The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 49 1922, May-October

Page 1

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 https://books.google.com

Page 2

Page 3

Page 4

THE WIDE WORLD 4 MAGAZINE AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE éc TR UTH 1S TRAVEL CUSTOMS STRANGER SPORT TH AN FICTION” VoL. XLIX MAY OCTOBER LONDON: GEORGE NEWNES, L7D. 1922 SOUTHAMPTON ST. STRAND.

Page 5

AMAZON, A FILM-HUNTER ON THE oe .. Prof. Propercio de Mello Saraiva. Illustrations from Photographs. AMERICAN CROOKS IN EUROPE os nis oe a on Charles Kingston. Illustrations by W. G. Whitaker. ATHOL, THE MUTINY OF THE ee oe o oe . Rodney Thane. Illustrations by T. H. Robinson. : ATLANTIC, ADRIFT IN THE .. oe oa o o .. Dr, Wilfred Grenfell, Illustration by W. E. Wigfull. BACK OF BEYOND, AT THE .. o. W. A. Knyvett. Illustrations by Stanley Rogers, and from ‘Photographs. BANKER’S BET, THE xe <3 a o Be «. “W.H.P.” Illustration by W. G_ Whitaker. BARBED-WIRE FRONTIER, A Illustration from a Photograph. BEAR, ROPING A . a on 3% ae es: ..E. F, Fletcher. iMtastration by A. G. Small.” BERING SEA, SHIPWRECKED IN _.. as a we a «+ James King. Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson. BIRDS, THE FRIEND OF THE. -. A.C. Crews. Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds, and from “Photographs. BORNEO, THE WILD MEN OF. z ie .- ae o. Reginald Pound. Illustrations from Photographs. CANNIBALS’ DOOR, KNOCKING ‘AT THE .. oe .. Merlin Moore Taylor. Illustrations by Arch Webb, and from Photographs. CENTRAL AFRICA, FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN .. Reginald Pound. Illustrations from Photographs. CHEESES, THE GOLDEN. Illustration by G. P. “Carruthers, | CORKS, A MODEL TOWN MADE FROM Illustrations from Photographs. CROCODILE HUNT, OUR.. 7 Leo Walmsley, M.C., F.R.G.S. Illustrations by W. H. Holloway, and from Photographs. Gabriel Siroux. DECOY TELEGRAM, THE #3 oie a os ae ee Stafford Ransome. Illustration by H. Coller. EAST BY AIR, THROUGH THE ee ae Richard Carline. 302, 430, Illustrations from Photographs. FINISTERE, MY MISADVENTURES IN o- Lieut, Leo Walmsley, M.C., F.R.G.S. Illustrations by R. H. Brock, and from Photographs. FISHING TRIP, MY. fs ae ate a a ae FG =e « Balu.” Illustration by ‘Ge Soper. FIVE HUNDRED, THE LAST FIGHT OF THE .. «. Colin Campbell Clements. 11 Illustrations by John de Walton. FULL SPEED ASTERN .. aja fe o ne ad “ Gulbrandsen,”” Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson. yn. Lae 39 220 45st 513 309 172 366 165 464 457 525 1147 213

Page 6

INDEX. ‘ iii ’ PAGE GIRARD, “ GENTLEMAN ” oe +» Sommerville Story. 241 Illustrations by F. Hiley, and from ‘Photographs. GUN-RUNNERS, TRAILING THE ws: se A. Hyatt Verrill, 132, 179, 326, 405 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. “ HONEYMOON ISLAND ” os oe as Thos. J. McMahon, F.R.G.S. 422 Illustrations from Photographs. HUMAN FLY, THE o on o- oy Eugene Cunningham. 3 Illustrations from Photographs. 7 HYPNOTIST DETECTIVE, THE.. . Herbert Vivian. 443 Iustrations by J. W. Hossack, and from’ Photographs. IMST, THE GHOST DANCERS OF fe are se us ae Herbert Vivian. 250 Illustrations from Photographs. JIU-JITSU COMBATS, MY on H. J. Shepstone. 44 Illustrations by Ernest Prater, and from a Photograph. “ KING OF THE BRUSHWOOD,” THE oe os oe oe John G. Rowe. 80 Illustrations by R. H. Brock. LIMITS OF THE LAW, THE .. os a oe o oe Francis Dickie. 173 Illustration by J. Waddell. LIONS, BESIEGED BY MAN-EATING . oe Alfred Henry Shirley, R.N. 119 Illustrations by E. G. Oakdale. LITTLE CAPTAIN, THE ao oe oe = Timothy Turner. 315 Illustrations by F. Gillett, RL MAN’S LUCK, A—(Conclusion) .. os oe . +» Hjalmar Rutzebeck. 65 Iilustrations by Stanley L. ‘Wood. MAN WHO TURNED THIEF, THE .. ae +. Eugene Darling. 267, 373, 487 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. NERAC, THE SORCERER OF .. y a a a oe Gabriel Siroux. 355 Illustrations by Howard Elcock. ” NORTHERN INDIA, BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN .. oe Edward E, Long, C.B.E. 340 Illustrations from Photographs. ODDS AND ENDS os . on oe on on oe +. 337 Illustrations from Photographs. “OLD DELPH,"’ DOWN THE __.. .» BR. Frank Reynolds. 256 Illustrations by Dudley Tennant, and from Photographs. OUR LITTLE OUTING... a .. W.E, Hendrickson. 478 Illustrations by G. Soper, and from a Photograph. “ PINK,” TWO MEN AND A Bonnycastle Dale, 235 Illustrations by T. C. Wigfull, and from Photographs. P. M. CLARKE—CORRESPONDENT .. ae wh a ee Timothy Turner, 415 Illustrations by F. Gillett, R.I. PORTUGAL, WITH A CAMERA IN .. sie ee oe a A.W. Cutler. 279 Illustrations from Photographs. PRECIPICE, MAROONED ON A. oe o o . an V. Herbert. 261 Illustration by C. Fleming Williams. REMANDED .. -» ‘One Who Knows.” 203 MIlustrations by G. P. Carruthers, and from a Facsimile. ROY GARDNER—BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY .. o .. Kenneth F. Richards. 91 Illustrations by E. Prater, and from Photographs.

