questions so cleverly, however, that the detective saw he would get very little information out of her, whoever she was. Passing from one subject to another, he turned the conversation at last on to the Baudis- sarts, but the girl listened with much interest, showing no signs of embarrassment. “Why,” she said, “‘ only this morning I saw two of the men you describe! They were not five hundred yards from this village.”” And she went on to give a fanciful description of two armed men eating their dinner in a meadow. The detective, though somewhat puzzled, determined not to lose sight of the young woman, and when, after a time, she said she must go to the station at Prelles, about a mile away, to take The Abbé Rossignol, who was shot by the brigands, the train to Briangon, six miles off, the officer said he was going there too, and they might make the journey together. “You can if you like,” was all the girl said ; “ but Iam going to meet my sweetheart.” They reached the railway station all right, but just as the train was"well on the move the girl suddenly opened the carriage door, jumped out, and rolled over on to the permanent way. The detective promptly stopped the train, but by that time the woman was nowhere to be seen, and the train went on without him. Though the officer kept watch until nearly dark, there were no signs of his companion, who had left her purchases behind in the car- riage. The matter was reported next day, and a whole posse of police searched the district, but without result. Such was the state of affairs when, on August 12th, the parish priest of the village of La Bessée, near L’Argentiére, received a visit from a very polite little man who said he was a travelling bricklayer. Having heard the priest had some work that re- quired doing, he had come to offer his services. The priest, the Abbé Rossig- nol, showed the polite brick- layer a wall in the Presbytery garden which he wanted repaired. An arrangement was quickly come to, and the bricklayer, saying he would go and fetch his father, who worked with him, Teturned an hour later with an: elderly, hump- backed man, carrying a couple of trowels and a mortar-board. They at once set to work to repair the wall. : Gregoire, the verger, and Madame Nouvelot, the priest’s housekeeper, both watched the work being done, and the housékeeper prepared the men’s meals. In evidence afterwards they both agreed that the elderly hump-backed man did the greater part of the work, whilst the little man looked on most of the time, giving his “ father” directions, or handing him the bricks. Indeed, the little man seemed so timid and so quiet that the priest remarked that he seemed “a very well-behaved little fellow.” The work was completed by nightfall, and the men, having been paid and refreshed, went their way. The Abbé was very busy that evening, for the morrow was the Feast of the Assumption and a public holiday, a great religious festival in Catholic countries. He therefore stayed up rather late arranging matters for the Church service on the following morning. It was past eleven o’clock when the priest, about to retire for the night, suddenly heard a knocking at the Presbytery door. Assuming that it might be some villager in sudden need of his service—for, in case of illness, the priest is often applied to for a rough-and-ready remedy pending the arrival ofa doctor—the Abbé Rossignol took up his lamp and unlatched his door. He had hardly done so, when it was pushed violently back against

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THE BLUE BANDITS. 335 “He seized the priest by the throat.”

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A 336 his face, causing him to drop the lamp, which smashed on the flagged floor, setting fire to the lamp-shade. By the light of the flames the terrified priest distinctly saw three masked men, wearing blue goggles and dressed in peasants’ blouses or overalls, who threatened him with revolvers, “Quick, Mr. Priest,” said one of the men. “ Tell us where you keep your money.” “Help.'’ shouted the priest. ‘ Gregoire, Madame Nouvelot !”’ Both the verger and the housekeeper slept in ~ the Presbytery, and the Abbé hoped they would hear him. “Shut your mouth, you fool !"" cried one of the men. He seized the pricst by the throat, but the Abbé still continucd to struggle and shout, whereupon his assailants fired at him, mortally wounding the unfertunate clergyman, By this time Madame Nouvelot, the house- keeper, had been aroused, and rushed to the head cf the stairs; but she was scized with fright on hearing the shooting and secing men moving about in the sitting-room below. They broke open the priest’s desk, taking such money as they found there, and were about tu remove a gold crucifix which the Abbé wore suspended by a chain over his breast, when one of them said :— “No; leave his chain and cross alone. bring us bad luck.” At this moment the housekeeper, unable to control herself any longer, screamed so loudly as to bring the slumbering verger, Gregoire, to her assistance, and the burglars at once de- camped. . Descending to the sitting-room, the verger and the housekeeper found the Abbé lying on the It will THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, as that of the hump-backed bricklayer of the day before. It is a significant fact that Alexander Baudissart had been brought up as a stone- mason, and that on more than one occasion— as a smuggler—he had deceived the police as to his identity by wearing a false hump. The next day, when the news became known, the rural guards of the four adjoining villages assembled, armed with rifles, and went up into the mountains in search of the murderers. The rural guard of the village of La Bessée-Haute saw a group of men sitting down outside an old abandoned shed about fifteen hundred feet above the village. He advanced and ordered them to come forward, but all four of the bandits—they turned out to be the Baudissarts, who were taking a meal outside the shed—began to run away. The guard thereupon fired and dropped one of the men. He fired a second and third time, but without hitting the others. When the remaining guards joined him they found the dead body of the man killed by the rural guard of Bessée-Haute. The body was laid in the aban- doned shed, and as soon as the gendarmes from L’Argentiére arrived they recognized it, from the photograph they had, as that of Louis Baudissart. Concealed about his clothes were found a number of French notes, together with a French Government bond for five hundred francs which had belonged to the Abbé Rossignol. There could therefore no longer be any doubt that the Baudissarts had committed the murder, and that the bandits were still close at hand and might be captured if prompt action was taken. Accordingly, a large number of forest guards, gendarmes, and some fifty soldiers were mobilized, and began that same afternoon to search the mountains for the two remaining mis- creants and their female companion. The search had been going on for two days when, in broad day- light and in the very centre of the distr.ct surrounded by police . and troops, two women, one of whom was wheeling an ordinary wheelbarrow on which was a quar- ter of beef, stopped in front of the house of the district road- mender, or cantonnier, The village of La Bessée, where the priest was murdered. floor, groaning. They lifted bim up and took him to his bed, bleeding from a pistol-wound in the lower part of the throat. He recovered sufficiently to make them understand what had happened, but dicd before medical assistance arrived. It seemed to the housekeeper that she recog- rized the voice of one of the priest’s murderers a man named Toye, who was eating his midday meal at the time. The “ women ’’—who were dressed like mountain peasants—opened the door, made a rush at the roadmender as he hastily rose from the table, knocked him down, bound him hand and foot, and then threatened him with instant death unless he told them where he had put his money. Toye was a stubbern man, and he only replicd,

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“To blazes with you both! I won’t tell you where my money is—or even if I've got any. If you kill me, you won’t be any the better off.” “We will soon see about that,” said the taller of the two “ women,” and, pulling off the un- fortunate Toye’s boots, they dragged him over to the stove on which he had just cooked his dinner, and placed the strugging man’s feet against the heated iron. Toye screamed out in agony and bit the hand of one of the robbers so severely, as he tried to gag the road- mendcr’s mouth, that the bitten thief dropped Toye to the floor. As this hap- pened the door was thrown open, and a young man, armed with an automatic pistol, rushed in and shouted in a. shrill ‘veice i— “Get away at once ! The gendarmes are coming down the hillside !" The ‘ women ’’— who were none other than the two remaining bandits—hastily tucked up their petticoats and rushed out, leaving the road-mender lying on the floor of the room. They were, however, seen by the police, and a regular fusillade ensued. Many shots were fired on both sides, and a forest guard named Martin, who accompanied the police as a guide, was badly wounded. The elder brother, Alexander Baudissart, and the young ‘‘ man ”’ (who was probably “ Ginger Mary ’’) got away, but Ernest Baudissart, finding escape hopeless—he was covered by half-a-dozen rifles at close range—threw up his hands and surrendered. The prisoner, still dressed in his woman's clothes, was handcuffed and carried off to the prison at Briangon. He refused to say a word, but when, next day, in presence of the local coroner, Dr. Petit, Ernest was confronted with the dead body of his brother Louis, he broke down and wept. For several weeks the search for the remaining bandit, Alexander, and for ‘‘ Ginger Mary "’ was continued, but without result, and as winter was now, approaching and the autumn snows made the mountains dangerous, the hunt was tempo- rarily abandoned, it being assumed that the out- law and his companion had succeeded: in hiding themselves in Italian territory. A magistrate was appointed to question the captured bandit, Ernest, but, though he readily admitted his identity, he refused to answer any questions concerning his brother Alexander or “Ginger Mary.” _ After being detained for a number of weeks in the prison at Briangon, he was about to be brought to trial when a remarkable thing Vol. xliv.—23, The mountains above La Bessée, where Louis Baudissart was shot. THE BLUE BANDITS. 337 happened. The prisoner succeeded, in some extraordinary manner, in making his escape from jail. Though the local authorities show great reticence about the details of the bandit’s escape, it is believed it was effected in the following manner. There was detained in the prison a banker’s clerk, underg: ing a sentence of six months’ imprisonment for fraudulent misappropriation of funds. This man, who was the only other prisoner, was allowed to have his dinner sent in from an hotel in the town. The dinner basket was brought to the jail every evening by an elderly little Italian waiter, with a white mous- tache and short beard. This man was accus- tomed to wait in the jail parlour whilst the prison warders took out the dishes, examined them, and then carried the basket in to the prisoner, hand- ing back to the waiter the plates he had brought the day before. Eventually the warders got to know the little old-fashioned Italian waiter, and sometimes—to save themselves trouble, or because they were short-handed at the time, owing to the war—they allowed him to take the food direct to the prisoner’s cell. The waiter had to pass the door of the cell in which the cap- tured bandit, Ernest Baudissart, was confined, and it is supposed that the outlaw succeeded in getting into communication with him. Certain it is that one evening, when the assis- tant warder was out on leave and only the chief jailer was in charge, Ernest Baudissart escaped from his prison, his flight not being discovered until the following morning. The same evening the little old Italian waiter disappeared from the hotel where he had been employed for nearly three months. That same evening, too, at L’Argentiére, some twelve miles away, the wife of the local butcher —the butcher himself being away, mobi'ized with the army—was standing at the door of her shop, when she saw a couple of French soldiers in the street. She noticed that they wore very shabby uniforms, and that one of them was of much slighter build than the other. They came up to itized by MSs OO

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338 her and asked if they could buy beef to make a pot-au-feu. She hesitated for a moment, for it was past closing time, and then said she would get them a piece of beef. She went into the back of the shop, brought them out three pounds of beef for boiling, with vegetables to make soup, and they paid her and went their way. They had hardly gone when a deaf-mute named Alphand, well known in L’Argentiére, who had formerly stayed for several weeks in a house where the Baudissarts had lived as smug- glers, came up in great excitement, and, with inarticulate cries and many gestures, made the butcher’s wife understand that the two soldiers she had just served, and whom he had been following for some little distance, were none other than two of the redoubtable Baudissart bandits ! The butcher woman was so terrified that she at once barricaded herself in her house, and it was not until the next morning that, accom- panied by Alphand, the deaf-mute, she went to the office of the constabulary and told her story, By that time all trace of the “soldiers ” had been lost. Nothing more was heard of the bandits until the 8th of May, 1919, when Alphand reported to the police that he had seen Alexander Baudis- sart between nine and ten in the morning near St. Martin’s, at the foot of the Aiguilles moun- tain. The bandit was then limping somewhat, and on seeing Alphand had made off, leaving behind him a pair of skis, which the deaf-mute brought with him to the police-station. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The detectives from Lyons and a body of gendarmes immediately started in pursuit, but the fugitive had thirty-six hours’ start of them. They found the cave in which he had been living for some weeks, for there was a small stock of provisions stored there, but the bandit once more gave them the slip. Later on, in June, the Italian police reported they had captured Ernest Baudissart, who had escaped from the prison at Briangon the previous year. The Italian newspaper, the Stampa, in its issue of the 15th of June, 1919, thus reports the bandit’s arrest :— “In the night between the 14th and 15th of June, Ernest Baudissart, the bandit, who escaped last year from the jail at Briangon, in France, and who has given both the Italian and French police so much trouble, was arrested in the high mountains near Fenestrel by a sergeant of Carabineers, assisted by several gendarmes. The sergeant had accidentally discovered the secret hiding-place where the bandits kept_their pro- visions and their munitions. The Carabineers lay in wait and caught Ernest Baudissart as he entered the hut, loaded with a stock of provisions which had been stolen.” At the time of writing the only bandit still at large is the eldest of the three brothers, Alexander, who is twenty-seven years of age. The police can find no trace of him, nor have they succeeded in catching “‘ Ginger Mary,” the elusive woman who, with a devotion worthy of a better cause, has so often succeeded in defeating the ends of justice. AN EXTRAORDINARY The photograph here reproduced shows a strange mode of penance witnessed by one of our corre- spondents in Luck- now, who writes as follows concerning this superstitious custom of the Hindus :— “The _penitential pilgrimage I am about to describe is under- 2 year. place invariably on a INDIAN PILGRIMAGE. exceedingly scanty, which is just as well, seeing that it takes place during the hot- test season of the year. If the journey is likely to take two or three days, the penitent may halt at night for food and rest, in which case he sets up some mark to show where he has left the road, and resumes his journey from that point on the’ morrow. Only men may perform the »Tuesday, usually ir penance, but women the first half of May. and children are The penance consists allowed to accompany in the asuring of them on foot, sup- his length on the plying them with food ground by the peni- and fanning them tent from his home with punkahs made of to the temple, often a distance of many miles. palm leaves. Having arrived at their goal, the He th himself on the ground at full stretch, — penitents present their offerings in money or kind to and with a ierd or a stone m a mark within t tendant priests, who utter a few words~ of reach of his fingers; he then gets up, sets his feet on benediction. It can readily be imagined that every the mark, and repeats the proce ontinuing to do year there are deaths from exhaustion and exposure this, with alternate rising and prostration, to the end of his journey. The dress worn during the pilgrimage is during the pilg ige, but the enthusiasts are not thereby deterred.

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH oo The story of a wonderful journey. In this instalment Mr. Franck carries the reader into the wilds of Northern Peru, describing the perils of his ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. HORNE. approach toInca Land. “Could he know the truth beforehand,” he says, “no sane man would sentence himself to tramp this route of the Andes.” ey Ii. HAD been a_ full half-year in Ecuador when I turned my atten- tion to the problem of getting out i of it. Ecuador, however, seemed as completely cut off from the country just over her southern boundary as from Europe. To get to Peru overland from Loja, where I was staying, was, I was told, almost an impossible task. Ultimately, however, a few bold Lojanos admitted that I might be able to push on to the frontier by way of Gonzanama, though they persisted in calling it a ‘terrible undertaking,” even for a man who claimed to have walked from Quito. That route led far west of a line drawn through Huancabamba to Cajamarca, and there was nothing to show that it would connect with any trail beyond the frontier. In the end, my informants all washed their hands of the matter. The rainy season was nearing its height; sure death lurked along the bandit-infested frontier ; none but amphibious animals and crack-brained gringoes would stir forth from the cosy little cit On the morning of April 2oth i finally took the south road. The few arrievos I met carried rusty old flint-locks, suggesting the dangers of the frontier; the huts along the way grew more and more rare, and degenerated from thick adobe walls to upright reeds carelessly stopped with mud. The trails of the Andes do not run merely from town to town, but from hovel to hovel, like foraging soldiers, giving the traveller a zigzag course that at least trebles the distance. I was prowling along the trail, striving to pick up the scent again, when I was set upon by three unusually large aggressive curs. I did my best to drive them off with sticks and stones, but when there remained no other alternative I drew my revolver and sent the largest to his happy hunting-grounds. Instantly a crashing of the bushes sounded high up in a jungled patch above, and the angry voice of an unseen in the dialect of the region: ‘‘ Scoundrel, you'll pay me for my dog! Caramba!”’ Crime is frequently immune so near an international boundary, and I rounded the hillside cautiously, cocked revolver in hand ; but the bellowing of the invisible native was soon swallowed up behind me, and only the oppressive silence of the mountain solitude surrounded me once more. I was beginning to realize that I should not reach the frontier, and perhaps not ever shelter, befcre dark, wher, at some distance off, in a setting of primeval forest solitude, I was astonished to catch sight of a large hacienda house—a gaunt, rambling building that sug- gested some starving creature lost in the wilder- ness. Almost as I reached it a thunder-storm broke with a crash, and set a hundred brooks tearing their way down the steep mountain-side to which the building clung. The house was locked and unoccupied, the only human beings I encountered being two Indian boys of eight and twelve, huddled under the projecting caves of a half-ruined outbuilding across the cobbled yard. Prowling about the hacienda house, I found at one end a room that was “locked” with a Piece of string. According to the boys, it was a hacienda “ school,” in which at certain seasons an employée of the “ patron ’’ taught the male children of those peons who paid two dollars a year for tuition. Dusk was thickening into wet night when the Indian boys crept up to where I sat on the broad veranda, overlooking a far- reaching, yet indistinct, vista of wooded moun- tains and valleys, to assure me that I should be killed and robbed during the night. “We are all so poor here that when a rich man like your Grace passes everyone tries to rob tam,” asserted the older, with unusual eloquence for his race. ‘‘ Here all the people are robbers, and it is only a few days since a traveller was killed down in the valley there.” I was sceptical, but that did not hinder me countryman screamed

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340 from making sure that my revolver was well- oiled and ready for instant action. The window of the school-room, high above the ground, but only a few feet from the roof of an old ruin, was heavily barred—with picces of wood! Beyond what was probably an imagined alarm, however, I was not disturbed, and dawn found me greeting the Indian boys, who, whispering through the barricaded door, wanted to know whether I was still alive and ready for the two raw eggs they had collected. The trail down which I jolted, after my humble breakfast, had exploded into a score of barcly visible paths that spread in every direction over the dtear, furnace-hot hills. It seemed as if, once near the frontier, every traveller cither dashed blindly forward to get quickly across it unseen, or lost his courage and - fled back into the interior. 1 set a course for the thread-like river almost directly below, which, nearly a quarter of a mile wide, and swollen by the rains above, raged swiftly by, a barrier of unknown possibili- ties. I piled my baggage on the shore, and, stripping to the waist, waded in. The powerful current all but swept me off my feet, and the water quickly reached my upper garments. I therefore returned to strip entirely, strapped my revolver about my chest, and, picking The“<ui a stout stick from the under- growth, fought my way inch by inch to the opposite shore. I had to go back, however, for my possessions; and it required five crcssings, trusting only a few of them at a time to the treacherous current, and more than an hour of unremitting vigilance, before I had landed my bedraggled belongings at last on the shores cf Peru. By careful calculation, checked by native record, I was four hundred and sixty-six miles south of Quito and six hundred and thirty from the Colombian border. I made my way along until I came upon a labyrinth of ccw-paths. That one which most nearly agreed with my compass finally turned due east ind crawled off through the bushes, leaving me standing pathless in a maze of barren cactus-grown hills. Struggling over them, by dead reckoning, now scrambling to a thorn-barricaded summit from which stretcl ed vistas of more thorny-jungled hills, now crashing with lacerated skin down into another desert valley, where a few wild jackasses browsed on the scanty leaves of bristling bushes, I beheld again and again the same idertical scene of dreary nothingnes:. Inch by inch I tore my way along through the densest wilderness of briars and brambles I have ever scen, strugg!ing to release the bundle after | inea-pigs oa which the Author ving the wilderness, has furnished the principal meat of the Andean Indians for ages. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. : on my shoulders after I had myself escaped, and ever on the watch for snakes and wild animals. Withcut real food for days, and burning with tropical thirst, my hand-to-hand conflict with the jungle was beginning to threaten disaster when there appeared far above me three Indian huts. A precipitous ravine lay between. I dived down into it, to emerge almost an hour after- ward, torn, biceding, and smeared with mud, at the edge of another and hitherto unseen jungled chasm, backed by a nearly impassable patch of uncultivated sugar- cane. My legs were trembling with weakness when I at last approached an Indian in his hut door, but I put on a stern ap pearance to suggest what might happen if he refused me food and drink. Though expressionless, like all his race, he proved unusually tractable, and soon brought out to where I sat m the shade, against the eastern hut-wall, a steaming gourdful of the ordi- narily despised yuca,.and what seemed to be very young pork. I had half-emptied the dish before a bone too tiny for such an origin caused me to look up inquiringly. “Cui,” laconically. Though I had cften heard them squeaking about the earth floors of wayside huts, it was my first taste of guinea-pig— to this day the chief meat of the Andean Indian. Beyond the hut the trail passed close to a large tiled house, where a barefoot man of Indian type, though white of skin as myself, answered my request for a bed by silently spreading a small square of cloth on a log under the projecting eaves, and went on with his task of mending with an adze the crooked stick that served him as a p!ough. An enamelled sign on the house-wall, announcing it an “ Estanco de Sal,”’ was the only outward evidence that I had left Ecuador behind. In Pern, salt, like tobacco, is a Government monopoly, sold only in licensed shops. I stayed there for the night, and when 1 resumed my journey in the morning a dense fog which had enveloped the mountain-side turned to rain. For hours I strained upward, and by noon I was far up where the rivers are born, fog and clouds hiding all but the imme- diate world about me. When all the hunger of the past days scemed to have accumulated, until I felt like some starving beast of prey, I came upon a house of corsiderable size. Half skating, Lalf wading down to the door, I found an old and a younger woman of much Indian blood squatting in the earth-floored kitchen near a large steaming kettle over the familiar three-stone cooking-stove of the Andes. said the Indian,

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. “No food,” they replied, unfeelingly. I stepped in, swung off my load, and, showing Peruvian silver, announced that I had come to stay until they sold me food. The women sat motionless, with that passiveness the Indian so often depends upon to drive off importunate people. I oftered any reasonable price for one of the chickens wandering about the room. The older woman mumbled the clumsy thread- bare lie, “‘ Son ajenos"’ (they belong to someone else). To my suggestion of roasted plantains, she answered that she was ill. When I inquired the contents of the kettle, both took refuge in the exasperating silence that is the last weapon of their race. A certain amount of patience is a virtue; too much is a positive vice. So I picked the kettle off the fire, raked from the ashes one cf the roasting plantains, found a tin plate and a wooden spoon stuck behind a sapling beam of the mud wall, and retired again to the block cf wood on which I had been seated. The pair watched me in stolid silence. When I had filled the plate the younger one rose to carry off the kettle. I requested her, in the voice cf an ill-tempered colonel commanding a widely-scattered regiment, to leave it where it was until I had had my fill. Thereupon the pair fled precipitately from the room, flinging over their shoulders some threat of calling the man of tbe house. I knew the Andean Indian far too well to fear trouble, but turned my face to the door and loosened my revolver in its holster. The kettle contained a boiling-hot stew of beans and corn, sufficient to have fed a dozen men. Six of them might still have feasted on what was left when I tossed a sol—easily four times the whole kettle’s worth—into the empty plate and marched on down the reeking mountain-side. Had I but known it, however, I might have avoided resorting to force. Barely a mile beyond appeared Aya- vaca, a dismal and orderless collection of gloomy adobe houses, sprawling on the edge of what evidently would have shown as a great valley on a clear day, and literally running with red mid. I skated down into the plaza and, marching into the open office of the sub-prefect, sent the bedraggled soldier on guard to announce my arrival. A gaping group of awkward, mud-bespattered mountaineers quickly surrounded me, but with them arrived several white men in modern garb, one of whom announced himself as sub-prefect “My legs were trembling with weakness when I approached tiled an Ind 341 of the province of Ayavaca, and entirely at my service. I displayed my American and Ecuadorian documents, requesting him to take official cognizance of my entry into Peru, and expressed my august desire to rent for a day or two a room with bed, table, chair, and water supply—experience teaches the Andean traveller to specify in detail—and to be handed the menu-card. Life was dismal at best in Ayavaca, however. There were no real shops in the dreary mountain town, but only gloomy mud-huts where a few products were unofficially sold. The one side- walk was taken up by drenched and downcast asses, forcing pedestrians to splash through the unpaved street. The prodicts of the soil were not high priced : A guinea-pig—next to children the most plentiful product of the town—cost five cents; a live chicken, fifteen; but it was always easier to pay the price than to find the chicken for sale. Commerce was on the friend- to-friend basis, and he who would purchase must be well acquainted with the seller, or a protégé ot the all-powerful sub-prefect. Only liquor was to be had in abundance. The provincial officials, fram my host down to the village schoolmaster, were more or less in- toxicated from mid- morning to midnight. In that state, frank- ness protruded through their racial courtesy, and they were divided in their assertions be- tween the opinion that I was a spy sent out by my Government and the conviction that I had been offered some colossal price for covering the world on foot. With little more in- formation than that the next town I must hunt out of the wilder- ness was Huanca- bamba, I slid down the red slopes from Ayavaca, now and then glancing back to won- der what excuse even Spaniards could have considered sufficient to found a town in such a location. The sub- ian. prefect, far from pro- viding the Indian guide and carner he had so often promised in his cups, had bade me “ adios”’ from his bed, with the cheering assurance that I was speedily bound soon to lose my way and perish. The trail I happened to take zigzagged quickly down into the bed of a snarling moun- tain stream between sheer rock walls, choked with tough, thorny urdergrowth. Alcng this Tavine it meandered from rock to rock, dragging me in pursuit through an endless tangle of

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342 vegetation, often by vaulted tunnels through which I could only tear my way by creeping on all fours. Hours later I came upon a miserable little shack of open-work reeds and upright poles topped by thatch. On the ground beside it a slatternly female was cooking for several horsemen. Two rivers ahead were reported greatly swollen, and I accepted an invitation to wait and accompany a youth bound for his employer’s hacienda. He was by no means a peon, being assistant mayordomo of the es- tate toward which we werc headed, and even wore shoes. Yet when I photographed him, it required considerable explanation to give him any clear concep- tion of what the result would be of ‘ point- ing the foolish little machine ” at him. “Where is your ‘native land?” he in- quired. When I had an- swered, he rode for fully ten minutes in puzzled silence. Then he called out over his shoulder :— “That country of yours, is it a village or a plantation ?” The world,as he knew it—and his knowledge was on a par with that of thousands of dwellers in the Andes—was made up of those two divisions. It was nearing dusk, and I was near exhaustion under my load and the pitiless tropical sun of seven unbroken hours of swift, rough tramping, when my companion pointed out far ahead, where the wall of the Central Cordillera shut off the horizon, a red dot in the green immensity ---the hacienda house. Black night had fallen when we reached the half-constructed building, and we stumbled on for some time more before we came upon the rambling thatched ruin in which the owner still lived. He was Eduardo Medina, once a law student in the University of San Marcos of Lima, a well-read, earnest man, contrasting strangely with the uncouth country- men about him. His wife, a handsome Limena, was the first woman of education I had so far seen in rural South America. This extraordinary Latin-American couple, noting the swarms of lawyers that vegetate in provincial capitals, had renounced the uninspiring flesh-pots of the s, and purchasing fer a song some twenty- » square leagues of semi-tropical solitude, had come to start life anew in a wilderness. Fertile tracts of valleys and mountains twenty-five miles square can be bought in this section of Peru for two hundred and fifty dollars. Yet this does not mean that wealth awaits the purchaser. The scanty population “1 purchased a donkey.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, has no stimulus to exertion in a region where Nature supplies their simple wants almost without labour, and to Medina life was a con- stant struggle for employés. In days of fiesta, when money was needed to pay the priest or celebrate a festival, many came to contract their services and accept an “advance,” but with no representative of Government at hand, there was no means of forcing them to do the work for which they had been prepaid. Some laboured languidly and intermittently a few weeks a year, none more than half the days that were not sacred to some festival and general drunken- ness. On the hacienda were a scattered score of arrendatarios— native families who rent a patch of ground on which to build a hut and plant a bit of yuca and corn, witha right to pasture a few cattle on the estate for a yearly rental of two dollars, which was commonly as hard to collect as labour. The almost total lack of transportation gave no market for any ex- cess of produce, and here was the extra- ordinary case of a “university-educated man and wife owning what would be with us an entire county, yet living a hand-to-mouth existence very little above abject poverty. Oranges, which the owner asserted he would be only too happy to sell at five centsa hundred, rotted under the trees faster than the hogs could eat them; mangoes lay where they fell, and the splendid chirimoya was a mere worthless wild fruit no one took the trouble to gather, except as personal appetite prompted. Medina, when I left, insisted on sending 3 peon to carry my luggage and serve as guide. When at last we sighted the town of Huanca- bamba from far off, the peon halted and asked to be allowed to turn back. He seemed to fancy his services had been chiefly those of ‘‘ guide” instead of bagsage-carrier. I refused to take up my burden again merely for what I took to be a whim to be syack lolling in the shade of his own mango tree. It was not until later that I realized that, like most country youths of his class in Peru, he dreaded entering the provincial capital, lest he should be seized and forced to serve in the army. The swift Huancabamba River we crossed astride the peon’s horse, though not both at 3 time. When I had dismounted on the farther bank, my companion called the animal back by a peculiar sound, half-whistle, half-cluck, and not long afterwards we clattered into the famous city of Huancabamba. Once dismissed, the

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA, peon left town at once, though darkness was already at hand. Medina had in- sisted that I pay him nothing, as he owed the hacienda more than two years’ rent—nearly four dollars. On the map Huancabam ba seems of about the size and importance of Philadel phia; actually it is a moribund mud village in a half- sterile hollow between barren, towering moun- tains. It can hardly be that I was the first stranger to enter Huancabamba. Yet one might have fancied so. Whether it was due to some canine sense of smell that we of less- favoured lands lack, I never.succeeded ir getting within ten yards of an inhabitant before he was staring at me with bulging eyes and hanging jaw, all work, movement, and even conver- sation ceasing as I drew near. If I passed behind a group at a street corner, their necks went round with one accord, like those of owls, and they stared after me in unbroken silence as long as I remained in sight. A long stretch of wilderness ahead required the carrying of many pounds of food, and down the valley of the Huancabamba I wobbled like an octogenarian. Most of the way lay across a desert of mighty broken chasms, leprous-dry under the blazirg sun, scarred, gashed, and split with scores of lines, almost any of which might have been mistaken for the trail. Some- how I chanced to pick the right one, and brought up at dusk at the hut of Alexandro Bobbio, a Government employs, stationed here in his thatched hut to check the cargoes of leaf tobacco. From Bobbio I purchased a donkey, and with my goods strapped on its back we Zigzaggcd high over a range, coming out above what was evidently an immense valley, heaped tull of white clouds. In this region of Northern Peru the Andes break down into great sweltering gorges and tropical wilder- Nesses instead of the unbroken high Pampas the range seems to promise. More times than I could have counted, ‘‘ Cleopatra,”” my four-footed luggage-carrier, felt down lengthwise, crosswise, frontwise, and hindwise— on her héad, on the side of her neck, on her bedraggled tail, on every Part of a donkey known to anatomy, showering me with mud from the crown of my hat to my inundated ay “Cleopatra” and the Autnor. 343 boots, and soaking my possessions in seas of mud. Now and then she lay down in despair, and sometimes attempted to shirk her just portion of this world’s troubles by dashing into the impenetrable dripping jungle and smashing. my maltreated belongings against the trees. When at last this “ royal highway ”’ waded across the barnyard of the ‘‘ Hacienda Charapé,” it did not require a particularly sincere invitation to cause me to spend the rest of the day there. The hacendados of this region, owning whole ranges of mountains and valleys, live scarcely better than the Indians in their hovels. Both father and son in this case wore shoes and read the Lima newspapers—from a month to six weeks old—yet their earth-floored and walled dining-room swarmed with unspeakable peon children, and pigs all but uprooted the table as we ate. The slatternly female cooking over three stones in an adjoining sty served us with boiled rice, mixed with cubes of pork in a single bowl, from which we all helped ourselves in- differently with spoon or fingers. Father and son slept on a sort of home-made table covered with a pair of ragged blankets in a mud den overrun by domestic animals, and littered with all the noisome odds and ends of a South American harness-room. Yct their speech was as redundant with formalities as that of a Spanish cavalier in the King’s court. The “‘road’’ we traverscd the following day was worse than that of the day before. Slowly, monotonously, day after day we pushed on through the Amazonian jungle. The absolute solitude of the region, ever shut in by im- penetrable jungle, with never a view of the horizon, with no sign of the existence of humanity, and no other sounds than the occasional scream of a bird and the constant roar of the stream, had a peculiar effect on me. The very silence added to the gloom, until I felt like screaming. Day after day I tramped behind “ Cleopatra” from dawn to dusk without a pause, yet I covered scarcely half the distance I might have plodded alone. Even where the trail was level and dry, the docile yet headstrong brute could not exceed two miles an hour. I had lost account of days entirely when, in the dead silent woods, a few decrepit and weather-blackened huts grew up, several drowsy, half-naked beings in Preparing the Author's dinner oa a typical Ecuadorian cooking-stove of stones,

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344 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Not until the morning of the third day did the ferrymen conclude to attempt to pass over the ‘ Government people ’’—the mail-man and this im- patient gringo with the official order from the alcatde. The raft had been dragged well up-stream, where we waded to it through bristling jungle and knee-deep mud. The chasqué’s horse, experienced in these matters from years of carrying the mails over this route, was driven in and forced to swim to a sand-bar well out in the stream. For a long time the animal stood like a prisoner at bay against the shouting and stoning and shaking of cudgels of those The Government fos th across the Huancabamba, Mr. Franck nearly Tost his life im crossing this stream. human form gazing languidly at me from the doorways, and before I knew it I was treading the streets of the provincial capital, the “city” of Jaen. , It is probably the hottest and certainly the hungriest provincial capital in Peru. The customary food of the populace included nothing a well-bred dog would have touched in any but @ ravenous state. Jaen’s chief pastime for speeding up the monotonous stretch between the cradle and the grave is the consumption of the native canazo, and only those who rose early were likely to find a completely sober man. It was evident, when I started on my journey again, that I must deny myself the companion- ship of “ Cleopatra.’’ I accepted the alcatde's offer of three dollars for the animal and her “furniture,” and felt a glow of satisfaction, tempered with regret, at the loss of a good companion. I managed to secure another pack-donkey—a matron of forty, comparatively speaking, and correspondingly set in her ways. Within the first mile she suddenly bolted into the thorny wilderness at the first suggestion of an opening, and left me dripping with sweat and speckled with the blood of a dozen superficial lacerations before I again Jaid hands on her in an impassable clump of brambles and cactus. At red-hot noon we reached the Huancabamba River, where it swings round to join the Maranon and divides the never-to- be-forgotten Province of Jaen from that of Cutervo. A laborious two hours brought us to the long-heralded Puerto Sauce, where the Government main- tains a “ ferry ’—five small logs bound together with vines, and) manned by three balseros housed in two rced- Kennels. Here we squatted out the day, watching the coffee - coloured stream race by, on its long journey to the Atlantic, with all the impctuosity of the rainy scason. The Government postman had been waiting here nearly a week, his mail-sacks stacked, and his horse tethered close at hand. on the bank, but at length, seeing no other escape, it set out to at- tempt the main branch. Its brute instinct would have proved a better guide than the opinions of more rational beings. Struggling until its snorting echoed from the surrounding jungle, it fought the brown, racing waters, gradually nearing the farther bank, yet swept even more swiftly along by the inexorable stream. It strained savagely to reach the strip of beach that served as landing-place until, swept past it without gaining a footing, it seemed suddenly to give up in despair, and only its head, swinging slowly round and round with the current, was seen for a short minute before it swept on out of sight down the jungle- walled torrent. The chasqui gazed after the lost animal, shrugged his shoulders with the resigned “‘ Vaya!” of a confirmed fatalist, and took his seat beside me on our baggage, tied securely near the back of the frail craft. The three brown ferrymen, naked but for palm-leaf hats and a strip of rag, crossed themselves elaborately, and took a deep draught of canazo, Then they pointed the nose of the raft up-stream, pushed off, snatched up their clumsy paddles; with a hoarse implora- tion to the Virgin, and fought for dear life and the sand-bar. This gained, we disembarked and manceuvred to the farther side, then pushed off into the main stream. It snatched at us like some greedy monster. The sand-bar raced away up-stream at express speed, and the farther bank sped past like a blurred cinematograph ribbon, The main street of the “ provincial capital” of Jaen.

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. the paddlers being urged on by tlieir own and the mail-man’s raucous shouts and imprecations. Bit by bit we drew nearer the hurrying wall of verdure. Now we could al! but touch the racing forest-wall. I snatched in vain at a sapling bowing its head in the stream. With a last faint gasp, the balseros dropped their paddles on the raft, and all five of us grasped at the vege- tation, which tore and lacerated us cruelly. When we had each gathered an armful of it, we clung so stoutly to this last hold that the raft was all but swept from under us before we swing it up into a bit of cove, where the balsevos, falling at once into their racial apathy, drooped like wilted rags at the bow, while one of them panted weakly, “A little more, senores, and we were all dead men.” For another long day we struggled up- stream. I say we ad visedly, for—a point for psychologists — since taking up my own load again I could not rid myself of the fancy that I was two distinct persons, one of whom was forcing the other to make the journey. In the night I often started up, fancying the other fellow— the one who did the walking and carried the load—had escaped. Could he know the truth beforehand, no sane man would sentence himself to tramp this route of the Andes, to suffer almost in- cessant hardships, the mono- tony of the same experiences over and over again, the dreary intercourse with a people so stupid, so low of intelligence, that long con- tact with their childish minds brings with it the danger of one’s own faculties turning childish. I had been lost for hours when the “highway ”’ brought me just before sunset to the first of a scattered cluster of stone and mud kennels. A leather-faced old Indian, speaking the first Quichua I had heard since Cuenca, gave me a handful of ichu-grass to sit on outside the smaller of his two huts, and left me to the company of his prowling yellow curs. Night had fallen completely before a woman brought me a gourd of boiling potato mush, but at length the old” Indian, overcoming his racial indifference and distrust, opened the door of the hut against which I lay and let me into a sort of warehouse. In it were heaps of the huge balls of yarn spun 345 “For hours the atrocious trail rigzageed almost pervendicu- £4 iarly down the mountain-side,” by the Indian women on their prehistoric spindles, a supply of paramo grass I might spread on the earth floor, and several large bolts of homespun cloth of coarse texture and crude colours with which I might feather my nest, once it was late enough to hope the owner would net catch me at it. In the adjoining family hut a baby had been crying incessantly for an hour or more. The

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346 after-chill of the fever was settling upon me when a young Indian entered, bearing the infant, and a handf.l of twisted grass as torch. Without preliminary he requested me, if I understood his language, to spit in the child’s face. “I don’t understand you,” I replied, in my imperfect Quichua. “Do me the favour to spit in its face,’”’ he repeated, and by THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, 7 left incomplete because in colonial days every finished building had to pay tribute to the King of Spain. Whatever the cause, their con- dition gives an unusual architectural effect that could not have been equalled by any design of man, and all who find pleasure in the “ pic- turesque ’’ must hope that Cajamarca will never grow wealthy enough to finish them—a mis- fortune that is not way of illustration spat swiftly and lightly in the face of the squalling infant. “But why not do it yourself?” I protested. “Tt must be someone the baby does not know,” he explained. When it had become evident that there was no other way of being left in peace, I rose and did as I was asked. To my astonishment, it ceased its wailing instantly, stared wide-eyed into my face until the father turned away, and was not again heard during the night. Floor- walking Benedicts may adopt this bit of domestic science from the ancient civilization of the Incas free of charge. There were but nine miles left to do in the morning, but the mere numeral gives little hint of the real task. Both road and bridges con- tinued strikingly conspicuous by their absence ; for hours the atrocious trail zigzagged unevenly, at times almost perpendicularly, down what was left of the mountain-side. Exhausted and bedraggled, I staggered at last into Cajamarca. I presented no conven- tional sight, but the people gave me compara- tively little attention. No doubt they were accustomed to such apparitions. Cajamarca, as everyone whose historical education was not criminally neglected knows, was not founded—it was found; and, like anything else picked up by the Spaniards of those days, was never returned. As in Quito, there remain almost no monu- ments of pre-Conquest days, for the Incas seem to have built here chiefly of adobe. The most intelligent of Cajamarca’s monks doubted whether there was even a Temple of the Sun or a House of the Virgins to transform into monastery or convent. The unique characteristic of Cajamarca, and almost her only stone buildings, are her half- dozen splendid old churches, soft-browned by time as those of Salamanca, and having the appearance of being half-ruined by earthquakes. The natives asserted, however, that they were One of the many unfinished huihed of Cajamarca. imminent. The Indians and gente del pueblo of Cajamarca have nearly as much colour of dress as those of Quite, and are even more ragged and ab jectly. poverty- ridden. Filthy, maimed _ beggars adorn the fagades of churches, and the aboriginals speak a dialect of Quichua, though all know Spanish. The “ upper ’’ classes struggle to keep the theoretically white collars and the dandified shoes that mark their caste, and dawdle through life as shopkeepers, lawyers without clients, doctors whose degrees furnish them little but the title, or any makeshift occupation that will spare them from soiling their tapering fingers with vulgar labour. Opportunity is a rare visitor, yet in a century, perhaps, there has not been born in Cajamarca a boy with the initiative and energy to tramp three days over the western range and stow away for some place where he could make a man of himself. Almost at the hour of my arrival an euamoured youth of Cajamarca committed suicide, leaving a letter in which he declared life was a farce. Had he been with me through the Province of Jaen, he would have found it more nearly a melodrama ! But the best of Cajamarca is her wonderful valley, as seen from the rocky hillock ten minutes above the main plasa. The view across it, green with the deep green of the cactus, and clumped now by the Australian eucalyptus in contrast to the treeless days of the Incas, is in certain moods and as; the most beautiful of the Andes, though lack- ing the surrounding snowclad mountains that add so much to the vale of Quito. Here I came often to sit above the murmur of the town, until the God of the Incas, after his daily journey around the earth to see that all was well, sank behind the broad paramo of Yana- cancha, blotting out the valley stretching away to the southward, where the trail following the old Inca highway down the backbone of the continent was already beckoning me on. . (To be continued.)

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Il. E were wak- ened to the disappoint- ing reality of captivity again — for we had slept—by a Jew- ish youth wbo brought us food in a combination of pots that fitted one upon another. A table was brought in and set for several persons, and a_ few moments later Hakki Bey, the commandant of Bagdad, a tall, stern- looking colonel of gen- darmerie, entered, fol- lowed by two or three doctors and a young Turkish flying officer. Producing a bottle of whisky, which he placed on the table with much _ ostentation and satisfac- -tion, Hakki Bey informed us, with excessive polite- ness, that we would dine together. The Turk is tradition- ally hospitable, but we Imew that in this case the hospitaity would serve a doub‘e purpose ; we were to be pumped for information concern- ing our own troops. The whisky was pressed upon us, but we were as abstemious as any prohibition cam- paigner. And—much to Hakki Bey’s half-con- cealed disgust—we were utter babes on the sub- ject of war, generally managing to switch the conversation to other channels and _ listening with great interest to a fanatical denunciation of the Armenians by one of the doctors present, who had imbibed less wisely than we had. And I did not contradict, but on the other hand gave Cinmanis Aduontires ee Darang Scape —— by Carr TW While. DEC MULUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER This narrative—specially written for “The Wide World Magazine '’—de- scribes the thrilling experiences of an Australian flying officer who was cap- tured by the Turks while endeavouring to cut some telegraph wires outside Bagdad. Bnduring all kinds of hard- ships, Captain White was taken from prison-camp to prison-camp, always on the look-out for achance to escape, for he consistently refused to give his parole. Not for two weary years, however, did his opportunity come, and then he got away in a very clever and daring fashion. A series of night- mare adventures followed — narrow shaves of recapture, of death at the hands of Bolsheviks, and nerve-trying spells spent in hiding and disguise- - until at long last he reached Salonica and safety. No more remarkable story of personal adventure has emerged from the records of the war. doctor ; some topographical Fasel Bey, the flying officer, great credit for having discovered that it was a fav sparkin plug that had brought my aeroplane to earth Only the bibulous doctor was satisfied, though the quality of the food, which was better than anything we had tasted on service, pleased us. But we an- ticipated that our next interrogation would not be so mild. All through the night Arab porters brought large earthenware jars, and placed them in rows in the street below our window. They were des- tined for the trenches at Ctesiphon as con- tainers of water for the troops ; but, looking like ghostly white figures in the moonlight, they re- minded us vividly of the story of the “ Forty Thieves,’’ whose exploits were also staged in this same unchanging City of the Caliphs. But our chances of hiding in the jars, even had it been advisable, were small, for we were closely watched. There followed a day of intense ennui, which our sudden transition from continual activity to complete idleness ° made the more pcignant. Some slight diversions were the rcbandagir g of my head by a heavy-handed and morose old the recovery of my much-battered topee, which had evidently been salved from some Arab; attempts on our part to wheedle information, that might assist us to escape, from the youth: who brought

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348 us food; and the contemplation of the motley crowd of handcuffed Arab reinforcements that, with much weeping and wailing of relatives, was driven to the river to embark on ships for the front. Our observations from the window, however, were viewed with disfavour by Hakki Bey, who, enteringjunexpectedly, dryly observed that it was unsafe to look through the window, as we might fall out on to the bayonet of the sentry who stood beneath. We were thankful for the information. For, though it was impossible to fall out over the thkree-foot sill, we were unaware that a sentry stood in a recess immediately below us—and we had contemplated dropping from the window into the street, if we could get the other sentry away from our door for a few moments ! The sentry stood in the recess right enough, for late that night, with a clanking of sword and spurs, 2 brightly-clad staff officer entered our room and said that I was required by the com- mandant. Isupposed that this was the expected interrogation. Being led through the well- picketed streets of the bazaar to a large barracks, I saw the sentry whom Hakki Bey had men- tioned, and realized how hopeless escape was for the present. In a tawdrily-ornate office I was brought before the commandant and the English-speaking war-correspondent I had seen before. After an exchange of meaningless platitudes, between glares from Hakki as I smoked his best cigarettes, I was suddenly marched back again to hospital, to find that B—— had disappeared. I was taken to the barracks again the following aight, and, thoroughly exasperated after a day of absolute solitude, with no distraction in the way of reading or writing, and being prevented from looking out of the window, I so incensed the martial Hakki with prevarications, deliberate untruths, and absolute refusals to be drawn, in spite of his studied plausibility and threats, that my solitary confinement was continued for a week. But I gathered one piece cf definite information from his questioning, which was that a dastardly attempt to assassinate a greatly-feared political officer in our force—which attempt had almost proved fatal to another officer who was stabbed by mistake—was at the instigation of the Turkish commander or his satellites. The week’s solitary confinement, during which I felt at daggers drawn with the whole world, and during which my only entertainment was to watch the verminous sentry at the door clean his rifle, or devour with his comrades the food that I seldom felt disposed to touch, seemed like an age. At its termination B—— was returned. And, though we could have talked till we were tired, we purposely refrained, in case we were overheard. Twelve days after our capture we were awakered before dawn one morning and told to get ready at once to leave for Mosul. From occasional surreptitious glances through the window during the past two days, we had seen hundreds of wounded Turks, some crawling THE WIDE WURLD MAGAZINE. on hands and knees, others supported by less seriously-wounded comrades, making their way painfully but uncomplainingly through the streets to the hospital. And as there had been considerable excitement in the town, and we had heard a faint cannonade at night, we supposed that our troops were nearing the city, and that we were being hurried off on that account. We had been given ten liras each (about nine pounds), which we were told was to keep us for a month, and would be debited against our. pay by the British Government. And—after being almost flayed alive by the hospital barber by way of experiment—we had bought a razor between us, and a towel and a toothbrush each. So, imagin- ing that every moment was precious, and ignoring the threats and exhortations of our waiting escort, we set about delaying them by every possible expedient under the pretext of an elaborate morning toilette. But all things have an end. And, after a bag of dates, some flaps of unleavened bread, and a jer of water that we had sent our boy attendant out to purchase, had returned, and everything but ourselves had been removed from the room, we had to leave, for lack of further pretext. * Sammi Bey, the good-natured chief of the hospital, made us a present each of the mattress and quilt from our beds, for which we were ever grateful. And, as we heard that he himself had borne the expense of the really good food that had been supplied us, we left a cheque for the Red Crescent Society, which is a kindred organization to the Red Cross. At the water-front crowds of wounded, just unloaded from a river steamer, were endeavouring, unaided, to climb the steep river-bank on their way to hospital. Sometimes falling down with weakness, they would ask no aid, but rest awhile, essaying another attempt on hands and knees; and, stolid and uncomplaining, though our late enemies, and pitiable sights, they could not but excite our admiration. Without doubt it is the fortitude of the Turk, inured to hardship as he is, combined with his innate bravery, that made him the surprise-packet he proved during the war. We found that two avabahs (carriages) were ready for us on the other bank—one for ourselves, with a sentry and our guard commander, a handsome young Bagdad Turk who had cam- paigned in Tripoli, the Balkan War, and on every Turkish front in Turkey’s final war, the other for the remaining three dismounted members of our escort. After moving off, we had just begun to get among the potsherds, broken tiles, and heaps of garbage that mark the site of the Bagdad of Haroun el Raschid when we heard tte report of guns, and two shells burst over the city. This made us feel certain that the British force was close to the city, and that the shots were probably fired by our horse artillery. Ina fervent, if not altogether explicit, gesticulatory conversation, I endeavoured to persuade the commander of our guard that it would be advisable to return to Bagdad.

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. Much to our surprise, the vehicles were shortly afterwards headed towards the city again; but ovr joy was short-lived, for we found that our young officer merely wished to return home to secure his kit, and to bid farewell to numerous pretty sisters who did not deign tc unveil their ”A brightly-clad staff officer entered our room and said that | was wanted by the commandant.” faces and smile upon their adored brother’s two unhappy charges. ing again, we had only got a short way outside the city, and learnt that the shots were fired by Turkish guns practising against aircraft, wren the avabah containing the bandit- like members of our guard overturned on a mound, giving its members a severe shaking. We felt rather pleased. Then a donkey, bearing the grisly corpse of a gendarme, with the Head bound up in bloodstained rags and the 349 hands chopped off, passed by, driven by a quite unperturbable gendarme. Evidently he had fallen into Arab hands. Then a group of four horsemen, by a feigned attack, scared our guard into loading their rifles and taking cover. On closer approach, however, they turned out to be gendarmes who had also been sent as escort. From that moment any chances of escape seemed very remote. Late that night we halted at a gendarme post situated some miles off the road. Facing it was a large, ruined caravanserai, with ornate exterior decorations that had scen better days. Here the vehicles were parked, with one or two other caravans, the cattle of a neighbouring village, and a coffin caravan of pious defunct bound for the holy city of Kerbela. Our next halt was at a pretty little riverside town, principally remarkable for the fact that we were treated tc a mcal by the very corpulent

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35° magistrate, after all the local guidnuncs had, entered the dingy justice hall, had gravely salaamed, and, seated round us, had asked our loquacious guard commander every conceivable question concerning us, to which he responded with dramatic and evidently hyperbolic elo- quence. An unwitting, but almost unpardonable, breach of table etiquette on our part was a humorous compensation. For while Falstaff and Pistol, in the persons of our host and guardian, were samp- ling cubes of melon—which, we learnt afterwards, were something in the nature of an hors d’cuvres - -we attacked the meat and rice with such vigour, thinking it was our dish, and not knowing that everybody fed from the one plate, that we had had more than the lion’s share before we dis- covered our mistake. Travelling in an arabah, seated on the floor, is not exactly a comfcrtable method of pro- gression. But we thanked Allah we did not have to do the two hundred odd miles to Mosul on foot, as many a sick and weary soldier did some months later. Samara, whose golden, pear-shaped mosque dome and its ruins of the time of the Abbas- sides can be seen for many miles, is an unchanged city of the Arabian Nights, double walled, ex- clusively Oriental, and very beautiful—from a distance. There, after a long journey, and having gone to sleep in a cell of the filthy caravanserai, we were peremptorily crdered to appear before the mutaserif of the town. We crossed the Tigris in a crazy horse-boat, after even revolver shots at the occupants had failed to entice the crew of a gufah, or circular wicker coracle, to take us across. + The citizens were hostile, and we reciprocated the glares that we saw at the window of our bare cell. Eventually a Turk rushed in and, pulling the chairs from beneath us, rushed out again, muttering frantically. Consequently we were not pleased to see the oily-looking official and his circle of sycophants, who questioned us about our army. We told him that we had already answered all the questions that we intended to answer, at Bagdad, and we were speedily back in the cell. From Samara we crossed uninteresting desert courtry, where we saw rothing but rocks and huge outcrops of marble. After stopping one night at Tecrit, the birth- place of Saladin, where the Arabs look fiercer and bigger than at any other place where I have seen them, and seem to spend their time prin- cipally in exercising horses and greyhounds, we spent the following nights on our journey in poverty-stricken Arab camps, managing to get a wash and brush-up before entering Mosul, in company with numbers of rheumaticky old Arabs, at the hot springs of Hamman Ali. Before leaving Bagdad we had been told that we would be well treated at Mosul, and through the medium of Pushtu, which B—— spoke, he learned by questions through an Afghan of our guard that Mosul was a prison camp par excellence. B- had a penchant for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hunting, and I, personally, fancied some rambles among the mounds that covered Nineveh. We were sadly and ludicrously disillusioned on our arrival, however, for we were taken to a large building with massive walls which enclosed a flagged courtyard, and served both as a barracks and prison. Being led upstairs, we were taken through a room in which half-a-dozen filthy Arab guards lay on sheepskins on the stone floor, to an inner room, where in the semi-darkncss we could see two figures stretched out on Arab cots, and recognized them, though they were strangely wasted with fever and dysentery, as T.- and A of the Flying Corps, who had been captured about two months previous to our- selves. We imagined that we could improve matters, but we found we knew very little about the Turk. We also discovered that the three " y’s ’” —yok, yussek, and yarvin (“ no,” “ forbidden,” and ‘ to-morrow '’)—were all the Turkish we needed to understand. For complaints were ignored, every kind of neglect was practised, and we were as closely confined as if we were the worst of criminals. There were other prisoners, too, we discovered, and their story was as gloomy as that of our captured comrades. A subadar and some fifty Sepoys, who had formed the British Consulate guard at Bagdad, had been taken by the Turks at the outbreak of war over a year before. They had been marched to Mosul, where their warm clothing was taken from them, and were now miserably housed in cells beneath us. Unused to the cold, they were already beginning to feel the severity of winter, and some had died. There was one Britisher, a sergeant of a telegraph company, who had been taken during a raid by enemy cavalry behind our lines, during which the captair, crew, and escort of six or seven Indian soldiers on the steam launch wh.ch accompanied him kad been killed. He had been forced to run with the enemy cavalry during the greater part of two days before he was eventually sent on foot to Mosul. A week after our arrival, during which our fcllow-prisoners seemed to have considerably improved in health, R and F-. , two more pilots of our Flying Corps, who had been shot down by Turkish artillery when over Ctesiphon, arrived. They had had a more uncomfortable time than we had, and after having had some exciting experiences at the hands of Arabs at the time of their capture, did the journey to Mosul from Bagdad on donkeys. We were housed in two cells, measuring about mine feet by nine, each with a barred window that overlooked the courtyard of the Courts of Justice (?),.where starving Armenian women and children, in the last stages of misery after having been driven great distances across country in the general deportation of that unfortunate race from their homes, were begging alms. Across the Tigris we could sce the mounds of Nineveh. Between two sentrics, on twenty-five yards of a pestiferous, filth-covered balcony that overlooked the barrack square, we were able to promenade.

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. ” We were taken through a room in which half-a-dozen filthy Arab guards lav on sheep- skins on the stone floor.” This, for nearly five months in the case of T—— and A——, and two and a-half months in our own case, was the extent of our exercise ground, except on those rare occasions—about once a fortnight—when we were allowed to visit the Turkish bath, and en route to see a little of that city of the wilderness, and its extensive bazaars and motley crowd of loose-robed Arabs and savage, bandoliered, and hilted Kurds. For Mosul is on the border of Kurdistan, and those descendants of the Carduci, robbers and outlaws since the days of Xenophon, may often be seen swaggering through the city’s streets. A half-witted Arab, who purchased our food from the four-and-sixpence per day allowed us (always paid well in arrears and the bill forwarded to the British Government to be deducted from our pay), gained considerable revenue thereby. 35% He was almost useless in the matter of cooking, and in consequence we had ourselves to carry out the major part of this function with handfuls of brushwood, at the hole in the wall of the guardroom that did duty for a fireplace. But, though we slept on the floor, had a minimum of exer- cising room, no books, and ac- quaintance with every kind of filth and insect pest, we were able to make a pack of cards from pieces of cardboard, and draughts from various tokens; and altogether our con- dition was much better than that of the men. For the Turk places a great distinction between an officer and a soldier, which, though necessary, perhaps, in his own army, where the soldier is a clod-like, ignorant peasant and the officer a man of education. falls heavily on the educated soldier prisoners of his enemics. From three British officers who arrived in motley clothes during our fourth week in Mosul we learned that, though the British force was successful in its attack on Ctesiphon, the heavy

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352 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. losses entailed had necessitated a retreat to Kut-el-Amarah. During the retreat some barges containing about five hundred sick and wounded, and some transport and regimental dctails, had been cap- tured through grounding on sandbanks, and two of the officers, with two Royal Air Force mechanics, had been taken in a gallant attempt to rescue some of the stranded men in a launch. - Arabs had robbed the British prisoners, about forty in number, of every vestige of clothing. Barefooted, and only obtaining clothes by stripping Sepoys who died by the way, this unfortunate column was sent on a four days’ march of eighty miles to Bagdad. The officers were given a few cast-off garments by Turkish officers, and in Bagdad--where the sick and exhausted soldicrs were roughly handled by the crowd—they were separated from the men and sent on on donkeys to Mosul. Several of the men had died of exposure, exhaustion, dysentery, and mortification of their wounds before they reached Bagdad. Two weeks later the first column of these unfortunate men arrived. They would hardly have been recognized by their closest friends. Each had been given a pair of slippersin Bagdad, but no clothes were issued, and—-still exhausted by their terrible march—they were sert on the long trek to Mosul in the depths of winter, being given a further and unnecessary detour of sixty or seventy miles by being sent vf@ Kerkuk. All the horrors of the first march were repeated. Sick and exhausted men fell out by the wayside, and were left for the jackals or the tender mercies of the first passing Arabs. About two hundred and twenty-five arrived at Mosul, the remainder being dead, or left in hospital at Bagdad or Kerkuk. When they entered the prison square they pre- sented a pitiable spectacle. British soldiers, with just a fragment of ragged blanket about their loins, horribly emaciated, dirty, and dis- pirited, with swollen and lacerated feet, tottered into the square like drunken men, a donkey, with the body of a Sepoy tied on by his puttees, bringing up the rear of the melancholy proces- sion. They were put in one cell, where, from British warrant-officer to Indian sweeper, they remained for over a month without being able to wash. Except for a sanitary parade at 6 a.m. and 6 p.m. each day, and on a few cccasions wher the N.C.O. of the guard, on our application, would sometimes allow them to sit in the courtyard to shed their rags and hunt vermin, they were kept in this crowded den, where they had no room to walk about. It was pitiabie to see them growing daily thincer and fewer. For some would die in the cell, and others would be sent off to a hospital, where we were told that the warders beat the patients, stole ther food, and from which few ever returned *When they entered the prison square

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. We were able surreptitiously to feed a few of them each night by ta!king over the one really human N.C.O. of their savage guard. But we could do little among so many, and their ration of two cakes of bread and a handful of barley each morning, and a little watery stew at nights, from which the guard took most of the meat, was insufficient to keep body and soul together. A week later a batch of men who had-been 1eft in hospital arrived in carts from Kerkuk. It was a pure coincidence that the carts happened to be travelling to Mosul, and tnis no- doubt saved the lives of some who were too weak to walk. About twenty of their number, semi-conscious and helpless with dysentery, lay huddled on the ground in the courtyard, clinging to treasured possessions in the shape of battered water- bottles or ragged blankets, when some of the Arab guards of the prison approached and kicked them ‘unmercifully to make them rise and walk to hospital. The poor victims were incapable even of complairt, and three of us, who saw this outrage from our promenade balcony, shouted and shook our fists at the guards. Then we sent the interpreter off to the commandant with a message that he must provide they presented a pitiable spectacle.” Vol. xliv.—24, 353 stretchers, failing which we would carry the men to hospital. The laconic reply came back that we covld carry them! Which we accordingly did, leaving the poor, delirious wrecks of men, their spirits broken and their constitutions shattered by a month of continuous marching under the worst possible conditions, propped up against the hospital wall, waiting until the lethargic authorities thought fit to admit them. I only know of one who lived. In mid-February, 1916, we were told that we were to be sent on to Aleppo. This announce- ment caused considerable gloom among the already dispirited men. For the journey en- tailed a further march of one hundred and seventy-five miles to the railhead at Ras-el-Ain, and some of their number were incapable even of marching five miles. Add to this the habitual underfeeding, the hardships of sleeping out on bitterly cold nights, clad only in rags, and the certainty of being dispatched or abandoned should weakness or fatigue cause one to drop out by the way, and you have a prospect too bitter to contemplate. Two of ou: number— we had increased by this time to eleven, including two Indian subadars— were recovering from jaundice, and A—— still Digitized ty GOOSle fe)

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354 suffcred from dysentery. For the rest, we were fi, and applied to go with the men. But it was not to be; for, though we were started off in carts, accompanying the forlorn column of some two hundred and fifty men that moved off, accompanicd by thirty odd donkcys, we were separated from them the first day. And we never saw them again tii, a month later, we identified some thirty miserable Sepoys and one Britisher whom we saw on the train at Aleppo as the scle survivors (excluding, perhaps, some few who came on from hospita! later) of that terrible march ! Some had dicd of exposure on the frozen ground when they had lain dowr for the night ; others had a lingering death from dysentery in atrocious apologies for hospitals en route. Two had gone raving mad and died, and others, exhausted with fatigue, dropped out of the column to die. The histeric record of the March of the Ten Thousand of Xenophon through Asia Minor would pale before the full record of suffering. hardship, and the death-toll of these men and those who followed a few months later from Kut-el-Amareh, in their awful march from Mesopotamia to Aratolia. Though our journey can hardly bear recording beside tl at of the men, the eight days across the desert, with halts at Arab villages for the night, and at Nisibin, in a pillaged Armenian church, were not without incident. And, as two of our number were scriously ill, and a third later became too weak to walk, we hed much dis- comfort. But ovr hardships were somewhat alleviated during the first few days by a supposed Turkish officer in our guard, who proved to be an English-, speaking Venezuelan! With a twang like a banjo, he disclosed himself to us the first night out from Mosul, when we were reposing in the shelter of an Arab cowshed, and confessed that he had been a “ cow-puncher ”’ in Arizona. Rafael de N-—- proved to be a most interest- ing adventurer, and we found that the sips of Worcestershire sauce and water that we obtained from him were fine stimulants against the cold. He had fought in Mexico with Villa, with the Spariards against the Americans when a boy, with Japan against Russia, and now favoured the Turks, who stood in awe of him. He was “no Turk” though, he informed us, but was fond of adventure. And we could not but admire the way he dominated the Turks in the party; hoped for an attack by the heathen Yezidi Arabs, who were occasionally seen in the distance ; and, riding on almost alone, and to show his sympathy for us, would, on the promise of dire penalties in case of a refusal, sce that the “ Gol’ dam Sheikh” of the next village “got a bustle on ’’ in the way of finding some food for us. But tne Turks shook him off at Nisibin, and on the eighth day, after with difficulty fording some of the rivers, we reached the raithead of Ras-el-Ain, where a large concentration camp of untortunate Armenians had been formed. Tre comfort of a railway carriage as a bedroom, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. after the squalidness and discomfort of the prison at Mosul and the verminous mud hovels of the Arabs, can orly be realized by those who have experienced both. We were lodged in a rat-infested barracks on our first night in Aleppo. Next morning we were mc ved to an hotel, where we revelled in the luxury of a bed and two small but expensive meals per day for nearly two weeks. But one day we were given a half-bour’s notice of departure to leave by train for some con- centration camp nearer Constantinople. It was noon, the hour ot our first meal, and we sat down to make the most of it. The proprietor, however, fearful of ou1 potentialities in the way of appetite, refused to serve us, and even accused us of stealing a hair-brush! Perhaps some of us would not have stopped at such a thin, in the circumstances, as we were becoming sufficiently Sybaritic te recommence brushing our hair. But we could get no stomachic solace, and a demand for three Medjideh each (ten shillings) to take us to the station in arabahs that we did not want caused us to ‘“ down tools.’’ Sitting placidly on our bundles of odds and ends on the road, we listened to a barrage of abuse from the hotel proprictor, the N.C.O. of the guard, and the arabahjis until, with onty five minutes to spare, we were ordered aboard the vehicles and were takcn to the station at the gallop—without peyment. We were beginning to understand the Turk! Late that night we managed to get a feed at the railway terminus at Islahie. There followed two da journcy in carts over the Anti-Tai rus Mount and then another day’s journey in the train to Tarsus, before which, at the terminus of Marmoure, a young English-speaking German N.C.O., struck by our miserable appearance, gave us the pleasant and never-to-be-forgotten surprise of a dinner consisting of an omelette each. : Tarsus, that seat of learning of the ancients, and the “no mean city ”’ of which St. Paul was a citizen, has sadly decayed. The successive con- quests by Roman, Persian, Arab, and Turk, and the retrogressive policy of the last, have brought it down to the ordinary mean aspect of a Turkish provincial town. A week there—which the lieutenant of our guard spent ia wild carougal, while the ragged gendarmes of our guard, by his order, watched us so closely that it was with difficulty we obtained food—and we were on the mcve again, a two days’ jcurney in carts over the mountains through the famous Cicilian Pass of the Taurus, bringing us to the thet. terminus of the railway-line for Constantinople. Though two of our party were ill, and we had had only a few rusks and a tin of sardines between us during the past two days, we were kept a day and a night without food in a tent on the bleak mountain-side, while our bibulous Moulassim drank raki with his friends in the camp. But during a six hours’ wait—the usual thing, fer the Turk goes tc the station as soon as he is ready, and without any regard to time—

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG. THE TURKS. we managed to buy a little bread which had to suffice for a further two days, during which, with a night’s halt (for trains seldom run at night) at the ancient Seljuk capital of the Turks at Konia, we arrived in the small hours of the third day at Afion Kara Hissar, at the junction of the Smyrne and Bagdad lines. Carrying our heterogeneous bundles and sup- porting our two sick, with the Sepoys following on, we were marched about two miles to the town along roughly-cobbled streets till we were halted in a courtyard beside a mosque. Here the British sergeant reported that a Sikh Sepoy, who had been struck on the head with a rifle- butt by one of the guard, and who had been dragged in a blanket by the sergeant and a Sepoy all the way from the station, war dead. I reported this to an_English-speaking Turkish naval officer who appeared, besides the hard- ships the men had suffered, and the conduct of our drunken guard commandcr. He promised that the officer would be dealt with, and, luckily enough, the Sikh youth proved to be only unconscious, and recovered soon afterwards in hospital. We were put in an empty house of timber and mud, and told that we would be kept there for two weeks in quarantine. If unwelcome livestock was a svbstantial reason, our quarantine should have been a long onc ! But this seclusion was cut short on the third day, when we were told that three submarine officer prisoners had escaped, and that in com- pany with the Russian, French, and remaining British officer prisoners we were to be shut up in an Armenian church. However, We did not find this imprisonment unusually irksome after what we had expcri- enced, though it lasted six weeks. The Gallipoli prisoners, and the Russians and French who had got over the initial hardships of their captivity, were beginning to settle down, and had made beds, and in some cases chairs, for themselves, and undoubtedly felt it much more than we did. But a hundred odd officers, housed in a church measuring perhaps one hundred feet by sixty feet, with the barest apologies for sanitary 355 conveniences, and no facilities for exercise, are not likely to be very comforteble. A Russian orderly and one of the subadars who had been in our party died of typhus within the first fortnight, during which period no one was allcwed outside the door of the church. Twice a day we were searched, and a roll-call was taken. After that we were allowed to walk in the microscopic graveyard beside the church. The bones of rudely-buried Armenians littered the ground, ar.d were not conducive to health. Whilst incarcerated in this church, we were informed that the escapees had beer recaptured, and that Kut-cl-Amarahhad fallen to the besieging force. We learned later that both reports were unfortunatcly only too true, but only those of us who had “ come up out of tribulation ” from Babylonia realized what must be the fate of the Kut-el-Amarah men. The three recaptured officers, who had made good progiess towards the coast after escaping, were imprisoned in au underground cell in Con- stantinople for two months, and the Turkish commandant of Afion Kara Hissar was changed for a Bimbashi who had had charge of criminals in the Yemen, the Siberia of the Turks. This ruffian, whose brutal appearance was sufficient to make us believe him capable of any crime, end who was in some ways worse than the commandant at Mosul, was responsible for our custody from this time onwards. Assisted by the inaccessibility of Afion Kara Hissar— for it is situated in the elevated opium district of Turkey, in the very heart of Asia Minor— he looked after his charges so well that nobody ever made a successful escape from this town of timber and mud. When our period of punishment at the church was ended, we were quartered in the empty houses of Armenians who had been driven off or massacred. And, though we were keenly on the watch for an opportunity so as to escape when the chance presented itself, we realized that, like the captivity of which Jeremiah wrote, it was likely to be long. And it was my kismet that the opportunity did not come for two weary years. (To be continued.) A HOUSE BUILT OF POWDER - TINS. THE novel struc- ture seen in the Picture is the “home-made” effort of a Mexican living near Pueblo, Colo- rado, U.S.A. to solve the housing Problem. The walls are built of powder- cans filled with clay. and are plas- tered inside with —_ 7 the same material. The roof also con- sists of powder- cans, flattened out, and supported by cotton-wood _ poles. House - building on these lines is de- cidedly inexpensive, for the cost to the owner of this novel little dwelling was practically nil.

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A-HUMAN:-TIGER By Mrs A.M. KENNEDY ~ * Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood * An exciting story from British Baluchistan, concerning the sanguinary career of a solitary outlaw who declared war on the Government. “I vouch for the absolute truth of the narrative,” writes the Authoress; “but as relatives of mine were concerned in the affair all the names given have been changed.” = NE bright, sunny day in spring some TEES years ago a ine party of four X started on a riding tour through > British Baluchistan. We had long looked forward to the trip, which was planned to last about a fortnight, starting from Quetta. We were to go by train to Baleli, whence we intended to ride by easy stages, morning and evening, through the Quetta Pishin district, returning through Fort Sandeman and Loralai. Our party consisted of Colonel Forbes, Com- missioner of the district, his assistant, Captain Rose, Mrs. Rose, and myself. Colonel Forbes was an experienced campaigner. He knew the country thoroughly, as his work entailed constant visiting among the scattered villages in these parts. Quetta was, even in those days large and important station, with both and Indian troops as well as a large white civil community. The scattered cantonment lies in a valley surrounded on three sides by lofty mountains. These hills are absolutely bare of vegetation, as, indeed, is the whole valley, except where little plantations of wild mulberry and apricot trees show the site of some small village. The Baluchis have a curious system of irrigation ; the few streams there are rise in the hills and run underground in the plain. I do not know whether this is a natural or artificial form of watercourse. These kavrez, as they are called, run from ten to twenty feet below the surface of the ground. When the peasant requires water for his crops he digs a hole down to the karez and draws the water up, as a rule, by a primitive arrangement of rope and bucket. Occasionally he builds a mud wall round the hole, but more often not, The result is that any person riding across country requires a handy mount and a quick eye, as he may at any time be confronted with a yawning hole twenty feet deep, with crumbling edges, in what seemed quite good galloping ground, In the larger karez, where there is always water, the whole roof of the underground channel is Overgrown with maidenhair. The ferns are gencrally rather pale in colour, though strong in Growth, as the only daylight they can obtain is 'S: & NEA) the light that filters through from the holes dug in the roof of the tunnel, to reach the water beneath. Another curious feature of this country is the fact that, although the gardens in Quetta itself are very green, and will grow almost any English flowers, fruit, or vegetables in luxuriant abund- ance, the district away from cultivation is a bare, stony desert, without grass or flowers. In the spring, however, the whole place is transformed. The ground is covered with small scarlet or yellow tulips, blue grape hyacinths, and a tall, handsome yellow flower, rather like the English “ red-hot poker,”’ which I believe is called ‘‘eremurus.’’ These flowers blossom early in the spring. After flowering the bulbs seem to sink deeply into the stony ground, and it is almost impossible to dig them up. The climate is very cold in winter, snow being usual, and very hot in summer. In spring and autumn it is most delightful, and Colonel Forbes knew well what he was about when he planned our riding trip in that gorgeous spring weather. Our first few marches were likely to be hot, so our host had arranged for two complete sets of servants and camp equipment. In this way one camp outfit would always be availablé to send on ahead, and we could rest in our tents in comfort during the heat of the day. Our first night was spent at a d&k bungalow, or Government rest-house, about three miles from Baleli Station. The horses and _ police escort were sent on overnight, to be ready for our start the next morning. Half the servants, consisting of kahars, or tent-pitchers, table servants, a sweeper and his wife (the sweeper being in charge of my big black retriever Bru and Mrs. Rose’s white Clumber spaniel Mollie), and Mrs. Rose’s ayah, left the bungalow about ro p.m., in order to have the camp ready for us on our arrival the next morning. They rode on camels, each animal being driven by an armed camel-soway of the police. They had also as escort several cavalry sowars and mounted “levies.” These latter were Pathans or Baluchis of the district, mounted on scraggy, country-bred horses, and armed. to the teeth with curved swords and ancient matchlocks. Clad in turbans and voluminous robes of dingy

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357 A HUMAN TIGER. “ As the foreman bent torward he fell dead, shot through the head.”

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358 white stuff, with long, black, greasy ringlets, they formed a picturesque addition tv our cavalcade. We were to start about five o’clock the next morning, and so retired early, full of pleasurable excitement at the thought of our trip, which was starting under most favourable conditions and in glorious weather. I had been asleep about two hours when I was suddenly awakened by my big dog Bru jumping on to my bed in the dark. He was whining and trembling. I knew that he and Mollie had started with the servants some hours earlier, and I could only think that he had broken loose from them somehow and found his way back to me. Mrs. Rose was in the room next to me, and she asked me what the noise was about. 1 lit a candle and found, to my horror, that my hands and bed were stained with blood. I could find no wound on Bru, but he was in such a state of excitement that we feared that the dogs might have been attacked by leopards, which are very common in the district, and have a great weakness for dogs. Perhaps poor Mcllie might have been the victim, I thought. Mrs. Rose was very upset at the idea, but nothing further could be done that night, so we tried to sleep again. Hardly had we put the lights out when we heard the sound of a horse galloping up the drive. The sentry challenged, and there was great excite- ment and shouting in the compound. Colonel Forbes and Captain Rose hurried out to hear the news, and on their return Colonel Forbes informed us that he was very sorry, but that our riding trip would have to be cut short. A levy had brought in the news that four servants and two sowars had been killed by an outlaw called Faiz Muhammed. Colonel Forbes had had many a chase after this man. He had been an under-officer in one of the native regi- ments, of which he had been the crack shot both with rifle and revolver. He had some real or fancied grievance against the Indian Govern- ment, with the result that he deserted, taking his rifle with him. He had already shot several unarmed natives in Government employ. Asa rule, he asked them first who they were. After each murder he made a bolt across the border into Afghanistan, where he would lie concealed until the hue and cry was over. He would then appear again in British territory, to repeat his crimes as soon as he saw a favourable opportunity. Colonel Forbes had made inquiries as to the outlaw’s whercabouts before we started. The latest police reports said that he was in Northern Afghanistan, near Peshawur ; but apparently he had heard of our projected tour and had lost ro time in coming to meet us. Colonel Forbes and Captain Rose told us that they must follow his tracks as soon as possible with their police escort, but they feared that, as usual, he would have bolted back across the border to save his own skin. There was no more sleep for us that night. An escort was sent out, and the bodies of our unfortunate servants brought back to the bun- galow, It was from this party that Bru had escaped ; the man leading both the degs had been killed. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We heard from the survivors that, as they were walking round a corner, along the road, a tall man with a negroid type of face, wearing a scarlet turban, had met them. He said it was a fine night, and then asked who they were. ‘ Government servants,” was their reply. The man said nothing, and walked past them; but before they realized what was happening he fired seven shots at point-blank range, killing or mortally wounding with every shot. He then climbed up the bank at the side of the road, and in the dark.the terrified natives who survived dared not pursue him. Colonel Forbes communicated with the autho- rities at Quetta as soon as it was light. We ladies were ordered to go back to Quetta by the one train of the day, which generally reached Baleli at 2 p.m., but which on this occasion was to reach our station at midday, arriving at Quetta two hours earlier than usual. This arrangement was made in order that the two British officers might be free as soon as possible to hunt the bandit. We had an early breakfast. Colonel Forbes and Captain Rose were very busy making arrange- ments for the man-hunt. Police had already been dispatched to watch the passes, and every possible clue was being followed up. The outlaw, however, had a very long start. He knew every inch of the ground, and in all probability was even then safe in some village in Afghan territory. Mrs. Rose and I persuaded Colonel Forbes to let us go for a ride with him that morning. We were all in very low spirits. It was all so different from what we had planned. Suddenly, in the distance, we saw a number of natives. Colonel Forbes suggested that we should ride up and see if the black trackers had discovered any clue, We accordingly rode up to the party, and what was our horror to find that the police had found the bodies of some more murdered servants. Our servants, it seemed, set out from the bungalow in two parties. This unfortunate party, consist- ing ot two camel-sowars, cach with a servant riding behind him, had started earlier than the main body of servants. They had met Faiz Muham- med first, but, as he had killed three of them and wounded the other man, they were unable to warn those following them. The sowar, who, though dangerously wounded, eventuaily recovered, told much the same story as the other party. He said that he noticed a tall, negro-like man standing on a bank at the side of a cutting. “The latter asked who they were, and on hearing that they were Government servants, stepped down on to the road, waiting till they had passed to fire straight into their backs. The camels bolted up the road at the noise of the shots, both their drivers being helpless, so it was a long time before the police sent to recall them were able to find them. This story threw new light on the doings of Faiz Muhammed. According to the wounded policeman, the murderer was walking towards the bungalow, and, as he met the second batch of servants more than an hour later, he evi- dently did not follow his usual habit of bolting, but stayed on to see what further mischief he

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A HUMAN TIGER. 359 might do. He might even now be watching us from some secure hiding-place ! We rode back to the bungalow, and the fresh news was sent on to Quetta. Colonel Forbes was very anxious to start his ** drive ” at once, so Mrs. Rose and I promised to stay in the bungalow until the hour for our train. ‘We were about three miles from the station, and a native pony-cart (or ekka) was to drive us up the long, dusty road to the dreary little station. The rest of our trip was uneventful, though very sad. We found the sheeted bodies of our poor servants and sowars lying on the platform, News of the outrage had already reached Quetta, and we were met at the station by a crowd of weeping relatives and friends of the departed. Meanwhile, Colonel Forbes and Captain Rose were not idle. The whole district was scoured, but without success; it is as easy to find the proverbial needle in a haystack as a single man in that wild country. Three days after our experience a telegram was received in Quetta to say that Faiz Muhammed had attacked a party of five unarmed natives working on the line. He had fired at them, wounding one man. The wretched platelayers bolted into a ganger’s hut on the railway bank, dragging the wounded man with them, and barred the door. Faiz Muhammed came up and fired through a small ventilating hole high up in the door; but for- tunately he only wounded one man. He then shouted through the door that he required food, money, and blankets, saying he would go away if they would lay these outside the door. The

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i] 360 trembling men heard him walk away and re- solved to trust him. They collected what coin and food they had and tied it up in a blanket, and at length the foreman summoned up enough courage to open the door a little and push the bundle outside. Faiz Muhammed, however, was not far off. As the foreman bent forward he fcll dead, shot through the head. The murderer scized his booty and departed. Later in the day an engine-driver stopped his train on seeing the dead body of the foreman, and the unfortunate survivors were rescued. This fresh crime created a regular panic amongst the native population. Faiz Muham- med was known to be armed to the teeth, and reports were received from various villages that he had demanded food and then gone off again, threatening that he would come back and shoot anyone who attempted to betray him to the police. A native policeman was found shot dead, and evidence was given to the effect that Faiz Muhammed had been scen in the locality, and in all probability was responsible for the crime. The authorities, now thoroughly roused, soon had about two thousand men out, with orders to shoot this “ human tiger ’’ at sight. Colonel Forbes and Captain Rose still thought that when the district got too hot for him the fugitive would bolt for Afghanistan, so all trains were watched and the passes securely guarded. One evening about a fortnight after our return from Baleli news reached Colonel Forbes that a sorrel mare had been stolen from the district engineer's bungalow, by a man answering to the description of Faiz Muhammed. This house was not very far from Colonel Forbes’s camp, where he was waiting with an escort of about fifty mounted sowars. Sorrel mares were rare in the district, and so Faiz Muhammed’s new mount made him a marked man. Colonel Forbes promptly started on his track, and after a tremendous ride of many miles, over rough, stony country, he reached an encampment of small black tents, such as are used by the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, nomadic tribes of these parts. Colonel Forbes had information that the murderer was in this camp, and the sight of a sorrel mare tied up outside confirmed his suspicions. He called on the headman of the huts to give up the stranger who had taken refuge with him. The chief refused, declaring that there was no such stranger. But the officer persisted. The next moment a shot was fired from one of the tents, and the native sergeant cf police fell dead, shot through the head. The officer called on Faiz Muhammed to surrender, or he would fire a volley into the tent. The only reply was another shot, which killed the Colonel's horse. Colonel Forbes’s providential escape may be attributed to the fact that the man in the tent could not see what he was aiming at, as he dared not risk showing himself. A volley was then fired, and no reply came frum the tent. Colonel Forbes ordered the head- man of the camp to go into the tent and bring out Faiz Muhammed. The man refused, but the officer insisted, and the native went in very reluctantly. Shortly afterwards he reappeared, dragging with him the culprit, who had been mortally wounded by the volley. Faiz Muhammed was taken back to Quetta for trial, but died on the way. On the road back he asked to speak to Colonel Forbes. During the conversation he asked the Colonel what had become of the “‘ Burra Miss Sahiba” on the day he had killed our servants. (My father being the ‘‘ Burra Lord Sahib,” or ‘‘ Great Lord,” 7.e., Governor, I was known among the natives as the “ Burra Miss Sahiba,’’ or “ Great Miss.’’) Colonel Forbes asked the outlaw what he meant, saying that of course I had gone back to Quetta. Faiz Muhammed looked puzzled, and explained that he did not know how he had missed me, as he had waited for me on the road to the station for more than an hour! He did not know, of course, that the train had come in two hours earlier than usual. If he had, I should certainly not have been here to write this account of my adventure ! A Here is a_ rather unique snapshot of an aeroplane accident in America. The machine was exhibi- tion-flying at Cosh- octon, Ohio, for the War Savings Cam- paign Committee on April gth, 1919, and through engine trouble was forced to land in the manner shown. The sudden impact with the tree caused the pilot to be QUEER LANDING-PLACE. thrown to the ground, roiraculously unhurt. A rescue party arrived to extricate the smashed m chine, and to their ‘great surprise — discovered in the body of the ‘plane a belle of the town, dressed ia mechanic's clothes! Just how she man aged to get into the aeroplane —_remains to this day @ mystery.

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r J a 4 a si a) x é ‘Farmer Burns and Frank Gotch PO At, A A, al a Ge tate A THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a sm Expert Wrestling and Physical Culture = The most wonderful course of lessons in existence. 8 Learn at home—by mail—from Actual World’s Cham- pions. Develop your body by the greatest methods ever devised. Be strong, healthy and athletic. Learn to defend yourself, and handle large, strong men with ease. Where all other > - "s ae systems fail, the wonderful Gotch-Burns course Succeeds. - Here is your opportunity. Investigate. Write today for Free Frank Gotch applying hie world-famous“ toebold” Booklet and Foil Particulars, The original Farmer Burns, the best known, and most scientific wrestleT that ever ved, trainer and ; roof the oe _ jtndeteated: W oelds Champion Frank Gotch, will teach you at home By Mail, science, Bs breaks, defenses, and tricks of the wonderful art of Wreetling and: Self Defense. Hundreds of heretofore professional secreta now fully revealed. This course of lessons is creating a sensation. Students are: enrolling from every State in the Union and many foreign countries. Never before have Actual World’s Champions offered their most secret methods of training to the Public. Grasp this unequalled opportunity. Get in touch withithe school Now. What the Lessons Teach This unique and interesting course teaches in a wonderful: way Physical Culture as it was never taught before. If other courses have failed with you, This Course Will Succeed. You learn: to develop All. Parts of the Physique Equally, You learn to become an Expert Wrestler. You learn Jiu-Jitsu and self-defense. You learn to live properly, to eat, breathe, exercise and sleep as youshould. Easily, quickly learned, and intensely interesting and fascinating. if you it to be a great athlete, to have splendid robust health, to drive away old age, to bea skits, ecientific wrestler, then write Today to this school for the Free Beek and liberal Istredactesy Oder. GREAT ATHLETIC BOOK FREE Pediat Galore Send Now for cur fine illustrated Free Bools, . The most famousofallathletesknew Magazine Says: I¢ tells all about this popular school and how you What They ¢ and enderse tho Burns School. “If any man in thie can join at amall cost, It shows you how to be- Christy Mathewson Seyer “I am delighted toknow country is especially come the kind of an athlete you want to be and | Tou are giving the {merican, prolie tho benefit: your qualified toteach the you can amociate yourself with the beet | CP physical kagwiedgs e# finer pointsas well ag athletes ant structors in the wor! ‘rank Gotoh Saye: ‘The grand old man.'Fersw i Every Man and Boy in America Should Have | knows more about developing the human body, and BrettlingitisFarmer ‘This Splendid Book, Write for your copy this | about scientific wrestling than any man thatever lived, minute, You will be astonished at the marrel- | Ho took moas a farm boy and mademo Weit'sCuumin."? “From his own results atta! are consider Farmer Burns the Comment attained by cur students from our | greatest of all wr. wera and athletic instructora” adateg beg eatiala ture and Scientific Wrestiing. Leowheid Plesting Saves “He took me eaian ordinary ability to communi- If you read WIDE WORLD MAGAZINB, | Greetlen and quickly made me sepirant to World’ cato his skill to Honers. thers — as is proven and are int in good health and physical | wonderful of all Europe and America” ~ by the & of that: ent, you will find this the most import- ‘Thousands of Students endorse the school unresery- 6? ie ndtd exponent ant announcement ever published in these ool. | edly, and recommend the lessons to every man and boy of his methods Frank umns. Let Us Hear from You Gealring perfect health and aclontifoathletiotraining. Gotch.” Ask for Free Book i Send the ame letter post card will » FARMER BURNS SCHOOL OF WRESTLING, aetiShe Srame Se Zo ntie tleter ene perce Eee ea Cok FE Right Now —this minute, before you forget it. ail apres ie your Free Book, t an particulars sbout your een the literature intensel; interesting, and you owe it to yourself to Inwestigate this great opportunity Pully and Carefully. Address, ft coures of lemone in Sires ‘No obligation on my part, FARMER BURNS SCHOOL OF WRESTLING i : 1423 Ramge Building, Omaha, Nebr. NOMNO......ccrecrecsecceseccncscesenceeees, Ae eeeeeecerensesceee: eeeeee Address. Age. ae Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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WASMIPASON » od BROAQHEAD , o-— “SUPPOSE YOU GO HOME AND LET A REAL DETECTIVE HANDLE THE JOB.” (SEE PAGE 364.)

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Lirl with the Red Hair An exciting story of the U.S. Secret Service. Mr. Foster writes: “The facts of Miss Lochrane's flight from Mexico were set forth in the American newspapers, but this is the first time, to my knowledge, that Alexander Agazziz back in March, 1917, slipped in past the great white rocks that marked the entrance to the harbour, and dropped anchor in the sunny bay at Mazatlan, Mexico. The fisherfolk in their thatched huts beneath the palm trees watched her Negro sailor row her ashore. Nearing the light surf that played upon the beach, she leaped out into the shallow water, and strode through it like a man. As she stood on the sands, her shabby black skirt wet and bedraggled, her head uncovered and her flaming red hair blowing in the wind, someone nicknamed her ‘‘ La Mochoma,”’ and the name stuck. “La Mochoma”’ is the name of the ugliest insect that the Mexican fisherfolk know—a hideous red ant that devours the rose blossoms. It expressed tersely the impression that the mystery-woman made upon the natives of the little port. Those who looked at her closely, however, might have seen that she was not ugly. With a bath, a hair-comb, and a change of clothes, she might have been very pretty. Her Scotch-Irish snub nose, her determined little chin, her blue eyes, her freckles, and her vivid hair all harmon- ized pleasingly. There was a slimness, a supple- ness, a litheness of movement about her that belied the thirty years she claimed as her age. Yet ‘La Mochoma” she was christened, and “* La Mochoma ”’ she remained. Montagu Jones, self-appointed secret agent for the United States Government, immediately recognized her as his first big opportunity to learn something for the Allied cause. Closing Vol. xliv.—25, HARRISON L:‘FOSTER Llastrated by the ‘inside’ story has been told. The details were given to me by a former U.S. secret agent whose name I have promised to suppress. I be- lieve the narrative to be true in every detail.” W-SMITHSON Beeeteees| FIO she was, nobody BROADHEAD and locking the office of the ia) knew. U.S.—Mexico Hide Company, he CON Py She came out of ( 5) sauntered down the beach and TOW ¥2)| the blue Pacific at engaged her in conversation. MPSA! the wheel of the “ Pleasant day, isn’t it?" “ That's an obvious fact.” “My name is Montagu Jones.” “Ts that so?” “ What did you say your name was ? ” “ T didn’t say.” : Jones’ suspicions were thoroughly aroused. He decided to be more forceful. “See here, madam,” he said, sternly, “ I’m a secret agent for the American Government, and I demand to know your name and your business.” The woman's eyes twinkled with amusement. “ Suppose [ call myself Miss Maud Lochrane ?”” she suggested. ‘‘ Suppose we say that I char- tered the Alexander Agazziz from the University of California, which used the vessel for research work ?”” “ What are you doing here with it ?”” “Suppose we say that I am carrying freight up and down the coast ?”’ The young amatcur detective did not like the bantering tone of her voice. “ T want you to understand that every strange ship which comes in here is under suspicion,” he told her. ‘ There’s a gang of German sailors interned on this coast, and it’s rumoured that they’re planning to fit up some local ship and go out as a raider. Any stranger is under suspicion.” “Well, let us suppose that I have a loyal American been.” Her voice was still bantering, and Jones grew very red. He had not missed the inverted order of her words, which suggested a German origin. “ Suppose ! Suppose!” he exclaimed,

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364 “Is there anything more we ought to s. Suppose you go home and let a real detective handle the job.” And with that she strode past him into the town, That the mystery-woman was engaged in carrying freight up and down the Mexican coast could not be doubted. She even carried passen- gers on her first few trips. Then one day, when she was using sails in addition to her engine, she tacked sharply, and the boom swung heavily across the deck and swept one of her passengers over the side, where he narrowly escaped death by drowning. Miss Lochrane was not an ex- perienced sailor, and after that incident passen- gers avoided her. Once, when she was to carry a load of corn to Manzanillo, Miss Lochrane overloaded her little ship, and, striking a heavy sea just outside Mazatlan harbour, ruined her entire cargo. After that she had difficulty even in getting enough freight to carry. Her vessel had a reputation as the “ hoodoo " ship of the whole Pacific Coast. To make matters worse, she quarrelled with her Negro sailor, whom she accused of stealing money to buy perfume for his lady-loves ashore. Claiming a half-interest in the ship, the Negro promptly pulled down the American flag, hoisted the Mexican standard in its place, and announced that henceforth he would run the Alexander Agazziz to suit himself. There was a long session in the office of the American consul, which ended fn the Negro’s departure for parts unknown, while “La Mochoma”’ hoisted the American flag again, and continued to run her ship without a crew. Her position daily grew worse. Her clothes became more ragged, and her face showed the marks of hunger. The Agazziz fell into dis- repair, and the barnacles accumulated on her keel. Still the woman persisted in running up and down the coast in all kinds of weather, whenever she could obtain a tiny cargo to carry, and the spring of 1918 found her still at the wheel. Why she stuck to it, nobody knew, but many and varied were the guesses. One day early in the spring, Montagu Jone walked into the office of the Chief of Intelligence with a smile of triumph on his face. “T’ve got the dope on her,”’ he said. “ Got the dope on who ?”? “On ‘La Mochoma,’ the Mystery-Woman— Maud Lochrane.’”” “Huh!” “T've discovered her whole plot, I tell you. T’'ve been doing some detective work of my own, just to help the Allies, and I’ve got the most important news that ever came out.” ‘The Chief smiled incredulously, but heard him. “You know, I suppose, that the German residents of this town have several machine-guns in Mclchers Brothers’ store ? ’’ began Jones. “We've known that quite a while.” “And you also know that there are several THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN German sailors interned at Santa Rosalia, up on the coast ?”” “They've been interned there since the be- ginning of the war.” “And do you know that there’s a Captain Baumann here—a German naval officer, who slipped down from the United States when they went into the war ?”” “ Everybody knew that.” “Well, here’s what I’ve discovered. These nilors have left Santa Rosalia, and they're all here in Mazatlan. So is Captain Baumann. Se are the machineeguns. So 1s ‘ La Mochoma’ and her vessel. There’s something going to happen.” The Chief smiled again. “Well, that’s not bad for an amateur defective,” he said. ‘Now, don’t spoil it by telling everybody all you know, Jones. I had that information long ago. Here is some more. Look at this.” He held out a paper which contained a list of foodstuffs. It was signed by Captain Baumann. “What is it 2?’ asked Jones. “That's a list of ninety days’ provisions for the Alexander Agazziz, Captain Baumann made it out himself.” “ How in the world did you get hold of it ?'" “That I cannot tell you. But the Alexander Agazziz is at the brewery dock now. She is being overhauled, a new keel put on, the engines fixed, the sails patched. The machine-guns are no longer in Melchers Brothers’ store. They’re all concealed on the Agazziz. So are the German sailors. The only one missing is Captain Baumann. Miss Lochrane and_ the sailors are to run out and pick him up along the coast. Baumann knows we're watching him and he expects to fool us in that way.” “ What's their object in the whole business ? ’” “They're going to the South Sea Islands, where there are plenty of hiding-places, and then they'll prey on the smaller Allied ships. Get the idea?” Jones whistled. 5 Chief, we've discovered a big plot 1’? he cried. ‘Can’t we get the Mexican authorities to stop them ?”” “The Mexican authorities are heartily pro- German. We’ve got to handle it in our own way after they get beyond the three-mile zone. I'm sorry I can’t tell you the plans.” Jones thought for a minute. “ T knew that woman was up to something !"" he said. “Well you just keep quiet and don’t break it all up by trying to help. Thad to tell you this much to keep you from meddling any further. You mean well, Jones, but you're a trifle a A new whistle blew out in the harbour, The two men went to the window. A small vessel was just dropping anchor in the narrows. “ That's a new ship, isn’t it 2g’ asked Jones. “Yes smiled the Chief. “ That’s the U.S. gunboat Vicksburg.” The Alexander Agazziz emerged from the brewery dock as good as new. A slim little twin-screw steamer with sails, she could outrun _

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THE GIRL WITH THE RED HAIR. anything on the coast. Miss Lochrane stecred her several times around the harbour and the engines ran with a smooth hum that bespoke power. For several days the little boat lay idle in the bay. She had taken on a large supply of food- stuffs, but apparently had no intention of going out. Neither, apparently, had the Vicksburg. The gunboat lay carelessly at anchor with a thin wisp of steam trailing from her funnels. On dark nights her searchlight wandered play- fully backwards and forwards across the entrance to the harbour. The sailors seemed to find amusement in spotting the various thatched huts that nestled under the palm trees fringing the beach. Then one afternoon, in broad daylight, Miss Lochrane pulled up her anchor and the Agazziz headed innocently for the open sea. The little we ‘ 365 woman stood at the wheel, her red hair floating out behind her, and as she passed the Vicksburg not fifty yards distant she waved her hand with seeming carelessness to the group of officers on the gunboat’s bridge. The erstwhile quiet decks of the Vicksburg, however, were undergoing a change. Men were running to their stations. The anchor chain was rattling. Black smoke was pouring from the funnels. The anchor did not come up so quickly as that of the smaller boat, and when she began to move the Agazziz was already a mile and a quarter distant. Furthermore, the little vessel was faster, and the distance Was increasing momentarily. a “One of the men ducked and avoided it; the other two went over the side, their machine-gua with them.” Digiizea by GOOle ¢

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366 THE WIDE WORLD Oat of the hatchway from the hold where they had been hiding came the four German sailors. One glance at the growing margin of safety between them and the gunboat, and three of them burst exultantly into ‘ Deutschland uber Alles.” “Silence 1’? roared the fourth, evidently a leader. ‘‘ Get that sail up. It is not time to sing yet.” ‘The other three sprang to the ropes, and the new white sail went up. There was a strong wind behind them, and they felt the little ship leap forward with a new imprlsc. “Now get those machine-guns mounted,” directed the leader. Even as they worked, a little white putf leaped from the forward gun of the Vicksburg, and a solid shot tore through the sail just above the boom, almost over the head of the woman pilot. ** Donnerwetter 1" swore one of the men. The gunboat had not passed the three-mile neutrality limit, but its commander had scen the distance between him and his prey increase, and felt that he could wait no longer. His second shot struck the water beside the Agazziz, and the spray flew over its deck. “American pigs!"’ 3 leader. ‘‘ They cannot get us He was working at a machine-gun with two of the men when his eye lighted upon a small American flag still flying at the stern. “Meyer,” he cried, “take that down.” Meyer started aft to carry out the order. Then, to the surprise of everybody, a change came over the red-haired woman who stood at the wheel. * You leave that up 1’ she screamed. Meyer stopped in surprise and looked at her. “* What's the matter with you ? ” he demanded. “ That flag stays up,” she said. “You dirty, treacherons machoma!’ ex- claimed the leader. ‘‘ You are turning traitor to us, are you?" His machine-gun was just mounted. ‘“ Look out!" he cried to the two imed the German thing men beside him, and swung it round until the “This is for you,” muzzle covered the woman. MAGAZINE, he said. ‘‘ This is for the ugly red ant that devours the roses.”’ In that moment the woman saw a picture. Her mind flashed back to the day when the swinging boom carried a passenger overboard. The three Germans, with their gun, were close to the side of the ship. With all her strength, she hurled herself against the wheel, and the bow swung quickly around. Caught by the breeze, the boom swept across the deck, gathering Momentum as it moved. One of the men ducked and avoided it; the other two it hit squarely, and they went over the side, their machine gun with them. The little vessel listed until she shipped water, but she made the tum, and presently headed back toward the advancing gunboat. The Vicksburg picked up the two Germans from the water, and being beyond the three mile limit, carried all four prisoners into San Diego, California. Several months later, as Montagu Jones sat in the office of the Chicf of Intelligence, a young woman entered. She was neatly dressed, and strode in with a suppleness that belicd the thirty years she claimed as her age. Her hair was a vivid red. The Chief jumped to his feet, shook her hand, and conducted her to a seat. “A thousand congratulations,’’ he exclaimed. “Tt was a shame to give you a job like that, but those fellows were bound to fit up some vessel as a raider, and with the Mexican authorities in sympathy with them it seemed the only way to work it.” He waved his hand toward Jones. “You’ve met this gentleman before, haven't you? Miss Lochrane, Mr. Jones."” Jones bowed. “ Pleased to meet you again,” said the amateur detective. “‘ Only tell me, Miss Lochrane, what is your real name? I’m enough of a detective to be sure you’ve got another name.” “‘ Well,” she said and her Scotch-Irish snub nose, her determined little chin, her blue eyes, her freckles, and her vivid hair all harmonized pleasingly as she smiled—" suppose you call me “La Mochoma’?”

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je — a | — lige . ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA Ea In these articles, specially written for “ The Wide World Magazine,” Mr. Philby gives a thrilling account of his travels in Central Arabia among the Webhabi Arabs, perhaps the most fanatical and puritanical people- in: the world. The Author is the only living Englishman who has crossed I. HE interior of Arabia is so little known to the general public, and has been so seldom visited and described by British that an account of that country travellers, my sojourn in would; I feel, not be intelligible without’a brief preliminary re- cital of the salient facts of Central Arabian history in com- paratively modern times. I there- fore crave the indulgence of the readers of THe WipE Wortp Macaztne to. preface the ac- count of my own experiences in that country with a rapid reviewof the events which have made my genial host, Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud, what he is— the ruler of the Bedouin Arabs. About two centuries ago, when Rob Roy was struggling in the Scottish Highlands to defend tMe birthright of the Scottish clans against the grow- ing power and greed of Argyll and Montrose—vassals of a king not yet acknowledged by the tribesmen of Scotland—there stalked across the stage of Desert Arabia a figure no less romantic than: the Chief of Clan Macgregor, but destined to achieye success, where his Scot- tish contemporary failed, in pre- serving for his. countrymen the clan system, which is to-day, as it always has been, the basis of the social life of Arabia. In those days the country which we now Inow as Central Arabia was parcclled out into @ number of semi-independent owing a vague allegiance to the ruler of Hasa, N DISGUISE a ADVENTURES AMONG THE « WAHHABI a | HSTIB Philby } CIE. ICS 2 The Author in the» Arab costume he wore on his remarkable: journeys principalities Arabia, and about one-third of his journey—made in Arab costume to avoid arousing the suspicions of the Bedouin —was over entirely unknown country. For this reason his narrative and the ac- companying photographs will be found of exceptional interest. a large and fertile province along the Arabian shore of the Persian Gulf, whose situation has ever and anon made it the victim of a foreign yoke. Such it was when a chieftain of the Anaza Bedouin established hime self as a petty baron amid more powerful neighbours in a rock- girt oasis in the heart of a desert valley. He called the castle, which he erected on a rocky eminence therein, Dara- iyya, after the village in the Yaman highlands whence his ancestors had descended: into the Arabian desert. Saud, the founder of a line which, despite all the vicissitudes of a stormy history, still rules the greater part of Arabia, saw his opportunity in the advent at his court of a fanatical priest, who had studied at the universi- ties of Bagdad and Damascus, only to discover that “‘all is vanity,” and had returned to his own country to warn his fellows of the wrath to come. That priest was Mohammed Ibn Abdul Wahhab, the founder of the Wahhabi sect, one of the most fanatical factions in the world. Prince and priest, working together with a zeal and single- ness of purpose which we cannot but admire, soon converted the castle of a Bedouin chieftain into the capital of a mighty empire, which embraced the whole of Arabia, including the holy cities of Mecca and Medina, and measured swords with the whole might of the Ottoman Sultan during the early years of the nineteenth century, when we in Europe were cngaged in

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358 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Hutut, the former capital of Arabia. defending the liberties of the world against the ambitions of Napoleon. But the hcuse of Saud was destined to experience the frowns as well as the smiles of fickle fortune, and the success which attended it during the carly stages of the struggles served but to provide a setting for the final tragedy. The conduct of the campaign against the grow- ing power of the Wahhabis had been entrusted by the Sultan to his famous lieutenant, Moham- med Ali, the Pasha of Egypt, and Mohammed Ali was not the man to risk his post or his head by an admission cf failure. In the midst of his hall of audience he caused a carpet to be spread of huge dimensions ; in the midst of the carpet he placed an apple; and the princes and nobles of Egypt were summoncd to hear their master propound a le.“ Here,” said he, pointing to the carpet, Arabia, the apple in the midst of it is the Arabian capital, and he who can possess himself of the apple without setting foot on the carpet shall have the honour of leading my troops to the capture of Daraiyya.” In vain they tried, tall men and short men, eager for the promised promotion, but the apple semained in its place. Then Mohammed Ali's son, Ibrahim Pasha, a short stout man, stood forth amid the titters of the court to try his luck, and slowly but surely he rolled up the carpet from one side to the centre, grasped the apple, and claimed his reward. When he landed on the west coast of Arabia at the head of the Turkish forces he proceeded with complete success to prove his theory that that vast, in- hospitable country could be successfully invaded by one who had never studied the laws of strategy, but was well versed in the weaknesses of mankind. By dint of courteous treatment and lavish - bribes he won his way through the Bedouin tribes which lay across his path, to tne heart of the Wahhabi country, and laid siege to Daraiyya. For months Ibrahim Pasha waited outside the town as patiently as a vulture awaits his prey, but at length, in the year 1818, he had the satisfaction not only of receiving the surrender of Abdullah Ibn Saud, the Wahhabi ruler, but of razing the halls and palaces of Daraiyya to the ground, and of conducting a general massacre of the priests and princes who had defied the authority of the Sultan so well and so long. To this day there stands in the valley of Wadi Hanifa a veritable city of the dead, acity of roofless palaces and untrodden streets, whose ponderous battlements lie as they fell a hundred years ago—a lasting monument to the memory of Ibrahim Pasha, a lasting example of the methods of Turk and Hun alike—Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant. Peace broods indeed over the ghostly remains of Daraiyya, the once great city, but the Turks are long since gone—and for ever. The destruction of the Wahhabi Empire was followed by a long period of chaos and anarchy, interrupted at intervals by the attempts of the surviving scions of the Saud dynasty to re:cue their countrymen from the clutches of the Turk and to restore their country to something of its former prosperity; but, just when the achieve- ment of this object appeared to be in sight, the jealousies of two brothers, claimants for the throne, plunged their country into the horrors of civil strife, and towards the end of last century the house of Saud lost its birthright once more, vot to the Turks, but to the dynasty of Ibn Rashid, comparatively recently established at Hail in the desert of Northern Arabia. Those of the Saud dynasty who survived the disaster which had overtaken their house passed into voluntary exile at the seaports of the Persian Gulf--Kuwait, Bahrain, and other places— awaiting a turn of fortune. One of these was Abdul Rahman, who, after an unsuccessful attempt to recover the territories of his ancestors, formally abdicated his right to

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Pe ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA IN DISGUISE. 369 Zubair, ove of the transport vehicles. the throne in favour of his eldest son, Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud, the present miler of Central Arabia, who was then, in 1900, a mere lad of nincteen, but who lost no time in showing, as he has since shown on many occasions, that he was endowed with a full measure of the spirit of adventure and enterprise which has ever been the characteristic of Bedouin chivalry. + In’ the winter of that year he set out from Kuwait for the interior with a following of two hundred men and camped at the distance of a da journey from) Riyadh, which replaced Daraiyya as the capital of the Wahhabi country less than a century ago. Selecting a bodyguard of Only fifteen men, he left the rest of his followers with instructions that, if they did net hear from him within forty-eight hours, they should presume his death, and return in p.ace whence they had come. He reached the capital of his ancestors at dusk and, entering through a gap in its ruined walls, knocked at the door of the governor’s house. A woman answered the summons, and the little band rushed in. There were none but women in the house, as the governor took the precaution of spend- ing the night within the strong walls of the castle on the other side of the square. The women of the houschold were herded into a _single room with a warning to make no rsound, and Abdul Azizand his followers watched through the night at a little window, which — is shown to this day as one of the historic sights of the capital, drinking coffee and reading passages from the Ke ran. At dawn of the nextday the watchers saw the castle gates thrown open and the governor stalk out with his attendants towards his house, but before they had reached the door it was flung open, and the desperate cons flict which ensued in the open square left Abdul Aziz victor over the encmy and master of Riyadh. Thus did the house of Saud recover its birthright, and the years that intervened between then and the Great War were spent in the recovery and consolidation of the previnces which constitute the Wahhabi State. A century of turmoil had left its mark in the tuined villages and untilled fields of the desert oasis, which Ibn Saud now set himself to restore, but the work of restoration was interrupted by the Great War. The history of his dynasty had marked out the Turks and Ibn Rashid as the hereditary enemies of Ibn Saud, and it was but natural that when these two combined to assist the Germans in their far-reaching designs Ibn Saud should have arrayed himself against them side by side with Britain, a power which had long shown itself innocent of selfish ambitions and stood forth to defend the Kbertics of the world against the aggressor. The new alliance, destined to have far-reaching results, was as acceptable to the one party as to the other, and it was in connection with the prosecution of the plans which arose out of it that I had the good fortune to visit the interior of Arabia as the A view of Riyadh, the present Wahhabi capital, from the roof of the palace.

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THE WIDE WORLD 37° MAGAZINE. Iba Saud and bis family. [ba Saud is the tall man in rear, and the boys in front of him are hit young: sons: official guest of Abdul Aziz Ibn Saud, the spiritual and temporal chief of Wahhabiland. My sojourn in the land of Arabia lasted for the best part of a year, beginning with the landing of the Mission, of which I was in charge, and which comprised, besides myself, a distin- guished Artillery officer, Lieutenant-Colonel’ F. Cunliffe Owen, C.M.G., and his batman, a young fellow from Yorkshire, named Schofield, whom the vicissitudes of an unprecedented war had brought from the peace and quiet of his home- land to a very different scene. The photograph here reproduced shows the beginning of the great adventure with our embarking off the island of Bahrain from H.M.S. Lawrence on to a native dhow, a little sailing vessel of a primitive type such as is used by the adventurous Arab sailors in their far-flung trading enterprises between their own ports and those of India, Ceylon, Socotra, and far Zanzibar. It is amazing how such frail craft can-negotiate the terrible mon- soon storms of the Indian Ocean, but they shrink not from the attempt, and those who survive make light of the ocean’s perils; but many return no more, and are swallowed up in the tempest unknown and uncomplaining. The port towards which we sailed was one well known to the geographers and merchants of the ancient world, who showed it on their maps under the name of Gerra; but Arabia has lost its former position in the world's commerce, and little remains of this port but its name, Ujair, and a few warehouses commanded by a clay fortress. On November 15th, 1917, we landed on the coast of Arabia, and two days later —in native costume to avoid arousing the susceptibilities of the Arabs—began our march into the interior with a caravan of camels and large white donkeys across a wide barrier of rolling sand-hills which separates the province of Hasa, the largest and most fertile oasis in Inner Arabia, from the shores of the Persian Gulf. After a time we discarded the donkeys, which cannot negotiate the great waterless desert which lies between the oasis and Riyadh, the capital of the Saud, and re- organized our caravan, but not before we had celebrated our first passage of desert sands by giving those who had accompanied us thus far a feast of rice and mutton. Though the march had taken two days, the hardy Bedouin had subsisted on a handful of dates apiece, and it was a treat to watch them at work on a more substantial meal. We all sat round a large reed-mat, on which was set a dish of steaming rice and mutton, and my companions fell to with the appetites and manners of ravening wolves, demolishing the pile with incredible speed, while my still tender fingers played gingerly about the edge of the platter. The capital of the Hasa province is a large walled town called Hufuf, the scene of one of The members of the British Mission embarking on an Arab dhow. Lieut-Col. Cunliffe Qwen is seen in front. itized by GGOOQ LE Oo

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Tbn Saud’s many romantic exploits. spring of 1914 the Turks were still in pos- session of the province, but Ibn Saud, feeling himself strong enough to con- test their occupation, descended upon the capital with a following of only a hundred choren men. At dead of night ladders were placed against the walls of the fort and the slumbering sentries were the governor of the dispatched by the leaders of the scaling party; but somchow or other the alarm was given, and there followed a scene of indescrib- able confusion, in the course of which the little band of Wahhabis drove the whole garrison, with its officers and their womenfolk, into an inner keep, where ther barricaded themselves against further attack and awaited the dawn, while Ibn Saud busied himself with digging a mine Looking over the roots of Iutut. ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA IN DISGUISE. 37! under the fort and storing in it all the explosive substances he could collect from the Turkish maga- zines. At dawn next morning he sent a Message to the com- mandant informing him of what he had done, and demanding the immediate and unconditional — sure render of the keep. The alternative of being blown sky-high with their own pow- der did not commend itself to the Turks, who forthwith cap- itulated and were marched down under escort to the coast, whence they were dispatched to Bahrain in a fleet of dhows, from whose decks they looked back for the last time on the last remnant of Turkish rule in Wahhabi territory. The market-place of Huful. In the In the aistance is the foriress that was surprised by Ibn Saua's troope in i During our stay at Hufuf we were enter- tained in his palace by province, Abdullah Tbn Jiluwi, first cousin to The Hot Spring near Hufuf. The fertility of the province depends entirely on its natural springs.

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372 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Ibn Saud, under whose protection we roamed about the neighbouring oases on foot or on horseback. The great fertility of the province is derived from a number of natural springs, some of which are hot, others sulphurous, and others more or less of a mineral character ; from them issue perennial streams, charming babbling brooks, which run through the rich palm groves and rice and corn fields of the province, giving to it its well-deserved reputation for prosperity. A photograph in this article shows one of these springs, a hot one, appropriately named the “ Hot Spring,” in which the ladies of Hufuf were enjoying the luxury of a warm bath on the afternoon when I visited it. We were unable, unfortunately, to remain more than two days in this delightful province, and sorrowfully took our leave of our kind host when the camels were ready to carry us into the interior, For four and a half days we traversed a desert of the most desolate description, absolutely waterless, and so devoid of anything which could be dignified by the name of a tree that a group of three ragged acacia bushes in its midst scemed like a veritable haven of rest and shade to our weary eyes. On such long stretches of desert marching one has to carry all the water required for An alarm in the desert, The scouts brought in news of a possible attack, and the whole party halted and prepared for battle, drinking, cooking, and washing in skins suspended one on each side of every camel in the caravan. The Arabs on such occasions dispense with the ablutions ordinarily prescribed by their religion, and use sand or their own saliva in lieuof water, but, even so, by the end of the fourth day our water supply was sadly diminished, and some of our party were reduced to the extremities of thirst before we teached the wells for which we were making. The ‘nner desert >f Arabia is separated from the rest of the country by a continuous band of rolling sandhills, known as Nafud on the north, Al Ramal or Ruba al Khali on the south, and Dahana on the =2ast, where we now had to cross it. The width of the Dahana is about twenty mules, and vivid tales of its terrors have been recorded by previous travellers; but I must confess that, though it tell to my lot to zross it on three occasions, it never provided me with anything approaching an adventure and never seemed to me to present any serious obstacle to progress, while the dreary steppe desert to the east of it is, so far as my experience goes, a more popular resort for would-be brigands, and necessitates greater caution in those who would cross it. The photograph reproduced above exhibits a typical incident. Our advance guard had come into contact with a potential enemy, and had fired shots to warn us of their dis- covery, whereupon we halted the caravan behind a convenient hillock and loaded our rifles in readiness for anything that might happen, though, as it turned out on this occasion, the suspected enemy had hastily retreated before our outposts and evinced no desire to make our nearer acquaintance. Our real adventures were yet to come. (To be continued.)

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A Qanda yw by Capt FRANK H. SHAw. Mlustrated by Ralph Cleaver The “Q” boats of the Royal Navy had a great deal to do with the failure of the submarine campaign. They were masterpieces of marine camouflage; to paraphrase an old rhyme: “ Little fakes and gadgets, canvas, wood, and paint, Make the tricky Q-boat look like what she ain't.” This most exciting story describes an encounter, in which the Author was Personally concerned, between a typical “Q” and a German submarine. NE may assume that it was because she was so essentially a collier of the cheaper type that the responsible authority ear-marked the Penshurst for duty as a“ Q"-boat. The most suspicious-minded Hun afloat could not have taken her for anything clse save what she appeared. She was of a type common before the outbreak of war: a slab-sided tramp, built in some North country shipyard by the mile, three hundred feet of which were cut off, shaped into a point at one end, rendered into the likeness of aship’s stern at the othe: apable of carrying three thousand tons of coal as cargo, and another . thousand tons in her bunker: ; able to steam nine knots on an average consumption of eighteen tons per day ; one of the most useful type of ship imaginable, in a word, looked at from the point of view of dividend-carning. Any- thing less like a fighting ship it is impossible to conceive—-that is, in the pitched-battle sense. She was a sea-fighter naturally, because it was her fate to be launched with the “ Red Duster” flying at her taffrail ; but beyond a bout with stormy waters, her builders never conceived the possibility of her ever “ joining up’ for active service. The Responsible Authority thought differently, howev The idea germinated in the C.-in-C.’s fertile brain. He discussed it with certain under- lings, who waxed enthusiastic over the matter. “ Fritz is far too cautious,” was the opinion. “He doesn't mind attacking an inoffensive tramp steamer that isn’t armed, thanks to the law of nations which decrees that merchant ships shall not carry guns. But he docs very much mind showing himself in range of a war canoe. He can tell a destroyer ten miles off, whether he son the surface or submerged. Our destroyers’ propellers give the show away, because they Maintain a level ten revolutions per knot of speed, which is what no pukka merchant ship does, Fritz is fitted with hydrophones which tell him exactly what's in his neighbourhood. Therefore- ee Therefore the “ Q°'-boat idea was conceived. Tf you cold hoodwink under-water Fritz into believing that a palpable tramp steamer was nothing more than a tramp, whilst she was, in reality, a very efficient fighting unit, so much the worse for Fritz. “See to it,’ said the C.-in-C,; and it was promptly seen to. The Penshurst, streaked everywhere with red and yellow rust, with grass and barnacles growing plentifully on her boot- tapping paint, had recently arrived at the Naval Base with a full cargo of good Welsh steam coal. Because, when the Navy conceives a plan, it is apt to waste no time in that plan’s furtherance, the Penshurst’s cargo was whipped out of her holds in record time. She partly filled the bunkers of a certain famous batrle-cruiser. No doubt the simplest thing would have been to send her to a refitting port, somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Tyne; but it was con- sidered that the Base itself offered resources sufficient to deal with the matter in hand. Lots of the ships about carried more guns than modem warfare rendered necessary ; and though some of these were already being converted for high- angle fire to be used against enemy aircraft, there were lots to spare. There.were alse repair ships not a few, waiting --cternally waiting -for a big flect action to happen in order that they might account for their existence. Their staffs were cating off their heads in idleness, and it was therefore possible to throw the bulk of these unwilling loafers aboard the Penshurst. They worked very well when once they were started ; the sporting element of the business appealed to them. They had heard grim tales of merchant ships being sunk without any chance being given to them; but here was a merchant ship that seemed likely, if they did their work thoroughly, to bite back rather savagely. These workers detached certain light guns from ships that no

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374 THE WIDE WORLD longer required them, and carried them bodily to the “Q "boat. It was rough and ready work, altogether lacking in that meticulous finish which the White Envign usually demands, and especially in peace-time ; but as the Penshurst was declaring war, and as she would carry the Red Ensign until—well, that comes later—a high polish was not considered requisite. Meantime, a general collection was made amongst the waiting levia- thans in the Base ; and as a result, an enormous number of empty casks was gathered together t beef, pork, and rum casks, anything that was watertight, indeed. These excellent things were stowed away in the “ Q’s’’ holds, on top of a thourand tons of coal, which was to serve as ballast. The ship was laden to her deck beams with empty casks, all of them carefully bunged ; and she was thus rendered practically unsinkable. Also, whilst the work of camouflage—blessed word !—was going on, volunteers were called for from the pukka warships. These men were informed beforehand of the risks they ran. They were told that “Q’’- boating was about as risky a job as the naval side of war offered. Submarine Fritz was notorious for his total lack of a sense of humour; and it was hardly likely that he would show much tolerance—not even the usual courtesies of war—to men who were masquerading under an ostensibly unwarlike flag; men who were, in his view, little better than pirates. The volun- teers were further told that it might be necessary to permit themsclves to be blown to fragments without retaliating; because the Penshurst would not be the only “ Q”’ afloat, and if they disclosed their real identity to a U-boat, and afterwards allowed that U-boat to make her escape, the whole gaff would be blown, and the chances of the Penshurst’s successors would be extremelyslim. They were tcld, in addition, that if they were taken prisoners of war they would in all likelihood be slammed up against their captors’ conning-tower and shot in cold blood, or hung at their own snip’s derrick-heads, or branded horribly on the face. After all this, it is interesting to note that five per cent. of the volunteers sufficed to man the Penshtrst com- pictely. The remaining ninety-five per cent. were dis- appointed; but they were permitted to kcep their names on a list, as other “ Q’s’’ were meditated. Once the crew was selected it was put through exhaustive training. ‘“ Q’’-boating from the beginning differed greatly from ordinary naval war. The element of complete surprise was its main stand-by. The Hun had to be caught napping ; he had to be thoroughly hoodwinked, decoyed to his destruction without a single suspicion being aroused. To further this laud- able intention, the volunteer crew was traincd to appear and behave exactly as a merchant service crew might be expected to do. In the first place, the ratings were deprived of their smart sea uniforms, and were supplied with reach-me-down clothing that would have dis- graced a Geordie coaling brig. They were told to allow hair to grow on their faces—not MAGAZINE, the ordered, seemly hair of the Navy, but the straggling face-fungus of the “ shellback.” They were instructed to slouch as they walked ; to carry a cigarette in the corner of their mouths on all occasions; and generally’ to behave as though discipline was a thing they had never heard of. They entered heartily into the spirit of the jest; and on their face value would have broken the heart of the most indifferent mer- chant skipper who ever advertised at his ship’s gangway : ‘ No British need apply.” Meantime the fitters were making the most of their opportunities aboard the Penshurst. Pneu- matic drills and “windy hammers ’”’ made a roaring noise like incessant machine-gun fire; small forges smoked and flamed along the ship’s decks. A useful twelve-pounder gun—one of the best bits of ordnance ever devised for short- range work—was mounted on the fore-deck. A steel chip’s lifeboat was cut im two through the keel, and so iaked that, on the pulling of a bolt, the two halves would fall clean away. This dummy boat was then put in place over the 12-pounder, and effectively concealed its presence. So far as the outward evidence was concemed, the Penshurst was simply carrying a spare lifeboat on deck—a not unnecessary pre- caution, considering the activity of enemy submarines. Two six-pounders were next mounted, one 9 either side of her bridge-deck. The steel plating of the ship’s sides was cut away to form ports, and dropping doors were constricted, a'so responsive to the pull of a lever. The engineers’ cabins were completely gutted, and two three- pounders replaced the old-time bunks, chests of drawers, and folding washstands. Here, again, the plating was cut and hinged to form dropping ports. A dummy galley was built on the after- part of the bridge, and from this erection voice- pipes led to the various gun-positions. The funnel of this sham galley was in reality a rather cleverly-concealed periscope ; and all around the white-painted interior of this camouflaged gun- control were painted marks representing the degrees of a circle, so that the bearing of any hostile craft could at once be communicated to the gun-crews. Ammunition magazines were constructed where they would be handiest for the guns, whilst being, at the same time, as safely removed as possible from the risk of being hit by an enemy torpedo or shell. In order that the work performed upon the ship might not be visible from outside, dirty paint was slammed on here and there, and mid and rust were applied on top of all. From a distance of a dozen yards it was impossible to see that the Penshurst had had anything whatever done to her. She was now ready to play her part against the Hun. Her gun-crews had been chosen and given exhaustive, intensive training aboard a larger ship; her gunlayers were exceptionally capable men, who had won records for shooting. They were told that on their powers of hitting quickly depended the entire success of the ven- ture; as soon’as the order, ‘‘ Open fire!” was given, they were to drop their ports, cover the

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enemy, and let loose as many rounds as they possibly could, without waiting for further orders. The ship put to sea without any advertisement whatsvever, because there w no telling what system of espionage might be in force. And from the moment she passed the submarine defences, she was in a state of readiness for immediate action. That is to say, her gun- crews were “closed up’’; the telescopes were adjusted to suit the eyesight of the different gunlayers; the ready-for-use ammunition was bestowed in its several racks; the guns them- selves were loaded and made ready for firing, with the sole exception of the firing tubes. The gun-captains wore their bandoliers containing tubes and rimers, and never relinquished them save to pass them to their reliefs; revolvers, cutlasses, and hand grenades were laid in terrible readiness ; the two Maxims with which the ship was provided were placed in such a position that they could at once deliver a sweeping fire upon any possible boarders, whilst the hammocks of the men were slung to thedeck-beamsimmediately in rear of their engines of destruction ; and the orders were that all hands tured in “ all- standing ’’; that is, ready to drop out of their hammocks and fight their guns within one second of the alarm being sounded. Once clear of harbour the crew were exercised at a dummy run; and the First Lieutenant, who was ,responsible for the ship’s gunnery efficiency, had no cause for complaint ; although, as it was quite on the cards that a U-boat might be lurking within half a mile or so with the tip of her periscope above water, the ports were not dropped, nor were the guns swung out. But though the “ Q”’ was efficient to the last degree, good luck did not immediately befall her. Underwater Fritz was active in) many waters, but he refrained from) molesting the simple Penshurst. She affected to be an inno- cent tramp on her lawful business: she passed from port to coastwise port, trailing the tail of her coat at a steady seven knots through the danger-zones ; but it may be that Fritz decided she was too humble fry for him to trouble about, and so many days passed without even the sug- gestion of an alarm being raised--once her crew got familiar with the heart-stopping effect of watery sunshine on a floating condensed milk tin, say. Of course, there were alarms not a few: the nerves of all hands aboard were highly strung, and many things happen at sea which are capable of a double interpretation. A por- poise swimming sharply at night can give a very good imitation of a torpedo; an ordinary wooden box, floating with one jagged piece of timber sticking upright from the main bulk, can easily delude a supersensitive look-out into the belief that it is a submarine’s periscope. But there was no relaxation in the rigid réles enforced on all the complement, notwithstanding Fritz’s seeming reluctance to reveal himself within fighting distance. There was, if any- thing, an overplus of caution displayed. No more than four hands were allowed on deck at once during daylight—four hands and the officer of the watch —because that was the average A “Q” AND A “U.” 375 number of a watch that a tramp of the Penshurst's type would show. Only at night were the many extra men permitted to appear in the open for fresh air and exercise ; and though a rigid look- out was maintained over every point of the horizon, the look-outs themselves were cunningly concealed, so as not to be visible from outboard. The officer of the watch, dressed to fit the part, was merely the officer of the watch ; the helmse man, lolling over his wheel, was simply a rough and ready ‘ shellbac Occasionally the ship rested for a while in port, to enable her crew to recover from the very real nerve-strain to which they were subjected. Life in the main, however, was monotonous ; it lacked the ordered activity of big-ship existence ; men were compelled to crowd closely; it was not possible to give much shore leave. But there was nothing the matter with the temper of the crew, for, despite these many disadvan- tages, they still remained as keen as mustard and there was an astonishing absence of minor crime, such as even the best-disciplined pukka wership knows. Then, one fine day, the “ Q’’-beat was ordered out to patrol the Western Atlantic. This news acted as a spur to all aboard: the narrow seas were too well watched to permit of Fritz show- ing his nose; but out in the wide open spaces he would scent a posxible prize in the ostensible tramp, and then. ! It was out in deep water, with nothing visible save the sky and the sea, growing out of dark- ness into the likeness of a pearl shell’s interior ; a cold, frosty dawn; and snow covered the Penshurst's wpper works to the depth of a foot. There was little pleasure in being afloat in such weather, and the “ Q's” navigator, who had the morning watch, shivered in the wrapping of his hard-weather coat and thought regretfully of the big ship he had “ swapped" for this arduous existence, The ship was throwing herself about a little, and there was a white fret. on the sea; whitecaps ran merrily befcre the thrust of a vigorous breeze. There were mare’s tails not a few in the sky as the radiant colouring departed from it, to leave nothing but stcel-blue and grey, with a dingy fringing of leaden-coloured clouds. “ Absolutely right for Fritz,’ the navigator decided. You couldn’t tell the feather of a periscope twenty fathoms off. Quartermaster !"” “Yes, sir.” The Q.M. uncoiled himself from the wheelhouse below the bridge. “Ever heard the word ‘ cocoa ’ in your life ? ”” “Very good, sir.” With a grin the Q.M. clambered down the bridge ladder and set off towards the galley. Before he returned a mes- senger from the wireless office reported on the bridge. He had a flimsy in his hand ; it stated that an enemy submarine had been sighted in latitude so-and-so, longitude — such-and-such. ‘This signal way known as an “ allo’; any vessel sighting an enemy U-boat was required to trans- mit the news as swiftly as possible. The navi- gator of the Penshurst read the position, and then consulted the chart that was under the glass top of a desk quite handy. He discovered that the

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376 enemy craft had been sighted within twenty miles of the “ Q's” then position, By the time he was satisfied on this point the quartermaster was back with a “ Fanny ” of cocoa and a mug. He filled the mug and handed it to the officer, who raised it to hir lips, staring stolidly outboard meanwhile, as a good watch-officer should. The cocoa was scalding hot, and it was never drunk. The navigator narrowed kis gaze on a trifling something that glinted like a mirror in the of the new-risen sun. “ Fritz, by God!" he said, and stepped to the forepart of the bridge, where was a bell-push. In obedience to his pressure certain “ rattlers sounded about the ship -in the officers’ flat, in .O.’s cabin, in the gun-positions, in the Outwardly nothing happened ; the ship’s decks presented no change. It was under cover that she began to boil with orderly activity. All hands were at their action stations before the “ rattlers’’ had ceased to vibrate ; the guns were in jmmediate readiness ; ammuni- tion-passers were lined up, magazine doors were opened. The first lieutenant nipped into tke control and entreated the navigator to give him Fritz’s approximate bearing. The C.O. crawled up to the bridge through a hole cut in the deck for that purpose ; he did not permit himself to be seen. One of the deck watch—he belonged to the “abandon-ship ” party—casually connected a hosepipe to the main waterssupply and com- menced to stuice down the forecastle head. The look-out at the masthead suddenly reported :— “ Suspicious object five points on starboard bow, sir.” “TY could have told you that an hour since,” growled the navigator, and got to his range- finder. It was Fritz, right enough; after much wait- ing their chance was coming. The question was, would Fritz play the game according to plan, or would he fire a “ mouldy”’ into the Penshurst and leave it at that ? “ About three-five-double-o, Pilot, eh 2?’ said the C.O., casually, though his voice was a-quiver with natural excitement. The skipper intended to fight to the last gasp; he, as skipper, would assuredly be murdered, possibly tortured, if the ship were forced to surrender, and he had no longing for such a fate. “ Three-three-double-o, sir,” gator. That m said the navi- ant he made the range of the still inactive periscope to be three thousand three hundred yards. When you are firing at a small target from a platform that is not rock-steady it is well to have your range accurate to a yard. “Enemy submarine bearing green +ix-tive, range three-three-double-o,”” said the skipper to the control; and the first lieutenant passed the news to the gun-positions. He was answered by the sight-setters, with their hoods strapped about their ears. As they answered they set the dial sights to the announced range. Then they waited, excitement growing. A thousand possibilities flashed through the C.O.’s mind: scmething might be visible outboard the ship to disclose her real identity. He took a hasty survey to assure himself that no Navy- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, pattern hammocks or clothing hung up to dry. No; everything was quite satisfactory in that respect. It is not a pleasant matter to await develop- ments of this kind; the imagination is apt to play many tricks witha man. Modern education has quickened human imagination to an enor- mous degree ; and when one has seen at close quarters the hideous work of modern projectiles, it is not a difficult matter to sce oneself lying sprawled on the deck without limbs or with half one’s face shot away. The C.O. told me after- wards that his chief thought was that if a torpedo hit the boiler-room the ship’s bridge would be blown to rags, and himself and the navigator with it. He wondered if the First Lieutenant would be able to fight the wreck from his control, It was long-drawn suspense; Fritz was cer- tainly running’ no risks. He moved away at a fairly rapid pace, and broke water at a range of six thousand yards—far too distant for the Penshurst to fire with any prospect of making a vital hit. Then, going full speed, he ran clean round the “Q.’"’ He then hoisted a signal: “Abandon ship immediately!’’ He empha- sized the order in his own sweet fashion: the C.O. saw a vivid yellow flash and heard the whine of a shell overhead; then he heard the thudding report of the gun’s discharge. “Good !"’ he said. ‘ He’s going to attack by gunfire. Oh, come on, you swine!” - He stopped the Penshurst promptly. She wallowed a bit in the run of the seas, and the navigator, carefully concealed, chanted shifting ranges and bearings as the U-boat altered her position. The Penshurst did not carry. any defensive armament. This was in the days before Red Ensign ships were fitted with a gun aft ; but the U-boat was still suspicious and kept well on the bow as he closed, just in case a gun was brought to bear on him. He fired two more rounds, and - one of them carried away the Penshurst’s fore- Mast, together with the look-out. Then he lobbed another shell into the starboard bunker, as a peremptory order. “Abandon ship!”’ said the skipper. And things began to happen. Up from below poured certain men—stokers, enginecrs, deck-hands, to the number of a score. They were joined by the ostensible deck-watch, and they flung themselves, with every appearance of panic, on the ship’s two lifeboats. They worked somewhat clumsiiy, as engine-room men might be expected to do; the boats were lowered in slovenly fashion—bow first. But they were lowered ; and the “t abandon- ship” party slid down the falls into them, casting off and rowing away like madmen. This was part of the programme, of course; these men were detailed for this duty. Outwardly, the Penshurst was now an abandoned hulk. The skipper had left the bridge, and a man wearing a jacket and cap of identical pattern had been the last to slide down the falls. But it was not the C.O. He had regained the bridge by means of his trap-door, and he was now crouching behind the dodgers, peering through eyelet- holes, with the portable voice-pipe close to his lips.

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377 A “Q” AND A “UL” “*Fritz, by Godt’ he said.” Vol, xliv.—26.

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Not until the enemy's fire became too hot would he abandon the bridge and take up his place in the control, there to fight the acticn by aid of the periscope. Always conccaled, the navigator passed changing ranges to the skipper, who transmitted them to the guns. Watchful through his observation slit, the C.O. saw the U-boat fire twe rounds at the port boat as it passed round the ship’s stern ; neither shell hit, but both made great splashes. This brutal action on the sub- marine’s part served a usetul purpose ; it keyed up the men still remaining aboard the “Q" to the necessary killing pitch. There was to be.no mercy shown to those who would fire on defence- less boats. But the ruse of abandoning ship succveded. Thinking the Penshurst completely deserted, the U-boat swiftly clesed her range. She did not know that some forty men were lying in conccalment, very eager to get to work. All she saw was a sheer hulk blowing off steam from her boilers and swinging aimlessly to every slap of the brisk seas. Fritz closed to within one thousand yards. “The Lord hath delivered mine enemy,” said the C.O., who was not an ultra-pious man. “That perishing stink-pot will never see the ‘appy, ‘appy Fatherland again !"* WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “The first round struck the U-boat's ’ gaia the navigator. is, my Pilot. Wouldn’t you The C.O. licked his dry lips He saw things happening aboard tl e U-boat. Men showed on her conning- tower, scrutinizing the “Q’’ through their glasses ; a gun’s crew clustered about her gun ; he saw the picce loaded and the breech-block closed. * Eight-double-o—seven-five-o, sir,” said the navigator. The C.O. answered, as did the sight- setters. The U-boat also answered with a spiteful flash. The crash of the bursting shell was deafening as it exploded in the confined space about the starboard six-pounder. It had all happened very swift! at one moment the gun’s crew were larking and jesting and promis- ing themselves unlimited sprees on the forth- coming prize-money ; the next instant they lay torn and hideously mangled about their gun. Narrowly missing two ammunition-boxes—and that would have given the show away effec- tively had they been hit—the shell struck the gun-layer squarely, and splashed him in fragments against the further bulkhead. The signalman was the gunlayer’s chum, and in their death they were not divided. It was war—real “ Nine-five-o, si “ Nine-five-o it like a drink?” and peered afresh.

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gunlayer and pitched him overboard.” grim war; no longer a jesting matter. The breech-worker and his mate lay riddled with fragments, feebly moaning. Someone transmitted the news to the bridge. The U-boat was still closing. Penshurst’s C.O. 1ooked on hi» men, from lowest rank upwards, as brothers ; the news disgusted him. “He's asked for it,’’ he said. ‘‘ What’s the range now, Pilot?” “* Six-five-o.”” ** Six-five-o,” said the skipper. ‘‘ Open fire!” There was nothing unduly spectacular about his manner. He did not implore his men to do their best ; he did not prate anything about the honour of the Navy and of Old England. Maybe he believed his men would naturally do their best without further telling ; and during the war we hid our real feelings concerring such small matters as patriotism and love of country. Several things happened practically all at once now aboard the Penshurst. The Red Ensign aft was dropped and the White Ensign tcok its place almost instantly. She was going to fight under her true colours ; to the devil with further camouflage! A signal-boy had been stationed aft for this purpose ; though a boy, he did not falter in his duty. He ran up the Navy ensign, A €Q” AND A “UL” 379 and then doubled to the bridge to act as messenger. Simultaneously the engines were started full speed ahead; also simultaneously, all the concealing screens dropped, the fore-deck boat opened beautiful, like a lily, and the gun came up, with its crew gathered round it. It was the starboard three-pounder that fired first. Her gunlayer knew what he was abont. His first round struck the U-boat’s gunlayer and pitched him overboard, minns his head. It was very pretty shooting. The twei ve-pounder was not a second behind its smaller relative. Her gunlayer, too, was a useful man. He planted a yellow-ringed shell immediately at the base of Fritz’s conning-tower. It exploded there with a deafening report, and great gouts of water flew upward, with dark patches amongst the foam. Fritz had got the surprise of his life; and it was a surprise that showed no signs of lessening in quality. Both three-pounder and twelve-pounder were firing “ rapid independent ” ; each gunlayer was getting off as many rounds as he could. “ Ready—fired ! Ready—fired! Ready— fired!’’ Breech-worker and gunlayer seemed to be chanting in chorus. “ Up fifty! Down twenty-five! Left four!”

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380 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The words snapped like discharging cordite. Men were working like maniacs; the shell seemed to leap clear from the racks into the gun-breeches. These guns’ crews had not leafed at their “ load- ing teacher”’ drill, be it proted There was nothing whatever the matter with that part of their work. And accurate shooting depends equally on each separate individual of a gun's crew; the sight-setter must keep his hands locked on the sights lest the recoil of the piece shifts them and spcils the gunlayer’s aim, the lcading number must slam the shell hard into the chamber so that the copper driving-band will engage in the grooves and lands of the rifling, the breech-worker must be nippy with the tubes. Every shell, practically, found its target at that close range. The “ Q's ”’ officers were now out of concealment, watching the result of every shot, sending down barked orders to alter the sights. The submarine made no response. “ A bit like shooting hens,”’ remarked the C.O. Then he gave a bit of a gasp. The gunlayer of the twelve-pounder was evidently tired of hurling round after round into the enemy’s conning- tower; he altered his point of aim to the U-boat’s bows. He steadied the vibrant muzzle, cuddling well down behind the sighting telescope. Then he fired, For perhaps a second nothing hap- pened; then from the Fritz’s bows showed a sudden, vivid flash, far greater than a mere shell alone could cause. There was an explosion that shook the “Q” to her keel, and sent a swirl cf water bursting over the bulwarks. “He's torpedoed us,”’ said the C.O. ‘ No, by God!" The U-boat gave a horrid furch ; masses of steel flew from her bows. “ Hoist with his own petard!” cried the C.O. The twelve-pounder shell had alighted fairly on the war-head of a German torpedo, and the sub marine’s entire bows were blcwn off ! “ Cease fire !’’ shputed the C.O. The U-boat had got his gruel. He dived slowly forward, his stern tilting higher and higher. “ Port!” the C.O, said, and the helm was altered. At full speed the Penshurst steamed over the spot where the U-boat had dived. ‘‘Let go starboard depth-charge!" There was a splash; then silence save for the throb- bing of the engines. Not for long did that silence endure. There was a booming sound, a muffled roar, a shock which caused the ship to quiver in every plate and stringer, and a great column of water rose skywards. Presently the turmoil subsided, but the surface cf the water told a tale that even the greatest doubter could not refute. Débris seemed to be everywhere, and amongst the raffle of shattered timbers and torn clothing and dismembered bodies showed viscous oil, slowly spreading. The ‘‘ Q’’-boat had played the ace of trumps and won the game. This was the Penshurst’s first action; it was far from being her last. Space forbids the immediate narration of her further exploits ; but they were at least as interesting as the one described. She made herself a terror to the Hun for many days, and if any reader should consult her secret record at the Admiralty, he would probably understand why Britain was not starved into ignominious surrender. A Monument Built of Pumpkins ! AT the second annual Com Show held at Terra Haute, Indiana,a mammoth monument of ten thousand pumpkins was bnilt_ at the intersection of two streets. This monument was eighteen feet high and thirty- two feet in diameter. The pumpkins were held in place by a network of wire attached to x wooden framework, — The curved stem was of polished wood. At night this huge pumpkin was illuminated by electric lights hung from sup * ports attached to the framework. Think of the possibilitiesof pump- kin pies in that monument !

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ACROSS E.AFRICA m theRAINY SEASON z by LIEUT LEO WALMSLEY MCRAF Ap interesting descrip- tion of a terrible journey through flooded country in the height of the rainy season in East Africa. The Author's party ac- tually had to swim in places on the road, and ARES SALAM, the chief port of the | former German East Africa, is not exactly a health resort at any time, but in the rainy season it has been grimly described as a regular “‘white man’s grave."’ The moist, ener- vating beat is intolerable, and every year tle germs of malaria, dysentery, and a host of other deadly diseases bring forth a fresh crop of pathetic little white crosses in the European cemetery beneath the waving coco-nut palms. For this reason I was considered a lucky man when, after my “ umpteenth ” attack of malaria, I received orders to report at General Northey’s headquarters in the healthy highlands near Lake Nyassa. I left by train the same evening, and had the good fortune to have allotted to me a whole covered-in cattle truck, which, by means of a camp-bed and a cosy Beira chair, was quickly converted by my faithful black servant, Maganga, inte a luxurious wagon iit. For two days and nights I travelled in comparative comfort, and finally disembarked at Dodoma, whence the old safari track leads almost due south to Iringa, my immediate destination. Here my troubles commenced. We were now in the height of the heaviest rainy season East Africa had experienced for nearly thirty years. A month or two ago the journey to Iringa might have been made by motor in two days, but the rains had turned the road into an excellent imitation of a canal, and the Ruaha River, which it crosses by means of a wooden bridge, was swollen to such an extent that it had over- flowed its banks and flooded the adjacent country for many miles. The depth and area of these floods was increasing hourly, and it was the opinion of the local natives that all ccmmunica- tion with Iringa would cease within the next week. People returning from Iringa were even More pessimistic: they said that they had waded through floods in places up to five feet in depth for nearly twelve miles, and the Ruaha ILLUSTRATED | BY WH. HOLLOWAY =a" a bridge normally fifteen feet above water was completely submerged. Lieut. Walmsley’s nar- rative gives one some idea of the difficulties of campaigning in the rs African bi Bridge, already badly damaged, was expected to carry away completely at any moment. Safaris were still getting through, it was true, but many porters had been drowned, and only the fact that our troops ahead were very short of rations had justified the action of the Supply Department in sending off more convoys. Motor transport, they said, was impracticable from a point twenty miles south of Dodoma ; but as the malaria had left me too weak to attempt the whole march on foot, I determined to travel as far as I possibly could by means of the two Ford light lorries which the Squadron had placed at my disposal. These cars had already seen considerable service, and I ordered the drivers to overhaul them thoroughly and to draw from the M.T. stores what “spares ’’ they deemed necessary for such a rough journey. We left Dodoma early one morning with the sun shining down brightly from an azure sky. For the first forty miles the going was not at all bad, for the ground was well drained and, apart from one or two patches of sand, the surface was excellent. Our first trouble, as a matter ot fact, was due not to meteorological conditions, but to a very sick carburetter. Luckily, we were all philosophers, and we made the best of things while the two mechanics hammered away with their spanners. Maganga lighted a fire and put the dicksey on, while I strolled into the bush with my shot-gun. The long grass was literally alive with quail, and in fifteen minutes I managed to bag two brace. Before they were cold, Maganga split them in two and roasted them over the fire on sticks. With a couple of baked potatoes and a pint of freshly-brewed tea they afforded me one of the most delectable meals it has ever been my lot to enjo At last the carburctter fixed up, and we took the road once mere. We soon realized that our friends had not exaggerated, for the track developed into a series of deep mud-puddles, in which the wheels frequently sank up to the

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382 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ax'es. Every hundred yards or so one of the would stick, and hea Maganga and I would have to get out and push. It was ex- asperating work. The sun seemed to shine with increasing fierce- ness, and as the road was hemmed in’ with thick bush, there was no breeze to cool the air or blow away the clouds of flies that swarmed round = us. We passed dozens of stranded cars, one with only its hood visible above a_ particularly evil-looking stretch of swamp. The Ford, ap- parently, was the only car capable of movement, and we saw one containing a staff officer that was being towed through the thickesé parts by a gang of fifty porters. Everyone we passed seemed to laugh at the idea of my pushing on to Iringa’ there was no hope of my getting through the floods, they said, and I should be a fool if 1 did not turn back while I had a car that would carry me. About four o’clock an ominous rumbling warned us that the daily storm would soon arrive. The sun was still shining, but a bank of dense black cloud already occupied one half of the sky, and it was rapidly spreading. At the first patch of rising ground I called a halt, and we prepared ourselves for the rain which experi- ence had taught me would be on us within a few minutes. My own tent was quickly pitched, and a large canvas sheet stretched between the two cars (placed close together) 10 give’ The Author's safari on the march. protection to the men. Hardly had we secured it when the first big drops began to fall. Then came the wind, howling and shricking through the trees, and threatening to blow our canvas shelter clean away. Like grim death we hung on to the sheet, until the gale subsided just as mysteriously as it began. By this time the whole sky was hung with leaden nimbus, and the hills Dodoma wa ay were hidden in a swirl of rain. The lightning was magnificent, spasmodic at first, then developing into an almost continuous ultra- violet discharge, while the thunder roared and crashed louder than the big guns on the Wsetern Frort. Between the heavicst claps we could hear the rain approaching like the noise of Atlantic rollers breaking on a rocky coast. On the slopes of a hill a quarter of a mile away we could sec it beating itself into spray; then, wth a roar, it was on us. It fell not in drops, but in a sheet, and in five minutes the whole veldt as far as one could see was Changed into a lake. Fortunately my _ tent The Kisego contoon ferry, was rainpreof, bit the water burst in under the flaps, and soan my bed was standing in’ a pool _ several inches deep. Maganga sat and shivered in a box alongside me. “ Are we going to be drowned ?"’ I inquired. “ Shauri - ya - Mun- gun” (It is the affair of Allah), he replied, with the African’s philosophy. For an hour the storm raged without intermission, and then it suddenly ceased. Stepping outside, I saw the — thnunder- clouds were being rolled away to the south like a mighty {eather-bed, painted in fiery colours by the

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ee? Se ACROSS EAST AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON. 383 The two cars “stuck.” sup’s dying rays. Tne air smelt clean. fresh, and exhilarating. It was hopeless to attempt to push on farther, and I decided that we should camp here forthe night. Before the coming of the storm Maganga had taken the very wise precaution of collecting a bundle of firewood and placing it inside the tent, and he had little difficulty in making his fire. My tent had been pitched under a tall leafy acacia, and a few minutes after dusk, with a great fluttering of wings, a flock of guinea-fowl alighted on the topmost branches. This was beneficent Providence with a vengeance! Taking my shot-gun, I crept underneath the tree, and had little difficulty in spotting several large black objects silhouetted against the starlit sky. Moving until I had two of them in line, I fired, and they fell with a thud to the ground, while the remainder flew away with a great commotion. Maganga began to clean them at once, and suddenly he an- nounced with glee the discovery of a perfect egg in cach. Evi- dently this was the nesting season. We had one guinea-fow! stewed for supper, and although it was not so tough as might have been expected, I believe that it was more responsible for the restless night that followed than the lion that insisted on roaring at ir- regular intervals a few hundred yards away. The eggs, however, made an excellent breakfast next morning. _ The going now became even worse, for although the veldt was compara- tively dry, the road was an almost con- tinuous stretch of => 3] liquid mud. So long as the surface under- neath was fairly hard this did not make much differ- ence, for the cars dashed along like motor boats, send- ing up great plumes of water,and leaving behind a_ turbid and foaming wake. Soon, however, we encountered cotton soil, consisting of a sticky, greasy, black clay, on which no- thing can grip. Then it was a case of pushing the cars along, and with the sun beating mercilessly on our sweating bodies, and clouds of nasty wet-footed flies buzzing round our mouths and eyes, the state of our tempers and language can be imagined. There were times when I nearly wept from sheer exasperation. However, late in the afternoon we reached Humbwa, a small supply camp, where we were able to replenish our store of petrol and replace a broken spring. The officer in charge said there was just a chance of my getting through to Kisego, and as there was still no sign of rain I decided to push on. Four miles from Humbwa we struck more cotton soil, and the drivers were so tired and generally “ fed-up ” that I decided to camp here. It was just as well that I did, for the storm came on fiercer and more suddenly than the day before. The.thunder shook the very ground, and the rain fell so heavily that I began to think we should have to climb trees to save ourselves from drowning. The Author's camp.

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3S4 THE WIDE WORLD . MAGAZINE. a terrific roar in the bushes immediately to my rear fairly made my heart leap into my mouth. I could feel my hair bristling like the mane of an angry dog, and, gripping my rifle with trembling fingers, I turned round to meet the expected attack. Fortunately for me it did not come, and after waiting a few It blew over in an hour, however, and when we turned in the stars were shining as serenely as ever. During the night another storm came on, and one glance at the road next morning was sufficient to decide me to abandon the idea of reaching Kisego with the cars. After the stores were off-loaded, I ordered the two drivers to return to Dodoma, and gave them a note to the nearest porter camp asking the O.C. 1¢ send me a dozen carncrs as quickly as possible. Tiere was small hope of the porters arriving before evening, so, leaving Maganga in charge, 1 strolled into the bush with my shot-gun. The country in this part cf East Africa c nsists chiefly of what is known as open bush. In the rainy season the grass is Jairly thick, and provides excellent cover for game. Guinea-fowl, spare-fowl, quail, znd sandgrouse abounded, and I concerned myself chiefly with the duck and the teal, numbers of which flew continuously over- head. By lunch time I had bagged two very large spur-winged geese, six brace of duck, four and a half brace of teal, a brace of guinca-fowl, and a greater bustard or paa, the size of a Christmas-fed turkey. I piled them together under a tree, and, marking the place, returned to the camp. Maganga had been very industrious during my absence. He had re-pitched the little tent, and with the assistance of a native boy from an adjacent village had collected sufficient dry wood to last us several days. Taking this boy with me, I set out into the bush once more to retrieve my bag, which I had little difficulty in locating. On the return journey TI was suddenly thrilled to see a small herd of impala grazing in a grassy glade about half a mile away. Luckily I had brought my rifle, and telling the bey te remain where he was, Pcommenced to stalk them. The only possible way to get near was to make my way through a very dense mass of thorn to my left. and nearly halt an hour had passed before I was within decent range. The herd was now only two hundred yards and already they showed signs of usness. Selecting the biggest ram, I Was just preparing to fire, when suddenly Crossing the Ruaha bridge. It collapsed shortly afterwards. minutes my terror subsided, and I crept gingerly forward to explore. Twenty-five yards from where I had been lying I found the Spoor of what must have been a very large lion. Evidently he had been stalking the impala himself, and the rear was an indication of his rage at having his sport spoiled by an interfering white man. The antelope had, of course, bulted, his Royal Highness, doubtless, in hot pursuit. Early next morning our transport arrived— not porters as we expected, but six donkeys in charge of a similar number of natives. Although they nobly lived up to the traditions of their kind so far as sudden inexplicab!e halts were The faithful Maganga.

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ACROSS EAST concerned, these eXa-perating than the cars, and about 3 p.m. we arrived, without mishap, at Kisego, a small stere camp that had been built on the north bank of the Kisego river, at the ferry. This ferry consisted of a double pontoon, running by means of pulleys aloug a stont wire rope stretched across the water. In the swiftly-running current the sides of these pontoons acted like hydro- planes, and they crossed from bank to bank automati- y. We camped on the nerth bank AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON, 385 The end of the journey. and crossed early on the following morning. was made in a couple of hours. At Temagwe Here we transferred our luggage to a couple of the floods commenced, and as it was hopeless to Maxwell light cars, and the journey to Temagwe try and get through in four hours, I decided to ay here for the night. I dined with the pply Officer, who cheered me consider- ably by offering to lend me his life-belt for the journey! He also told me that he had reccived instructions to see that all white troops entering the swamps were wearing metal identity discs, as these co.ld usually be recovered from the crocodiles by post mortem ! Needless to say, his nationality was Scotch, and, true son of Caledonia that he was, he finished off my last bottle of whisky in magnificent style. He tock it neat, for he maintained that he had absorbed enough water into his system during the last few weeks to dilute all the whisky it would ever be his lot to drink, Unfortunately, like many of his countrymen, he was subject to fits of melancholy, and when, after reciting lengthy passages from Robbie Burns and Holy Writ in a dour, monotonous voice, he commenced to preach me a sermon on the Flood, I thought it best to leave him. At daybreak next morning I was ready to start. Fourteen porters had been allotted to me, and I was warned to keep a close watcl on them, as they would desert at the first opportunity. News had just come through that the floods had not risen appreciably during the night, but it was feared that the bridge would carry away before evening. Already the water was lapping over the Crossing a “cat-walk over a deep place. top of it. It promised to be an exciting

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386 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “ Drawing my revolver, I fired a couple of shots in the air.” race. If the bridge did go, the only other route to Iringa was vid Dodoma, Dar-es-Salam, Durban, Beira, the Zambcsi, Nyassaland, and Lake Nyassa—a journey which would take six weeks at least, even if ship sailings were favourable. No; I was going to get across the Ruaha, even if I had to swim for it, and after haranguing the porters for a minute or two, telling them that I would shoot the first who tried to desert, I started. Ten minutes’ march brought us to the water’s edge. From the spectacular point of view it was the most dis- appointing flood I had ever seen, because as the whole country was covered in dense bush, one could only see the water immediately around one. The motor road, of course, was marked by a dense canal, and through this we had to walk. Soon the water. was up to our waists, and. progress became very slow and. tiring. The porters carried their loads.on their heads, and they felt their way along the slippery bed of the “canal’’ by means of long sticks carried in their one free hand. I have never felt so sorry for human beings in my life as I did for them. The Negro’s foot is very tough and hard, and is a natural pro- tection against the wicked thorns which are scattered over the East African veldt like pebbles on a beach. The water, however, quickly softened their feet, and made them as pervious to the thorns as bacon fat. No wonder the poor wretches wanted to desert! There was no wind, and the heat was intolerable: clouds of filthy flies attacked their eyes and nostrils, and with both hands engaged. it was impossible to brush them away. A large food convoy had left a few minutes before us, and as

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ACROSS EAST AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON, 387 we were travelling faster we had to pass their porters one by one. Most of them were recruited from the Tabora district, and they came of a disease-stricken and degenerate tribe. Many were already half dead with malaria and dysentery. They were being drivenalong like sheep by a white man and half-a-dozen native police, but although I heard much bad language and many terrible threats, I did not see a single porter thrashed or even touched. I wondered what wuuld have been their lot had they been rushing up food to the German Army instead of the British ! My own boys behaved splendidly, but I gave them no chance to do otherwis the van, and it was intensely amusing to see how he attempted to keep his dignity when pushing through the particularly slippery places. Once his feet slipped from under him, and for a second or so he completely disappeared undemeath the brown water. The porters howled with delight, but Maganga had a pretty revenge an hour or so later. The black man always has an intense fear of crocodiles, and although these animals tarcly attack when there is any noise or com- motion, there was always the remote charce of finding one in such a place as this. We had with the convoy a young Nyassa boy, who, after being taken prisoner by the Germans, had escaped, and was now working his passage back to his native country. He was a magnificent swimmer, and the floods presented no difficulty to him a he swam the whole way. We were negotiating a particularly deep part of the road, when sud- denly this boy, evidently at Maganga’s instiga- tion, dived and swam alcng under the water for several yards: then suddenly, without rising to the suriace, he made a ficrce grab at a porter’s legs. With one ghastly shriek of terror the man dropped his load arid collapsed with a mighty splash. “Mamba! Mamba!" cried the rest, and in less time than it takes to tell, the whole safari downed loads and made ofi into the bush as fast as their legs would carry them. It took me half an hour to restore their courage, but when I explained the true cause of their alarm I was surprised to find that they appreciated the joke immensely. Personally, I did not, and neither did the perpetrator of it when I caught him a few minutes later. That half-hour might make all the difference to my getting over the river, and besides, my own blankets had been among the loads dropped so precipitately into the water. i At midday I halted for half an hour, while the boys were allowed to rest, their loads being placed temporarily in the forks of adjacent acacias. All this time the scenery had not changed at all: the road was hemmed in with dense bush, and the everlasting monotony of it got on my nerves. The heat and the state of the roads were growing gradually worse, but so far we had not received parti rly bad news from the bridge. Soon aticr we started again I egan to feel shivery > my cyes and back com- menced to ache, and I realized that I was in for a sharp attack of fever. The bridge was still three miles ahead : with luck we would reach it

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388 about four o’clock. The food porters were now suffering terribly. I saw one of them, staggering along with a load of flour on his head, suddenly pitch forward with an awful moan and disappear. They pulled him out, but he was too weak to stand, and a native policeman was left behind to look after him. I could almost hear the ghastly old vulture which had flown over our heads for the last hour or so chortling with glee. He alighted in a tall baobab tree a hundred yards away, and was quickly joined by half-a-dozen more. I do not think they were disappointed, for the policeman joined the convoy an hour later. Although I had taken ten grains of aspirin my head and limbs ached more than ever, and in spite of the grilling sunshine I would have sold my soul for half-a-dozen blankcts and a hot- water bottle. I wanted to lie down, but the sight of those hidecus birds and the undoubted fate of the unfortunate porter haunted my mind. As the grip of the fever became stronger, how- ever, I even began to envy the man; after all, he was at rest—and that counted above every- thing Yes, that was much better—I would sit down now—why not? And then I felt Magan- ga’s strong black arm round my waist, “ Master,”’ I heard a queer distant voice saying, “the bridge very near. Man say it finish very soon, river growing very big” The bridge ? Why, I was out to fight that bridge. “Finish very soon.”’ I'd jolly well show it! I became possessed with some mad demon. Drawing my revolver, 1 fired a couple of shots into the air, and then bawled to the porters. “Come on, you blank, blank, blanks! The bridge, the bridge. Don’t crawl, run. If we're not there in five minutes you'll all be drowned like rats, and jolly well serve you right.” Un- feeling brute that I was, I actually made them run, and I ran myself until suddenly I fell into a deep hole, after which I swam. But at last the bush gave way to dense tropical forest, and then we saw a broad stretch of brown swirling water—the Ruaha. Under the trees was a dry patch of earth, the first we had seen since leaving Temagwe, and there the engineers were camped. I sat down in the O.C.'s tent while somcone poured me out a stiff whisky- and-soda. “ Don’t want to rush you, but 1f you want to cross that bridge you'll have to look slippery. The river’s rising every second, and the whole structure will give way soon.”’ The man who spoke pointed to the river, across which a long string of porters was creeping slowly in Indian file, apparently supported by THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, nothing. The bridge was practically under water, although I was told that when built, it was fifteen feet above the surface. Maganga soon hustled up our boys, and, saying good-bye to the white men, who had been so hospitable, I commenced the crossing. It was a tricky business. The roadway of the bridge had long since washed away, and now nothing was left but logs and branches, on which one had to balance while the water swirled past one’s legs. The whole structure groaned and vibrated in the terrible force of the current, and it only required a moderate-sized drifting tree to smash it up completcly. I was now feeling horribly weak, and had it not been for Maganga’s support I should have been washed away a dozen times. It took us fifteen minutes to get across, and when at last I felt the firm but wet and muddy earth underneath my feet I heaved a great sigh of relief. [had beaten the bridge, anyway. There still remained another three miles of floods, but although they were deeper in places than those we had passed they did not trouble us so much. All anxiety was over, and but for the fever I should have been the happiest man on earth. It was dusk when we stepped out of the water on to dry land, and a few yards farther on we pitched our camp. Luckily it did not rain, and in spite of wet blankets I passed a comparatively comfortable night. Next morning we learned that the bridge had collapsed a few hours after we had crossed it. For two whole days the fever raged, but thanks to Maganga’s wonderful nursing, I pulled through all right. On the morning of the third day I was well enough to leave for Iringa in a motor ambulance that my Flight- Commander had thoughtfully dispatched as soon as I had acquainted him of my illness. Leaving the flat plain of the Ruaha river, we now commenced a tremendous climb into the Iringa hills, through which we ran, until at last the picturesque little settlement of Iringa came into sight. Our aerodrome was three miles farther south, and after the doctor had seen me he said I might push on. As I had with me a large bag of mail and various stores, it may be imagined that my arrival occasioned some excitement in the Flight. After dinner I was informed that the aero- planes were leaving for Njombe, the headquarters of General Northey, fifty miles east of Lake Nyassa, and that I was to proceed there by road as soon as I was fit enough. The road was not possible for motors, and I should have to make the whole journey, a hundred and fifty miles, on foot. (To be continued.)

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& Last Battle a CAPT F-A-M WEBSTER Mlustrated. by An exciting hunting story from East Africa, concerning a dog, his master, and a leopard. NLY twice in a good many years of hunting have I been guilty of sheer “downright foolishness ''—so far as I can remember Once was when I tried to photo- graph a charging rhinoceros and— changed my mind in the nick of time ; but that’s another story. It is concerning the second occasion I am going to write. I've always had a fondness for hunting. of every kind, but big-game hunting has a fascina- tion for me which surpasses the love of women. It is not the lust of slaughter that appeals to me, although I have shot many sorts of beasts. It is rather that the denizens of the wild delight me, and I find the greatest joy in pitting my trained intellect against their natural instincts of self-preservation. Many’s the day I have gone out alone to find game, and when the herd has been located have spent hours stalking and wriggling flat upon my stomach until I could get within a few yards of the beasts and study their habits at my leisure. In this way a man collects, one by one, the secrets of Nature, which are never revealed to the sportsman whose sole purpose is to make his kill and to add yet another head, or skin, to the tale of his trophies. Towards the end of 1917 I was up near Bukoba, just across the German East African border. Leopards are particularly plenti- ful in that district, and I badly wanted the blood, to say nothing of the pelt, of one fellow who had kept me awake night after night. It was my custom to get under my mosquito net about nine o'clock and to read until ten, when I turned over and went to sleep. At the time of which I write my first sleep rarely Kathuke, the Author's huater, with “ Bully.” Incidentally the narra- tive shows on what small trifles men’s lives sometimes depend. lasted longer than a couple of hours. At mid- night, almost to the minute, that leopard would start “sawing wood ’* all around my camp. This performance went on intermittently until about three o’clock in the morning, after which I was allowed to p in peace until sunrise, when the irrepressible clamour of the boys commencing their day’s work precluded further slumber. I fancy that leopard was after my dog, “ Bully,” for dogs have a great fascination for leopards. Several nights I lay in wait for the prowler, but never so much as caught a sight , of him. Next I set my Akamba_ hunter, Kathuka, on to find his spoor and locate his lair. After two or three unsuccessful attempts the little chap got on to the trail, and towards sunset one evening burst into the hut, where my bath was being prepared. His eyes were fairly blazing, and his teeth, filed to pin-points in memory of cannibalistic days, gleamed whitely through his grinning lips. “Bwana,” he said, “I have found the leopard 1!” Then followed a detailed description of the locality in which the beast had made his home. Apparently it was some distance away, where he occupied a cave, the mouth of which was thickly blocked by bushes, while overhead there was a broad rocky ledge running along the cliff-face. Next day I went up to pro- spect, and found the place exactly as Kathuka had described it. I had with me my rifle and a camera. It was high noon, and, knowing the habits of the leopards, I *The call of the prowling leopard closely _resemisles the sound made by an un. greased saw passing throu hard wood.