Page 7

iv INDEX. PAGE SALTON SEA, EXPLORING THE os a o o on H.C. Scherer. 102 Illustrations from Photographs. SEA-DEVIL, THE oe a oe oe ve Louis A, Sabine. 349 Illustration by T. H. Robinson. SHIP THAT DISAPPEARED, THE oe oe Harwood Steele. 500 Illustrations by E. Prater, and from Photographs. SHORT STORIES :— THE DISAPPEARANCE OF IVAN VARLAMOFF .. ee Ar H., Trolle-Steensirup. 19 dllustration by T, H. Robinson. Locken IN A FREEZING CHAMBER) .. oe oe. oe o ae E.J. Smith. 23 Illustration by W. G. Whitaker. A Recorp LauGH oe. o oe. oe Burke Burnett. 296 Illustration by H. M. Brock, R. 1 MISTAKEN IDENTITY = oe oe A.H. Garrett. 298 Mustrations by G. Soper, ‘and from a Photograph. Tue “ HuMAN Leoparps’’ 5 .- . FSO es Baron de Belabre. 508 * iHlustration by W. H. Holloway. Tue Bive Spot TuEory oe o oo os K.H. Harvey. 510 Illustration by H. M. Brock, RI. TIGER CALLS, THE . fA . Lieut.-Col. Gordon Casserly. 471 Illustrations by S. H. Vedder. TRAWLER TRIP, MR. TODBURY’S .. Written and Illustrated by L. R. Brightwell, F.Z.S. 287 TREASURE-HUNT IN THE LAND OF THIRST, A.. Fred C. Cornell, O.B.E., F.R.G.S. 53 Illustrations from Photographs. “UMRI” Frederick W. Galloway. 26 Illustrations by Warwick Reynolds, and froma “Photograph. “ WHITE MAN’S GRAVE,” THE oe o- o o oe .. Elliot Bailey. 30 Illustrations from Photographs. WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE, HUNTING .. a a .. John Edwin Hogg. 190 © Illustrations from Photographs. YUNNAN, ACROSS REMOTE .. «. Captain F, Kingdon Ward, F.R.G.S. 102, 227 Illustrations by C, Holloway, and “from Photographs. PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.

Page 8

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 1922 ATLAS Wit Ms of FREE To the readers of The Wide World who take advantage of this offer now made in connection with Webster’s New International The Only Grand Prize Words of Recent Interest (Highest Av Award) given to dictionaries at at the Pam Panama- Ausne, ace, bars Pacific International Exposition was granted to Web- ster'’s New International and the Merriam Series for “The Suneeiie Aah? The MERRIAM WEBSTER A Complete Referenee Library in Dictionary Form—with nearly 3,000 pages, and type matter equivalent to a 15-Velume Enecyelepedia, all in a tinele volume, on India Paper. bound in Rich, Full Red Leather or Library Buck- ram and on lar Paper. in strong Fabrikoid, can now be secured on the following arkably easy terms: THE IRE WORK (WITH COMPLETE 1922 ATLAS) DELIVERED for $1.00-0a and easy monthly payments thereafter (In United States and Canada.) On SUPERIOR INDIA PAPER REDUCED ABOUT ONE HALF (ta Thickness and Weight) India-Paper Edition Printed on thin, opaque, strong, supe- rior India paper. This edition is only about one-half the thickness and weight of the regular edition. Size 123 in. x 92 in. x 23 in. Weight 83 Ibs. <@& Regular Paper Edition Printed on strong book paper of the highest quality. Size 12% in. x 94 in. x 5% in. Weight 163 Ibs. h editions are printed from the game plates and indexed. Over 400,000 Vocabulary Terms, ; pais lees an Geer “To have thi k in the is like Subjects, pesides thousands of other sending the whole family to college” References. Nearly 3,000 Pages. Over 6,000 iMustra' The only dictionary with the Yew Divided Page, characterized as ‘A Stroke of Genius.” THE ATLAS To those who mail this Coupon at once is the 1922 “New Reference Merriam Co, "2" °" Sprin gfield Yas Atlas of the World,” containing G Faget ef Genuine Webster tos” Spri for ever aes, 148 pages, with 96 pages of maps, Please send me free of all obligation or expense a copy of “Diction- beautifully printed in colors, in- ary, Wrinkles: "eceneaining Zz amusing rest & “Bropounciaton= A e American ion _ o' irver”; also “ cluding changes brought about by {Rteresting Questions” with references ts thelr answers, and strik- ‘ig- it “Facsimile Color-Plate” of th bindi: Please inclade Fe ec peat Guia ae GL ML Semen eae ea ad bases ean eee ce ere hand 3 mely sri ind in red cloth, ‘World free Atlas offer on Webster's New International Dictionary. nds : size 9§x123. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

Page 9

“THE SLIM FIGURE WENT UP THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING, FINDING WITH FLASHING FINGER-TIPS CREVICES AND LEDGES IN THE STONEWORK INVISIBLE TO THOSE WHO WATCHED BREATHLESSLY FROM BELOW.” (SEE PAGE 9.)

Page 10

1491395 The Human Fly” is a o other equipment own fingers and toes. The Author met this remarkable individual in connection with a O wiry young man, yellow- haired, blue-eyed, dressed in ultra- fashionable clothing that set him subtly apart from th@* ordinary young man of the street, came to my desk in the Navy Recruiting Station at San Francisco. With what seemed a single move- ment he presented a cigar and a card for my inspection, pulled up a chair, and seated himself. “ Jack Williams— The Human Fly,’” [ read aloud from the card, and he nodded, briskly. “‘ The one and only,”’ he admitted. “ All others are imitations, and most of ’em die young. I’ve come to make you a proposi- tion. “I’m in San Francisco to climb the Humboldt Bank Building. Incidentally, building-climbing is my profession. I am . under contract at the present time with the Blank Automobile Manufactory; publicity- . getting is my speciality, which brings me to my troubles. “The police refuse to permit this climb as a private advertising stunt; they've agreed, however, to grant permission if I stage the exhibition under the auspices of some national or civic institution. Now, here’s my proposal :— “Tl agree to do any stunt you call for which will give the Navy Recruiting Service publicity. I'll climb up five or six—or ten or twenty—storeys on any building in the town, and hang by my toes from a window-sill, Vol xlix.—t NE day, late in May, toro, a tall, | THE HU MAN PLY’ Eugene Cisnningham Jack Williams, “The Human Fly.” 9 “stunt” for securing re- cruits for the U.S. Navy, and here describes the feat he performed in San Francisco, where he climbed a building four hundred feet high and hung_ head - downwards from the flagstaff on the summit ! or do anything else in my line that you think will draw a crowd. In return, your office will get police- permission for my exhibi- tion on the Humboldt Building and see that the newspapers carry daily stories advertising me— which will also serve to advertise my com- pany and your office—and the fact that I’m climbing to stimulate recruiting.” After a brief conference with the officer- in-charge’ of the station, decision in the matter was left tome. The more I considered Williams's offer, the more attractive it seemed. There was no other exhibition I could think of which would bring such widespread publicity as this blue-eyed, cheerful daredevil promised so lightly. So I agreed. “Tl get the newspaper-stories through,” Itoldhim. ‘ And now, in order to block outa series of write-ups, you’d better give me the high-lights of your career. You climbed the Woolworth Building in New York, didn’t you?” “‘Here’s the clippings proving it,” he replied, and laid a huge scrapbook on the desk. ‘The Woolworth Building, as you probably know, is fifty-five storeys and approximately seven hundred and eighty-six feet tall. Also, I climbed the L.C. Smith Building in Seattle—forty-two storeys, about six hundred feet—blindfolded. I climbed three hundred and eighty-five feet up the Washington: Monument—my hardest climb, by the way—ana had to give up the attempt. There were no projections to speak of ; that climb gave me a right to the title of * Fly.’