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39° never for one moment expected to get a sight of this one. I took the camera from Kathuka, to whom I handed my rifle, intending to get a snapshot of the cave. This picture, I thought, would serve as an intere.ting reminder after I had killed the leopard. I had got my posi- tion right and was looking into the view -finder, when, to my utter amazement, the leopard walked out of his lair! There was no time to get my rifle, and I knew Kathuka would not fire it without my orders, except in the last extremity. Well, there was the leopard and there was I; moreover, I had the camera in my hand. The temptation to take a snap was very great, and I snapped! It was foolish, but “ fool’s luck’’ held good on that occasion, for, without a sound, the beast whipped around and disappeared. I don’t think it was the “click’’ of the shutter that frightened him off, for I have often known native hunters make a similar noise by snapping their fingers, to attract one’s attention when in the immediate vicinity of game, without dis- turbing the quarry thereby. On the other hand, although the mile is by no means infallible, it is generally found that the leopard will attack a man with whom he comes face to face. One thing was quite certain, we should not get another sight of him that day. I knew that there would be a full moon in a week's time, so decided to wait until there should be enough light for more or less accurate night- shooting. I gave the matter considerable thought, and decided that I would lie up towards sunset upon the ledge above the cave, in the hope of being able to shoot the leopard through the spine as he emerged from his lair for his nightly prowl. This plan pleased me vastly, for it seemed to possess the merit of absolute safety. When the moon was at the full I told Kathuka that we would go out and make our kill. On the day ap- pointed my personal boy prepared some cold meat and bread and filled my flask against the night-watches. I spent the afternoon looking to my gun and ammunition; about four o'clock I had a pretty solid tea. An hour later Kathuka came The Author in bush kit. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to my door to say that it, was time to set out. Just as I was leaving the -hut my eye fell upon my revolver in its old, worn, leather holster, hanging by, the head. of my bed. Pausing, I turned back and buckled-it on: to my belt. On such. small circumstances of chance may one’s life depend! But I am anticipating. Just as we were a ing the vicinity of the cave I heard a slight rustling in the bushes behind me, and, turning sharply around, I saw that,my dog Bully had followed us. I cursed softly under my breath and bade him ‘“‘ Go home!’ but he only looked up into my face, . wriggling his tan-coloured. body and wagging his absurdly long tail. It was very hard to resist the piquant look of him as he stood there with his head on one side.and one ear cocked up, but, for his own sake, I did not want him with me on that expedition. I ordered him off again, and as he slunk away, very crestfallen, with his tail between his legs, I felt. half inclined to call him back ; and I wish to Heaven now I had done so, for I was fond of that mongrel, with the mixed blood of mastiff, Airedale, and bull-terrier in him. When we reached the comer of rock at which the ledge com- menced, at about the height .qgf a man’s head, I handed my rifle to Kathuka while I pulled myself up; he handed up the rifle, haversack, and water- bottle before joining me. We then set off crawling on our hands and knees until we came to a somewhat broader spot, which I judged to be imme- diately above the cave. Looking over, I found my surmise to be correct. I motioned to Kathuka that we had arrived, after which we lay down to test awhile, for the day- light was not entirely gone. Presently Kathuka pressed my elbow, and whispered, ‘‘ The day- light is finished now, master.” I nodded, and, feeling in my pocket, produced the little pot of luminous paint I always en- deavour to have with me, and applied it to the sights of my rifle. Then I drew myself stealthily forward on my elbows so that I rested on my chest, looking down on to the ground immediately in front of the cave, the mouth of which was hidden by the conformation of the rising rock.

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The thought suddenly occurred to me that there would be a short space of semi-darkness between the fading of the yellow refulgence of sunset from the sky and the advent of the moon. I hoped that the leopard would not choose that particular period to put in his appearance, but at the same time I reflected that there would still be light enough to distinguish the bulk of the beast, upon the body of which the dabs of luminous paint would aid me in aligning my sights. In the intense silence of the bush I could hear Capt. Webster's unique snapshot of the leoperd at the mouth of his lair, “BULLY’S” LAST BATTLE. — 391 the deep, regular breathing of the Akamba hunter prone beside me. Suddenly he snapped his fingers twice, and I peered intently down- wards. Again he snapped his fingers, and touched me lightly on the ankle with his foot. When I turned my head to look at him I found that his gaze was not directed downwards, as I had expected, but that he was looking straight across at the undergrowth opposite to the cave. Despite Kathuka’s obvious anxicty, I could see nothing, although I strained my eyes to the utmost.

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392 There was a faint luminosity over the forest. With the suddenness common to equatorial regions the curved rim of the moon pushed up over the edge of the hill above us. Then I gaw the cause of Kathuka’s excitement, for there, at the edge of the scrub and looking up towards our narrow perch, was Bully! Nor were ours the only cyes that had espied the dog, for at that moment there came a fierce snarling sound from the neighbourhood of the cave. In my anxiety to see the mouth of the cave I craned farther out over the lip of the ledge and— overbalanced | Kathuka made a wild grab at me, but only succeeded in securing the rifle, of which I had let go. Twenty feet I dropped, turning completely over once in mid-air. After that first fierce snarl the leopard had commenced to slink for- ward, crouched close to the ground. intent upon settling Bully. A fraction of a second later *that leopard got the surprise of his life, for I crashed right down on to him—a circumstance which probably saved me some badly broken bones. The force of his startled spring aside flung me hard against the rock-face, with my left leg doubled under me. I was conscious of a sharp stabbing pain in the region of the left Imee-joint, heard a sound like the tearing of canvas, and knew that the cartilage had ripped out As I tried to roll clear the leopard struck at me, missing by so little that he tore the shirt from off me, but did not even scratch the skin beneath. Next second Bully had tackled him. The fiery courage of that dog still amazes me whenever I think of him, which is pretty often. His master was down, with a “ crocked ’’ knee, and -—well, it was up to him to do what he could, and, by Jove, he did it! Every time the leopard turned to finish me he was on to him, and every time he struck at Bully the dog seemed tc be out of reach. After one particularly narrow escape from those deadly claws the dog paused, and I thought my hour had come, but by that time I had my revolver-—-a particularly accurate *450 Colt— in my hand. as the leopard crouched I let him have my first bullet. He took it fairly in the shoulder, and it steadied him up for a minute, and gave Bully another chance. Kathuka, with great good sense, had not attempted to open fire on the beast from above, for fear that, in the half-light, he might hit me. Now I could hear him scramb'ing along the ledge as fast as he could go, but his progress, of necessity, took time on account of the narrow- ness of the path. Again he showed sound judgment in not hurrying unduly, for had he fallen nothing but a lucky shot from my revolver could have saved me. Now that I knew help was coming, I thought of nothing but saving Bully, and I fired again and again at the leopard. So close were we that Lhit him every time, and vet, such is the vitality of these animals, I might just as well have peppered him with a peashooter for all the immediate cffect of my shots. More than one of the wounds would have proved fatal ultimately, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but at the moment they seemed only to stagger him by the sheer foroe of impact, while leaving him quite capable of carrying out his dangerous intentions. When I had but one cartridge left I saw poor old Bully go hurtling through the air—a red, ragged bunch of ribbons... Poor chap! He had put up just the finest fight a dog ever made to save his master, but even so it was the revolver which actually saved me at the last. With Bully finished, the leopard, badly wounded but still dangerous, was at liberty to turn his attention to me. I expected it would be soon over. for, curiously enough, I had lost all remembrance of Kathuka. For some reason, however, the leopard did not act as I expected him to. Perhaps he had his own methods, perhaps his five wounds were beginning to tell on him; anyway, he crouched and, with his head held low and his baleful.green eyes intent, he began to creep forward. On he came, inch by inch, his tail lashing his-sides, his gaze mes- meric as that of a serpent. Every second I expected that he would spring, and yet I dared not risk a shot until he was quite close, first because the penetrating. power of a soft-nosed revolver bullet is very small, and, secondly, because I had only the-one -cartridge left. He never sprang, Heaven alorne-knows why! Inch by inch he crept on until I could smell the fetid reck of his breath, and then I fired straight between the gleaming eyes. Almost simul- taneously the louder report-ef a rifle rang out. Kathuka had arrived! He had crept up so close that he could not possibly miss. With a supreme effort which wrenched my knee beyond all repairing I hurled myself side- ways as the beast rushed past me blinded, head up, fighting for air and light. Subcon- sciously I knew that he was done for. I don’t think that I fainted, for I remember Kathuka handing me the flask of whisky, after which I sat up against a tree-trunk and put away most of my cold meat and bread. I have often thought since that it was a strange thing to do at such a time, but I did not think anything about it at the moment. I was hungry, there was food to hand, and that was all there was to it.: Thus in the wilds are adventure and the commonplace inextricably intertwined. We had to stay where we were all night, for, of course, I could not move on my smashed knce, nor would I trust even Kathuka to carry me through the impenctrable darkness within the forest. Hyenas and jackals prowled around all night, desirous of the dead bodies, but we contrived to keep them off, or thought we did, but they must have got the remains of poor Bully, for we could not find any trace of his carcass in the morning. When daylight came, Kathuka aided me to where the dead leopard lay and we examined him. He was just over seven feet long from his nose to the tip of his tail. All my six shots had landed and Kathuka’s bullet from my rifle had also got him in the head, but somehow 1 fancy it was that last revolver bullet of mine

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that finally settled his business, although Kathuka’s contribution would have been equally effective. Kathuka wanted to go back to camp to bring boys to skin the beast, but somehow I did not seem to want that pelt ; it was going to awaken too many memories of poor old Bully every time I went into my hut if I took it, so we left the beast. to find his grave in the stomachs of the hyenas and the jackals. Kathuka got me to camp riding on his back. I was laid up for a month with that wretched Imee, from which I could not get the fluid to disperse. It has never got properly strong again, and any sudden twist will throw me over and lay me up for weeks on end. The mistake I made was in fooling about with that camera: I should have had my rifle in my Vol. xliv.—27. “BULLY’S ” LAST BATTLE. 393 fi a7 “That leopard got the surprise of hie life, for I crashed Tieht dowa on to him.” hands the first time I stood before the cave, in which case I should have shot the leopard out of hand, and so should not have lost Bully and should still be light and active on my feet. Well | we live and learn, and I have given up photographing wild beasts; except when they are dead or in cages.

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Pe WITHaBRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON by Lieut W. Noble R.A.F. Illustrated by W. Avis. There is a saying that the hour brings forth the man, and the record of the Air Service abundantly proves its truth. At a time of desperate need it produced what seemed to the average groundling to be a race of super-men—mere youngsters who were more at home in the air than on terra firma, of boundless courage and audacity, seeking adventure for the sheer love of it, and laughing in the very face of Death. In this narrative —exclusively written for “The Wide World "—the Author describes some of his experiences with fighter” squadron on the Western Front. The mission of a “fighter” squadron, as the name implies, is to seek out the enemy and if possible destroy him, and right well Lrecateoant Ww. Noble, DEG. the R.F.C. and R.A.F. late of did this particular unit carry out its work. Lieutenant Noble has some most thrilling stories to tell, and he also gives one some very interesting glimpses of the psychology of the airman in the face of deadly danger. I. m|OQUADRON orders posted in flight Messes one dull, foggy evening in late January, 1918, read as follows : “O.P. (Offensive Patrol). Pow- wow 8.0. Lines 9.0-10.30.”” Then followed the names of nine pilots and observer detailed for the ‘ show,” whose véle was to remain one and a half hours to the east of the German lines and seek out and destroy hostile machines. For some days a low-lying ground mist had prevented us from indulging in this exhilarating if somewhat nerve-racking pastime. However, the morning turned out clear and sunny, with a slight westerly breeze. Having donned our flying kit, the hour appointed for the pow-wow found us congregated outside the office, into which the sepulchral nctes of a Klaxon horn bade us enter. Here the Major awaited us. Familiarly known as the “Old Man" by the more youthful members of his command, this hardy veteran of some thirty-two summer: was, and still is, one of the most popular squadron commanders in the Service. He proceeded te call the roll. — * Knapp.” “ Here, sir.’’ ‘‘ Breamer.”” sir.’ ‘* Two streamers on your tail. and Wells on the right of K. on the left of K.” “ Here, Badham Sims and Lovat The fermation of nine machines was sub- divided into groups of three, of which these comprised the first, Badham and Sims (the pilots) flying slightly higher than Knapp, the formation leader, and to his right and left rear respectively. “ Jackson and Creasy, streamer on your right strut.” “ Doone and Sturgess on the right of Jackson.” “Long and Yardelil or the left of Jackson.” “Young and Trott, streamer on your left strut.” | “ Farman Young.” “Dallas and Mooney on the left of Young.” “ Jackson's formation on the right of Knapp’ ‘Ss. * Young’s formation on the left of Knapp’s.” Jackson and Young were sub-leaders, and im correct formation flying their groups would be equidistant from the leader and as. far above him, and to his right and left rear respectively, as had from experience been found necessary. Having read out the crder in which we were to leave the ground, the C.O. dismissed us with the final exhortation : “ See if you can’t get some more Huns to-day.” Thereupon we repaired te the aerodrome, where our machines —seemingly as impetuous and eages and Erleigh on the right af

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. 395 to be off as the newest pilot fresh from England— awaited us. : After a hasty but thorough inspection of the flying apparatus—that crazy structure of wood and fabric, plus engine, upon which so much depends—we climbed into our seats, where, sitting back to back, we looked round our respective cockpits: to see that everything was in order. Pilots looked to their instruments, whilst ob- servers, who had previously fired a few rounds through their Lewis guns, swung round the mountings on which they revulved to see that they worked freely, examined the ammunition drums, arranged spare gun parts so that in the event of a regrettable jam as little time as possible might be lost in remedying it, and made sure that maps and other necessaries were ready for use. On a wave of the hand from the C.O., the eader took off, followed at intervals of a few seconds by the rest of the formation. In threes we circled round the acrodrome, steadily gaining height. When at about four thousand five hundred feet from the ground a red light fired by the Fhght Commander's observer warned us to get into formation as we were about to make for the lines. Sub-leaders, who had until now been acting independently, at once led their groups to their appointed positions; and, still climbing, we flew due east to- triangular Lille lay awaiting deliverance. To the north the flooded area, swollen by the recent thaw, rested in tranquil repose, connecting the Yser Canal with the sea. In the distance the cliffs of Dover and the outline of the English coast—alluring and inviting—served to mingle thoughts of the nightmare of the present with visions of the past and dreams of the future. The machine in which I was flying as observer was on the leader's right, with the bulk of the formation straggling somewhat bchind and above us at altitudes ranging from thirteen to sixteen thousand feet. On reaching Zillebeke Lake we all turned north and crosscd the lines at their intersection of the Forét d’Houlthurst, which spread itself out naked and desolate below us. Dim and dark as the Stygian Groves, it harboured a swarm of the airman’s bétes noires— Archibald, the anti-aircraft gun, known to us endcaringly and platonically as “‘ Archic.”” At the commencement ot the year the Forest gunners shared with those of Wervicq the honour of having gained our respect and wan OFFICE, weiTeMAte. sw. 27tn Octoter, 1919. wards the battlefield of the skies—a terrain bounded on the west by the enemy’s trenches and to the east only by the ever-increasing audacity and con- fidence of Flight Commanders. Iu a few minutes we were look- ing down upon Ypres—immortal Ypres. In the far-distant days before Hell-Let-Loose made its head- quarters in Europe, it was, as Conan Doyle has so aptly written? “ A relic of the soul of other days, a poet’s dream, a wanderers romance.” Now it lics im the dust. Yet the spirit, the soul, the intangible, incomprehensible influence of the venerable city casts its spell on all who tramp her desolate by-ways or gaze from the skies upon her beauty, com- placent even in death. The day was a perfect one. Above, “the inverted bowl we call the sky"’ was free from clouds and beautified by the wintry sun. The suspicion of a breeze speeded our progress slightly on the outward flight, but promised no formidable oppo- sition to our return. To the south the Lys reflected its waters in shimmering, golden radi- ance; whilst far away massive, ‘The author of this book nas a good fighting record and ie entitied to erite *ith authority upon the episodes shich have come within bis ora experience. 1 am told by thase who are qualified to judge that the lessons nich may be derived from thie atraightforward and soldierly narrative posse definite value enong the records of tne Royal Air Force in the Great Bar. The tory is certainly of vivid interest to tnose who #ish to fora a lively and a true tapreseion of the kind of things our young officent did in the tasortel period which nas just closed. Nothing that has ever happened in the sorld before has offered to man such Qn opportunity for individuel personal prowess as the air fighting of tne Oreat War. Fiction nas never portrayed such extraordinary combats, such hairbreadth escapes, such absolute superiority to rie. uch dazzling personal triunphe. Tne devotion and courage of the airaan eas no higher than that of his comrade on the land or on tne sea, nor were hie trials or sufferings greater. But the battle to the death in the high air called forth @ combination, for the purpases of war, of spirit, eye and hand gore complete aot more neraonious than any previously believed to be @itnin the range of buman nature. It 10 1a this light that these pages deserve to be hives hn B. Cneretutl Facsimile of a letter from the Rt. Hon. Winston S, Churchill, Secretary of State for War and Air, introducing this narrative to our readers,

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396 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, A squadron office in the war zone. admiration far in advance of their kin in other di tricts. Later, Stcenwercke for a time held pride of place. To-day, as usual, the shooting was wonderfully good. A few sighting shots burst far ahead ; but on warming to their work, dark black masses of smoke arrived apparently from nowhere, until each machine was surrounded by its own particular satellites. Yet so difficult is it for a Jandsman, even with the latest devices of science at his command, to hit a small object, scarcely discernible, two and a half or more ~ miles away, and moving at a spced at leart equal to that of an express train, that on this occasion, the entire formation passed unscathed through | a very heavy and well-directed barrage. When a novice to the gentle art of “ strafing,” one attaches little importance to the usually vain efforts of the anti-aircraft guns. Their bark is infinitely worse than their bite- rept, of course, on the (fortunately) very rare occasions when a dircct hit scatters machine and occupants to the four winds of heaven. Personally, during over two hundred hours of flying over Hun-land, I have not witnessed the total wreckage of an acroplane, nor have I seen one brought down out of control by fire from land batteries. It is, however, by no means an uncommon occurrence for machines to be com- pelled to return to their aerodrome, or to make a forced landing in unknown country (with its attendant dangers) owing to disabilities caused to personnel, machine, or engine by flying metal. On two occa- sions my pilot and I have had to leave the formation with our engine in a par- lous state—of which mere anon. Being at this period of my aerial adven- ture in the novitiate stage, I amused my- self vastly by firing a few reunds at all bursts within close range. A percentage ef bullets used in incendiary composition pressed in at the base. This burns fiercely, and enables one to trace the course of one’s rounds. They are known as “ tracers,”’ and it is fascinating to watch them entering and passing through the black seething Masses ; it i: also excellent practice in marksman- ship, and for that reason can be recommended to young and enthusiastic observers. Further- more, it gives one some slight occupation in addition to searching the skies for hostile air- craft. When, after some months of war-flying, one’s nerves become jaded and worn, any diver- sion that takes one’s thoughts from grim and tragic possibilities is not to be despised. To think of danger, to allow one’s imagination to run riot—-either when flying or during the intervals thereof—is to invite the attentions of the Goddess of Nerves, who sooner or later inevitably instals herself as the mistress of all flying men. Leaving the forest and a pathway of black trailing smoke-smudges bel.ind us, we were soon to the east of Dixmude—the scene cf much strenuous endeavoir in the early days of the war, and now rivalling Ypres in picturesque desolation. Nieuport and Ostend were clearly, visible, their waterways blinking in the sun, whilst far away to the right lay Bruges, of belfry fame. Still farther removed, the islands in the mouth of the Scheldt revealed themselves, im hazy and indistinct outlines. Now, following the leader, we turned; and presently were skirting the eastern fringe of the forest. Suddenly I perceived a trail of whitish smoke vanishing carthwards in the rear of the Flight Commander's machine. I pointed this out to my pilot, and placed a finger on the red circle of paint above lis head. Not having seen the descending ball of flame, but only the smoke from it, I came incorrectly to the conclusion that a red light had been fired. This is the signal employed by the lcader to inform his followers that he is abcut to attack. It may also be used by him to rally the formation when, through devices of the enemy or from other causes, it has become split up. When fired by another member of the flight it is a call for assistance. White and green lights are also carried. The former is fired from the leader’s machine when—owing, perhaps, to inclement weather—he determines to abandon the expedition. The latter is used the air have an Bristol fighters ready for a patrol.

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Sere ae ete ae Oe a ae, SR, WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. — 397 by any member of the formation when engine or other trouble makes a return to the aerodrome imperative. In this case the leader’s engine was not working smoothly, and his observer fired a green light from his Very pistol. Imagining it to be a red one, we searched north, south, east, and west, in the sun, in the heavens, and in the depths below, for hostile aircraft, but no Hunnish silhouettes revealed themselves. Sailing along complacently again, it suddenly dawned upon us that we had made a mistake. Far away in the distance, rapidly fading out of sight, were the rest of the formation, whilst the teader was left with our machine and one other. As we crossed the lines a second green light explained the mystery. The first had, of course, been observed by the remainder of the formation ; upon which the second leader had taken charge, and all machines should have followed him. The ‘‘ lame duck ” being immune from molesta- tion on our side of the lines, we accompanied our companion on a tour of the trenches until," being joined by another, we flew east for a couple of miles and then turned north. Shortly afterwards three strange craft passed by—six hundred or more yards away—going in the opposite direction. They were actually “I pointed this out to my pilot.” German triplanes, and it was the first appearance of this type on our part of the Front for many months. We came to the conclusion, however, that the machines were British—the Navy out for an airing—and continued our peaceful course unsuspiciously. Events occur with dramatic swiftness in the air. At one moment the occupants of a fighting ‘plane are at peace with the world, congratulating themselves on immunity from attack, or itching for a fight, according to their individual temperae ments. The next, they are fighting to kill of be killed, every sense on the alert, all they possess of brain, muscle, nerve, and resource concen- trated on the flecting opportunity. Perceiving that we had been deceived and were off our guard, the Hun pilots had given no sign of hostile intent, but had stealthily gained heig}.t, thereby winning the tactical advantage. At the same time they proved themselves to be old hands at the game by inclining eastwards, thereby placing themselves between us and the sun. It is essential to treat all machines as hostilé when in doubt. An experienced observer in the machine on our right had kept an eye on the strangers. On their turning and diving or us he at once fired a red light, and thereby saved us from the possibly fatal result of our feeling of false security. The “ scrap’ resolved itself into three duels, each Hun havirg selected his adversary. The fights in which the other two machines were engaged were indecisive. In both cases the enemy eventually broke off the combat and turned back, after having found themselves too adjacent to our lines for their peace of mind. In the meantime the “ tripe ’’ that had singled out our machine for destruction was diving on us and was now within about three hundred and fifty yards. Awakening to the situation, I tapped my pilot on the head and pointed out the

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308 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, rapidly-approaching Hun. He acted at once— turned, so as to face the enemy machine, and put his nose down slightly, thus putting the opposing pilot off his aim and causing him to swecp over and past us. Then as we “ zoomed " up, I was enabled to get a magazine off at the still-diving Hun. My aim was directed at the pilot’s seat, and although “ tracers ’’ appeared to enter both cockpit and engine, no serious damage could have been inflicted, for he showed no signs of wishing to retire from the combat. We had now the inestimable advantage of height. As we turned to dive the Hun sat on his tail and fired a burst at us. The range was too great for accurate shooting, however, for not even a wing was perforated. When we had closed to within a hundred and fifty yards, the German pilot put his machine into a spin. We followed him down, my pilot firing a long burst at him. Before he had come out of the spin, and thus provided an easier target, my pilot ceased firing and ‘zoomed ’’ up. Unfortunately, his gun had jammed. The Hun, doubtless thanking his gods for this respite, flattened out again some two hundred yards below us. We circled round him for a short time whilst the jam was being remedied, and I fired several short bursts when- ever a favourable opportunity offered. When once more ready for action, my pilot manceuvred for position. Eventually he contrived to place himself in the Hun's rear, so that he could dive on his tail. At the crucial moment he pushed forward — the “ joystick" and sent the machine hurtling through the air at terrific speed—-roughly two hundred miles per hour. The Hun pilot appeared to be sur- prised at this sudden renewal of the offen- sive. For some reason, known only to himself, he continued to fly straight. In an in- credibly short period of time we covered the intervening -pacc. Peering forward in the teeth of a wind pressure that made observation extremely difficult, I could distinctly see the back of the pilot's hel- meted head and the colouring of the machine. The wings were painted a dirty creamy white, whilst nese and body were encircled with red and black rings. The naticnal markings—the Maltese crosses -were exceptionally small. When within about eighty yards, my pilot commenced to shoot. Following the line of fire, “tracers "’ were apparently entering the vital spots. Thirty rounds--fifty rounds -one hundred. Expectantly I awaited the dénoue- All that was left of a machine brought down in flames. ment. At last the Boche’s painted nose inc‘ined towards the earth. In a moment nose and tail were in one vertical linc.” Our machine flattened out, and, looking over the side, I watched the tiny black crosses on the lower ‘plane growing smaller and still smaller as the fabric on which they were painted rushed headlong down through space. In the air over Hun-land once must allow nothing whatever-—no matter how absorbing, interesting, or important—to occupy one’s whole attention. Always a look-out must be kept for hostile aircraft. Two Albatross scouts, who had been hidden in the sun, now appeared slightly above us and some hundreds of yards to our rear. Our supply of ammunition being nearly exhausted, we were not in a position to act on the offensive. The lines were barely two miles away, and we made forthem. The Albatrii, as the R.A.F. calls them, gained steadily upon us. When they had crept up to within three hundred yards I fired a few short, well-aimed bursts, not so much with the idea of shooting one down as of warming them not to approach too near. The knowledge that the observer is awake and on the alert has usually a deterrent effect on German _ pilots. They would prefer, and naturally so-—surprise Deing one cf the most important factors of success in aerial warfare. tc creep up unseen. After firing nearly a magazine of ammu- nition, my gun jammed and I found that the top extractor had broken. This can be remedied on the ground in a few seconds, but in the air it takes somewhat longer. Every moment brought the Huns within more effective range, and already “‘ tracers "’ were whizzing by, luckily wide of the mark. On informing my pilot of the difficulty, he opened the throttle to its fullest extent and, putting the nose of the machine down, raced for the lines. In as many seconds as it would have taken me to mend the gun, we were on our side of the line, and the Huns had crept away eastwards. On reaching the aero- drome we hurri:d to the office and put in a claim for a triplane out of control, and hoped that confirmation would b: forthcoming of its having crashed to earth. We rang up anti-aircraft batteries and balloon companies, as well as the infantry and other squadrons, but without success. One is credited with the destruction of an enemy machine only when indisputable evidence of its having been destroyed is obtained. We were, naturally, bitterly disappointed, as

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. “1 watched the tiny black crosses growing smaller as the fabric on which they were painted rushed headlong down through space.” at the time we were quite sure that we had inanyotherpastime. We were then comparative crashed the Hun. However, experientia decet— beginners. We have since on many occasions perhaps with greater rapidity in war-flying than seen enemy machines break off a fight and go

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400 down in a vertical nose-dive or in a spin. When out of harm’s way, they have flattened out and skipped off home. This practice is employed much less by our- selves than by the enemy as a means of escape. When hopelessly outclassed or out-numbered, it provides an invaluab'e Jart card. Ball was once forced to use it; whilst Baron Von Richtho- fen tells us that it was a favourite trick of his brother, Lothar, who on at least one occa-ion, after having employed it against one of our scouts that had the advantage of him in hcight, recovered his balance, got above his opponent, and shot him down in flames. With most aerial fights taking place over the German side of the trenches it may be readily realized that the enemy have every opportunity of putting this trick inte play. His pilots could dive or spin dowr to within a hundred feet of the ground and then flatten out, knowing perfectly well that we could not follow them down. On the other hand, our machines practising it were placed at a disadvantage. The lewer they descended the more difficult it became for them to make their way home in safety. A machine thus isolating itself. became a prey for all the German pilots in the sky, who, having the advantage in height, had little difficulty in destroying it, especially if it was some miles , over Hun-land. In addition, “ Archie" singled it out for attention ; and if, perchance, it had to descend very low, the infantry and = machine gunners alse had an innings. * * * * We were detailed for the afternoon “ show,” which was to look for trouble over the German lines from 2 till 3.30. Strangely enough, we were destined to receive further education in the utility of a spin as a means of escaping from a tight corner. The sun had commenced its downward curve, but in other respects the stage setting closcly resembled that of the morning. We were flying at sixteen to eighteen thousand feet, and the skies being clear of enemy aireraft we had pushed on tewards the coast until Ostend sparkled, outwardly calm and peaceful, a few miles to the north, We had turned, and were, approaching Ghistclles, when I noticed three machines half a mile or more behind us. Tat once jumped to the conclusion that they were Huns, and drew the attention of my pilot to them. If there is one single accomplishment a fighting airman should possess —in addition to being 4 good shot—it is the ability to distinguish friends from foes. After a time one can do this in- stinctively. An experienced airman appears to sense a hostile machine when all that is visible is a black speck which the untrained eye would not even discern, A‘plane appreaching from the west was almost invariabiy piloted by a British or Allied aviator ; not so those that came from Hun-land. They had to be watched until their outlines proclaimed their nationality. Theoretically this knewledge of types of aircraft by silhouctte appears very easy to acquire. In practice, it is only gained after constant experience, and there have been THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZID E, cases of promising pilots tuming out lamentable failures through inability to complete their education in this respect. The Belgians flew a type which bore some resemblance to a German machine, whilst the French had another. Nor was it the easiest thing in the world to be sure of the nationality of even our own scouts when, out of pure devilry, they amused themselves by diving on one’s tail pour passer le temps in the absence of more legitimate prey. It was sound policy to credit with hostile intent all craft that failed by silhouette, markings, or actions to give evidence of its amicability. It follows that a burst of fire has not infrequently served to remind a playful pilot that the other man is inexperienced, is taking no risks, or, as is often the case, is not entirely immune from “ flying nerves.” These three machines appeared to be flying in formation side by side, as if bosom friends. As a matter of fact, the middle machine was one of ours that had failed to keep with us on the turn. While watching them, and musing as to what tactics the Flight Commander would employ to increase our already considerable bag of Huns, suddenly and without preliminaries a trans- formation scene took place. Instead of flying tranquilly and evenly inouwr wake, two machines were diving almost vertically on their late companion, which was spinning away from them, My first thought was that the Huns were “stunting for our benefit, and = for some moments I did not realize that a “ scrap" was in progress. Hurriedly [counted up the machines in our immediate vicinity. Sure enough, one Was missing, only cight remained. The ninth must be the one spinning down ! As T tapped my pilot on the head he, following others, swung round, and we raced back. In the meantime, the occupants of the “ strafed machine were experiencing exciting moments— and, incidentally, were b:ing reminded of the advisability of keeping in formation and not straggling. When he found. the Huns close alongside our man wasted not a moment in throwing his machine into a spin. The Huns, galvanized inte sudden activity, dived after him, firing sedulously the while. The target was by no means an easy one, and whilst wings and fuselage were riddled with bullets, occupants and engine—in fact, all vital parts. -were untouched. Relief was now at hand. Before we could be of any sistance, however, the spinning machine was flattened out, and the observer fired a magazine at one of his pursuers as he dived past him and sent him down comp'etely out of control, There remained a single Hun scout, upon whom eight British two-seaters were converging. The forma- tion leader was the first to arrive within range. He fired about a hundred rounds, after which he made a right-hand climbing turn which enabled his observer to carry on with the good work. The Albatross went down in a vertical nose-live some hundreds of feet, then the dive developed into a spin, and, revolving rhythmically on her axis, she was seen by us all to crash into a wood. This was the first crash I had witnessed in

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. 401 aerial combat. To —— say that any feeling of pity for the luck- less occupant pos- sessed me would be to tell an unmiti- gated falsehood. To him I gave no thougi t. I was sim- ply terrifically de- lighted in watching the downward course of the ‘plane and fearful lest it should flatten out and cheat us atter all; which was followed by a feeling of quict sati: faction when it di: appeared in the dim recesses of the wood. It was not until our patrol was over and we were heading for home that it occurred to me that a man— a brother airman and, in all probability, a good sportsman—had gone to that Valhalla, midway between earth and heaven, to which ,are wafted the souls of all good flying men. Even then, so little had I actually seen of the helmeted and goggled pilot that it was hard to associate him with the beautiful, many- coloured, bird-like structure that the chances of war had decreed we should destroy. * A vivid mind can picture in imagination the sensations and thoughts of a doomed man falling headlong at tremendous speed through miles of space. It visualizes the strained, drawn, agonized face of the pilot, his cvery sense impregnated with the fear of swift, implacable late. - Yet we know from the lips of whose who, by favour ef the gods, have survived this un- paralleled ordeal that it is not so terrible after all. Personally, I have come down out of control fiom fourteen to six thousand feet. My ex- periences on this occasion are ‘reserved for a subsequent chapter. I may say at once, however, that I was not unduly disturbed. Vaguely it occurred te me that my adventures in many lands and in varied climes had, after many vicissitudes, come to an abrupt termination. 1 was curious as to how many moments would elapse before we reached terra fiyma, and what the end would be like. A feeling of utter detach- ment came over me. But acute, all-absorbing fear was absent. So. I believe, it is in the majority of cases when machines continue out of control until the mad rush is checked by contact with Mother Earth. (To be continus:?.) A CHINESE FUNERAL. Tais photograph shows the funeral: procession of a wealthy Chinaman. The picturesque structure Seen in the picture is the cotlin-cover, made of green, white. and silver paper. As is the custom in these quaint Chinese burial ceremonies, a paper lion is placed n top of the coffin if the departed be a man; should the deceased be of the feminine gender a paper stork omaments the coffin. The funeral procession is a lengthy one, and the coffin is borne to its resting-place oP poles carried on the shoulders of men. Much Music of a squeaky nature is played at these cere- monies, and the mourners follow the coflin under a canopy, weeping and wailing loudly.

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FALLING TEN THOUSAND FEET. By CdPTAIN T. R. MOSS. ILLUSTRATED BY B. H. THOMAS. The story of a headlong dive to earth in an aeroplane out of contro. As the Author says, very few people have: described - such an experience, because after the drop the rescuers usually find it difficult to decide which was the pilot and which the plane! HH HIE sensations attending a fall of mu; ten thousand feet in an aeroplane out of control, with the fabric of one wing badly ripped by the rush of air and the engine refusing to turn over, have been described by very few persons; not because they would not have liked to have told or written their impres- sions, but chiefly for the very patent reason that after such a drop it was difficult for the rescuing party to determine with any degree of accuracy which was the pilot and which the plane. It takes about eleven minutes for a modem machine to climb ten thousand feet ; with every- thing against him it does not take the aviator nearly so long for the return journey. One Moment you have the impression of being stationary, the next the earth appears to be approaching you at an alarming rate of speed ; and. the unlucky pilot. usually finds himself wondering ‘“‘ which will win ’’—whether he will hit the ground first or the earth rise up and smash him. In my particular case the earth won. But let me get to my story. Ever since the first flying machine was in- vented I had an unholy ambition to tour the The Author, Captain I, R. Mose. ethereal wastes. After the war broke out, although an infantry officer, I tried in every way to join the air forces, but was unsuccessful. I did succeed, however, in making a number of flights, all of which I enjoyed immensely. Following my discharge from the American army I went to work at my old vocation, on a newspaper in Los Angeles, and when the Air Memorial meet was staged in Los Angeles on May 18th, 1919, to raise funds for a monument to the heroes of the air service who had died in France, I made arrangements to take a flight. Follow- ing a number of spectacular “stunts,” the pro- gramme provided for a mimic air-battle in which a German balloon would be shot down in flames. In my eagerness to make a “ big" story, I arranged to ‘“‘cover’’ it from above, it being my intention to go up some nine thousand feet and from there watch the “battle” raging below. At five o'clock in the afternoon I climbed into a Curtiss plane, which was to be piloted by an army officer, Lieutenant Parsons, took the front seat, and prepared for some. real thrills. I got them, though they had not been previously arranged. In the first place, the engine refused to work properly, and chough coaxed with numerous primings would only cough and grunt. She did not indicate that she had her heart in her work, and I had almost reached the decision to give up the attempt when the spark.“ took,’’ and with a roar the big machine rose into the air. Everything looked lovely. The ground rapidly faded from view, the engine roared incessantly, and a half-mile away bursting bombs indicated that the air battle was “on.” In a few seconds we would be above “Lhe plane before the accident, the clouds and in a splendid position to

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QUEER FIXES. = 403 “She tucked her nose down end dived head-first to the ground.” Digitized by Google Cc

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494 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, watch the operations intended to represent “A day in the air on the Western Front.” Having been up several times before, I was not nervous, and began to settle myself in my seat with a view to taking in all the details of the fight, in which a- score of bombing and pursuit planes were taking part. Then the unexpected happened ! We weré climbing as nearly straight up as possible when suddenly the engine gave a spas- modic cough or two, kicked once, and then stopped dead. For a moment the machine seemingly remained stationary in mid-air ; ther it spun into a tailspin. Being only an observer and uninitiated in the art of handling aircraft or the manipulation of the controls, I was like a mouse in a trap, and could do nothing. The pilot, however, was working strenuously. First he tucked her head into the air to get out of the tailspin, and then swerved into a ‘“* bank.” By so doing he guided the machine over a Ploughed field. All his efforts to lessen the speed of our descent appeared to be of no avail. The plane was completely out of control, and Presently she tucked her nose down, gave a tremendous leap forward, and dived head-first to the ground. There seemed to be no time to think, no time to get frightened. I just sat there and watched the earth rushing up to meet us. After dtopping some thousands of feet at lightning speed, the machine attempted to go into a spiral at about three hundred feet. I haven’t a clear recollection of succeeding events. I saw the ground approaching at a rapid rate; then it hit me a cowardly blow in the face, just below the nose, vi@ the fuselage. Marshall Mabey. After that things were somewhat hazy. I just remember that when it struck it turned over twice, and the tail of the plane hit a small haycock, which held it off the ground and threw the pilot clean- out of the machine. The next thing I remember was when he was trying to unfasten my belt and drag me from the plane, which, being upside down, was lying on top of me. My front teeth were: all loosened by the blow I had received when I hit the fuselage, my upper jaw-bone was slightly cracked, my nose decidedly out of alignment, and my face resembled a piece of liver. I was also under the general impression that all my bones had been taken out and sand-papered, the joints disengaged, and my nerves filed to an edge. Though the machine was a complete wreck, and there was imminent danger of its catching fire, owing to the gasolene tank having been punctured, nothing further happened. Why both of us were not smashed to pieces, like the machine, I shall never understand, but the fact remains that we weren’t. I went to the Red Cross station, where the examination which followed gave a demonstration of army medical efficiency. With a few weeks in bed to rest my jarred anatomy, I was as good as new. I have always been thrilled by the sight of men leaping from balloons and planes with parachutes, but I am convinced these sensations do not compare with the thrills of a headlong dive in an aeroplane out of control. Such “‘ stunts ’’ do not interest me now, even from the ground. Falling from an aeroplane—or with one, for that matter—is mot my idea of first-class sport, and if not prohibited it should at least be discouraged. II. WHAT HAPPENED TO MARSHALL MABEY. By A. B. MacATTAMMANY. ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD BLCOCK. An account of what must surely be one of the most marvellous escapes from apparently certain death on record. MARSHALL MABEY 1s a miner, and at the time this amazing adventure happened lived at 89, Theodore Street, Astoria, Long Island, across the East Rivei from New York City. To this day, I believe, he pinches himself now and then to make sure he is alive, for by all the laws of gravity, engineering, and human probability he should be very dead indeed. The marvellous episdde in which Mabey figured occurred on February 19th, 1911. He was engaged at the time in construction work on the Whitehall-Montague Street tunnel of the Brooklyn Rapid Transit Company's subway, which was being driven under the East River. Mabey and three other workers were digging under the river bed, about three hundred feet from the Brooklyn shore. The delving was being put through by means of shields, which were forced ahead into the earth, below the river bed, by means of compressed air. The air pressure, 9f course, was very great—twenty- four pounds to the square foot, to be exact— and the shield had been moved twenty-six inches to allow the men to place another cast- iron ring as a further aid in holding up the tunnel. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, a lump of mud dropped from the crown of the tunnel,

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QUEER FIXES. 405 “He was blown fifteen feet into the air.”

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406 and instantly the air-chamber began to fill with steam. The roof was giving way! The men shouted at each other frantically, but were helpless to do anything. The chamber rapidly filled with steam, but the air-pressure still continued to keep the water out, though it could be only a question of time before the hole enlarged and the river came flooding in. “Hank” Fogarty, one of Mabey’s fellow- workers, took a desperate chance. With all his might he hurled a plank at the break in the roof of the tunnel. He hoped that the plank would land flat, and, held by the force of air against it, would remain there flush with the hole caused by the piece of mud that had dropped away, and thus keep out the water. 2 But, alas! the plank sailed up edgeways and, forced by the air behind it, went clean through the roof ! Christopher Mahan, another of the workers, took another chance. Back through the tunnel he rushed, fighting against the pressure of air, and after hairbreadth escapes finally reached safety. Meanwhile the compressed air, following the line of least resistance, was surging towards the gap. Poor Fogarty, caught like a straw in a torrent, was forced by the air up against the opening and thence pushed through the oozy river bed right into the water. His body was recovered later. Mabey’s experience, however, transcends all other episodes of the kind. After Fogarty disappeared he made to fling his coat toward the widening opening above, but before he could THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. swing with accuracy, the air pressure tore the coat from his grasp and sent it right up through the hole in the roof. A moment later, to his horror, Mabey found himself being forced upward. Presently, in spite of his struggles, he was slammed by the rush of air against the hole in the mud. “ Good heavens!” he thought, “ my end has come!” Into the cavity he was pitilessly squeezed, and resigned himself to death. Up through twenty- seven feet of mud the pressure drove him, forced like a cork through the neck of a bottle, and then up through twenty-four feet of water. So great was the force behind him that he was blown fifteen feet above the water-level into the air! When he came down Mabey was unconscious, but the plunge into the cold water effectually revived him. He swam to a pier close by and clung to a pile, shouting for help. Some men working on a dock far above him lowered a rope, which he fastened round his waist and was then hauled up to safety. His left leg, it was discovered, was broken, and medical assistance was summoned as speedily as possible. The surgeon gave him a liberal drink of brandy, and before he reached the hospital Mabey was sitting up and smoking one of the surgeon's cigarettes | As already intimated, Mabey lives to tell the tale, a tale that seems to prove that the decrees of Fate are scheduled for execution at their proper time and that no sudden catas- trophe can upset predestination. Ill. GASSED ON A CHIMNEY. | By JOSEPH HEIGHTON. ILLUSTRATED BY G.. SOPER. A steeplejack’s nightmare predicament on a hundred-and-thirty-foot chimney in Sheffield. THERE are two kinds of bravery—the impulsive and the deliberate. V.C.’s and high rank have been won by men who, acting on the spur of the moment, have performed almost incredible deeds of valour on the battlefield ; a newspaper paragraph and a few days’ local notoriety have, more often than not, been the reward for humbler heroes at home, who have deliberately deficd death to save a fellow-worker. To them the incident has been ‘all in the day’s work,” and they have been astonished to find themselves in the limelight in consequence. Charles Whelpton belongs to the latter cate- gory. He takes his place among the heroes of the sewer, who will promptly descend a manhole and face deadly gases to rescue an asphyxiated comrade; the miners, firemen, railwaymen, and policemen who “trouble not of the danger ’’ when there is human life to save. Whelpton is a grey-haired veteran, sixty-three years of age, but his nerve is that of a superman. In a gale of wind he ascended a chimney-stack a hundred and thirty feet high and succeeded in rescuing a steeplejack who, gassed and rendered unconscious by the fumes from the chimney, was in imminent danger of falling from the summit of the stack to the ground below. “It was nerve-racking to watch Whelpton’s heroic feat,” said a member of the firm of Messrs. George Brown and Co,, of the Atlas Works, Shefficld, the scene of this gallant deed. “The chimney swayed in the wind, and it seemed as though he must be shaken off as be

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Breathlessly the spectetors watched Whelpton cmb the foal overhanging ladder.” QUEER FIXES. 407 hung like a fly on the final overhanging ladder that surmounted the projecting parapet The least slip, the least mis- calculation, meant certain death.” The circumstances leading up to the rescue were remarkable, and incidentally illustrate the perils of a steeplejack’s life, apart from the danger of ascending and descending huge stacks. In this case, the steeplejack had ascended the stack which towers above Messrs. Brown’s works to carry out some repairs. He was assisted by a youth, and they had not been at work long before the steeplejack was gassed and rendered unconscious by the fumes from the chimney. He lay with one leg down the inside of the stack and his body resting sideways on the narrow ledge at the mouth. To save his mate from rolling off the stack, the youth had

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408 to hold him with one hand wiaile he tried to attract attention b:low by throwing bits of débris to the ground. He dared not descend the ladders to fetch help, for had he done so, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The ‘ascent had .to be -made very slowly and carefully owing to the high: wind which was blowing. Breathlessly the spectators watched Whelpton climb the- final overhanging tadder and clamber on to the the unconscious man would have rolled from his precarious position and crashed to death a hundred and thirty feet below. Stone after stone he threw down, but nobody took any notice, and it seemed that help would never come. Half. an hour had nearly passed, and the youth had almost begun to despair of acquainting the people in the works with the peril that threatened his mate, when at last those below realized that something was wrong. Signalling with his disengaged hand,. the youth made it clear that he wanted help. “ Fetch Whelpton,”” said someone, who lmew his iron nerve, resource, and: experi- ence of chimney work. Whelpton did not hesitate for an. instant when he realized the the situation. Watched by hundreds of spectators, who had quickly gathered when it was seen that- something was- wrong. on ‘‘ Brown’s stack,’’ he began his nerve-racking. ascent, followed by two younger men, Horace Ball and Edward Naylor. The chimney on which ‘this incident happened 1e-the tall one m background, - wind - swept, twelve- inch parapet. He found -the-«unconscious manin a pitiable state. He ‘was: vomiting, and it “-was obvious that un- less something wassoon done for him he would not last much longer. -To ascend the stack in such a wind had beena perilous undertaking ; to get the unconscious man down called for even greater heroism. Working rapidly under Whelpton’s di- rections, the men sent up ropes, blocks, and pulleys. Meantime, by means of. artificial re- spiration, he succeeded in partly restoring the steeplejack. who, when the gear was ready, was bound in a jacket and gently lowered to the ground, guided by men on the scaling ladders. To the writer, Mr. Whelpton made light of his share in the reseue- work, ‘‘ That's just his modesty,” said.a feltow-werker, one of the first to be attraeted by the:stones. thrown down by the youth. ‘‘ If: Ghaglie hadn’t grasped the situation as he did, and carried out the rescue so promptly on his-vwn initiative, there would have been a tragic ending to the affair.” THE OLDEST BOOK IN THE WORLD. THE photograph here reproduced shows the oldest book in the world, and was taken in the old synagogue of the Samaritans at Nablous, Palestine. It is a ‘roll of a book’’ of the first five books of the Bible, and the Samaritans claim that it was written by the grandson of Aaron, twelve years after the death of Moses. Standing on the right-hand side of this picture can be seen Isaac, the present High Priest of the Samaritans, who claims direct descent from Aaron. Our correspondent adds: ‘‘ The Samari- tans are fast dving out. There are only one hundred and fifty-three of them left in the world, and they all live in a little colony in Nablous.”

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M mere) WO years a prisoner ina pe Turkish pro- y vincial towh perience, it must be ad- and desert battle-fronts, and no neutral countries circumjacent, presented many difficulties for the was not a 7 9» prospective escapee, as a pleasant ex- + glance at the map will” show. mitted. And the eternal Added to this, the monotony of it was I I V I I y country was infested worse than its other dis- with bandits—deserters comforts, which were ‘ from the army,‘ wanted” numerous enough. Petty o AM N @ criminals, and hunted jealousies and quarrels, Armenians; and the the exhaustion of every 5 Greeks on the coast had known topic of conver- e been deported, and their sation, the absence cf ships, except a few craft feminine society, the cir- fe y Odvontired under Governmental con- cumscribed outlook and On Airmansd trol, had been destroyed. sameness of the com- and. Daring EscopL— by Besides this we were pany and surroundings —all these things com- bined to make the time (a7) er TW While. DFC well guarded, their best MLLUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER troops —sailors trained by British instructors— unbearably dull, par- = ticularly so for those This narrative—specially written for being employed. More- over, Musloum Bey, our who had no particular “The Wide World Magazine ’—de- bestial commandant, who study. For, though only scribes the thrilling experiences of an frequently took it into a proportion of the food Australian flying officer who was cap. | his head to bastinado parcels sent to us by tured by the Turks while-endeavouring soldier prisoners, and on friends and beneficent to cut some telegraph wires outside one occasion beat a societies came safely Bagdad. Enduring ail kinds of hard- Russian officer to the through the Turks’ ships; Captain White was taken from point of death, by at- hands, our captors had prison-camp to prison-camp, always tempted intimidation, less inducement to steal “on the look-out for achance to escape, curtailment of liberties, books, and in time we eo Sonslatennly He sahil seer and harsh treatment Fe i: A sem nnee a consider- however, did his opportunity come, generally, saw that too eye and then he got away in a very clever many opportunities did Long captivity, too, anddaring fashion. A series of night- not present themselves. Proves a man,-in that mare adventures followed — narrow Five officers whom he his best and his worst shaves of recapture, of death at the suspected of a desire to quahties are brought hands of Bolsheviks, and nerve-trying escape were kept closcly more clearly to the light spells spent in hiding and disguise- confined in their timber of day. And determina- until at long last he reached Salonica and mud house (except tion, generosity, and and safety. No more remarkable story for two half-hours each patience became devel- of personal adventure has emerged day, when they were oped or atrophied in the from the records of the war. permitted to walk in individual, according to his innate sclf. One must give the Turks credit for knowing how to guard thcir prisoners, even though they did little else for them. Our camp at Afion Kara Hissar, being placed in the very heart of Asia Minor, a country ‘almost circumscribed by the sea, with its land boundaries resting on’ mourtain Vol, xliv.—28, front of their abode) for a period of seven months until winter had set in, when escape becomes impossible. . This was done simply because, when he demanded it, they refused to give their parole that they would not attempt to escape. Fortunately I was not a suspect; primanly,

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410 I think, because what exercise I indulged in I took in the seclusion of my room in the early hours of the morning, and I preferred a study of Russian to the Turkish language. But I was bereft of possible companionship in a “ flit,” as the only starters I was sure of were among those who were doing penance for their supposed intentions. An escape had to be spoken of very dis- crectly, and with bated breath, for there were a few among us who thought more of their own comfort being disturbed than of attempting to escape themselves. And if it was known that an individual thought of trying to get away, he sometimes became the butt of a campaign of ridicule and his presumed intentions were blazoned around the camp. The first summer passed into autumn without any serious attempt being made to escape, mainly because cf the undue hardship that would have been inflicted in the way of punish- ment on the already exhausted prisoners from Kut-cl-Amarah. Small parties of these unfor- The tunates began to arrive about Men of two months after we had been Kut. removed from the church to Armenian houses. They had been marched some seven hundred miles over desert and mountain after the ter- mination of a five months’ siege, where their surrender had been brought about solely by hunger. They tottered along the road past our camp, swaying from side to side as they walked, * starved, haggard, dirty, and in rags, stumbling and falling, being bravely assisted to their feet again by comrades not quite so fecble, as they made their way to the barracks. Numbers died soon after their arrival, and daily for about two months afterwards we saw melancholy processions of feeble men carry: ing coffinless dead to the Armenian cemetery. Those that sur vived, with the ex- ception of a small reserve kept at the church and the barracks, were then sent off in working parties or rvoad-making jobs, and on the mighty task of tunnelling the Taurus mountains for the unfinished Constantinople to Bagdad railway. The close confinement of suspects and the Tigorous treatment previously mentioned pre- vented any attempts at escape the following centre A group of Australian officer prisoners-of-war. The Author is in the the front row, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. year, though three British officers succeeded in getting away from a prisoners’ camp at Kas- tamoni, thereby demonstrating that escape from Turkey was not impossible. For this feat, however, the Kastamoni camp was disbanded, and under threats of ill-treat- ment if they did not give parole a large number of prisoners chose to do so, and were accordingly sent to Gedis, where the conditions generally were much better. The remainder were closely confined first at Changri and later at Yoshgard. The institution bf the parole camp at Gedis had indirectly made conditions worse at Yoshgard aud Afion Kara Hissar. And as the Turks supplied us with neither food, fuel, furniture, nor lighting, we found it very difficult indeed to make ends meet, even with our four and sixpence per diem, supplemented by a fund administered first by the American and later the Dutch Ambassador at Constantinople. And with a temperature varying, as it did in the winter of 1917-18, from eight degrees to fourteen degrees below zero, Centigrade, and with firewood as high as sixpence per pound, and food prices proportionately high—for example, goat’s flesh six shillings and sixpence per pound, peckmez (molasses) ten shillings per pound, and very inferior bread one shilling per pound—we were not infrequently cold and hungry. Whenever we complained to Musloum Bey of our conditions and treatment we were advised to give our parole that we would” not escape, on wt.ich we would be sent to the parole camp-—-a temptation to which not a few of o our number suc- cumbed. Most of us, how- ever, were of the opinion that the least a captive officer could do for his country was to keep as many enemy soldiers as possible—who would otherwise be employed in action against our own troops—-occu- Pied round his own camp. And natur- ally, of course, very many incon- veniences had to be suffercd in con- sequence. Sometimes, to give the devil his due, there were bright moments, and, thanks to the efforts of some of our number, some tolerably good plays were written and—with @ minimum of properties, of course—actually staged within the camp. The Turk is passionately fond of shows, be they Punch and Judies or grand opera. And Musloum usually gave permission for us to hold such performances whenever we

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MY TWO YEARS’ applied. In addition, some _well-contested football matches—‘‘ Married v. Single,”’ “ Army v. Submarines and Aeroplanes,” ‘‘ Mounted v. Foot,”” and so on—with footballs kindly sent us by the American Ambassador (who also sent us occasional ‘“‘slop’”’ suits), were a welcome dist .ction. Mentioning one day early in 1918 to L—— that I wanted a com- panion to escape with, I found him an earnest enthusiast. Together we elaborated a plan. We decided that we would get out of a side door of our house that had been nailed up, but from which we could easily remove and replace the nails. Then, when the sentry was at the farther end of his beat, we would march out dressed as Turkish women. For this disguise any dark material drawn over our heads and held together in front of the face would make us look like the in- elegant Turkish women —more like animated bundles of bedding than anything else— that we saw there- abouts. In addition, we would walk on clogs and carry a lantern. If we succeeded in passing the sentry in that outfit, we would then make’ a detour round the town, get to the railway, and wait in some cutting or on a steep incline where trains slowed up, to jump on a Smyrna-bound train at night. If we succeeded by such nocturnal travelling in approaching Smyrna, we intended then to strike out for the coast away from that city. With some bladders that we had purchased under the pretext that they were for a buffoon’s part in a show, we hoped, according to where we struck the coast, to swim out to one of the islands, using the bladders in the manner of the familiar ‘‘ water-wings.”’ We had made maps, conserved a food supply, and fixed a date when the moon would be favourable, when, much to our disgust, circum- stances prevented our departure. Our commandant, whose ill-treatment of the soldiers had been surreptitiously brought to the knowledge of the Red Crescent Society by a Medical Colonel in ovr camp, was placed under arrest by the authorities and arraigned for court-martial on many very serious charges. In consequence, everybody in the camp was placed on his best behaviour while the Turkish Commission sitting in the town heard evidence. But bribery evidently had its way, for the Tench, CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. A street in Afion Kara Hissar, showing houses in which British, and Russian officers were confined. 4Ir commandant was exonerated, though later re-arrested and found guilty. Meanwhile a number of Russian officer prisoners who had been sent for a year to another camp were returned to Afion Kara Hissar, and the guards round our camp were doubled, which made the initial stage of our scheme much more difficult. Just at this time an inquiry—in response, I learned later, to a letter from a relative in Australia, asking whether I was in good health—came tbrough from Switzerland, and I was told that I would be examined by a Medical Board, so that an answer could be given. For though the Turk cared little, if anything, about the health of his prisoners, he would make an examination, such as it was, when asked to do so by a neutral country. Accordingly, as my principal complaint was aggravated home- sickness and chronic | ennui, I decided to have something more tangible to shew the Medical Board, in the e fond hope I might be sent to Constantinople, where I considered the chances of a successful escape were much better. Many years before the war I had broken my instep at football, and this instep could be counted upon to show its good points and play up if required. Moreover, I had a scar from a burn on my ankle that I thought might prove a valuable asset. I therefore decided to develop tuberculosis in the said foot and ankle during the ensuing three. days before the medical examination. The’ limb responded well to heavy skipping on one foot, and a tight bandage “improved” matters considerably. The ankle also bruised well on the applica- tion of timorous kicks from the other foot. And when. after three days, I was escorted by sentry to the hospital, using a stick. my limp was not entirely feigned, though well rehearsed. So as to gain time during explanations and interrogations, I professed ignorance of French. and took a boon companion among the French officers with me to act as interpreter. The very dignified but ignorant Turk who was the senior member of the Medical Board was doubtful. ‘‘ Was the ankle stiff?'’ ‘ Oh, yes ’’—and it tried its hardest to be so. ‘“ Was “ Swinging the Lead.”

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412 it tender to the touch?’ 1 had read in a medical book that it should have been and a grimace seemed the proper answer as he pressed it, though I could scarcely restrain a smile. A wink to an obvious Greek member of the Board was not wasted either, and he began to see symptoms. “Could I get massage for it at Con- stantinople ?’’ I meekly inquired. The Greek thought se, but the Turk did not consider it was a case for Constantinople. My answering sigh, as J resignedly wound on yards of bandage again, was more cloquent than words, and I felt proud of it. The Turk, however, eventually changed his mind. The fact that I kept up the fraud till the last moment, handling the limb very tenderly and limping heavily till I was well out of sight along the road to the camp, no doubt impressed him, and I got the benefit of the doubt. It was quite Iegitimate, I contended, to deceive one’s enemies thus. And he is a lucky man who can hoodwink an Oricntal. I was kept in the camp for a month longer. - obviouwly under observation—and during all this time, except when indoors, I had te persist in the lameness and walk with the aid of a stick. But all things have an end; and eventually I received notice one night to leave for Constantinople. The train was already packed with Turkish officers and soldiers returning on leave from the Palestine front, while crowds of Turkish women and children sat huddled together on the platform at both ends of the carriages. The train, following the usual procedure, was to remain at. the station till morning. There was much fighting and shrieking as the mis- cellancous collection af women and children congregated at the station attcmpted to board the train as it drew in. All were carrying bundles of clothing or flour, and as fast as packages were put on the platforms or pushed through the windows they were threwn violently out on to the track again, sometimes acccmpanicd by their owners. A railway official tried to find a place for me and the Turkish sailor who guarded me, and we followed him on to the crowded end of a car. As we were endeavouring to wrest open the door of a compartment I found the floor moving bencath me, and discovered by the violent contortions that I was not standing on bundles of old clothes, as I had supposed, but on the body of a man, who, somehow or other, in spite of the noise and the crowd, had managed to sleep on the floor! The occupants of the recking compartment proved to be Turkish officers, who were frantically hostile, and refused to allow me to enter the already overcrowded compartment. Eventually IT discovered a French-speaking Greck, who informed me that I might be able to squeeze into the carriage where he was. So, after much trouble in getting through the crowd ef women on the platform, I teok an empty seat there, well knowing that it must have belonged to someone else. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Much to my surprise, a red-fezzed head presently appeared at the window. and asked in good English if I would see that nobody stole the baggage that was alongside. I was capable of promising anything at the moment, and said that I would guard it as my hfe. Ishmael, ry custodian, settled himself close by, and we waited, wideawake on acccunt of the unwelcome attention of sundry insects and the fights and shricks, until the dawn. When the Greek who had spoken to me entered, a battle of politeness ensued between him and a Greek on my right regarding who should have the pleasure of giving me his seat. Neither was in deadly earnest, I fancied ; so I left it for them to decide. The English- speaking Greck, who proved to be a most interesting person who at one time had lived in England, eventually remained. As the train jerked out of the station at 4.15 a.m., and I watched Afion Kara Hissar and the castellated rock which is such a sonspicu- ous feature of the town disappearing in the blue haze of the morning, I felt as cheerful as if I were leaving for home. I had determined to escape from Constanti- nople. Having heard from a recently-arrived Russian prisoner that the Central Powers, after everrunning Southem Ruscia, had allowed a Ukranian steamer to come from Odessa to Constantinople for trade, I decided to stow away on that ship at the earliest opportunity. It was a great change to see green trees and fields again after the rocky barrenness of tree- less Afion. Large villages, looking pleasantly cool in the shade of spreading plane and sycamore, with peasant womer busy with scythe and sickle in the ficlds alongside, flashed by in picturesque panorama * and only occasionally lovely Anatolia became barren and rocky again, and the villages the miserable straggling heaps of mud that one sces farther scuth. Esk: Schehir, nowadays noted for its meer- schaum, seemed quite a busy and hustling city after the dullness of antediluvian Afion, though probably its population would not have exceeded a hundred thousand souls. A petit déjeuner of two little cakes each, anda cup of café au lait, which the good-natured Greek insisted on paying for, cost him nearly two pounds, which may serve to give some idea cf the price of food at that time and the worth of Turkish paper-money. Our second sleepless night was spent in the hot and crowded train beside a pretty village of white-walled, red-rocfed houses. It was literally embowered in the foliage of planes, walnut., and sycamores, and the inevitable poplars, without which ne Turkish village seems complete. + Desperate attacks on my part, with the aid of a candle and a tin of insect powder, against the swarming cause of our wakefulness was of no avail against their onslaughts, and I realized that the powder was certainly “ under proof” for Turkish needs. In addition, my Greek fricnd had developed a severe attack of malaria, and was shivering and chattering continvally. So,

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. 413 “There was much fighting and shriekiog as the miscellaneous collection attempted to board the train.” with the windows tightly closed, in spite of the an enchanting lake and seeing the sea for the stifling atmosphere, the night dragged through. first time for over three years at the beautiful Next day, after travelling along the fringe of seaport of Ismidht, where the Greek bade me

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434 good-bye and good luck, we skirted the Marmora coast till, late in the afternoon, we arrived at the terminus of Haidar Pasha, on the Asiatic coast, facing Constantinople. My destinatien was the Haidar Pasha hospital, famous as the scene of the good work of Florence Nightingale. And there, after salving my kit, which Ishmael had declared had been stolen by a Bashi-Bazouk, and after distributing what food [had among +ome starving Serbian prisoners who had been sent down from Austria, I was admitted as a patient. Thad been asleep about two howrs after being put in a ward among twenty or thirty Turkish soldiers- the officers’ ward being full--when I was awakened by tle noise of bombs and a heavy firing of rifles and machine-guns. Realizing that it was a British air-raid, I deemed it safest to remain where I was, as all the patients who were able to move had left their beds and were hurrying off, while the soldicrs op duty in the corridors were scampering wildly about. Had they known that I was a Britisher it is quite porsible they might have been tempted to attack me by wey of retaliation. When all but a groaning patient who had been shot in the stomach and a one-armed man had left the ward, I climbed up to a window which overlooked the harbour to view the sight, which looked very impressive with the sweep of searchlights and the lighting up of the heavens with star-shell, and was further added to by the din and confusion, The one-armed man was a French-speaking Smyma Jew, who had been forced to fight with the Turks, and until the firing ceased and the other patients returned I spent an instructive hour or so with him, having the various: features of Constantinople and its environs pointed out to me. Next day I was placed in an officers’ ward, beside a youth who had been hoist with his own petard by falling on a bomb he was about to throw. ‘ From an Arab cfficer I learned that there were five or six British offic in a hospital at Gumush Suyt. (Silver Water), on the European side. As the doctor was not greatly impressed by my infirmities, and, in fact, thought tere w nothing wrong with me, I applied, after first making sure that there was no X-ray equip- ment at Haidar Pasha, to go to Gumush Suyu. Giad to be able to put a responsibility upon somecne else the doctor agreed, and, after getting off lightiy in the matter of having only some trifling articles stolen by the custodians of patients’ effects at the hospital, I was trans- ferred, in the custcdy of a rather elderly soldier, to the European side of the Bosphorus. On the ferry steamer a fanatical-looking Turk appeared to be endeavouring to work up an agitation against me, but fortunately seemed to get very little support, and was content to scowl and glare. One more enterprising individual, however, endeavoured to steal my belongings, which the simple soldier who was with me was guarding. Being observed by the soldier, the would-be thief was putting up a good bout of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, catch-as-catch-can for their possession, when a heavy and well-directed kick from me settled the argument in the soldier s fave ur. Life at Gumush Suyu was not The Make- =U plcasant. Of seven British believe officer patients who were in the Lunatic. ward six were shamming in hopes of an exchange. One officer, in- deed, had feigned lunacy for many long months, and was honestly believed by the others to be mad. He neither spoke to nor was spoken to by anyone, but, a picture of misery and despair, sat poring all day long over a Bible. Each mom- ing and evening too, and usually at the hour when the ward wa; being swept, he would spend a half-hour at devotions that combined the gymnastic postures of the Mohammedan namaz with the ritual of the Church of England. Know- ing personally that he was uite sane, and being Iccated in a bed alongside his, I was able to surreptitiously correspond with him in writing. And by arrangement with him I was able to further his plans, and at the same time came to be looked upon by the Turkish wardsmen as an effective if not over-gentle keeper. Among the patients in the ward was Captain A. J. Bott, M.C., who had been taken prisoner whilst flying in Palestine five months previously. With a party of other new prisoners he had been at Afion Kara Hissar for a week, and had then been sent to Constantinople for intetroga- tion. By clever shamming he had gained admission to hospital. When at Afion he told me that he intended to escape at the first opportunity. Accordingly, as I did not wish to escape alone, I confided my plan of flight vid Russia to him. Another patient in the hospital was a Bosnian flying officer in the Turkish service, who had also been shot down on the Palestine front. During our occasional stroll, cled in night- shirt and slippers, in the bospital garden, we had met the Bosnian; and Bott, who spoke German well, had sounded him on his loyalty to the Turks. Many meetings, many discu. sions, and many notes exchanged, during ostensible lessons in English, resulted in the Bosnian promising that, if we could escape and reach the German aero- drome at San Stefano, about twenty miles from Constantinople, shortly after his discharge from hospital, he would desert from the Turks and fly with us to Lemnos in a German aeroplane. We had in addition a plan of the aerodrome, and were informed by him cf the hours when he would be on orderly duty there. But the Turks became suspicious and forbade him to speak with us. And as he had told his plans, by way of a boast, to some of the crippled British soldiers in the hospital, and it was common talk among them, we knew that the soldicrs must soon be overheard by the Turks. We accordingly decided to drop his scheme and to concentrate on the escape rid Russia. We had an opportunity to further the latter scheme when, the subsequent Sunday, we were allowed to go for a stroll under guard. I saw to it, as the interpreter of our party of three,

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. that our sceps took us in the direction of a certain Café Maritza, a known resort of mercan- tile men, where, I had been told by the Russians at Afion, there was a Greek waiter, one Theodore, who before the war would manage any little intrigue. F The promise of a good feed was sufficient justification for our guard to allow us to enter. We called for Theodore. And after ordering a pilaf each for the guard, I told Theodore, as with careful ostentation we studied the menu, that should he see the engineers of the Batoum, the Ukranian steamer which lay in the harbour, he was to tell them to expect two British officer stowaways aboard in about a weck’s time. Meanwhile, if he knew of a place where we might hide after escape, he was to let me know later. During the afternoon I enccuntered Nicholas P-—., the Greek I had met on the train, and we 415 Two days later we were unceremoniously dis- charged from hospital and sent to an Armenian schcol at Psamatia, where we found other prisoners interned, some of whom were hopeful of being exchanged, and others expecting to be sent back to the interior of Asia Minor again. On the way to Psamatia, however, we managed, after a long harangue with the guards about how hungry we were, to get into the Maritza again for a few minutes, and learned from Theodore that he had seen the engineers, but did not know of a hiding-place as yet. From Psamatia I was able to Message further the plot through V—, a 7 from Ukranian aeiatee prisoner, who, Theodore. when on a visit to Stamboul under guard, learned from Theo- dore that if we escaped within the week and made our way to a certain German becr-garden “A heavy and well-directed kick settled the argument. went together to the Taxime Gardens. Here, in the glamour of music and a well-dressed crowd, among which German and Austrian officers were conspicuous,. we. ate. and drank together, with the guards seated a few yards away, and felt for the moment that we were free. in Galata we would find a man there, seated near the piano, who would get a hiding-place for us until the ship was ready to sail. We would know him because he would have a cigarette behind his ear. But to escape was the difficulty. The hospital

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416 was impossible, owing to rts high walls and the number of guards, and Psamatia was not much btter. A high wall, with sentries both inside and outridc, flanked it on three sides, and on the fourth its barred windows fronted the street. F. and S—— arrived in our camp at this time, and, knowing that they intended to escape, by mutual agreement we arranged to go together, so that one party would not spoil the chances of the other. é As they had no special plans we gave them our abandoned aeroplane scheme, telling them exactly what we thought of the principal actor in the plot--who, a day or two before, had been “stunting ’’ over the roof of our prison —and letting them have the whole plan for what it was worth. i We had cashed cheques wherever possible when in hospital, principally through the agency of a Jewish dragoman of the Dutch Legation, who occasionally brought food parcels to hospital, and treated the matter as a business proposition on which he made good money. In addition we had cashed cheques openly in the Dutch Lega- tion—a procedure that was allowed as long as the amounts did not exceed ten pounds. And H » the pretended idiot, handed about forty-cight liras over to me to use, as he knew the Turks would otherwise steal it from him. I accumulated thus about ene hundred and fifty pounds, and after purchasing a pair of braces at four piastres which nobody would covet, I placed a twenty-five lira note between the double webbing on either side, and sewed up the sides with fine stitches in such a manner that no one wonld suspect them to contain money. I also sewed a fifty-lira note into the tightening strap of my trousers, and by packing this up with paper, not even a Turk would have supposed it to be anything more than the usual piece of buckram stiffening that is employed. These precautions, 1t is necessary perhaps to add, were in case of recapture, for the first thing a Turkish gendarme does, if he spares his victim's life, is to rob him of everything of worth. The rest of my escaping kit consisted of a Turkish watch, a map of Constantinople that I had torn from a book, a midget French-Russian dictionary, an old felt hat rolled up and stowed away in an inside pocket, a pocket-book, pocket- knife, pipe and tobacce, and some biscuits and chocolate in two small bags in my pockct that T had made from handkerchiefs. It was necessary to travel light, for after Jong discussion we had decided to try the unusual procedure of an escape in the daytime, and, if possible, from the train. Our chance came when, a few days later, the four of us, guarded by four soldiers, and with an officer of the garrison in an adjoining com- partment, were being taken by train from Psamatia to Stamboul. We agreed to make a bolt for it at the central station of Sirkedgi, and, if possible, to take any earlier opportunity. We hoped that if we all four ran together, at the railway terminus, the four soldiers might concentrate on one or two of our number. The crowd would help us, for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, It was possible that they nught not shoot on their account. The train was crowded, the principal passen- gers being Turkish officers and soldiers, with a sprink’ing of civilians, principally Turkish and Greek women. I had purposely remained standing, holding on to the parcel rack, so as to make the most of any opportunity. The scldiers were keenly alert, however, and seemed to have some idea that there was mis- chief in hand, for they stood close alongside us all the time, watching our every movement, though we endeavoured as much’ as_ possible not to appear to be acting in collusion with F-— and S—. I had fancied Kum Kapu station as a place where I might be able to jumr out and mm, but the presence of so many armed gendarmes at window-seats on the train discouraged me. The most astonishingly fortuitous piece of luck, however, happened a moment or two after we had left the station, and gave me the required opportunity. We had developed a good speed again when suddenly the train crashed into the rear of a stationary goods train. Passengers were pitched violently from their seats; those who were standing were thrown down, and there was instantly a mad stampede for the doors. Seeing that there was no immediate danger, as our carriage had not telescoped, and as our guards, as soon as they jumped to their feet again, were about to seize us, I began to pacify a Turkish lady who, secing that she had small chance of getting off the train before the last of the terrified men, was, like a number of other women, screaming and throwing herself about. As soon as the guard took his A Dash eye off me for a moment, I put for my head reund the corner of a Freedom. = compartment partiticn and pulled on the old hat that I carried. Then, calling to the others that I was off, I made for the door. But the soldiers saw through my scheme, and, while they scizcd my three companions, one of the guard, a huge, lusty fellow, came after me. I had the greatest difficulty, though I was spurred on by the thoughts of the soldier behind me, in fighting my way through the yelling officers at.d soldiers that blocked the doorway and the platform of the carriage. But I used feet and hands to good advantage, and, getting down on to the railway track, found that we were on a viaduct, which was already crowded with passengers who had alighted from the train. As I should have been stopped by some of the crowd, and, morcover, owing to the limited space I could not force a way through, I leapt on to the train again--which was made up of corridor cars—but this time in a different carriage. With the soldier a few yards behind me I jumped out at the other end, which brought me level with one end of the viaduct. Getting down on to the brick abutment of the viaduct

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AM 1 jumped into the = street, the soldier pre- f ferring te run down t the embankment to risking a limb in a leap from the abut- ment, although it was no more than twelve feet high. His trepidation allowed me to gain about a dozen yards on him, and I made the most of it, doubling around the nearest strect-comer. | Though he had no rifle, I knew that he would have a revolver beneath his coat, so | gave him little chance of having a shot at me by always don bling round the nearest corner of the narrow streets, whether it hap- pened to be on my right or my left hand, and by avoiding — straight runs down = long blocks. 1 fancied that I could run until that moment; yet, though naturally I went my hardest, I discovered he was actually gaining on me, and 1 found the reugh cobbles rather slippery for my heavy boots, while he — experi- enced less difficulty in his tight-fitting slippers. And, knowing that he would be bastin- adoed if I sue ceeded in escaping, he had an equal incentive to run his hardest. Thad left a-little money with an Australian soldicr prisoner to give to the two soldiers who were responsible for our custody, as 1 knew that, during the month’s imprisonment which would follow the beating they would receive, they would. get very little food, and the thought G THE TURKS. 417 = oa of this appeared rather ludicrous to me at the moment. As he chased after me the Turk shouted to passers-by to stop me, but the people were either more intent in going the other way to see the accident, or too late in making up their minds: and I actually ran past a barracks where twenty or thirty soldiers vacantly watched the pursuit through an iron fence without realizing quickly enough what was going on. The two months during which I was walking lame had not Jeft me in the Dest of condi- tion, and after running for about half a mile I felt quite exhausted, and decided to take the cnly alterna- ‘tive and bolt into a house, chancing whether the in- habitants proved to be Turks or Greeks. Accordingly, seeing an open strect door im- mediately I had come round a corner, I rushed inside. Two old women were washing clothes in the front room of the timber-and-mud structure, but I saw at a glance they were not Turks, and as they seemed undecided whether to scream or faint at my sudden appearance I whispered ‘ English Zabot” (officer), and, putting my finger on my lips as a signal to them to say nothing, I stepped into a tiny cupboard beneath the stairs. “jumped into the street. (To be continued.)

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A Dyak woman's corset of brass rings Among ae Dyaks & Her Highness the ‘anee of Sarawak Though the Dyaks of Sarawak have a bad reputation as head-hunters, they are most charming people to their friends. In this chatty article the Ranee describes a visit to these little-known folk, who are just like big children, full of fun and mischief. HAT is a Dyak?”’ I have been asked, and very few people know that far away in the jungles of Sarawak there is a_placé like the world just beginning, and a race whose members look as if they had stepped straight out of the book of Genesis. I have often been asked if I am not afraid of going amongst these brown-skinned tribes of head-hunters, and my reply has always been ; y, they are only children after all.”” , For y seem to me’ never to have quite grown up are the Peter Pans of the East. Last summer I spent a week amongst them seven of the simplest, happiest days of my life. The capital of Sarawak, as you may know, is called Kuching, which in Malay means “ Cat.” Kuching is the London of our island; we have a railway there, and “ wireless,’’ and one man has a motor. We also have a dock, a racecource, and a golf course, and we consider ourselves the hub of the Sarawak universe. Two days’ journey The mountain of Santubong, which is supposed to be shaped like the Rajah’s face. A Sea Dyai. up river and you are in the jungle swamps, amongst a race that have nothing but their farms and their fighting and their beauty to recommend them. Most of them have never seen a motor-car, and their idea of “ wireless ” is that it is simply a pole from which, if you

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climb to the top, you can see Europe. They live by signs and tokens, even reading meanings into the direction in which birds fly. Every- thing else of man’s creation they consider the work of the devil. Pcrhaps they are right; I often think the telephone must be the principal instrument in Hades ! It was in a place called Kapit that I spent my seven days. The journey there from Kuching is uneventful and uninteresting. Rising out of the sea there is a mountain called Santubong, or the “ Rajah’s Nose,” for the rock is shaped like the Rajah’s face, and the natives consider it an excellent omen. Leaving the sea, you turn into the Rejang river, which winds and twists in serpentine bends throughout its course, and is full of floating logs ES The Rance AMONGST THE DYAKS. 419 and snags, making it very difficult to navies gate. On the banks there are mangrove trees, from the bark of which a product called “ Kutch ” is extracted and used for tanning and dyeing. Beyond the mangrove swamps are Nipa palms. “This is one of the most useful of all the palms in the country. The Icaves are dried and sewn together with yvola:, making a waterproof covering for the beats and the walls of native houses. From the stem a vegetable is procured called “ Umbut,” and also sugar and salt, so you see how extraordinarily useful this one palm is to the natives. We passed one or two small villages on our way, built on Nibong stakes driven into the mud, but the rest of the river was silent and deserted. I remember, as our boat turned into one of the bends, there was a tall tree close to the river’s edge that had at one time been struck by lightning. The branches were bare of leaves, the stem scorched and blackened. High up among:t on stiits ~ A Dyak house perched above the river, the topmost branches stood two Dyaks — the very first Dyaks I had ever seen. They were in their war-paimt, and in one hand they held a pear and in the other a shield. Their naked bodies were as beautiful and motionless as two bronze statues. I could not believe that they were really alive. They have a cheerful habit, Dyaks, of — half- , felling a tree and hanging on to it by a rope until a hos- tile boat passes, and then, very quietly, letting it fall cn to the luckless occupants of the craft. We have lost many of our men in this way.

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420 The Kapit Fort stands high upon the banks. It is a lonely spot, but strangely beautiful. In the Fort lives one ot our own Government officers, twenty-four hours’ journey away from any other white man. Close to thé Fort is the Bazaar—just a long line of crooked huts where thcy sell dried fish, and jelly, and every kind of horror. Opposite the’ Fort there isa high tree, the foliage of which is shaped like a human head. It looks in the distance as if a Dyak had taken a head and left it on a spear stuck into the ground. This tree is never allowed to be touched ; it is the Dyaks’ talisman, and very sacred to them. As our boat drew up at the little landing- place, a hundred Dyaks or more crowded round to see us. The men were all dresscd in different coloured chawats, or loin-cloths. These chawats are made of several yards of cloth wound round the waist and between the legs, with the ends hanging down in front and behind. From the back of this loin-cloth there hangs a little mat studded with ten-cent pieces or other omaments, so that whenever they sit down they have an ever-ready seat to protect them from the insects and the damp. A row of beads adorned their necks, and huge rings of brass hung from the lobes of their ears. Their hair hung down their backs, and was cut in a straight fringe across the forehead. They had no hair on their faces, and go to much trouble plucking out any that may appear. They also pluck out their eye- brows and their eyelashes. Their skins are soft and glossy, and the colour of new pig-skin leather. Most of them were tattooed with different patterns. The women wore a httle Dyak cloth from the waist to the knees, and a sort of corset composed. of brass rings from above the bust to the waist. This has a most uncomfortable appearance. The little Dyak cloths, or sarongs, are held in place by a belt of fifty-cent pieces—sometimes as many as ten rows of them. Their hair seemed very tidy, being ticd in a knot at the back, and drawn tightly back from the forehead. Some of them had beautiful figures, and they walked with their heads erect and their choulders well thrown back. These Dyaks, as a whole, are amazingly hospitable, and the reception that they gave us I shall not easily forget. No sooner had I shaken hands with a hundred of them than they wanted to begin all over again. The curious habit or instinct of head-hunting, how- ever, is still in their blood, ard but for the fear of the Government—who are particularly hard on them for an offence of this nature, generally making the whole village sutfer for the sins of one or two—there would be much of it still going on. The origin of head-hunting is mostly due to the eternal feminine, for in the old days the man who had the most heads won the “ belle’ of the village. A woman’s or a child’s head is as good as a man’s; and they are, lam ashamed to ray, sad cowards, for they do not engage the victim in a hand-to-hand combat, but steal stcalthily up to a house when the inhabitants are asleep, or when the men are THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. working their padé, and massacre the women and children: Rarely-do they attack unless they are certain of vietory, and-they always see to it that they are superior in numbers. The heads, after capture, are smoked, 'this being the occasion for a great ceremeny. ‘The girls and women take an active part in the proceedings, which, as can be imagined, are of the most gruesome nature. After the ceremony the heads belonging to one house are tied together and hung in a bunch in an outhouse on the balcony. FE have seen many of these heads; indeed, the Dyaks think it a great honour for me to have a bunch of them hung over the chair.that I sit on! They have the appearance of enormous chestnuts and are cnly unpleasant to look at if the beards are left or, for some of the tribes whose heads they take have whiskers. The first night I spent in the Kapit Fort was an uneasy and eerie experience. The Dyaks slept scattered about in the court-house, close to the Fort, and under the Fort is the prison. They talk a lot in their sleep, groan, and make the weirdest noises. The second night I agked our Government officer if he would be so kind as to sleep outside my door to give me a feeling of security. The next day we went to visit a Dyak house, the home of a man called Koh, who.is a very great friend of mine. Koh was’ onee a great head-hunter, but he is now come round ‘to the Rajah’s way of thinking. He.is very beautiful to look at, and has charming manners. With us came Melintang, a wonderful old Dyak. He calls up spirits, dances perfect war-dances, and tells tales lasting for weeks. -We are all very fond of Mclintang, but he is rather a bore—the kind of man another man would avoid if he met him at the club. This Dyak house was about fifty feet long by forty feet wide, thatched with sago-palm leaves, which are the best atéaps that can be made, and last on an average about seven years. The house was approached by a log having notches in it, and_at the top of the log an ugly head was carved to keep away evil spirits. I was met at the top by Koh, as the head of the house. He conducted us to a raised plat- form in the centre of the dwelling, and, having reached down a mat from the beams above, placed it on the platform and motioned us to be seated. A little group of old women sat round the chief, who next produced a brass box containing betcl nut, gambier, lime, leaves, and tobacco. Having tasted the betel nut and tried his tobacco, we held a conversation something like this. “How is your padi this year?” Koh: ‘‘ Very bad, Tuan. No rain, and there are so many wild pig about destroying the little we have, and the Tuan Rajah does not allow us to set pig-traps.”’ “It 1s for your own good that the great white Rajah has forbidden you to set traps, as so many of your own people have been killed by them.” The form of trap which used to be set, I should explain, was a piece of sharpened bamboo

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AMONGST THE DYAKS, = 421 The Authoress na Dyak house, Waiting to welcome the visitors, These carved heads are supposed to keep away evil spirits,

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422 that shot across the road when you touched a Piece of yotan, thereby releasing the trigger, and generally hitting you about the middle of the knees. So many people accidentally killed their relations that the Rajah forbade the setting of them any longer. Koh: “The great white Rajah has spoken, and, of course, we will obey.” s ny do you not make a fence round your field 2?” Koh: “ We have not got enough men, Tuan, to make a good fence.” “How much padi have you planted ?” Koh: “ About ten guntangs '’ (a gallon). Then ensued silence, and they all sat round and stared. I cannot speak their language, so I could only smile at them, which they must have thought very foolish. Suddenly the old gentleman had an inspiration “Have you brought some gin, Tuan ?”’ he asked. “ Yes, a little.” “Then we will Merry.” ““Yes,”” said Melintang. “We will make a cere- mony to ward off the evil spirits. There are two hens prepared.” While they were arranging the ccre- mony I had time to look round at the house, which was divided lengthways down the centre by a par- make tition, one side being again divided into separate rooms in which the different families slept and cooked. A corner of the roof was pushed up to allow the light to penetrate each compartment. THE WIDE WORLD. MAGAZINE, On the other side was a long veranda running the whole length of the house. This is a gencral sitting-room. ‘The roof comes well down, so that very little sun penetrates, but just sufficient light for the purpose of the work which goes on in the house. Little holes lead from this veranda to the platform outside, used for drying clothes and fish. One thing that amused me was that each door had a loop of rotam at the bottom of it, so that it could be opened with the toe if the hands were : full! The BE 3 door shuts [ by itself, owing- to a weight tied to a rotan and slung The Ranee with a group of Dyaks. The veranda of a Dyak house. ——_— ———_—S—————_ — .