Page 11

4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for I had to work my way up the smooth sides by sheer grip of hands and feet. “A few weeks ago 1 scaled the City Hall in Oakland, across the Bay. Here are the clippings. Altogether, since breaking into this profession, I've climbed approximately five thousand buildings and, in the climbing, have covered more than four hundred and seventy-five miles over building-faces.” Briefly, the following is the biography of Jack Williams, who is undoubtedly without a peer—indeed, almost without competitors— in his peculiar and perilous profession. Part of it he gave me that first day of our as- sociation, as he sat smoking placidly at my desk, but much more I gained from chance- dropped remarks in the days that followed, and from the anecdotes of men who had known him at other times and places. Jack Williams was born in one of the middle Western States. At the age of fourteen he saw materialize the dream which, with most American youngsters, remains a dream for ever—-he ran away and joined a travelling circus. For several years he lived the gipsy life of the circus-people, and, by his own statement, there were few of the jobs which abound in a two-ring show which he didn’t tackle at one time or another. To- ward the last he became an expert trapeze- performer, substituting for the clowns when necessary. After leaving the circus he went into vaudeville, playing the little towns of the “ kerosene-circuit ’’ with various ‘‘ acts.” Sometimes he was a trapeze-artist, sometimes a_ sleight-of-hand performer, juggler, or “ handcuff- wizard.” All this experience, although he accepted it philosoptucally then as being the regular lot of his kind, was excellent preparation for his life-work, The practice on the flying rings and lofty trapezes, in particular, gave him steel-wire muscles and indifference to heights. Without this peculiar double development, doubtless, he would rever have been able to scale towering buildings and calmly face the moments when his life depended upon the grip of fingers like steel claws. He was in his early twenties when the side- show with which he was travelling that summer halted at Cleveland, Ohio. Then, one day, when Jack had doffed the make-up which trans- formed him into ‘* The Abyssinian Wild Man Who Eats Raw Meat,” and strolled from the carnival-grounds into the city, a tall building caught fire. The lower floors were gutted, although the upper storeys were still intact. The firemen were placing their ladders against the building- front at a point untouched by the out-licking flames, when a woman's face, agonized with the fear of death, appeared at a window on the seventh floor. The ladders were far too short to reach that storey, and there was no other way of getting to it save up the building-front. Then it was that Jack Williams climbed his first building. The firemen let him pass as a final, desperate chance, after he had told them that he was a trapeze-performer. He edged from the top rung of the highest ladder on to a shallow ledge. There were four storeys to ascend before he could reach the woman. Inch by inch—he was inexperienced at

Page 12

that time in the art of finding finger-holds— he moved upward, while the crowd below watched with bated breath. Flames flickered from the open casements below him, and he moved gingerly along the ledge toward the space between the perpendicular line of windows and the corner of the building, where the brick face was not so hot. Storey by storey he crept upward, until at last A general view of the immense crowd which gathered in Market Street, com- pletely stopping all traffic, in order to witness Williams’s daring climb. he was on a level with the woman, who still gazed hopelessly down upon the impotent firemen. Jack surveyed the situation rapidly. He must move horizontally for more than thirty feet to reach the window and the woman, and the brick surface offered almost no projections to make this possible. But a long cornice of moulded tin, its top a foot wide, overhung the seventh floor. He climbed unti! be reached the top of this cornice ; then, hanging by his finger-tips, he worked toward the window where the woman waited. He had nearly reached his goal when, with a sinister ripping sound, the cornice tore loose from its fastenings and dangled from the build- ing-face, hanging by the end opposite Jack. The crowd groaned; some of the women covered their faces with trembling hands to shut out the sight of the dangling figure. ‘THE HUMAN FLY.” 5 Jack, gripping the now almost perpendicu- lar cornice with hands and legs, began to ascend it as if it had been a rope. At any minute, he knew, the solitary clamp which now held it might carry away entirely and drop him into the street, but he shut that picture resolutely from his mind, and tried to avoid unnecessary shaking of his precariously-sus- pended ladder. Inch by inch he gained, uatil he was high enough to reach out aad grasp a window-sill. He secured a grip with his left hand, then leaped and clung. : The cornice, jarred by the sudden move- ment, was jerked free. Jack, lying flat against the wall, clinging to the sill, knew that the heavy shape was hurtling downward past him. A jagged edge touched his back lightly, slitting a gash from shoulder to waist. Then a ringing crash from below told him that the cornice had reached the sidewalk. But he ignored this and began again to climb, this time into the window. He tumbled inside almost at the feet of the woman's unconscious figure. Lowering the woman by means of a rope found in the office was easy. Then Jack descended by the same means, to be greeted by deafening cheers. Someone proposed a collection, and a mass of bills and silver was poured into Jack’s hat. Over four hundred dollars—more money than he had seen for months, he says. 2 Shortly afterward when the manager of the side-show disappeared without troubling to pay Jack his back-salary, and the last dollar of the collection had been spent, it was perhaps only natural that Jack should consider an exhibition of building-climbing