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Tn One of the big Dyak racing boats. overa beam. The door being slung on improvised hinges makes a loud creaking noise every time it is opened, and it shuts with a bang. I should not recommend a Dyak house as a rest-cure home. The noise is something awful—cocks crowing, Dyaks shouting, children _ yelling, dogs barking, monkeys chattering, and gongs and drums being beaten continually. Under the floor, which is made of long planks sometimes more than an inch apart, I could some tame pigs walking about, eating anything that happened to drop through. The house could be approached from both ends, and as there were no paths round it, it seemed to be used as a general thoroughfare. Overhead on the beams they Stored their nets for fishing, blowpipes, spears, mats, votans, and other things of gene use, covered with cob- webs and the dust of ages. Unlike the Malay, the Dyak stores his crops in the house, conse- quently, if the place is burned down, the whole of the year’s padi is destroyed, and the entire family are withont the main substance of life. I noticed they hung their payangs—the long Imives that are tied to their waists in wartime, or when they venture from the house—on buffalo or deer horns. These people have no toads, or even paths, and whenever they go for a walk they have to cut their way through thick jungle. In front of me sat a group of men and women chewing betel nut, and chattering and staring at-me. The young girls were giggling, putting their hands up before their faces and peeping at me slyly. The atmosphere was thick with tcbacco smoke, and the noise of the gongs was AMONGST THE DYAKS. 423 The Ranee with her first catch. deafening. Suddenly Melintang appeared in all his war-paint, and started an incantation to the spirits. The idea of this is that he is sup- posed to call the spirits; then a large bowl is filled with eggs and rice and all sorts of food, and left all night forthe spirits to devour. After this two hens were tied together by the legs and swung over the heads of the Dyaks. I was obliged to get up and go the whole round cf the house, swinging the wretched birds by their

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424 legs. After about an hour cf this, we began to get a bit tired of old Melintang, so we thanked him very much and suggested that the gin should be brought. This was what they were waiting for, and Koh became exceedingly lively. The gin was poured into a large bowl, and a little water mixed with it. The bowl was then handed round and we all took a sip. A man of any importance had to make a little speech before drinking. Then there was much laughter, cracking of jokes, and good-natured chaff. The drink having gone round several times, the Dyaks became noisy, so we prepared to go. But, no; now that the gin had been round the Dyaks had become really friendly. Melin- tang said that he would dance. We talk of dancing over here, and we rave about the Russian Ballet, with its lights and its music and its colour, but, believe me, there is far more beauty to be found in a Dyak house when a head-hunter dances his dance. The dim light, the hundred weird faces watching, the jingle of bracelets, and just this one man, graceful, agile, with his sword in his hand, and his shicld on the floor. By his own simple, expressive art, he is able to portray the battle, the attack, the conquest. Like a bird he swoops upon his prey; you can almost sce his victim. Every gesture is full of power and grace. At the finish he jumps into the air and falls quite softly into a crouching heap at your feet. The whole thing is without a fault; there is not a movement out of place. One or two others danced, but none so well as Melintang. Then some of the ladies were encouraged to sing. This has its own peculiar attraction. Their voices are nasal and very powerful. I like it, but I am inclined to think it is an acquired taste. It was not until one in the morning that. we were allowed to leave, and then our host walked ahead of us down to our boat with a drawn sword in his hand for fear of an enemy attacking us. And so ended my first day amongst the Dyaks. Next morning we went Tuba fishing. This is a most exciting sport, and extremely difficult. We started at five, and about two hours’ journey up-river we came upon a thousand Dyak boats awaiting us; they had gone up the night before in order to prepare the water. Tuba is a kind of root that is thrown into the water, fumes making the fish rise to the surface to breathe and so falt easy victims. This was our moment! We stood right in the bows of our canoes, each of us with a long spear, and as a fish rose we speared him. It sounds easy, but when you have boat- loads of yelling Dyaks all round you, and your own craft is not very steady, and the fish is very quick, the actual spearing becomes a great art. I was so excited I hardly knew what I was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, doing, but I managed to spear one huge fist — far bigger than myself. My spear was carried away, and so was I, very nearly, but I caught him again later on farther down the river. No one else is allowed to take your fish if you leave a spear in him; that is the code of honour in Tuba fishing. We were too tired that evening to do more than sit about and talk to the Dyaks who happened to come in. For in Sarawak, wherever we are, we keep open house; the people can come and go whenever they like. The following morning I played at pegtops with old Mchntang and a few others. I mention this because I want to show how and -vhy the Dyak is the Peter Pan of the East. Melintang is at Icast sixty, and yet there he was betting me that I could not spin a top! I was not allowed .to go out of the garden without one of my guard following me with a loaded rifle, for even at Kapit you never know what enemy may be lurking near, hoping to get your head. The English officer there is used to these natives of his, and they to him, but even he does not take unnecessary risks. The next day we watched the natives practising for the January boat races. These boats carry fifty men or so, and the races are most exciting. Everything to do with the Dyaks in the way of sports and games is exciting, because they are just like children. The rest of my time was spent in visiting and in Dyak feasts. But what TI want to impress upon my readers is the curious mixture of savagery and sweetness in the dis- position of these head-hunters. They are cruel to their dogs, but kind to their children. They are moral and very clean.. The women are beautiful, and have more character than the Malay women; they love more loyally and hate more passionately. They have nc woman's suffrage in Sarawak, nor is it a “dry” country. The Dyak who has the most heads can choose his bride from the whole of his village ; the less doughty warrior has a smaller selection. An interesting thing about these heads is that the tribe from which a head has been stolen can recognize it from amongst a hundred other heads, and sometimes a man will come te che Fort, where we collect the heads, and calmly point cut his old grandmother, or great-aunt, among the stock of heads heaped together there. Taken on the whole, the Dyak is a pleasant, easy companion, somewhat of a humbng, a great deal of a liar, but with it all smiling, friendly, and perfectly charming to meet. Candidly, I would far sooner go to a Dyak feast than a London dinner party. Both are equally barbaric in their way—and equally undressed.

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Some cynic once said that women have no sense of humour. This most amus- ing narrative conclusively proves the contrary, for without a sense of humour the Authoress would never have survived her manifold misadventures or been able to set them down s0 viva- ciously. Evidently, to judge from this story, it is not en- tirely a bed of roses to be the wife of a scientist and NE of the minor trials which a naturalist’s wife has to get accus- tomed to is the time of the year .at which her husband takes his holiday. It is usually either in the early spring, when it is cold and wet, and the only delectable spot on earth is your own fireside, or in the middle of June to the end of July—the very centre of the season ! One year we went to Ireland in the middle of June, and the Best Friend came with us. Our object was to study sea-birds in their Native haunts, take photographs and make observations. For our sins we chose the most unspeakably dreary and disappointing island— orso I found it—on the whole of the West coast— the Isle of Achill. It rained every day, the birds were conspicuous by their absence, the country was, to say the least of it, uninteresting, the scenery poor, and the roads unutterable ! And we spent a fortnight there ! The Naturalist collected sticky, dirty, and smelly things from every quarter and kept them in his bedroom. The Best Friend found three young puffins, and presented them to Dick for the aviaries. They were put in a basket and kept in the bedroom also. Then arrived a young razor- bill and two guillemots. Then came two young Greater black-backed gulls, two rock pigeons, and two common gulls! And he wished to keep them all in our bedroom ! I drew the line at the greater black-backs. The Test were so young, so fluffy, so sweet—and would So certainly have died had they not been kept very warm. and. fed every hour—that I had to consent. As I fay, it rained every day, so as I had to be indoors, and there was nothing else for me to do, there was no ostensible reason why I shorld not undertake to feed the baby birds. Vol xliv.— 29 By “°M.B.B.” MLUSTRATED BY? LR. BRIGHTWELL a accompany him to the wild places of the earth in search of specimens. Aill sorts of odd experiences are divert- ingly described by the writer, and we can promise our readers many achuckle. In this instalment the Authoress describes a holiday in Ireland, her experiences in Lapland, and the prepara- tions for the expedition to the Bahamas. IIL. First of all I bribed the hotel handmaiden with a much-loved pair of ornamental hair- combs. She had never scen such things before, and after I had made her the proud possessor of them, there was nothing she would not do for me. So I commissioned her to bring me hot water bottles hourly to keep my charges warm. Also to beg, bcrrow, or steal fresh fish whenever possible, and bring it to me in my bedroom. It was most extraordinary fish. Fresh it might be when it arrived, but two or three hours were quite enough to make it very much the reverse, and at the end of twelve hours it was painful to touch! The birds didn’t seem to mind how rancid it might be; they ate it greedily after I had cut it upinto tiny bits. For the whole of that fortnight I reeked of fish—good, indifferent, and very, very bad, and as for our room: ! Well, I kept the wretched little things alive, but at the expenditure of much vital energy. At night they were worse then babies. I remem- ber one night in particular I had fed them all the very last thing before retiring, given them a fresh hot-water bottle, fresh peat and fresh wrappings, covering them down cosily with a semi-soiled blouse or two, and on the top of all my fur cloak. (That fur cloak still has the most sickly smell !) The Naturalist slept the sleep of one who has tramped twenty miles in a thick drizzle. Just as I was dropping off there began a most maddening “ Peep, peep, peep, peep!’ 1 turned over. “Peep, peep, peep!”’ I buried my head. No use ; it still went on. “Peep, peep, peep!” The Naturalist murmured in his dreams. I threw my slipper at the basket. “Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!!” crescendo, and yet louder. I lay quite still. For ten minutes I listened Double

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420 then I could stand it no longer. 1 groped for the matches, lighted a candle, and looked. On my cloak, escaped from his cosy nest, stood the razor-bill ! I slapped him, put him away, tucked them up still safer, and went to sleep. It seemed no time before I was awakened again, this time by the whole lot squeaking in concert. The Naturalist still slept. Again I threw light on the subject. They were all tucked up, all warm, and nothing the matter with them. They were simply evil. I got out the very smelly fish, cut off some scraps, fed the wretches, put them back again, hed my hands in the ice-cold water, and crept back to bed, cold and wrathful. When I awoke, the cold light of morning was coming through the yellow blind, and in my ears sounded a strange and fearsome noise. Clatter, clatter, clatter! Bang, bang, bang ! Then silence for an instant, when it all com- menced again. I lay in terror; then my nerve came back and I cautiously raised my head and peered round the room. On the window-sill I had left my paint-box open to dry, as I had been trying to sketch in the rain the day before. A horrid sight met my view ! On this same window-sill, dancing i my paint bex, were the rock pigeons! A pan of paint was on each toe ; one had actually several pans on one foot | They were dancing a clog-dance with much enjoyment and skill ! The noise awoke the Naturalist. “Good heavens !"’ he said. “I hope to goodness they have not poisoned themselves !'" On our return journey, we were taken, as we always are when moving about, for a travelling menagerie! Seventeen packages of birds, and every one a little more smelly than the last, was the chief part of our luggage, and tucked in my tea-basket, or sketching-bag, or anywhere easy and handy to get at, were packages of evil- smelling, slimy, horrible fish ! These sn all trials, however, are nothings, mere nothings, to the experiences a naturalist’s wife goes through when once it has becn decided that she shall accompany her husband on a really serions expedition, an affair of weeks, if: not months ! I was let down gradually. My first experience was only a matter of some six weeks but in those weeks T learned many things. The way we decided to go wa; peculiar. The Best Friend had been down to say ‘ Good-bye ” before setting out on a fishing trip to Norway. After he had left we dawdled over dinner, discussing his plans. “ Norway is ripping,” said the Naturalist. “I wish we were going, or rather I wish we were going to Lapland. There are some birds there I want badly. There was a long silence. “ When does Bob sail?’ Tinquired, at length. “On Saturday, and this is Wednesday. You have never seen Norway, have you, darling ? The fjords, and the mountains of everlasting THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. snow, and the Midnight San, and—Oh! by Jove! I should like to show it all to you! I suppose you couldn't by any chance-—I mean, you couldn't start on Saturday ?”’ He mistook my speechless amazement for consideration. “ Look here, I will wire and sce if there are any berths left,’’ he went on, ‘‘ and if there are, will you be ready ?” “ But I haven’t a thing ready !”” “Oh, you won’t want much-—your old clothes, warm ones, are all you need.”” “ But I haven't a rag left ! out my wardrobe and—-—”’ “Oh, you can buy all you want in a day! You have all to-morrow, and on Friday we will Tun up to town and say good-bye to my people and start from there on Saturday !’’ And we did it ! The trip to Vadso (Lapland) was, of course, I’ve just cleared * lovely, bar such trifles as the day Dick nearly poisoned me by mixing arsenical soap in the tooth-glass and forgetting to wash it out! But fortunately the Best Friend is a doctor, and Iam still alive. We bade the said Best Friend farewell at Trondhjem, where we changed boats. The landing there was rather trying! There is some- thing about my face of such surpassing innocence that, incredible though it may seem, I have never yet had my lugagge searched by any Customs officer—and I have been to America | The Naturalist puts it down to my expression of “ cow-like placidity."" The Best Friend thinks something may be due to the fact that I have always lost the keys of my boxes, and press the officers to open my cabin-trunk with the key of my jewel-box, but whatever may be the cause, the consequence is that my luggage is invariably made the receptacle for every sort of dutiable commodity the Naturalist wants to smuggle in. On this occasion I had two guns among my dresses, much ammunition in my boots, and three large bottles of whisky among my petticoats. At Bergen Dick had bought me a feena, or large wooden oval box, with a handle, and in that I had put all the little odds-and-ends I might want for a night in Trondhjem. As we left the ship Dick had appeared laden with a brown paper parcel, suspiciously heavy for its size. “ Darling,” he whispered, “ put this in your teena. They are sure to find it in my bag.” “ What is it ?’’ I demanded, sternly. “Cartridges 1’ he breathed. " Quick! slip them in.” “The bottom of the feena will come out!" I objected. ‘‘ They weigh a ton 1”’ “Oh, no, it won't! They are not a bit heavy.” As I staggered on shore, however, I entircly disagreed with him ! As luck would have it, no meddling Customs officer interfered with me, so I bore the precious box triumphantly up from the quay, striving hard not to look lop-sided, and trusting fervently that my arm would hold out.

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THE TRIALS OF A And then, of course, the inevitable happened. With a bang, the bottom of the horrid thing came in two, and the whole of the contents lay in the roadway, before the grinning faces of the Trondhjem carriage-drivers and the scandal- ized looks of my late fellow-passengers. Handkerchiefs, slippers, under-garments, hair- brushes, vests—every necessity of feminine apparel lay in different muddy puddles. My powder-box burst in a cloud of white, and the puff sailed gaily away down the gutter. The Best Friend rescued this, and a dignified old clergyman collected my curling-pins and returned them to me with all solemnity. Then a brilliant stroke of genius came to the He seized my cloak from my Naturalist. shoulders, flupg it over the nerve-shattering heap, and collected the whole lot, box and all, in its capacious folds. I sat on a handy portmanteau, and nursed the foot the guilty cartridges had fallen on, while I laughed hysterically. A large bottle of Phenacetin tabloids and another of Cascara pills had got broken in the spill, and as I watched the cab-drivers grab the scattered contents up, and eat them by the handful, I felt it was a good thing we were going to leave the Doctor behind in Trondhjem. The rest of the voyage was delightful, save for a few details in the way of rough weather and fogs, though the little coasting steamer we transferred into at Hammerfest might have been a little pleasanter if it had not happened to be carrying a cargo of dried, evil-smelling fish ! "I fed the wretches and crept back to bed.” NATURALIST’S WIFE. = 427 And then we got to the land of snow and cold winds, where they spoke the most extraordinary language, and had the most curious ideas of comfort—no carpets or window-curtains, no fire-places, and no afternoon tea! A horrible American stove was their only means of obtain- ing warmth, and a piece of raw salmon was more delectable to them than the finest brands of Pekoe. We spent our time going for long walks over desolate plains which had been hidden in snow all the winter, but had now thawed to the depth of a foot or so, leaving the surface soft and pulpy, with, every few yards, pools of icy water ! We plodded over this for miles, the Naturalist blissful; I wet and weary and tormented with the mosquitoes, which were more awful than tongue can describe! I have sampled the mosquitoes of the West Indies (or rather they have sampled me !), the mosquitoes of America, the Sandwich Isles, of India, and Southern Europe, but never have I met anything that begins to approach the mosquitoes of Lapland! I stood in absolute terror of them. My two pleasant memories of Lapland are a lovely piece of amethyst found by myself, and the knowledge that I have seen pink snow! I found it quite by accident. I had discovered a nest which I knew Dick wanted, and was running hard to tell him of my find, when I tripped and rolled over and over, right into a drift of snow. I gazed about me where I sat, and to my amaze- ment it was pink—soft, lovely, and unmistakably

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428 pink, but none the less very cold and objection- able ! Nevertheless I enjoyed the trip immensely, and embraced my husband fondly when, a few months later, he announced his idea that a winter spent in the West Indies would be rather jolly. To pack for oneself alone when leaving home for six months is without doubt a lesson in patience, but to pack for the Naturalist is, to say the least of it, a complete education ! When Dick and I had definitely settled to escape the horrors of an English winter, and spend at least six months on some weird, out-of- the-way islands in the West Indies, I rejoiced greatly. The ‘ West Indies ’’ sounded delightful, though the name of the special islands on which Dick had set his heart—the Bahamas—conveyed nothing to me. I had never heard of them and said so plainly, much to my husband’s well- feigned horror, though I discovered afterwards that it was only by the merest chance that he had heard of them himself! An acquaintance had buttonholed him one day in the bird-gallery of the South Kensington Museum, and showed him a miserable skin, which he was vainly trying to identify from the stuffed specimens round him. “ My wretched brother has sent it home,’’ he explained, ‘ and wants me to find out what it is | If.’s awfully keen on this kind of thing, you kiow, and on the God-forsaken little island where’s he’s stationed there isn’t much else to do but shoot.” “What island is it ?’’ demanded Dick, the g’cam of the collector in his eyes “One of the Baham: ome spot some- where in the West Indies. No one there knows anything about the birds and beasts, so every- thing my brother shoots he sends home to me, if it looks rare, to find out what it is, confound aim !”" And that was how it began. * Before we think of beginning to pack or buy things, Dick,” I said, solemnly, ‘‘ we must make alist!” The Naturalist looked aghast. “ But we sha'n’t want to pack much or buy anything, shall we, dearest ? ’’ he asked. I made out a list and gave it to him. He looked at it in speechless horror. Slowly specch came. “Dresses! Boots! Sunshades! Tinned foods! Good heavens !—-four pages of it !— B.cycles |! Hairpins ! Mosquito nets! Cotton ! Collapsible boat! Why not a motor and a fiving machine ?” * Don’t be absurd,’’ I replied, coldly; ‘and T have just remembered that of course we must take tents and camping outfit, and it is absolutely essential that you get another gun. Then there is ammunition, and ne The Naturalist sat down heavily. “We stay at home !’’ quoth he. “Oh, nol” I replied, gaily. matter of managemcnt.”” Next day we journeyed up to the Stores, and drove everyone we had any dealings with nearly distracted. After almost every item (from “It is only a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, frying-pans to gun-vil) on the list, we had written the little legend : ‘‘ Will decide what kind when seen,’’ and that little legend was our undoing! For, when seen, the only thing we were perfectly certain of was that the article shown us was not what we wanted ! Eventually, however, we got to the end of our formidable list, a process by which the Stores was considerably the richer and our banking account most sadly smaller ! There was literally no end to our belongings, and when they had all arrived we commenced to pack. The entire house was given up to the important business. In the library were huge cases waiting to receive all and everything belonging to the “collecting? part of the expeditio:—guns, ammunition, cameras, skinning utensils, egg- boxes, moth-boxes, butterfly nets, and so on. In the dining-room yawned boxes waiting for the tinned provisions. In the best spare-room every old trunk we could raise waited to receive ancient garments and shooting-costumes suitable for “ roughing it.” In the hall lay a whole camping outfit, from tents to stoves. In Dick's dressing-room were all his decent clothes, and in my boudoir I collected my chiffons and frills for America and the fashionable “ winter resorts ’’ we might find our way to in the West Indies. And just in that pretty little pink boudoir most of the trouble began ! I had allowed the Naturalist entirely his own way in the management of the heavy packing; I had seen the guns rolled in the blankets, and the gun-oil packed in my boots, had even given up all my soft and non-spoilable garments to wrap round bottles of horrid-looking chemicals, and finally had gaily nailed on the labels (and bits of my fingers) to the huge packing-caves and seen them safely out of the house, en route for the Bahamas. * And then came real trouble. Very real it was, and very painful—in fact, at one time it looked like bcing serious, but even now I cannot allow that the fault was entirely mine, and I feel certain that all really nice women will side with me most emphatically. It began quite gently, and if it had stopped at the first episode no more would have been said. I scented danger when the Naturalist appeared at my door with an armful of photographic plates. “Molly,” he said, pleadingly, ‘‘ these have only just come. Could you find room for them among your chiffony things? Anywhere to keep them from breaking.” I frowned and I grumbled, but at last, of course, I put them in. . I ought to have been warned by this incident that there was worse to come-—but I was young. Next day I saw the Best Friend staggering to the house carrying an enormous tin tea-chest— the kind with a little round cover that you have to thump to get on, and which never comes off again except when you don’t want it to. I

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. wondered vaguely what he was bringing us, but forgot it in my endeavours to remember exactly how a skirt ought to be folded, and which was the best way to pack a collar. Then the Naturalist stood before me with a face which I knew foretold trouble. In his arms he held the tea-chest. “ Halloa, darling!’’ I cried, as cheerily as the circumstances allowed. ‘‘ Do you want me?” “Yes, Molly,” he said, quietly—too quietly. “ Bob has most kindly” (with an accent on the “ most’’) “ brought us this stuff as a preventive against mosquitoes. You rub it on your hands and face and they never touch you.” “How kind of Bob!” I replied, “What is it made of ? ”” “ Castor-vil and Stockholm tar!’’ he replied, firmly, but with a furtive glance which was not lost on me. “Yes? And where are you going to packit ?’’ Silence. “ There is the hold-all,’”” I went on, “ or your dress-suit case. How would it do in the hold-all ?” “ Molly,”’ said the Naturalist, “ do be sensible ! You know how the porters throw the things about—and supposing the tin burst! It must be in a strong box.’ His eye fell on the trunk of evening gowns I was busy over. “ Ah!” Tsaid. “Yes,” he returned, “and among fairly soft things, you know, where it would be safe from knocks.” “* Just so," I agreed. There was another long silence. “Well?” said Dick, at last, and there was a coldly. 429 “With a bang, the bottom of the hortid thing came in two,” note of impatience in his voice : shall we put it?” I rose slowly. “ We will try your dress-suit case,” I replied. It was much too big to go in. Then Dick rather tactfully remembered that he was busy, and left the tin on the floor. Unfortunatel y—so did I! I paid farewell calls that afternoon, and on my retum essayed to finish my packing, and to coax another pair of slippers into the aforesaid trunk. My fingers quickly came in contact with some- thing strangely hard for an evening dress. I pulled it out, and found the tin of castor-oil and Stockholm tar! True, it was wrapped in many folds of newspaper, but there it was, lying between my net waist skirt and a velvet tea-gown! I very quietly removed it, and placed it on the floor in Dick’s dressing-room. After dinner some new hats arrived. Deter- mined to pack them at once, I opened my hat-box and rearranged those already there. In the crown of my second-best “ creation ”” I found once more the hateful tin! Filled with virtuous indignation, I took it out gingerly and deposited it in Dick’s Gladstone. Next. morning, when I tried to close my dressing-case, it would not meet by miles. Right at the bottom, among my most precious Possessions, lay that sticky, dirty, greasy tin, oozing oil and tar in all directions, for by this time the many wrappers had all been discarded. I sent Phyllis for the Naturalist. When he appeared a conversation ensued which I had better not repeat. “You really are most selfish and most foolish |’’ exclaimed the harassed man, at last. “* Think of the mosquitoes and sand-flies ! We shall be eaten alive on the islands ! ’’ Even this appalling prognostication failed to melt me. *“ Where

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430 THE WIDE WORLD “Tf I find it anywhere else I shall pour every drop away |” I said decidedly. And I heard no more of it until our arrival at the Bahamas, where we were nearly responsible for the death of half-a-dozen of the laundress’s children, who had found, and promptly com- menced to devour, a tin of wonderful “ smelly ”’ black stuff, hidden in the comer of the dirty- linen bag ! That was the first packing trial. The second came after we had landed in New York, where we had to change boats for the Bahamas, the ordinary West Indian Mail knowing nothing, and caring less, about such insignificant little islands ! We had only one night to spend there, and were already booked for a big dinner of scientific notorieties. I must explain that I had sent all my heavy luggage through “ in bond,”’ reserving only what was absolutely necessary. I had kept out some dinner blouses for ” use on board, and ay one very smart be mt little one for this p especial occasion. This last I rather pushed to was find room for, so, as Dick declared that he had “tons of room” in his baggage, I rashly con- fided it to his tender mercies. Of course, the moment we arrived at the hotel, the Naturalise departed in the direction of the Zov, or the Museum, leaving his loving wife to do the unpacking. I soon got my own things jn order, and then tried to find that evening blouse. I searched his Gladstone, his dressing- case, his suit-case, everywhere, and there was no sign of it ! I grew desperate, and turned everything out on the floor. Still no sign; and the horrid fact began to MAGAZINE, dawn on me that he had in all probability forgotten it ! I turned despairingly to the old blouses I had worn on board, but even as I did so I remembered something and—my cup of misery was full! I had sent them on board the other boat ! For a moment I was paralyzed. Then I rang hurricdly for the chambermaid. A most super- cilious young lady appeared, who had no sympathy and no ideas. I asked the way to the nearest costumier’s, or even draper’s. She informed me that the nearest “* Dry Goods Store ’’ was in some awful numbered street or avenue, and that if I took the cable-car at the corner, and transferred at 19087643 Street, and then again at 245687 Street and then walked down four blocks, I should get there. Fortunately for me, just then the Naturalist came in. “Dick!” I cried. evening blouse !”’ “Oh yes, 1 did, darling!” he said. “I remember it perfectly.” He said sundry things about the state of his luggage, and then ferreted down to the bottore of his dressing-case. From here he brought te light one of his canvas shirts, wrapped roun® something hard and round. This proved to be bottle, about the size of a croquet Undoing it gingerly, and removing the lid, he pulled out—my chiffon blouse! My pretty “You didn’t pack my “ Removing the lid, he pulled out—my chiffon blouse 1” bit of sometime daintiness was now a hard ball, tumbled and crushed beyond description | I wept. 2 “I’m so very sorry, darling,”’ said the Naturalist. ‘ But I really didn’t think that it mattered, and it prevented the glass from breaking !'” I rang up the hotel lady’s-maid, and with ber help, and thanks to hot irons and some lace, we did wonders with that blouse, and as I sailed into the drawing-room some two hours later and saw the smart American ladies gazing furtivdy at the “ latest thing in ‘ waists ’ from England,” I felt comforted. In the next instalment the Authoress describes her adventures and misadventures in the Bahamas.

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA The story of a wonderful journey. The Author spent four years in exploring South America, not travelling with a well - equipped expedition, but alone and on foot. He tramped down the whole terrible length of the Andes—a feat probably never accomplished before— Ha A. B. PERTAIN preparations were essential | before I plunged again into the all fea| but unknown. The trip from Loja —the longest sustained hardship I had ever undergone—had left me with a sadly depleted wardrobe. Especially were my walking-boots in the last stages of decay. The shops of Cajamarca had no heavy ones among their stock, but I had hoped, with the assistance of the prefect, to buy a pair of the shoes manufactured for the use of the garrison-police. The department chief, how- ever, put off wiring to the President, or laying the matter before Congress, or whatever the necessary formalities were, until it was too late, and thus I was forced to trust to native patching to carry me over until I reached the next source of supply. As to socks, I had found that the best fot tramping the Andes were none at all ; that is, a better substitute were the “ fusslappen of the German soldier—a square of cotton flannel on which you set your foot diagonally, fold over the three corners, and thrust it into the boot. The valley of Cajamarca, stretching far south- ward, had promised level going for a day or two. But though there was plenty of space for it on the valley floor the camtno real, or highway, true to its Andean environment, preferred to clamber up and down over stony, barren, broken ridges. Two days of stony going. now between hedges of Tipe tunas, now over high ridges, gashed and tumbled, by a trail where I went thirsty despite the frequent fording of luke-warm streams grey with decomposed rock, brought me to San Marcos in a tropical and fruitful valley withered by a long drought. On the fagade of the little dry-goods shop and Government salt-store of the absent gobernador hung a huge sign beginning “Socorro Peones,”” implying that the owner was also a “hooker’’ of workmen for a German-owned sugar estate down on the coast. When I presented my order from the prefect of the department, the wife of San Marcos’s chief Lf; ek ILLUSTRATED BY HORNB. and mixed freely with the natives, Indian and white, study- ing their manners and customs. Needless to say he met with all sorts of odd and exciting experiences, which are here set forth. In this instalment Mr. Franck describes his adventures in Peru. A Iv. “authority ” ordered her cholas to prepare me dinner at once. Behind the divan to which she motioned me stood a life-size figure of the Virgin, flanked by another of Saint Somebody or other. In honour of the arrival ofastranger, perhaps, the matron soon reappeared with several serving women, and, stripping the “‘ Madve de Dios,” reattired her in four gowns, each of which was far more costly than those worn ‘by any of the living beings present. Then she set a newly-polished crown on the head of the image and, falling on her knees before it, began to rock backwards and forwards, imploring her intercession in a monotonous sing- song. . For all her religious duties, my hostess found time to set forth in my note-book the recipe for the most potent beverage that has come down from the Inca civilization—the chicha de jora, at the making of which that served with the evening meal proved her an adept. In a laborious schoolgirl hand, and with a wealth of mis- spelling, she. wrote :— “ Take ripe, shelled corn, cover with water, and leave a week or more until the kernels have sprouted: Dry in the sun two or three days. Crush to a mass,. boil, and place, when cold, in jars three-fourths full, adding sugar sufficient to cause fermentation.” It was in Huamachuco that the first hint of what later proved to be dysentery overtook me, A disturbing lack of energy settled upon me, my appetite failed—a startling symptom, indeed. It was with no rousing pleasure, therefore, that I set off, laden with hard-boiled eggs and a supply of the stony local bread, on the lonely twelve-league tramp that intervenes between Huamachuco and the next town. The natives were united in the assertion that the source of my trouble was my habit of drink- ing at streams along the way; at this altitude, they said, the water was not only too cold but held in solution many minerals that made it unsafe. Long afterward I had reason to believe

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432 that this had little to do with the matter. Ready at the time to grasp at any straw, how- ever, I threw away the film-tin that had served me as drinking vessel, resolved that not another drop of “ raw "’ water should pass my lips—or at least my throat. The resolution called for every ounce of will-power. One of the chief pleasures of a walking trip had always been to quench my thirst whenever opportunity offered. Now the mountain rivu- lets that babbled down across my trail were tantalizing beyond belief, and I would gladly have given a golden sovercign—as long as they lasted—to have been able to drink my fiil at each with impunity. Worst of all, there were no substitutes for water to be had, neither fruits, prepared drinks, nor any other relief from torture, ; Utterly exhausted, I entered Huandoval. From Huandoval to Cabana, capital of the province, is but cight miles ; yet it required nine hours of the most concentrated effort, both mental and phy-ical, to drive myself over the low barren ridge that separates the two towns. The story of the next few days, trivial in detail, I give in no spirit of complaint, but mercly because it sheds so direct a light on the character of the Andean Peruvian. I had learned that there was a hospital in Huaraz, the department capital, and requested the sub-prefect of Cabana to use his authority to help me hire a horse, as he was in duty bound to do by the official orders I carritd. “ Don’t worry,” said the thin, angular fellow, peering at me THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, All night the town boomed with fireworks, the howling of dogs, the bawling of drunken citizens, and the atrocious uproar of a local “ band,” for it was the eve of some festival or other. Far from finding the promised horse waiting for me at dawn, I did not see the shadow of a person until after ten. 7 Everything does mot come to him who waits in the Andes, and I descended again to mention the word “horse”? to the now reeling sub- prefect. “ Have no care,”’ he hiccoughed, ‘ the Govern- ment will attend to all that.” ~ Knowing he was merely showing off be fore his fellow-townsmen, and that he would really let me lie where I was, or at most furnish me with : ome crippled Rozinante to carry. me to Tauca, three miles away, I refused his putative charity. He turned to the crowd about us with a pretence of being hurt to the quick, and then sent a boy to summon the gobernador, likewise maudlin witl. the celebration. “Since this sefior has declined my off.r to furnish him all that is needed,” stuttered the offended sub-prefect, ‘you will have a paid horse, with saddle and bridle, ready for him— to-morrow.” “‘ But why not to-day ? ’’ I protested. “ Absurd, sefior! To-day is the great Corpus Christi procession, and you would not wish to miss that, even if you could get an Indian to go with you.” The procession, set for mid-morning, started soon after my return to my room. From the altar of the church with his short - sighted squint, “ the Government will furnish you a_ horse and all that is needed.” There was no doctor in Cabana; yet the entire population posed as amateur phy- sicians. A man would dropin to say, “The very best thing you can cat is pork - chops,” and he would scarcely be out of sight before another paused to assure me that pork-chops would kill me vithin an hour. ‘ Eat the whites of eggs,” cried another. ‘‘ You can eat almost anyihing,”’ asserted the next comer, “‘except the whites of eggs.”’ Again the room would be darkened by a shadow in the door way, and a man would step forward to say, "Now, here is an old Indian woman from up in the mountains whose grandfather's nephew died of dysentery, and---—” A typical shop in the Andes. it encircled the plaza and returned whence it had come. The route had been carefully scraped and swe pt—evi dently for the only time during the year — by ragged In- dians, forced to contribute this pious labour by the several grades of work- dodging “authorities” howling over them. Then it had been spread with a long strip of carpet, after which came scores of barefoot women to cover it with a fixed design of flower-petals of all colours. Then forth from the mud church issued the Basque priest in cream-tinted vestments, his boina and incessant cigarette gone, four Indians protecting him from the dull, sunless day by a rich canopy. Preceded, followed, or surrounded by all the bareheaded piety of Cabana, the distressing “band ” blowing itself wobbly-kneed, he moved

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. slowly forward, only his own sacred feet touching the carpet, the women and children pouncing upon the flower-petals behind as rapidly as they were blessed by his tread, and carrying them off as sacred relics. At six in the morni at seven the ‘ guide should bring the hor: At nine the ‘hor: arrived. It was a wild, hairy mountain colt, a bit larger than an ass,. Which had never begn shod, curried, or trimmed. The equip- ment it wore was wholly home - made — a bridle of braided | raw-hide, without bits, like that with which our American Indian rides his mustang, a tiny, crude, wooden _saddle with one thick- ness of leather stretched _ over it, and huge wooden box-stirrups. “Now let nothing worry you,” cried the sub-prefect, as I bade farewell to the noble city of Cabana, the “ guide’’ trotting on foot behind. “ T'll telegraph to the gobernador of Corongo and Huaylas and the sub-prefect of the next province so that he can telegraph to his governors and the prefect in Huaraz. No se moleste, senor; every- thing will be arranged by the Government.” Hours of unbroken climbing brought us to a freezing-cold paramo, where flakes of snow actually fell and across the icy lagoons of which a wind that penetrated to the marrow swept from all the surrounding snow-peaks. So small was my animal that I expected him to drop under me at every step, so tiny that his knees constantly knocked the stirrups off my feet, and so wobbly in his movements that it was like riding a loose-jointed hobby-horse. Under a brilliant sun squirmed away out of Corongo and began a sharp descent into one of the mightiest desert gorges in all the Andes, my * guide,” a stone-headed fellow, speaking only Quichua, who had plodded at a horse's tail all his days, slapping along behind me in his leather sandals, incessantly feeding himself with lime and coca leaves. On through blazing noon I clung to that dimin- utive brute with his murderous dog-trot, over blistered, waterless hills, harsh and repulsive in their barrenness, to fetch up at sunsct, more dead than alive, in Yuramarca, a scattered village with far more chécha shops than respect- able inhabitants. Before daylight of a moonlit Sunday morning we were off again through the same dreary desert. The sun, having first to climb the snow-capped Cordillera, only overtook us as we were crossing the decrepit little bridge high above the Santa River, racing through its resounding gorge on its way to the Pacific. The endless climb beyond I was dressed and ready ; came to know if he really “© Actoss the icy lagoons swept a wind th.t penetrated to the marrow.” 433 was by so narrow a trail along the face of a yawning precipice that my saddlebags scraped continually along the mountain wall, and here and there a jutting rock thumped me sharply on the knee. At scorching high noon we caught sight, between grim, austere mountain flanks, of a long tilted valley lightly covered in all its extent with tiled houses ameng scrub trees, which omy peon an- nounced was Huaylas. I had heard re reports of this “city,” but it tumed out to be but another of those — stone - hearted mountain towns whose ragged — inhabitants remind one of buzzards hovering about a dying man. The dismal den to which I was assigned was below the street level, though I could see through the wooden-barred window the brilliant sunny day outside, and catch a glimpse of the serrated line of snow-peaks away to the east. But the good people of Huaylas, informed in some way of my place of lodging, amused themselves by pounding on the window bars, shouting amiable insults, and now and then tossing in clods of earth and an occasional stone that did not always fall short of their aim. As I had had no quarrel with the priest, he could not have denounced me as a heretic. It must have been simply their racial delight in producing or watching suffering—the same trait that brings them joy during the sorriest moments of a bull-fight, and causes them to gather in crowds to tease and jeer at an idiot or a cripple. Ultimately an imposing personage of white skin, wearing a leather cap and real shoes, pushed through the jeering throng and announced himself the congressman for that district. Having heard my tale of woe, he gave me a card ordering the medico titular of Caraz to admit me to the hospital there, and in due time I pre- vailed upon the besotted peon to be off. Vastly buoyed up by the promise of proper treatment, I endured uncomplainingly the rib-jolting trot to which the delayed start had sentenced me. Town after tewn had proved such dismal dis- appointments that I did not look forward to Caraz with any overwhelming glee. But my hopes rose high when we surmounted one of the countless desert ridges and sighted at last the plain between the Santa River and the brilliant white snow-peaks of the higher Cordillera, with hundreds upon hundreds of inviting houses specking with red its many orchards and chequered green patches of cultivation. A considerable percentage of the inhabitants of the town were white in colour, but this was apparently only skin-decp. At the entrance to the doctor’s patio I was met by his wife. a

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434 well-dressed, auburn-haired woman, to all out- ward appearances educated and civilized. But environment is a powerful factor, and she differed not in the least from the Indians of Corongo. Having informed me with an icy indifference that the doctor was “ somewhere in the town,” she refused even to permit me to enter the patio to wait forhim. There being nowhere else to go, I was forced to remain for more than an hour astride the animal I could scarcely cling to after eight hours of racking trot. Not a drop of any- thing to drink could I get for my raging thirst. Instead, the woman’s saucy children joined a score of other urchins of the town in crowding around me and concocting all manner of annoy- ances, even to throwing stones and striking the horse unawares on the legs, while a number of adults looked on from the street corners or their doorways at the “amusement.” At first sight of the doctor, long after dark, my hopes gushed up like a spurting geyscr,, but they fell to the ground as he opened his lips. The sonof an Englishman stranded a half-century ago in this corner of Peru, he looked as British as any stroller along Pic- cadilly; yet in speech, manner, and mental processes he was native to the core. With a Latin-American eager- ness to be rid of any- thing suggesting work or annoyance, he asked a few superficial ques- tions, grunted twice after the manner of Physicians, and led the way down the cobbled street. I was agreeably surprised to find that the hospital at Caraz was a new, whitewashed, pleasant little building recently erected by a society of well-to-do inhab- itants. For a week I im: proved under the doce tor’s care, but for four days he did not appear. “A oerrow trail along the face of a precipice, Medicines and tonics ran out, and I decided to push on afoot next morning, before what strength I had regained evaporated entirely. A broad toad led south along the green and fertile valley of the Santa. Town rapidly succeeded town, with miles of almost unbroken house-walls crowding a horrible cobbled road to barely the width of a wheeled vehicle, and the sun was setting when I halted at a corner of Huaraz’s main plaza, my legs leaden with the twenty-five THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, undulating stony miles behind me, to inquire for a famous hotel rumour had pictured for me wecks ago. Huaraz, capital of the most populous depart- ment of Peru and the largest city I had yet seen since crossing the frontier, is really but another mud village of the Andes, differing from the rest only in size. Its adobe buildings seldom rise above a storey and a half in height; its rustic inhabitants, in ragged, comic-opera costumes, were for the most part ill-bred and disagreeable in manner, especially to ‘“ gringoes,”” whose in- telligence or cleanliness they seemed to resent. Window-glass, to be sure, was to be found, and there were actually three or four clumsy two- wheeled carts, like the rural wagons of England, the arrival of which was no doubt an event in the town history. Foreign residents were numerous, especially Chinamen, who owned many of the shops of importance, leaving the natives to squat \ in the street with their few cents’ worth of wares. Rumour had it that the tramp over the icy Central Cordiilera that now lay before me would be ‘‘impossible,”’ even to a man in the most sturdy condition. To slip down to the coast and sail for Lima would have been easy, but a racial ob- stinacy forced me to pursue to the bitter end the task I had set myself. An American resident furnished me a horse and a peon for the first day’s journey. There were sixteen leagues of bleak foodless paramos and two snow-topped ranges separating me from the first sugges- tion of habitation on the farther side of the great glacier-clad central chain of the Andes. Fortunately,the wife of an Indian of the monotonous mud town cf Recuay, notorious for its horse-thieves, celebrated that Sunday so effectually that she had a desperate fight with her companions in the debauch. The gobernador fined her twenty soles. Her husband possessed only ten, and she went to prison. Now her wails from the adobe edroel were interfering with the bargaining in the market-place. Summoned by the walking scarecrow who boasted himself the lieutenant-governor, the head of the dis- rupted household admitted, after a wealth of

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bh " z e e ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA, 435 Tue cay of Huaraz, ‘Though within a tew aegrecs of tne Equator, 1 nas a sciting of snow-clad peaks and glaciers. subterfuges, that he owned two mules in condi- tion for a journey, and the gobernador, pocketing “in the name of justice "’ the sovereign I handed him, ordered the abject husband to be ready at six in the morning to accompany me to Hual- langa. Some two leagues farther up the contracted valley we crossed the now tiny Santa by a bridge of sticks and, entering the gorge of a little stream fed by the glaciers above, plunged due east into the mountains. Dusk overtook us at the foot of a mighty glacier, though not until we had sighted one of the rare shepherds’ huts that huddled in an occasional stony hollow. These miserable Indian chozas of the upper heights are built of cobble-stones heaped up to the height of a dog-kennel and covered with brown ichu grass —hardly as large and quite as crude a house as those the beaver fashions, and defending their mi-erable inmates neither from wind nor rain. A single room, which can only be entered on hands and knees, houses the whole family, whom a sheepskin or two serves as bed, and two or three earthern pots as uten-<i's in which to cook their scanty fare over an tehu or dricd- dung fire in the centre of the windowless hovel. Totally indifferent to wealth or comfort, with hardly fuel enough for cooking purposes, the stolid inhabitants slink into their squalid dens as soon as the sun has withdrawn his genial rays, and shiver through a night during which they get almost no unbroken sleep. With scarcely enough food to keep themselves from starva- tion, they house swarms of mangy curs that curl up among them by night, and which, never being fed, dash greedily at any offal, like the pigs cf Central America. Hoar-frost covered the carth, and ice a half-inch thick lay on the stagnant puddles when we set out in the bitter cold dawn across a region drear in the extreme. Stiff, stony climbs carried us up to the very edges of immense bluc- white glaciers. The day was as laborious as ary I had ever spent afoot---thirty- ix miles over the wintry, rock-pitched double crest of the Central Corditlera on a mule who jolted my unaccustomed frame to a loose-jointed wreck before I finally slid gratefully to the ground in the bieak mining- town of Huallanga. Next day I joined - for a de- cided considcration-—-the caras van of a lecal merchant whose arrierog were bound for Cerro de Pasco with a troop of cargo- animals. We trotted on across an enormous, brown-yellow plain of scanty tchu vegetation that stretched away to the hazy foot of what looked from this height like low hills. Here was just such a place as the Incas, requiring an unbroken outlook over the surrounding world and grazing land for their Hamas, chose for their cities. It was in this part of the country that I came upon a family preparing their crop of potatoes after the ancient Inca fashion still common to the Andes. This chuno—chunu, in Quichna—is the chief vegetable of Andean market-p'aces and the principal food of the Indians of the Sierra. The newly-dug potatoes are spread out o the ground at a high altitude, preferably on the bank of a highland lake or stream, and left to freeze by night. They are small potatoes, for the Indians’ mode of selection has been to plant only the smallest; eating or selling the larger, until the tubers indigenous to Peru have degenerated to the same low level as their horses and dogs. When the sun has thawed the potatoes, the Indians of the household tread out the juice with their bare feet. then spread them in the sun to dry. This produces the chuno negro, or black chuno, which in the time of the Incas was the Crossing the Central Cordillera of the Andes. The Author's guide 1s seen in the foreground.

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436 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. only kind permitted the common people, and which to-day forms the chief product of the process. Those who prefer chuno blanco, the “ twice-frozen white chuno,” which graced only the tables of the Incas and nobles, put the tubers inside a well of cobble-stones under the surface of a river or lake, and leave them from two to eight days, after which they are dried in the sun. The result is a food that will keep indefinitely, but which has very much the same taste as so much fried sand. The most common me- thod of preparing these frozen potatoes is to grind them in a stone mortar and use the pow- dered chuno to thicken soup. As I was steadily grow- ing worse for lack of treatment, and the cara- van was slow, I decided to go on alone. How even my long- experienced instinct for guessing aright among a hundred splendid chances to go astray saved me from getting hopelessly lost, I have never been able to fathom. Across the ut- terly uninhabited and almost untravelled mountain-top the trail was at best faintly marked, and finally, be- yond the cold blue lake of Lauracocha, reputed the real source of the Amazon, it disappeared altogether. For hours, going by compass only, I prodded my wretched imitation of a horse for- ward over hill and dale, and by some stroke of luck fell upon the trail again beyond. Soon the pampa gave way to green and tremulous sod and a swamp in which I all but mired the animal beyond recovery. Once the trail spkt evenly, and the branch I chose led far up the face of a thousand-foot cliff, the path hewn in the sheer wall growing ever narrower, until the animal thumped my knee against the stone precipice and nearly pitched us both headlong into the appalling ravine below. To dismount was no simple task, and had the horse been a foot longer I should not have succeeded in turning him around and leading the way back to the fork. On the other side of the peak was @ great natural stone stairway, down which the animal slipped and dropped with a painful suc- cession of jolts. The gorge narrowed and deep- ened ; then suddenly, close at hand on the steep flank of the mountain, appeared the first llamas Thad seen in Peru—a whole flock of them. From then on they were so frequent that Ga" Rustic inhabita tagged comic-opera costumes.” within the next half-hour I had seen far more llamas than in all the rest of my life. A new costume for men, at first sight ludicrous, came into evidence almost at the same time. Instead of trousers they wore very roomy, dark-coloured breeches, cut off exactly at the knee, so that the first glimpse of their wearers at a distance was little short of startling, suggesting for a moment the astounding incongruity of an Indian woman sporting the skirt of a ballet-dancer. Below these garments they wore the long knitted wool stockings, grey cr black, and the hairy cowhide moccasins that had first appeared a few days before, and as they passed me they snatched off their heavy brown felt hats with some mumbled greeting in Quichua. While enjoying a racking fever in the comparatively comfort- able home of the gober- nador of Yanahuanca, I learned that there were two ways of reaching Cerro de Pasco. One was to ride nine bitter- cold leagues across a trackless puna, on which a lone “ gringo” was sure to get lost and die of exposure; the other was to travel about half that distance by a well- marked road to Goylla- risquisca, the city of the sky, where Americans have their coal mines and whence there ran a daily train. I decided on the shorter route. The village of the tongue-loosening name is a small Pittsburgh, with great cranes swinging across the gorges, unsentimental stone buildings roaring, and matter-of-fact chimneys belching forth the sooty smoke of industry. On every hand was the evidence of diligence, masculine toil, and effective doing. It was like coming back to my native world after a long absence. Scores of half-forgotten things I had never before seen in South America surged up about me, and upon me came drowsy contentment that my struggles were behind me and that I had already virtually set foot in the central plasa of Lima. On the train which I took from Goyllaris- quisca to Cerro de Pasco I had been the storm- centre of a heated difference of opinion. The Peruvian passengers contended that I should descend by the morning express to Lima, where I would quickly recover under the care of famous physicians of the capital; the train-crew that I should enter the hospital of the American mining company on “the Hill.” There could be no

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. 437 debate between entrusting my- self to the careless inefficiency of native practitioners, and the happy opportunity of entering an institution conducted by men of my own race. When I had found a boy to carry my baggage, therefore, I set out with high hopes, if slow steps, for the American Hospital. My welcome was not, to be sure, exactly what a morbid imagination had led me to pic- ture, but that was no doubt due to the fact that both doctors were at the moment absent. The head-nurse over- came in time her inclination to refuse me admittance, and sent an Indian boy to show me into a ward. In appear- ance it was all that a hospital ward should be, its ten imported cots all unoccupied. The boy jerked his head sidewise toward a chair ard disappeared. Two empty hours dragged funereally by. Then another Indian youth, a personification of squalor and uncleanliness, burst in upon my feverish dreams, and before I could raise a hand in protest thrust a thermometer into my mouth. Long after dark the fresh and rosy assistant- doctor dashed into the room. But he had no time to give attention to my symptoms and explanations, for dinner was about to be served, and, ordering me to gct into a bed, he dashed for the door again. I protested that I had brought with me the unpleasant evidence of long Andean travel, and he jerked a thumb over his shoulder with a parting mumble of “ bath- room.”" There was one, even as he had indicated, with all modern appliances ; but like most new- fangled inventions transplanted to the Andes, it did not “ function.”” Another example of the Peruvian abhorrence of soap was ordered to bring a half-dozen pails of hot water, which in his haste to be done with the task he translated into the Castilian for luke-warm; and I crawled at last into one of the cots. One of the few remaining suspension-bridges in the Andes. and the cables swinging in the wind, they are serve-trying things to cross, With sin the Hooring Soon afterward the Indian boy came to climb into another, in the same identical rags he wore by day. The dinner was evidently a prolonged and engaging function, for neither the doctor nor any other sign of human interest appeared again during a night in which I tossed incessantly with fever, while the ward blazed with electric lights and the ineffectual steam-pipes thumped and pounded like an adjacent bvoiler-factory. Materially an establishment to boast of, the condition of the hospital in anything touched by the personal equation was incredible. Homeopathic in creed, it put its trust in pills, and left the rest to eight immature Indians as devoid of human instincts as of supervision. In a second cheerless, bare ward adjoining the one I occupied were a score of injured or ailing Indian workmen; yet*'no precaution whatever was taken to keep infection from passing from one room to the other. A single thermometer served all alike. Twice a day the youth of the bare feet went the rounds in quest of temperatures, carrying a bottle of antiseptic that did not reach a third as far up the instrument as did the lips of patients ; and, too indolent to go to the dis- Some of the staff of the Cerro de Pasco Hospital. pensary for cotton, he wiped it after each use on whatever came within reach—his sleeve, his trousers, or the noisome rag each servant carried over a shoulder in guise of napkin. Twelve days I had tarried in Cerro de Pasco, and had ad- vanced from my original ail- ment tu one distinctly more serious, when I concluded to descend to Lima while I still had strength to do so. The company physician -in - chief collected a fee that more than doubled my expenditure since leaving Quito. The night sky was turning slightly more trans- parent along the cold eastern

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438 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. horizon when I tottered out of the hospitable Cerro de Pasco hospital on my way to the station. The second-class car was a stoveless ice-box, densely packed with Indians and all that the bath-fearing aboriginal is accustomed to ca ry with him. A glance at it sufficed to dissipate ny resolution to save a sovereign from the wreck of my fortune. The first-class coach was an American car scantily filled with white-c: llar Peruvians and weather, experience, and lic uor- marked Americans under forty, “husky * in build and untrammelled in manners. Beside each seat of our car was an electric button, and beneath it a list of possibilities, in English and Spanish. One had only to press it and presto !—a little dapper, noiseless, in- scrutable, white-jacketed Chinaman slipped down upon one and lent an attentive yet haughty car, into which one whispered the desires of the inner man, tempered by a subconscious regard for one’s purse. One called modestly for toast and coffee, if one were a mere American vagabond, or for the ‘‘ whole works,”’ which meant the same coffee and toast plus a plate of bacon and eggs if one were an American miner homeward bound, to whom money is as water to the man whose pocket holds’ a quart bottle of concentrated joyfulness. Across the aisle were two such, from whom sounded now and then some pleasant anticipation of homecoming. From a spot on the earth-—and nothing more— called Ticlio, the summit of the line, we began the long coast down to the Pacific, through all the customary sixty-five tunnels, sixty-seven bridges, and sixteen switchbacks, where for the brakes to lose control would have been to land us in Hades instead of Lima. Hour after hour the arid, savage scenery slid upward. . Here the train glided serencly along on the bottomless edge of things; now and again we came out a thousard teet abov- a custy, rock-c-ttered town, with rows of stones laid on the sheet-iron roofs to keep them from escaping such dreary surroundings, and zig-zagged for an hour, often on six tracks one above the other, down to it, only to continue the descent as swiftly beyond. Ascore of places recalled the story of the young graduate engineer who protested to the American whose name is for ever linked with this en- gineering feat, ‘‘ Why, Meiggs, we can’t ran a railroad along there in that sliding shale!" “Can't, eh?” the anecdote continues. ‘“‘ Well, young man, that’s just where she’s got to go, and if you can’t find room for her on the ground, we'll hang her from balloons !”’ We came to a halt beside a long station plat- form, crowded with an urban throng, and I descended in the thickness of the summer night in Lima, the City of Kings, three miles below where I had stepped forth that morning into the wintry dawn. (To be continued.) THE MECHANICAL PHOTOGRAPHER. A PARISIAN correspone dent sends us the annexed photograph of one of the most ingenious ‘“ money- in-the-slot ” machines ever invented. It is the inven- tion, it appears, of an American, who, writes our correspondent, succeeded in making a machine do duty for the Most experienced photo- grapher. The person who, for the sum of fifty cen- times, wishes to have his portrait taken, takes his seat in front of the lens, puts his money in a slot, presses a button, and then prepares, in accordance with the directions given him by the apparatus, to be portrayed. First of all a bell rings as a signal to him to be ready, then a little notice appears, tell- ing him to be ‘Careful! Turn your head to the right, fix your eyes on this little cross above the mir ror, and—smile.’ A lamp then lights up the interior of the machine, a second bell rings, and a second notice appears telling the sitter to remain perfectly still. The photograph is taken _ instantaneously. Immediately the exposure is made a third notice is revealed, worded as follows: ‘Thank you! The photograph is taken and you can now leave your seat. In four min- utes your portrait will be delivered at the bottom part of the apparatus.’ And sure enough an excel- lent portrait on a post- card developed, washed, and dried, appears at the end.of that time through an opening.”

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SILAS SEEKS LONDON & CMakolm Hincks ILlustrated. By Cr GIFFORD C AMBLER_O An American soldier's amusing story of his attempt to see the sights of London in a few hours, handicapped by a “guide” who knew considerably less than he did himself. VEN without the uniform that pro- A claimed his nationality I should have known him as an American, for he was thoroughly true to type. Ife sat on one side of those com- panionable little tables for two in the dining-car of the London to Liverpool express, and had started on his soup with great . gusto. As I sat down I became conscious that two keen grey eyes were regarding me with interest. “Say,”’ he drawled, passing me the menu- card, “are you a Londoner ?”’ . I told him that strictly speaking I was not, though I had lived there for some time and was frequently in that great city. ** But I guess you’re not a real Londoner born and bred, and I'm real glad,’’ he observed. “ I’ve had an experience to-day that I wamt to tell someone about, and I calculate I couldn’t tell it to a Londoner without getting him rattled.” “The boy led me along a wide corridor.” He was, he said, on his way back home after “clearing up" in France. From a boy he had had a passionate longing to see London, and he had arranged to travel hume vid London and{ Liverpool. And then he told me this moving, story :-— 7 I only reached London late last night and I knew I must catch this train, so I saw that I should have to hustle sume. A guy on the boat-train from Dover had put me wise to an hotel up Euston way, and I drove there in a taxi from Victoria. Gee! it was some hotel ! There are big hotels in my own country, but I've never been in one, and after this experience I don’t want to. Lord knows how many bedrooms there were there, but I paid a girl ina desk a dollar, and she sings out to a page-boy ‘— “Take this gentleman to 796.’ Then we got into an elevator and I forgot to count the floors. The boy led me along a wide corridor, then down a narrow onc, then down one on the right, and then another on the left. After that I gave up, but I calculate we hadn’t walked much over two kilometres before the boy fetched up at 796. Well, sir-ee, Silas P, Porson is not a man put easily off his sleep, but I had a very “lost in the wilds of Sahara ’’ sort of feeling. I figured it out that a man might easily die in that blamed hotel and no one be the wiser, but as I wasn’t fecling queer I turned in and slept sound till eight »’clock this morning. By the time I'd dressed I'd got a real good appetite for breakfast and I'd for- gotten my “lost” feeling, so [humped my kit-bag on my shoulder and set off blithe and gay for the grub department of that blamed rabbit-warren of a place.

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440 There were notices on the walls, but they didn’t help me any. I didn’t want rooms 703-712, nor bathrooms E, F, G; what I wanted, and wanted bad, was a break- fast, and there wasn't a soul about to give any information, A guy I saw in the distance dis appeared before I could catch him, and I said things about that hotel. I’d no time to waste; I wanted to sce London, and this was my first handicap. Gee! I began to get real windy! I didn’t know the way back to myroom,and I had a sort of feeling that I might be wandering round those darned corridors till I fell and died of starvation. Then, coming round a corner, I bumped into a girl. She was sure some girl ! Hair down her back, greeny-silk dressing-gown, bare at the throat, bare feet, and cute little slippers. A big towel was over her arm. and she was blushing some. “Can you tell me the way to the bathroom ?” she asked. I put down my kit-bag to think things over. “ Bathrooms E, F, G?”’ I said. “‘T don’t mind what they’re called,” replied the girl. ‘“ The chambermaid told me last night they were just round the corner, but there are so many corners in this place |” Well, I guess I didn’t care to admit I was lost myself; in fact, I took back a lot of what I'd said about that hotel. I told her I’d seen a notice about the bathrooms and suggested we should go in search of them, but the girl said she would give the bathroom a miss that morming and go back to her own room. Then her face fell. ‘Do you happen to know how the num- bers run?” she asked. ‘‘ My room’s 759, but I can’t remember which corridor I came down.” I told her I was lost, too, and what a good joke it was, but I guess it didn’t seem to amuse her any. Then just as I was hoping to get friendly with this sort of soap-advertisement girl, a chambermaid appeared and she made a dart for her. Whilst I was admiring the picture she made she and the hired help vamoosed, and I was lost in London again ! Presently I came across another fellow who had lost himself, but he was a bit better off than I was, for he was following the numbers as a clue and calculated bydoing so he must eventually come to a staircase or the elevator, and sure enough, after going down two narrow corridors we came to a broad one, and spotted an elevator. It was like the sight of a sail to a shipwrecked sailor, so we rang the bell and waited. It wasa long wait and we got talking. The fellow’s “She was sure some girl!” . Village. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. name was Brown. He was a Londoner who had let his flat and was taking a holiday with his wife at a relative’s place in the country, but had had to come up to town the previous day on busi- ness, so had made a night of it. Gee! I thought, a Londoner on a holiday, affable-looking guy—just the sort to make a good guide for a personally- conducted tour! We sat at the same table for breakfast and I handed out my proposition. Ifhe were free, would he care to show me round, all expenses being up to me? “On it like a bird, old son,’’ he said, cheer- fully, ‘‘ Fed up with the country. I’ma Londoner born and bred, but the missus’s mother thought we'd been going it a bit too strong in the amuse- ment line since I was demobbed and insisted on us spending a quiet fortnight at her one-eyed T'll send a wire explaining I’m detained on business. Then I’m your man for anything you like.”’ Well, Mr. Brown was an organizer all right. He sent off his wire and then we took a taxi to Euston and left my kit-bag in the cloak-room. Then he said the best way to see London was from the top of a motor-bus. “You don’t get me,” I explained, ‘“ I don’t want to see the streets. I don’t want to see modern London; I hanker after the medieval. I want te see the things belonging to past centuries, the things that haven’t altered despite progress.”’ Brown looked thoughtful. ‘‘ Well,’’ he said. ‘‘There’s the G.P.O. telephones and Holbom Viaduct Station ; but I expect you mean shows like Westminster Abbey and that sort of thing ?” I told him he’d got me, so we took a taxi and drove to Westminster. Say, as an example of how not to see London your taxi-drivers have got anything else beat to a frazzle. Apartment houses in dreary squares and slummy little streets was all I saw till we came out in Trafalgar Square. Brown showed me the Nelson Monu- ment and calculated it must be pretty old, though it had just been cleaned and looked pretty fresh. “ How old’s the Abbey ? ”’ I asked him. “ Blest if I know,” he said, “ but I believe I went there when I was a little boy.” That tickled me some, and I laughed good and hard, but he couldn’t see the joke, and told me I must be serious in the Abbey or I should be chucked out. Then he pointed out. Big Ben, which pointed to ten minutes past ten, and seemed to know a lot about that, but it didn’t interest me any.

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I paid the driver and we walked up a broad path towards the entrance to the Abbey. A policeman and a fellow with a picture-postcard stall had it all to themselves. “Can’t see over the Abbey now,” said the policeman ; ‘‘ there’s a service on.”’ Brown, asked him when it would be over, and he said not much before eleven. “Finish Abbey,” said Brown. ‘‘ What about the Houses of Parliament ?” I was agreeable, but there was nothing doing in the Senate Chamber line. Nixes on the public getting in, though we wasted a lot of time before we found it out. “ How about the Tower of London ? ’’ I asked. My guide admitted that was pretty old, but he had never been there and thought it was an awkward place to get to. I told him that I , wasn’t out to save dollars and we could take a taxi, but he didn’t enthuse any over that blamed old Tower. He said it would be a long and uninteresting ride; then he suddenly got ex- cited. “ Brain wave!” he told me. “ Old houses in Holborn—been there donkey’s years! Tudor or Elizabethan or something. Come on, let’s have a cab. Oh, and tell him to drive vid fh St. James’s Palace. roy That’s an old show.” | Gee! I'd have liked to have gone over that palace we passed, but Brown said he was sure it wasn’t open to the public, and was only used as a place for changing guard when 'the King wasn’t in town. Then after a long drive the cab stopped opposite some fine old buildings, but Brown couldn’t tell me anything about it. More could any of the men I asked. I guess I was fair bowled over! There was a beautiful row of old-beamed buildings, a real bit of old his- toric London in a big bustling street, and no one knew anything about it—and under- neath it were modern shops ! Sir-ee, if we had those old buildings in New York City, there would be a museum where the shops are, and an attendant who’d know the whole history of the place backwards and forwards. I stood for a bit and watched the People passing. Your Londoners went past without so much as a glance; and London wasn’t so mighty busy, for quite a crowd collected to watch a flapper who had fallen from the step of a motor-bus. 1, ¢ his way about. “We calculate to educate the hayseeds.” SILAS SEEKS LONDON. 441 “ Say,”’ I said to Brown, “do you Londoners take any interest in your old historical places ?’’ ‘* Oh, rather,” he told me; “ I’ve just thought of a place—sort of pub off Fleet Street. Deuce of an historical place. Doctor what’s-his-name used to pop in there for a livener. They've got his chair. Johnny who wrote a dictionary, or something of that sort. Well-known chap, too; interests you Americans no end. Still, the waiter wijl be able to tell us his name all right.” : “You mean Dr. Johnson,’ I said, for my uncle Cyrus had done Europe in nineteen- thirteen, and I calculate he’d had what you might call a more enlightened guide.”’ “ Got it, old son! That’s the fellow. It’s no use getting there before twelve, though, or you can’t get adrink. We'll stroll along leisurely.” I guess I’d have learned a lot more about London if I’d have bought a guide-book, but I was calculating on a Londoner knowing London. Gee | they know less about it than the provincial ! It ain’t so in New York City. We calculate to educate the hayseeds who blow in at holiday times. My blamed guide couldn’t have educated a Sunday school party from the wilds of Cornwall with regard to the great City he’d been born and bred in. 2e Mind you, he knew On our walk he twice directed people to the nearest railway depot, and he showed me a saloon where he said the whisky was cheaper and better than at any. other place east of Temple Bar. But I had him beat about that Bar; he knew nothing about it ex- cept that “it wasn’t there now.” Well, we walked up a narrow little passage andentered aquaint bar just after a clock had struck twelve. There was nothing to indicate that it was an historic building. In New York City there would have been a notice in the main thoroughfare — and some notice, too, I can tell you! My guide made himself quite comfortable. I had a glass of old English ale, he had two; and then he suggested we should lunch there. Then she had three cocktails to my one, and after seeing Dr. Johnson’s chair—which, I guess, was nothing out of the ordinary in the way of chairs—we had lunch. It was a good lunch, with good wine. I was pining for the Tower, but Brown ordered coffee and liqueurs, and seeing the guy was taking no

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442 “*Say I" Lecried, shaking him, “How about the Tower ?’” pay for his job, I calculated it was up to me to do him well, though I was mighty glad I hadn't engaged him by the weck. Sitting there smoking cigars and chin-wagging over our experiences in France, I guess I lost count of the time, and it was half-past two before I realized that it might be very pleasant there but it wasn’t seeing old London town, so I called for the bill, and Brown calculated that we'd better get back to the Abbey, see over that, and then get the Underground to a station he thought was quite close to the Tower. Well, it was his funeral--he was the guide— so I agreed, and in Fleet Street, after having to wait for a bit, we got a taxi to the Abbey. It was just three o’clock and I calculated I should have to hustle some to see the Abbey and the Tower and get to Euston by five o'clock. Another policeman was on duty. “You can’t see over the Abbey now,” he said. “The afternoon service starts at three o'clock.” “Gee !"’ I gasped. “ How many services do they have on Sundays ?”’ Brown apologized. He said he'd no idea London was such a religious place, but he assured me that I could tell them in New York that I had seen Westminster Abbey, and now we'd make tracks for the Tower. There was an underground depot almost opposite, and he found out from one of the officials that the alighting place for the Tower was Mark Lane, so I took tickets and consoled myself with the thought that I'd have more time to spend in that fine historic building. We got into what Brown called a circle train. I'd taken first-class tickets, as he said he was tired, and guessed he didn’t want to do any straphanging. We had a carriage almost to ourselves and Brown settled himself down and went to sleep. “Say! I cried, shdking him. ‘ How about the Tower?” “ Plenty of time, old boy,” he said, “ Make yourself comfortable; this hustling’s given me a headache |!’ Gee! He had me dazed over the hustle, but THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. : he was the guide all right, so, not feeling sleepy, I picked up a paper someone had left and read that. I didn’t start noticing stations much till we’d been in the train about twenty minutes ;_ then I began to calculate that it was a very long ride for fivepence. We stopped at a place called Aldersgate, and that sounded old London all right, but soon after that a fellow called out Euston Square, and that puzzled me some. “‘ Euston Square,” I said, shaking Brown. “ Quite all right, old boy. Have you there at five all right. Rest now—it’s good for one!” Well, sir-ee, I guess I was enlightened. Brown was canned! It was a case of me having to look after the guide, and I knew just about as much of London as old Adam did of sock-sus- penders ! . We went on past umpteen stations, but no Mark Lane. My guide slept peacefully, and then I saw it was just on four o’clock, and we were stopping at a place called Notting Hill Gate. We started off with a jerk, and a girl who had just got in sat down on my knee and apologized. I explained to her that no apology was necessary, and asked her if she could tell me how far we were from Mark Lane. “‘ Qh, that’s somewhere in the East-end,’’ she said. ‘‘ You're right up West now; you've ever so far to go.” “Then I calculate London is the cheapest place to travel in the whole wide world,” I said. “T’'ve been in this blamed train, in a first-class carriage, for about three-quarters of an hour at a cost of fivepence. You've got us licked to a frazzle in cheap fares.” The girl looked astonished. “Where did you get in? "’ she said, and when “IT woke Brown up.”

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I told her she laughed. ‘‘ Why, you missed the station, and you're going round the Circle. You won’t get to Mark Lane for about half an hour yet!” “Miss,” 1 said, politely, “ would you mind changing carriages at the next stop? I'm going to wake this guy and tell him things.’’ Well, the girl looked a bit startled, and cleared out quick, and I woke up Brown. We'd got back to Westminster when I'd finished telling him what I thought of him. Say, wouldn’t you have been riled ? Here I'd been all day secking old London and spent the afternoon going round tunnels! It was too late to see the Tower and I had to rush even to catch this blamed train.” SILAS SEEKS LONDON. 443 I murmured that it was hard luck. The American beckoned to the dining-car attendant and paid his bill. “That guy Brown was a Londoner born and bred,’’ he continued, “ but I calculate he didn’t imow as much about the historic parts of London as I do. That old Tower ain’t appreciated by you Britishers; you'd better sell it to us and adjust the rate of exchange. They'd have to double the police force to regulate the crowd in New York City if we had it over there. I’m going to get busy with a syndicate as soon as I get across. Guess I'll be seeing Medieval London way across the Pond before long.” And with a thoughtful expression in his grey eyes he walked away back to his carriage. AN AERIAL CABLE-WAY IN THE ARCTIC. THE hoisting of the British flag on the bleak shores of Spitzbergen, and the announce- ment of the fact that the party found evi- dence of the existence of coal there, calls attention to the fact that this commodity has been mined and exported for some time from this island in the Arctic Cixcle. In fact, it had long been known that coal existed in Spitzbergen, just as it does in Greenland and Alaska. It was generally believed, how- ever, that it was too Poor in quality, and the seams insufficiently thick, to prove of any commercial value. It was left to the enter- prise of an American firm, the Arctic Coal Company of Boston, to prove that coal of good quality existed on the island, and that it could be successfully mined. As the result of exhaustive surveys they tapped seams in Advent Bay, and hive opened up a coalfield there three to four miles long. In connection with it they have also constructed a wonderful aerial railway for the Conveyance of the product to the steamers. The coal is at present obtained by driving galleries, almost horizontally, into the mountains, the coal being cut or quarried, and only props left as supports. Walling of the workings is not necessary, as a tempera- ture of forty-two degrees Fahr. prevails in the galleries, so that the mountain remains quite firm. In this Arctic coalfield Norwegian miners toil throughout the year. The erection of the cableways by which the coal is conveyed from the mine to waiting steamers was a particularly bold piece of engineering work. All building material, including logs from fifty-five to sixty-five feet in length, had to be brought to Spitz- bergen, landed on the bleak coast, and drawn to the Tequisite site by ponies. The ground being perma- nently frozen, foundations for the poles had to be obtained by blasting with dynamite. Special derricks had to be raised for lifting the heavier parts of the machinery into place. This wonderful ropeway in the Arctic Circle has a total length of four thousand three hundred and fifty feet. The aerial lines are carried over sixteen wooden supports, the longest span en route being eight hundred feet. The cableway runs down to a pier built out into the sea, and it iS by its means that the coal is dumped on board the steamers. It is only during the brief summer season that the coal can be exported on account of the frozen condition of the sea. Last year eight hundred ship- loads were carried away from Spitzbergen’s inhos- pitable shores.

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In » — LillleXnown i istan IKBAL AL] SHAH The Author an Afghan writer and traveller, and herein gives a fascinating account of his native country. away among the mountains between Persia and the north-western frontier of India, Afghanistan is one of the least visited of countries. The recent tragic death of its Tucked ruler, coupled with the fact that by existing treaties the The Author. Ameer accepts the advice of the British Government i regard to his relations with Foreign Powers, and guaranteed against unprovoked aggression on his dominions, makes the contribution of timely interest. HE Afghans are an interesting ex- } ample of the influence of geographi- cal conditions on national character. The lack of seaboard, the wilderness of lofty mountains on the east and north, the barren and sparsely inhabited plains of Persia on the west, have done much to preserve them from European and even Indian influences. Afghanistan is essentially a country of warlike mountaineers, possessed of virtues such as none save a race of fighters can boast. Compulsory military service is the common: law for all, and though only a certain proportion are chosen by ballot, every man awaits with pleasure the time when he may be called up. Even before this period the youths are vigor- ously trained in warlike arts. Tent- pegging and lemon-slicing from a galloping horse are the proper accomplishments ofevery Afghan, Before he can claim to be a horseman he must ride bare- backed and without reins, and at certain festivals horse-racing is carried on in this fashion. Boys handle firearms from the age of eight, and there is aceremony connected with the occasion. Near relations are invited by the father of the boy, and in front of this gathering the nerve of the child is tested. A small coin heaped with gunpowder is placed on his palm and the powder ignited. If he neither blinks nor winces at the explosion he is reckoned fit to carry arms. The initiation ceremony is completed by a feast. Regarding matters affecting their honour, as might be expected in such a warlike community, the Afghan is ready to find a quarrel in a straw, and family feuds are long and bitter, often end- ing in bloodshed. On the other hand, hospi- tality to all strangers is strongly observed ; even an enemy who comes to the door seeking refuge is received with every kindness and protected from harm. Formerly the people had scen so much treachery that they became suspicious of every foreigner, and as late as a couple of decades ago they looked askance on the Europeans em- ployed by the Ameers themselves. Geological surveys were carricd on with difficulty, because the Afghans feared that some plot was being formed against their independence. It can truthfully be seid that Afghanistan owes its present prosperity to Abdur Rahman Khan, grandfather of the present ruler. He was a child of fortune, and as such experienced her frowns as well as her smiles. He was born in 1844. He contested the throne against his uncle, Ameer Sher Ali, and, having been defeated, went to Turkestan, where he spent ten years in exile. On the death of his uncle in 1879, he fought his way to Kabul, and was proclaimed . King in 1880. Hediedin 1901. Abdur Rahman was a man of rare ability, and the rapid transition of the country from chronic rapine and disorder to peaceful and law-abiding habits was due to his iron will. This he accomplished by his relentless punishment of wrongdoers, to whom his very name carried terror. In cases of theft, the arm by which the article was lifted was cut off ; for milder punishments a warlike people like the Afghans cared little. Fe Te Eo ee Rs eae Ce,

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IN LITTLE-KNOWN AFGHANISTAN, After the style of the Mikado of dramatic fame, he always tried to make the punishment fit the crime. A man and a woman who loved not wisely but too well, both being married people, determined on running away together, hoping thereby to secure their future happiness in each other’s society ; but in their endeavour to reach India, where they intended living together, they were caught and brought back. The Ameer, in ordering their punishment, said that, as the man was so fond cf the woman, he should have her as completely as was possible. So the woman was thrown alive into a huge cauldron of boiling water and boiled down to a soup, and a basin of this soup was given to the man, who was forced to drink it, and after drinking it he was hanged. In this case the Ameer’s object was to punish not only in this life, but in the next, for a cannibal cannot enjoy the delights of Paradise as depicted in the Koran. Another man and woman who were caught in the act of loving unwisely were, by the order of the Ameer, who appropri- ately said he would let them live together until death, put .-on top of the Asman Heights, tied back to backwith ropes, and kept there until they died of exposure and starvation. Two men who were caught stealing soap from one of the Government factories were thrown into the vat and boiled 445 On another occasion, while travelling in the north of his kingdom, he visited a mysterious stream in a deep ravine which, after disappearing under rocks, flows underground for some miles, and eventually comes to the surface again in a valley. The Ameer was eager to learn the course of the stream, and a duck was put in, which eventually emerged safely at the other end. Then he promised a reward of a hundred rupees to whoever would explore the subterranean passage. One of his bodyguard stepped for- ward, saluted, and, kissing the Ameer’s hand—as is customary among the Afghans—volunteered for the task. “No,” said the Ameer; “ if this man perishes in the attempt I lose a brave man; and if he succeeded in exploring the passage, what advan- tage would be gained ? Give him the prize.” If Abdur Rahman’s methods of dispensing justice were those of a despot, they were never- theless effective. He stopped robbery and pillage, which was rife, and made it possible for a traveller to pass through his kingdom with- out molesta- sion. After issuing a stern decree and punishing the guilty, he would himself put his people to a test. On one occas sion he dis- guised himself and, walking through the Kabul bazaars at dusk, drop- ped asmall bag of coins in the street. Three days later he down into soap “to make up the deficiency,’’ as the Ameer declared. In spite of this severity, however, Abdur Rahman was generous, and never forgot those who had done him a good turn. A characteristic story is told of him and the old general, Nassir Khan. At an important Durbar someone brought as a gift to the Ameer a shield, beautifully inlaid with gold. Each person present hoped to be the happy recipient of such a prize. But the Ameer cast his eyes slowly around until they fell on the old soldier, Nassir. “‘ Nassir, come forward !’’ said the Ameer. The old man obeyed. “Look, gentlemen,”’ said the King to his courtiers; “‘do you see this old man? He actually swore at me when I was in grief and penniless, at Samarkand. He abused me to my face—to my face—me, his master! Is it not so, Nassir ? The poor old man hung his head in shame. “ But,” said the Ameer, “ he is my friend ; he was with me at Samarkand. Give him the shield.” A atveet in Ghaziri, « commercial town in Southern Afghanistan. picked it up, safe and un- touched, on the spot where he had left it. Highway robbers met with scant mercy. At the Latabund Pass an iron cage may be seen to this day in which a robber chief was shut up and starved to death. Many a caravan passing through the Latabund Pass has gazed on this cage, and, with prayers for Abdur Rahman, has said: “By the name of Allah, this is a monu- ment of mercy. "” Racially the population of Afghanistan is somewhat mixed, being composed of Afghans, Tartars, Hindus, and Persians. The common dialect of the people is Pashtoo, while the upper classes speak Persian, which is also the Court language. Among the educated class are the Kizilbash, who act mainly as chief clerks in Government offices. The Jews and Hindus are the moneylenders, and share the unpopu- larity generally attributed to the calling. Polygamy is unusual among the Mussulmans. Should a man desire to marry a second wife, he must appear before the Kazi and produce

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446 ‘THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, ev.dence to the satisfaction of the latter, who has often rather searching questions to put. In general, the polygamist is looked down upon by the better classes. All matters relating to matri- mony are arranged by the parents, and the marriageable age is usually twenty for the bridegroom and cightcen for the bride. The girls are allowed to go about unveiled until they » reach the age of eleven, after which the purdah must be observed. The veil must be worn whether they are indoors or out. The women in appear- ance are tall and robust, with fair complexions, and the majority can ride and shoot. The winter evenings are spent at home round a sundlee, where the whole family sits, while the elders relate tales of past war or feud. This sundlee is an arrangement quite peculiar to Afghanistan. A low table is placed in the middle of the room, and under it a brazier of glowing charcoal. A quilt and blanket are thrown over the table, suffi- ciently large to reach almost to the walls. Cushions are thrown on the floor and bolsters are placed against the walls; on these the company sit, their legs under the quilt. Snow lies deep on the roads and streets, which in many places are impassable for all but pedes- trians, and the Kabul River freezes. Then the people wear posteens, or coats with fur both inside and out. Summer is reckoned to begin from the Jibbih festival, in the last week of March. This is celebrated by a fair or carnival, which is a fine sight. In the early hours of the morning a bustle is visible in the streets. People are hurrying to the Mosque, arrayed in all their fine clothes. Young men are polishing their spears and rifles. In courtyards camels are bubbling, as if protest- ing at having to start at such an early hour, From the balcony overlooking the road to the Jibbiha string of the most heterogeneous pageant imaginable might be seen winding its way to the seat of the festival. Horses, camels, mules, and donkeys are all overloaded. A well-to-do man passes galloping on horseback, while poorer youths essay to outride him on mere skeletons of donkeys. Hay carts, buggies, and wheelbarrows are being dragged along; all on the move to Jibbih, where Ameer Sahib may be seen. The people flock to the hills about five miles from Kabul, and here great tent-pegging con- tests take place between various towns, the Ameer presenting prizes to the winning teams. The day is named the celebration of ‘‘ the melting of the snow,” for one can now see far off dark streaks on snow-clad summits. At midsummer the weather is as mild as in the South of England, and the fruit-growers invite parties to spend a day in their orchards, where all are welcome to eat or carry off as much as His Majesty Ameer Habibullah Khan—the Late Ameer of Afghanistan. they like. Summer is a busy time, for com ripens in the Kabul district about June or July, while at Jellalabad, to the east of Kabul, it is much earlier. At this place the summers are hot and the winters mild. In Kabul the summer evenings are spent in the orchards or on the river banks, where the youths play the flute, harp, and tambourine, or perform sword dances, while the older men walk to and fro along the banks. In spite of its proximity to India, Afghanistan is by no means a hot country. On the contrary, the north is colder than Scotland. Mountains are everywhere, with numerous streams and abundant vege- tation. Apricots grow wild, and to procure a plentiful supply one has merely to climb a tree anywhere and shake its branches. Mul- berry trees, pomegranates, grapes, melons, and wal- nuts abound, and an orchard of a hundred acres is a modest property. Wheat is widely grown, but rice only at Ghazni. The sheep are of the “ fat-tailed ’’ variety. The chief exports are raw hides, wool, and dried fruits, and these go mostly to India and Turkestan. No wine is made, and wine drinking is pro- hibited, offenders being severely dealt with. When Habibullah Khan, who was shot while in camp at Laghman on February 2oth last, came to the throne in 1901, he found a kingdom already reduced to submission and obedience to the Government, and as a consequence his reign was not interrupted by wars or-serious disturbances. Not having been exposed to the same ups and downs as his father, he had more leisure to devote himself to furthering the welfare of his people. IIe introduced many modern innovations, politi- cal, educational, and industrial. He was re sponsible for the system of carrying on all Government work in public offices ;_ formerly all officials transacted their duties at their private residences. Bribery, a great evil during pre- vious reigns, was completely stamped out, finance was established on a proper basis; and to-day the fiscal policy of the Kabul Government can justly boast of being equal to any in European countries. Public funds are no longer at the disposal of the Ameer to spend as he chooses, but the revenue and the expenditure are subjects of public discussion at the Durbars. To Habibullah Khan, also, Afghanistan owes the beginning of representative governments. The governing bodies are three in number :— (1.) What may be styled the Commons, com- posed of Khans elected by local assemblies. (2.) A House of Lords, or Sirdars of the Royal Family and important Mullahs —ecclesiastics. (3.) The Cabinet, including the Ameer and his Ministers.