Page 13

6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “The Human Fly” reaching the first cornice. as a means of replenishing his exchequer. He found it easy to arrange, and so profitable that he never returned to the sawdust ring or the vaudeville stage. “It isn’t nearly as hard as people think,” Jack told me. “ Of course, there's a strain, and a certain amount of risk as well. But if the man climbing is built so that the mere matter of his distance above the sidewalk means nothing to him, there are lots of occupations more dangerous. “ My life isn’t insured, for the insurance companies consider me a poor risk—but then I never fancied insnrance, anyway.” Very early in our association I realized that in many respects Jack was the most unique personality I had ever encountered. Most of us are odd enough mixtures of seemingly irreconcilable impulses, but there were so many conflicting characteristics in Jack’s make-up that I found him an ever-interesting study, even though that study was often tinged with irritation. The point which worried me most was his haphazard method of living and training. An acrobat’s conditioning—as I pointed out time after time—is even more important than a prizefighter’s. He agreed, but as the days slipped past he made no change in his Notice the great crowd and the held-up cars. habits. Then, one morning, I pinned him down to serious discussion of the torthcoming climb. “Yes, I know I ought to be getting into condition,” he said. ‘‘ The advertising de- tails should be cleared up, too, so that they'll be ready on the day of the climb. But ’"— and he grinned that provoking but winning grin that made him friends everywhere—" I can’t seem to formulate a system that gets me anywhere. You ought to take charge of my affairs and tell me what to do each day. If you don’t, everything may be so muddled that none of us will get anything out of the climb.” So we came to an agreement that made me his manager for the remainder of his time in the city. I established a system in his affairs from which I refused to permit deviation. His every hour was arranged for. From the moment he rose, at eight o’clock, to bedtime—an early one—he went through a regular course of exercise daily, and he lived upon a diet. My part of the régime was simple—I had only to watch him and see that he lived according to programme; to write the daily stories for the newspapers, working up interest in the climb; to arrange the various

Page 14

advertising details which Jack depended upon for his salary ; and to meet the hundred-and- one persons who, for one reason or another, wanted to see Jack. There was sufficient to occupy my every waking moment. Jack’s attitude toward my programme was hardly helpful. He agreed that my word should be law in every matter affecting the exhibition, but I discovered very soon that he had a mental reservation. He re- garded the whole affair—including the climb —as an amusing game between us. If I could force him to carry out my ideas, well and good; if he could evade the issue, then the laugh was on me. Absolute good-nature on his part marked his every defeat, but with so much at stake I was unable to regard the matter as lightly. . So, every evening, I locked him in his room “THE HUMAN FLY.” 7 and, during the hours before midnight, called him several times by telephone to see that he hadn’t evaded bedtime by slipping out behind my back. This constant sur- veillance was nerve-shattering, and I saw the day of the climb approach with keen relief. From eight o’clock in the morning of June twenty-eighth until noon we were busied with the final details of the climb. Jack’s room was crowded with newspaper-men, representatives of various firms who had arranged for advertising in connection with the ascent, and two sign-painters who were rushing work on a long banner which had to be finished in time for the exhibition. At two o'clock we halted before the Humboldt Building, at the conclusion of parade through the business district. A A “close-up” view of Williams on his way up the face of the building, showing the wonderful finger-grip which supported most of his weight.

Page 15

5S) THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, guard kept the sidewalk before the building clear while Jack chatted with the news- paper-men. His hands, abnormally developed of palm and fingers, were photographed ; then some- one produced an apple. With the broad grin of a schoolboy and the mystic mummery of a conjurer, Jack closed his hand upon it. Imperceptibly the steel-wire sinews of wrist and forearm tensed, tightened, the knuckles shone white—and that apple trickled through his fingers as liquid. * How long will it take you, Mr. Williams ?”” inquired a youth in horn-rimmed glasses, a newspaper reporter on his first big assign- ment. “Half an hour, about,” Jack replied, glancing up at the cornice overhead. * Are you going to write me up?” “Oh, yes, for the Morning Now, do you anticipate any great danger to-day ? By this time the sidewalks were beginning to fill with a throng which, even without the stories | had published during the past fortnight, sensed something unusual in the air. Two unwary motormen, slowing their cars in the middle of the block to watch preceedings, found the crowd so thick about them that they couldn't move on again. The street was packed from sidewalk to side- walk for three blocks on either side of the building. All traffic stopped. Jack flung away his cigarette and went up, monkey-swift, to the base of the first cornice. Here he “stalled ’’ for a moment, to arouse the interest of the watchers. The crowd began to jeer. Then he turned, clinging with one hand, to face them. “It'sa hard climb,” he told them with pre- tended dubiety. ‘ Maybe I won’t make it.” * Four-flusher ! Faker!’ were among the compliments the crowd paid him. A half-minute pause for a cigarette. Are you afraid that you'll fall, for instance ?” * Sonny,’ grinned Jack, ‘‘ I’m in just as much danger of killing myself to-day by a tumble as I am of dying by sticking pins in myself. You put that in your paper under my picture. Everybody ready? I’m going up!” “It’s a hard climb,” he repeated. ‘‘ Now, 1 want you people to help me. With every floor that I reach, I want you to yell—at the tops of your voices—' The Blank Auto!’ Like that! Now, let’s rehearse.” “ The Blank Auto!” yelled the crowd, and Jack grinned down upon them.

Page 16

“* Get ready, you movie-men,”’ he went on. “ I'm going to kiss every girl I meet on the way up. All set? I’m just gone!” He swung up over the cornice and. But have you ever watched a small boy scampering up a stepladder? That was the way the slim figure went up the front of “Wifffiams scaling the last cornice but one. the building, finding with flashing finger-tips crevices and ledges in the stonework invisible to those who watched breathlessly from below. Storey by storey he ascended, averaging a floor every two minutes until he reached the twelfth. Here a girl thrust her head out of the window for a look and was kissed before she could withdraw. The crowd roared delightedly at the touch of comedy. At the final cornice, above which the glazed dome of the building commences, | waited for him, for that cornice was six feet and more in height, sloping outward from bottom to top. Clinging by one hand at this dizzy height, more than three hundred and fifty feet above the distance-shortened throng on the sidewalk, Jack looked up calmly into my face. “How’s it coming, Jack?” I asked, ‘““THE HUMAN FLY.” 9 anxiously, for the strain of the long effort showed in tense, haggard lines on his thin face. “ All right,”’ he answered, absently. “ Say, what about that advertising banner for the Blank Tyre Company ? I haven't noticed it being unfurled.” Here, on account of the absence of holds, a rope had to be dropped over the edge to enable him to negotiate it. It was not an opportune moment for discussion of business affairs, 1 thought, so I reassured him on the point and changed the subject. He grunted and stretched a long arm upward, feeling for a hold. Inch by inch he edged upward over the scrollwork of the cornice-face, moving deli- cately from projection to projection. Lying there, four feet above him, powerless to assist in any way, I held my breath before the finest exhibition of sheer nerve and muscular exertion I have ever witnessed. His safety depended absolutely upon his own efforts ; the tiniest slip would have been his death-warrant. When I had realized the practical impossibility of this part of the climb I had sent below for the rope which we had used once before in assisting him over a cornice, but the men had not returned with it, and I could only watch prayerfully.

Page 17

10 THE WIDE WORLD The reader may picture the situation more clearly when I say that, as Williams clung to the scrollwork of the cornice-face, his body leaned backward over the street, his head three feet behind the projection which held his feet. He must not only climb, but climb supporting the dead weight ot ms body as it dragged him almost straight downward toward a quick, horrible death upon the pavement. Yet he thought principally of the advertising banner and the money it was to bring. «I'm stuck,” he said, finally. ‘* 1 might go back, but it would spoil the whole act. See if you can reach over and give me your band for a minute.” His voice was as matter-of-fact as if he had been seated in the comfort of his hotel- room. In that moment he displayed a fearlessness second to none I have ever known. I turned to the man who squatted on a ledge behind me and snapped a command for him to catch my fect and brace himself securely. Then, dropping flat upon the glazed dome surface, I reached out for Jack's hand, three feet below the upper edge of the cornice. But the imbecile behind me hadn't understood. 1 found myself suddenly sliding down- ward over the slippery dome—down toward the edge overhanging the street ! I could picture myself reaching the edge and going out in a long dive over the upstaring faces, to end by crashing through the packed people to the asphalt. f Madly I clawed, but my finger-nails broke and slid over the slippery surface without halting my downward progress. MAGAZINE. Then my feet, dragging sideways, caught in a spike projection on a dome-rib, and I stopped with a jerk. A rope curled past my head and a voice from above catled that the end was fast. By that time I needed aid almost as badly as Jack did, for the ordeal had seemingly wiped the strength from my body. I clambered back to safety with the help of the rope, and Jack came hand-over-Hand behind me, over the cornice, to pause for a long breath. Then he trotted up the dome to the foot of the flagstaff and swarmed up it as if there had been spikes in his tennis shoes. The staff swayed slightly under his weight when he reached the brass ball at the tip. He locked his legs about the pole and hung head downward, four hundred and ten feet above the madly-yelling crowd in the street. San Francisco, that sunny June afternoon, had been treated to an exhibition of building- scaling which had probably never been equalled in the United States except by Jack Williams himself. During the climb, the newspaper-men estimated, he lifted himself approximately one hundred and fifty times. Since his weight was a hundred and thirty- two pounds, his afternoon’s labour entailed carrying a burden of nine- teen thousand eight hundred pounds, the weight of a railway flat-car loaded with coal! This trifling task was per- formed, of course, while in constant danger of slipping to a horrible death on the pavement. Perhaps these facts help to explain the dearth of rivals for Williams's title of ‘* The Human Fly"! Williams at the summit of the flagpole, four hundred and ten feet above the sidewalk, after completing his spectacular climb.

Page 18

Past Fight 4. Five Hundred oY. COLIN cesussseseee CAMPBELL CLEMENTS ... A moving first-hand story of a terrible tragedy concerning which the outside world has heard practically nothing—the events attending the siege and fall of Urfa, an ancient city in the midst of the Mesopotamian deserts. Here, for sixty days, five hundred French soldiers held out most gallantly against an overwhelming force of Mustapha Kemal Pasha's rebel Kurds and Turks. Finally, with food and ammunition well-nigh exhausted, and the long-promised relief nowhere m sight, they were compelled to surrender. The enemy allowed them to march out with the honours of war, but amidst the mountains a death-trap was treacherously arranged for the unfortunate French, and in a ring of fire from concealed marksmen they were shot down and bayonetted almost to the last man, the officers’ heads being afterwards carried in triumph through the streets of Urfa. Mr. Clements, an American connected with Armenian relief work, was with the French throughout the siege, and after the massacre escaped to Jerablus. His narrative—told here in extracts from letters written to his fiancée, Mr. Winston Churchill's cousin—will be found of the utmost interest, a vivid pen-picture of one of the ILLMSTRATED BY « YOUN DE WALTON «00+ most tragic episodes in post-war history. February 24th. AST night we decided to go up to the [ cook-house and bring down the food there, for it is very much needed by the natives who are in the house with us. At 8.30 several of the boys, two French soldiers with machine-guns, and I started out. We had gone about half-way when the soldiers threw themselves on the ground and fixed up their guns. As we went on I had visions of Turks and savage Kurds swooping down upon us from all sides! The field between the cook-house and our house is used for a parade-ground by the soldiers and a football field by our boys; if anyone started shooting there is nothing but a two-by-four goal-post to get behind ! When we reached our destination—it seemed miles away—we found everything in order. Quickly we filled the sacks we had with us and made for the house. We had hardly put down our bags of grain and unwound ourselves from the sheets with which the ladies had enshrouded us as a camouflage against the snow, when Sergeant Le Brun came running in to tell us that the rebels had entered the cook-house and were tearing down the army tents, and the children's mess-hall, which are just outside its walis ! After some consideration we thought it hest to fire and try to frighten the thieves away. As soon as the order was given, Weeden and I took up a position at my bedroom window. We could hear our tents being ripped to pieces and see black figures moving backwards II. and forwards. Then someone fired from our house. At that, hell was let loose! For two hours there was heavy firing from both sides. In spite of the rifle bombs which we dropped among the tents the ripping con- tinued. Plut! plut! swish! The enemies’ bullets kept taking out bits of our walls or tearing through our windows. The French machine-guns kept up a constant sheet of fire. Our house was filled with smoke and the smell of burning powder, the roar of commands, the patter of hobnailed shoes against stone floors, falling glass, and flying bullets. After two hours the firing ceased ; we had driven off the rebels. I went downstairs. All was quiet, though tables, chairs, boxes, the barricades at our windows, and all, were topsy-turvy. The women had gone to the cellar and were comparatively safe. A NIGHT ATTACK. An hour later, fearing another attack on our house, Commandant Hauger sent over more men. All was quiet until two o'clock, when a second assault began. The rebels had taken up a position behind the walls of our cook-house and along the crest of a small hill at our left. They seemed to have more than doubled their number, and as they fired we could hear them calling, ‘‘ Allah! Allah!” In the faint light we saw hundreds of black figures come over the hill toward us. ‘ Allah! Allah! Take the house!’ they yelled. There seemed to be thousands of them, like black flies on a hill of white sugar. But the