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IN LITTLE-KNOWN AFGHANISTAN. * Each town and village has its local governing body, and judges are appointed by the Ameer. The more important cases and trials for capital offences are brought before the Ameer himself. He also introduced a modern postal system and an efficient police. The latter are chosen by ballot from all the young men between the ages of eighteen and twenty-eight. Before Habi- bullah Khan came to the throne it was a matter of great difficulty toapproach the Ameerin person, but now at all religious festivals and Royal b.rth- days any man has the right to address him. In appearance the late Ameer wasashort, thick- set man, with a heavy, severe face, and a bushy black beard, but his complexion wa; fair, as is common among the Kabulics. He stammered in lis speech, and suffered somewhat from sciatica and lumbago. These are said to be Royal maladies, and whichever member of the Royal Family develops them is destined to 447 him—courtiers, wazirs, doctors, soldiers—and woe to him who feared to soil his hands or his fine clothes, or shirked the lifting of pots. He was a marked man, and to him the roughest task was allotted. Ameer Habibullah Khan was known in Afghanistan as the ‘‘ Peacemaker,”’ and during his lifetime there were no two questions as to who would succeed him. The Laghman tragedy, however, has given a different complexion to the Afghan affairs. It is not as yet fully known whether the political expediency or the voluntary submission has thrown the elder son of the late Ameer completely to the background. Aman Ullah Khan, the second son, has now been recog- nized as the Ameer. Domestic politics, as also the Court jealousies, have always been trouble- some in Afghanistan ; they were restrained only by the strong Ameers ; hence it is very difficult —indeed impossible—to predict the future of become the future Ameer. . Afghanistan If the sentiment is of any value In 19064 —and it is of large building, much account ‘which was in the East— formerly kept thenthe present for State visi- ruler will act tors, and called towards the the Mahman British Govern- Khana, or “Guest House,” was converted by the late Ameer into a school, named after himself, the Habibieh College. Here religious in- structionis first given, after which geography and mathematics are taught. Some _ techni- cal subjects have also been introduced. His scheme met with some opposition on the part of the Mullahs, who thought the, religious course unnecessary, but Habibullah carried his point, and the remark he made at the time has become classical: ‘‘ A boy’s education,” he said, “‘ must begin with theology, after which he may learn anything he chooses, without the risk of straying from the . true path. He must be like a purkay (compass). Tf one foot be firmly fixed on religion, the other May wander anywhere without any evil result.” The late Ameer was an excellent linguist, and spoke English, Arabic, Hindustani, and Persian. It was his ambition to plan a new capital in the plains of Jellalabad, which was to bear 1 is name. Kabul seemed too old and insanitary. The scheme, however, made tittle progress. In his leisure hours he devoted himself most enthusi- astically to gardening. and early on a summer Morning he was to be seen busily weeding his flower-beds or labelling his flower-pots. When the Ameer was gardening, all had to work with The Summer Palace of the Ameer of Afghanistan, ment as did his great father and even Greater grand- father. He isa comparatively young man, being twenty- nine years of age, and posses- sesasound knowledge of all the political phases. Adjoining Afghanistan, and now under : the same Gov- ernment, is Kafristan a hilly country inhabited by a primitive but most interesting people. Like the Afghans, they are warlike and hos- pitable, but, perhaps owing to the abundance of vines in the country, are great wine-bibbers. Hitherto they have been the hereditary enemies of the Afghans, and still the raids and forays on peaceful Afghan villages are regarded as the choicest form of sport. The gatherings of young warriors for an attack on the Afghans are the occasion of all-night revels, and a selection is made of the most promising volunteers. The raid lasts about a fortnight, and on their return the party kindle bonfires on a hill-top to announce their arrival. On seeing the beacon, the whole neighbourhood flock to the spot, and whoever has killed a Mussulman is carried shoulder-high to his village, where dancing and festivities are carried on in celebration of his feat. He who can boast of no victim is treated as an outcast, and his fellow-villagers give him food over thei shoulders.

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ODDS & ENDS. Mining Mica in America. Amoxe the mest interest- ing mines of the world must certainly be classed those where that curi- cus substance, mica, is found. “Having recently paid a visit’ to one of these mines, situated near North Groton, New Hampshire, U.S.A.,” writes a correspondent, “the tol owing dettls — regard- ing this strange nuneral und mine nay not be un- wel.cme. — Mica is used in the decors of slow: combustion stoves ind in lamp-y'asses_ and. in other simi ar ways. It is a transparent unfusable substance of remarkable flexibility and elasticity, capable of being split into extremely thin sheets. There are few sights more curious than a huge vein of mica enclosed by hard rock. The blocks A mica mine in New Hampsh-re, U.S.A. are detached from surrcunding rock or earth as large as possible. Every scrap, however, is collected and placed in tubs, which are hoisted in a primitive fashion by ropes to the top of the mine. Even mica dust is valuable, since it is used in the preparaticn af silvered paper. The large b'ocks, transported to the — workshc ps, are split up by hand into sheets of various thicknesses The smaller sheets and even the fragments, which are bound together with an appropriate substance and sheets known as « micanite,’ are used as insulators for electrical ap- paratus. The electrical indus- try, indeed, makes the great: est) demands 00 the wor'd’s mia The large blocks of mica are split up into sheets of various thicknesses, and even the dust has its uses. ines.” compressed into -

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“THE BOY WAS HOLDING HIS KNIFE JUST OVER THE HEART OF PETER COSTA.” (SEE PAGE 454.)

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Newspaper men stumble acrosss some very strange stories at times. Here is one of them. Commencing with what was, appar- ently, a mysterious murder HE Harbour Pre- cinct Police Station at New Orleans is a small wooden struc- ture, a sort of annexe to the larger Ferry House, which squats at the foot of Canal Street, the principal thoroughfare of the Southern metro- polis. Here it was that the men who had the “ river run’ on the New Orleans news- papers were always sure to drop in at some time during the day or night, and here they often secured their best “ tips’ concerning “ big "’ stories. The harbour police might, be counted on to give the ‘ boys’’ a hint if there was anything stirring; hence it was only natural that on the particular night when my story opens 1 should have dropped in for a chat with the clerk, to break the monotony of my usual rounds. It was stormy outside, and the rain was beat- ing down on the tin roof of the station with a steady drum that was unending. At intervals there would rise a crescendo shriek as the wind- gods hammered against the building. and the whole structure would quake and shiver as though about to plunge from its pilings into the swirling. muddy, rushing waters of the Missis- sippi River, twenty feet below. Inside, the stove in the office of the station glowed red, for it is cold in midwinter even in New Orleans, and the police officers not on duty were comfortably disposed about the room, playing draughts or reading, as their individual fancies dictated. Suddenly there were cries outside, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps, and in another instant the door was thrown violently open. An excited and dishevelled individual, hatless and coatless, soaked to the skin, with the rain run- ning from his head and face, tumbled into the office and began an excited jabbering of inco- herent Italian, punctuated at frequent intervals with expressive gestures. It was some minutes before the officers could prevail on the man to compose himself suf- ficiently to tell what the trouble was, and then it was learned that the “ captain " of his oyster lugger (a small craft with a single sail) had awakened him but a few minutes before as he Vol. xliv.— 31 HARWOOD KOPPEL ILLUSTRATED BY LEO BATES at dead of night, the Author's quest for “copy” finally led to the discovery of a most remark- able romance and the saving of an_ in- nocent man from the gallows. lay sleeping in the lugger, and, after ordering the sail to be hoisted, had commanded him to step ashore, and was now sailing off into the night and the teeth of the storm alone. The Mississippi River at New Orleans is not much over a mile in width in places, but in storms of that sort the danger was great, for there was little room for a Sailing craft to manceuvre and the current is swift and treacherous, with swirling eddies that run up-stream for hundreds of yards. The Father of Waters in this vicinity is exceedingly deep—in some places over three hundred feet—and so Giorgio Lamana was concerned for the safety of his young skipper. Giorgio, it may be remarked in passing, was the entire ‘‘ crew’ of the lugger American Belle, the “‘ captain’ making up the rest of her com- plement of two. Why the “captain,” Dominic Pietro, had waked him at that late hour and sailed away, after ordering him ashore, he did not know. To his meek questioning the “ captain ” had returned unintelligible oaths and threats, and had finally sailed away into the night alone. In the police station all was activity now, and soon the police were making every effort to rescue the man in the small sailing boat. A harbour tug-boat was commandeered and a search made, but the lugger American Belle had disappeared as completely as though the Father of Waters had opened his mighty jaws and swallowed craft and man. It was not until the storm had abated next day that the lugger was found. I was with several police officers conducting the search on the opposite bank of the river, far down-stream below the town of Algiers, which lies across from the main part of New Orleans, when we found the American Belle—or what was left of her. As I stepped over the gunwale of the craft, now lying high and dry on the sandy river- bank, I recoiled in horror, for in the cockpit was the body of Dominic Pietro, tied to the mast with stout cords ! Instinctively the thought flashed through my mind that the “ crew ”’ had killed his “ captain ”

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252 and then set the boat adrift, or had mutinied and lashed his commander to the mast and shoved the boat off into the storm in the belief that it would sink and all trace of the crime be lost, having finally concocted the story and acted a part to relieve himself of suspicion. One of the otficers stepped past me and unfastened the body. He then made a thorough search of the pockets, but failed to find anything that would serve as a clue to the murderer or as a motive for the crime. Pietro’s pockets were empty, save for a few simple keepsakes. Later we discovered that the sea-cocks of the boat had been opened, and the medical evidence was to the effect that Dominic had met his death by drowning. News of the finding of the Ame-ican Belle and her “ captain” was telephoned to the harbour precinct, and soon the police had Giorgio Lamana in custody. It seemd a simple affair—assuredly a murder. The motive? Perhaps robbery, possibly jealousy. In due time Giorgio Lamana was placed on trial, and despite his protestations of innocence, was convicted of murder in the first degree and sentenced to death. It was all circumstantial evidence, it is true, but the case was a strong one, and Giorgio was without money or influential friends. His story was disbelieved. It was simply too absurd to believe that a sane man would set out in his lugger alone at dead of night and in the teeth of a howling storm. There was one thing, however, that puzzled me—Lamana had no money, and by the death of Pietro his occupation was lost. Apparently he had not profited by his crime. Had he con- sidered these things before committing the deed ? If not, he was feeble-minded. If he had, then some motive other than material profit must have actuated him. Cogitating on this, it occurred to me that it would make an excellent story for my Sunday supplement if I alone could discover the real motive for the crime, while the rest of the city believed robbery to have actuated it. So I began a little investigation of my own. Securing such time as I needed from my City Editor, I began to frequent the Italian quarter, spending much of my day and part of my nights in resorts popular with the Italians along Ursulines Avenue, St. Philip Street, St. Peter Street, and Orleans Street—all thoroughfares lined with Italian resorts. The old) French market, too, was my constant resort, but naught did I learn that was of value cither to Lamana, languishing in prison awaiting the dread day of his execution, nor to my paper It had been the custom of Pietro to moor the American Belle at a certain spot at the Lugger Landing on the river, and it was as I was standing at dusk one evening, gazing pensively at the place where the ghost of the craft might have been expected to tie up, that the first teal glimmer of light came to me. I had decided THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to go back into the upper or modern part of the city for dinner, and was walking slowly up the levée, when I almost bumped into an extremely pretty Italian girl who was standing close by, also gazing at the spot where the American Belle was wont to tie up-for the night. She started violently, and with a swift backward glance hurried off. There was an air of mystery about her so evident that I at once realized that something was amiss. Slipping along from shadow to shadow, and dodging in and out through the winding streets in the old French quarter, where the Italian immigrants have taken up their lodgment, I Managed to trail her to an old tenement in Chartres Street. She entered a narrow, dark hallway leading into a rear courtyard and disappeared from my view. Waiting a moment, I loosened my revolver, by way of precaution, and, removing my shoes, stuffed one into each ot my outs:de coat-pockets. Then I stepped lightly into the hallway, peering cautiously ahead and listening for any sound that would give a clue as to the whereabouts of the mysterious maiden. All was as silent as the tomb, however, and the eerie feeling that came over me as I felt my way inch by inch through that pitch-black hallway makes my blood tingle to this day. What haunt of the Black Hand or the Mafia was J running into ? I knew not, but I decided to take a chance. After a bit, I came to a winding stairway and began the ascent. 1 would carefully place the weight of my body on the toe of one foot and then gradually let the heel down on the step until the whole foot rested there. As my body dropped I would draw up the other foot and plant it beside the one in position. This process, repeated on the next stair, would bring me a bit higher, and prevent the steps from creaking as old stairways have a habit of doing. Reaching a narrow hallway on the second floor, 1 was rewarded by observing a tiny pencil of light coming from under a door a few fect down the passage. Stcalthily making my way to the door, I listened. What was that peculiar sound that came from within ? In a moment it dawned on me—a woman sobbing, sobbing as though her very heart would break! It was enough. But I could not afford to be unprepared. So, with my revol- ver in one hand, I grasped the knob of the door with the other, gave it a quiet turn, and, finding it yielded, gave it a sudden jerk, catapulting myself into the room, ready for whatever emergency might arise But there was no emergency! Only a small but pretty Italan girl sitting on a chair with her head bowed in her hands, sobbing bitterly She started up with a cry of fright as T entered, pistol in hand, and then sank to the floor moaning :—

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THE MYSTERY OF DOMINIC PIETRO. 453 “She started up with a cry of fright as I entered.” “The Mafia! Mother of Christ! It 1s the Mafia come to take me!” “ Please, please!’ I implored. ‘ You have nothing to fear from me. I am your friend. I have come to help you, not to harm you.” She tooked up at me piteously and unbeliev- ingly and then—perhaps noting for the first time that I was an American and not an Italian —she flung herself sobbing at my feet, clasping me around the legs with all her strength. After a bit, when she had quieted down some- what, I inquired :— ““Why did you flee from me? you fear ?”’ “You are a good man, an American, and I will tell you all,” she replied. “* Why did you stand and gaze out at the dark river down by the Lugger Landing ?” I asked. “That, too, I will tell you,’’ she answered. “* Perhaps you will help me to get to friends in Philadelphia, where I shall be safe ? ” Upon my assurance that I would do all in my power for her, she told me the following story :— A little over five years ago there arrived in this country, on an immigrant ship, a young and handsome son of my country. He was from Naples, as also am I. He had been happy there until one day the most dreaded and merci- less of all the criminal Italian secret societies, the horrible Mafia, stretched forth its hand, Whom do and this boy awakened in the night to find the house in which he lived a mass of flames. The fire was burning fiercely, and he was almost suffocated. He was on an upper floor, and in imminent danger of being trapped, but he fought his way through flames and smoke, crawling on hands and knees, coughing and gasping, but ever getting closer and closer to safety. In the lower hall he stumbled over the prostrate body of a man. It was his own father, stabbed to the heart! The boy, sick- ened and faint from horror, was yet able to note, pinned to his father's shirt, the sign of the Mafia drawn in blood. His mother had long been dead, but there was a younger sister. She could not be found after the fire and the boy, feeling she had perished in the flames, and believing that there was nothing left for him in Naples, or in ail Italy, decided to go to the United States. He knew that the Mafia would soon be on his trail, and so changed his name, for the Mafia had sworn that none of his family should remain alive. In the first days after his arrival at New Orleans he lived in an Italian lodging-house in Decatur Street. He loved the water, and so he took a place on the oyster lugger of a fellow-countryman. He was thrifty, and in a few yearshad saved enough to purchase a lugger of his own. That was about one year ago.

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454 Then it was that he met Antonectte Mafera, a httle girl whom he quickly learned to love, for he said she reminded him of his sister who had perished in the flames of his home in Italy. Antonette loved the boy, too, for she was lonely in this strange land. She had come here but a year or two before to make her own living in the world, which had also been cruel to her. Antonette, too, had had a_ brother once upon a time, and while she did not remember much about him, for she was but a little girl when he had been killed, she had always wished for someone to take his place, and so she not only lavished the Jove of a sweetheart upon the boy, but the love she would have given to her brother as well, had he lived. She, too, had lost her brother through the act of the Mafia. Perhaps it was this that served to bring them closer together—the shadow under which they both lived. Antonette, like the boy, had changed her name, nor did she dare even to tell it to her lover as yet. One could never be sure where the Mafia was con- cerned! Its agents were everywhere, always seeking for those victims marked for destruc- tion who had escaped it. The boy, too, decided that he would wait before he would trust the girl completely, for the Mafia employed women as well as men. When they were married it would be time enough to tell—and what differ- ence did a name make, anyway ? And so the suit progressed. When his lugger came into port he would hurry to the place where Antonette was employed as a maid and bring her presents,of fruit and fish and oysters. Sometimes he found pearls in his oysters, and these he weuld shyly offer, declaring that she was hrs priceless pearl, with which the real ones could not compare in beauty. Finally the wedding day was fixed, and the boy invited some of his friends to a spaghetti supper in a little Italian restaurant in the quarter to celebrate the engagement. Among the guests was one Peter Costa. He had but lately arrived in New Orleans from Italy. It was a bad night. A storm was raging in all its fury. The rain was talling in sheets, but within the little restaurant all) was merry. ‘The supper having been disposed of, strong Italian red wine was brought out, and the boy and his friends began drinking the health of the bride-to-be. “The name of the bride? The name of the beauteous one?” inquired Peter Costa, noisily, for he had taken too uch of the wine and it had gone to his head. “Surcly it is none otber than Antonette Mafera,"” answered the boy, joyously. “Say not so, friend,” replied Costa.“ For did IT not only ths morning meet one whom 1 knew in Naples, and when I asked of her her name she leoked me in the eye and said, ‘Antonette Mafera.’ Surely that is net the one whom you are to marry, my friend? She THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. who is employed as a maid Avenue?” The others had all stopped their drinking and were now looking at Peter Costa, some in curiosity, some in amazement, but the boy was hot with anger. “And why not this same Antorette Mafera, Signor Costa?’ he asked, in tones that would have wirned one less drunk than the new- comer. ‘‘ What do you know of her that is not to her credit—in America or in Italy ? Speak quickly, friend Costa, or you may not have the chance.” The boy was holding his oyster-knife over the heart of Peter Costa. “T only know,” growled the other, sullenly, “that in Naples she was called Juliet Toro, and here in America she is called Antonette Mafera. Ill of her I do not know. But that, as the Mother of God is my witness, I do know.” The boy grasped his knife with a nerveless hand. His jaw sagged, and he looked at Costa with a blank expression. His lips, to which there came no sound, framed the words: “Juliet Toro! Juliet! Juliet Toro!’’ but his tongue would not obey him and he could not speak them aloud. Finally he managed to reach for a large glass of wine. He tossed it off at a gulp, and turned upon Costa fiercely. “ You know not what you say, you har!" he screamed. “If you do not believe me, ask her,” retorted the sullen one. “T shall ask her, and perhaps you will have repented of this ill jest before I return. Other- wise there will be no opportunity’ And with this ominous warning the boy strode out of the restaurant and into the storm. He sought out Antonette Mafera. Startled at his coming in such a storm and so late, she sought to know his business before permitting him to enter. Standing on the banquette (sidewalk) with the full force of the rain pouring down upon in Esplanade just “him, he looked at her as she stood just inside the half-open door and asked her to tell him if she had ever been called Juliet Toro. “ Mother of Mary! '’ moaned the girl. ‘' Peter Costa has told you! Yes, I am Juliet Toro, but I have done nothing wrong; that I swear to you. I am Antonette Matera only to hide from the Mafia. Do you love me the less for that, Dominic ? ” Yes, it was Dominic Pittro, and I am Anton- ette Mafera. Or, rather, I should say that he was not Dominic Pietro and I am not Anton- ette Mafera. For then he said the words that brought me joy, even though I lost my sweet- heart 1or ever. The words should have brought him happiness, too, but he was different. He could not bear the thought of losing his sweet- heart, even though he had found his sister. He was Henry Toro, my brother, from whom

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THE I had been separated ever since the night of that fire when our father was murdered. I had wandered -away from the scene half- crazed with grief, believing all my family dead, and was found by a kind sister, who took me to the Convent of St. Teresa, where the good sisters nursed me for many months, until I could think connectedly again. But they knew little of the outside world, and when I was able to think without the horror of the crime sending me into convulsions of tright, they could find no trace of Henry for me, and I betieved he had perished with our father. In the years that elapsed until I saw him again he had changed much, and I had grown and changed in appearance also. It was not surprising, therefore, that we did not recognize each other. As I say, I was happy in finding my brother, but he was heart-broken at losing his wife-to-be, and, only stopping to clasp me once in his arms and kiss me upon the brow, he stumbled heavily off into the storm. MYSTERY OF DOMINIC PIETRO. 455 “This is the last time, little sister, that you will see your brother,” he said, and was gone. I dropped in a swoon, and, when I recovered, the rain was beating down on my face. He has never returned. And so I go to the Lugger Landing to look for him. It was my unwelcome task to tell her of her brother's fate—and I found it a very hard one. Then I set to work to clear Giorgio of the crime, for it was now apparent that he was completely innocent. The unfortunate young “‘ captain,” crushed with grief, must have pulled out the sea-cocks and lashed himself to the mast, and the boat, after half-sinking and drowning him, had been washed ashore. Giorgio, in due course, had his conviction quashed and was released. As for the poor girl, she entered a convent, where at least she is pratected from the vengeful hand of the Mafia. THE FRIENDLY GRIZZLY BEAR. "A litle bit of sugar for—the bear 1” A CORRESPONDENT sends us the above unique photograph from Yellowstone Park, Wyoming. It shows a big grizzly bear making friends with a visitor who is armed only with a lump of sugar. These wild animals of the Park, it appears. have become somewhat sophisticated, and are less afraid of the motor-car than of horse-drawn vehicles. It is not an uncommon occurrence for the side pockets and cushions of a A curious snapshot from Yellowstone Park. motor-car to be torn out by a hungry bear in search of a box of sweets carelessly left in the car at night. We should imagine that a grizcly bear, whether sophisticated or not, is a decidedly nasty customer if he feels that way inclined, and one needs to be extremely fond of animals, or extremely sure of one’s ground, to attempt the feat shown in the above picture.

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That Some cynic once said that women have no sense of humour. This most amus- ing narrative conclusively proves the contrary, for without a sense of humour the Authoress would never have survived her manifold misadventures or been able to set them down so viva- ciously. Evidently, to judge from this story, it is not en- ao @)UR voyage from New York to the Bahamas was fairly uneventful, and by the time we arrived I began to consider mysclf quite a hardened sailor. However, travelling on big steamers replcte with all ‘ modern was, I found, absolutely no prepara- comforts ” tion at all for the sailing we had to do when at last we reached the islands. Coasting boats, sailing craft—and any old thing that would hold us—were what we took, and were thankful for. Why we were not food for the sharks several times in our voyagings is more than I can understand ! The first yacht we hired (and thought, our- selves lucky to get) was a beauty to go, but the below-deck accommodation, to say the best of it, was scanty, consisting as it did of one cabin only, and a small one at that! There were two broad seats in it and a narrow table between them. By day this was the feeding-room, and at night a curtain descended from the ceiling, the benches were used as berths—and there you were ! “It's rather small,” I said, dubiously, when we first inspected it. ‘‘ Where do we sleep?” “Oh, we don’t sleep on board,” he replied. “We pitch camp at night on whatever island we may happen to be near.” I was glad of that, as I foresaw tight quarters for a crew of four blacks, our two selves, and a large dog! We agreed to charter the boat, however, and in due time started off. Of course, a storm arose the first night, and it was impossible to land until the surf went down, and the men therefore stayed on deck all night, and Tobs (the setter) and I slept on the seats below. Next day it poured with rain, and everyone except By “MBB” NMLUSTRATED BY? LR. BRIGHTWELL a . % e = tirely a bed of roses to be the wife of a scientist and accompany him to the wild places of the earth in search of specimens. All sorts of odd experiences are divert- ingly described by the writer, and we can promise our readers many achuckle. In ~ this instalmentthe Authoress describes the expedition to the Bahamas and_ her various adventures there. the steersman had to sit in the cabin. The heat was unspeakable. The next night was fine, but there was such a fearful swell running that we still could not land. I took a big rug, and Dick wrapped me up on deck, and I slept. there, leaving the cabin free for the others. After this we never minded how or when we slept. The fiction about pitching camp at night was soon exploded, for in nine cases out of ten we discovered that the ground was of hard coral rock, on which it was impossible to erect a tent, and it was so much simpler to curl yourself up in a rug and sleep | vhere you were. It is wonderful how few necessities there are in life when you are obliged to do without them. I soon began to be quite accustomed to sleep curled round the leg of the table, and on awaken- ing I would draw the curtains tightly round one seat, don my bathing dress, and jump over- board, to return as fresh as if I had slept the night on my own spring bed. Of course, if we stayed for more than a day at one place we managed to pitch camp some- how, and then there was nothing left to wish for—unless sometimes it might indeed be water. Water is the bane of the casual camper’s life. T soon got reconciled, though never really accus tomed, to washing in salt water, but I did require a little fresh water to drink ! Twice we ran short, and those times were real trials. On one occasion we had left the yacht and rowed inland up a winding, brackish stream from early morn till late at night. We had only about half a pint—our last half- pint—of water between us, and when we arrived at our camping-ground, where our guide had assured us that we should find a fresh-water

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F THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE, 457 stream, we discovered that a recent hurricane had removed all the landmarks, and that we were hopelessly lost. We were at least ten miles from the yacht, almost too exhausted to speak, and we had’ no water ! Worse still, we knew that the water-supply on board was at its lowest; in fact, they were depending on us to bring them fresh supplies. It Was growing dark, there was no sign of the river, and the negroes added to our joys by getting into a panic, for the place had the reputation of being haunted. Dick set fire to a bush to serve as a rallying- point, and then he and I went off in opposite directions to look for the fresh-water stream, leaving the blacks cowering over the fire. We ‘were on th: banks of a salt lake, and as ‘the guide was «tain that the fresh-water river -used to empt, self into the lake, we decided that if we made the circumference of the lake we must strike the river. >. 4.plodded on. The ground was soppy and ‘quicksandy. This being so, I unloaded my ‘gun; for I had no wish to add to the hilarity of the scene by an accident, fatal or otherwise. “ My throat got drier and drier, and the little ‘gun seemed extraordinarily heavy. I could not put it down because our signal of success was to be two shots fired in quick succession. . It seemed a very big lake and took an un- ending time to get round. If only I could hear Dick’s gun! I wondered how far he had got, and then suddenly, to my dismay, I saw him quite close, just round the next bend. Evidently, like myself, he had not struck the stream—and that meant no water for anyone that night. I wondered if death from thirst was as painful as one read that it was. And then I heard two quick shots ring out ! Shouting my joy, I rushed forward, forgetting my weariness and everything else in the joyful thought of water. Dashing round the corner, I spied the Naturalist, and sped towards him. Suddenly I stopped and almost screamed in terror, while all the wild stories I had ever heard or read of men going mad from thirst rushed through my brain. Not a hundred yards away from me stood Dick, with his gun pointed straight at my head ! Instinctively I fell flat on my face and as I did so the report rang out. For a moment I cowered, and wondered if I was dead. Then I heard the Naturalist’s voice. “Hi! Molly! Quick! Quick! Oh, hurry up! You'll lose it!” Mad or not, the agony in his voice was not to be disregarded. I jumped up and ran towards him, and saw before me a broad stretch of water, and in the water three struggling masses of blazing scarlet. Flamingos! One was floating down towards me, while Tobs (the setter) retrieved the other two. I plunged into the water, tripped and fell, It’s going! sat there triumphant.”

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458 THE WIDE WORLD clutching the bird as I did so. My mouth was full of water, but I sat there triumphant. “Dick! Dick! It’s fresh!’ I spluttered. “Of course it’s fresh,’’ he retorted; ‘I’ve just shot it!” “ Oh, not the bird ! ” I sobbed. And we drank. “It’s sure to be pure,” said the Naturalist. “* There’s not another living soul on the island.” I was too busy to contradict him. “ Doesn't it thrill you,”” he went on, “ to think that you are the first Englishwoman who has ever set foot here?” I withdrew my feet from the river-mud, removed a few leeches, swept off some sand-flies, and killed a few mosquitoes. Then I answered him. “ T congratulate Englishwomen,” I said. “ The water.” On our return from this island the Naturalist discovered that the only other spot worth visiting in the Bahamas was a small island to the far south. It was at least a fortnight’s sail there, even with a good wind, so we decided that a bigger vessel must be chartered. At last we heard of one we could hire, a large boat with a crew of seven negroes. We had often admired the Stay from a dis- tance and exclaimed at her dainty appearance as she lay, a gleam of white, on the turquoise water of the harbour. “How clean and nice she looks!” we said. “ We ought to hive a really good time in her.”” We were still more delighted that we had decided to have a bigger boat when, a fortnight before we intended to sail, an American scientist, hearing of our plans, wrote and asked if he and his wife might join us. “ Rather!’ said we. “‘ It will halve expenses, and we can therefore have twice as long a trip.” They were going to bring an artist friend with them, so we got another girl to go as well and our party was complete. The Americans could not come until the very day we sailed, so Dick and I did the provisioning and arranging. About a week before the sailing day the Star was brought to the wharf, and’ we sent our baggage and tents down to be stored in the hold. Then the Naturalist and I paid a state visit. Alas, for outward appearances! The Star at close quarters could not be described as spotless, though the captain assured us she only wanted a‘‘ sluice down’! I held my skirts high as I stepped on board, and then looked at Dick carefully, for a horrid and familiar smell stole faintly on the breeze. “You have on something you wore in Nor- way!” I exclaimed. “ I smell bad fish.” But Dick declared his innocence ; his suit was absolutely new, he said. I was certain, however, that I was not deceived, and when he went below I explored until I ran it down, or up, rather, for hanging high in the MAGAZINE. rigging I found it. dead, fishy ! The mate sat regarding me with solemn eyes. “ Take that down,” I said. He took it. “ Carry it on shore,” I continued, ‘‘ and tell all the crew that if anyone brings any more on board he will be instantly dismissed.” Glowering darkly, he departed. Next day we went down again to see if certain improvements had been carried out. The first thing that met my gaze was a small black object with bright and twinkling eyes. It gave me one look and then, with a flick of its curly tail, whisked away to the kitchen. I followed, and there founda the small sinner, and another like unto it, contentedly eating their supper from the one and only frying-pan: Pigs! And very dirty ones at that / The cook was at this moment coming on board. “Cook,” I said, severely, “some pigs have come on board, I presume by mistake. Please see that they are removed.” “Oh, mar’m,” quoth the negro, ‘dem 1s we ship’s pigs, mar’m. We always varry dem— does ’em good, mar’m; makes dem strong and healthy pigs, mar’m.” Words failed me. After some time spent below in “ tidying up,” the heat and motion had their usual dizzying effect, and I came up on deck for a breather. Presently the same insidious odour I had smelt the day before stole gently to my nostrils. “Dick!” I called. “Come and smell a smell!” 2 He came, and we sniffed solemnly for at least five minutes. Then we proceeded to search. First we tried the kitchen, and drew a blank. Then the hold, ditto. Then the rigging, the boats, the firewood stack—everywhere we could think of, but with the same result. Presently I spied a dark hole, which the cabin-boy informed Dead and drying fish. Very not very dry, and most uncommonly me was the crew’s sleeping quarters. The Naturalist put his nose down. Ugh! At last we had run that smell to earth. The boy was sent to find the concealed fish, and when he reappeared it was gently dropped overboard. It was not until we had sailed and were almost out of sight of land that we discovered that most of the crew were quite drunk, and all had taken a good deal more than was good for them. I more than suspected “ for'ard ”’ to order supper. The cook, I must explain, rejoiced in the name of “ Darling.” “ Darling,” I said, ‘‘ we will have supper at once. Everything is cooked and only wants warming.” Darling promptly struck. For no one on earth, he said, would he cook hot suppers while he was on board the Star. He never had, and he never would ! it when I went

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. 459° Dick came forward, and a few heated words settled that trouble. Either Darling cooked, or Darling was landed on the nearest island. Darling cooked. The next thing we experienced was a horrid grinding noise, and at the same moment came total cessation of movement! We had run aground on a reef, and could not get off again until the next tide. Considering ali things, we were not sure that this was not for the best. Next morning the crew were comparatively sober. Dick still considers that I behaved shamefully we were able to converse with ease, and by poking our heads round the partition could even whisper secrets “Where did it come from?" I whispered. “Can’t you stop up the hole?” Silently he pointed to the roof. By the shadowy lhght of the swinging lantern I saw them—long streams of horrid crawling creatures! From every cranny big red cockroaches were emerging. “For goodness’ sake put out the light!" I entreated, in agony. ‘If I watch them I shall go mad!" “ Contentedly eating their supper from the one and only frying-pan.” on that trip. Personally, I consider that I was wonderfully brave. With much care and great patience the Naturalist had educated me into treating with equanimity things that crawl and creep and are slimy I cannot truthfully say that I like them, but up to a certain point I can endure them— but not beyond that point. The first time I saw a big red cockroach walk over my pillow as I climbed into my berth I— no, I didn't scream, but I exclaimed. “Don’t be foolish !'’ implored Dick. “ It can’t hurt you, and you will only upset the others if you make a fuss.” The men’s cabin was separated from the ladies’ merely by a curtain, so as my husband's head was only the width of a dividing plank from mine I lay awake for some time, imagining all sorts of horrors. Then I dozed. I awoke with a horrid feeling in my hair. Sleepily I put up my hand, and it closed on a huge cockroach ! Even then I did not scream. But I awoke Dick, and he spent a miserable ten minutes listening to what I had to say on the subject, and taking four other creatures of the same species from the meshes of my golden locks. Finally I tied my head up in a towel and went to sleep again. I was awakened by something coming ‘‘ plop ” on to my face. I opened my eyes, and there, sitting looking at me, was a spider as big as half a crown! While I took in the situation it iumped—actually jumped—into the berth below. Digitized Google

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460 “ Dick,” I whispered, “ there was a spider on my bed!” “A spider!’ he groaned. ‘“* There are fifty in mine!” and as it grew lighter I saw them— big, little, and middle-sized ; spiders that tickled, spiders that bit, and spiders that simply spun long webs from the roof and then came down and looked at one. Even worse were the ants. They got between the sheets; they got in the sugar, the tea, the water, and even on our tooth-brushes! There was nothing they could not get into and nowhere they did not go. In spite of these small trials we were very cheerful and happy, and really enjoyed ourselves immensely. The colour of the water, the soft- ness of the air, and the novelty of it all made up for a good deal. Then came trouble. One evening the American’s wife appeared on deck with a face a mile long. “* What's the trouble ? ” I called out. “IT guess Abraham’s sick she replied. “Oh, not to-day!’ I exclaimed. “ It’s as smooth as glass.”” “IT don’t mean cascading,” she_ replied, seriously. ‘I mean real ill."” “‘ Does he feel bad ? ”’ “ Mighty.” “ Hot?” “* Temperature a hundred and two.”’ “Oh, that’s nothing’ out here,” I replied, gaily.‘ He'll be all right in the morning.” The morrow, however, found him worse. His temperature was a hundred and three, and he had a very red face. Towards lunch his wife came flying up the companion-way. As she was rather stout, and not given to rapid movement, I knew something serious must be up. “His temperature is a hundred and four and he’s talking off his head, and he’s got spots all over. _ I guess it’s smallpox !’” she cried. Just imagine the position. Here we were scudding before the wind, towards the island of our dreams, and every minute taking us farther from civilization, doctors, ice, or any of the necessities for a smallpox patient. In addition there was also the pleasant possibility that we might all be stricken with the same dread disease ! I went below and peered at the patient, while Dick went aft and swore softly. Then I heard a great creaking of ropes and sails, and came up to find that we had turned round and were running back to doctors and help. The poor man got shockingly ill before we arrived, and frightened us almost out of our senses. His wife was wonderfully brave, but even she broke down when, just as we sighted our destination, every breath of wind died away and we lay helplessly in a dead calm. It was a horrible night. We sat on deck, from THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, where we could just see the gleam of the lights of the town. From below came the delirious voice, weaker and weaker, and we knew that nothing could be done until we reached land. The very sight of tinned foods made the poor man ill, and we had nothing else on board. “* Can't somecne row in ? ” wailed the wife. “It can’t be done,” said the captain. ‘‘ There’s an awful current here; no crew could do it.” The voice below ceased and everything was motionless and still, save for here and there the splash on the water where a flying fish leaped and sported. Then came a voice from the bows :— “Tseeacat’s paw!" In a wonderfully short time we had our anchor up again, the sails were set, and with every inch of canvas we could carry we crept nearer and nearer to the land. Now we were stealing up the harbour. There were the lights of the strect, and soon we could distinguish the houses. Those big lights were the hospital. ° Now we were at our anchorage, a boat was swiftly lowered, and Dick had gone for the doctor. He came at once, disappeared below, and soon came tumbling up again with a grin a mile long. “‘ Measles |” said he. The trip on the Star was over, and we ought to have turned our faces Englandwards, but the charm of the Bahamas was upon us and we were loath to go. There was a little bay just a day’s sail from our headquarters, and we deter- mined to explore it. The ordinary “ mail- schooner ” touched there, so we decided to go in that rather than hire for such a tiny distance. It was a glorious evening as we dropped out of the harbour, with just enough wind to keep us moving. A flaming tropical sunset kept us up on deck until late, and it was not until the last flame of light had flared and gone out that we realized how black and overcast the sky had become. The wind had freshened considerably, and we were already well out of sight of land. The waves had little white caps that spoke of stormy weather. The captain—a white man—came and sat by us. . “A dirty night,” quoth he. “Well, it's not a long run,” said Dick. “ You'll get in the shelter of the land before morning, I suppose ? ”’ “Sha’n’t try to get over the reef before daylight with this wind,” replied the captain. “ What reef, captain?” I asked. “ Reef of small islands all along this side of Morning Cay. Rocks you can call ‘’em—too small for islands.” “ Nasty things on a dark night,” said Dick. “Oh, I never try to go through ‘em unless I can see my way clear,” agreed the captain. “We can skirt along outside ’em. I guess we won't cross the reef till morning.”

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THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE. The tossing was getting very pronounced— too pronounced for me. 1 said “ Good night ” hastily, and essayed to rise. “ Beg pardon, ma’am,”’ interposed the captain “ You mayn't have noticed that woman with the black hair?” “And with such a beautiful, sad face? Oh, yes I have.” “She poisoned her husband last week ” continued the captain. ‘ Put Jaudanum in his coffee. She's running for America now. Thinks I don’t know. Look out for her; she’s a thiet."" I thanked him and retreated hastily. -Our compartments were only divided by cur- tains. There were seven other passengers, three of them children. My ‘berth’ was simply the hard planks. Mattresses were not provided on the mail- schooners, and though we had both them and pillows and blankets in the hold among our baggage, I was too far gone to bother about them. I lay down as I was, with a folded coat for pillow. It was a terrible night. The ship groaned and creaked and shook as though going to pieces. The wind shrieked and howled through the rigging, and the voices of the crew only added to the terrifying pandemonium. Towards morning the trap-deor leading to the deck opened, and the mate descended in his dripping oilskins. He sat on the ladder and cut a hunk of bread. “Well,” he said, ‘ the wind’s down a bit now, thank goodness! I wouldn't care for another night like that.” “Down a bit’”’ it may have been then, but only to come on again with renewed vigour. The “ boy ” came in with coffee and biscuits— all he could manage to provide in the way of refreshments—and we lived on these alone, with the addition of pieces of dry bread, throughout the whole of that awful voyage. About twelve the captain put his head in for an instant. I’ve got to batten you down,” he shouted. He did so, and the heat in that cabin was of a density and power that defies description. The children ceased from wailing and lay on the floor gasping. The mother lay as if dead, except for the perspiration streaming off her face. The alleged ‘‘ murderess’’ in the next berth tossed and groaned unceasingly. “* Better dead than this ! ’ she kept murmuring. “* Better all of us dead than this!” It was pitch-dark, and the hours seemed unending. I began to wish that one of those mighty waves that thundered on the deck would crash through the planks and end it all. The Naturalist kept guard over a small jug of tepid water, and administered small doses when absolutely necessary. 461 Once I] thought that he was dead, he was so white and exhausted. I stretched out my hand —I could not move for deadly sickness. “ Dick !’’ I whispered. The answer was unexpected. <A sad, beautiful face looked at me from the next berth—the “ murderess "! “ You feel bad, dear?” murmured the woman. “Put a little ot this in some water; it will make you sleep.” And she pushed into my hand a bottle of lnudanum ! I thanked her, and remember no Blessed unconsctousness came. I was roused by wild shoutings trom the crew on deck. word, more, They came We could hear every “What's those breakers on the right? Can you see, Bill?” “Don't try it, captain, for God’s sake! J don’t know where we are.” “We must cross the reef She can’t stand this another hour. There! Isn’t that Windv Light? 1'll rush her through.” There was the horrid reeling of the schooner that proclaimed a chanze of course. “ Now, Bill! Keep a sharp look-out !* “ Starboard, cap’n!”” “Hard over!" These orders, shouted almost in a frenzy, set our hearts throbbing wildly as we sat waiting. We knew what was happening: the captain was trying to run the gauntlet through the reef into the calmer waters beyond. Any moment we might feel the tearing grind which meant that our keel had been torn off by some submerged rock, and then all would be arboard, cap'n! Ward over! You're going straight for the breakers !"” “To must. There’s rocks both sides!” “You can't ride the breakers!” “IT can't ride the rocks!" “ Then Lord help us!" There came a sensation as if the boat was being hurled through the air, a sudden calm, a shudder ; then a crash as tons of water descended on the deck. Above it all I heard frantic shouting. The women screamed, the men swore. Dick held my hand very tightly, and we waited. There was another awful plunge, another thunder of water overhead, and then—silence and peace. Before we could realize what had happened the cabin-doors were opencd, letting in a rush of glorious fresh air and a stream of moonlight. Down the companion-way staggered a man in dripping oilskins, who collapsed almost uncon- scious at our fect. It was the captain. “We're through,” he gasped, “ but it was by a miracle!” (To be concluded.)

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Told by Mrs. C. T. STURGIS, and = set down by MEIGS O. FROST, of New Orleans, U.S.A. H eocee Some day, it is to be supposed, the tragedy of Mexico will be cleared up, and a strong hand will put an end to the anarchy that reigns at present in that unhappy country, American citizens—Dr. amazing story of the adventures of three Here is the of Kansas City, and his wife and her mother—who for sight months were held captive by Mexican bandits. and his wife are now penniless Dr. refugees in the United States; Mrs. Sturgis'’s mother died of starvation in the brigands’ hands. The story is told by Mrs. Sturgis, and the account she gives of the sufferings of the three prisoners makes sorry reading for any man with red blood in his veins. When will the day of reckoning come ? * Sa HIMMERING in the blazing noon- day sun of mid-July, the battered little Norwegian tramp steamer CY Harald came steaming up the broad brown bosom of the Mississippi, and finally moored at the New Orleans docks. Down the splintered gangway to the wharf stepped two figures, a man and a woman. The woman looked fully sixty, the man seventy, With feeble steps they crossed the open space until they reached the shade of the dock sheds. Then, side by side, they sat upon a sack of coffee and looked about them, their eyes brimming with tears. There was nothing beautiful in the scene they saw—just the usual water-front miscellany, and the high-piled freight of wharves the wide world over. “Isn't it wonderful, Cora?" murmured the man. “It is!” replied the woman, simply. Penniless, broken in health, the two had come from Vera Cruz on funds supplied by the Ameri- can consul. Behind them in Mexico, in the State of Chiapas, they had left their plantation, La Blanca, worth a hundred thousand dollars. But, above all, they had left behind them, uncoffined, wrapped in the rough patate—the straw matting of the Mexican peon—-the body of the woman's mother. A cough wooden slab marks the grave near the little settlement of Depolan, in Chiapas. These two, an American citizen and his wife, I personally interviewed Dr. Charles T. Sturgis and Mrs. Sturgis on their arrival at New Orleans on the steamship Hara/d trom Vera Cruz, Before using their story inthe American Press I verified their family connections Mrs. Sturgis told me her story before responsible witnesses. As to the conditions of banditry in Mexico, the testimony of qualified experts before our Congressional Committee, now in session, bears out Mrs, Sturgis’s tale in fullest details.” brought back to the United States a story of bandit effrontery that has never been equalled in all the sordid history that has leaked north of the Rio Grande since chaos descended upon Mexico in the name of “ Libertad ”’! They brought back in full detail the story of what thousands in the United States have long believed—that a virtual alliance exists between Venustiano Carranza, President of Mexico, and the bandit rabble that to-day holds complete sway over miles of Mexico’s far-flung territory. They brought back, too, their own story—the amazing adventures of an American family whose plantation in Mexico was raided and looted alternately by Carranzista troops and bandit hordes, with the climax of husband, wife, and mother held captives for eight months by “ Generat”” Rafael Cal y Mayor, a bandit leader of Chiapas. Not only were they held prisoner, but systematically starved to the point of collapse ; then flung a careless handful of food to keep them alive for further indignities. The man was Dr. Charles T. Sturgis, formerly of Kansas City, graduate of the Kansas City College of Dentistry in the class of 1886. The woman was his wife, before her marriage Miss Cora Keenright, daughter of a Virginia planter, whose family has for six generations lived on its acres in the Shenandoah Valley, a few miles from the city of Staunton, Virginia, birthplace of President Woodrow Wilson. The mother, whose body they left behind in Mexico, was Miss Elizabeth Cave, daughter of another Virginia planter of that same Shenandoah Valley, and wife of W. H. Keenright, a veteran officer of Longstreet’s and Pickett’s campaigns. The story brought by Dr. and Mrs. Sturgis from Mexico is now on file in the records of the United States Department of State. It is

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substantiated by American consular and diplo- matic officials, by employes of the Anglo-Mexican Petroleum Company: and with its wealth of dates and names it will require an enormous amount of explanation from the Carranza Government when the day of reckoning comes. But above all its warp and woof of sordid oppression there shines the tale of a woman's heroism that made Mrs. Sturgis’s audience taut with the pride of race, as they listened to her simply-told story in the tawdry drawing-room of a cheap lodging-house in St. Charles Street, New Orleans, the day after the refugees landed on American soil Dr. Sturgis talked little, save to con- firm the story of Mrs. Sturgis. He is sixty, but looks more than seventy. His health has been irretrievably ruined by systematic starvation and hardship. Mrs. Sturgis is forty-three, but her age appears to be sixty at the least. Deep, irregular lines marked her face—the acid etching of tre- mendous strain and suffering. Her hands —the firm, well-shaped hands of the Virginia - gentlewoman — were “knotted and scarred and gashed and broken of nail, with heavy toil. “ That awful General Cal y Mayor. "she faltered. ‘I tried to keep up my spirit, but it was hard. He taunted and sneered and threatened us. And _ systematically he starved us all, either for ‘ punishment,’ he said, or for no ap- parent reason but to hear us beg for food. That's what killed my mother; she _ literally died of starvation. For weeks they would only give us tortillas without salt, and only river water to drink. Then, when we were on the verge of collapse, the bandits would toss us a few beans, to keep us alive a little longer. “Cal y Mayor made me chop wood for the Indian and half-breed Mexican camp women— the soldaderos that follow every bandit camp. He made me go out in the woods with an axe and cut down wood. He made me grind corn for the meal for their tortillas in a rough stone mortar, using a rough rock pestle, until my hands were raw and bleeding. He made me sew for his filthy ruffians and nurse them when they were sick. Mrs. C. T. Sturgis in the costume she wore while a prisoner among the | andits, A WOMAN’S ORDEAL. 463 “Did I ever refuse? Of course I refused. And then he would cut off the food supply of my husband and my mother. I would have starved to death or killed myself before I sub- mitted to the indignities they heaped on me. But I couldn't let them starve, could I ? “ And the indignities, the sneers and insults ! On the Fourth of July, 1918, Cal y Mayor gave a dance. He told us it was ‘ to celebrate the wonderful independence of those Gringoes of the United States.’ That ‘ dance’ was held in a rough board hall he had built in the centre of his camp-—a zinc- roofed building like an oven after the heat of the day. All that day I had knelt before the stone mortar grinding corn. And that night he me to go into that shack and dance with his drunken peous until | literally could not stand. “*Why don't you kill us and get it over?’ T asked him once. ‘It is more fun to watch you cursed Gringoes suffer,’ he told me. 2 “ Another day I was grinding corn for tor- forced tillas. I heard some- body approach, and looked up when the steps paused beside me. It was Cal y Mayor himself, with a group of bandits behind him. t I thought my back would break, I was so tired. This was early in our captivity, and my hands had not yet hardened to the labour. The blood from them literally stained the corn meal I was grinding. “*What do you want ?’ I asked him. “*You Gringocs have a song you ‘call “Sweet Maria,” he said. ‘I want you to sing it for me. I have a sweetheart in the City of Mexico. Her name is Maria Luisa Spindla. I want to sing it to her the next time I go up to the city. I think she will like to know that even a dirty Gringo has written a song in her honour. Now sing it and teach it to me.’ “What could I do? I protested. ‘It you want to eat,’ he growled; ‘if you want your husband and mother to eat—you sing!’ And he kept me there standing in the sun while I sang that old popular song, ‘ Sweet Marie, come to me,’ over and over again. And all the time those filthy peons stood around saying things

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464 about me in Spanish that T couldn't translate into English for anyone to hear.” That’s part of the tale a Virginia gentle- woman to!d in a trembling voice in the drawing- room of a New Orleans lodging-house in the year of Our Lord 1919. Here is her complete account of her amazing adventures, with names and dates and places, as she told it in New Orleans before official witnesses. It was in 1905 that I married Dr. Sturgis in Washington, D.C. He was back in the States on a trip froni his plantation, ‘ La Blanca,” which he had bought in 1899, when Porfirio Diaz was President of Mexico. He has spent a hundred thousand dollars on it all told, and it Tepresented all his private means and the profits of his dentistry practice in Kansas City, in Alamosa, Colorado, in Chihuahua and Sonora, and other cities in Mexico. He had a hundred and twenty-five thousand coffee trees in bearing, and some five hundred head of pedigree cattle. We went to the plantation on our honeymoon. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then, on a later trip to the States, we brought my mother back with us for her health: We all spoke Spanish fluently, and were always on friendly terms with our Mexican neighbours. Dr. Sturgis had kept his kit of dental’ surgeon’s instruments after he retired from practice, and treated scores of them without cost—just for triendship, as dentists were scarce down there. It was on January 15th, 1918, that we had our first raid—by regular army troops of President Carranza. They were under the command of two Mexican officers of that district whom we had known a long time, Captain Leopolda Garcia and Captain Julio Castillano. They rode up that afternoon and swarmed into the house. We started to greet them in friendly fashion, but Captain Garcia pointed a nile at me— the officers, too, carry rifles down there— and told me roughly that he had “‘ come to search the house for insurrectos.” Dr. Sturgis was ill in bed at the time, and I had to bear the brunt of the raid. Captain Garcia cursed at me and told me to search the house in “T saw them lead my husband out, with a man pointing a rifle at his back.”

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front of him. We went from room to room. Then he ordered me to climb on to the roof. The plantation hacienda was flat-roofed. I turned on him indignantly. ‘‘ Get an Indian to run your errands for you," I said. “ I'm the wife of an American citizen, not your peon.” He laughed sneeringly. ‘‘ You'll run my errands when I want you to,” he said, and with- out warning he struck me on the right shoulder with the butt of his rifle, knocking me down. “1 told you I was the wife of an American citizen! You'll pay for this!" I said, as I staggered to my feet again. He laughed. “Go ahead and complain to your Government,” he said. ‘‘ Go ahead and complain to my Govern- ment, too, if you want to. It won't do you any good, We're going to drive all you cursed Gringoes out of the country before we're through “with you. You think you own our lands, and the English think they own our oil wells. We'll teach you!” On the plantatior at that time we had nearly two hundred Merican labourers. For years we had carried them through the idle season. I Vol xliv.—32, A WOMAN’S ORDEAL.. = 465 suppose that Dr. Sturgis had between fifteen and twenty thousand dollars in goods and cash advances due to him, to be worked out by them. The Carranzistas drove every labourer off La Blanca. They told them that Carranza had made it a law that no Mexican could work for a Gringo, and that they would shoot or hang any Mexican they found working on La Blanca. And then, after helping themselves to what they wanted from the plantation store-house, they rode away. We were just getting things straightened out again, and were hoping to be able to market our coffee crop, when there came the raid of the Chiapas bandits, headed by ‘ General” Rafael Cal y Mayor. That was on June 26th, ror8. Dr. Sturgis saw them coming, and called to me to run, I escaped out ot the rear door into the thick underbrush behind the plantation

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466 THE WIDE WORLD house. I was peeping through the brush, half- way up the hill, when I saw them lead my husband out, with a man pointing a rifle at his back. I could hear his voice as he shouted to Cal y Mayor, seated on his horse about twenty yards away: ‘“ You can shoot and be damned. I don't know where she is.” I knew that he meant me, and I simply couldn't let him be shot on my account. So I ran out of the brush, calling: ‘“ Don’t shoot him! Here Iam!” They stripped the house of everything mov- able. Then they started back for the bandit camp, telling us we were prisoners. Our claim that we were American citizens brought only sneers and laughs. They had made Dr. Sturgis pack up his dental surgeon's kit of instruments. There were bandits in that band who had been peons working for us, men we had treated with every possible kindness. We knew probably more than a score of them personally. My mother and myself they allowed to take only the rough clothes we were wearing. I was wearing a sailor blouse and a hnen ski poor old mother was in a calico hou That's the way our captivity began. We were prisoners of Cal y Mayor from June 26th, 1918, until February 18th, 1919. It was on November 13th, 1918, that my mother died of the slow starvation with which they tortured us. She was sixty-five, and in delicate health at the time of the raid. That first day of the raid they marched us twelve miles. My mother was put on a bare- backed horse, but Dr. Sturgis and I had to tramp along in the blazing sun, over rough trails, into the hills, half-suffocated by the thick dust raised by the feet of the bandits’ horses. I had only an old veil I had snatched up to tic over my hair for protection. The bandits had stolen all my hats and my mother’s hats as gifts for their camp women. They rode along joking at us, and telling us not to get sun- burnt, with our hats flapping at their saddle-horns. The next day, after a night camp in the hills, they marched us fifteen miles to the Grijalva river. A day later we reached Cal y Mayor’s camp. There were fourteen other small camps scattered about it. In the main camp he kept always about three hundred men under arms. It was now that our forced hard labour and the insults and taunts Dr. and threats began. The whole camp was apparently privileged to curse us and threaten us. We had nearly given up hope of ever escaping when one day Cal y Mayor had me brought to the little shack he called his headquarters. He told me that if I didn’t want to see my mother and my husband killed I must make a trip as nis messenger. He had told us before of his Sturgis. what was left of the hundred and twenty-five dollars in gold Cal y Mayor had given me. MAGAZINE, fnendship with the bandit Emiliano Zapata, with whom he had campaigned in Morales. I was to take messages from him to Zapata, he said. “ You've got enough men here. Why don’t you send one of them ? ” I asked him. “ They're all thick-headed peons or Indians I can’t trust,” he replied. ‘‘ I know you'll go, to save your husband and mether. And if you come back with any soldiers or Gringocs to rescue them, I'll kifl them before we retreat.” What could I do but obey him ? He gave me one hundred and twenty-five dollags in gold for expenses, and he had his messages to Zapata sewed in between the soles of a pair of rough shoes his men had made of raw hide from some of our own slaughtered cattle. Then he told me that if I did not return within two months he would kill Dr. Sturgis and my mother, anyway. He gave me an Indian woman, Clotilde Lopez, the " wife ” of one of his captains, as a companion. “ She'll go with yon and help you if you need help,” he said. ‘ But chiefly she’ll keep an eye on vou. She doesn’t know enough to go herself, but she knows enough to kill you if you try to get away or play any tricks on me.” That night the Lopez woman and I rode to Depolan, eight leagues away. That’s about eighteen miles. Six bandits rode with us. Next morning we ail got into a big canoe and started down the Nauchatal river to El Savo, a httle Mexican settlement close by a big Amencan jinca—the Esperanza Plantation. Then we travelled for a day and a night to Minitlan, an oil port of the Anglo-Mexican Oil Company. There I met Frank Cheney and Hugh Lynch, two of the employés. I told them my whole story, but they could do nothing but help me on my way. It meant death to Dr. Sturgis and my mother if anyone went back to attempt to rescue them. So they lent me a gasolene launch, in which we went to Puerto Mexico. At Puerto Mexico we got the National Line steamship Tehuantepec to Vera Cruz. At Vera Cruz I called at the office of the American consul, Mr. Stewart, and told him my story. He has y been transferred” to El Paso since y then, and Mr. Paul Foster succeeded him at Vera Cruz. Then we took the train to the City of Mexico, paving my fare out of Here I went straight to the American Em- bassy, with Clotilde Lopez sticking close by me. I told my story to the Chargé d’Affaires, Mr. Summerland, and to Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Campbell, the military attaché. It was a good thing Clotilde Lopez understood only Spanish. She would probably have used

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A WOMAN’S ORDEAL, 467 * He fell to the ground and the horse galloped off.” her knife had she known what I was telling the officials. They promised to help me without sending troops—which would have been fatal—and then I went to the place in Mexico City I had been told to visit to find the Zapata agent. I left word there, and that night the Zapatista called at our lodgings and took the shoes with the message to bis chief. There was no answer trom Zapata. So, when the two months were nearly up, I started back, Clotilde stilt sticking to me like a leech. We Treached Cal y Mayor's camp inside the time limit, travelling the same way we had come. He was unusually good-humoured that day, and told me of a visit some Carranzista agents had paid him. “Aren’t you afraid to do business with Carranzistas?" I asked him. “In Mexico City the papers said that he was going to send an expedition against you.” He laughed. “ I’ve got my friends among them,” he said. And it certainly looked as if he had. On October 1st, 1918, the expedition of Carranzistas duly arrived. There were six hundred of them, all heavily armed. They came to the camp where: we were held prisoners, and they all fraternized—bandits and Govern- ment troops and officers, holding a debauch in which they were all drunk on pulque and mescal for the better part ot three days. Then the Carranzistas marched back to the City of Mexico. They left behind them fifty rifles and three thousand rounds of ammunition, and took with them a hundred and twenty horses in exchange. It had apparently been all preaarranged. Cal y Mayor laughed as they rode away. “ They're going back to give in a report of fighting a pitched battle with me, and killing most of my men and driving the few survivors in retreat into the hills,” he said. “It’s a fine report; I belped to write it myself! ’’ I saw that episode with my own eyes. I saw them ride in and ride away. I saw the rifles and ammunition left and the horses driven off. Some of them were animals from our own plantation. Nothing new happened for several weeks after that. Then there came to our camp a Mexican named Rodrigues Ferrerro, who was attached to the American Embassy at the City of Mexico, and who was a propagandista for both Americans and British. He told us that he had come about our case, and he gave some sort of message to Cal y Mayor. I never knew whether that message was from Carranza or the American or British Embassy, but for some six weeks after the visit, when Ferrerro had left, Cal y Mayor redoubled his insults and his indignities. And then he suddenly set us free |

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468 By this time Dr. Sturgis was so weak that his legs were partly paralyzed and he was unable to walk. So they put him on a bareback horse —one of our old plantation horses, by the way— and told me to lead him back to La Blanca, our plantation. They gave me a machete to cut away the underbrush on the trail, but refused me a horse. I was nearly heartbroken at mother’s death, which occurred on November 13th, 1918. But J was determined that we would get out and tell our story. It seemed all I had to live for— that and saving my husband. They sent the same woman spv, Clotilde T.opez, to follow us along the trail. Dr. Sturgis’s horse was without saddle or bridle, but I fixed up a head-stall with a forest creeper. Time alter time my husband wovld fall off, he was so weak. We were about half-way home when le fell to the ground and the horse galloped off. It was then that Clotilde left us and returned to the bandit camp. I think they never intended us to get out alive, and she probably reported that we were lost and horseless and could never get out. I’m sure it was only my machete that kept her from using her kmfe on us. After she left we started hobbling along slowly. and within a quarter of a miie we found the horse quietly grazing. It let me come up to it and get hold of the head-stall. How we got back to Ia Blanca I don't know even now. It’s just a nightmare of chopping underbrush with that machete, and of putting Dr. Sturgis back on the horse more times than Tcan count. But we got there at last—to find that the plantation had been stripped bare. Some of our old workers were still living in their huts, and they looked after us until Dr. Sturgis was a little better. They told us that Captain Jose Oropesa, of the Carranzista army, had looted La Blanca after the raid by Cal y Mayor. He had rounded up the two hundred and seventy-five head of cattle that were left, and the three hundred sacks of coffee we had gathered. He took them into the town of Tuxtta, a town near Copainola. his headquarters, and there sold them. We went to the Governor of Chiapas and asked about this. He laughed at us, and said that of course it was true. Did we Gringoes, who were reported dead, think that anvone was going to Ict coffee and cattle go to waste ? We told him that since they had stripped us bare, they ought to give us enough moncy to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, leave the country. While we were talking with the Carranzista Governor, Captain Oropesa himself came in. They both laughed at us. “How can we give you money, when we haven't got enough to pay our own officials or our own troops ? ” asked the Governor. “ And why should we waste any money on you, anyway, when we're going to drive every dirty Gringo out of Mexico?” asked Captain Orcpesa. So we started out for Tuxtla on foot. We were penniless and in rags. The telegraph line from Tuxtla to Salina Cruz was open, and the operator at Tuxtla was a Mexican Dr. Sturgis had treated for his teeth the vear before, when he was suffering keenly. That operator sent our message through to the American consul at Salina Cruz. And that’s how we got enough money to get away. The American consul telegraphed the jefe politico the necessary funds for our journey. We travelled for six days by ox-cart from Tuxtla to Jalisco. There we got the railroad to Puerto Mexico, and thence took passage by boat to Vera Cruz, where we boarded the tramp steamer Harald to New Orleans. And that’s all our story. Dr. Sturgis put twenty years of his life and a hundred thousand dollars of his money into Mexico. We are lucky to get out of the country with our lives. My mother went there fer her health. She’s buried there—starved todeath. Dr. Sturgis’s health is broken as long as he lives, and I’m not feeling any too well mysclf. You can't live on un- salted tortillas and water and a handful of frijoles (beans} now and then for cight months, with the fear of death constantly hanging over you, and not show the marks of it—not to mention insults that simply can’t be put into words by a white woman. Meanwhile, on La Blanca plantation, near the town of Copainola. in the State of Chiapas, one hundred and twenty-five thousand coffee trees are in bearing, with nobody to gather the crop. And near the settlement of Depolan, in Chiapas, wrapped in crude straw matting, rests the body of the daughter of an American gentleman, late an officer in the Lost Cause— starved to death by the pleasure of ‘‘ General” Rafael Cal y Mayor, some time law student and caballero in the City of Mexico. Vira litertad!

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In articles, specially written for “The Wide World Magazine,” Mr. Philby gives a thrilling account of his travels in Central Arabia among the Wabhabi Arabs, perhaps the most fanatical and puritanical people in the world. The Author is the only living Englishman who has crossed Il. [T was my good for- tune to arrive at Riyadh, the Wah- habi capital, at noon on a Friday, the very hour and day when a stranger without their gates has the best opportunity of realizing how seriously the Wah- habis take the duties imposed on them by their religion. At that hour on Fridays all the gates of this great walled city of clay are closed, and the whole male population above the age of eight Tepairs solemnly to the great Mosque near the palace to take part in the weekly public prayer. Proctors stand at the Mosque doors noting the names of those who enter, and woe be to those whose names are not on the list, for the same gentlemen later seek them in their houses and punish them with stripes in the name of God for their remissness. The gates being closed against us, we had no alternative but to dis- mount and rest in the welcome shade of a neighbouring palm grove until the door- keepers had finished their devotions and could open the gates. We then streamed into the city and, reaching the entrance of the lofty palace in its centre, couched our camels before it. After the public prayer Ibn Saud sits in audience in the palace, which was thronged with callers, making a goodly but somewhat austere ) AMONG THE |) s WAHHABI a j HSB Philby } GE Ics Arabia, and about one-third of his journey—made in Arab costume to avoid arousing the suspicions of the Bedouin —was over entirely unknown country. For this reason his narrative and the ac- companying photographs will be found of exceptional interest. show. Everyone was in his best attire, but it was not difficult even for a newcomer to distinguish be- tween the needy Bedouin of the desert and the citizens of the capital, or between these and the more immediate entourage of the ruler, whose gold sword-hilts and coloured robes added a touch of colour to the prevailing monotony of blacks and whites and browns, jostling together amid a clamour of voices which was stilled into an expectant hush by our arrival. The chamberlain met us at the door and conducted us through the crowds and up a flight of stairs lined on each side by slaves and myrmidons armed with daggers and swords. Thus we reached the door of the audience chamber, a fair-sized room furnished with naught but a carpet, cushioned benches along the walls, and a table in one corner, and provided with windows looking out into the'palace square and the market below. Shuffling off our sandals, A palm grove at Riyadh. The city is completely janeunded with palm Groves, except on the north side,

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472 THE WIDE we entered, to find ourselves in the presence of the ruler of the land and of the only person in his dominions who takes precedence of him according to the courtly etiquette of Arabia— his father, Abdul Rahman. We were in luck, for Abdul Rahman, now an old man according to the standards of his country, seldom leaves his own residence except to attend the Friday prayer, and always pays his noble son a formal visit on his return homeward from the Mosque. It was a little embarrassing for us at first to find ourselves received by and obliged to address ourselves to Ibn Saud’s father rather than Ibn Saud himself, who seated himself unostenta- tiously enough at some distance from us and took no part in the conversation until his father had gone; but we soon realized that in his father’s Outsiue tne great wallea city of Riyash. presence the chief we had come to visit preferred to efiace himself, even as he would expect his sons to do in his own. While on this subject I may note that so far is this respect due from son to father insisted on that a man will not wittingly enter a room situated directly above that in which his father is Our first audience of the Wahhabi ruler was not lengthy, and when we had exchanged the formal compliments customary on such occasions and had imbibed a round or two of the excellent coffee without which no Arab ceremony is complete, we withdrew to the apartments provided for us within the precincts of the palace itself, and were thus, I believe, the first Europeans to enjoy the honour of residing in the palace of the monarch of one of the most exclusive peoples :n the world. Our apartments consisted of a suite generally reserved for one of the ruler's wives, but vacant WORLD MAGAZINE. for the time being owing to the divorce of the last occupant. They were simple enough, con- sisting of one large and very barely furnished reception-room connected by a door with the female slaves’ quarters, two smaller rooms adjoining it on either side, and a bathroom. A few chairs had been put into the rooms for our benefit, but otherwise there was no furniture but a carpet and a few cushions, and we both slept and took our meals on the floor, a large circular mat being spread over the carpet for the latter purpose. We had been preceded to Riyadh by another British officer, Lieutenant-Colonel R. E. A. Hamilton, Political Agent of Kuwait, who had come by another route; there were thus four of us in all, but within a week we had parted company, and so far as the rest of my story is concerned I was alone in Arabia, and my sojourn, broken by a short visit to Egypt, lasted till October, 1918. During that period I had an un- paralleled opportunity of wandering over the length and breadth of the territories of Wahhabi- land, and much of the ground I was able to cover had never before been trod by Western foot. I had arrived at the centre of Into the Desert Arabia from the east coast Unknown. by a route already sufficiently well known, and I was fired with the ambition of continuing my journey westward in the direction of Mecca and the Red Sea over a mysterious country which our geographers had hitherto left blank or decorated with fancy names. I was fortunate enough to find an early opportunity of satisfying my craving, and on the tenth day after our arrival at Riyadh I found myself, accompanied by an escort of five-and- Diatized by GOO ee, a

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ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA IN DISGUISE. 47 N The pains of the ruler of Central Arabia, where the Author stayed as a guest. twenty camel-riders, heading for the unknown west. The first station on our route was the old Wahhabi capital of Daraiyya, of which I have already given a sufficient account. The valley of Wadi Hanifa, in which it stands, is both from the geographical and historical point of view the main artery, as it were, of Central Arabia, for the remains of ancient cities and villages dot its tugged course through the heart of a mighty plateau barrier called Tuwaiq, which runs down the central line of the Arabian peninsula from north to south and which is peopled by a highland folk, who are at the same time the backbone of the military power of the Wahhabi State and may be numbered among the dourest and most fanatical sections of humanity. A photograph on the next page shows the remains of Jubaila, once an important settlement and the scene of one of the decisive battles of Mohammedan history, for it was here that, soon after the death of Mohammed, his cause was challenged by one who has ever since becn known as the “ Liar.” The fight ended in favour of the Moslems, but many of the Companions of the Prophet, to whom the chapters of the Koran had A troup-of notables, ‘The four marked with a cross is Ibe Saud hinnelf, To the right ste three of his sons, the alles ios Faisal, hae recently England, who been om a mission to aii ay Google

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472 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, been handed down orally, were killed, and it was recognized by the survivors that if immediate steps were not taken to commit the text of the sacred book to writing there was imminent danger of the extinction of the religion which was based on it. Close by Jubaila they show to this day in the bank of the vall-y a cemetery, much eroded by the action of the hill torrents which occasionally race down the valley, and known as the ‘‘ Graves of the Companions The plateau of Tuwaiq constitutes a strong barrier against aggression from the west, on which side it presents a continuous escarp:nent of rocky precipices descending sheer for some six hundred feet from the summit of the plateau to the plain beyond. The next photograph shows the Saqta gorge, by which we descended from the plateau on our journey across Arabia ; needless to say, we dismounted to let our camels find their way down as best they might. If local reports may be believed, it is seldom that the descent of this particular ravine is acco:n- plished without the loss of an animal or two, though we were fortunate enough to get down unscathed. The road or rather path, descends the cliff side by a precipitous zigzag, inter Tupted at in tervals by fallen boulders or débris,and never more than a few feet broad, with a sheer cliff on one side. Look- ing back up the path after we had safely reached the bottom I could see nothing but a frowning semi circle of rock bastions, con stituting a great natural and im- pregnable fort and showing no signs of any road up its pre cipitous flanks The valley of Wadi Hanifa runs through this mountain barrier ina southerly direc 3 \ ruined mosque at Jubaila, where one of the decisive battles of tion for about a Islam was fought. hundred miles and, few though the settlements in it are at the present time, the people tell of a period The Saqta gorge, by which the toed to the west descends pre- cipitously from the summit of the plateau, when the villages were so thickly dotted about the valley that the news of the birth of a son to a nobleman at the upper end was known at the lower end the same day by proclamation from house - top to house- top down the valley. At the present time we find here and there faint signs of former habita- tions and groups of ruins which bear out the local legend. But Arabia has fallen upon evil days, and the pious denizens of the deserts declare that the desolation of the present time was due to a visita- tion of plague and locusts sent by God to scourge the land by way of punish- ment for the pride and obstinacy of its people. At the southern end of the valley, whose progress towards the Persian Gulf is blocked bya Pe een, >.

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broad barrier of sand, lies a district, once fertile and still re taining some signs of its former prosperity, called Kharj. Here on the occasion of my visit on a subsequent eceasion I found cer tain groups of ruins, which appeared to date back tomediaval times, when the coun. try was under the domination of a Per sian colony. The photograph repro duced below shows the nature -of the tuins, but it would be difficult to say vith certainty whether they mark the site of a town ora cemetery. Close by are the re- mains of an import- ant irrigation system, which almost cer- tainly points to a Persian origin, but, Persian or not, the main point of interest about it is that it depends on a group of three great reser- voirs or pools be- lieved to be bottomless, one of which is shown ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA IN DISGUISE. One of the mysterious “bottomless pits” described by the Author. in the above photograph test the correctness of the assertion made by my guides, but there was certainly something very The remains of an ancient sett! I had no time to Sees lement—probably Persian—in the district of Khari. 473 mysterious about the dark, clear water of these great pits. I found a A Mys- similar phe- terious nomenon to Lake. exist in a district still farther south, called the Aflaj, and on an even greater scale, for there I found no fewer than seven “ bottomless "pools of varying size, which I was certainly the first. European to view, and among which was numbered a fair-sized lake—the largest sheet of water known to exist in all the length and breadth of Arabia. The photograph on the next page shows the ‘ Mother of the Mountain,” as the lake is called. It is about three-quarters of a mile in length by a quarter of a mile broad, and was in its day the centre of a mighty king- dom, for it was in its neighbourhood, according to local legend, that there stood the palace and capital of Ad Ibn Shaddad, one of the greatest of Arabian kings. In his time, some centuries before the birth or

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474. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Christ, the whole land was a veritable paradise - af fertility, but he would not be satisfied with anything less than the equivalent of the heavenly Paradise, and his ambition not only cost him his life but reduced Arabia to its present desolate state. He built himself a new capital many days south of the Affaj district, and in his palace he gathered together a stable of two thoysand peerless steeds, a bodyguard of two thousand warriors, and a harem of two thousand maidens, the fairest in the world. But he forgot his Creator, who visited him with a dread visitation of the scorching west wind, which, blowing for seven days without respite, overwhelmed the king and all his glory with waves of blazing sand, which to this day covers an area of nearly half a million square miles, and is known from its utter desolation as the Empty Quarter ’—the orrain. I was told that the Bedouins often find bits of sculpture, and that somewhere in the sands there is a complete bronze statue of a camel. Ghosts, too, are said to frequent the sites of the ancient settlements, among whose sand-billows the wind moans eerily, striking the hearts of the simple shepherd folk chill with fear. Of living things the oryx and the ostrich share with lizard and vole the heritage of a dynasty long extinct : far from the haunts of man they roam in tracts where they never taste water. __ It must be a wonderful country, The that great sand desert beyond the “Living ken of man; but of all its wonders Stones.” the most marvellous must be the ing stones, "’ for whose existence elf with quoting without re- I content mys sponsibility the evidence of my Arab frends “The Mother of the Mountain,” the largest sheet of water in Arabia. great sand desert of Southern Arabia, which has never been traversed by a European and has not often been crossed, even by the hardy Bedouins who live on its outskirts. There was a man among my companions on this journey to the south who Joved to entertain me with stories of the wonders of the great wilderness in which his tribe ekes out a precarious existence. The vast expanse of rolling sand is utterly water- less except for a number of briny wells, where the Bedouins water their camels; they them- selves exist solely on camel's milk, as the water is unfit for human consumption. For months on end they live a cheerless pastoral life. In tormer times there were great cities in those parts, but the Divine wrath has long covered them over with sar from which at times relics of a great civilization of past ages are unearthed by wind These stones, they say, are endowed with the power of locomotion and are tracked by those who scek them just as they would track a stray camel. On one occasion, however, the governor of Hasa sent for some specimens of these walking wonders and invited a large assembly to view their first public exhibition, at which, to the discomfiture of those who had brought them, the stones obstinately refused to budge. Possibly the stones are of the flexible sandstone known in various parts of India near Agra, or possibly the motion which is ascribed to them is rather the movement of the sand on which they lie. The mention of tracking opens up Wonderful a very interesting field for the - Trackers. observation of faculties still pos- sessed in greater or less degree by primitive peoples not spoiled by the advance of

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ACROSS UNKNOWN ARABIA IN DISGUISE. 475 AES ereeenelbteans eS Saeer BALL ae er pea Sie The village civilization, but perhaps possessed by the Arabs of the southern sands to a degree not attained by any others. Some of the stories told of this aspect of their life are scarcely credible, yet I have no doubt that for the most part they are true. Wherever he journeys the Arab goes with his life in his hands, and his eyes glued either t> the far horizon of an endless plain or to the ground—to the former that he may see from afar off an approaching foe, and to the latter that he may know who has preceded him, when he passed, and whither he has gone. ‘ Look!” they would say, “ there goes a raiding gang, nine riders on six camels, leading a couple of horses, and they passed by yesterday at dawn.” So spoke the tracks on the desert’s face, and The town and oasis of Laila, cap:tal of the Aflaj province. of Tamra. tracks cannot lie. Again, crossing the track of a solitary camel, they would immediately know that it was the animal of a grass-cutter and they could tell whether it was loaded or not when it passed. But the science of tracking is far more advanced than that; they can even tell the colour of a camel from its tracks, for particular colours are confined to particular breeds, and every species has a tread of its own. Even so, we are not at the end of our education, for the expert Arab can by their tracks distinguish between maid and woman, married man and bachelor, and many are the anecdotes they tell of the skill which has been attained by their experts. No part of my wanderings in Arabia was of

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476 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. more interest to me than a journey I made in the summer of 1918 to the southern limits of the Wabhabi territories. For the most part I traversed ground never before visited by a European, and at every step it was borne in upon me that the people of those parts had not only mever seen a European before, but had the strangest and most alarming ideas about the peoples of the West. For instance, when we drew near to Laila, the capital of the Aflaj province, which is shown in the preceding photograph and is situated not far distant from the great lake of the ‘‘ Mother of the Mountain,” two women who had come out to gather grass for their cattle showed evident signs of alarm. The news of my coming had, of course, been sent on to the governor of the province and had become generally known to the people, and these women, at first sight of our party, dropped their bundles of grass and made off with all speed towards the oasis. As it was inadvisable to let them reach their goal in circumstances which might have produced alarm in the town, I sent one of our party galloping off to stop them. When they found their retreat cut off, they fell on their knees, weeping pitcously and imploring mercy. They were doubtless as much surprised as relieved when they saw our cavalcade troop by without further notice of them than a friendly greeting, for, as I afterwards heard, they were persuaded that the English ‘were much addicted to cannibalism and woman- stealing. Religious exclusiveness and fanaticism, to say nothing of the grossest ignorance of the ways of the world, are of course mainly responsible for the attitude of the denizens of the desert to outsiders, and my own experience showed that hostility towards foreigners became more apparent in proportion as we progressed towards the south. The most southerly district I reached was the province of Wadi Dawasir, which con- sists of a number of scattered oases and villages situated at intervals down a broad shallow valley of the same name, which in ancient times must have been one of the greatest drainage channels of Southern Arabia, though it is only at rare intervals now that the valley reassumes its ancient river character. In the year preceding my visit an unprecedented flood had swept down the valley from the western mountains with dire results. The arrival of the first slender trickle of the flood was treated as a joke by the in- habitants of the oasis, who had never seen running water in those parts before. The occurrence was reported to the governor, who was sitting in his parlour with his guests, and who called for a cotfee-cup with which to drink up the torrent. In a few hours, however, the valley was the scene of a roaring swirling flood, whose casualties were reckoned at a hundred and fifty human beings and thousands of sheep and cattle, which were caught napping in the upper reaches of the valley. In former times this great river carved a way for itself through the plateau barrier of Tuwaiq, and the photograph reproduced at the top of the previous page shows a typical’ village of the province situated in the gap of the plateau. (To be continued.) WHERE DONKEYS CARRY THE MAILS. THE photograph here repro- duced will be found of peculiar interest in these up-to-date days, when mails are being carried by swift motors and even aeroplanes. Our picture shows the method still in use at the delightful little seaside resort of Clovelly, North Devon, for delivering letters. The mails are carried on donkeys from Bucks Cross, about a mile and a half distant. The reason for the survival of this quaint method of transport. is the extremely steep and rough descent through the village, which consists mostly of a suc- cession of steps about six feet apart. Wheeled vehicles do not excel at step-climbing, and so the clever little donkey comes into his own,

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£Z2xXx. OS HUNTING “HAE ADDO. O ELEPHANTS _ R. M. CUTHBERTSON, Editor of the Uitenhage Times, Uitenhage, Cape Colony. DN An article which will arouse much interest, both among big-game hunters and lovers of wild life, for the decree of extermination issued against the big herd of elephants living in the Addo Bush of Cape Colony caused a heated controversy, and numerous letters and articles protesting against the slaughter appeared in the newspapers, The Author spent some time with Major Pretorius, the famous hunter, who has been entrusted with the killing of the outlaws, and gives one a vivid idea of the difficulties of this unique campaign. It is interesting to know that it is now proposed to preserve some of the elephants in their native haunts. Op iE clephants which haveinhabited the Addo Bush of CapeColony for genera- H tions are now in course of extermina- tion. Ever since farming operations commenced in that vicinity the elephants have done untold damage to property and have taken a heavy toll of human life, and latterly the trouble has become intoler- able. The Addo district is situated some forty miles from the city of Port Elizabeth and about the same distance from the town of Uitenhage, Cape Colony. For years a desire has been ex- pressed either to have the elephants enclosed in a portion of the bush or to have them extermi- nated altogether. In dry seasons they wander far afield in search of water, and it is not an un- common thing for a farmer to find his fences, crops, and orchards trampled beyond recognition, and the precious water in his dam, which he has been relying on to keep his stock alive, com- pletely consumed. There have been several dry seasons lately, and the Addo farmers suffered so severely that strong pressure was brought to bear on the Provincial Government some twelve months ago to have the pest eradicated. About that time I was fortunate in meeting a man who has few, if any, equals in Africa as a big-game hunter. Although the last man to seck notoriety, Major P. J. Pretorius had come some- what into the limelight by his exploits in the German East Africa campaign. In the early part of the war he was attached to the Navy, and was instrumental in locating the German cruiser Koenigsberg. Afterwards he joined the Army as a private, and at the end of the cam- Ppaign had been promoted to the rank of major, as well as having gained the C.M.G. and D.S.O. -with bar). I managed to run him to earth on his farm away up in the Transvaal, and after an hour’s chat with him was convinced that he was the man to tackle the Addo elephant problem. I am not writing the life of Major Pretorius, but I will just say here that he is a Transvaal Dutchman by birth, but has spent nearly his whole life in the wilds of Central and Northern Africa. He is a tall, spare man, of quiet manner and few words, but one whose nerves are of steel and who does not know the meaning of the word fear. I published my inter- view with him and suggested his being con- sulted with reference #0 the Addo elephants. The result was that the Administrator sent for him and asked him to undertake the work, After inspecting the locality, he entered into a contract with the Administration to kill the adult members of the herd, but reserved the right of capturing the younger ones. Several other big- game hunters had been offered the job, but declined it instantly. F. C. Selous bluntly de- scribed the man who would take it on as a “ suicidal ass,”’ and H. K. Eustace, after a stay of a few weeks in the locality, declined to have anything further to do with the matter. It remained for Major Pretorius to undertake the extermination of the elephants, and this he did with the quict confidence characteristic of the man. He started operations some four months ago, and already some twenty-one elephants have fallen to his rifle and two have been captured alive. A short time ago I snatched a few days’ holi- day. These were spent with my wife, son, and daughter-in-law at Major Pretorius’s camp, or rather camps, for we visited the main and the advance camp before our return. We were

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478 extremely fortunate in our visit, inasmuch as we were on the spot when the major scored his record bag for one day. Before describing our trip I might here 1emark that there has been a good deal of adverse criticism in the English Press with regard to the decision to exterminate the herd, and I cannot help thinking many of the writers are utterly ignorant of their subject. For instance, one correspondent suggested driving the elephants by means of fires down to the Sundays River, where a number of lighters could be in waiting to receive them. This is quite impracticable, as it would take hundreds of square miles.of fires to reach the herd, and the only way it would be possible to get lighters up the Sundays River would be by mounting them on wheels and dragging them up by means of oxen! For many months past one could walk across the Sundays River dryslod at practically any spot, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. their pleasure on hearing the decision we had arrived at. They have a wholesome dread of the elephants, and there is a certain spot on the road, crossed by an elephant track, that they are always glad to leave behind. The next morning they showed us the spoor of a troop of elephants that had recently passed that way, and, of course, insisted that, had we taken the road the previous night, we would have run into the herd. As the distance from Addo to the camp is only ten miles, the journey does not seem a formidable task, but to those who know African roads and African bush it appears no light undertaking. The road was in an abomin- able condition, huge ruts and high banks being met with at every turn, and the wagonette jolted and bumped over them in a most uncomfortable fashion. Another drawback was that the jour- ney was uphill all the way. The hills were not stcep, but a te Bradual rise made the work very unless very hard for the heavy rains horses. It took are experi- us nearly two enced this hours and a state of affairs half to cover will continue. the ten miles, Anotherwriter and wereached suggested the camp rounding the about midday. animals up All along the with whippet road there was tanks. Again evidence of I have the the destruc- advantage of tion wrought this gentle- by the ele- man, for Ihave phants, many seen whippet miles of fenc- tanks in ac- ing being up- tion, and I rooted and have also been laid flat on in the heart : the ground. of the bush The dogs and their attendants, On arrival where two » we were most dead elephants lay; the victims of Major hospitably received by Major and Mrs. Pretorius, Pretorius’s rifle, and -I defy- the best tank and were soon comfortably housed (or rather crew in the British Army to.reach that spot from the camp with their tank in a week, and meanwhile the elephants would be fifty miles away. There isa great deal to be said from botha scientific and sentimental point of view in favour of preserving a portion of the herd, but it is im- possible to confine them in a given Bpace, except at an expense far beyond the means of the Provincial Government ; and even if this diffi- culty could be overcome, the absence of water in the bush makes the suggestion quite im- practicable. But to return to my story. We left Uitenhage about 2 p.m. on Wednesday afternoon, and after a three hours’ train journey reached Addo, a small township on the main line and the nearest station to Major Pretorius’s camp, about 5 p.m. A wagonette and four horses met us from tke camy:, but ac the horses had done a heavy day’s work and the road was reported to be very bad, we resolved to stay the night at the hotel and start for camp next morning. The native driver and his assistant expressed tented) in our new quarters. The camp is very commodious and comfort- able, and consists of a large mess-tent, which ‘is furnished as a dining and sitting-room, while the sleeping accommodation. consists of bell tents supplied with the latest pattern in camp beds. A galvanized iron kitchen stands near the mess- tent, fitted’ with a cooking stove. The servants’ tents, where the native and coloured servants, numbering about thirty, are quartered, are some distance away. ~ A wire netting enclosure about two hundred yards from the camp contains the hides and skeletons of the elephants which have already fallen to the major’s rifle. These are in course of preparation for different museums. The major has introduced dogs to assist him in his hunting. If I am not mistaken, he is the first man to realize the advantage of a pack of good dogs when rounding up elephants in the thick bush. The dogs require no particular training provided they have the necessary pluck, and the modus operandi adopted is to keep them behind

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HUNTING THE ADDO ELEPHANTS. Until the first shot is fired, when they are all Teleased and rush in among the herd of frightened and infuriated animals. The elephants attempt to shake off the dogs, with the result that they do not at once bolt through the bush, but remain about the spot endeavouring to crush their agile assailants. On several occasions this manc@uvre has enabled Major Pretorius to in- crease his bag. The dogs are all well bred and con- sist of members of the wolfhound, Airedale, and Irish terrier breeds. The wolfhounds are splendid speci- mens of their kind, while both the Airedales and Irish terriers are as full of pluck as their 479 About 2 p.m. everything was in readiness, and the cavalcade, consisting of an ox-wagon, the wagonette—which was drawn by four oxen and occupied by several memters of the party—and Major and Mrs. Pretorius, with the rest of their guests on horseback, moved off. The native servants travelled on foot and the dogs accompanied them, being kept on the chain. After travelling a mile or two we struck a good road, and, as the day was cool, we had a most pleasant trip through un- dulating country. There was little or no game to be seen, but monkeys were plentiful and were frequently ue — to be noticed Master. The Thursday afternoon was occupied by a ride through a portion of fairly open country to a spot where a view of the bush stretching for miles into the distance could be obtained. One had only to look at this—a portion of the vast country where the elephants make their home— to realize the stupendous nature of Major Pretorius’s task, as well as the futility of such suggestions as fires, whippet tanks, and lighters. There is only one way to exterminate the Addo elephants, and that is to follow them to the death. On Friday Major Pretorius was detained in camp on business, and Saturday morning was occupied in load- : ing up an ox- wagon with tents, camp equipment, provisions, etc., for our trek to Kinkel bosch. This impedi- menta included camp tables, stools, and beds which fold into the smallest pos- sible compass,and are easily packed for transport. The beds are wonder- fully complete, and havea canvas over them, with an opening at each side to admit the occupant. They do away with the necessity for tents, even in wet weather, and, although a tent was available, I preferred sleeping in the open air, and can safely say I never slept more soundly or more comfortably in all my iite. Loading up the wagons prior to trekking to Kiakelbosch. Ready to start. Major Pretorius is seen on the leit of the group, next to canopy of strong the Auth playing in the bushes. About 6 p.m. we arrived at “ Orlando,” a farm owned by Mr. Bean,.prettily situated on a slope and commanding a fine view of the surrounding hills. We were hospitably received by Mr. and Mrs. Bean, and, after enjoying a much-needed cup of tea, the oxen were outspanned and arrangements made to camp for the night. Next morning we were up by daylight, and by seven o’clock everything was in readiness and a start made. It was arranged that we should trek for about a couple of hours and then halt for breakfast. The morning was beauti- fully clear, with just sufficient nip in the air to make it pleasant, and I thoroughly enjoyed the ride. We reached our camping ground about 3 p.m. The wagon was soon off- loaded and the tents pitched; meanwhile the cook boy pre- pared an ample lunch, to which full justice was done. The tables were set out under the trees, and everyone en- joyed the meal after the trek through the fresh air. The camp is situated about two miles from Kinkelbosch station, and a number of farmhouses can be seen dotted over the landscape. One of the chief drawback: is the absence of water. At Addo it had to be carted three miles and was quite brackish, but at Kinkel bosch there uchor.