Page 19

12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. French machine-guns kept pouring hot lead into the black mass, and after two hours all became quiet again. At dawn the Sergeant reported that many of the brutes had been killed and more wounded. Almost at our doors, just under my bedroom window, lies one of the rebels. In the soft wind which is blowing, every now and ,then the end of his sheepskin abba moves. He looks as if he might be creeping towards us, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out behind him, But he will never move again. On our side only one man was killed. We carried him down to the drawing-room, and although Miss Smith did everything possible, the poor chap lasted but a little while. He is lying wrapped in a white sheet waiting for the dark, when we shall carry him out and bury him with his comrades in the vineyard in front of us. Our house is a wreck this morning, windows shattered, walls full of jagged holes, furni- ture broken—hearts heavy. The Stars and Stripes still float above us, but the flag is now in shreds, literally shot to pieces. February 25th. My birthday—and I shall never forget it ! Everyone was lovely; they pretended to be happy and cheerful. This afternoon, as we were gathered in the drawing-room, another bullet, evidently from the minaret in town, came crashing through our barricades and struck Miss Waller in the back. As it turned out, the ball was spent and did very little damage, but there was some excitement for a time. February 26th. The Turks have taken Orphanage Hill ! From all we can learn they did not get through the Armenian Quarter, but made trenches all along the crest of the hill just outside the city walls. This means that we are completely cut off from the Old Orphanage. We are now ina circle, completely surrounded by rebels, and are simply fighting against time, waiting for the reinforcements to come. Should our food give out before that time, well But I shall go on writing these letters. You may never receive any of them—never, for this is a far country, wild and uncivilized. If we are killed these letters will probably be destroyed with us, but I somehow feel that you will know that I have kept on writing ; and if by some miracle they should be preserved, you will know how we fought until the last, you will know how, when, and why we have gone—— February 28th. The rebels have brought up cannon ! All morning long we have been making sand-bags. hundreds of them, thousands of them. Since dawn there has been a constant stream of soldiers and children from our cellars (where we fill the bags) to the window, where they are packed in. The boxes of canned milk, beans, and peaches, which have kept many bullets out of our midst, have been replaced by bags of sand. If they start dropping shells on us from One Tree Hill, I am afraid our stone walls will crumble like so many lumps of sugar. But we can go on fighting from the cellars to the end. All last night we worked, clearing out the cellar windows and putting a machine-gun nest in each of them. At about ten o’clock the rebels began shelling the post at our right—Marceroux’s Post, we call it. We can hear the shells over our house, and see them drop, with little pufis of smoke, upon the post next to ours. The walls and roof have been smashed in many places, but in spite of the shells, which are now falling like hail-stones, the machine- guns from the post keep up a constant fire. Later. I was wiiting this letter when the look-out cried “ Avion! Avion!’ With wild cries and bounds we were all at the upper windows tegardless of the danger of flying bullets, a mad crowd of women, soldiers, and kids. Everybody was trying to kiss everybody else at the same time! © Avion! Avion Francais ! ” The firing from One Tree Hill stopped. Weeden and I had taken up our old position at my bedroom window. The aeroplane circled over us, blne and red and silver. The rebels crawled out of their trenches and broke across the fields like frightened jack-rabbits. I believe bullets from the French machine- guns beat many of them to their places of cover. For the first time we learned that they had dug trenches within fifty yards of us and had evidently hoped to take Mar- ceroux’s house after they had shelled it. If they had captured that post it would have meant that our circle of defence would have been broken and all communication between us and French Headquarters cut off. A MESSAGE FROM THE AIR. After circling over us for fifteen or twenty minutes the ’plane dropped a message, which fell in our compound, and disappeared over the mountains toward Serondj. Our morale has been lifted a hundred per cent. Help must be near now We went about our work singing and whistling until sunset—then— blang! — Brr-r-r—Swish-h-h-h—Blunk! A shell came smashing through our walls and landed in the bathroom! Fortunately, it did not explode ! Darkness came suddenly, as it always does —— — eee =e eee, Se"

Page 20

FIVE HUNDRED. IGHT OF THE THE LAST F ? = a h our barricades and struck Miss Waller in the back. other bullet came crashing throug!

Page 21

14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. here in the East, and all is quiet. Occa- sionally there is the sound of rifle firing, but the cannon on One Tree Hill is silent. Captain Perrault came in at dusk, and after some searching in the dark the soldiers found the message which had been dropped. It was taken—white bag, weight and all— straight to Commandant Hauger. The captain has promised to send us back any news with the second patrol, which will come in at midnight. Help is at last drawing near! For the first time in many days our spirits have been raised to hopefulness again. Some of us are going to sleep, really sleep to-night. Not one of us, since the ninth of January, has had his clothes off during the night. We must always be prepared for whatever may come with the darkness, March 1st. I am enclosing a letter from Captain Perrault with mine. So you can see just what word the aeroplane brought us. The message read :— * Courage! The bad days are nearing their end, You will soon be reinforced and revictualled. “(Signed) GENERAL Durirux, Cdt. 1° D.L.” “Courage!” I think never before did that word mean so much—so very, very much. It has been quiet for the last two days, and we belicve that the rebels have gone with their cannon to meet the advancing column. We were told that the Turks have asked for a three days’ armistice to bury their dead, but that Commandant Hauger has refused to give it to them. He learned that when they came up in the night to take away their dead ‘he had ordered that they should not be fired upon), they were actually digging themselves in ! So goes the war! One can never be fair with a Turk. He will take advantage of you every time if he can. Step on him, and he will turn around and worship you, beat him and he will call you master. Try to treat him as an equal, however, and he will stab you in the back at the first opportunity. March 3rd. It has been quiet for the last two days— so quict that we are wondering what the rebels can be up to. Perhaps they have defeated the relief column and are now just patiently waiting to starve us out; or perhaps they are moving up more cannon ! Spring is in the air; the snow is going fast. Winter has come and gone, and still we are prisoners. It makes one feel tremendously old, as if a thousand years have passed over our heads and left us almost where they found us, for the citadel before us and the hill behind, with its one tree, are much the same as they were when first we saw them. But, alas, the pretty little white house in the vineyard at our right is no more. Broken and shattered, it stands with its arched door in ruins. Post 412, to our left, is of soft red stone and, with its roof shot away, seems to have sunk down into the yellow clay. Over the plains and through the mountains all is silent. During the long days nothing moves. Even the soldiers who used to sing and chatter have grown moody and gloomy. March 4th. For us the day has been very quiet, but there was heavy firing in town. We are wondering if the Armenian Quarter has been attacked—and can but wonder. Since the rebels got into the graveyard and along the crest of Orphanage Hill we have been com- pletely cut off from Miss Holmes, Miss Law, and our orphans. If the Turks have taken the Old Orphanage and the handful of French who are guarding it But such thoughts are horrible ! Since sunset we have been pulling down the orphans’ tents on either side of our house. They give the enemy too good a chance to creep up on us. 1 stood before the house watching the tents, like giant grey ghosts against the dark sky, sink slowly to the ground one after another; without a sound the poles were removed, the ropes and the heavy canvas brought to earth, rolled up, and carried close to the house. Long after midnight I went into the kitchen to talk with the men and await the second patrol. Our kitchen is the one happy spot in all the house. Though the floor is muddy and wet, the air terrible, and the one light, turned very low, almost hidden by the dense white smoke of cigarettes and a wood fire, somehow one always finds cheer there. All night long we sit around the stove smoking, laughing, telling tales, in a jargon of French and Arabic. 1 pretend to understand every word they say, and have caught the knack of laughing outright when 1 see a subtle light in the eyes of the story-teller. I think after this war I will be well qualified to be an American Ambassador or even to run for the Presidency ! During these night watches in the kitchen (our little kingdor: of roaring fire, glittering helmets, and soft laughter), Heaven help the man who, tired of life and the siege, suddenly sinks off into peaceful slumber—for the moment he does so a pan of pepper with a burning coal in the centre of it is quickly passed from hand to hand and placed under the culprit’s nose! The effect is a sudden

Page 22

THE LAST FIGHT opening of watering eyes, terrific sneezing, and a round of laughter. Mohammed, smiling, good-natured, and covered from head to foot with mud as black as his face, came in at three this morning with a note from Headquarters. When he found me still sitting by the fire drinking a huge mug of steaming black ccftee which the Sergeant had just made, he saluted and said :— “ Ah, Monsieur Clemon-n-n | jamais?” I assured this lad from Algiers that we could all sleep “‘ Beaucoup—aprés la guerre.” He shook his head and rolled his great white eyes :-— “Perhaps there is never going to ve an ‘after the war ' for us." He quickly assured me, however, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, that what was God's will was best, and that Heaven, where for the rest of eternity one would be surrounded by beautiful women, instead of by savage Turks, would be very delightful. Perhaps, in one way or another, we are all of the same mind as Mohammed. At first the confinement was horrible. For the first two weeks it seemed unendurable, and then we all seemed to pass into a blissful state of coma, but now the long ordeal is wearing on all of us again. For my part, though, I am really enjoying the siege! There is all the sport of taking a chance and of wondering what will happen on the morrow. Vous resiez, March 5th. The cannon is busy again ! The sun rose scorching hot, and with it began the shelling of Post 412 from the Hill. One after another, like mad birds, the shells fly over our house—swish-h-h--then there is a sharp bang and bits of yellow stone fly through the air. After the smoke has cleared away—it seems many minutes after—the powdered stone slips from its place and falls to the ground. Some time ago the top of the house was shot away, but fortunately there is a deep cellar which for ages past has been used as a stable by wandering tribes of Kurds. As the shelling continues from One Tree Hill we can hear a constant fusillade of rifle fire from below the town. It probably means that the rebels are trying to break into our circle from the left. They have tried Mar- ceroux’s Post and failed, thanks to the aeroplane with its message of good cheer, and now they are trying this post. But in spite of the heavy shelling which goes on I am sure they will never be able to take the post. The house above-ground looks a mere ruin, but the cellars go deep and are cut into solid rock, OF THE FIVE HUNDRED. 15 March 6th. A note from Captain Perrault came with the patrol at four o'clock this morning. The French at Headquarters have passed a terrible time. During the day three hundred - shells came down upon them! Their houses are now nothing but wrecks, which will fall in the slightest breeze. Fortunately they had dug deep caves and enlarged all the cellars under the houses, and so can go under- ground. During the bombardment only one man was killed, but twenty-one were wounded. It is a terrible thing to feel that we are caught in a trap and that no one on the outside is coming to our aid. It is a terrible thing to feel that we are forgotten by the world ! ANOTHER AEROPLANE. Later. I had to stop this letter before daylight. You will find the first part of it a little blue. One is more likely to be a bit despondent during the long, cold black nights. At eleven o'clock an aeroplane, flashing like a silver sail in the sunlight, came over the mountains, and after circling over us several times disappeared again. We had hoped it would drop a few bombs or bring some message concerning the lost column, but it came and went—and left us quite alone to tend to our own little battle. Captain Perrault says he thinks the ‘plane was recon- noitring for the relief column, which must be only two or three days’ march away now. Just after lunch the ominous sound of cannonading began once more. At first we thought the rebels were shelling our house, but we soon discovered that they were giving it to French Headquarters again. All of us flew cellarward. It was all very funny— afterward. Hn The shelling went on till dark. Perhaps it was fun to fight in France, when you could shove against a line and feel the enemy giving a little; perhaps it is fun to fight when you feel that you have an equal chance with the man you are fighting; perhaps it’s fun when you can feel that somewhere behind of you are plenty of supplies and ammunition—but it's not so much fun out here a thousand miles from anywhere, when you know that the enemy is on all four sides of you and creeping closer every minute. It’s not so much fun when the other fellows have cannon and you have nothing but machine-guns and rifles, and not very much ammunition for either of them; and it’s not much fun when you know that you can keep going only as long as your supplies last | I'll be more cheerful next time ! March 7th. The shelling of Headquarters began again at dawn. All morning long the heavy shells