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480 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, was a better supply. The farmers go in for underground tanks, and we were fortunate in securing a supply of good water from one of them. The party were early to bed on Sunday evening, as the major intended leaving camp at dawn in search of the elephants. At daylight on Monday morning the camp was astir—at least, that portion of it occupied by Major Pretorius and the native contingent. As for the rest of us, the major had refused all and sundry permission to accompany him, and there was nothing for it but to turn around and go to sleep again. His reason for refusing an inex- perienced person permission to accompany him is that the noise made by the clephants trumpet- ing and dashing through the bush is so disccn- certing that the majority of people lose their nerve and run for it. Should an elephant detect a man running away, the result is generally fatal to the runner. The hunting party, which included Major Pretorius, eight gun-bearers and dog attendants, and, of course, the dogs, moved off towards the bush and were soon out of hearing. We turned out about eight o’clock, and just as we were strolling breakfastward we heard four shots in quick succession, and Mrs. Pretorius prophesied that the elephants were making her husband’s acquaintance. About an hour and a half later the reports of four more shots reached the camp, and it afterwards transpired that these accounted for two elephants killed and one severely wounded, the dead body of which has been located since. About twelve o’clock someone called out that the major was coming. The whole party made a dash to the edge of the clearing, where Major Pretorius and his party could be scen walking across the veldt. Someone with sharper eyes than the rest detected a baby elephant following close behind the major. Everyone who pos- sessed a camera made a rush for it, and we all trooped across to meet the party. Major Pretorius, on being accosted, expressed a strong desire for a drink, and remarked casually that he had killed three elephants and left a fourth A corner of the Kinkelbosch camp, Major Pretorius returning ie camp with the captured calf, for dead while he pursued the calf. The last- mentioned elephant, however, recovered suf- ficiently to escape into the bush. It appears that shortly after entering the bush the elephants were located standing in an open space. The major did his best to stalk them, but they “ got his wind " before he reached them, and quietly slipped into the dense bush. He ultimately rcached their position and got close up to one of them. The bush was so thick that he was unable to say, at first, whether he was looking at the beast’s head or rump, although only a few yards separated him from the elephant. After watching for some time he detected the elephant’s eye, and at once fired a shot. It took three more bullets to finish the beast off, and by this time the rest of the herd had decamped. The major then collected the boys and, lcaving a couple of them in charge of the dead elephant, continued to follow up the spoor, and in about an hour’s time came upon the herd again. On this occasion he got right in among them, and dropped one at six paces with a single shot, while the others fell after receiving two wounds each, the last animal falling literally on the top of the first beast killed. This one after- wards recovered sufficiently to move some distance away, where it died. The dogs had kept the cle- phants busy, but by the time the third elephant fell the herd

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HUNTING THE ADDO ELEPHANTS. One of the dead elepbants lying where it was shot. had broken away. The pace was too fast for the calf, however, and one of the boys found it floundering in the scrub. With considerable difficulty the little chap was secured and, after being handled for a few minutes, was released. It showed no fear of its captors, and followed closely behind them through the thick bush and across the veldt to the camp. While we re- mained there it had the free use of the camp, and used to wander about poking its trunk into the beds and tents and investigating generally. The first few nights it made a great deal of noise, and disturbed our slumber by squealing like a pig in distress, but this was found to be due to its keeper trying to force it to go where he wanted it. When left to his own devices, the baby gave no trouble. It soon learnt to drink milk from a bottle, and when ‘we left the camp it was in the pink of condition and perfectly at home. After lunch and an hour’s rest the major started back to the scene of the morning’s shooting, and several of us accompanied him. On the way we were joined by an armed commando composed of sur- rounding farmers. The news had spread, and they were anxious to see what was to be seen. They were all mounted, and everyone carried a fire- 481 One elderly gentleman was the happy possessor of a Snider rifle—a weapon which was declared obsolete in the British Army forty years ago— while a small boy brought up the rear with a modern shot-gun. The ride through the bush was anything but a pleasant experience. The track was a narrow elephant path, overhung with thorn trees, which took heavy toll of one’s clothing. It was neces- sary at frequent intervals to lie flat on one’s horse’s neck to avoid branches overhead. It was also very important to keep in close touch with the man in front, as nothing is easier than to get lost in bush of this nature. And here I might remark on the almost uncanny sense of direction and locality possessed by Major Pretorius. Without any difficulty he will go straight to a given spot in the bush by the shortest route, and never seems to falter or hesitate on the way. An hour's ride brought the party to the spot where the elephants had been killed. They were lying ten yards apart in dense bush, which had to be cleared away with axes before the skinning operations commenced. I made a careful examination of the surround ing bush, and found it flattened down in places, as if it had been cleared by a gang of Kaffirs. This was caused by the herd—some thirty in number—charging through the bush. One of the elephants had fallen within six paces of where Major Pretorius was standing when he shot it, and the other a few yards farther away. The process of skinning is a lengthy one, after which the meat is cut up into biltong and the skeleton removed to the camp. This latter operation entails a lot of time and labour. A track is cut through the bush and the skeleton dragged out by oxen. It took about a day and a half to get the skull and jaws of one of the beasts to the camp. Elephant meat is quite a delicacy, and tastes not unlike beef. The trunk, stewed with onions, makes a good dish, and we all enjoyed our dinner when elephant trunk con- stituted the main item of the menu. arm of some sort or other. Vol, xliv.—83, Another of the elephants shot by Major Pretorius.

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482 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The skull and jawbones of an elephant. The news of the capture of the baby elephant spread far and wide, and people came long dis- tances to see it. One morning several farmers and the local clergyman had left their carts on the veldt and walked over to inspect ‘‘ Jumbo,” as he had been named, when the latter took it into his head to stroll in the direction of the carts. The horses took fright and several of them bolted. The parson’s Cape cart was upset, but was fortunately brought to a stand- still before much damage had been done. On another occasion a par- ticularly stout old lady got down from a cart and was walking towards the camp, when she spotted “Jumbo ” about a hundred yards away, trotting in her direction. She also took fright and made a dash for her cart, which shé reached in a breathless con- dition. Meanwhile the ele- phant, who was quite inno- cent of any evil designs towards-her, had turned round and gone back to camp. Poor little ‘‘ Jumbo” did not long survive in captivity. About three weeks after he first became an inmate of the camp it was decided to exhibit him at Port Elizabeth and Uitenhage in aid of the Governor-General’s Fund for disabled soldiers and their dependents. He reached the former place on a Saturday, and was instrumental in collecting seventy pounds. He was then shipped by a late train to Uitenhage. On the Sunday moming he showed signs of indisposition, and by three o’clock the same afternoon he was dead. I can’t help thinking that if he had been left to roam about the camp at Kinkelbosch he would have survived, and that it was the train journey that upset him. If that is so, those of us who made his acquaint- ance on that memorable trip have the satisfaction of know- ing that his life has been sacrificed for a good cause. We remained with our hospitable hosts until the following Friday, when we ~ reluctantly bade them good- bye and returned to civilization and the daily round of work. Since the above was written strong pressure has been brought to bear on the Administration to preserve a portion of the herd in their native state, and it has been suggested that a reserve be constructed in the Knysna Forest, where the younger elephants captured by Major Pretorius Iam unable to say at the could be liberated. “Jumbo” and bis keeper. moment whether this scheme will be carried out or not, but I understand the water difficulty is not so serious at Knysna as it is at Addo, and the country generally is more suitable for the purposes of a reserve.

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH The story of a wonderful journey. The Author spent four years in exploring South America, not travelling with a well-equipped expedition, but alone and on foot. He tramped down the whole terrible length of the Andes—a feat probably mever accomplished before— Sewmm IMA, the Peruvian capital, which I oe 2 ca had now reached, is essentially a 4 >) Spanish-American city, where the ‘d pallid, waxy complexion of the gente decente is much in evidence. The women of this caste are often beautiful; so, for the matter of that, are the men. In a population that may almost ‘be termed cosmopolitan the Chinaman holds a con- siderable place. . Celestials of higher caste have taken advantage of Peru's open-door policy and the Japanese steamship lines, so. that to-day there are temples and joss-houses and opium dens in Lima, and men in “ European ” dress, who are not Europeans, lean in the doorways of old colonial mansions transformed into Oriental shops, Cock-fighting is still the most popular sport ofthe chola classes. It is impossible to appear in public without being pestered by a constant pro- cession of suerteros—venders of lottery tickets —who fill the streets Hayr Pa bite ILLUSTRATED BY A. E. HORNE. ERICA | and mixed freely with the natives, Indian and white, study- ing their manners and customs, Needless to say he met with all sorts of odd and exciting experiences, which are here set forth. In this instalment Mr, Franck continues his adventures in Peru. Vv. - lodged in a cell at the penitentiary. Yet the films at the ‘Cine’ a block away ran on without a tremor, and but for the fact that the shops took down their shutters somewhat later than usual there was nothing left next morning to recall the occurrence. A few days later the principal newspaper announced solemnly that the ex-President had gone to Panama “ for motives of health.” The year had run over into September before I turned my face upwards again towards the Sierra, to pick up the broken thread of my jour- ney. Beyond Chosica the naked hills closed in and the train climbed all day between barren, echoing walls of rock. As the air thinned our faces flushed and tingled; a tendency to sleepi- Nes’ was succeeded by a feeling of exhilaration and an inclination to grow talkative. My fellow-passengers began to show signs of distress at the altitude, growing more and more red- faced, with- bloodshot eyes; then one by one with their bawling from morning to midnight. An abortive revolution enlivened the last days of July Strolling into the plaza one even- ing I was jostled by a group of youthful Troughs firing re- volvers into the air as they went along. That night the mob attacked the home of a former Presi- dent, with casualties of three killed anda dozen wounded, and the Executive of a year before was The semi-weekly lottery drawing in Lima. The men who turn the spheres containing the aumbers are blind.

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484 they frankly succumbed to moun- tain sickness as the train continued inexorably upward. There are a score of theories concerning this mountain sickness, known throughout Peru by the Quichua word soroche, and in the basin of the Titicaca as puna. Who may be subject to it, what will prevent it, whether or not previous experience will or will not give immunity, are even greater mysteries than those sur- rounding its prototype, the bugbear of ocean travel. No two persons are ever affected alike by it. Com- monly it is accompanied by a raging headache. All foreigners contracted for mine employment in this region are subjected to a rigid physical examination before they ascend “the Hill,” yet it is not unusual to make up a special train and rush a victim down to the coast. Among horses, with which it takes the form of blind staggers, often rendering the animal unfit for further service, it is known as veta, from the aboriginal superstition that it is caused by veins of ore (vetas) in the earth. Morococha, which I ultimately reached, like its rival, Cerro de Pasco, is a little world of its own, exclusively mining in its raison d' étre—and considerably marked by Anglo-Saxon influence. The miners work nine hours a day, seven days a week, and receive an average of something more than a dollar a day—a high wage from the Andean Indian point of view. The efficiency of both Indian and chola workmen is curtailed by much coca chewing and hard drinking. Follow- ing each pay-day, and during the many festas, a majority of the native miners go on an extended debauch, often leaving the mines so short-handed that operations virtually cease. It is half jokingly asserted that after a few months in the mines it is not safe to open a bottle ora “ jack-pot ” in the presence of a minister's son. Unfortunately, the jest seems to have a serious basis in fact. The Americans who live and mine up and down the Sierra have con- vinced Peruvians that every living American drinks quarts of whisky neat cvery day and squanders his substance in gambling. I visited the chief mines of Morococha with the youthful American superintendent. They pre- sented nothing unusual to one acquainted with those of Mexico, except that they were slightly more crude and undeveloped in their methods. The Indian miners, some of them but half-grown boys, had their cheeks puffed out with quids of coca. They took a half-hour “ coca-time ”’ each afternoon as religiously as an English- man “knocks off” for dinner. Those who shovelled away the mountain of ore in the ) “A bottle under each arm and a single glass in bis band.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sunshine outside earned seventy cents a day. Beyond Oroya the railways of central Peru spread out in a Y, at the right-hand end of which is Huancayo, something more than two hundred miles from Lima, as is Cerro de Pasco on the other branch. An engine was found somewhere in or about the junction, and towards noon we drifted away down a gorge into which portly, dry hills thrust themselves alter- nately from either side. In the first-class car was a crowd almost exclusively Peruvian, with huge scarves and shawls about their throats, and many in overcoats. In the second-class coach the travellers ranged from broad-faced Indians to cholas in “ civilized” garb and rubber collars, the corre- sponding females wrapped from head to foot in crow-black mantos. Within the car the prevailing tongue was Quichua. The native conductor “ grafted’ with a fetching frankness here and there in his struggle through the welter of humanity. The brakes- men spent most of the journey drinking the health of a group of cholas in a corner of the coach. Chicha flowed like water. At every station old women crowded through the car selling that nectar of the Incas, all purchasers drinking from the same cup, and generally several from the same filling, while the scrawny hags, waiting for its return, idly rubbed their bony talons about the spout of the céntaro under their arms. Almost every traveller had his own supply of a more potent native beverage. The pisco bottle. with its liquorice smell, passed constantly from hand to hand, eyes grew more and more bloodshot, tongues thicker, yet more talkative—for the Andean Indian is taci- turn in exact proportion to his sobriety—eyelids heavy, and limbs clumsy. The tippling knew no limits either of sex or age. Infants barely two years old frequently took a long drink at a fiery bottle, and cooed with delight at the taste. If the universal pastime threatened to flag for a moment, it was resuscitated by the fifty-year old dwarf of a trainboy, who waded incessantly through our legs with a bottle under each arm and a single opaque glass in his hand, urging all, from the aged Indian dreaming over the cud of coca in his check to the best-dressed chola, to drink and be merry—for to-morrow he would be bound in the other direction. It was nearing sunset when groves of eucalyptus began to ride close by the train-windows, thea rows of mud huts alternating with little farms of alfalfa, then larger adobe houses, and at length

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ON we drew up at Huancayo, the end of railroading in central Peru. For many years there have been plans to carry the railway on to Ayacucho, and even a wild project of some day pushing it across to Cuzco and linking it up with the rail- ways of the south. Fortunately, nothing had yet come of the scheme, and what lay before me depended thereafter on my own exertions, with whatever of charm that remained to the ancient but now slightly-travelled route through the heart of Peru as the reward. It was on the tenth day of September when I creaked my hobnail boots out of Huancayo's interminable street with “ Chusquito,” the Peruvian pony I had bought for nine dollars. Travellers were frequent on the vast rising world beyond, where the valley of the Huantas shrivelled and disappeared. Indian women trotted by, with a load and a baby on their backs. Cofo, as the Incas called goitre, was common, I noticed. Llama-trains, drivea .by fishy-eyed, noiseless Indians with coloured rags round their heads under their thick grey felt hats, passed frequently. There are few more interesting sights than that afforded by two of these trains shuttling through each other on a nafrow mountain trail, each animal keeping its course as unerringly as a homing pigeon Ata focky turn of the road one of the frail beasts lay dying, an Indian boy slashing the gay ribbons out of its still quivering ears with a crude cutlass. From Inca days it seems to have been the custom to decorate the ears of llamas with these bits of bright cloth, less from artistic notions than as a FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. 485 means of designating the ownership. To-day even the cows, bulls, goats, and sheep of certain regions are thus embellished—often with ludi- crous results. In Huando, one of those dismal, rocky, com- fortless, cold Indian towns that abound in the Sierra, I made my first acquaintance with alcades carrying silver-mounted staffs of office. 1 had diplomatically put the gobernador, or town Tuler, in possession of ten cents, with which to buy fodder for ‘‘ Chusquito.” A messenger went forth, and in due time an Indian alguwacil on the down grade of life appeared, bearing his barajo with all the dignity of an English beadle. Behind him came several youthful assistants, with less pretentious staffs of office. None of them would permit even the wife of the gobernador to take the black cane with silver bands out of his hands, and I could only admire them at a distance. Not one of the alguaciies spoke a word of Spanish. One afternoon, not fifty miles beyond Aca- bamba, I was threatened with violence for the first time during my fifteen months in South America. I sat beside a mountain pool, coaxing my cooking-outfit under shelter of my alforjas, when two half-Indians, bleary-eyed with drink, appeared on stout mules They had nearly passed when they caught sight of me, and charged forward in drunken insolence, all but trampling my possessions under the hoofs of their animals. In the haste of the moment I made the error of showing aggressiveness to the point of drawing my revolver—and came perilously near having to use it for my mistake. When reflection “They charged forward in drunken insolence.”

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486 caused me to change my tactics and humour them, like the witless children they were, the danger was dissipated like a puff of smoke. Within ten minutes the pair grew so maudlin with affection that they insisted on shaking hands alternately a dozen times each, and at length rode slowly away, casting frequent besotted, loving glances behind them. It was in the scattered caserio of Marcas that I overtook a travelling piano. I had barely installed myself by force and strategy in a mud den, and tied ‘‘ Chusquito ” to a molle tree before a heap of straw which he alternately ate and rolled in, when a party of gente arrived, among them an old woman of the well-to-do chola class, carried astride the shoulders of an Indian. Their chief spokesman was a lawyer named Anchorena, a white man of some education andeven a slight inkling of geography, who was importing an upright piano for his mansion in Ayacucho. The piano, made in Germany, had been set down in Lima for five hundred dollars. Freight to Huancayo had added ten per cent. to the cost. From the end of the railway to Ayacucho, a scant two hundred miles, the exotic plaything must be transported on men’s backs, as the Incas imported a thousand things in the days of their power. This stage of the journey would, in ordinary circumstances, have nearly doubled the cost of the instrument. But Anchorena had the advantage of owning a large harienda in the great hot valley towards which we were des- cending, and was able to cut the expense in two by drawing upon his own peons for the labour of transportation. Three distinct gangs had been sent from his estate, each to bear the burden a third of the distance. They were paid the extraordinary wage of twenty cents a day, and supplied with food, chicha, and coca. Each gang carried the piano for a week. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Each morning, shortly after midnight, the Indians rose to munch mot, or boiled corn, for an hour or more, after which a heavy soup of corn, potatoes, beans, and charqui was served. Then for another hour the men poked coca leaves one by one into their cheeks, mixing them with limes from their little gourds, and by dawn, the effect of the chewing having made itself felt, they rose to their feet and were off. Some forty peons set their shoulders to the several poles attached to the boxed piano, a picket-line with shovels, axes, and ropes was thrown out in advance to widen the trail and lend assistance in the steeper places, and an army of servants, cooks, squires, and the numerous capatazes, or bosses, required for any effective Indian labour, brought up the rear of the expedition. The piano-movers made good time, in spite of many a zigzag and desert precipice, where rope and home-made tackle and the widening of the trail were often necessary. We had not enjoyed the shade of the huts az hour before the vanguard appeared, and shortly afterwards the lawyer’s bulky toy was laid ia the baking sand beside us, and the sweating, dust-covered carriers swarmed about the huge jar of chicha de molle that had been purchased for them. Progress would have been much less rapid but for the fact that the third gang, knowing theirs was the last shift, realized the advantage of finishing the journey to Ayacucho as soon as possible. Yet their conception of hurrying was not exactly vertiginous. They halted a long hour—not to eat, which they did only morning and evening, but to prepare new quids of coca. From a large grain sack the lawyer dealt out to each of the peons with his own hands a small .quantity of the narcotic leaves. They slunk forward one by one, with outstretched hats, and a hint of eagerness on their besotted, expressionless faces, with the air of men who would have sold their souls for this few cents’ worth of brutalizing leaves. When I took leave of the lawyer he hoped to reach Ayacucho in four days, making the journey from Huan- cayo three weeks in duration, at a total cost of about two hundred and fifty dollars, without reckoning the labour lost on his hacienda while the three gangs were going and com- ing and recuperating from their unwonted toil. The molle tree Indians transporting a piano from railhead to an estancia two hundred miles away. covered all the great

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA. tilted plain before me, lending it an inviting green tinge in spite of its semi-desert character. Its leaves are not unlike those of the willow, and it produces in clusters great quantities of a peppery red berry somewhat resembling the currant in appearance, and those of the red cedar in taste. These are well supplied with saccharine and ferment readily, constituting the chief curse of the region, in the form of an intoxicant so cheap and plentiful that the inhabitants are more often drunk than working Nearly a half century ago Squier found “ drunkenness universal throughout the Sierra, and nothing neglected that could be turned into intoxicating beverages.’ To this day there is slight improvement in this respect. Thanks to the molle berry intemperance is high, even for Peru, and laziness reaches its culmination during the season when the tunas, ripening on the cactus hedges, feed alike birds and Indians. In the town almost every hut is a little drunkery, with an inviting display of bottles of all shapes and sizes. The life of the place was typified by a soft-muscled lump of a man sitting in the shade of his shop, drowsily switching flies off himself with a horse’s tail mounted on a wooden handle. To have seen him reading a book, or even whittling a stick, would have been entirely out of keeping with the local colour. We pushed on to Ayacucho, which takes its name from the Quichua term ‘ aya” (corpse) and “‘ cucho’”’ (corner)—in other words, ‘“ Dead Man's Corner.” And it is. The town reeks with poverty and religious fanaticism. Saturday is beggars’ day in Ayacucho, as in most towns of South America. From morning till night a constant procession of disease and decrepitude comes whining by the shops, so endless in its appeal that the town has adopted a custom similar to that of the merchants of India with their bowls of cowries, or sea-shells. On Saturday morning each shopkeeper opens a packet of large needles, three or four inches long, one of which he bestows upon each beggar who presents himself. The mendicant mumbles a “Dios pararasunqui,” and shuffles on to the next doorway. When he has collected ten or twelve needles, if he be so lucky, he sells them to certain dealers for a medio (two and a half cents), on which, apparently, he lives until the next Saturday. In some parts of Peru the Indians wear a large necdle in their hat-bands, evidently as a weapon of defence, but those of Ayacucho seem to have no practical use, except as legal tender. Some time during the ensuing week the purchasers sell them back to the shopkeepers, Saturday sees them again distributed, and so they go on indefinitely around the circle. I have come near overlooking the most striking thing in Ayacucho—the head-dress of its women. In the Andes fashions change not with time, but with place. In Inca days each district had its own distinctive garb, or at least head-gear, a custom which was strictly enforced in colonial 487 The striking bead-dress of the women of Ayacucho, times, in order that Indians belonging to one Province might not escape compulsory labour by going to another. The bonnets of Ayacucho are hard to believe. Though I had been duly warned in advance, the first glimpse of an Ayacuchana caught me unawares ; I fancied she was ing home some purchase on her head. When others like her began to appear from all directions, however, I recalled to what lengths fair women will go to keep in fashion. The wildest nightmares perpetrated by the milliners of more familiar lands do not come anything like so near reducing the mere male beholder to hysterics as this. The rank and file of the Ayacucho women wear on their heads a blanket, gay in hue, and large enough to serve as a bed- spread, nicely folded in triangular form, with one sharp corner protrudin: over the face. Each one is distinct in colour, with an embroidered. border, and is usually lined with silk. Even the half-Indian women from the suburbs, driving to market donkeys al! but hidden under loads of alfalfa—each burden protected from its hungry carrier by a large wooden gag in the animal’s mouth—balance this contraption on their heads through all their labours. No one in Ayacucho could tell me the origin of so absurd a fashion, though all were agreed it had been in vogue a very long time; nor had any of them ever developed enough curiosity to inquire, except

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488 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The courtyard of the “hotel” at Abancay, The cook is peering through the ele i in the wall. the prefect, a new-comer in this region, who had investigated in vain. Below the village of Mayabamba, so renowned for its horse-stealing that we lost no tima.in leaving it behind us, the valley narrowed to‘a gorge, in which our progress was blocked by a mule-train of Ica wine. I fell in with the chief arrievo at the rear, and plodded with him in the cloud of dust rising behind the shuffling mules like the mists of the morning from some seaside valley. Each of the animals bore two kegs of wine nicely balanced on his sawbuck-shaped pack-saddle, a total weight of two hundred and fifty pounds. The journey from Ica to Andahu- aylas averged from threc weeks to a month, the entire cost of transportation about seven and a half dollars for each animal. In the morning horsemen and pedestrians formed an almost unbroken procession along the rich and thickly inhabited valley of the little Chumbau river for all the league from Talavera to the straggling town of Andahuaylas. There is a type of “ white” Indian in the Andahuaylas valley, apparently without admix- ture of European blood, yet with a very light skin and delicate pink cheeks. In the colour of their garments they nearly rival those of Quito. The heavy woollen socks and hairy sandals of more lofty regions are unknown, and the barefoot patter again reigns supreme. In manner the aboriginal is cringing and timorous, yet if the word of the shod minority was trust- worthy he has more than once been known to sneak up to a sleeping gringo and smash his head with a rock. Nor will he “ squeal” on one of his own race, even when put to the torture. I grew suddenly tired of Andahuaylas one afternoon, and sunrise next morning found me driving ‘ Chusquito”’ over the neighbouring divide towards Abancay, where I came across a disease known as obero, very common among the Indians, which turns the face a sooty black. There is also a white obero, which gives its victims the appear- ance of those negroes who seck to obtain white skins by acid treatment. Some of the chola women are decidedly pretty, in spite of their habits ; but once they begin to suspect that fact they are prone to improve on Nature, with distressing re- sults. Every woman wears a dicolla, a square of cloth richly embroidered and worked with flowers, about her shoulders. In it a baby is car ried when the wearer possesses one, but nobody goes without this article.of attire. Beyond the famous Apurimac river, in the great department of Cuzco, we climbed a sheer mountain face, and descended with sunset te a mass of buildings on a bluff. This was the hacienda ‘‘La Estrella,” belonging to Senator Montes, whose hospitality ‘‘ Chusquito ” and I shared. The moon had set, though the forerunner of day had not yet appeared, when next morning, after trying in vain to punch awake the peom Montes had ordered to attend me, I entered the immense hacienda corral to pescar, or “ fish out,” as the Peruvians say, my noble steed from the army of mules and horses munching the dry pulp of crushed sugar-cane that constitutes the fodder of these near-tropical regions. I had no difficulty in recognizing my own animal in the dark, not only by his diminutiveness, but by his picturesquely docked tail. As I prepared to load him before my cabis door I was startled to find that ‘‘ Chusquito“ seemed to have turned zebra during the night Several dark lines ran from his spine down -ither side of his body. The sense of smell astonishe¢ me with the information that these were blood. I got water and washed him, meanwhile cursing the savage mules that had evidently spent most of the night biting the helpless little brute. It was not long before I realized that some thing—perhaps the impossibility of eating during the night—had decidedly sapped my companion's strength. He moved like a clock that was running down, and for the life of me I could not contrive the means of winding him up agaia. Then all at once I realized what had befallea him. The poor misused brute had been bittea, not by mules, but by those loathsome vampire bats of tropical valleys that sometimes find even human victims for their blood-sucking propensities ! We crawled at last into the mud village of

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ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH Limatambo, only to be informed that there was no alfalfa in the town, and that we must push on at least to the “ Hacienda Challabamba,” half a league up the valley. Poor “ Chusquito” was now in a very bad way. He took half a minute to lift each separate toot, a pebble caused him to stumble, a six-inch rock-step made him groan audibly. He did not look particularly worn-out; he was fatter, if any- thing, than on the day I had bought him; and surely even a man could have gone the mile or two more “ on his nerve.” Instead, he came to a complete standstill. This would never do; at least we must reach the hacienda and its alfalfa fields Much as it grieved me to raise a hand against a faithful companion, I rapped him soundly across the quarters with my stick. He uttered a sudden pathetic groan, and dropped down in the middle of the road as suddenly as a well-killed bull in a Spanish bull-ring. His legs quivered a moment, his cyes opened wide, closed, and then opened again in a glassy stare. Never had I felt the loss of a travelling com- panion more keenly. For six weeks we had toiled together over lofty Andean ranges and across vast paramos with nothing in sight but their dreary nothingness. I disentangled my possessions trom his back and piled them beside me in the shade. An hour crawled by ; another was crawling. Something must be done. I could neither leave my baggage unprotected here beside the high road, nor could I carry it myself, such was the bulk to which it had accumulated. I dug out a battered copy of Marcus Aurelius, and strove to pass the time as pleasantly as possible until fate saw fit to make a suggestion. I had begun to despair when to my amazement “ Chusquito ”’ raised his head and gazed listlessly about him, like one of the opposite sex coming out of a faint. Then, getting unstcadily to his feet, the deceitful, ungrateful, ‘possum-playing rascal stood up, staggered through the cactus- hedge, and fell to nibbling the stubble of the field beyond ! The people of the hacienda to which we finally made our way assured me the animal could not Possibly carry my stuff to Cuzco; that, like a nervous breakdown, his ailment called for long rest and weeks of good feeding. In the end I parted with “ Chusquito ” for a trifle, and sadly watched the constant companion of my most pleasant six weeks on the road in Peru led slowly toa large green spot up the valley, where his new master ordered that he was to have all the alfalfa he could eat. I was successful in securing another baggage pony, and, accompanied by one of the wooden- headed Indians of the region, who was to lead the animal to Cuzco and back, we came upon the town quite suddenly. Without warning the toad dived downward, turned a sharp angle, and there, below and before me, spread out the “ City of the Sun.” To the aboriginals Cuzco is still a sanctified spot, venerated not only as the abode AMERICA. 489 of the Incas, but of all those deities that still, in spite of its outward Christianity, preside over the ancient Empire of Tavantinsuyo. To-day, how- ever, Cuzco possesses but the shadow of its former imperial grandeur. Whatever of truth or exaggeration there may have been in the statements of old chroniclers that the city gleame. with gold at the time of the Conquest, little of that royal aspect remains. The chief and almost only material reminders of the days of the Incas are long walls of beautiful cut stone in the central portion of the modern city. It is only these walls and the historical memories with which they are saturated that distinguish Cuzco from any other city of the Sierra. The life of the place is drab and unin- spiring—wellnigh as colourless as the most monotonous villages of the Andes. O1 the old Inca races there remain few traces. The vast Majority of the twenty thousand Cuzquenos are “descendants of the Incas” only in the loose acceptance of that phrase. The thick upper liv, wide nostrils, and broad face of the aboriginal race show in some degree in all but a few Cuzquenos ; those of full Indian blood still make up a large percentage of the population. The Cuzco Indian is a type by himself. His skin is darker, his manner more cringing, his gait more slinking, than his fellows elsewhere ; the faces of both males and females - :

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490 THE WIDE have a brutalized expression that seems to mark them as the most degenerate of all the Andean tribes. The Inca rule of having distinguishing costumes for each community still holds, especi- ally in the matter of head-dress, and it is as easy for the initiated to recognize the birthplace of an Indian by his gar- ments as to know a Hindu's caste from his turban. The Indians are here the same beasts of burden as elsewhere in the Andes. It is no uncommon thing to see arather small man trot the mile from market to railway station with half a bullock on his back. The wooden- headedness of the aboriginal, as well as his lack of strength for any labour except carry- ing, is often in evidence. I saw one ordered to take an iron wheel- barrow to another part of town. He removed the wheel and bound it on his wife’s back with a lama-hair rope, slung the rest on his own shoulders in the same manner, and away they trotted, one behind the other ! I have never seen the faintest demonstration of real affection between Indians of the two sexes. From his earliest years the Andean Indiad forms a conception of life as something sinister and painful. As a baby, as soon as another uncomplaining little creature usurps his place on the maternal back, he is shut up in some noisome patio, or hut, along with chickens, guinea-pigs, and new-born sheep, with which he fights for his scanty fare of a handful of toasted corn. Rolling about in the filth, he reaches the age of four or five, and then begins his life-long struggle with hostile Nature. In the country he takes to shepherding the family pigs, then a flock of sheep belonging to the “ patron.” In town he is ‘“‘ farmed out,” or virtually sold into the slavery of some family. When he is older he guides the clumsy wooden plough that is his notion of the last word in mechanical inventions, or carries donkey-loads on his back. Or perhaps the authorities come to carry him off How the intelligent Indian transports a wheelbarrow 1 WORLD MAGAZINE, to serve as a soldier of a country he hardly knows the existence of, probably to die of the diseases engendered in his over-developed lungs in the dreaded lowlands of coast or montana. The woman lives the same life from babyhood ; and in some ways her duties are still more onerous. Rude and tor- pid as the male, she neither conceives nor possesses any of those softer qualities peculiar to her sex. When trouble overtakes her she does not complain, but suffers and weeps—if at all— alone, an utter stranger to pity in either its passive or active form. Strong as a draught- horse, she knows none of the infirmities to which modern civilized woman is subject. She gives birth to a child virtually every year, often from the age ot fifteen onwards, without any species of preparation or precaution, washes it in the nearest brook, slings it on her back, and goes about her business. Unless the time of my stay there was excep- tional, suicide is @ la mode in Cuzco. Almost on the day of my arrival one bold youth of twenty- five decided to die because some dark-eyed sefiorita scorned his attentions. He wrote a long poem explaining to the disdainful damsel, and the world at large, why he was leaving life so early—it afterwards graced the contribution page of one of the Jocal journals—and fired four revolver shots. One grazed his chest, a second tore a hole in the tail of his frock-coat, the third smashed a lamp on the mantelpiece, and the fourth scared the family cat off the divan. The date of the wedding was soon to be announced when I left Cuzco! Among the host of disciples of this heroic and enviable deed among the excitable youth of Cuzco were several lads of similar age, who attempted to imitate it from equally absurd motives. All carried the act to a more or less successful conclusion, except one, who, either because he took the matter too seriously, or neglectéd to practise beforehand, shot himself through the temple. : (To he continued.)

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ACROSS E.AFRICA mn the AINY SEASON by LIEUT LEO WALMSLEY MCkar An interesting descrip- tion of a terrible journey through flooded country in the height of the rainy season in East Africa. The Author's party ac- tually had to swim in places on the road, and mee URING my fortnight’s stay at Tringa the rains were very heavy indeed. The aerodrome was situ- ated in the cup-shaped valley of eA) the Little Ruaha River, and regularly as clock work every day a thunder- Storm would gather on the surrounding hills, the continuous lightning displiys presenting a magnificent and awe-inspiring spectacle from the sheltered front of my mess hut. At last I received a wire from headquarters, ordering me to proceed with all available supplies of petrol and bombs, and our one good hangar, to Njombe, a small “ late’ German military post miles east of Lake Nyassa and miles south-west of Iringa. A hundred stout porters were placed at my disposal, and it was arranged that at a point half-way to Njombe I should be met by another convoy, to which the first gang would transter their loads and then return to Iringa. On the evening previous to my departure I paraded the stout hundred, and asked them if there were any who felt too sick to undertake the long trek. There was not a single one among them who did not! With a very grave face I ordered Maganga to bring my medicine chest, and then I addressed the black multitude. “The white man,” I said, “ is very sorrowful to see so much sickness among his black children. It grieves him greatly that he cannot abandon the safari and give to all many days’ rest. For- tunately Allah has been so kind as to place in the white man’s hands a wonderful medicine —a medicine that will cure all aches of the head and the limbs and the stomach, and with great compassion the Masungu will give this to his children, making no charge whatever!” There was a loud murmuring in the ranks ILLUSTRATED BY WH. HOLLOWAY *f a bridge normally fifteen feet above water was completely submerged. Lieut. Walmsley’s nar- rative gives one some idea of the difficulties of campaigning in the African bush. as Maganga produced a large tin canister of crystallized quinine. I now called for the first patient, and a huge Swahili, who complained of severe pains in the legs, limped forward very gingerly. “Give him a spoonful and make him chew it up!” I said to Maganga. Maganga knew what was required of him. Making the man open his mouth wide, he liter- ally stuffed it full of the loathsome stuff. The poor old porter gasped and spluttered, but there was no getting rid of that diabolical taste, and to the intense merriment of everyone he walked back to the ranks without the sitghtest sign of a limp. “Well, what do you think of that for medi- cine?’ Icried. ‘Come on! Next, please!" Needless to say there was no next, and when I asked a second time if there were any who would care to stay behind tor treatment there were no volunteers. We left at daybreak, and in ten minutes reached the Little Ruaha River, which flows at the foot of the aerodrome. Here our diffi- culties commenced. A very ingenious pontoon ferry had been constructed by some of our mechanics from empty petrol tins, and this served to take the porters across cight at a time, but unfortunately we had with us an ox supplied by the A.S at Iringa to serve as meat rations on the way, and for sheer downright obstinacy and contrariness that ox would be hard to equal. It refused point-blank to move on to the pontoon, and after it had laid low several of the men who tried to push it on, we decided to swim it across. A rope was pro- cured, and after a severe struggle this was secured over its horns ; the rope was then carried across the river and the boys on the other side

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492 +=THE “The poor old porter gasped and spluttered.” pulled unti: the brute at last had to give in. All went well until it reached mid-stream, when the rope suddenly came off, and the wretched animal began to float swiftly away. It was a moment for quick action. If the animal were lost the boys would be entirely without food after the first day's safari. They stood there helplessly watching it. None of them could swim, and so I jumped in myself, carrying the noose end of the ropesin my hands. I had no difficulty in reaching it, and after a great fight at last managed to fix the noose. The boys pulled, and once more the treasured “ration” was under way. Finally it was beached and assisted up the slippery bank. For a minute or two it stood there, regaining its breath; then suddenly, without a second’s warning, it put down its head and lifted a couple of its black enemies clean into the air. By this time I had landed myself, and puffing like a grampus from my exertions, I staggered up the bank. At the top was the ox, looking remarkably well pleased with its morning’s performance. It eyed me so kindly that I began to credit it with the possession of a sense of gratitude for my having rescued it. “Cush! Cush!” I cried, familiarly, and, WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. putting out my hand, I attempted to stroke its dripping nose. Alas! My confidence was ill-placed. Lower- ing its horns the ill-mannered brute charged, and catching me just about the middle, sent me head over heels back into the river! As 1 tose to the surface, I could see the top of its head floating swiftly down-stream, and with a fervent prayer that all the crocodiles of the Little Ruaha might be waiting for it below, I swam to the shore. The porters took their loss with due philo- sophy, and the safari was soon on the road once more. For six miles the track lay through dense bush and forest in which a few months later I was destined to have the most terrible experience of my life. Flying out from the Iringa aerodrome one morning, the engine failed just as we were over the forest, and we crashed with sickening force into the trees. Soaked with petrol, we were pinned under the wreckage of the machine, while only a hun- dred yards away a bush fire was eating its way through the dry grass and undergrowth, coming rapidly towards us. But that is another story. This morning the sun shone brightly, the road was good, and the air delightfully fresh and exhilarating. In spite of the tragic loss of the ox; the porters made the forest echo with their weird but melodious chants, the birds were sing- ing sweetly, and the whole atmosphere seemed charged with that wonderful champagne-like something that is found only in the highlands of East and Central Africa. Life contained nothing but pure happiness—-or at least it did for the first six miles, after which we commenced to climb up the steep escarpment of the Iringa hills. Here the porters automatically ceased to sing and one heard nothing but wicked Swahili “cuss "-words, with an occasional supplication to Allah to send a cloud across the face of the sua or to wear down the summit of the hill and make the path less trying for the feet. At last we emerged on to a narrow tableland fringed on cither side with heath-clad hills, the highest summits of which were already capped with storm-cloud. The sun, however, still shone, and without halting longer than to collect the various stragglers we pushed on across the table- land. Very soon the ground became swampy, the going very rough. The porters commenced to complain of their feet and every other portion of their anatomy, and when, after six hours’ hard marching, we sighted an old broken-down mission building, I decided to calla halt. Before we reached it, however, the storm broke with more than usual fury, and in less than two seconds we were drenched to the skin. The building was about the size of an ordinary English barn, and as it promised to shelter many undesirable species of living things I decided to pitch my tent a few yards away from it. Luckily there was an abua- dance of dry firewood, and the porters were soon

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ACROSS EAST AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON. singing merrily as they dried their clothes and cooked their last ration of food. ‘ Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof ” is the invariable philosophy of the black man of East Africa, and so far no one seemed to worry a little bit over the loss of the ox. For upwards of an hour the storm raged fiercely. The lightning at times was terrifying, and the thunder sounded like the explosion of giant mines. Still, it was very cheery to lie comfortably on one’s bed feeling just nicely tired, to experience that delightful glow of satis- faction at having done a good day’s march, and to look out from the tent and witness the wild and unbridled raging of the elements, listen to the pelting of the rain, and to feel warm and dry and absolutely secure underneath one's six square feet of canvas. Just before dusk the rain ceased, and, taking my shot-gun, | walked down the road just in time to bag an enormous spur- winged goose that came flying overhead. With cold roast partridge (trom Iringa), sauté potatoes d la Maganga, boiled cauliflower, and pineapple and cream for dinner, it may be imagined that this wilderness came very near to being ‘‘a paradise enow,’’ even without the stimulating effect produced by a tot of the most popular medicine known in the tropics. We awakened next morning to find the whole country hidden in a dense pail of cold wet mist —the first I had seen since leaving England. In my thin tropical clothing I felt the cold intensely, and the poor porters looked thoroughly unhappy. They clung to their fires like drowning men to straws, but half an hour before sunrise I had them under way, and the weight of the loads soon drove the cold from their bodies. It was very unpleasant for all that, for the track was overgrown with long grass, heavy with ice-cold dew, which was sprayed over our bodies as by a shower-bath. How I longed to see the sun and bathe in its pleasant heat! We saw it only for a few minutes, however, and then it commenced to rain. It rained without a break from that moment until three o'clock in the afternoon —a cold, miser- able drizzle that seemed to soak into one’s body and damp one’s j very soul. The / porters became very depressed 493 indeed, for towards the end of the day they slowly began to appreciate the true signifi- cance of the loss of the ox. ‘‘ How could I expect them to hurry when their stomachs were empty?” they complained. “Stop your grumbling!” I cried. ‘ At Buena I shall myself go out and shoot you meat —as much as you can stuff into your stomachs in one day.” They scemed slightly dubious, but when Maganga told some of them the tale of how I had once shot seven buck in seven minutes and —according to my faithful chronicler—with seven bullets, they appeared impressed and took heart once more. We reached Buena, the half-way camp to Njombe, about 4 p.m. A couple of deserted huts made a billet for the boys, but, as before, I had my own tent pitched well out of the range of the terrible hut-tick, which is the host of the germ of spirillum, or recurrent fever. I had cause to regret my choice of a camping-ground. before bidding farewell to Buena. But more of that later. My immediate task was to procure food for the boys, and a local native whom I questioned seemed anything but optimistic. “ Buck plentiful round here ? ” I inquired. ““ No, master,” he replied. “* Just a few odd herds, I suppose ? ” “No, master ! “ Are there any buck?” , Master—— “ This man —— liar, master!” suddenly interrupted Maganga, whose language at times hardly savoured of the mission-room. ‘‘ He say no nyama here because he wants all himself. He very big liar!” “All right, Maganga! Tell him that my

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494 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. porters are very hungry and that some of them are cannibals. If he doesn’t show me where the buck are I'll have him roasted for food !’’ As a result of our gentle persuasion the native said he would take me straight away, and, with- out bothering to change my wet clothes, we set off up a steep cliff, on a tablcland at the top of which my guide said we might find kudu. It was a stiff climb after the heavy day’s march, but it is wonderful what the prospect of good hunting will do for a tired Englishman. The tableland was clad in stunted forest, flitting among the trees of which I saw more varieties of butterflies than I had seen in the whole of my stay in East Africa. There was not the slightest sign of game, however, not even an ancient spoor, and I began to believe that the native had been right after all. We plodded on through the forest for nearly four miles, and then the lowering sun soon decided me to return. I now began to feel the strain of the hard day; my legs com- menced to drag—and then suddenly through a patch of undergrowth I caught sight of some fawn-coloured creatures, moving ever so gently. Gone in a second was all sensation of tiredness. Icould feel my nerves tightening up like fiddle- strings. Quictly dropping to my knees, I waited until the target became clearer and then fired. There was a scream as the foremost object dropped, and immediately two immense eland came charging down almost on the top of me. Moving swiftly on one side, I gave the bigger one a shot in the shoulder as it passed, and it dropped without a murmur. Two fine eland now lay on the ground, and without bothering with the rest of the herd I Porters marching into a village. sent the boy back to camp and sat down and filled my pipe. It was dusk when a load clamouring proclaimed the arrival of the hungry porters. They set to work on the buck imme diately, skinning them rapidly, and then cutting them up into loads, but in spite of all their hurry it was dark when at last we started tor camp. The local boy led the way, and, with my rifle at full-cock, I followe@ close beside him. We had not beer going half an hour before a terrible roar reverberated through the stillness of the forest. The porters began to shout and sing, but there was more than a touch of ner- vousness in their voices, and in mine, too, whea I suddenly asked the guide if he saw anything moving just in front of us. It was a lion, and he was quickly joined by a friend, and soon there must have been at least half-a-dozen prowling through the darkness on either side. Naturally, they were after the meat, and the porters, who recognized that the safest place was nearest my rifle, began to crowd up in a most embarrassing manner. “If you want to come near me, throw your meat away!" I cried. It would have been a very bold lion that would have made them do that, however, and at last they decided to camp on the spot for the night. I had no objection to their doing this, and so I pushed on to camp, with only the guide as company. It was 4 weird sensation walking along through that forest in the starlight, with a thousand ghostly shapes stalking about on either side. Several times I discharged my rifle at imaginary lions, and just before reaching the edge of the cliff I nearly died of fright when a flock of g uinea-fowl suddenly flew out of a leafy tree. The climb down was a perilous business, but it was very cheering to see the fires of the camp below, from which now and again & red or green Véry light went shoot- ing up into the black velvet of the night. Maganga could always be depended on todo the right thing ia an emergency such as this, and it speaks much -for the intelligence of the East African native that be would actually hunt out the pistol

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ACROSS EAST and cartridges from the stores and use them to such ad- vantage. He was very pleased to see me safely back, and the dinner that waited me was a masterpiece. All night long we heard the lions roaring on the top of the cliff, but in the morning all the boys turned up safely. As a token of their appreciation of my efforts in procuring the meal they gave me a special dance. It was decided to Test one day at Buena and await the arrival of the second convov of porters from Njombe. After breakfast I was lying on my bed, enjoying a quiet read, when suddenly T felt a sharp nip at the back of my neck, followed quickly by another on my chest and arm. Jumping up quickly, I was horrified to sce that the whole floor of the tent was literally a moving brown mass of ants—the terrible siafu! With a shout of terror, I leapt on to the floor and out of the tent, but by that time hundreds of the diabolical little beasts were running over my body, biting like red-hot needles. Maganga soon gave the alarm. Ripping off my pyjamas, he set to work pulling the brutes off my flesh, and with the help of the porters I was soon clear. My tent, however, was abso- lutely in the hands of the enemy. Maganga once more took charge. Very much against their will, he made the porters go down and lift the tent bodily from the ground and bring it up to the huts. I have never seen such a hideous spectacle in my life, for, with their practically bare bodies, the poor fellows hadn't a chance of keeping the siafu away. They danced and kicked and swore like madmen, while, like the ungrateful brute I am, I laughed until I was helpless. They joined in the laugh readily enough when the last ant had been pulled off their flesh. The black has a very ready sense of humour, and is quick to appreciate a joke, even if it is against himself. The Njombe convoy turned up just before sundown. They were a very tough-looking crowd, and the native policemen in charge said they would desert at the first chance. As a matter ot fact, they gave me very little trouble —possibly because a porter always feels happier when he is marching homewards. Early next morning the loads were changed AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON. 495 Preparing the camp. over and, bidding farewell to my old Iringa boys, I set out on the long south trail once more. It proved to be the most uninteresting day of the trip. The country through which we passed was what is known as parkland. There was no human habitation, no game, and the landscape was dull and monotonous. It rained without ceasing the whole time, and I was very glad indeed when we pitched our camp and I was able to change into dry clothes, The next day was better. The parkland gave wav to rolling grassy plains, almost identical with the country surrounding our own Salisbury, and intersected with clear bubbling rivers with picturesque wooded banks. In the morning the sun shone for quite a time, but after midday another wretched thunderstorm came along, and we marched the last three miles to Malangali through driving hailstones. We were now nearly six thousand feet above sea-level, and the cold at night was intense. Malangali is simply an entrenched military camp, and had been the scene of a very desperate battle between a force ot General Northey and a vastly superior body of the enemy. Luckily several of the huts were intact and provided also with mud fireplaces, in which we soon had roaring fires made. The storm passed over immediately after we had reached shelter—it invariably did. Just before dusk Maganga appeared, dragging by the arm an enormous black who, strange to relate, was blubbering !ike a child. “ Halloa! What's up?” I cried. “This man he got plenty pain! ’’ Maganga explained, with a broad and most unsympathetic grin. ‘‘ He say he got one devil inside his tooth —hurt very much—he want you pull him out.”

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496 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “The molar suddenly left its moorings.” “Pull out a tooth? Gracious! I'm not a dentist '"” “ That's all right, master,”’ replied my faithful slave; ‘ big feller no feel pain like little feller. You takee tooth out very easy. You got plenty tools inside box."’ Turning to the poor porter, I explained that I was no doctor, but if he felt very bad indeed and couldn't wait till we reached Mjombe, L would do my best. As he seemed anxious to have the job over, I explored one of the mechanic's boxes and found a useful-looking pair of wire pincers, and, getting hold of an empty beer bottle (evidently this hut had been used by the Staff), I extracted the cork and made a couple of excellent gags. For want of a better anesthetic I gave my patient a tumblerful of neat gin, which he swal- lowed without turning a hair, and then I told him to squat down on a petrol box just outside the hut. Thanks once more to Maganga, I had by this time a deeply-interested and highly facetious audience. They struggled and fought for the best seats, and by the respectful way Maganga led some of them up to the front rows I began to suspect that he was making quite a good thing out of it. Personally, I had no relish for the task. I have always had an intense dislike for anything savouring of dentistry, and to be called at a moment's notice to carry out so delicate an operation before the earnest gaze of such a large and critical audience was an ordeal at which the most capable surgeon in the world might tremble. Looking into the yawning maw of the Negro, I decided that I’d better have an anesthetic myself before starting. After I had partaken of my second, I rolled up my sleeves, grasped the phers, closed them on a molar that looked as though it would stand a fair amount of strain, and pulled. I pulled until great beads of perspira- tion ran down from my brow—pulled with all the strength of my two arms—pulled until the porter rose up from the seat, towed by his own molar—pulled until at last I had to give up from sheer physical exhaustion. “Devil ?”’ I gasped. ‘‘ There’s ten millions of them in that tooth!’ “ How are you feeling, old man ? "’ 1 asked my patient. He replied that his tooth was aching. “ Shall I have another try?” “Yes, master,” was the tearful but optimistic response. “ Maganga, get me the heaviest porter in the crowd.” A great burly Wabena was quickly forth- coming. “ Look here, Tom Thumb,” I told him, “ you've just got to put your arms round this unfortunate brother of yours and hold him down while I pull.” biattized by GOOQTE oO

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ACROSS EAST AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON. He grinned intelligently. By this time the effect of the anzsthetic was wearing off, and, quickly tossing off another, I commenced work once more. This time it resolved itself, not into a tow, but into a tug-of- war between the fat Wabena and myself. For- gotten completely was the poor man between us —it was a sheer test of strength, and the audience showed its interest in the varying fortunes of the contest with excited shouts and Cat-calls. To cut a long story short, it ended in a draw—a double one. The molar suddenly left its moor- ings, the fat Wabena and the patient subsided backwards, and, neatly recovering my balance, I triumphantly held up the pincers, the hideously- fanged tusk locked in their jaws, amid the en- thusiastic and deafening acclamations of the crowd. It was a moment of exquisite triumph, and there could have been no more fitting tribute to my dental skill than when two porters stepped forward and offered themselves for treatment. To Maganga’s obvious disappointment, I said I would deal with them bado kidogo (after a little while), which is the East African manner of expressing infinity. At present the need for further anesthetic treatment was too urgent, and T retired with accustomed dignity to my tent. It was fitting that the morning of the last day 497 of the safari should be heralded by a terrific thunderstorm, accompanied by a shrieking, ice- cold south-easterly gale. Our rations were too low for me to wait for finer weather, however, and we pushed on svon after dawn. Although the porters had lived on the tableland all their lives they suffered terribly from the cold, and after my long stay on the coast and in the sweltering valley of the Rufigi River, it may be imagined that, clad only in thin khaki drill, I did not feel too happy myself. The rain soaked through everything, and the wind seemed to suck every particle of heat from one’s body. It was very late in the afternoon when my eyes were gladdened by the sight of the little white fort or boma of Njombe. By that time the rain had ceased, and the white walls gleamed brightly in the evening sunshine. To the east stretched an unending line of low, grassv, tree- less hills; to the south-east rose a great purple mass of mountains—the mighty Livingstones— beyond which lay hidden the magic blue waters of Lake Nyassa. We arrived at dusk, and a magnificent wel- come awaited me at the aerodrome. To my un- bounded delight, I was told that I should have to push on to Lake Nyassa within the next few days. (To be concluded.) ‘Ne ON A COCO-NUT PLAN ATION. in OuoRLY, thirty thousand coco-nuts can be seen Photograph. They are laid out in the manner own until th, fj VoL Siege. sprout to a height of about two feet, after which they are transplanted to a distance of twenty-five feet apart. The picture was taken on a coco-nut plantation in Tobago, British West Indies.

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% ~& INOLD @& One of those joyous, ridiculous By - HUGH THOMASON MULUSTRATEO BY~ &. belonging to the Barnum and stories that would raise a smile 47 EARNSHAW Bailey Show, matched their charge on the face of a graven image. It reads like fiction, but the Author vouches for its truth, Two Americans, left’ behind in Madrid with an elephant JT was nine o’clock in the evening. @ Two roughly-dressed Americans were sitting in the midst ot a convivial crowd of Madrilefios in the wine- room of an inn near the Plaza de Toros, in the city of Madrid. The Spaniards were arguing vociferously about the merits of the different breeds of bulls which were to fight in the arena of the Plaza de Toros during the following week The two Americans, Tom Hogan and Mike Sullivan, had been left behind by the “ Great Barnum and Bailey Show” the day before, Hogan in charge of ‘ Pete,” a big African ele- phant, who had been found too sick with colic to travel, and Sullivan because of the fact that he had imbibed somewhat too freely of the various brands of wines for which Madrid is famous. In the exact words of Mr. Hogan, “ He was dead to the world when the outfit pulled out.” One must not think that these two gentlemen did not know what. was going on around them ; for they did, having spent several winters with the Orrin Brothers in the city of Mexico, where they had absorbed a splendid working knowledge of the Spanish language as then spoken on both sides of the Rio Grande. Presently Sullivan butted into the conversa- tion. ‘This here gent,” he said, indicating Hogan, “ has a bull that can lick any bull in this town for money. An’ what’s more, he’s got him tight here on the spot. Savvy?” In answer to a shower of questions, Hogan informed the assemblage that the bull alluded to by Sullivan was not of the bovine species, but nothing more or less than an elephant— always called “ bulls ’’ by showmen. “But him being a elephant don’t interfere none with me backin’ him against any bull you-all can scrape up with all my ready cash an’ my share of the gate receipts,” continued Hogan. to fight in the bull-ring with the best Spanish bulls the authori- ties could produce. The result—well, read for yourself | “Pete is the name of this here bull, and he carries his horns in his mouth. Will he fight a Spanish bull? Good people, let me tell you something. This here same clephant battled a bull in Lima, Peru, from half-past four o’clock in the atternoon until ten at night. They had to bring torches in the ring for them to finish up the fight by!” “Is it possible that the elephant and tke bull will combat one with the other?” inquired a chido from the Plaza de Toros. “ Ain’t Blacky just been tell'n you that he pulled off a scrap in Lima with Pete an’ a bull?” asked Sullivan, scowling at the interrogator over a half-filled glass of wine. “ Will the Sefior Americano relate to us about this combat ?”’ said the Sefionta Carmencita Garcia, a Spanish dancer, who had but a short time previously finished a beautiful castanet dance on the top of one of the heavy tables. She laid a dainty hand upon Hogan's shoulder. The Sefiorita Garcia was the sweetheart of a popular esbada by the name of Ramon de Rosa. Hogan greatly admired the lovely Carmencita, and had been using his best endeavours to get her to accompany him to the United States as Mrs. Hogan, but so far with slight success. Acting under the influence of her smile, Hogan said :— “ I was left in Lima one time with Pete, just the same as I am left here. Pete suffers from colic, and is always having spells like this. Well, they was having bull-fights every day in that burg, and things was boomirg. I, being broke at the time, thought it would be a grand idea to rig up a fight between Pete and one of the bulls for part of the gate receipts. It would have been all right if Pete had been well, or if they had fought an ordinary bull against him; but they didn’t. They went out and got one of those old he Incus breed of bulls from back in

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the hills, which same animal was almost as big as Pete; besides, Pete was thin and fretful from being sick. They fed this bull on red peppers for three days before the fight, to make him vicious and bad. When them two animals was turned loose together in the ring they flew at each other like bulldogs. They locked horns and tusks in the arena, and they fought round after round until they were so dog-tired they could only just stagger at each other. As I said before, the fight had to be finished by torchlight. Believe me, it was some scrap. The referee said it was the gamest little set-to he had ever seen in all his twenty years’ experience, and he gave his decision as a draw, all bets being declared off.” There was a chorus of “ Carambas ! ” from the greatly-impressed company. “Would the Sefor Hogan allow the gallant Pedro to combat the bull in the ring here in Madrid ?” asked an elderly Madrilefio of rather Prosperous appearance. “Surest thing you know,” replied Hogan ; “ but remember, Sullivan and me gets our share of the gate receipts if this scrap is pulled off. We will be in Pete’s corner and look after him.” “The arena is of oval shape, and has not the corners,’ said the Madrileno. “That's all right, old sport,” said Sullivan. “Blacky don’t mean the kind of corners you mean. What he means is that we will see Pete through this thing in gond shape. We will be his seconds, bottle-holders, and everything.” “The steward of the Marquess de Villaseca, the president of the arena, is my good friend,” Teplied the Madrilefio. “I will see him and arrange everything. The sefior will not bother his head about the slightest detail.” Later that evening, when they had returned to their room, Sullivan asked Hogan :— “Was all that stuff on the square you was givin’ that bunch of Dagoes about Pete’s scrappin’ a bull in Lima? It sounded queer to me.” “No; I just made it all up to let that Ramon guy know he wasn't the whole cheese,”” replied Hogan. “Look here, Blacky! How do you know whether Pete will fight a bull ? ” asked Sullivan, with some anxiety in his voice. “I don’t know it,” said Hogan; “ but I don’t reckon any respectable American elephant is going to stall around in the ring and take any insults from a Dago bull.” “But suppose Pete acts yellow ?” persisted Sullivan. “He ain’t goin’ to lay down to no bull,” growled Hogan. “ And won't we be in his corner to stiffen him up? We will get some of them fine bull-fighter clothes, too. I know a place on Calle del Sol where we can get ’em on time—any colour you want. If Pete wins we get a barrel of money. See? And he can’t lose.” “* What rules are they going to fight under ? inquired Sullivan. IN OLD MADRID. 499 “T don’t know,” confessed Hogan. “I think it’s catch-as-catch-can, nothing barred.” Full of their great project, they went to have a look at Pete, giving him sundry friendly slaps in the process. “He ain't got but half a tusk on the right side,” complained Sullivan. “Don’t worry about a trifle like that,” said Hogan. ‘“ Look at the spar the old boy carries on the port!” The very next day the Marquess de Villaseca’s steward sent for them, and made Hogan repeat the story of the great fight at Lima, Peru. Hogan, in telling the story, made it much stronger than when he first related it at the inn, After a brief conversation a match was arranged between " Battling Pedro,” the fighting elephant from America, and one or more bulls, as the occa- sion might demand. It was stipulated that Pedro was to fight only one bull at a time, and in order to equalize the disparity in size Pedro was to be handicapped by having one of his hind legs tethered to a huge stake driven deep into the sand and clay of the arena to within fifteen inches of its top. A ten-foot chain was to connect the right hind foot of Pete with the stake. The fight was scheduled for the opening day, which gave Hogan and Sullivan two days in which to get Pete in shape. Loud and long were the arguments at the inn over the merits of the elephant and the bulls. “All I say is that if Pete puts up the scrap here that he put up in Lima it will be a walk- over,” declared Hogan. ‘“ There ain’t no bull that ever brushed a fly that can put it over him.” “ Which same I endorses,’ declared Sullivan. “T’m stacking in my last red chip on this fight. I'll either travel in society or sleep in the streets.” The fight between Pete and the bulls was widely advertised, and on the day of its occur- rence there was a notable increase of strange Spanish costumes in Madrid. People came from the country in great numbers, and at a street stall near the inn there was a great sale of tickets going on. The Plaza de Toros was a huge uncovered circus, able to hold ten thousand people. The arena was level, hard, sandy, and scrupulously clean. Its first enclosure was a wooden fence about six feet high, with a ledge about two feet from the ground, from which a man might easily vault over the fence. Outside the fence was a clear space some four or five fect wide, and then came the tiers of seats. The better seats were separated from the worse by a high rail; and the best, above all, were like a set of private boxes in an opera house, well enclosed and covered in. Among these the chief, like a royal box, was occupied by the president, the Marquess de Villaseca, and his friends. At half-past four a trumpet sounded, the arena —up to this time occupied by scattered groups of people—was quickly cleared, and in a few

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5c minutes everyone was in his seat. About mmne- tenths of the whole amphitheatre was filled. The entire company was very quiet ; there were no police or gendarmes, yet all was orderly, as in an assembly of connoisseurs. When all were seated there came a loud flourish of trumpets, and through doors opened in the fence around the arena two men rode in —supposedly heralds—and galloped around the arena. Another louder flourish, accompanied by the beating of drums, and through the same open doors a long procession filed in. All who were to engage in the fight, the men with cloaks and darts, the horsemen with long lances, the matadores, the chiefs of all, with their long, thin Tapiers, marched slowly across the arena. They were followed by ten or twelve huge mastiffs, led by Right in the middle of the chains. procession there shuffled along a huge African elephant with a broken tusk, flanked on either side by two figures gaily arrayed in suits of bright green trimmed with tarnished gold—our Tied to the un- two friends Sullivan and Hogan. broken tusk of the elephant was a large rosette of red, white, and blue ribbons. After homage to the president, all filed out except two horse- men and about six men carrying cloaks. These remained for the beginning of the first contest—an ordinary bull-fight. Two regulation contests took place ; then came the third item on the programme, the fight between ‘Pedro, the great American elephant,” and an Andalusian bull. Pete was duly escorted to the centre of the arena by his two backers, Hogan and Sullivan, and tethered to tlie stump of the stake, which projected out of the ground, by one of his hind legs. A great tan-coloured bull with black points was driven into the arena. He gazed at Pete for a moment and then drifted sullenly towards him with his head lowered and twisted a little to one side. Meanwhile Pete was amusing himself by eating oranges, which were showered upon him by his admirers on the benches. With the greatest coolness he con- tinued his repast, picking up orange after orange with his trunk, being careful, however, to keep his face to the bull, turning slowly as his enemy galloped around the ring trying to take him in the flank. At last the bull prepared to charge, and Pete packed his trunk away between his tusks and quietly awaited the onslaught. The bull rushed at him furiously; but the huge animal, quite good-naturedly and with an air of pitying contempt, simply turned aside the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. attack with his one complete tusk, and as soon as the bull withdrew, a little nonplussed, went on picking up and eating his oranges as before. The bull, it soon became apparent, had lost interest in the fight, and he was driven out. Another bull came trotting into the arena. “Caused him to dive straight through the wooden fence. leaving a breach fifteen feet in dia- meter. Pete seemed to realize at once that for the moment he must leave his oranges ; but he became aware at the same time that in turning round to face the first bull he had gradually wound himself up close to the stump, and had no room to back so as to receive the attack. The sagacious beast discovered this by swinging his tethered leg first in one direction and then in another over the stump. Walking slowly round and round, he unwound the chain, always facing the bull, until he had plenty of freedom of action. He was careful to turn as if on a pivot, keeping the chain stretched all the time. Finally he seemed satisfied, and at that moment the bull charged home. Stepping slightly aside, Pete caught him up sideways on his tusks, and for a fraction of time held him in the air, perfectly impotent and mad with rage. Then the elephant lowered his head and set him down. The astonished and humbled bull, Disitized by GOOQTE Cc

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Tecognizing that he had met his master, declined further combat. Now, all the world knows that, with the excep- tion of the mouse, an elephant fears a cat more than anything‘else. A couple of the mastiffs had broken loose and, secing a large yellow tom-cat ‘IN OLD MADRID. 501 The chain and stake never even caused him to hesitate; he simply took two tons of packed clay along with him and kept on travelling. The bull flattered himself that Pete was running away from him, so he put on extra steam iu order to be in at the finish. sauntering around the stalls in a nonchalant manner, promptly gave chase. The cat sought safety in flight, and, being closely pressed by the dogs, jumped to the top of the fence which sur- rounded the arena. With every hair standing straight on end and his tail the size of a rolling- pin, he hesitated for one brief moment; then, with a screeching yowl, like the wail of a lost soul, he shot through the air like a yellow streak and struck the sandy surface of the arena at the rate of sixty miles an hour. He headed directly for Pete, who was facing him. At this precise moment a small black bull of waspish disposition, which had just been let into the ring, was also charging the elephant. Pete's great fan-like ears flapped forward and hung straight out at right angles from his head; his eyes bulged and his tail stuck straight out. Then he threw up his trunk, gave one shrill whistle of terror, turned tail, and fled. When they arrived at the fence the elephant, in ordinary circumstances, would have turned to the right or left, but at this critical moment the bull jabbed two particularly sharp horns into Pete’s stern, which caused him to dive straight through the wooden fence like a shell from a sixteen-inch gun, leaving a breach fifteen feet in diameter. When Pete disappeared, with a crash that shook the building, the bull stopped and viewed the breach with astonishment. The Madrilefios rose in their seats, hugged them- selves and one another, and yelled with delight. For had not the small Spanish bull chased the mighty Pedro in disgrace from the ring ? The two discomfited Americans gazed at one another in disgust. “Oh, ain't this Aell !"’ exclaimed Hogan. “It sure is,” replied Sullivan. ‘‘ We'd better quit.”

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FAR AND NEAR. HE accompanying picture shows the well- known “dog-market” in the East-end of London. It is a familiar sight to many Londoners, but there are no doubt thousands of our readers who have never heard of this novel used are—a handful of dry grass, some touch of tinderwood, and a piece of very hard wood about eighteen inches or so in length, and a little thicker than a lead pencil. The boy on the left is seen steady- ing the touchwood, whilst the other, placing the open-air canine market. It is situated in the vicinity of Club Row, and every Sunday morning hundreds of venders can be seen, with dogs of all shapes, sizes, and breeds for sale. It has been said that stolen animals may sometimes be found in this market by their owners, but this probably refers to an earlier The curious “dog-market” in the East-end of London, end cf his “match” on the touchwood, rapidly revolves it between the palms of his hands. In two minutes or less smoke is seen rising from the touch- wood. The boy holding this now bends down and gently blows the smoking point, whilst the other redoubles his efforts. Very soon a red glow appears period, when the district had a very bad name, and policemen used to warn well-dressed folk not to venture among the dealers. The second photograph shows two natives of ire without the aid of matches The articles Mashonaland lighting a or other inventions of civilization. Natives of Mashonaland lightin a fire by friction. in the middle of the smoke, and the ‘ bellows ” boy gently places a little of the dry grass on the glowing point, blowing gently all the time. The grass catches fire at once and flares up. The other boy now removes his “match” and piles dry grass and twigs on the flame, and in a few minutes a bright fire is burning.

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WITHaBRISTOL FIGHTER.« SQUADRON 6 LieutW. Noble RAF. Illustrated by W. Avis. There is a saying that the hour brings forth the man, and the record of the Air Service abundantly proves its truth. At a time of desperate need it produced what seemed to the average groundling to be a race of super-men—mere youngsters who were more at home in the air than on terra firma, of boundless courage and audacity, seeking adventure for the sheer love of it, and laughing in the very face of Death. In this narrative—exclusively written for “The Wide World”—the Author describes some of his experiences with a “fighter” squadron on the Western Front. The mission of a “fighter” squadron, as the name implies, is to seek out the enemy and if possible destroy him, and right well did this particular unit carry out its work. Lieutenant Noble has some most thrilling stories to tell, and he also gives one some very interesting glimpses of the psychology of the airman in the face of deadly danger. Be LLIED Air Successes,” in large | headlines, cheered the British ] public on opening their favourite morning paper one day in late January, 1918. Never since the outbreak of war had the operations .ot our airmen been carried out on such an extensive scale or in such a variety of ways. The report on fighting only—that being the branch in which we specialized—read: “ Hard air fighting took place yesterday all along the line, the results being greatly in our favour. Ten hostile aeroplanes were brought down and six others driven down: out of control. One of our machines is missing.”’* This’ demonstrated unmistakably the giant strides made in the aerial services of both our- selves and the Germans. Our ascendancy had become more marked, week by week and month by month, throughout the year. It is of the part played by the squadron to which I had the honour to belong that I am writing, so I may be forgiven for stating that of the sixteen enemy aeroplanes shot down we were responsible for seven, whilst the ‘‘ missing’ machine was unfortunately one of our formation. For some days the earth had been covered with a mantle of snow and dense, low-lying fogs had greatly hindered war-flying. On the rare occasions when we had taken the air for a * It is interesting to comrare this report with the results achieved on a certain day in October, when in air fighting sixty-cight enemy aircraft were destroyed and twenty-six driven down out of control, with a loss to us of seventeen machines missing. Il. practice flight, we had been amply rewarded for the inconvenience entailed by the impressive, picturesque grandeur of a world clad in virginal white. Now, however, after a forty-eight hours’ thaw, except for vestiges of snow where the rays of the sun had not penetrated, the countryside had reverted to its normal wintry state of mud and bleakness. Twelve machines were detailed to provide, in the absence of anything more thrilling, practice for the Boche anti-aircraft gunners from 11.0 to 12.30. Visibility was moderately good, and at ten thousand feet we had an excellent bird's-eye view of the famous Ypres salient, and of the pock-marked area adjoining it. Everywhere canals and rivers had overflowed, and to the north of Dixmude the flooded terrain had swollen visibly. The sinuous, winding lines of opposing trenches could be followed without difficulty. In these compara- tively peaceful days before the April withdrawal we held a tiny portion of the vast Forest of Houlthurst, and the line passed to the east of Poelcappelle and Passchendaele, west of Ghelu- velt through Hollebeke, and east of Messines. Not even on the Somme battlefields could one see a more pitiful, desolate stretch of once-fertile country. These plains of Flanders are low: lying, and shell-holes innumerable and inter- laced penetrated below the water-level. That day the loathsomeness of the scene beggared description, and I was thankful that we were at an altitude which precluded detailed impressions of the ghastliness of the spectacle. We crossed the lines and flew over desolate

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WIDE WORLD country towards where, the map informed me, “Westroosebeke”’ once stood. As was his custom, “Archie” hurled innumerable projectiles at the formation. Personally, I did not hear a single burst, but it was evident that the rear machines were having a tempestuous voyage. Swerving to the left, we made for Staden, where the gunners distributed their favours impartially. “ Wouff! Wouff!’” “ Archie ’’ was getting un- pleasant. ‘Crunch ! Crunch ! "—his unpleasant- ness had arrived. It is consolatory to realize that, by the time the report is heard, all danger is past from that particular shell. The barrage being exceptionally heavy, D. steered an irregular course, climbed and lost height, and we came to no harm. It is doubtful, however, if it is advisable for individual pilots to take upon themselves the onus of dodging “ Archie.” The leader and his observer can see what is going on, and can act accordingly, when all MAGAZINE, “Almost at the same moment a wing fell off.” machines should follow, keeping strictly in formation. Independent acting re- sults at the best in the disorganization of the patrol for combined offensive purposes; and, at the worst, in the isolation of a single machine upon which ~all guns will concentrate—as well as Huns in the air. In practice it has been found that the chances of ‘‘ Archie” bringing down a single machine are infinitely greater than of bagging one of a formation. This is, presumably, due to the fact that gunners are inclined to aim at the latter as a whole instead of selecting one of its number and steadily haunting it. The German Flying Corps were out to-day in greater force than usual. Specks miles away, unattended by black puffs, were immediately classified as hostile. Fifteen black midgets coming from the north-east were growing larger every moment. In those days practically the only enemy fighting aeroplanes met with at high altitudes was the Albatross scout; two seaters were seldom encountered at over ten thousand feet. All British fighting machines, with the exception of the Sopwith Camel— which differs from all others, whether Allied or enemy—had “ dihedral’”’; which means that both right and left wings inclined downwards towards their junction with the body of the machine. There was no doubt that these graceful, bird-like creatures were Albatrii—to give the plural in the R.A.F, fashion. There was no mistaking the silhouette formed by the wings, which, of equal length, are parallel with the horizontal. As they came still nearer their peculiar V-shaped struts confirmed their type. They were flying on the same level as the bulk of our formation—sixteen thousand feet. Our leader was steadily climbing, hoping to gain the (Goog bd

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTc:R SQUADRON. undoubted advantage of height. They did the same, with the result that the rapidly converging machines simply mingled together, and a ‘‘ dog- fight ’ ensued, in which everyone blazed away at any and every opponent within reasonable range. The German machines were painted with large, broad rings about their bodies. The pre- dominant colours were green, brown, and black, and it is probable that this was an example of “camouflage,” for when flying between us and the ground they merged into the landscape and were difficult to detect. During the next few moments I caught flecting glimpses of machines diving and “ zooming ”’ ; of tracer wisps ; and of one black-crossed, grace- ful, harlequin-like bird spinning slowly to earth. My attention was necessarily concentrated on defending the tail, and taking such opportunities as presented themselves for offensive action. D—— had, in the general mélee, dived and fired on two occasions, but without putting a Hun out of action ; and I had fired at a machine that, spitting bullets, approached unpleasantly near my tail. Shortly atterwards a Hun flew past at Tight angles to me, pursued by one of our machines which, in its turn, had a Hun on its tail. The latter was diving at an angle of about twenty degrees, and was rapidly overhauling our plane. When he was within a hundred and fifty yards of it, and about the same distance from us, I took aim with the ring-sight and fired. The first few rounds were some feet in front, but directly in the course which was being taken. There was No necessity to alter the aim; if I held the gun steady, nose and pilot must pass through the barrage. Streaks of fire entered first the nose, then the fuselage, and finally the pilot's cockpit. It is probable that he was hit and fell forward on to the joy-stick, for the machine suddenly dived vertically. Almost at the same moment a wing fell off. I made no effort to watch the machine to earth. It was bound to crash, and was in fact confirmed by an anti-aircraft battery as having done so. One must learn to take such incidents—brimful of excitement and “in- terest though they are — quite calmly. It was my first Hun, ‘and I was delighted. But ina“ dog-fight ” -there is no time to moralize or philoso- phize over a single victim. There are others waiting to be shot down. and they are, by no means unarmed antagonists whom one can dis- regard. I have one 505 case in mind of a young and enthusiastic observer, who was so engrossed in watching his first (and last) Hun crash that he was riddled with bullets without, in all probability, having seen the machine from which they came. « By this time some few of the Albatrii had been shot down, and we had been reinforced by two scouts. The enemy had been severely ‘' strafed,” and was making efforts to break off the combat. It was not advisable to follow them far, as a strong westerly wind was blowing, making it rash to venture farther, lest our petrol should give out. D—— had been taking (and making) oppor- tunities, and was one of the last to speed the parting enemy. He dived on the rear machine, which very possibly was already damaged, and fired a few short bursts. The Hun dived verti- cally at terrific speed, and disappeared far below in the ground mist. No effort was made to flatten out; so we were, it is hoped, right in assuming that she was out of control. The leader having fired a number of red lights to collect the formation, we crossed the lines in rather scattered array, and made for home. Here the C.O., as was his wont, awaited us on the aerodrome, and we gathered round him and reported. Seven Huns were claimed. Of these, five were ultimately confirmed by independent observers as having crashed, and the remaining two could not be followed down to the earth owing to the ground mist. Of those confirmed, the wings of two had folded back; one went down in a spinning nose-dive; another stalled and turned over and over; whilst the fifth went down in a slow spin. Twelve machines had set out. By ones and twos eleven returned; P——- and L—— were still out. Where were they? Did anyone see them go down? The questions were asked anxiously, but calmly. No satisfactory answer Pilots ana observers ready for a flight.

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506 was forthcoming. just disappeared. It is extraordinary how complacently, how composedly, such incidents are taken by squad- They and their machine had rons. Presumably it is a matter of usage—of familiarity. A “show” returns A machine is “ missing. It is—unless it has been seen to go down—expected to return in due course; or perhaps we may be informed by ‘phone that a forced landing has been made. The hours go by, and in the absence of definite news one wonders what has happened to the pilot and observer. “ Landed at for lunch; an old dodge of theirs,” suggests the optimist. Still mo news. Fora day there is a meagre hope. They may have landed far from a telephone. Then, “ Afraid they have bought it,”’ says some- one. ‘ Devil of a war, isn't it? Have a drink ? ’"—followed by silence; a mute toast at dinner; hardly a reference. Death was a common occurrence in those days—incorporated in the scheme of things. We were all accustomed to it, and we did not fear it, accepting it as all in the day’s work. Some days after the events last narrated, my young and adventurous pilot, D. , was due for home leave. We had become accustomed to one another’s methods and eccentricities, and the prospect of flying with another man did not appeal to me. 1 was to follow two days later to attend a ten days’ course in the vicinity of London. Much, however, may happen in a couple of days—given good flying weather—as the incidents I am about to relate will prove. The pilot with whom one has become accustomed to fly may not be the “ Ace ”’ of all Aces, but you and he have shared in many exciting and event- ful experiences, and you should have perfect confidence in one another. Nothing is worse for an observer’s nerves than to fly with a varied assortment of pilots—good, bad, and indifferent. Co-operation between the occupants of a fighting plane is essential, if their -Names are not to adorn the list of ‘ missing.” The knowledge that his flying partner is depend- able goes very far towards inculcating confidence and enthusiasm in a beginner in acrial warfare. Having seen D. on to a squadron tender, en route for Boulogne, I meandered back to breakfast somewhat disconsolate, and for the first time not looking forward to the day’s pro- mise of adventure. 1 was to fly with a pilot who had been over the lines twice only. He was considered an adept at handling a machine. This, however, was an attribute common to the great majority of pilots sent overseas at this stage of the war. But only in actual war-flying can one learn the game as played in the sternest school. Nothing but danger and fighting can prove whether any given man has the tempera- ment—the cool head in emergency—without which he is doomed to failure in a Battle Squad- ron. All who challenged the air Hun to combat a loutrance had to buy their experience. During THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the paying stage their life hung as by a thread } but after perhaps fifty hours of intense life over Hunland, that thread became so stout a rope that only ill-luck or a chance shot could sever it. It would be of interest to know how many airmen who “ went West ” disappeared from our hospitable messes during their first month of war- flying. The list would, I think, comprise a considerable percentage of our total Air Force casualties. Flying in formation is an art in itself, involving as it does a sympathetic understanding of the use of the throttle by which speed is regulated. To be a crack flier the same qualities as are needed in horsemanship are required. The nearer the “hands” of a pilot approach to those of the rider of a Grand National winner the. better; for, instinctively, they will then impart information to the brain concerning the moods, the vices, and the virtues of the throbbing, pulsating creature they control. A perfect horseman should make an ideal pilot ; for his hands, brain, and eye would, one infers, work in complete sympathy with his machine. New pilots find it by no means an easy thing to keep in formation, and the straggler was the piece de resistance for which roving bands of Huns would travel far and fast. Members of a large formation may see only minute black specks far away; but if a single machine lags behind—from engine trouble or other cause— it is astonishing how these midgets increase in size to the anxiously observant eyes of the occupants of the lonely plane. On this particular day I was destined to realize to the last degree the necessity for the advice so often given in aerial schools: ‘ Keep in formation; don’t straggle.” The ‘ show” was due to patrol east of the Boche lines from 11.0 to 12.30. At 10.15 twelve pilots and observers assembled at the office for the ‘' pow- wow.” On proceeding to the machine in which we were detailed to fly, and of which my com- panion-to-be possessed some knowledge, we found that it was temporarily hors de combat, and we had to fall back upon another. This did not increase my keenness for the morning's outing, as it meant that any idiosyncrasies it possessed would add to my pilot’s perplexities. We were in the “ above guard ”’ formation— the group of three flying over and behind the main body to guard against surprise, and to allow the remainder a fair field, free from molesta- tion, when scrapping. To-day, instead of heading towards Ypres, vid Poperinghe, the Flight Commander chose a course which we had seldom taken. Skirting the north-eastern edge of the Forest of Nieppe, we left Hazebrouck on our left—alive with trains and reminiscent of a bomb raid some evenings before, which had partially marred the enjoyment of an excellent dinner, of which the outstanding features were fowls and Chambertin, supplied by our amiable hostess, Madame of

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. 507 candidates for the belt of any Hun “head hunter” who might be spoiling for a fight, or of roving patrols who preferred attacking a_ single machine to a strong formation. The situ- ation was a distinctly dangerous one, and it is unfortunate that I did not advise the pilot to turn west and make for the lines and safety. Instead, I contented myself with passing him numerous notes, telling him to make A German ~ Albatross” machine. “Le Cheval Blanc" Thence to Bailleul, with its array of glass houses—destined to be shattered to bits a couple of months later—and following the railway line we came to Armentiéres, already groaning under persistent bombardments, and bearing little resemblance to the cheery town of spies, Louis Roederer, and tea-shops of 1915. We crossed the lines to the accompaniment of loud, strident, welcoming “ wouffs” from “ Archie,” and followed the line of the Lys River to Comines and Wervicq. Our leader apparently wished to show his contempt for the anti-aircraft batteries located near the latter place, for he calmly completed a tour of the town under dangerously accurate and concen- trated fire. After we had headed north-east tor a few minutes, our compass pointed due north, and we were flying about a mile to the left and parallel with the Menin-Ronlers road. The leader was now at an effort to climb to his old place in the formation. This, presumably, he was unable to do, for he must have realized that by straggling we were courting disaster. ms My mind flew back to my schooldays and the pathetic spectacle of a small boy reciting a certain famous passage from Virgil: ‘‘ Facilis Averni descensus est ''"—'' Easy is the descent to Avernus, but to retrace thy steps and retura to the upper air—that is the labour—that the toil,” and so on. A large-hearted classical master would have me repeat this daily upon his arrival in our class-room; he had his gaze meditatively fixed upon the life career of his erratic and unstable pupil. In those good eld days, before the era of flight, he expected me to end my days ingloriously. Prospects of sudden demise at the hands of Huns in the air had not then been dreamed of, even by the most learned in classical mythology. fourteen thousand feet or thereabouts, with the formation above him and to bis rear at heights up to _ seventeen thousand feet. Our correct position was on the right of the leader of the “above guard” formation, and we should have been at as great an altitude as anyone ; instead of which we were flying at fifteen thottsand fect, and half a mile to the rear of the nearest machine. We were in the dubious position of being The remains of a German plane which “crashed” in » wood,

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508 A red light fired from one of the foremost machines transferred me from the land of dreams to that of stern reality. In vain I searched the skies for enemy planes. No sooner had I assured myself that a false alarm had been given than the pilot put the nose of the machine duwn and dived steeply. Usually, when diving on a Hun, I have been able to overcome the intensified rush of air sufficiently to take an intelligent interest in passing events. Whether we were on this occasion diving at greater speed than usual I cannot say, but I was kept to a great extent glued to my seat. Consequently I did not see the machine at which he was shooting, when cac-cac-cac-cac-cac_ informed me that he was “ getting busy. After firing a long burst he pulled partially out of the dive, and I caught a fiecting glimpse of the black crosses of an Albatross scout diving to earth. It occurred to me in a sudden, illuminating flash that all was not well with our machine. After diving and firing at the Hun I expected it to be flattened out. But this had not occurred— * at least, not entirely. It was acting as if it were nose-hea for the tail was slightly above the horizontal. At the same time, whilst making progr towards the west, we seemed to be descending in slow spirals. After inclining down- wards to the right for some distance, the machine would appear to go slowly for a few moments whilst deliberating on its next move. Its mind being made up, it would go through the same process to the left, after which came the incline to the right again, and so on. So far as I was able to judge from my limited knowledge of aeronautics, we were out of control. There was nothing for me to do but to keep a sharp look-out for diving Huns—who, if they had noticed our predicament, would inevitably take an interest in the proceedings. At the time I was not aware that a burst of fire had passed through the engine from the right front to the left rear The injury had doubtless been inflicted by the Hun on whom we had dived. After a few moments of these erratic movements, it dawned upon me that it was only a matter of time before we crashed. I had a minute or two to live, just a brief breathing space betyeen glorious life and—what ? I have before remarked on the influence of the air of the upper regions, which—in my opinion— makes men to a very great extent impervious to fear.“ Nerves” are sooner or later developed by all who fly, but not for some time after they have made themselves felt on terra firma do they appear in actual flying. It is the anticipation of unpleasant incidents that generates fear. In contact with them, all is forgotten in the struggle for self-preservation, Later, when, metaphori- cally speaking, the nerve germs have bred sufficient white corpuscles to overcome the healthy red ones, fear begins to assert its sway when up aloft. The victim is now in a state of perpetual intense excitement, masked by an THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, outward semblance of calm; and it is then that the wise and observant Squadron Commander decides that it is time another of his officers had a rest For some fateful seconds one part of me—the real Me—appeared to be detached from all that was happening, and to be looking on calmly and unconcernedly at the other part. It was as af my soul was gazing out at the feeble worldly exploits of its partner the body. My thoughts in these absorbing moments have become indehbly impressed on my memory, in spite of the almost incredible swiftness with which they flashed through my brain. Strangely enough, I was not haunted by ghosts of the past —by visions of times musspent and things undone. I felt regrets ; but they were for joys untasted ; for not having made the most of Life, for not having squeezed from existence as much of real happiness as I might have done. I was recalled from fleeting considerations of the might have been to more mundane matters. The erratic movements of our machine suddenly ceased. Whether this was due to the juggling of the pilot with the engine and controls, or to luck, I have no idea. Once more we were flying straight. Our altitude was six thousand feet, and our formation was disappearing towards the north, whilst we were luckily ‘heading towards the lines. Four Albatross scouts, which had been hovering above us, now appeared, diving on our tail. They were from a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards away, and firing steadily. Circular wisps of tracer smoke‘ were preceding their machines, whilst occasional flashes of light from speeding bullets gave rough indications of the degree of skill in marksmanship possessed by our pursuers. This proved to be surprisingly mediocre, for only a few bullets vented the fuselage in my vicinity. Having flattened out, the Huns sat on our tail and continued the “ strafing ’’ process. In the meantime I had not been idle; I had fired a full magazine at one machine as it dived, but without noticeably damaging it. To account for a plane diving steeply is one of the most difficult things in the world, as sporting readers, with remembrances of the woods and driven birds late in the season, will readily realize. It was necessary to shoot nearly vertically upwards. On quiet, sober reflection some days afterwards I came to the conclusion that, of the four machines, I had singled out the one which offered the hardest, if most sporting, shot. The others were diving less steeply, and therefore presented easier targets. After changing magazines, I concentrated on the nearest Hun, firing directly at his nose—an easy shot, as he was flying dead level. After firing fifty to sixty rounds smoke commenced to issue from his tail and his nose inclined down- wards. I gave him the remaining rounds, exchanged magazines, and found only three

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WITH A BRISTOL FIGHTER SQUADRON. 5°09 machines left. Hastily sighting on another, I Poured a stream of lead and fire into him, but was diverted from this by the sudden appearance of another scout. At one moment he was diving Serply on us from my left front; at the next he the flashing past my tail, and so adjacent that his. was little space between our wing tip and wae Evidently he had dived and fired a burst ae ‘out success ; now he offered a comparatively inst shot. I swung the gun round and fired Nctively, as if my Lewis were a shot-gun. ae Was no time for thought or calculation ; an hea was rushing past at two hundred miles ur, and only for a long second was he within my zone of fire. can be relied upon. streaks of fire entered the fuselage a foot or so At point-blank range tracers I pulled the trigger and behind the pilot. Remedying the crror, I fired again. After three rounds the gun stopped. The magazine was empty, and the Hun had escaped. I put on another magazine and devoted my attention to the nearest of the attackers. Once more, after a few rounds, there was an ominous silence. I applied immediate action, pulled back the cocking handle, and pressed the trigger. No welcome response rewarded my efforts. The gun had jammed! To endeavour to right

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510 matters with three persistent gunners endeavour- ing to shoot one down is distinctly discon- certing. I tapped the pilot on the head, and pointed to the gun with the object of informing him that it was out of action. In return he pointed to the hole through the engine, thereby implying that he could do nothing except make for the lines.. This he was already doing, whilst throwing the machine about considerably, to make it more difficult for our pursuers to hit us. For a moment my gaze had wandered from them; now, to my astonishment, delight, and relief, I saw that one and all had just completed a turn and were making back over Hun-land. German machines, owing to our acknowledged and indisputable superiority in the air, did not relish crossing our lines. They had chased us as far as they dared to come. Nevertheless, it was an extraordinarily lucky chance that we reached the safety zone just when our prospects looked exceedingly gloomy. Below us lay the tortuous windings of the trenches, and in front Zillebeke Lake—than which it would be hard to name a landmark more useful for flying men. This sheet of water, triangular in shape, has the apex pointing, if not directly due east, at least as nearly so as is necessary for practical purposes; it can be setn for many miles, and on innumerable occasions pilots and observers, when in doubt as to their whereabouts, have hailed it with delight. Our engine was now in a parlous state. We had come down out of control from fourteen thousand feet, and had crossed the lines at six thousand feet. We were now gliding down, having switched off the engine. A forced landing was plainly indicated. To land on unknown country is always a hazardous undertaking. To do so on the unwholesome, pock-marked, sponge- jike area of the Ypres salient is an escapade THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. which at the best meant more work for aeroplane workers in Coventry and elsewhere, and at the worst—well, it’s a common occurrence. Hardly less inviting was the conglomeration of huts and makeshift residences of the immediate “ front behind the front,”” between which were scattered here and there plots of unoccupied ground of inconsiderable size. One of these the pilot eventually selected as his landing ground. It was by no means an ideal one, being only about a hundred and thirty yards in length, and bordered on all sides by huts. A risky spot, but quite legitimate for an experienced pilot. Taking precautions, how- ever, I sat tightly down, holding on grimly to the framework of the cockpit, with my knees braced firmly under the magazines. I hardly expected to crash on landing, but was extremely dubious as to the pilot’s ability to pull the machine up before it smashed into a building. Looking through the camera hole in the fuselage, the ground came nearer and nearer, until a very slight vibration was noticeable as the wheels struck the ground. Then followed an appreciable pause. The next thing I knew was that, blood- covered, dusty, and aching, I was on my hands and knees some yards away. The landing had been a bad one. The machine had pitched on to its nose and I had been hurled out. As I attempted to stand up, the tail, fol- lowing me over, hit me lightly on the back and sent me down again. I raised myself on to my knees, and with, difficulty stood up and gazed around in bewilderment. Troops from all quarters rushed up, amongst them some officers of a famous English line regiment. The pilot was none the worse for the crash. I was somewhat bruised and sore; and, although a strong brandy-peg helped to mend matters, it was six weeks before I emerged from a cure at Etaples and Paris- Plage. (To be continued.) The Only Inhabited ‘Cloghaun” in Ireland. The building shown in this picture is said to be the only inhabited “ cloghaun”’ or “ bee- hive” hut in Ireland. Over a thousand years ago this queer type of dwelling house was com- mon, and the one seen in our photograph has been continu- ously inhabited for over eight hundred years, the present occu- pants being an old white horse and the man seen sitting out- side. There are no windows to the hut. and the smoke from the peat fire escapes through a hole in the roof. Inspite of their durability, we do not think “cloghauns” are likely to be built nowadays to remedy the house shortage.

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MN 1V HROUGH the crack of the door I anxiously watched one of the very agitated old women, who was endeavouring to ap- pear unconcerned and continue with the wash- ing; and I listened for any conversation. “If even one child has seen him come in, we are lost," she said to the other in Turkish. Just then a man en- tered and spoke to the other woman ; evidently he was inquiring about me. I could only see his feet, but made cer- tain it was the soldier who had chased me. I was now beginning to gain my breath, and I decided to take my chance and dash out again if he searched the back of the house first. It appeared, however, that it was only a youth who lived onthe premises and had seen me enter. He was soon disposed of, and after driving away a wretched small boy who would persist in glueing his eye to the door, a young Greek woman who spoke French appeared and asked me who I was. I told her, and also why I had entered her house so unceremoniously. She promised to help me in any way she could. I expected the soldier to come back again to search the house, perhaps reinforced by some men from the barracks, and so I said that I M: TWO -YEARS' CAPTIVITY a the TURKS Oduentired AMONG : An Qinmaris ing G8COfL— by . oat 7 Can TW White. DEC MALUSTRATED BY ERNEST PRATER This narrative—specially written for “The Wide World Magazine ’—de- scribes the thrilling experiences of an Australian flying officer who was cap- tured by the Turks while endeavouring to cut some telegraph wires outside Bagdad. Enduring all kinds of hard- ships, Captain White was taken from prison-camp to prison-camp, always on the lookeout fora chance to escape, for he consistently refused to give his parole. Not for two weary years, however, did his opportunity come, and then he got away in a very clever and daring fashion. A series of night- mare adventures followed — narrow shaves of recapture, of death at the hands of Bolsheviks, and nerve-trying spells spent in hiding and disguise—- until at long last he reached Salonica and safety. No more remarkable story of personal adventure has emerged from the records of the war. alc having a drink of w: s I knew that it was a z matter for any Turkish subjects who helped the ed her, however, if she could buy me a Turkish fez and coat. Her husband came in at that moment, and, matters having been ex- plained, I purchased his fez and a frowzy and tattered Chesterfield coat that belonged to the youth I had seen. The fez was several sizes too small and the coat ridiculously tight, and in consequence I had to leave my own felt hat and civilian coat behind, as I could not get the Chesterfield over the jacket. Then, to improve matters, in case 1 should meet my pursuer out- side, I cut off my moustache and turned down the bottoms of my rather superannu- ated trousers. My hair had been clipped short, and a scar on my head that 1 had received from a homicidal Arab in Basra showed up very plainly. I covered this identi- fication mark with boot polish, and even went to the length of cutting off my eyelashes so as 1 leave again enemy. I to look as different as possible. Then, with the small boy walking ahead as my pilot to the tram, I started out for Galata, which is on the northern side of the Golden Horn, about three miles distant.

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» 512 All the pleadings of his playmates to come and play, and inquiries as to where he was going, would not draw the youngster into an explana- tion, and he seemed proud of his responsibilities as he Ied me to the tram. As I stood waiting at a corner opposite the beautiful Sultan Bayazid mosque, his signals to me from the kerbstone not to board the wrong tram, as I was looking unconcernedly into a shop window, attracted considerable attention among some Turkish officers who were also waiting. But no one appeared less interested in the signals than mysclf, though the Turks were evidently puzzled as to whom he was waving his hand and wagging his head to, whenever a tram approached. The right tram came at last, however, and I travelled through the city and across the Galata bridge, and thus avoided the toll-collectors and over-zealous gendarmes who are usually to be found upon the bridge. I found the beer-garden I was bound for without any troubie, and took a seat near the piano. Over a bock of beer and some strips of strong-smelling dried fish, I studied the crowd. They were principally German and Austrian soldiers, with a sprinkling of Turks and Greeks. But I could see nobody who had a cigarette behind his ear, so I placed one behind my own ear and watched. Nobody seemed interested, so, after spending an hour over my two drinks, I pretended to fall asleep so as to divert any unwelcome attention from me. An hour or more of this convinced me that the man I wanted was not there, and that a longer stay might draw unwelcome attention from the waiters or the soldiers. I decided, therefore, to leave and return next morning. It occurred to me that the safest place until darkness set in would be in a boat upon the Bosphorus, where I would have only the attention of the boatman drawn to me, and where there would be smaller chance of my being arrested for evading military service; for there were very few young men, except soldiers, to be seen in Constantinople. In Constantinople at that time each man seemed to spy on his neighbour. And I adopted the principle that, if any person stopped or turned his head to stare, I stared back once only, and then moved on, never looking back, otherwise I knew that I should be followed. 1 had just bought some cigarettes for my next experiment at the beer-garden, choosing a moment when heavy traffic was passing so that the shopkeeper did not notice I knew very little Turkish, when I was stopped by a gendarme. He was one of a party of three. Noticing that he had an unlighted cigarette in his hand, I anticipated him, and protfered him my lighted one. I thus avoided conversation, and, looking as childlike as possible, and appearing concerned only about the continuance of my walk, I waited his pleasure. He took a light, and gravely THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. salaamed by, touching heart and brow as he returned my cigarette. I salaamed in return, and continued on my way, breathing more easily. At the landing steps near the Sultan’s beautiful palace of Dolma Batché, I sat down and watched the procedure of those who came to hire caiguas, before selecting one of these craft for myself. I then chose one rowed by a caiquechi whom I thought I could manage if he became obstre- perous. My counting ability in Turkish was limited to about forty, so that when he told me the price in piastres for a two hours’ row I had to feign deafness, and have the price repeated many times, and then was only sure of it when he showed me the total in tens on his fingers. As he seemed more inclined to talk about the scenery than to row the boat, once we had started off, I decided that deafness would probably be the best cure for his loquacity, and would hide the fact that my Turkish vocabulary was small. But he was very persistent that the scenery was beautiful. And it was only when he stood up and shouted three or four times, first in one ear and then in the other, that, even when I understood him, I would answer with an ‘ evvet” (yes) or “ chok guzel” (very beautiful), or one of the numerous gesticulations that the Turk employs to show approval, disapproval, of admiration. But the music of a European band that floated out to us as he rowed up and down before the palace walls, under the very noses of the sleepy- looking guards, rather took me off my guard, and I fancied that he knew I had heard it. So I relapsed into a lifelike imitation of sea- sickness, at which my credvlous- Sancho Panza propped me up with the boat's cushions in the mest obliging manner possible, and also hoisted a sail so that the boat would be steadier. Aiter two hours of this, during which I was able to admire Constantinople from the best point of view, and to watch a summer sunset above the domes, minarets, and mouldering buttresses of the city, I landed again. So that the catquechi would not set anyone on to follow me if he had any suspicions, I pretended that I would be down at the water-front at tea o'clock next morning to hire his boat again. I then directed my steps to the European quarter of Pera, where I hoped to be able to obtain a meal and a resting-place for the nigbt. Passing a large cemetery, which I learned after wards was the Grand Champs des Morts, I decided to sleep there, or in an adjacent ruin, failing any better accommodation. My way took me past the hospital at Gumush Suyu, and I recognized and walked past some of the wardsmen, who were standing at the gate with the guards. As they did not know me, I was satisfied that there was nothing very much wrong with my disguise. But I looked in at many cafés and shop windows before I found one that suited me, the

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. eating-house of my eventual choice being one where the Turks, Greeks, and “ motleys ’’ present all seemed to have imbibed unwisely ; at least, one would have judged so by the noise of tinkling mandolines, squeaking fildles, and the horrible whining singing that was going on. However, J was able to eat in peace over an evening newspaper, everybody present being so pleased and satisfied with himself that hypo- critical smiles and applause on my _ part satisfied them as to my bona fides. But I found it more difficult to find a place to sleep. I had just got out of the café when a red-fezzed individual stopped me abruptly and jabbered at me in some unknown tongue, which was probably Armenian. Cigarettes again! I thought, though I kadn’t the remotest idea what he wanted. So I offered him one, which, however, he only took after some demur, and seemed annoyed at my imperturbable dull- ness. I was glad when he moved on, evidently, judging by his ex- pression, calling me the thickest- headed fool he had ever met. The Grand Rue de Pera was crowded, German and Austrian officers and soldiers forming a considerable section of the crowd. I tried to find the Hotel Imperiale, where I knew that the Greek I had met in the train was staying, and where I hoped I might stay with- out a passport. But after asking a shop girl, who promptly took to her heels, I gave it up, and decided on the cemetery, after seeing a “ show’ to pass the time. Seeing an electric sign which I took to denote a cinema-hall, I walked upstairs, wondering where I should find the ticket-office—and found myself in a rather gorgeous boot-cleaning and hair-cutting establishment ! And though I could have stayed with advantage for either operation, for I was decidedly dis- hevelled, I preferred to make a quick exit. My next venture was at a paper-shop, where the proprietor did not like my French (I was not surprised !), and was astonished that I did not know the cinema was next door. My faux pas on this occasion was quite as bad as the previous one. For, after averring that I was a Turk when I was told that the theatre was for Turks alone, I found, on getting inside, that I was the only person present except a small boy who sold drinks, and who informed me that the show did not commence for another hour and a half! In my hasty exit I almost fell through a glass door that 1 had not noticed, and was glad when I reached the street again. Vol. »liv.—35, : The Author in the improvised disguise he wore in Constanti- nople, 513 While strolling round the vegetable bazaars, and looking in the fine shop windows of the Grand Rue de Pera, I heard two men speaking English, and followed them to overhear their conversation, for I hoped, if they proved to be interned Englishmen or Americans, that they might be able to tell me where I could spend the night. But I lost them in the crowd. I therefore essayed a third cinema venture when the time was ripe, and this time chose a place among the twenty-piastre seats alongside a Turkish officer and some military cadets. The greater number of the male part of the audience were soldiers, among whom Ger- mans and Austrians were con- spicuous. I enjoyed the show—a film pro- duction of “ Sophy of Kravonia,”’ by Anthony Hope, and some German war pictures—and all the more so because of the unique circumstances and the fact that I had seen nothing of the sort for over three years. Nobody spoke to me, and I spent the intervals pretending to read a paper. Arrived in the street again, I set out for the cemetery to sleep. But in spite of my endeavours I could not find it. Seeing a party of what I took to be Russians _ conversing together, I smoked a cigarette alongside and listened. I could only hear a little of their conversation, but satisfied myself, both by their uniform and their speech, that they were Russians, perhaps Georgians, I thought, as the Georgian prisoners had been released by the Turks since the foundation of a Georgian State by the Germans. IT struck up a conversation with them in the hope that they might know a place where I could sleep. But I quickly discovered that they were Bul- garian officers, so as soon as I could break off the conversation with politeness I withdrew. I only learnt afterwards that many collo- quialisms in the Russian and Bulgarian languages are alike, and that the Russian and Bulgarian officers’ uniforms are strikingly similar. The streets were almost deserted, except for gendarmes, when, close on midnight, after another vain search for the cemetery and the Hotel Imperiale, and when I was beginning to fear arrest as a vagrant, I found a resting-place for the night in a Greek lodging-house close to the entrance of the Underground railway to Galata. But I was subjected to a stream of questions in Turkish from the proprietress, And my story that I was a Georgian Mussulman, named Kakarodse Berodse (a Georgian name that V- had written down for me), who had

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514 lost his passport, and who wore a fez because his Georgian headpiece attracted a crowd, was only half believed. She had been in Russia, but fortunately knew less Russian that I did; and she told me hat tshe half-believed I was a German deserter ! Not all the plagues that Moses invoked to annoy Pharaoh could have kept me awake that night; for by train, tram, boat, and on foot [ had covered many miles that day, and was thoroughly tired. Next morning I went by the comical Under- ground railway to Galata again, only to find that the beer-garden was closed. I bought a Hila! from a newsvender, and went into a refreshment kiosk on Galata bridge to read it, over some cakes and a cup of powdered burnt maize, a passable substitute for coffee, turning my back to the busy crowd that was passing over the bridge to Galata, but keeping them in view, in case I was watched, in a mirror that faced me. I was amused to read an account of the rail- way accident which had come to my aid the day before, and was pleased to learn that, although a number of people had been hurt, none had been killed. No mention, of course, was made of my escape; only the military, the police, and their agents would be informed of that. fs But my contentment was soon disfurbei by the entry of a peevish-looking, well-dressed Turk, who seated himself near me and, in a loud what-is-the-world-coming-to kind of voice, con- demned the quality of the alleged coffee, the sugar, the evils of profiteering, the looks of the proprietor, and, in fact, everything that deserved criticism except myself. He looked instead to me for support and corroboration. And as he certainly seemed more pugnacious than the proprietor, I agreed that everything was just as he said, though I didn’t understand a quarter of it. And as I wanted no confidential acquaintance just at this stage of affairs, I gulped down my breakfast as quickly as I could, and left him. Uninteresting, fly-specked windows claimed my attention till the beer-garden opened, when I sauntered in and seated myself in the place I had occupied the day before. The crowd seemed much the same, and again nobody appeared interested in the cigarette behind my ear. After waiting for about an hour and a half, however, an elderly bearded European, wearing a battered Panama hat, entered, and I noticed that the end of a cigarctte-protruded from under his hat. Here was my man at last, then! But he would take no notice of me at all, although I had caught his eye, and had put a cigarette behind my car as he watched me. So I strolled across to his table, ordered two drinks, and sat down. He was in a state of great agitation, and I had great difficulty in convincing THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. him that I was not a Turk, but really a Britisher in disguise, and that my companion had not succeeded in getting away. Then, satisfied, as we were probably watched, I shook hands with him, as if I were wishing him a long gdod-bye. Leaving him, I waited in the street outside When he came out I followed him, without appearing to recognize him in any way, along a number of narrow and filthy streets. In one of these, where we happened to be the only passers-by, a shopkeeper stood outside his shop, and gazed from one to the other of us as if he suspected a plot. I accordingly approached some newly-varnished furniture that stood in his door- way, and, letting my guide walk on, I felt the varnish of a small table, turned it over, examined the workmanship, and expressed my admiration for it, in the hope of allaying his suspicions. Then, leaving him to his own reflections, I moved on, as my guide was just disappearing round a corner, I followed him for some dis- tance, and at last he allowed me to come up with him, and together we entered a wretched place that had evidently been a carpenter’s workshop. My new friend informed me that he had closed this business down at the outbreak of war owing to scarcity of work. He would bring me food each ‘morning and night, he told me, and he would inform me when the Batoum was about to sail for Russia. He then left, locking the iron door behind him, and returned in the évening with bread, a piece of cheese, and a water-melon. I spent the time getting accustomed to the semi-darkness and my surroundings. Somebody obviously lived above me, as I heard him tramp upstairs, pace about the room, and throw his boots down as he went to bed. In addition, there were plenty of rats scampering about in the shavings and dirt that littered the floor. The Russian informed me that the upstairs tenant was a Turkish officer, and that another person whom I had heard moving about on the other side of a thin partition that separated us was the Turk’s orderlv. I wondered what would happen if I should snore whilst asleep ! . The bench formed my bed, and a jack-plane clamped to it was my pillow. And I should have slept comfortably enough that night but for an air-raid and the deafening din made by some guns close by. The Russian, whom I had nicknamed “ Lenin,” tor want of a better (or a worse) name, informed me, when he brought my food the next day, that another officer had escaped and was aboard the Batoum, but would be coming off that day to the hiding-place till the ship was ready to sail. I guessed this was Captain Bott, and so it proved. He arrived later in the day in ‘‘ Lenin's” company, dresscd as a Russian sailor. We had, needless to say, much to tell each other. It appeared that after my escape the Turks commenced next day to send all able

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. 515 “Here was my man at last !” bodied British prisoners in Constantinople back Galata bridge for the ferry-boat to take them to to Afion Kara Hissar again. the railway station on the Asiatic side, he had While waiting with a number of others at slipped away when the guard was not looking,

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516 and hid in a shop. He emerged later, went to the water-front, and hired a caique, After much trouble, during which only a knowledge of German got him through, for he visited a German ship to ask the way to the Batoum, he had reached the Russian steamer. where he had been allowed to ‘stay the night, and had next morning gone off in company with one of the ship’s officers to meet the old Russian, by arrangement, at the becr-garden. For nearly a week we had to remain in this dungecn—bootless, so that we would not be heard if we moved about; dirty, for want of water, and enduring many other discomforts that are inevitable when confined to one room. One touch of humour was the fact that we supposed a tame rabbit (as we afterwards dis- covered), which used to make a considerable roise in a rubbish box on the other side of the fartition, to be a human being who was spying on us. We spent many an hour lying in the dirt behind some bags of shavings so that this individual might not see us through the chinks of the partition ! Another was the fact that on one occasion Bott called out in his sleep. After that we slept in watches at night. For the rest, I learned new Russian words from the microscopic dictionary, and we occa- sionally smoked, usually making a_ rustling among the shavings beforchand to drown the familiar sound of a match being struck. Passers-by often rapped on the door, children threw stones, and a Greek boy, with a flute-like voice, often sang a haunting little song just outside our door for hours at a time. One morning, however, we were surprised to hear somebody climbing up to the window outside, and, looking up, we saw an evil-looking Turkish face, surmounted by a fez, looking down at us over the window shutters ! He could not get in; but, unfortunately, we could not get out. And as this was repeated twice during the day, we decided to leave. So accordingly, when “Lenin” opened the door next morning, we told him, firstly, to have a look round outside to sce if the place was watched. And then, as the coast seemed clear, we told him to lead us to the water-front, so that we might go abcard the ship. Hiring a caigque at the steps, where two huge gendarmes were displaying themselves, and kaving the old man, whom we had paid for his trouble, we were rowed out to the ship, which Jay off the land betw the Customs House at Galata and Leander’s Tower, at the entrance to the Bosphorus. ; The s.s. Batoum was a rusty old tramp of about 4,000 tons, with as piratical-looking a crew as ever figured in any boys’ story-book. We dismissed the caiquechi, and, climbing aboard, asked for the third mate. We were shown into a cabin measuring about six by six, with a bunk with a tiny cupboard THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, about two feet six inches by two feet by two feet underneath it, on one side, and an upholstered seat with a drawer below it on the other. The cabin was so small that when the door was left ofen it occupied almost all the available space. K , the third mate, was a powerful young Lett, and seemed honest. He told us that if any Turks came aboard the ship he, or one of the others, would rap three times upon the deck, on which we were to hide, one in the tiny cupboard and the other in the drawer. He had barely gone, and we were congratu- lating ourselves on having reached the ship in safety, when we heard three knocks given very loudly. Bott, being the smaller, got into the drawer, where he rolled himself up among some dirty linen, after° which I closed the drawer, pulled the mattress up from the bunk, and squeezed into the tiny cupboard beneath, dragging the mattress back into place again, and adjusting some slats of wood over my head. Then I wriggled into some fetid old garments in an endeavour to be mistaken for a bundle of dirty clothes, should the mattress be pulled off by the police. The day was hot, and the heat, radiating from the ship's iron sides, seemed to be intensified a hundred times before it reached us. And after an hour or so, during which no search took place, we came out feeling very hot and annoyed. We had been out about an hour or two when we received the signal again, whereupon the same procedure took place, with the same result. A third time the sounds rapped out, and again we hid away for nothing. But on the fourth occasion I “ struck,” and decided to have it out with whoever came along. After waiting patiently at the port-hole, I discovered that the supposed “' signals” were caused by the lifting of the gangway by the wash of passing ferry steamers. Our laughter was rather hollow this time. The tame rabbit was a much more comfortable joke. There was difficulty about getting a cargo for the ship, it appeared, and her date of sailing was constantly being postponed. The chief engineer —an evil-looking, pig-eyed, shifty sort of person —who had prepared our little scheme not out of any philanthropy, but because he was to get the lion’s share of the passage-money we had pro- mised to pay, began to despair of the ship’s departure, and, with the second mate, demanded that we should leave. But we had got the third mate to buy revolvers for us, and we insisted on staying. As we were beginning to run short of money, T——, the aforesaid chief engineer, who was ever on the alert for cash, volunteered to take some cheques ashore to Theodore of the café, who would take them to X , an interned civilian, who would probably cash them, We saw nothing of T—— again for about three days, so 1 concluded he had stolen the money.

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MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. 517 “We saw an evil-looking face locking down at us.” When he came to see us, in answer to anote from ashore and took the tram to Stamboul. At the me, I told him so, and also that I had decided togo café, where a number of police were standing ashore and visit the Maritza to investigate. So, outside, they left me, and I went in alone. in his and the third mate’s company, I went Police officers were seated at various tables,

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518 and Theodore was nowhere to be scen. It was plain to me that the police were waiting for someone, and I decided that I might have chosen a happier time for my visit. I cautiously questioned a waiter, who told me that Theodore had been arrested in company with three British officers who were hiding in his house. I asked for his address, meanwhile calmly return- ing the baleful glare of a Turk who stood near, but he declared that he did not know it. When I told him in a whisper—so that a police officer who sat behind me should not hear—not to be afraid, as I was a British ofticer myself, he left me at once and did not return. Thereupon I Jeft too, and, meeting the third mate again— he was much perturbed, and had been certain that I should be arrested—we returned to the ship. Next day the papers announced Theodore’s arrest in company with B , who had been captured with me, and had been free for some weeks, together with F-. and S. , who had been on the train with us at the time of the railway collision, and had escaped a day or two later. We were now badly in need of money, so Bott attempted, dressed as a sailor, and in the company of the third mate, to visit X at his office in the prisoners-of-war bureau attached to the Dutch Legation, but was unsuccessful. Accordingly, looking rather smarter in Bott’s hat and coat than my own, and shaving off my accumulation of whiskers except for a moustache, I went ashore next day, in company with the third mate, to make another attempt. Leaving the mate in a café where I was to meet him if I returned safely, I walked boldly into the building, which we had reached by all the back streets of Pera. A big Turkish com- missionaire asked me my business. I replied in English that I wished to see Mr. X. He asked me my name, and I gave the name of Henry O’Neill, an American, of Tarsus—a purely imaginary person, but could not find a card when he wanted one. I endeavoured to assure him, however, that Mr. X: was an old friend of mine, and would come down to see me if he knew I was at the door. Secing that I would not be put off, the man told me I might go upstairs. At the door of X ’s office 1 found four cavasses belonging to the Dutch Embassy, two of whom T knew by sight. l asked if they were waiting to see x-—, and they informed me that they were. precious, and I had no time to waste in this lions’ den, where there were some ten or a dozen Turks and Levantines, so I decided that I would sce XxX before the cavasses. Seeing a European who was probably a Dutchman, sorting parcels, T sauntered across to him to tell him that my business was urgent. One of the carasses, how- ever, asked me if Twas a Russian. I replied that I was, and at the same moment noticed that one THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of their number was the Jew who had cashed cheques for me when I was in hospital ! This Jew followed me across towards the young Dutchman and congratulated me on my English. “‘ Where did you learn?” he asked. “In Turkey,” I lied, promptly. ‘ But you speak English just hke an Englishman,” he suggested, suspiciously. ‘I am an English- man!” I said, pushing him away from me in pretended jocularity, though I felt that I could have wrung his neck. ‘‘ J wasn’t going to satisty the curiosity of your friends concerning myself.” He laughed, offered me a cigarette and a chair, and was evidently thinking hard, as was I. A pause ensued, during which I examined the labels of parcels, and made up my mind to tell him I was a prisoner. Presently he spoke again. “ Did you come by yourself?” he asked, tenta- tively. I showed surprise and annoyance at this. “No, no!” [ said. ‘I’m a prisoner of war, and my guard is waiting downstairs.” This—luckily for me--satisfied him, for he knew, as I did, that occasionally prisoners of war who were passing under escort bribed their guards to allow them to enter the building and inquire if any parcels had come for them. Mr. X—— appearing at the door at this moment, I shook hands with him warmly, though I had never seen him before, followed him into his office, where, in privacy, much to his surprise, I dis- closed who I was, arranged for financial aid, and obtained the address of a Russian friend of his who lived in Odessa. I also learned that he had not cashed our cheques sent through Theodore. K. , the third mate, had gone when I arrived at the café ; but I met him at the Under- ground station, and we returned to the ship together. The ship being eventually chartered by a Turkish merchant, was loaded with raisins, figs, and tobacco, much of which the rascally crew stole, took off in small boats, and soli in the bazaars of Constantinople. In addition, the officers borrowed four hundred liras from the Turk and bought cocaine, which they smuggled into Russia. Fights often took place among the crew, and there were occasional drawings ot knives and revolvers, but no scrious damage was ever done. We spent thirty-three weary days aboard, below all the time. And being below meant sometimes sweltering in the third mate's tiny cabin, or otherwise hiding in the disorderly wireless room, where we took turns in sleeping in its single bunk. At night we marched about in the well deck, where—while we watched © brilliantly-lighted ferry steamers flitting past, and the lovely silhouette of mosques and minarets on one hand and the Asiatic shore and the flashing light of Leander’s Tower on the other, in addition to four spectacular air-raids—we endeavoured to

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MY TWO YEARS’ keep up our strength by walking up and down in its confined space. During our last week, when the suspicious Turks searched our ship no fewer than six times, we went through purgatory. For their search was so thorough that we had to hide in the ballast tanks below the fluor of the filthy pro- peller-shaft tunnel. These tanks were really small iron compart- ments measuring about two feet by two feet by eight feet, about thirty in number, and situated at the very bottom of the ship, where all the bilge-water and filth of the vessel collected. They were entered through a manhole in the floor of the tunnel, which, after our entry, was screwed down and covered over with lumber. These iron boxes were perfectly dark, the air was dank and foul, it was impossible to sit up, and water constantly dripped. Until I had marked the walls and timed the rise of the water too, we suspected at first that some of the Bolshevik members of the crew were letting water in to drown us by inches. Our first hour in these tanks seemed an age. They might to all intents and purposes be likened to iron coffins, made more uncomfortable by some inches of water and slime. On the fifth occasion we were there, we were closed down for nearly thirteen hours. Late in the afternoon of that never-to-be-forgotten day, as we listened to every re-echoing sound inside and outside the ship, we heard the Turkish police talking in the enzine-room and tramping about on the iron floor overhead. Then, some hours later, we heard what to us was better than the sweetest music. The forward winch commence to work, weighing (To be CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS. 519 anchor, and, as the chains rattled through the ports, we heard the propeller slowly commence to rotate. Much to our disgust, however, the engines stopped again some hours afterwards, and the anchor was once more let go. We found, when the manhole was lifted off and we came out, that there was another hitch ; the ship was to be searched yet again. The Turkish gendarmes were already on board, and stayed throughout the night drinking with the crew, who had a big store of vodka. A motley crowd of passengers, mostly Jews, had now come aboard, and lived, principally under awnings, on the ship’s hatches. There were some reputed thieves among these people, too, so that we were not the only ‘“ wanted ” ones. We slept for a few hours that night on the floor of the second enginecr’s cabin, and at dawn went down to the tanks again. It was a six hours’ stay this time, and when we emerged the ship had left the Bosphorus and the Turkish coast was disappearing over the stern. Except that the doddering old captain lost his bearings, and there was a little strike among the firemen and stokers, which ended in the third engineer having to shovel coal as a fireman, the voyage was without incident, and we arrived off Odessa on the night of the third day. From first to last the captain of the ship never knew of our existence, and though we often saw and passed close by him, he no doubt mistook us, in our piratical-looking outfits, for members of his nondescript crew. concluded.) — “MY STRANGEST EXPERIENCE.” An Interesting New Competition. It has been well said that “every man has a story in him’’—1n other words, that no matter how sheltered and apparently uneventful a man’s (or a woman's) life may have been, one incident in his or her career, at least, is worth the telling. Yet how many of these stories ever get told outside one’s own little circle? With the idea of bringing some of these unrecorded incidents of everyday life to light, we have pleasure in offering a prize of £10 for the best story received. Narratives may be of any length up to two thousand words, and literary style is not essential; all we require is that the narrative shall be absolutely true, and certified as such, and that it is written plainly on one side of the paper only. For the best story received we shall pay £10, but any others published will be paid for at our usual rates. The Editor’s decision must be accepted as final. Here is an opportunity for our non-literary readers which we hope they will avail themselves of. VVhatever your avocation, you must be able to recall some little experience—queer, exciting. uncanny, or humorous—that other people would be interested to hear about. Just jog your memory and set it down. The Competition will close on June 30th. All contributions should be addressed to The Editor. VIDE WorLtD MAGAZINE, 8-11, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C.2, and marked ‘‘ Competition.”

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Trumphal car of the god Raghunath, PR=HE Kulu Valley, which lies in the F “ “N Himalayas about a hundred miles aM ] i/g@ai to the north of Simla, is well known t =<@ to many Europeans in India by reason of its apples and pears, its leopards and bears. Those who have visited it during the month of October, however, chiefly remember it for its remarkable deotas, or godlings, with their drums and musical instruments, The gods of this region no doubt originated from the local spirits and fiends, such as are believed in by all the primitive tribes of India, whose principal idea of religion is the worship of Nature. Many ages ago Hinduism was intro- duced into Kulu by Hindu conquerors, who brought with them from the plains their Hindu deities, and now the prevailing religion in Kulu is the aboriginal worship of Nature dressed up in Hindu forms, with perhaps a dash of Buddhism picked up from the neighbouring country of Tibet. The deotas of Kulu are quite distinct from the gods elsewhere, for their relations to one another and to the people are very human, They are landed proprietors, and their names are entered as such, along with their tenants,-in the land- revenue records; they have their quarrels and their law-suits. Each morning their servants awaken them, and carry them in a kind of palanquin for an airing and a bathe; they are even supplied with food, and consequently with tooth-brushes; and for amusement they are danced up and down on the village green in company with their friends and relations. ods f, LIEUT-COL. CH. BUCK Indian Army, Punjab Commission. Up in the Kulu Valley of India the natives worship about a hundred curious local gods, whose relations with the people are oddly human. They own land and indulge in law- suits ; they are bathed and fed daily ; they are taken to see the sights, and when they do not behave themselves properly they are punished by being shut up in the dark and kept without food, for all the world like naughty children. These remarkable deities pay visits to one another, and are conducted with much ceremony to view the fields at the time of sowing and harvesting. If unseasonable rain falls, they are expected to stop it, and in times of drought they are called upon to manipulate the clouds. The people, however, consider that the deotas should behave themselves correctly, and actually punish them by hiding them away in dark caves, stopping their food, and so on, if they do not carry out their duties in a satisfactory manner. In former days a godling who did not bring down The temple of a Kulu god, Tg ETE, Se NT a ORE ee PN

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MW MA OWE Te eh j t ~~ a A LAND OF GODS. © 52: rain in due season was taken before the Rajah, who would solemnly sén- tence him to imprison- ment until he changed his mind for the better. Indeed, rumour has it that, not many years ago, at the request of the people, an English assistant commissioner in charge of Kulu con- signed one of the gods to the lock-up for soli- tary confinement on account of misbehaviour wn this connection ! The grand procession on the last day of the fair. his beautiful wife Sita, whom the demon had carried off in his magic aerial car. In Kulu the ceremonies of this occasion are not the same as those observed elsewhere, but advantage is taken of the festival for the holding of a great fair, at which all the godlings—over a hundred in number—attend with their attend- ants, tenants, and followers. The assemblage takes place on a beautiful grassy stretch of common which skirts the right bank of the River Beas at Sultanpur, the chief village of the valley. The principal god of Kulu is named Raghunath; he resides at Sultanpur, and on the occasion of the fair all the other godlings have to call on him,. render homage, and accompany him in procession along the maidan (common). Those who fail to attend are liable to punishment by forfeiture of endowments of land-revenue. A Kalu belle in» wheel. Each year, in October, Hindus throughout India celebrate the festival of Dusehra in memory of the victory of Rama, the great monarch of legendary fame, who, aided by the gods and the monkey general Han- uman, with his monkeys, destroyed Ravana, the demon monarch of Cey- lon, and thus regained merry-go-

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522 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The fair lasts for about a week, and for several days beforehand gaily-dressed men, women, and children tramp in from far and near, many of them marching in procession with their respective godlings. The fair-ground soon assumes a gay aspect, for the main path across its centre becomes a bazar, with dozens of small booths in which are displayed for sale knick-knacks of all kinds, fancy wearing apparel for the ladies, toys and sweets for the children, and blankets, brass-ware, hookahs, and many other things for the men. At one side is a row of merry-go- rounds, or rather wheels, in which the girls— some of whom are quite govod-looking—ziggle and enjoy themselves. All along the edges of the maidan are the little shanties and tents in which the gods and the people take up their temporary residence. During the daytime the visitors occupy them- selves with escorting the deofas on their visits, dancing round them in picturesque costume, shopping, and looking on at such side-shows as may be provided. Towards dusk it is the practice for everyone to join in worship of the gods simultaneously, and this is accomplished chiefly by the blowing of innumerable horns and huge trumpets and the beating of kettle-drums, so that the din is excruciating. In the evenings the local Rajah holds darbar in a large shamiana (a four-cornered tent with a flat top, and usually open at one side), or gives theatrical entertainments, when a great deal of comic local talent appears on the stage. Night docs not bring repose, for the more energetic attendants of the gods keep their musical instruments at work, while dancing continues until the early hours of the next day. On the first day of the fair Raghunath is brought from his residence in his triumphal car to a temporary abode at one end of the maidan, A godling arriving in his palanquin, Kulu godlings and their “ relations” at the fair. and here he remains until the afternoon of the last day, when the car is again brought into requisition to convey him in a grand procession to a promontory at the far end of the common, overlooking a picturesque reach of the River Beas. All the godlings in their palanquins, with their gaily-dressed attendants and worshippers, join in this procession, which is headed by the Rajah mounted on a grey steed adorned with handsome trappings. The heavy car, which runs on sixteen rough wooden wheels, is drawn by numerous ropes held by as many people as can. catch hold of them, and in the interior sits in state the great god Rag- hunath, who, as a matter of fact, is only some six inches in height. The object of the pro- cession is to obtain a view of the chief cere monies of the fair, which take place on the banks of the river below. First of all a buffalo and a few smaller animals, such as goats, are de- capitated on the right

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Reghunath’s car in the procession bank of the river, and directly afterwards an effigy of the demon king Ravana is burnt on an island close by. This last act is reauy the only part of the ceremonies which in any way resembles the celebration of Dusehra in other parts of India; it represents the great prince Kama, eated in his magic car, watching the final A LAND OF GODS. $23 destruction of the demon monarch. In other places this finale of the performance of the chief scene of the Kamayana is much more exciting, for Rama 1s presented with a won- derful fiery bolt by Indra, the god of thunder, and he discharges this at a gigantic and __ hideous figure representing Ra- vana, which, being filled with fireworks and wear- ing a head-gear consist- ing of a huge catherine wheel, catches fire, and, after much — spluttering and banging, finally col- lapses with a terrific ex- plosion. On the morning after the final ceremony at Kulu the visitors depart rapidly to their homes without taking leave of Rag- hunath-ji, who retires to his own temple without much ceremony. He makes only one other public appearance during the year, in April, when he emerges to be bathed in the River Beas. The Ancient ‘‘Water Tribunal” of Valencia. TRIBUNALS of various kinds are common enough nowa- days, but here is one of a different nature, showing the members of an ancient tri- bunal which sits in Valencia, Spain, every Thursday, ai 11 a.m., to try offences ot an agrarian nature in con- nection with the conveying of water to the rice fields of the district. It is called the “water tribunal,” and its members consist of peas- ants, who elect their own president. The proceedings are all verbal, and cost the parties concerned nothing. After a case has been heard,. and all witnesses have given their evidence, the tribunal discusses the affair in public and pronounces its decision. This quaint “water court ” dates from the Moorish period, and has retained its primitive simplicity and honesty through all the political changes that have taken place in the country. Even the day of meeting is unchanged, - day of the Thursday having been the market Moors.

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ODDS AND ENDS. “Growing Your Own Doormat"—Where Men Row with Their Feet. is surely a novel idea to grow your own doormats, yet this plan is one which has been carried out for some time in certain parts of America. The method is simple enough to follow, and service- able mats, which are quite ornamental, are produced by this means. The only articles required are some pieces of old sacking, or any similar material, and common grass seed. The first thing to do is to cut your sacking to the desired size and shape. Then moisten it well with water, and place it on some level soil. Now sow your grass seed rather thickly over the surface of the sacking. Cover the whole with paper, or some- In the remote Shan States, on the border of Burma, men row with their feet, as here shown, “ Growing your own doormat '’ with an old sack and some grass-seed, thing similar, so as to shade it from the strong sun, and keep this protection on for about a week. At the end of this time the seed will have germinated well.:and the cover may be removed. Keep~ the whole thing continually spraved with water so that the grass is encouraged to grow well. Every three or four days move the mat to a fresh position to prevent the roots fastening themselves to the soil beneath. If any bare or thin patches appear on the mat make fresh sowings of seed on these places. When the blades of grass are two or three inches long, the mat may be dried. To dry the mat take it and hang it up in some shady place where it will part with its moisture slowly. After a week or ten days the whole thing will be dry and the grass have turned a nice shade of green. The mat is then ready for use. Contrary to what one might expect, the little grass plants hold on to the canvas most tenaciously even when they are dead. This is due to the fact that the root hairs become entangled in the rough hairs of the sacking, and they are extremely difficult to remove. In the remote Shan States, on the borders of Burma, there is a beautiful sheet of water, over a hundred miles long, known as Lake Inle. The fishermen of this lake have an extraordinary way of propelling their dug-out canoes—they row with their legs, as shown in the accompanying photograph. So far as we are aware, this practice is unknown anywhere else in the world, and even in Burma it seems to be confined to this particular neighbourhood. One imagines that “catching a crab” would be even more disastrous to a leg-rower than to the conventional. oarsman.

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‘The HUNTI Carlton Morton “ILLUSTRATED BY LEO BATES-- An exciting account of the pursuit and ultimate capture of one of the worst “bad men” who ever terrorized Northern Arizona in the old lawless days of the West. The Author, who lived in the district for several years, writes “The story of this remarkable man-hunt is set forth exactly as it happened.’’ IONOHUE, the newly-elected sheriff of Cocopah County, Arizona, took } the warrant from the judge and J stowed it safely away. He then proceeded methodically to tighten the cinches of his saddle preparatory to mounting the powerful bay horse which stood waiting. As he vaulted to his seat he looked down at the judge. ‘ Well, my first job don’t look easy, your honour,’”’ he said, quietly; “ but I'll get old Lot Shumway, if it takes a year.” With that the unobtrusive-looking, grey-eyed ° little man rode out of the town. To look at him no one would have guessed that he was bound on a mission which involved the capture of one of the worst “ bad men ”’ in the territory, an arch-outlaw and desperado who had terrorized that rough community for many years. Only a close observer would have noted the expression of alertness and determination on the tanned face of the rider. The Winchester rifle in the saddle-scabbard and the large revolvers hanging low on his thighs were part of every man’s equipment during those lawless days. + The capture, if made at al], must be carried out quietly, for the outlaw had many influential friends throughout the district. Shumway was believed to have several homes in different parts of the county, but his head- quarters were at a ranch at Marshall Lake, a large, timber-fringed body of water located about twenty-five miles south-east of the town. Toward this Donohue rode on the afternoon of the day he had received the warrant, turning over in his mind as he travelled the possibilities and chances of making a capture. The trail, for most of the distance, wound through the pine trees and over the rough, timbered ridges of the mountain plateau, and it Was not till he was within a few hundred yards of the ranch at the lake that the sheriff dis- mounted and carefully examined his surroundings. Secing no one about, he decided on a bold advance, trusting to the fact that he was not known by sight to Shumway or his family. As he rode around the fence to the front of the house there were still no signs of life about, so he dismounted and challenged the inmates with the usual hail of the cattle country: “ Hello-o-o! Anyone at home?” In answer to the call a woman soon came to the front door, asking, ‘‘ Who do you be wantin’ to see, stranger? ’”’ Donohue, seeing she was not at all suspicious, replied, ‘‘ Ma’am, I am a cattle-buyer lookin’ for marketable stcers, and I heard you folks had some ready for market.” “Well,” said the woman, “I reckon we have ; but the men-folks are out on the range now. If you care to get off and wait till supper, they will im. Having no better plan for the moment, Donohue tied his horse and took a seat in the front porch. Needless to say, he was keenly alert and ready for any emergency. After a time the sun sank below the great shoulder of Round Mountain, and Donohue began to chafe at his enforced inactivity. The swift darkness of the mountains was closing in on the little ranch when he heard the sound of voices, and dimly made out the shadowy forms of riders approaching around the lake-shore. They rode slowly up to the fence, and upon

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526 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. seeing his horse tied there stopped to inspect it. From the porch, still unseen, he sized them up, but was unable to determine their identity. Then, quickly deciding to take a bold line, he hitched his six-shooter around to the front and calmly walked out toward them. The big man in front must be Shumway, he decided, so to him he spoke. ‘‘ How do?” he called. “ Are you Lot Shumway ? ” “Yes,” was the reply, “and these are my seven sons,”’ with a wave of the hand at the rest of the party. A quick survey of the group showed Donohue seven stalwart fellows of various ages, but all had the cruel wide mouth and the beady eyes of their father. Worse still, the right hand of each man was nervously fingering the butt of a big revolver ; apparently, they regarded him with suspicion, and only waited their father’s decision as to action. “Who are you, and what is your business ? ”’ “He hitched his siz-chooter arowed to the the old outlaw went on. These words in them- selves explained to the sheriff his dangerous position, for no man in the cattle country asks his visitor’s name, where he comes from, or where he is going, unless he is suspicious of the man’s actions and willing to chance trouble in the asking. There was no time for Donohue to parley; and to announce his real business would have been plain suicide, for, while he might have killed one or two of them, the others would have shot him dead instantly. So Donohue calmly replied, ‘‘ Why, Iam buying up beef-steers for the new railroad commissary, and stopped here to see if you were selling any.” This explanation seemed to satisfy Shumway, for he motioned the sheriff to enter the house. “Go in and stay to supper,’’ he said, “ and’ we will talk it over after a while.’’ This plan did not suit Donohue at all, for it might be a trap to learn more about him, and it was extremely

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THE HUNTING OF LOT SHUMWAY. 527 front and calmly walked out toward them.” risky for him to be sized up inside under bright lights ; for these men were shrewd in reading a man’s actions and equipment, and might very easily fathom his true identity. They were plainly anxious to go in to supper, so he used that for an excuse. “I’m much obliged,” he replied, ‘‘ but I must be in town to-night. I only just stopped as I was going past, to see about your stock. I can come out again.” With that he mounted his horse and rode off across the park, the men watching his departure in silence. His first attempt to arrest the famous outlaw had been a flat failure, greatly to his chagrin. However, he was far from discouraged, and more than ever determined to get his man. He thought seriously of raising a posse in the town and returning to the ranch prepared to take the whole band by force of numbers ; but this plan was not entirely practicable because of the large number of Mormons in the community, who would side with Shumway. Even if the move was managed quietly it would mean bloodshed—perhaps a pitched battle—so he finally decided to await another chance to try alone, preferring to risk his own life rather than put a posse in a tight place. For some time afterwards Donohue was kept very busy in transacting the routine business of his office, and a cold-blooded murder near the town required his attention for several busy days. Time went on, and no word was heard of the “bad man.” He had disappeared from his Marshall Lake ranch, and was reported to be in Utah. For several months Donohue could learn nothing definite concerning Shumway's where- abouts, and almost came to the conclusion that he had taken up his abode in Utah permanently. However, one day late in the summer, a

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528 THE WIDE WORLD Navajo Indian rode into the town and asked to see the sheriff. He was dust-covered and tired, having ridden from the Indian settlement of Tuba, nearly ninety miles to the north-east. Donohue was in his office, and received the Redskin. “How!” said he. “ Me Choly Moencopie. One sun ago brudder shot by heap big man you call Shumway. Then he take all brudder’s cows, so come fo’ you to kill him!” “ What!’ ejaculated the sheriff. “‘ Shumway killed your brother and took his cattle?” The Indian nodded. “ Yep,” he answered. “Me have no good gun,or gettum self. You gettum gun an’ come. He at camp nea’ Tuba.” The sheriff looked thoughtful. “You say he is camped near Tuba, Charlie ? ”” “Yes; he stop there near Nic Soe water; his woman live there.” Donohue’s mind was quickly made up. “ You go to the hotel and get a room, Charlie,” he ordered, “‘ and tell them to charge it to me. I'll get Shumway this time or know the reason why.” ‘ Forthwith he went in search of his deputy,Tom Kyler, and found him at the general store. A quiet consultation followed, which ended in the sheriff buying a supply of provisions and having them sent over to the Court House. There he was met by Kyler, with both men’s best saddle-horses and a powerful pack-horse. The Colorado River in flood, MAGAZINE, The provisions, together with blankets, cooking utensils, and ammunition, were lashed securely to this animal and they were ready to start. It was to be a hunt to the death now; they were outfitted for an indefinite period, and Donohue. said to his deputy, “‘ Tom, I am in it to the limit, and will never return without old Lot tied up in front. Whether he rides upright or across the saddle remains to be seen.” The first few hours they made good time; the trail was smooth and the day cool in the shade of the pines and cedars. Later they began to descend from the great timbered plateau to the lower country, the trail dropping sharply over the red and brown foot- hills, winding among the scattered cedar trees, and in places traversing great fields of broken volcanic lava. The thin coolness of the high country was of the past now, and the sun beat down fiercely. The volcanic dust of the trail rose in clouds, and breathing was difficult. The men had to lift their neckerchiefs to cover their mouths, and their horses suffered considerably. At last they entered the innumerable sand dunes through which the Little Colorado River flowed, and upon reaching the wide, sluggish stream the sheriff called a halt for a belated lunch. After a rest they crossed the river and continued on to the Indian settlement of Tuba, reaching there about dark. The only white man there was an old fellow who kept a general store and traded with the Indians, He was sitting in front of his ramshackle hut, enjoying the evening coolness, and proved to be a veritable mine of information. In reply to their questions he told them, “ Yep, Old Shum- way killed the Injun over near the foot of Echo Cliffs yesterday, and run off the stock. No; I don’t know where he is, but he is probably eatin’ supper at his place over by the spring right now. He didn’t seem afraid, and figured no one would ever report the killin’ of an Injun. His place is "bout two mile right up the trail.” “ Allright ; much obliged. I'll see you later.” said Donohue. Then he turned to Kyler. “‘ Let's be going, Tom,” he added, ‘and perhaps we can surprise him at the house. If it comes to a shootin’ scrap, leave him to me, because it’s my job. If he downs me, then you can step in.” He was like a hound on a fresh trail now, in spite of the hard ninety-mile ride, and forced the jaded horses to a fast pace. In the gathering dusk they quietly rode up to the ranch ; a light shone from a window and the doors were closed. “Whoa, Tom,” said Donohue; “let's figure this thing out. Now, the chances are Lot is eating supper in the dining-room, so I’ll knock at the front door, and if he answers I shall have a good chance to get the dropon him in the dark- ness. You stay about thirty feet behind me and watch the back of the house in case he gets suspicious and ducks out the back way.” With that the game little officer, well knowing he was exposed to fire from the house if he had been seen and recognized, advanced to the door and knocked.

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+8. THE HUNTING He had his six- OF LOT SHUMWAY. _ 529 shooter in his hand when the door opened, but he faced a woman instead of the old outlaw. Quickly conceal- ing the gun, he calmly asked for Shumway. “He ain’t here,” replied the woman. “He's on his way to Utah with some horses.” Knowing this to be a lie, Donohue promptly walked into the house and made his way to the dining-room. The faithful Kyler followed him and the woman closed the door behind them. She seemed nervous and sus- Picious, but offered no comment on their actions. Both men, tired and hungry, sat down at a table in a corner, to rest for a moment and decide on a course of action. Shumway’s absence was hard to explain, and both men were keyed to a high tension, for the air seemed charged with some inexplicable menace. The house, apparently, had only four rooms, and the outlaw might still be in one of the two rooms they had not seen. If they entered either of these rooms, however, the light at their backs would betray them if he was hidden there—and Shumway was a dead shot. The woman hovered around the room for a moment and finally asked, ‘‘ Would you-all be carin’ for a drink of milk? ‘You must be near tuckered.” “Yes,”’ replied Donohue, ‘“ I reckon we can drink a little before going.” She stepped into the kitchen, leaving the door open, and the sheriff whispered to Kyler, “I believe he has slipped away, Tom. Go out and find the stable and see if his horse is there, while I circle the house.” At that moment the woman came in, bearing in each hand a large bowl of milk. These she put before them. “Let’s drink this before we go, Tom,’’ said Donohue. The men were very tired, and the appeal of the refreshment was not to be denied, in spite of the fact that time was an important factor. As they finished the milk there came from out- side the faint sound of a galloping horse. Both men heard it and acted in unison, for, to their trained senses, it meant only one thing—their man must be escaping! The sheriff ran out of the front door and the deputy out of the back. The pounding footfalls were fainter now. The barn was down the hill in a hollow, and to this the men hastened. The door swung open ; Vol. xliv.--36, Typical Arizona mountain country im the region described in this story. the stall was empty. Donohue dropped to his knees, and by the light of a match examined the ground in front of the door. He rose with a bitter curse. ‘‘ We've been a pair of fools, sure, Tom!” he cried. “ These are fresh tracks. Old Lot was waiting around to see who we were, and the woman gave him the signal to vamoose. It’s no use chasing him now, with our horses worn out. He’s probably figuring on crossing to Utah or getting into the Buckskins. You go back to Tuba for to-night, and in the morning return to town and look after the office. You can look for me when you sce me coming.”’ . The explanation, though brief, was enough. Donohue never wasted a word. Getting into his saddle, he rode off down the trail towards the north, leading the pack-horse. The jaded animals needed constant urging until a water-hole was reached. Here he made a halt for the remainder of the night. Donohue's hours of sleep were few, for he was packing up before daylight, with his canteens full and all surplus articles of the pack left behind. All day he jogged along over the hills, the sand, fine as flour, enveloping him like a mist, the horses continually coughing and their heads drooping listlessly. The chase was on in earnest now, though the pace was necessarily slow. The Painted Desert, which the sheriff was now traversing, was wide and trackless but for the one narrow trail leading toward the great Colorado River. The outlaw might be hidden at any point in that dreary waste of stone buttes, deep washes, and sand dunes. Donohue pinned his faith to the fact that Shumway would be most likely to cross the river at Lee's Ferry and try to get across the State line, or hide away in the rough, almost unexplored, mountain region separated from the rest of the State by the Grand Canyon. If Shumway chose to ambush him, he knew

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£30 THE WIDE WORLD he would have practically no chance of escape. Any one of the smooth stone pinnacles along the trail might shelter an unseen assassin, who could shoot without even betraying his position ; but this chance the intrepid officer had to take. He made only one stop all through that interminable day, and that was to consult a lone Navajo sheep-herder, who sat like a statue on the heights above the trail, watching his flock. The Indian said he had seen a big white man riding north a few hours before, Late in the day the sheriff rode out on to the great red hill above the river, and looked down before negotiating the steep drop to the ferry. The river was in flood, as was usual at that season, and offered a terrifying spectacle of angry chocolate-coloured rapids and foaming whirlpools. Just below him the gigantic expanse of waters narrowed down to half its ordinary width, and plunged into an inferno of chutes and rapids ; then, sliding off abruptly, it entered the yawning mouth of the Marble Canyon. No living thing could swim that raging torrent, and to his joy the sheriff saw the ferry-boat drawn up to the other side of the stream. He quickly turned the horses down the steep trail to the water's edge, and drew the heavy scow across by the double tackle rigged for the purpose. Shumway had undoubtedly crossed, and had not even spared the time to disable the apparatus. The ferrying was accomplished in safety, though the horses snorted in terror, requiring all the attention he could spare from the ticklish operation of managing the clumsy craft. At the landing was a house belonging to the Mormons who owned the ferry, but the people wee nowhere to be scen. A stiff climb over the great west barrier, the Vermilion Cliffs, followed, and he camped among the cedars at the top. The horses had stood the seventy-mile journey well, thanks to the sheriff's skilful handling and light weight. He slept till daylight, and rose refreshed to face another hard day. At this point the trail branched. To the north it led to Utah; to the south-west was the great jumbled mass of timbered mountains and impenetrable canyons known as the Buckskin country. Beyond lay the Grand Canyon. A short reconnaissance solved the problem as to which road Shumway had taken. Fresh tracks of a shod horse pointed to the south, and their appearance in minor details told the sheriff the animal was tired. All that day he rode as before, at a ceaseless canter, though the trail climbed abruptly in many places, forcing a slower pace. The tracks he was following were apparently rather fresher when he camped at dark in a deep, scrub-filled canyon. He had no camp-fire that night, and ate an unpalatable supper of tough flapjack and canned beans. The next morning Donohue’s actions showed MAGAZINE, that the day was to be decisive m the chase, for he left the pack-horse and all his camp paraphernalia behind, taking only his canteen and some cold food fastened to his saddle. The hot country was now left behind, and the brush and cedars were giving place to a heavy growth of pines and hemlocks as he climbed higher up the slopes of the Buckskin. He expected to sight the elusive outlaw at any moment now, and scanned the country carefully as he rode. About noon he had stopped to breathe his labouring horse at the foot of a last steep slope, when far above him he saw a man and horse just going out of sight in the timber. He calmly followed without trace of excite- ment or hurry. The trail had pinched out and he was com- pelled to track the horse over the loose, dry soil, noting with satisfaction its slow, careless pace. This denoted that he had not been seen by the flecing desperado. For hours this slow progress continued, until late in the afternoon, when suddenly a post corral loomed close ahead in the heavy timber. This, the first sign of man’s work he had encountered in all that wilderness, meant but one thing—the chase was nearly at an end. Donohue quickly dismounted and led his horse back out of sight; then, taking his rifle from the scabbard, he advanced cautiously to the corral. No one was to be seen, but several horses were tied inside, and a closer inspection showed that one, a big grey, was cove ed with lather and mud. No habitation was in sight, but a trail led down a stecp hill through the timber. This the sheriff followed, keeping a close watch ahead. Soon he turned sharply on to a littte shelf covered with stately pines. Beyond the far edge was nothing but space; the Grand Canyon in all its fearful, unutterable vastness yawned at his feet. The bottom of the great void was already veiled by the falling darkness. Donohue was at a loss to understand where the trail led, and stood undecided, when suddenly a light gleamed through the trees. Advancing silently, he saw a log cabin at the very edge of the shelf; the light came from a window, and the rumble of voices could be heard from inside. Creeping nearer on all fours, he straightened up and looked in. Five men were gathered around a table in the centre of the room, with a large kettle of beans and a haunch of meat in front of them. A coal-oil lamp suspended from the wall lighted their features. Shumway was there; no one could mistake that great, shaggy head and powerful figure. He talked in a rumbling voice, and was at that moment telling them of his escape from the sheriff. The others were tough characters—their faces and voices betrayed that—and one the sheriff Tecognized as a_half-breed called ‘‘ Yuma

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THE HUNTING OF LOT SHUMWAY. © 531 “Donohue replied with shot after shot from his Winchester.”

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532 THE WIDE WORLD Charlie,” who had wantonly murdered an old couple in New Mexico years before. Plainly this was a hiding-place for some of the wo st thieves and murderers in the Territory, but he wanted only one of them—Shumway. His plans were quickly made, and were fol- lowed out instantly. Retracing his steps, he went back up the trail to the corral. There he examined all the outlaws’ horses carefully, choosing two that seemed fresh and in good condition; on one of these he cinched a saddle that hung near, then he led them to where his own jaded animal was tied and transferred his saddle to the second horse. All was now ready for the final move. Leaving his rifle in the scabbard, fully loaded, he hitched both his six-shooters well to the front and stuffed his handcuffs into his hip-pocket. At the corral he led out the remaining horses and, taking them a short distance through the timber, gave each a sharp slap, sending them trotting off in the darkness. The light still shone from the cabin window as he approached, and the men were still talking. He crept to the door, noting that it was of strong construction, but unfa tencd. Then he rose and, drawing both guns, suddenly threw open the doo . The effect was magical and most disconccrt- ing to the desperadoes ; they all looked up with startled gaze at the silent man standing there with levelled revolvers. “Hands up!” said he. man that moves !”” This broke the tension, and a chorus of curses answered him, but no man dared move to get a weapon, though Shumway shifted uneasily. Donohue continued crisply: ‘Listen, you men. I only want Lot Shumway. The rest of you line up at that wall and face it. Now reach for the ceiling!’’ The command obeyed, he advanced towards Shumway. Stepping behind the outl .w, Donohue placed the muzzle of one pistol at his back, keeping the other pointed at the row of men along the wall. “ Hands behind you, Lot, and go steady,” he commanded. The man was despera e, but had to obey, and slowly his great hands were clasped behind him. Keeping one pistol pressed into Lot's ribs, the sheriff momentarily dropped the other. There was a quick snap, and the hand- cuffs were in place. Then the sheriff deftly removed the revolver from the outlaw’s belt. “* Now walk out,” ordered Donohue ; “ and the first false move you make will be your last.’”” “T'll kill the first MAGAZINE, He spoke through set teeth as he pushed his prisoner out the door and quickly slammed it, fastening it secure. “Straight up the trail now, and move fast,” was the next command. The men inside were already trying the door, and one was trying to struggle through the window. A quick shot from the sheriff's revolver caused him to drop out of sight, and no one else appeared at the opening. A few minutes sufficed to make the trip to the horses, and after forcing his prisoner 10 mount, the sheriff began tying his legs together under the animal's belly. Suddenly yells came from down the hill. The men were loose ! Presently Donohue could hear them coming up the trail, and, as he untied the horses, Shum- way began to bellow encouragement and direc- tions to them. A slap over the head with the sheriff’s six-shooter barrel silenced him, but it was too late. The men came towards them in the gathering dusk and began shooting. Donohue replied with shot after shot from his Winchester, meanwhile urging the horses on cut of the clearing. The bullets came perilously close, but he never once lost his head. One desperado ran close up, blazing away with his revolver, but the shenff dropped him in his tracks. Another ran behind a tree, and the way was clear. Donohue promptly spurred ahead, and the two men were swallowed up in the darkness. For many weary miles they hurried on through the dark forest, and there were no further signs of pursuit. A stop was made at last in the blind canyon where the pack-horse was tied, and here the men rested. The outlaw maintained a sullen silence, and slept when the sheriff allowed him to alight. The succeeding days were hard ones for Donohue, for it was necessary to use exceeding vigilance with the prisoner and never be caught napping. It was with great relief th-t he finally sighted the town and saw his prisoner safely locked up in the log jail. His duty was done, and, modestly refusirg to celebrate the capture by joining the leading citizens at the saloon, he went off to bed. It comes as rather an anti-climax to add that Lot Shumway never paid the penalty for his misdeeds. A lenient judge allowed him bail, and the necessary money was sent down by friends in Utah. Shumway “jumped " his bail and disappeared, but was never seen again in Arizona

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How Nixon Made Good. By D. J. FRANCIS. ILLUSTRATED BY W. E. WIGFULL. A thrilling incident of Western railroad life. “The affair happened within my own experience,” writes the Author, “but for obvious reasons I have altered all names of persons and places concerned.” LL around lay the wilderness—flat, interminable, monotonous. By day the sun's rays seared ; by night the air gripped with a breath that was almost frosty. The frame station building, with its short length of raised wooden platform, was the only thing that broke the view of the plain. By day, stretching to the far horizon, the rails sparkled in the hot, still air, the flagellating heat waves distorting them into wavy lines that writhed and twisted. At night, even when the moon did not s1ow, they glinted dully, shining and cold against the half-dark of the prairie. For two months now Nixon had stared out upon them. Lately he had come to hate the sight of them, signifying as they did the quick, easy road to civilization— the civilization from which he had been so Tecently banished. Here only the humming of the wires and the Strident, intermittent call of the telegraph sounder broke the stillness, a silence so pto- found as almost to make itself heard. It was a long step down from train-dispatcher at Northtown, Division Headquarters, to operator at Butze, a speck on the great transcontinental known only to men of the road and scorned by all wheeled traffic save occasional sidetracked freights and the tri-weekly local. It was “ booze ” that had done it. Nixon was a periodical drunkard. Between whiles, however, he was an exceptionally clever Tailroader. For this reason the superintendent had seen fit to overlook three lapses, remon- Strating kindly with Nixon in the intervals. For the superintendent was a thorough railroad man, and, as such, valued capable employés, Also, he was very much of a man. Seeing always the best in those under him, he forgave much ; and over the entire length of the division the employés, to whom he was more of a father than a" boss,” spoke of him affectionately. Nevertheless, Northtown was too important @ point to stand for long such derclictions of duty, and at Nixon’s fourth lapse the superin- tendent had transferred him to Butze. Here the operator could be trusted, for he was not of the breed that drink in the solitude of a forsaken Way-station. _Nixon had come to Butze in the capacity of Right and day operator, ticket, freight, and baggage agent—the one and only representative, in fact, of the company. And Nixon didn’t like it. Darkness had fallen on Butze. Nixon sat listlessly smoking, very lonely, very sick of the monotony of this forgotten, sun-scorched spot. The slow process of being roasted by day, mosquito-pestered and chilled by night, and always alone, was bringing a full realization of the value of his former position. To-night came remembrance of the superintendent’s kindly patience. Kemorsefully Nixon realized how ungrateful he had been. A desire gripped him to do something that would reinstate him in his superior's eyes. Bnt it was too late now, he reflected, mournfully. At desolate Butze such an opportunity was hardly to be looked for. This desire of Nixon’s to rehabilitate himself was not entirely confined to the superintendent. A strange hunger was on him to-night, a hunger for the sound of a voice and a little rippling laugh. And the days ahead seemed more utterly void now that Nora Burke, the roadmaster’s daughter, had passed out of his life. Suddenly the ticking of the telegraph sounder caught his attention—‘‘ Q.D.—Q.D.—Q.D.— Q.D.” It was Artland, the first station east, calling Chauvin, another flag-stop twenty miles west from Butze. Toan experienced telegraphist the chatter of his key is more than mere unemo- tional sound, and in that quick, repeated calling Nixon sensed danger and listened. “Flag No. 1 and sidetrack her,” ticked off Artland. ‘Light engine running wild just passed here making y miles an hour.” Fcr a minute there was silence; then the operator at Chauvin pounded back: “No. t just gone through hitting the grit forty miles an hour.” With a perception quickened by years of train-dispatching, Nixon grasped the details almost before the sounder ceased. The passenger train had passed Chauvin on time, and, running on her schedule, was due to pass Butze-in thirty minutes. The runaway, under her own steam, and aided by the long, gradual drop between Artland and Butze, would cover the ten miles between these points in twelve minutes at the outside. She would therefore mect the passenger train almost mid- way between Butze and Chauvin. As Nixon grasped these facts he realized with

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534 horror the helplessness of his own position. Had his sidetrack been clear the simple throwing of the east switch would have deflected the runaway into the sidetrack, where, in all probability, after running the length of the siding, it would derail itself on striking the closed points of the west switch. Standing on this track, however, were two cars of dynamite for the ‘ One Girl ’’ mine, and Nixon shuddered at the thought of the havoc that would be created should the engine strike and explode them. Endless yards of both siding and mainline would be twisted and torn, while he himself would be inevitably blown to pieces. Morcover, the oncoming passenger train, all unwarned, would rush into this twisted mass of steel, and be derailed with perhaps even more fearful results than the head-on collision that was now threatened. For a minute Nixon sat there, racking his brain to find some solution of the difticulty, some way of averting the danget; but there seemed none. Then he suddenly leaped to his feet, set the board against No. 1, and, grabbing a hammer that lay on the window-sill, rushed out and started down the track in the direction of the approaching runaway. Remembrance of the deserted gravel-pit which lay near the main line a little over a mile east- ward from Butze had come to him, and with it a great idea, There was now little more than ten minutes left before the runaway engine would pass the gravel-pit. As he ran he wondered if he could cover the mile and a quarter that lay between him and the old abandoned switch in time. For the distance of half-a-dozen telegraph-pole Iengths he ran easily ; then his breath shortened. The vocation of telegraph operating does not tend to make a man’s wind either lasting or sound. Moreover, his indulgence in liquor had weakened him, and left his tissues flabby. A little farther on he slackened his pace. Though every second was precious, he realized that he could not last the distance at this speed. It was now pitch-dark. At first his legs had responded easily, his strides were long and his feet lifted high, but as the distance diminished he grew heavy-footed, and frequently stumbled. Presently he got his “ second wind,” but now the pace was telling. He breathed in panting gasps. Once he fell, tearing his hand cruelly on the sharp edge of a half-driven track-spike. Before half the distance had been covered every step and quick-drawn breath seemed to drive his lungs painfully against his shoulder- blades. ~ a From away down the track came the rumbling roar of the runaway engine. Could he make it ? His legs seemed incapable of faster movement, but terror and the nearness of his goal acted like a spur, and he ran on faster. He could not think collectedly now. “The switch, the switch! ’’ he repeated over and over again. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, In the near distance, through the open door of the firebox, flung wide by a lurch of the big “Mogul” engine, the dying fire, flaring momen- tarily, sent transient shafts of lurid light into the darkness on either side, followed by an all- enveloping blackness as the flying engine dived into a cutting. So near was she that the scream of the ‘‘ pony trucks ” came to him, and, as the driving whecls took a short curve, the grind of their flanges seemed to shout at him. The terror of these approaching sounds turned him to an automaton, driving him forward faster and faster to meet and divert this insensate monster that was rushing towards him out of the dark. Gasping and half-sobbing Nixon stumbled sideways across the rails. The red switch-stand was reached. And near—so near that the sub- dued hiss of the piston rods seemed almost beside him—was the flving engine. With a trembling arm he raised his tizht- clutched hammer and smote the heavy padlock. Twice he struck before it gave. Then, grasping the switch-bar and raising if off the catch, Nixon lunged with all his remaining strength upon it. Old, long-disused, and very rusty, it stuck. Once more Nixon pulled, every ounce of muscular power put forth. The switch-bar gave suddenly, swinging clear round to the notch so quickly that Nixon slipped and fell, his hands still gripping the bar. There he lay, only half-conscious of the rushing locomotive, which, striking the open switch, lurched heavily, and then, still holding the rails, went tearing down the sharp incline with a screaming of wheels on rusty steel, into the pit below. Dazed and weak as a child now that the ordeal was over, Nixon got to his feet, and, resetting the switch, started slowly up the track for the station. A little regretfully—now that the danger was over—he remembered that the semaphore was set against No. 1. The passenger was a mail train, and with her time was precious. With this thought uppermost in his mind the operator quickened his pace a little, though every step was agony. Heavy-cyed and blood-bespattered, Nixon greeted the wondering conductor and the few passengers from the day coaches who were still awake and walking up and down the platform. With a little tired gesture he waved them aside, as they started to crowd about him, and went into his shack to wire that the line was clear. As he entered he heard his call being rapidly repeated. Opening up, he began to send. It was a terse message, and to the point, for Nixon was very tired. To Division Headquarters he flashed: “ Light engine ditched into old gravel- pit. No. 1 on main line here awaiting orders.” When the conductor had received his orders, and the train rumbled off into the night, Nixon washed the blood from his face, bound up his torn hand, and then, stripping off his clammy, clinging clothes, rolled into bed and fell asleep

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with the songs of myriads of frogs and the long, mournful call of the night birds for a lullaby. It was two days later that the conductor of the tri-weekly local brought him two ‘On Com- panv's Service” letters. One was a long official envelope, but the other——! A glance at it made him start. Feverishly tearing it open, he read :— “Dear MikE,—I was travelling on No. 1 the other night, but was asleep when we passed through Butze, and did not know of your heroism until next day. Father tells me the sup. is giving you back your old job, and I am so glad.—Yours only, Nora.” It was only after he had read these words over many, many times that Nixon picked up the official letter and read the contents, Tt was from the superintendent— laconic, curt, Official ; but it made his heart glad. , HOW N1XON MADE GOOD. © 535 “Nixon, Operator, Butze.— Am sending your relief to - morrow. Kindly report to me as soon as possible after his arrival. You will resume former duties at Northtown. — Yours truly, H. H. Brown, Superin tendent, Northtown Divi- sion” “Nixon slipped and fell, gripping the And somehow that night, as Nixon sat staring out to where the parched bare plain met the horizon, the loneliness had gone from his heart, and was replaced by a deep thank- fulness. He knew that he had “ made good”; he knew, too, that he had found the strength to remain good.

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ODDS AND ENDS. N ANY years ago a huge millstone, which had been used at Sheldon’s mill at South Dover, in New York State, was discarded. It lay on the ground for a long time un- til one day a tender plant poked its” head through the hole in the centre of the stone. The young shoot of a tree did not lift the stone as it grew older, as most per- A tree growing through the centre of an old millstone. BLOW or jar of one thousand pounds on the jaw will kill a man, ac- cording to medical experts; but this is disproved by Harry Rich, of Kansas City. De- fying the laws of Nature has become his business. Sta- tistics show that the recoil of a gun is four hundred and eight pounds per inch of powder to two inches bore. Harry Rich puts a four-inch charge of powder in his can- non, giving a recoil weight of one thou- sand six hundred and thirty - one pounds, plus the weight of the can- non, which is two hundred pounds, making a total weight of one thou- sand eight hundred and thirty-one Pounds, the weight A human guo-<carriage. When this cannon is fired the “kick” hurls the man ten feet backwards. sons would sup pose; as a matter of fact, the stone “was raised and sup- ports placed under it in order to make a seat. Inthe course of time, when the tree out- grew the diameter of the hole in the stone, the latter was held up by the tree without the aid any longer of the sup- ports. As a matter of fact, d tree wop!d not, in growing, Sift an object. landing on the jaw. Rich has a cannon made of steel, and has chains on the gun, so that, when mounted on two tables, the cannon will be about three feet from the ground. This weight he holds in his teeth by the aid of a leather strap. As the fuse of the cannon is set he lifts the cannon from the ground, and when the gun is discharged the b) :.w knocks him fully ten feet backwards, where his assistants catch him. In ad dition to this, Rich pulls three heavily- loaded motor- cars by the aid of his teeth. Rich is only twenty-eight years of age, and has been doing this for eight years. He neither drinks nor smokes.

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e Golden 7 te Bag -— ure ABu-

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the national Christmas joy smoke OUBLE quick as he kicks out of the coverlids at-peep-of- day on the twenty-fifth, pass him a whack on the back, a peppy “Merry Christmas—and-— the smokesurprise of his life! —a pound of Prince Albert in that joy’us crystal glass humidor! Talk about “happy returns!” If you’re kind-of-keen to glimpse the sun- shine dividends doing the happy-hob-nob with the mistletoe, land on one of these radiant holiday handouts—Prince Albert all fussed up like a gold fish out for a strut in the holly woods! Never was such Christmas, or all-year, smokejoy as Prince Albert puts across to any man keyed for the pleasure punch of a jimmy pipe or home- rolled cigarettes! Never was such a glad-man-gift! P. A. is not only the sky-limit in smoke-delight-quality, but, get it right, our exclusive patented process cuts out bite and parch! Prince Albert has won by a mile all over the nation—it will win him! Prince Albert is also sold in handsome pound and half pound tin humidors in tidy red tins and in toppy red bags. R. J. REYNOLDS TOBACCO COMPANY, Winston-Salem, N, C, Copyright 1919 b: RJ. Reynolds ‘Tobacco Co, io) Digiiealt Googl

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By com? $ ae ko Tica ©

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DETROIT ~ The Auto Center'is the Do you realize the importance of the Auto, Truck and Tractor ro Business today? In a few short Z years it has become the leading industry. GREATEST OPPORTUNITY KNOWN j Nearly seven million machines in use today. Thou- sands of men needed to operate and repair them—men who know what to do and who can be depended to do it cor- rectly and thoroly. And that’s exactly what we teach you to do. A few weeks’ study at the Michigan State Auto School will fit you to handle any Auto or Tractor problem. Earn $100 to $400 a Month Trained, competent automobile men can practically name their own salary. _That’s what it means tor you. Best of all, you can go into business for yourself right in your own home town. No need to-move away. When Auto owners learn of your training you will nave all the work you can handle. Many of our students have done this and are making big success. WHAT WE TEACH Not a One Man School Our students are thoroughly in- This school is structed. Every phase of the work Sed cu is covered—engines, electrics, start- founded on the ing, lighting, ignition, transmissions, _best,most prac- differentials, ete. tical and new- est principles in the Auto, Truck and Tractor busi- ness. Our Course is built on the widest | = and fullest co- Tractor Coure Included e operation Regular Auto Course includes meuufantares ; . : r tarages, service stations and owners. complete instruction on care, re- {t is not One Man’s Ideas but the com- pair and maintenance of Farm “ bined ideas of the biggest, best and tore.” Falles $ : most successful men in each field. Tractors. Fullest co-operation ‘A. G. Zeller, President. enjoyed with manufacturers. Ac- . : tual machines placed with us for use of students. Brazing, Welding and Tire Repairing Taught or tractor mechanic and operator, paying from : ; $100 to $400 monthly or refund your money. These subjects covered in complete, separate courses. Brazers and Welders get $8.00 to $10.00 per day. Factories and garages always need competent men. Also big opportunities repairing tires—six million in use. —— a A . MICHIGAN STATE AUTO SCHOOL TRAIN IN Big Factories Endorse Our School 711 Auto Bldg., 687-89-91 Woodward Ave The thoroughness and completeness of our cours> [fl Gentlemen Firsse turd see ataleian, SREB. DETROIT | | has earned their fullest co-operation. Our meth- ff Trerpage lliusteated Catclog, ae ye Rae THE NEART OF THE AUTO MuSTRY | | dS and instruction highly recommended by big- [J and information as checked below Rees’ Castor les. a. CO Aute and Tractor D Tice Repairing Start Any Time Course O Brazing and Welding ‘ Mark enc! . you arrive. School open all Or. beter Oo aan a eee year. er classes any time. If necessary we help you secure work to pay expenses. Our graduates get jobs casily. Ask for New Big Catalog Tells all about our school. Explains methods— shows results. Mail coupon today, then jump Cit train and come, Our guarantee protects you. \MICHIGAN.STATE AUTO SCHOOL Most Progressive Auto Schoolin America"—‘mn the Heart of the Auto Industry” 687-89-91 Woodwara ave. Detroit, Mich., U.S.A. SS ER A TA TS eS a a

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WIDE WORLD The Magazine for Everybody x bere scenes pecans 3 s oo | i

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La Salle Students and Graduates can now be found employed in the exee- utive departments of practically all the large railroads, business houses and commercial organizations in the United States. Many prominent business con- cerns can be named in each of oe 100 0 A a Ford Motor Company + Bh Sw ~ . oO Standard Oil Company. . 390 . F. Goodrich Company Wells Fargo Express Compeny eas Fecture writers, instructors an alle students and graduates nsible positions can be tire English ants. occupying res} found throug] speaking world, ut the ent mand through its hly specialized departments is organized and equipped to render a Pract and distinctive service which cannot be supplied by any other instita on of similar ch:racter w Be An Expert ccountan — The Man Who Directs Everywhere in business there is need for the man who knows Higher Accoun | To meet the competitive conditions that i today, waste must be eliminated, accurate | systems must be installed, economies must be put | al into effect and the is espe must have the whole — situation charted and shown in figures whenever wanted. The book- keeper cannotdo this. To analyze a business, a man must be to account- ing what the highly trained lawyer is to the legal aspects of commerce. Over 500,000 American concerns today need the services of Expert Accountants. That shows where opportunity is. Write today for information about the course in Highe> Accounting given by the LaSalle Extension University. Learn Higher Accounting By Mail Our staff of experts in the. Science of Accounting will give you their direct personal instruction by mail, guiding you step by step until you have mastered this paying profession. You will study text books, lectures and accounting methods prepared by authorities—men who are actually employed or retained as expert advisers by leading industries. The underlying principles and the most modern methods of Business Analysis and Organization, and the Principles of Accounting, Audite ing, Commercial Law and Scientific Manage- ment all made clear, You will be given special preparation for the C. P. A. examinations and made ready to command a higher salary or to enter business as a Consulting Accountant. You can get all this in your spare time while you hold your present position. How better could you use your hours of leisure? Easy Terms No large fe No large down. ‘This instruction is offered ona convenient Our courses Ww small his nt income. Send the coupon below for Tull, detailed Mail The Coupon Today , Make the knowledge of these LaSalle experts yours, At least send for information about this course which has helped so many men to rise quickly to positions of greater profit and prestige and which you can easily master by home study. No matter where you may be or what position can put you on the road to his has __—___ LaSALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY, “The Largest Business Training Institution in the World’* Dept. 273-H Chicago, Illinois, Without cost or obligation on my part, please send me particulars // regarding your Home Study Course of Training in Higher Aecount- ing and your Consulting Service. Also a copy of your valuable book for ambitious men, n Years’ Promotion In One,’ NamMe...cscccccccceessnssscnseresrenseerersenceesseeee Digitized by GOOGe Cc

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The Magazine for Everybody. MARCH, 1920.

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OUR highest ideal of ciga- rette enfoyment begins the day you get acquainted with Camel cigarettes! They win you on their quality. Camels expert blend of choice Turkish and choice Domestic to- baccos is so new, so smooth and so fascinating you’l] prefer it to either kind of tobacco smoked straight! Camels are unique in so many other ways that appeal to smokers. They have a remark- able mildness, but that desirable “body” is allthere! Again, Camels leave no unpleasant cigaretty aftertaste, no unpleasant ciga- retty odor! The real way to appreciate Camels best is to compare them puff-by-puff with any cigarette in the world at any price! WHY MAN— we made this cigarette for Camels are sold every- where in scientifically sealed packages of 20 cigarettes for 20 cents; or ten packages (200 cigarettes) ina glass- ine-paper-covered-car- ton. We strongly rec- ommend this carton for the home or office sup- ply or when you travel, R. J. REYNOLDS TOBACCO CO. Winston-Salem, N. 0. biatizea y GOORIe

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The Magazine for Everybody. APRIL, 1920, ey

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APCO PRODUCTS that make your Ford “More Car” STEERING COLUMN BRACE No. 42 Supports the steering column, preventing excessive vibration and loosening. Price ANTI-RATTLERS No. Take all the rattles out of the Steering Rods and Radius Rod. .(each) 50c -(pair) 50c — 0 Price... VALVE GRINDER No. 108 A real efficient tool at a remarkably low ++ $5.00 4 at should be in A six in one tool every kit Price. LICENSE B si Hold the front number plate or license tag rigid. Price METAL OIL GAUGE No. 48 Tells how much oil there is in the car at all times and it is al rave sieht Places the Horn driver's finger. Ford Owners! Write Today For This Free Catalog. Showing the most complete line of equipment for Fords ever made under one brand. No Ford owner can afford to be without it, whether he drives for plea- sure or profit, or whether he is interested from the standpoint of comfort, convenience, safety, economy or service. Accessory dealers, hardware stores, garages and service stations all stock some APCO items and can get the others for you but it pays to insist on APCO, which is a ‘‘buy word’’ for Ford owners the world over. Cost a little more— Worth a lot more. Apco Manufacturing Co. PROVIDENCE, R. I, U. S. A. Digtized by Google

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 4 EARN $100 TO $400 MONTHLY RIGHT IN YOUR OWN TOWN Learn the Auto and Tractor Business Greatest Opportunity Known— Previous Experience Makes no Difference. The Automobile, Truck and Tractor business, in a few years, has become the world’s greatest industry. In amount of capital invested, in number men employed, im volume of business it exceeds any other industry. Manufatcurers tell us it is still in its infancy. The opportunities for Trained Men in the Auto and Tractor industry are almost beyond belief; future opportunities will be even greater. Prepare yourself to take advantage of these opportunities by learning every phase of the Automobile, Truck and Tractor business as taught by the old reliable Michigan State Auto School, Detroit. MANY EARN $100 TO $400 MONTHLY Factories, Garages and Service Stations everywhere are calling for Trained Men in ever increasing numbers. Hundreds of our students are in business for themselves making $5,000 to $10,000 and more yearly. There are thousands of valuable locations for Garages and Service Stations everywhere—the field is unlimited. No matter what you have done or. what you are doing now, you can learn this well-paid, pleasant work. Whether you are young or have reached more mature years, our courses will fit you to command the oppor- tunities you desire. To the man with grit and the determination to get ahead, the future is without limit. Michigan State Auto School training will help you to success in any branch of the Auto, Truck and Tractor business. DETROIT THE LOGICAL PLACE TO LEARN Detroit, with more than 180 Auto and Accessory factories, is the logical place to learn the Auto and Tractor business. 79% of automobiles manufactured are made in Michigan—71% are made in Detroit alone. Can you think of a better place than the Auto Center in which to learn this business of big opportunities? AUTO FACTORIES ENDORSE SCHOOL The thoroughness of our methods, the completeness of our equipment and the competency of our graduates are well known in the Auto Industry. factories as Packard, Maxwell, Hudson, Chalmers, Hup- mobile, King, International Harvester Co. and others endorse our courses, employ our graduates and furnish us with their latest chassis for our students’ use. In fact, many of the leading manufacturers assisted in outlining our course. COURSES THOROUGH AND COMPLETE Each student is taught, Auto, Truck and Tractor construction in every detail. We train both the head and hand. There are over one hundred motors of all types in our block test department. Our course in Auto Electrics is very thorough—graduates have no. trouble locating any electrical trouble quickly and easily. Students get complete, thorough and practical knowledge of Motors, Starting, Lighting and Ignition systems, Carburetion, Combustion. Transmissions, Differentials, etc. As a part of the regular course, students are given complete and thorough training in the care, repair and operation of Farm Tractors. Brazing and Welding and Tire Repairing are taught in separate courses. Either of these courses may be taken separately but if taken with the regular automobile course, make a valuable addition to the equipment of any student. To men who want to sell Autos, Trucks and Tractors, This training gives an exceptional advantage for they know just how tq judge the value of old machines they are asked to take in on new machines. They know these machines as an average salesman can know them. School is open all year—you can start any day. | insummer s the center of some of the finest pleasure spots in Such large auto | DETROIT IN SUMMER In addition to being the heart of the Automobile Industry, Detroit America Detroit bas 33 parks, the finest of which is Bi in the Detroit Ri i many from the deck of a boat as it glides through the moonlit waters. Alread the Michigan State Auto School bas arra' ged for three of ther? boat trips for this summer. Th se are free to the atudents and their friends. At all times throughout the year, Detroit is the logical place to learn the Auto and Tractor business, but the summer attractions in and around Detroit make June, July, August and Sept: mber ideal mohths in which to get this training and at the same time enjcy Detorit. SEND FOR BIG 176-PAGE FREE CATALOG Send the coupon today for Big 176 Page Ca log and copy of the latest ‘‘Auto Schoo! New: both absolutely Free. They tell about courses: show more than a hundred pictures of equip- ments—give letters frem big Au o Factories and Graduates. M.S. A S. courses are an reason- able in price as they are thorough in their train- ing. Those who have jumped on a train and come to Detroit to investiga e protects you. If you ean’t come, get the catalog. Resolve to learn the business in Detroit —The Heart of the Auto Industry. Use NOTA the coupon NOW ONE-MAN MONEY-BACK GUARANTEE SCHOOL We guarantee to This schoolisfound- - ed on the best, ne est and most’ prac- tical principles in the Anto, Truck and Tractor Business. Our course is built on the qualify you for a po- sition as chauffeur, repair man, demon- strator, auto electric- jan, garage man, au- tomobile dealer or tractor mechanic and operator paying from $100 to $400 monthly ina versonable time, ° or refund your mon- com ey, provided you do the bint your part and attend fdd@ our classes. A. G. ZELLER, Pres” SEND THIS COUPON TODAY DETROIT 1H HEAT OF TE ABT EST ii it and most ‘ul men ineach MICHIGAN STATE AUTO SCHOOL 704 Auto Building, 68 Woodward Ave., Detroit, Mich., U. S. A. tlemer—Please send me, absolutely FREE New 176-Page Illustrated Cataloz, “Auto School News,” and information as checked below. (_) Auto and Tractor Course (__) Tire Repairing (_) Brazing and Welding (Mark each course you are interested in) or, better still, you can expect me about Name Street City Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. 7)

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VOL. XLIV—No. 264 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. XLIV. CONTENTS FOR APRIL, 1920. No. “264. “THE BOY WAS HOLDING is KNIFE JUST OVER EE HEART OF PETER COSTA” .. - - - - - .. Frontispiece. rack. THE MYSTERY OF DOMINIC PIETRO - - ~ a Harwood Koppel. 451 Illustration by Leo Bates. ions % THE TRIALS OF A NATURALIST’S WIFE.—IV. ae ee ee MS BY BY 856 Iustrations by L. R. Brightwell. A WOMAN'S ORDEAL eve ove wm Meigs: O. Frost. 462 Mlustratioas by Dudley Tennant, “ind from Photographs, ACROSS UAE NO WI ARABIA IN DISGUISE—IL. H. St. J. B. Philby, C.LE.'1.C.S. 469 Illustrations from P! HONTING: THE ADDO ELEPHANTS - - -~ - se R. M. Cuthbertson, 477 Illustrations from Photographs. ON FOOT THROUGH SOUTH AMERICA—V. — — = « Harry A. Franck. . 483 Mlustrations by A. E. Horne, and from Photographs, ACROSS EAST AFRICA IN THE RAINY SEASON.—IL Lieut. Leo Walmsley, M.C., R.A.F. 491 Illustrations by W. H. Holloway. and from Photographs, IN OLD MADRID _.. wes - - - - - — Hugh Thomason, 498 Ilustrations by Hl. Earashaw. FAR AND NEAR .. on ae - - a - aoe «= 502 lustratioas from’ Photographs, a WITH A PRSTOr FIGHTER SQUADRON. i. - - = Lieut. W. Noble, RAF. 503 Mlustrations by W. Avis, and from Photographs. MY TWO YEARS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE TURKS.—IV. Captain T. W. White, D.F.C. 515 Illustrations by Ernest Prater, and from Photographs, A LAND pe GODS... aa ove - -— = w= —Liewt.-Col. C. H. Buck. 520 Mlastrations from Photographs. THE HUNTING OF LOT SHUMWAY oe mee we Cariton Morton. 525 Illustrations by Leo Bates, and from Photographs, HOW NIXON MADE GOOD... - — — eo oe oe =D, J. Francis. 533 _ ustrations by W. E. Wigfull. > ODDS AND ENDS . wie Sra Sat (tes Sat See yi ee PS 524 586 Mustrations from Photoerapbs The Editor invites Travellers, Explorers. Tourists, Missionaries, and others to send in any curious or remarkable photographs they may have. For these, and for True Stories of Adventure. liberal payment will be made ON ACCEPTANCE according to the value of the material. Every narrative must be STRICTLY TRUE IN EVERY DETAIL, and a writTeN STATEMENT TO THIS grrect must be furnished. The author must also, if possible, furnish portraits of the leading character or characters (even if it be himself), together with any other available photographs and portraits of places, persons, and things which in any way heighten the realism and actuality of the narrative. All MSS. should be typewritten, Every care will be taken of contributions, but the Editor cannot be held responsible for accidental loss or damage. All communications should be plainly addressed to the Editor, Wing Wortp Macazine. 8, Southampton Street, London, W.C., England. The American Edition of Tux Wing Wortp MaGazine is published monthly for George Newnes, Ltd., of London, by Tre International News Company, 83—8:, Duane Street, New York City, | Price rs cents. Yearly subscription, $1.50 Rot free. Subscriptions may be commenced at any time, Entered as second-class matter March 23, 1899, at the Post Office at York, N.Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office Departmgat, Ovtawa, | Canada, Ai oe: hich tells you how to correct tllashaped meses without cost if mot satisfac ‘ace Specialist. 1282 Ackerman Building Binghamton,

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 3 She had gone to change into her trav- eling. dress—a few minutes later he found her in her room—the woman he had just made his wife in company with his best friend. What would you have done? What did he do? Find out from the story by O.HENR Y wets.s The most popular set of books in the world today is the marvelous stories of O. Henry. Over two million separate. volumes have been sold. No other publication has approached such a tremendous success. Second only to O. Henry in popularity‘is Jack London. Never has there been a man like him. He has adventured everywhere. Hewas an. officer, a roustabout, a miner, a farmer, a tramp, a prisoner, a sailor before the mast. He is our great- est writer of pure, real adventure. By a Little Finger-Print HE “job” went off like clockwork—a clean get- away with $13,000. Mike O’Day laughed up his sleeve when he read the account of it ‘n the morning paper—but he laughed too soon. When Richard Cutler, the finger print expert, took up the case, was only the work of a few moments for hi to discover four tell-tale finger prints on the window ledge. Within twenty-four hours the prints were identified at headquarters and the net had closed about the unsuspecting Mike. Cutler had spent only one day on the case but his pay was $500 reward. Be a Finger-Print Detective Why don’t you get into this fascinating game? This absorbing and highly paid vocation is alive with wonderful opportunities. The need is immediate. Governments, corporations, police departments, in- st .utions, and individuals need trained finger-print experts. The field is as vide as the world, the pay is big, the work is intensely interesting. No matter what your present occupation is, you ean quickly learn to be a finger-print expert. Our woucerful new method trains you at home in your spare time. FREE - Secret Service Course For a limited time only we are offering a free course in Secret Service. If you act now you will get two courses for the price of one. Both courses go hand in hand, giving invaluable aid to each other. The free Secret Service course is founded on the deductions of one of the world’s most noted crim- inologists. It actually makes the detection of crime a simple study in common sense. This exceptional offer may never appear again. Act now! Write For FREE Book Write for our free book on Finger Prints which we will be glad to send you without any eost or obilgation on your part. Find out about the won- derful opportunities which are now within your regch. Don't put it off until to-morrow. Write us to-day and pave the way to future success. Simply fill out and mail the Inspection Coupon, which brings the complete set of O. Henry, 12 volumes, New Fabrikoid binding, and the set of Jack London, 5 volurres, silk cloth binding — altogether 17 volumes— shipped for your examination. Look the books over, for ten days, read some of the fascins- ting stories, and if you are satisfied send us $1.00 only asa first payment and $3.00 per month thereafter till our special price of $29.00 is paid. If you are not en- tirely satisfied notify us within ten days and we will give you shipping in- structions for their return. THE RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING CO. 140 So,Dearborn St., Chicago, Ill a Leadon Wound fn aint clots" Ye 1 Keep the b UNIVERSITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE ‘ . | Desk No. 1424 : late ' 1920 Sunnyside Avenue Chicago, Il. Pa leccrentos ecbcred reekieser ceiaes anzme en Pieked acid ine’ seunttnce beokcon Fides, Pridtatand details of your free Secret Service Course. Namie Gapaceee htzciea suse dest geeesueacess meee Address ielesieecsas ces dees ayy Sea Clty Sacer cs Agoveceen Kindly mention this magazine when writing to acvertisers

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ZT, Thereisbigmoney for yo} Ping Thousands of Trained Aviation) tn Railroading! 2 Mechanics Needed! these new railroading jobs. Few men realize the Thousands of “Trained Aviation Mechanics needed for fascination of the work itself. As a result railroads splendid, new positions opening up everywhere in this amazing and manufacturers of safety signal apparatus are clamoring men are needed for the big-paying jobs. From the new Airplane Industry comes the call for men — trained for men to design, supervise, maintain, and inspect these life. men—and this is only the beginning. Already Airplane mail routes, saving ‘because these sz have express and passenger carrying service are in operation. Men in prevented 80 hundreds of accidents many states have this great industry are making enormous salaries, but thousands laws it to install them. Your compulsory more are needed—right now. Not in a hundred years hasany field i of endeavor held out such wonderful opportunities as are offered ani a opportunity afi bere, enabling. you to get into anew to you today in this great new profession. Prepare yourself in a few short months to double or treble your present salary asan: $2500 10*5000 aYear Rowtens Gepenens .. peneeee assennaes ,_Even while you are learning you can hold a posi Airplane Bullder tion as assistant to a signal engineer and earn We Teach Youby Mail ic2,0' home. in your epare | to $200 per month. The opportunities for the are i. inte Ql ime, {a a few short months, ivancement yar new, scientific course has the endorsement of airplane 2 ° manufacturers, aeronautical experts, aviators and leading learn signal engineerin ot nome in aero clubs. Every Lesson, Lecture, Blue Print and Bulletin leaving re Y Is self-explanatory. You can’t fall to learn. No book students and graduates study; no schooling required. Lessons are written in easy- to-understand, non-technical language. : This Valuable New Book Assistant Signal Engineer Send the FREE <i Coupon Inspector =n eat Write quick for our Special Advertising Superintendent of Construction D Qur free book on signal engineering omptly. derful Biter: Send the Coupon now. $ou all’ sboct ox bose winds sone Ineans to you; gives many letiers from stu- AMERICAN SCHOOL OF AVIATION 431 So. Dearborn St., Dept. 1354 CHICAGO, ILL. pie a eet cnr SMBresborn 80 Dept. 4804 Caicagas ED, letter or postoara HOW. ‘3 i Al No nfoeas don Shoct your Conplsts Course in Praca Aweaastes | Department of and your Special Advertising offer. Signalin Zz boo” Dept. 1423 , Name, ae . 1924 Sunnyside Ave. or Mamececereeesseeersesesssnesnssernases Street. Ravenswood Station ra essensen ran cae: /: Ufo iaidy ices ease (obaue iutateceniane: Soltors se anduoncseacseesey aon | ULINOIS 4... eA AC ht Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 5 THE PARKVIEW Largest Institution in the World Treating Rectal Diseases Exclusively Probably as many as seventy out of every hundred people have Piles or some other serious rectal disease. Experience proves that home-remedies do not cure Piles and that Surgery is Harsh and Dangerous. No matter what you have tried without success —do not despair, you can have your Piles Cured Without Surgery No knife; no scissors; no clamp and cautery; no “red- hot” iron; no ligature; no.chloroform or other general anaesthetic, only By DR. McCLEARY’S Mild Serum-Like Treatment A success for twenty-three years and in more than 5,000 cases. KANSAS CITY CHAMBER OF COMMERCE says: “Dr. McCleary stands high in thiscity, We do hot hes- itate to recommend himand his large institution. ‘THESE BANKS ENDORSE ABOVE STATEMENT: Commonwealth National, Gate City National, National Bank ofCommerce, Columbia National, Home Trust Co., Central Exchange National and Traders National, (all of Kansas City). : Write today for Free book telling how to be cured of Piles easily and permanently. THE PARKVIEW 1039-Paseo Kansas City, Mo. Delivered at your door, Standard authors, fine editi new books, all at biggest savings. Be sure to send postcard for Clarkson's catalog. FREE W's, for our great book cata: +E. jog. This catalog is a short course in literature and is so used by some of America’s leading universities; 300,000 book lovers buy from it. Free if you write now. DAVID B. CLARKSON ftEscck BROKER 454 CLARKSON BUILDING, CHICAGO, ILLS. MALE AND FEMALE A sexology book of the better kind. Unparalleled in interest. Unconventional in plain truths. Fascinat- ing and educating. Everyone over 18 years of age should read this extraordinary book. Mailed, pre- paid, in plain wrapper for ONE DOLLAR. DALL PUBLISHING COMPANY Denham Building Dept. W. W. Denver, Colorado. 10 Lessons in PUBLIC SPEAKING FREE Write quick—for particulars of this extra- ordinary offer; an offer you will never forget if you take advantage of it. Ten lessons in Public Speaking absolutely free to those who act promptly. We make this extraordinary offer to introduce our wonderful course in localities where it is not already known. We teach you, by mail, to become a power- ful and convincing talker and speaker—to dominate and control the decisions of one listener or an audience of a thousand. We have trained hundreds and helped them to increase their earnings and their popularity. Learn in your spare time, at home, how to overcome “stage-fright” and conquer fear of others; how to enlarge your vocabulary; how to develop self-confidence and the qualities of leadership; how to RULE others by the power of your speech alone; how to train your memory. Our New, Easy Method perfected and taught by Prof. R. E. Pattison Kline, former dean of the Public Speaking Department of the Columbia College of Expression, can be learned in 15 minutes aday. Prof. Kline 1# one of the foremost authorities in the country on public speaking and mental development. Do not delay and miss this opportunity of a lifetime. OFFER LIMITED S32 29 This Special Offer of ten lessons free is made strictly for advertising purposes and will be withdrawn Without notice. Write now, before it expires, and recetve full particulars with enrollment blank by return mall. Jvst tear off and mail free coupon—or a postal. North American Institute 1354Manhattan Bidg., Chicago os a eo ee Send This Free Lesson Goupon NORTH AMERICAN INSTITUTE, 1so4 Manhattan Bidg., Chicago, IM. I am interested in your course in Effective Public Speaking and your offer of 10 lessons free. Please send full particulars. This request places me under ) no obligation of any kind. Street... Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ADAGRAMS 9CENTS A WORD. BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES. ~ PATENTS—TRADE-MARBS. HOW BEGINNERS CAN MAKE A SUCCESS In the Mail Order Business, price $1. 00 postpaid. Daniel O'Neill, 27 Henry St, Everett, IRVERTIONS, WANTED, Cash or royalty for ideas, Adam Fisher Mfg. Co., 129, St. Louis, Mo. YOUR OPPORTUNITY—Get In business for yourself: mall order or local; manufacture your own products; employ other agents; ‘everything given clearly in our big magazine of plans, schemes and ideas, Three months, 25c. Sample copy, 10c. Special Service, 428 Shannon Bldg., Pittsburgh, Pa. YOU CAN EARN $50 to $160 weekly writing advertisements, Experience unneceseary. Particulars for stamp. R. P. Koehler, Dept. 20, 156 West Vernon, Los Angeles, Cal. FREE—THE WESTERN MINER—3 MONTHS. to get acquainted devoted to an exceptional investment and general news. The Western Miner. 2557 W. 37th, Denver, Colo. BROWN'S MONEY MAKING secrets contains Ideas you never thought of; 400 pages, $1.00. The Everyday Educator teaches technical business methods, 60 departments, il- lastrated, Te. Central Company, 601 Ninth Ave., New ork. . isa tailing ie EABN S$10—S15 WEEKLY sciressine, maine a instructions 10c, L. George Douse, 1138 Huron St, (R5) Toledo, Ohio. AUTHORS, SONG WRITERS SHORT STORIES, POEMS, PLAYS, ETC., are wanted for pubil- eation. Literary Bureau, 116, Hannibal, Mo. WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG, We revise write write music and guarantee to secure publication. on any subject. Broadway Studios, 1676 Fitegerald Bldg., New York. SONG POEMS WANTED—You write words fora song. We write the music, publish and secure a copyright. Submit poems ny subject. The Metropolitan Studios, 914 South Avenue, Room 125, Chicago, Illinoi on POETS DO NOT DESPAIR because your manuscripts have been returned. I guarantee publication. Get particulars be- fore submitting poem. Poet's Exchange Magazine, P. O. Box 755, Savannah, Ga. WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG. We write music and guar- antee publisher's acceptance. Submit poems on patriot- ism, love or any subject. CHESTER MUSIC CO., 920 So. Michigan Ave., Room 205, Chicago, Ill. YOU WRITE THE WORDS FOR A SONG. We'll compose the mu- sic free and publish same. Send Song Poem today. G. Lenox Co., 101 West 42nd St., New York. EARN $26 weekly, spare time. writing for newspapers, maga- zines. Experience unnecessary ; details Free. Press Syndi- cate, 445 St. Louis, Mo. WRITE A SONG on any subject. publication. Send words today. Reaper Block, Chicago. I compose music and guarantee Thomas Merlin, 244 SONG WRITERS’ MANUAL AND GUIDE sent free! Contains valuable instructions and advice. Submit song-poems for pxaminaion. We will furnish music, copyright and facili- tate publication or sale. Knickerbocker Studios, 303 Gai- ety Bldg., New York. IF YOU WILL WRITE the words for @ song. | will write the music and guarantee publisher’s acceptance. Poems on any subject acceptable. Ethwell Hanson, Room 125, 3808 Broadway, Chicago, Illinois. INVENTORS should write for eur guide book, Hew: To Get Your Patent,” tells our terms and methods. model or sketch for our opinion of its patentable Satine & Co., Dept. 54, Washington, D. C. PATE ® TS—Write for FREE Guide Book and Evidence of Cow ception Blank. Send model or sketch and description for free opinion of its patentable nature. Highest refer- ences. Prompt attention. Reasonable terms. Victor J. Evans & Co., 807 Ninth St., Washington, D. C. PATENTS PROMPTLY PROCURED. Personal. careful and efficient service. Highest references. Moderate fees. Send cen or model for actual search and advice. George Kimmel, Master of Patent Law, 23E, Loan and Trust Bigg Washington, D. C. HELP WANTED. BEA DETECTIVE, | Excel i Write toc. udwige 10) WPoStover Bikes Wadaae Cay RAILWAY TRAFFIC INSPECTORS ; $110.00 a month to start and expenses. Travel if desired. Unlimited advancement. No age limit. Three months home study. Situation ar ranged. Prepare for permanent position. Write for book i CM47 Standard Business Training Institate, DETECTIVES and INVESTIGATORS are In demand. Travel end earn big money. Learn this fascinating profession by home study. Particulars free. American School of Crim inology, Dept. W, Detroit, Mich. EARN $25 weekly, spare time, writing for news, zines. Experience’ unnecessary: "details : ot Syndicate, 4455 St. Louis, Mo. DETECTIVES EARN BIG MONEY. i‘. ent 0; Travel. Great demand. inne may We unnecessary. train you. Particulars free. Write. American Detestive System, 1968 Peres: N.Y. WRITE PHOTOPLAYS—$60 each. Details free to beginners. Experience unnecessary Producers’ League, 316 St. Louis. $100 to $160 MONTH. Hundred Openings. U.S. Sovernment Positions. Men-Women, 18 up. Experience unnecessary. List positions free. Write immediately. Franklia Institute, Dept. R145, Rochester, N. Y. FIREMEN, BRAKEMEN, BAGGAGEMEN.$140-$200. Colored Porters, by railroads everywhere. Experience unneces- sary. 899 Ry. Bureau, East St. Louis, Ill. LADIES Wanted, and Men, Too, to Address Envelopes and mail advertising matter at home for large mail order firms, spare or whole time. Can make $10 to $15 weekly. No capital or experience required. Book explaining every- thing mailed for 10c to cover postage, etc. Ward Pub. Co., Box 74, Tilton, N. H. DOGS, RABBITS, &c. WE WANT RELIABLE PEOPLE to raise Furbearing Rabbits fer us in their back yards spare time. We furnish stock and pay $3.50 to $7.50 each for all you raise. Sunset For Co., 506-7-8 Lankershim Bidg., Los Angeles, Calif. DEERHOUNDS—Irish and Russian wolfhounds, Norwegian bear dogs, foxhounds, coonhounds, bloodhounds; big interest- ing, highly illustrated catalog, 10 cents. Rockwood Ken- nels, Lexington, Ky. EGGS $1 SETTING. Parcel post pald. Thoroughbreds. Barred Rocks, White Rocks, Buff Rocks, Island Reds, White Wyandottes, White Spain gy Leghorns, Black Langshans, Buff Orpingtons. Philip Condon, Bor 142, Westchester, Ohio. Kindly mention this magasine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENT S—(Continued) AGENTS WANTED. SALES AGENTS wanted in every County to give all or Spare time. Position worth $750 to $1500 yearly. We train the inexperienced. Novelty Cutlery Co., 70 Bar St, Canton, O. USED MOTORCYCLE BARGAINS: Indians—Excelsiors - Har- leys, $40.00 up. Singles or twins. Overhauled, rebuilt and tested by experts. Guaranteed and shipped on ap- proval. We furnish Bank references. Agents wanted. Write to-day tor BIG rREE LiSt. Fivyd Clymer, “Largest Motorcycle Dealer in Western America’ Denver, Colorado. AGENTS —$30.00 A WEEK selling guaranteed hoisery for men, women and children. Guaranteed to last for months without holes. Latest and best agents’ proposition. Thomas Mfg. Co., 2d5 North Street, Dayton, Ohio. AGENTS: $100 WEEKLY. Automobile owners everywhere wild with enthusiasm. Marvelous invention doubles power, mileage, efficiency. Saves ten times its cost. Sensation: sales everywhere. Territory going like wildfire. $: Sample Outfit and Ford Car free. Write quick. L. Ball- wey, Dept. 209, Louisville, Ky. AGENTS: SELL NEVERFAIL IRON RUST AND STAIN REMOVER Huge profits. Big line. Sample. Write today. Sanford- Beal Co., Ine., East 2nd, Newark, N. Y. $30 A DAY SELLING POWERENE. Equals gaseline at6c. The equivalent of 20 gallons express prepaid $1. Box 424, A19, Santa Rosa, Cal. START A BRANCH PHONOGRAPH RECORD EXCHANGE: a new American custom; only $25.00 capital needed. Sat- co Exchange, Onconta, N. Y. MIRACLE MOTOR-GAS amazes motorists. 3c worth equals gallon line. Eliminates carbon. 300% profit. Isom, Idaho, wires: “Ship 500 packages. Made $70 yesterday.” Investigate. A.C. Butler Co., Toledo, Ohio. AGENTS; Mason sold 18 Sprayers and Autowashers one Satur- day. Profits $2.50 each; square deal; particulars free. Rusler Company, Johnstown, Ohio. AGENTS $40-$100 PER WEEK. Free samples. gold sing letters, anyone can put on store windows; big dema liberal offer to general agents. Metallic Letter Co., .431-Z N. Clark St., Chicago. WONDERFUL NEW CHEMICAL. $1 package equals 50 gallons Gasoline, Elimiuates Carbon, $0% more Mileage, Power, Speed, Quaranteed, Whirlwind seller. Ato owners buy on sight. 100% profit. Repeater. Demonstrating package. Terms, Territory 10c package Myers & Co., 25 Baird, Cambridge, Ohlo. 600 SUCCESSFUL money-making Formulas and Trade Secrets, Postpaid 25c. Charles Dynes, Winchester, Indiana. BOOKS AND SONGS. 12 SONGS FOR $1—In order to popularize our great hit ‘Desertland” retail price 30c, for a short time we will offer it and eleven other popular song hits postpaid $1. Offer limited, send $1 today sure. Riviera Music Com- pany, Room 125, Chateau Theatre Bldg., Chicago, illinois. SPIRITISM BLESSING or MENACE? Read Reliable chure, fiiteen cents. Priceless. M. Smith, Box 126. Rapelie, Mont. “SEXUAL PHILOSOPH? " 12c, clearest, best, most instructive sex manual published. Guaranteed. “Health-Wealth,” 82 Bennington, Lawrence, Mass. “LOVERS PACKAGE” containing instructive books on court: ship, 75c, Central Company, 601 Ninth Ave., New York. Interesting for Man and Woman, List free. W. Isca, 418 Tribune Annex, Minneapolis, Minn, ge bro- istributor, MARRIED AND ENGAGED people should read “Science efa New Life;” nature laws explained. 400 pages illustrated, $2.00. Central Company, 601 Ninth Ave., New York. Book lists free. WELDING OUTFITS. MATRIMONIAL, for results try me; best and most successful hundreds rich wish marriage soon ; strict most reliabie; years o1 experience; ae “The Successful Club,” Box 656, Oak- Maker ; ly confiaential scriptions free. lana, Cal. MARRY—Free photos beautiful ladies, descriptions and direc- tory. Pay when married. New Pian Uo., Dept. 64, Kan- sas City, Mo. MARRY—Marriage directory with photos and descriptions free. Pay when married. The Exchange, Dept. 84, Kan- sas City, Mo. MARRIAGE PAPER FREE, the very best published, Eastern Agency, 3, Bridgeport, Conn. a ot Seelianle: MARRY. -Thousands congenial people. worth from $1,000te $50,000 seeking early marriage; descriptions, photos, in- troductions free. Sealed. ither sex. Send no money. Standard Cor. Club, Grayslake, Ill. MARRY—Thousands people: all ages worth; $6,000 to $400, 000; anxious for marriage: write for my list; free. Ralph liyde (B23), Minna St., San Francisco, Cal. MARRY AT ONCE—We put you in correspondence with theu- sands of charming and refined ladies who wish to marry, many worth from $1,000 to $25,000 and upwards. Par- ticulars free. Address Allen W-~1, B-513, Valley, Nebr. GET MARRIED Best Matrimonial Magazine Published Mailed M y worth from $1,000 and upward wanted to ied. Both sexes. American Distributor, Blairs- ville, Pa. MARRIED! HUN tions, 25c. * Boston, Mass. DREDS WAITING. Names, addresses, descrip- “Both sexes,” confidential. Box 3317W, MARRY --JOIN THE HIGH CLASS SELECT CLUB. honorable and refined members everywhere. Confidential descriptions free in plain sealed envelope. Satisfaction guaranteed. Peoples Club, Box 4, San Diego, Cal. Many wealthy, ' WOULD LIKE the acquaintance of a refined woman, matrh monially inclined, who could financially assist me in » profitable semi-professional business. I am an American, Pretestant, age 40, of good education, gentlemanly habits, good appearance, and first class references as to char- acter. Address Mr. G. R. Montgomery, 5640 Lake Park Ave., Chicago. Ill. HONORABLE ELECTRICAL ENGINEER (home lover) desires to correspond with and marry lady of wealth: one who is willing to help finance my invention. References, confi- dential, H. D. de Bruxelles, Post Office, Chicago, III. MARRY; Many Rich. for stamp, Happiness Iles in married life. Confidential, reliable. F. Morrison, N-3053 W. Holden St., Seattle, Wash. MARRY FOR WEALTH, HAPPINESS. Hundreds rich. attractive, HOTOS congenial, willing to wed. FREE 24 yrs. experience. Mrs. Warn, 2216} Temple St., Los Angeles, al. IF YOU WISH- a pretty and wealthy wife writ + Ol er Barkley, Blairsville, Pennsylvania peas IF YOU WANT a healthy. wealthy. loving wife ite . 7. FM. 4214 California St., San Franciseo. Cal. wie ores rom MARRY—Latest matrimonial cataleg: names, addresses. de- seriptions, photos. Write direct to ladies. Complete, $1.00. International Club, Dept. 16, Box 563, Los Angeles, C: POST CARDS LOOK! NAME IN BIG POSTCARD EXCHANGE 10c, Postcards 10c., Great Lovers Budget 10., Novelt; 4e., all 25c. nd. 42" dandy Y tal Charles W. Dynes, Publisher, ‘Winchester: FASCINATING PASTIME, EXCHANGE POSTCARDS. Members in many countries. Trial, 10c. Elite, B2, 4206 Irving Park, Chicago, III. WELDING PLANTS, $25.00 TO $300.00.—Designed for all purposes, Small cash payment, balance three to six months. Every mechanic or shop should have ene. U, W. Bermo Welding Co., Omaha. U. 8, A. TEN BEAUTIFUL Motion Picture Players Postcards. and 6 months’ Membership in big Exchange 40c. Splendid collection assured. Popular Exchange, Box WW, Wind- sor, North Carolina. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CLASSIFED ADVERTISEMEN TS—(Continued.) PERSONAL, ASTROLOGICAL READING given with key to eres 1 Ge birth- date. $1.00. Joseph K. Devere, 123 W. Madison St, ‘choses x SUNDRIES, “TRUTH” on handsome double mat 6x10. French model, Life pose ; fall length. 25¢. press, Wauregan, Conn. Beautiful art work prepaid. Waure- ToBacco or Snuff Habit cured or no pay. $1,00 if cured. Remedy sent on trial. Superba Co., S‘f, Baltimore, Md. GET VALUABLE INTERESTING MAIL FREE. Cornish Com- pany. Schenectady, N. Y. BROTHER—Discovered pleasant reat, easily, inexpensively overcomes any tobacco habit. Fine for indigestion. Just send address. E. C. Stokes, Mohawk, Florida. YOUR FUTURE FORETOLD: Send dime. birthdate for truthful, reliable convincing trial reading. Hazel Hause, Box 215, Los Angeles, Cal. FREE! STOP USING TOBACCO. Information for Postage stamp. Anti Tobacco League, Det. A, Omaha, Neb. LEARN HYPNOTISM—New Swiss Method. Results Guaranteed Particulars free. Fernando Publishing Co., Dept. 24S, Erie, Pa. MORPHINE New home treatment. Send stamp for book of information. Dr. Quayle Sani- torium, Madison, Ohio. and Stammer g cured at home ST-STU-T-T-TERING tnstenctive bookiet free. Walter McDonnell, 99 Potomac Bank Building, Washington, D, C. OLD COINS, ETC. RARE COINS, MEDALS, PAPER-MONEY, ANTIQUE FIREARMS, swords, Indian relics, engravings, almanacs, antiques, curios, stamp collections. Lists free. Antique Shop, 33 South 18th St.. Philadelphia, Pa. OUR NEW EDITION COPYRIGHTED 6x9 ILLUSTRATED COIN Value Book shows high prices we pay for hundreds of id 10c for this valuable catalogue. Inter- Coin Company, Box 161-H, Philadelphia, Penn- THE MAGIC SECRET tells you hew your desires and ambitions can be realized. Postpaid for dime: W. W. Denfard, 507 Fi.th Ave., New York. ADDRESSOGRAPHS, MULTIGRAPHS, MULTICOLOR i PRESSES, Letter Folders, Duplicators. . than i Pruitt Company, 222-A North Wabash, Chica. GIGANTIC CLIMBING NEW GUINEA BUTTER BEANS. The new edible vegetable wonder; grows 3 to 6 ft. long, weighs from 10 to 16 lbs. The finest vegetable you ever tasted. A luxuriant vine to ornament old fence, etc. Package seed, 50c. No stamps. Dept. H, Muskeetopunk Co., Pekin, BUNGALOW APRONS, blue and light stripes. Late style, large shirley pockets with wide belt, very neat and servicenb! Small, medium, large, $1.49 each, $2.79 per pair. Paost- paid. Rowe Manufacturing Co., Lawrence, CRUCIFIED ECSTATC EMMERICH. Nativity, Egypt, Cana; 4 books for 20c. Klein Co., Brandon, Minn. MAGICAL GOODS, novelties, lodestene. cards, dice, herbs, Books, etc. Catalog Free. W. W. Smythe Co., Newark, o. 10 PARLOR TRICKS 26c. E. Detroit, Mich. Dept. FaT FOLKS! Reduce your weight! No harmful drugs. wil not cause wrinkles or flabbiness of skin. Inexpensive and sure. Information 50c. H. Warn, 509 Lankerahim Bldg., Los Angeles, Calif. A CLEAN BODY INTERNALLY means nealtit Eager Interna bath appliance (used with your hot water bag) i ne natural method of treating common disorders resi from intestinal diseases, Send stamp for Tooke ome » Eager, 737 Washington Ave., Bklyn, N. Y. Be a Lee, 710 Jefferson Ave. SPECIAL NOTICE Owing to the tremendous increases in the cost of pro- duction—(printing 100 per cent, paper and postage 400 per cent)—we are compelled to make another advance in the price of the WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Beginning with the May number the price will be 20 cents a copy, $2.00 a year by subscription; which is barely sufficent to cover cost. We trust our readers will recognize our necessity and accept our assurance that just as soon as such items of cost return to normal we shall be only too glad to make our price return to normal also. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 9 “What Do You Know?” Never mind how strong you are. The boss is looking for brains, not brawn. It’s a fine ching to be healthy and hard as nails, but when the boss wants a man for a big job, the kind that pays real money, it’s what you know that counts. “STYLTEX CORDED MADRAS i Right now the Government and employers Two Wonderful Shirts, $6.00 Value—Only $3.98 everywhere are looking for men with special jeestiod f] training—men who can do some one thing well. isk ! How about you? Are you ready for one of these positions? Have you an expert knowledge of any kind of the work? hack'lf you'll take it. Write today. Be su If you haven’t special training, get it mow! BERNARD-HEWITT AND COMPA ., Desk S974 900 W. Van Buren B&e (tsa ne You can do it—in spare time—through ‘the In- ternational Correspondence Schools. Pick the position you want in the work you like best and the I. C. S. will give you the training you need tight in your own home evenings — you need not lose a day or a dollar from your present occupation. More than two million have prepared for suc- cess in the I. C. S. way. Surely, what so many have done, you can do. The first step is to find out how. Mark and mail this coupon. oe ee ee ee ee TEAR OUT HERE ee oe ee ee INTERNATIONAL gt SCHOOLS fence, transportation Drep Send You a Lachnite i | Dieser iatietiaors Send your name and finger eecinn gad car. plan, wien gl ey few a tr te y mea Lachnite mounted iow solid, id ring on 10 days’ free’ itor. to Four heme, When comes mere) RLECTRIOAL ENGINEER |SALESMANSHIP co the postmen and then wee tag for 19 full d ieee lagend Railwaye ADVERTISING wy SaXSe'to bor in eeoa $2 00's month oul Sie Te bes | rete Eien 4 Show Gard Weiter Wile Rody ff og ee oun wi Soe ete! oer, men's). sure roa inmen | Harold Lachman Co. 42 N. Michigan Ave., Dept 1424 fact Mechanical Draftemen j ILLUSTRATING = Machine Shop Practice Cartooning : BUSINESS MANAGRMERT Private : PUBLIC SALE BOOKKEEPER’ of Standard First Quality Gov't. Gert. Public Accountsat Goods From Cancelled STATIONARY ENCIEEER TRAFFIC MANAGER ine Engineer wa: ntant GOVERNMENT CONTRACTS Ship Draftsman Gomusercel Law jend for this big catalog today ARCHITECT GOOD ENGLISH Army Swe Contractor end Builder” Teacher Hunting or § 1 Architectaral Draftsman Common School Subjects Army § pecan 4 oe RATING Rallway Ball Clete 5 AUTOMOBILE OPERATIBG nettle Overseer of Supt. Jute Repairing (Spanish Officers Sheep lined Coats $18.00 CHEMIST. AGRICULTURE [C) Freseh Hubber Boots. 5.85 Navigation Ponltry Ratsiag 0) Itstten and all other articles for camp oF outdoor une SEND 10c FOR ARMY & NAVY Name CATALOG—115—AND BUY AT Present pine AUCTION BARGAIN PRICES ARMY & NAVYSTORE CO. Street 245 West 42d St. New York and No, Largest Camp and Military Outfitters State__— Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers:

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a | Now Va Hear | WN’ Clearly” | You, Too, Can Hear! Inasmuch as 35 have testified to the wonderful results obtained safe in urging every person who is hard of hearing, without & penny of expense, solely and entirely at our risk, to accept the | | 1920 Acousticon | | For 10 Days’ FREE TRIAL | | : NO DEPOSIT—NO EXPENSE | Since the perfecting of our new “‘ACOUSTICON," it is smaller, better and just ae strong as ever, Just write saying that you are hard of hearing and will try the “*ACOUSTI- CON." The trial will not cost you one cent, for weeven pay | | delivery charge. | WARNINC! * why everyone should not Take as liberal a trial offer as we do, so do not send money for any in- strument for the deaf until you have tried it. The ‘‘ACOUSTICON” has improvements and patented matter what you | ial of the ou alone to ACOUSTICON” we feel perfectly There is no good reason Teesias i, Short Stories =: learn towrite eran dime, LORS ABs ea Writo for free book siz Rete and Stel of ore offer ta timited. No obligations. a Heeslor Institute, Short Story Dept. 1424 Ft.Wayne, tnd for persor ings: keep cont profession jor busin avy and private stenox 3 ‘shorthai ‘courts, roe} tee and KING INSTITUTE, Tobacco Habit Easily Conquered A New Yorker of wide experience has written a book Yelling how the tobacco or snuff habit may be easily and completely banished in three days with delightful benefit. The author, Edward J. Woods, TB-72, Station F, New York City, will mail his book free on request in plain wrapper. ‘The health improves wonderfully after the nicotine poison is out of the system. Calmness, tranquil sleep, clear eyes, normal appetite, good digestion, manly vigor, strong memory, and a general gain in efficiency are among the many benefits reported. Get rid of that nervous feeling; no more need of pipe, cigar, cigarette, snuff or chewing tobacco to pacify that irritating desire. A genuine opportunity; write for the free book today; show others this genuine advertisement. THB WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE al use says Former H 4 missioner Wm. R. Kerr, (7 Caty, of Chicago. “From m) experience with Nuxated Iron it is such a valuable blood and body building preparation that it ought to be used in every hospital and prescribed by every_physician in the country. Nuxated Iron helps to make healthier women and stronger, sturdier men. Used by more than 3,000,000 people annually in ¢ country alone. In- creases the strength and endurance - of weak, run-down, nervous folkg in two weeks’ time, in many cases, Satisfaction guar, anteed of money re. funded. = “Pay as You Like 10 Months Time It makes no difference how much or little you are worth; if you are honest and prompt in meeting our obligations you can buy any ¢ wondrously beautiful Diamonds Jewelry listed in the Royal Catalog, and pay for nthly or weckly amounts as suits your convenience WE WANT YOUR CUSTOM DON’T SEND ANY MONEY Y e every advan- Youtake no risk whatever. harge customers right in the Royal wonderful selection, roc tom prices and a lib- eral discount if you prefer to buy for cash Enjoy the Prestige of Owning a Handsome Diamond Nothing succeeds like success; if you are getting on in the world let people know it. Possession of a beautiful, spark!- ing Royal gem is ahallmark of prosperity, everywhere and the gift of one asure road to any heart, “W/#i'sa ROYAL a GEM 1002—$50 IMM very article is guaranteed in writing and shipped pre- paid, to be accepted ONLY if you likeit after a thorough examination. is like a walk through w monds, Watch Jewelr figures in he details IT’S FREE. DIAMOND ~ & WATCH CO, Send for catalog today COMM IO ROYA ESTABLISHED 1895 35 Maiden Lane ~ New York i Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 11 DIAMONDS for a Few Cents a Day END your name and addresi '@ will send you our 128-page book of diamond bar; ._ tis the result of early 100 years’ experience and'shows you millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry to choose from—and they may be paid for at the rate of only a few cents a day. No Money Down ‘The diamond you select will be sent upon your simple re- quest—without a penny down, Then if you do not think it the greatest bargain you have ever seen, sendit back at our expense. If you decide to keep it, your credit is good, 8% Yearly Dividends You are guaranteed an 8 per cent yearly increase tn value on all exchanges. You can also earn a 6 per cent Bonus, The book tells bow. Write Toda ‘Send your name and address today—NOW. You will be under no obligation. You will receive our 128-page diamond book by the next mail, Send your name and address (NOW to Dept. 1424 of M-LYON & CO 1 Maiden Lane, New York, N. Y- Deafness Perfect hearing is now being restored in every condition of deafness or defective hearing from causes such as Catarrhal Deafness, Relaxed or dunk: en Drums, Roaring or Hissing Sounds, Perforated, Wholly or Partially Destroy- ed Drums, Discharge from Ears, etc, =A Wilson Common-Sense Err Drums “*Little Wireless Phones for the Ears” — require no medicine but effectively replace what is lacking or fective in the natural drums. T! Write today for our 168 page FREE book on DEAFNESS, giving you full particulars and plenty of testimonials, WILSON ZAR DRUM CO., 551 Inter-Southern Bldg. 9, Don’t Wear a_ Truss! — ROOKS’ APPLIANCE, the modern, scientific in- vention, the wonderful new discovery that relieves rupture will y be sent on trial. No obnoxious springs or pads. Has automatic Air Cushions. Binds and draws the broken parts together as you would = broken limb. No salves. No lies. Durable, cheap. Sent on trial to prove it. Protected by U. 8. Patents. Catalogue and measure blanks mailed free. Send mame and address today. 217F State St., Marshall, Mich. Incorporated LOUISVILLE, KY. Cc. E. BROOKS, Don't Bea Sickly Grouch! Nobody loves a grouch—nobody likes to meet him in the street, do business with him or have him around. And you can’t help being a grouch, if your intestinal machin- y is running wrong; if dyspepsia or biliousness makes your life miser- able; if headaches and backaches take the tuck out of you; if con- stipation is poisoning your blood and beclouding your brain. Get Rid of Your Ailments You are only Half a man, when you stagger along under such hand- icaps; you can’t win out, you can’t make a success of anything; you are bound to be a failure—you know it, your wife knows it, and all your friends know it. Don’t lay it on your stomach or liver or lungs— Take Hold of Yourself—build your- self up into a MAN.again; turn over a new leaf and live life as Nature meant it should be lived. Strongfortism Will Show You How Strongfortism is Nature's way; has put vigor, vitality, hope, hap- piness into men who felt they were 3 hopelessly down and out. Strong- STRONGFORT | fortism will help YOU, as it hae The Perfect Man helped them; will show you Na. ture’s safe, simple, sure way back to health and strength and mental vigor. Don't de- lay a single day; learn about Strongfortism—the one way to happiness for you. SEND FOR MY FREE BOOK “Promotion and Conservation of Health, Strength and Mental Energy” tells you all about Strongfort- ism. It tells how I became the strongest man in the world by practicing it, and how my pupils in every part of the world have freed themselves from the handicaps that held them back, and are forging ahead in the world. Send three 2c stamps to cover Postage and packing and I’ll mail you a copy at once. SEND TODAY. LIONE 1171 Strongfort Ins If you suffer from Debility, Nervousness, Insomnia, Lack of , Rheumatism, Lumbago, Lame Baek. Poor Circulation, Dyspepsia, kidney, liver, bladder weakness, or any trouble due to low vitality, send for our Free Book telling all about the genuine San- den Electric Belts and how they are sold on 60 days’ with no cost to you unless you are absolutely led. Price, $4.85 up. This is an oppertunity you should not miss. You are fully insured against failure and take no risk whatever. The Sanden Herculex Belt is the best in the world and our offer fe ge beolutely, genuine. Write for Free Book today. THE HERCULEX CO. 1416 Broadway, New York (Dept. A. D.) | Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE SAVE YOUR BODY intiitcicney mst “¥ Would Not Part With It For $10,000” So writes an enthusiastic, grateful customer. “Worth morethan a farm” says ff another, In like manner testify over 100,000 people who have worn it. The Natural Body Brace Overcomes WEAKNESS and ORGANIC AILMENTS of WOMEN and MEN. oes erect, graceful figure. Brings restful relief, comfort, ability to do things, bealth and strength. Wear It 30 Days Free at Our Expense fecuity"uni'walkines topic supports misplaced internal organs; reduces enlarged abdome corrects stooping shoulders; lungs chest and bast; r Foptures, constipation, Comfortate and easy to wear, KEEP YOURSELE FIT. Waite poo for illustrated booklet, measurement blank, ete., and read our very liberal proposition, HOWARD C. RASH, Pres. Natural Body Brace Co.,252 Rash Bldg., Salina, Kansas Tablets i Bemine ACEY are Highest Quality. 12 box 12¢; 20c; 100 bottle DE LUXE 55c; 500, Or SNUFF HABIT Cured or NO PAY No matter whether used in pipe, cigarettes, cigars, chewed, or used in the form of snuff. Superba Tobacco Remedy contains nothing in- jurious, no dope, poisons, or habit forming drugs. Guaranteed. Sent on trial. If it cures costs you one dollar. If it fails, or if you are not perfectly satisfied, costs you nothing. Write for full remedy today. DEAFNESS IS MISERY |surERBA COMPANY, M24, Baltimore, Md. I know because I was Deaf and had head Noises for over 30 years. My invisible Antiseptic Ear Drums re stored my hearing and stopped Head Noises, and will doit for you. They are Tiny Megaphones. Cannot be seen when worn. Effective when Deafness is Caused by Catarrh or by Perforated, Partially or Wholly De- I t d F stroyed Natural Drums. Easy to putin, easy to take ee runes out, Are “Unseen Comforts.” Inexpensive. Write S catarch wi for Booklet and my swornstatement of how | recov. tears “focal power erod' ay NORTE eM Aa AAT EL ast Soa ey ag Buite 349, 70 5th Avenue New York City “ECZEMA CAN BE CURED Free Proof To You All I want is your name and address so I can send a free trial 46, * treatment. Twant you just tot this treatment — that’s Pall Just omeasy™ I've been in the Retail Drug Business for 20 years. I am a member of the Indiana Stat Board of Pharmacy and President of the Retail Druggists’ Association. Nearly everyone in Wayne knows me and knows about my successful treatment. Ove: jousand hundred Men, Women and Children outside of Fort Wayne have, ments, been cared by this treatment since I first made this offer public. If you have Eczema, itch, Sait Rheum, Tetter—never mind how bad — my treatment has cured the worst cases I ever saw—give me a chanco to provo my claim. Send me your name and address on the coupon below and frit the trial trea*ment I want to send you FR: The wonders accomplished in your own case will be proof. museeees Eueeeeess: CUT AND MAIL TODAY susesmmeuensesneenncessss 4. C. HUTZELL, Druggist, 3570 West Main St., Fort Wayne Ind. Please send without cost or obligation to me your Free Proof Treatment. PERFECT BRAND. NOT the ordinary commercial quality. List free: 50% dis- count on STANDARD remedies—for PARTICULAR people. C. SMITH, Wholesale Chemist (25th Year) Box 1374, Detroit Mich. For COLDS, 'FLU & NEURALGIA take ACEY Aspirin-Phenacetin Lax. 25 5 5 Phenacetin Bromo-Quinine (Phenolphthalein) 86 wafers 18c. Sample 12 Aspirins and 12 Laxatives for 4c. Family agents wanted—permanent profits. ooneeane seneen soeceneeseeneensscecenere: cossensenmennes AGE. Name.__....___.._... Post Of Ce ce cceens Sass weap bein estrone nese SURO paces eng eases Kindly mention this mage:i=: —hen writing to advertisers. pe ce

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 13 it hic Become 2 Chiropractic Doctor Of “3 scvancea sciehce of Spinai asjustmen F4@|! - a= No Extra Charges SAMPLES FREE! 4 ocx tun ot all the latest colors, patterns: anid seen the finest quality that money can buy. Every rment made to your measure, teed fast color and delivered free, Wo extra ch Your Suit Won’t Cost a Cent you have a few hours spare time you sult won't costacent. Weare paying good men $10.00 to $50.00 a week for all or spare time. No experience needed. Send no monéy—just your name and address. LINCOLN WOOLEN MILLS CO,, Dept. 276 CHICASO This is the day of drugless healing! In Chiropractic —treatment of disease by spinal adjustment—Science has made a forward step. Look at the newspapers and magazines— note the trend toward the principles of drugless healing, especially Chiropratric. You can now become a Doctor of Chiropratric through home study during spare time! We teach you thor- oughly either by mai in class. You can know inde- pendence and position! Makes nodifference where you live or what you do—you should be able to qualify for this great profession. Some of our graduates report that they Earn $3,000 or More a Year Dr. M. D. Moore, Ky., writes of having 17 patients in one day at $2each. Dr. L. H. Roche, New Jersey, $5,550 ayear. Dr. A. H. Morrow, of Illinois, reports earning $22 aday. Wecould name many other Chiropractors who ood incomes. See the facts in our Free GUARANTEED for 3 Months Facey are seo sof ic Fay ent bfonsrtah Ais baci oa" ean match these socks at | Jess thanb0e a pair. Pairs Men’s Sox ‘| ur 8 profession that is Think what it woul $15 Set of 8 Anatomical Charts and $16.50 Set of Nerve and Pain Area Charts Yes, free to you without a cent, now or later. As an ioduesmpent ep secre, quick action, we will giveabsolute- ree, our big, 72- page book: a$isset Our Lessons Teach You How to ofelaht nstnicel Make Spinal Adjustments for arte, beautiful i lithographed in the Speedy Relief of lifelike colors, and al- Headache Neuralgia Constipation 80 a complete set of Indigestion N. Nerve and Pain Area Lumbago Catarrh Ri andConcussionCharts, Epilepsy Fevers Par: regular value, $16.50.' Pleurisy Jaundice Aasthi . Learn At Home In Spare Time We train you by mail. You can learn at home in your spare time. You receive the personal instruction of men who are prom- inent in this great profession. Give us a portion of your spare time, and we will quickly train you to become a Doctor of Chiro- practic, ready to step out and take your position of prestige in a wee ° Why slave your Mail Coupon NOW! fie cwayr you don’t like—work that doesn’t fit with your ambition? Here's the ghance you've been looking for—the opportunity your ambition as sought | Mail coupon today and sce the success that may be yours as a Doctor of Chiropratric. Don’t delay. — AMERICAN UNIVERSITY — Engel Manierre Building Dept. 692, Chicago, Ill. 2 & l Without cost or obligation, send me by mail, postpaid, your 7 new illustrated 72-page book, and your Free Charts Offer, j| Ayrt Corners e | Name...ccsccenscoosersresesersssecsceseneccescessenessssssssnssenee I (o mount all kodak = l | ah uf | If FREE catalog shows eve! ie new in bicycles and sundries. Write for it. lamps, wheels, parts and supplies at half usual prices. : Do not buy a bicycle, tires, or sundries until you get our wonderful new offers, low prices Jandifberal terms. A postal brings everything. M EA CYCLE COMPANY Dept, A114 Chicago hea t ®&, Pictures.postcards.cippings in albums is J Botan Bee Ave. CH Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE TABLETS Giicpe Cold in the Head Headaches Neuralgias Spanish Influenza Women’s Aches and Ills Rheumatic and Sciatic Pains Ask Your Druggist for A-K Tablets (If be cannot supply you, write us) Small Size Dozen Size 10c 25c See Monogram K on the Genuine Remedy Compeny, St. Louis, Me. The Astikemsia Write for Free Samples Fac-Simile Your Bunion Can Be Cured Instant RelieF Prove It At My Expense ou as I st 6 months. I claim send it to you FREE, \“Gon’t eare how many so-called you. ever tried without ed you feel with them { have such absolcte confi- end you this treatment wonderful yet simple home you dence in it that Lam & absolutely FR treatment whic removes the cau appears—all th 1 is most instantly of all pain; it inion and the ugly deformity dis~ are. wearing tighter shoes than it will do all .this you to send for ‘Free, at my expense, nouncement ™ plain sealed envelope. FOOf REMEDY CO. Dept. 43, 3661 Ogden Ave. { I ‘CHICAGO "a i SEX KNOWLEDGE ILLUS?PRATED ‘A book which gives all the sex information you should have—in a wholesome and clean way. Sent prepaid, in plain wrapper, for $1.00. Send for FREE circular other books. MODERN BOOK CO., Dept. 9804, 32 Union Square, New York City. \ atarrh Persistent Colds Noises in the Head, Deafness, Asthma “I had an awful case of catarrh and was becoming deaf; it went away when I began using Dr. Blosser’s Remedy, and these ailments have never troubled me since.” This, written by Olin 8. Trader, is like expression of legions of happy ‘persons who report relief from Ca- tarrh of nose or head, including persistent colds, drippings of mucus or phlegm in Mouth, bad smell from mouth or nose, noises in head and DEAFNESS, by using the famous vapor medicine. Also for ASTHMA, hay-fever, bronchial irri- tations; aids in preventing, relieving INFLUENZA. No dosing, nothing to swallow, just breathe the de- lightful medicated vapor, the breath of the fields and forests. Smoke in holder, in pipe or cigarettes. No tobacco, no cubebs. Approved by physicians. ‘No matter how long you have had Catarrh, Head Noises, catarrhal Deafness, Asthma, Hay Fever, Bronchial Irri- tation or what you have tried, here is something really wonderful in benefit and you should TRY IT NOW. It is for men, women, children; all ages. Send for PROOF PACKAGE Prove for yourself, and for other mem- bers of your household, what DR. BLOS- SER’S REMEDY will do for you.. 10 eents, silver or stamps, for Pr with illustrated health book and many testi- monials, to BLOSSER CO., CA-1765, ATLANTA, GA. ILE Until You Try This Wonderful Treatment. My internal method of treatment is the cor- rect one, and is sanctioned by the best in- If you have piles in any form, write for a FREE sample of Page's Pile Tablets, and you will bless the day you read this. Write today. ‘85 SELF-CONSCIOUS? Embarrassed in company, lacking in self-control? Let us tell you how you can overcome these troubles. THE VERITAS SCIENCE INSTITUTE 1400 Broadway Desk 4B NEW YORK AN ABSOLUTE HOME REMEDY For drug addiction, and epilepsy, will be found. Har. ris Dispensary, Berriea Springs, Mich, Make People Like You get along better, make more money, develop a winning personality, learn to know people as they are. Send 5 cents (stamps) for “Personal Power,” & little book that points the way. Address, Progress League, 3081 Union Sq., New York. TOBACCO Huts many vieon soso. cored harge. Onl; cured. eraving; harmless. Full rersedy on trial. Aids Breve PERKINS COMPANY, 8-60. HENDLY, NEBR. STUDY HUMAN NATURE ‘ Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 15 Don’t Send a Penny ‘These Len-Mort Work and Outdoor Shoes are such wonderful value that we will gladly send them to you at once, no money down. You will find them 80 well mae~and sustylishandsu abig money saving bargain that you will surely keep them. No need to pay higher Prices when you can buy direct from a by pay $6 and $7 for shoes not near 80 good? manure, soil, gasoline, etc. Madeby'a soecial for shoes on arrival. If after carefal examination you don"t exi you expect, wen and wo SEND =: on approval,” You are Sniy if antiefactory in every way. LEONARD-MORTON & CO. OU © Double Your ability to Earn Money! Hold Friends! Win Love and Happiness! Our System of Personal Efficiency “tells you how; Success Studygram and Personality Sketch for 10¢ and birth date. Thomson-Heywood Company, Dept, 00 Chronicle Building, San Francisco. “NS Send for FREE Catalog There are 128 illustrated pages of Diamond Rings, Diamond La Vallieres, Diamond Ear Screws, Diamond Scarf Pins, ‘Diamond Studs, } Watches, Wrist Watches; also our wonderfully showy assembled Solitaire Diamond Clusters, EVERY ARTICLE IN OUR CATA’ ‘ ially selected and priced unusually tow. ever you select will be sent prepaid by u: see and examine artic If satisfied pay one-Aft p it, balance divided ight equal eo aN SS — We, are offering wonderful values in Diamond taires and Cluster: Our Catal il- Watches firi.cas describes all thestandard world- renowned Watches—solid gold and gold filled cases. Splendid bargains in 25-year guaranteed Watches; credit terms as low as $2.50 a Month LOFTIS BROS. & CO., National Credit Jewel Dept. M561 100 to 108 North State St., Chicago, Teerablitee 1258) STORES IN LEADING CITIES COPY THIS SKETCH and let me see what you can do with it, Many newspaper artists earning $30.00 to $125.00 or more per week were trained by my Course of personal individual lessons by mail, PICTURE CHARTS make original drawing easy to learn. Send sketch of Uncle Sam with 6c. in stamps for sample Picture Chart, list of successful students, examples of their work and evidence of what YOU can accomplish, Please state your age. The Landon School °f, Carteonive 1498 SCHOFIELD BLDG., CLEVELAND, 0. GET WELL — BE YOUNG —GROW TALL This University discovery is the most important health favention of the century, It remakes and rejuy- enates the Human Body, It produces normal spines. It frees implag. ed and irritated nerves, corrects contracted muscles, shortened ligaments proves circulation and drainage of the body. It the HCO. ,1512Prospect Ave., Cleveland.O “6 Learn Vaudeville Acting Stage Work and ret Entertaining success- fully taught by mail Your opportunity toenter fascina- ting, money-making profession—to travel—seo the world as vaudeville actororactress, My simple, easy, complete Professional Course—only one of its kind— COVERS ALL BRANCHES, Develops Personality, Confidence, Skill, and tells you just how to get on the Stage. Send 6c postage for 4, big booklet, “All About Vaudeville.” Give age and occupation. a. Frederic LaDollo, Sta. 282, Jackson, Michigan SECURE A MOTOR-CYCLE AT LOW PRICE by putting a RELIABLE STEFFEY MOTOR on your wheel. Easy to attach. Costs less to run than an expensive motorcycle. If you write at ‘gnce you can secure one at a iow factory price. Send stamp: ‘STEFFEN! MEG\COs,\Dépt. W,-$025-Brown $t., Phils., Pa, Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Tobacco Is Hurting You Look at the facts square in the face, Mr. Tobacco User. You may think tobacco is not hurting you. ; “ That is because you haven’t as yet, perhaps, felt the effects of the nicotine poison in YOUR system. For you know that nicotine, as absorbed into the system through smoking and chew~- ing tobacco, is a slow working poison. Slow, yes—but sure. Tobacco is lowering your efficiency. It When your hands begin to tremble— ben and your appetite begins to fail— slows aman down. Makes it harder for you $h4 your heart seems to “skip a beat” now and th to concentrate your mind on your work. ou and slight exertion makes you short of breath— haven’t near the amount of ‘‘pep’’ and energy __ then you'll KNOW, without anyone telling you, that ve if v: i TOBACCO is getting the upper hand. you would have if you stopped using it. There’s ‘Any well-informed doctor will tell you that these'aes many a mar twice as old as you in years who's twice 88 —_ only a few of many symptoms of tobacco poisoning, young in energy, simply because he lets tobacco alone. And YOU know that the use of tobacco in any form Some day you will realize to what an alarming extent _is an expensive, utterly useless habit. You know you tobacco has undermined your system, ought to quit. Tobacco Habit Banished : In 48 to 72 Hours It doesn’t make a particle of difference whether you've been a user of tobacco for a single month or 50 years, or how much you use, or in what form you use it— whether you smoke cigars, cigarettes, pipe, chew plug or fine cut or use snuff— Tobacco Redeemer will positively remove all craving for tobacco in any form in from 48 to 72 hours. Not the slightest shock to the nervous system. Your to- bacco craving will begin to decrease after the very first dose—there’s no long waiting for results. Tobacco Redeemer contains no habit-forming drugs of any kind and is the most marvelously quick, absolutely scientific and thoroughly Q) Book Coupon reliable remedy for the tobacco habit. Itis in no eense a substitute for tobacco, After finishing the treatment you have absolutely no desire to use tobacco again or to continue the use of the remedy. It quiets the nerves and makes you feel better in every way. Asingle trial will convinee Results Guaranteed #:°%60r tcraSinsine, money - back guarantee goes with each full treatment. We will refund every cent you pay for the treatment if after taking it according to the easy-to-follow directions, it should fail to banish the tobacco habit completely. Let us send you our free booklet on SEND Coupon for the deadly ‘effests of tobacco, to- gether with testimonial lettere from Free Proof £3 allover the country telling how they have been absolutely freed from the tobacco habit by this simple home treatment. You could not ask for stronger proof that Tobacco Redeemer will free you from the habit than the evidence we will gladly jj Name ... eend on request. Just mail the coupon—or a postal will do. NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. . Street and No. Dept. 343 St. Louis, Mo. ‘ Dept. 343 St. Louis, Mo. Please send, without obligating me in any way, your free booklet regarding the tobacco habit and proof that Tobacco Redeemer will positively free me from the tobacco habit, Town..... Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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New Hair Growth After BALDNESS HAIR GROWN ON MR. BRITTAIN’S BALD HEAD BY INDIANS’ WONDERFUL HAIR GROWER My ‘head at the top and back was absolutely bald. The scalp was shiny. Experts said there was no hope of my ever having a new hair growth. They were wrong in my case; why not in yours? Yet now, at an age over 66, I have a luxuriant growth of soft, strong, lustrous haid! No trace of baldness. The pictures shown here are from my photographs, KOTALKO was what grew my hair! Indians’ Secret of Hair Growth Free At a time when I had become discouraged at trying various hair lotions, tonics, special- ists’ treatments, etc., I came across, in my travels, a Cherokee Indian “medicine man” * who had an elixir that he asseverated would grow my hair. I gave it a trial. To my amazement a light fuzz soon appeared. It developed, day by day, into a hea thy growth, and ere long my hair was as prolific as in my youthful days. . That I was astonished and happy ts expressing my state of mind mildly. Obviously, the hair roots had not been dead, but were dormant. in the scalp, awaiting the fertilizing potency oe Piotegraph of the mysterious pomade. shes I negotiated for and came into pos- session of the principle (it has components from the Three King- doms of Nature) for preparing this elixir, now called Kotalko, and later had the recipe put into practical form by a chemist. Genuine BEAR OIL and other potential ingredients are in KOTALKO, That my own hair growth was permanent has been amply proved. From recent photograph Many men and women, as well as children, have reported satisfactory of J. H. Brittain results from Kotalko. Busy drug stores sell KOTALKO or ber the name; accept no substitute. Get genuine KOTALKO and be happy! How YOU May Grow YOUR Hair T have been told by experts that in many cases when hair falls out the roots becom? imbedded within the scalp, covered by hard skin, so that they remain for a time like bulbs or seeds in a bottle which will grow when fertilized. Shampoos (which contain alkalis) and those scented hair lotions which contain alcohol are enemies to the hair,‘as they dry it, making it brittle. Kotalko RECIPE contains those elements of nature which give new vital- ity to the scalp and hair, To prove the GENUINENESS of Kotalko, I will send the recipe FREE on request. Or I will mail a testing box of Kotalko with the recipe For Women’s Hair for 10 cents, silver or stamps. Or obtain a full box at the drug store, Satisfy yourself. You want to stop falling hair, elimi- nate dandruff or cover that bald spot with healthy hair. Get Kotalko without delay. Address: JOHN HART BRITTAIN, Inc., BB-72, Station F, NEW YORK, N. Y.

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. ID yourself of headaches, nervousness, skin 2 blemishes, and other complaints. Enjoy won- derful, sparkling health! Increase your store of ergy, revitalize your tired, worn-out cells and nerves. ou will be amazed at the splendid, quick results ob- ined through the use of the wonderful new Vi- ex Violet Ray Machine—right in your own home! ‘let Rays penetrate to every cell of the body, imparting that stimulat- ~ vigor which brings the glow of health, tones up the entire system. Fring life into over-taxed and sluggish tissues. As a relief from pain Ree has no equal. Its soothing rays quickly find the source of dis- ss and afford speedy comfort. setors in all parts of the country are using this scientific outfit ond cto ending its use to patients, Beauty specialists have loax realized collciency for inducir.g a clear and healthful skin. Until recently ex- case Groibited the use of this remarkable health-buildiny foree in pri- “Le homes. Now the practical, inexpensive Vi-Rex Violet Ray machine iSles everyone to enjoy all the benefits of this marvelous treatment at ia Not a Vibrator he Vi-Rex Violet Ray is essentially different from any other electrical -eatment. It is Nat a vibrator—does not shock or jar the nerve ends. 1s effectiveness is obtained through its power of penetration—Not hrough the manipulation of surface muscles. There is no feeling of sore- ess or exhaustion after use—only a comforting, agreeable sense of relief. the operation of the outfit is simpilcity itself. Current from your lectric light socket is transformed into an effective healing agent as Jeasant to the senses as a ray of Spring sunshine. It may be used on he very young and the very old without the slighest discomfort. No hocks or jolts—just a soft, steady ray of violet light filled with an bundance of health and energy. (Special equipment is supplied to you t a trifling cost if electric current is not available.) Miail Coupon for Book and Trial Offer Write today for our free booklet describing the wonderful Vi-Rex outfit n complete detail, and particulars of our liberal 10-day Free Trial Offer. i Read what hundreds of users about the Vi-Rex and the astonishing results which have been ob- ed. Learn why it is the most economical and practical machine of its kind available and how you may use it to gain health, vitality, beauty ! There is no limit to its beneficial powers. nealth book. Mail the coupon or send a postal. Do it now. yI-REX ELECTRIC CO. Dept. 24, 326 W. Madison St., Chicsgo : : l 1 I I t I 1 t ic of: Uh Try Vi-Rex Violet Rays for Asthma Insomnia Barbers’ Itch © Lumbago Boils Muscular Blackheads Stiffness Bunions Neuralgia Callouses Neuritis Catarrh Obesity Chilblains Paralysis Colds Piles Corns Pimples , Constipation Pyorrhea Dandruff Rheumatism Deafness Skin Diseases Ear Disorders Sore Throat Eczema Sprains Eye Troubles Tonsilitis Falling Hair Warts Goitre Whooping Hay Fever Cough Headache - Free Book Coupon -- VI-REX ELECTRIC CO., Dept. 24 326 West Madison St., Chicago Please send me without cost or obli- gation your free book describing your wonderful Violet Ray Machine and par- ticulars of your Free trial offer. Name .. Address City Mintel ticcsgansincessssesoses@ ys \;,009

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