Page 23

16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. kept fiving over our house. Swish! Swish! 1 think I shall hear them always ! Weeden and 1 were at my window with our rifles and the glasses. We saw the cannon on One Tree Hill turn turtle and a puff of smoke go up. It must have been a premature explosion, We hope so! All through the afternoon it has been quiet except for rifle firing now and then. At noon the mitrailleuse at 412 boomed away for half an hour or so, but now all is quiet. The patrol last night told us that Commandant Hanger had tried to signal to the aeroplane to send food and ammunition at once, but before the message was finished the ‘plane flew away. One of the officers told us that after every bombardment the rebels send a messenger to the Commandant telling him to surrender, but that each time he replies that he cannot go until he has orders to do so. So here we are, just where we started on the oth of February, or, as Alice in Wonder- land might say, ‘ Here we are where we started—but much more so.” Later. What is it all about ? Captain Perrault once said, ‘' We came here only to bring peace, and now they make us fight.” Who is to blame ? _ We are now completely cut off from the Old Orphanage, and, of course, have not had news from there for days. Does it mean that the Armenian Quarter has been taken and all the men, women, and children massacred ? That seems hardly possible, for I sincerely believe the Mutsarif (Governor) would not stand for a general massacre. But in war Well, who knows just what might happen ? -The Mutsarif is a timid, shy old man, more or less kindly when it will benefit him to be so, and, like all his race, a liar who could beat the devil at his own game. The old man was brought here and given his position as governor of this Sandjak (county) by the British. He has always hated the French and said as much to the British before they left Urfa. Why the French ever kept him on as governor is more than I can understand. Surely Hauger must have known that the Mutsarif was an enemy? He has probably been planning this whole affair with his bosses at Angora ever since the French arrived. But the ways of the Orient are hard to comprehend ! March 8th. After midnight we sprawled out over the chairs in the living-room and tried to get a wink or two of sleep—prepared to make a hasty descent into the cellar at any time. We slept little, for we expected another attack any moment; we felt that our turn to be shelled was coming. Captain Perrault came in during the night to see if we had any wine which Father Gabriel could use for the Mass at’ French Headquarters. J happened to have a half bottle of pink, vinegarvy stuff which had been given to me by Friar Raphael many moons ago. When I gave him the wine the Captain looked at me with a strange half-smile and shook his head. “ After all, suppose we never do get out of this? ’’ he muttered. “ It is the spirit that counts; the body is nothing.” THE WATER PROBLEM, How we are going to get water from now on is a problem that must be solved betore dark to-morrow night. Our supply is almost gone, and now that the snow has disappeared we are pretty much up against it to get even enough water for drinking. Our one source, the well at Marceroux’s Post, seems to be giving out and may go dry at any moment. We are now on a half-cup a day each, which means that we must either go without a bath or without coffee. And during the early hours, when it seems almost impossible to keep awake, coffee is essential. Therefore. March oth. It has been quiet all day long; there has been some sniping from One Tree Hill and the Turkish cemetery below Orphanage Hill at noon, but no heavy firing. Peaceful days are happy days now; they give us a chance to prepare for the next attack. At dusk Captain Lambert came in. He looks tired and disheartened, and has lost the cheery smile and subtle sparkle that used to dance in his eyes. Perrault says he expects the relieving column any moment now. It will surprise us some fine morning, he tells us, and we shall be awakened by the firing of our own “ seventy-fives.”” Beards are quite the thing these days. Most of the officers are letting theirs grow; each day they get longer and longer. Perhaps there is a bet on at the mess to see who can grow the longest whiskers before the column arrives! Both Weeden and I have decided to see what we can do in the way of present- able beards—partly for the fun of it, but mostly on account of the shortage of water. Water ! We carry every drop we use from the post at our right. The getting of water is far from safe, for we have to cross a wide, exposed field to reach the well. We have made every available oil tin into a water-can, and every night after dark go frisking forth with long poles, an oil-can tied at either end, across the fields to our only well. The well, by the way, has a creaky pulley, and when the pulley creaks the rebels shoot. Nice party! Since every pail of water now means

Page 24

THE LAST FIGHT OF THE FIVE HUNDRED. 17 ame in with a note from Headquarters.” mud, © d, covered from head: to foot will ~ Mohamme Vol. xlix.—2

Page 25

18 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. risking someone's life we are of one mind that beards are necessary! Someone once said that a long beard means a long life—let us hope so! Weeden raised one objection ! He holds that the soldiers will no longer recognize us, and some dark night when we are roaming through the house—I should say groping our way about—we may be shot, stabbed, or choked. Nevertheless, we have decided that what is to be is to be, and there- fore even a beard cannot change fate! Day after to-morrow or the day after that (if the Kurds don't take the house and murder us all), I shall tell you what colour our whiskers are. Both of us have a suspicion that they may come in grey—Rip Van Winkle-like ! Captain Lambert ordered a trench to be dug at either corner at the back of our house and a machine-gun to be placed ineach. He explained that if our house was again attacked, and if the rebels again came as close to us as they did a few nights ago, the posts at our right and left will swing their guns around and sweep the front of the house while the guns at the back keep the enemy from getting below the crest of the hill, It won’t be nice having our own machine-guns popping bullets into our front windows! In case there should be another attack we shall make tracks for the second floor, or lie flat and keep quiet. If ever I write you that I have eaten my soup on the floor you will know how and why it happened. As I write I can hear the “ pat, pat, pat ”’ of fresh earth being thrown up beneath my window. At daylight I shall look out upon a new trench, and to-morrow night I shall hear the soft whispers of fighting men below me. March uth. Captain P. came in before midnight. He told us that the rebels now have look-outs all through the hills above the citadel. That means that the Turks, too, are expecting the column ! I stopped for a few moments in the room below mine to say good-night to the boys before I came upstairs. I found Anthony huddled up on a heap of old sacks trying to get a few moments’ rest. “I fear to-morrow morning,” he said. ‘We have heard cries from the minarcts, The muezzins are calling their followers to prayer, and after the Turks pray they fight. Perhaps it will be our house that will be shelled to-morrow ! ” But to-morrow is still six hours away, and the long-expected column may come with the dawn. (To be concluded.) cOwnune de CHAMONy, -AVIS - Les Touristes inexperiineylés soul anises!) engeetl est imprudeal de savenlurer sans aule rose d ses abords, are advised that fo go Without aid on and ils surroundings: Inexperin the glac "Ahncrfahrene Cours A SIGNIFICANT NOTICE-BOARD IN THE ALPS. WHILE tourists of German nationality are once again appearing in the Alpine resorts of Switzerland and even in Italy, they exhibit a decided reluctance to cross the frontier into the adjacent French mountain centre of Chamonix. Indeed, a leading guide of the district informed a WIDE WorLD correspondent that not a single German had appeared in the valley since 1914, and volunteered picturesque details concerning the fate of any such venturesome individuals at the hands of his fellow-professionals. The treat- ment of the notice-board which stands on the Montanvert, on the edge of the Mer de Glace, is significant and nct without humour. The warning: “ Inexperienced tourists are advised that it is imprudent to go without aid on the glacier,” was originally printed in three languages, French, English, and German. The German por- tion is now obscured by means of a board nailed over it, the obvious implication being that if a German cares to commit suicide amongst the crevasses he is, so far as local opinion is con- cerned, at full liberty to do so.

Page 26

Short Stories THE DISAPPEARANCE OF IVAN VARLAMOFF, By H. TROLLE-STEENSTRUP. ILLUSTRATED BY T. H. ROBINSON, The story of an epic fight. “and as to the truth of the main incidents there can be no doubt whatever. “The narrative was told to me as related,” writes the Author, I have myself seen the cairn that commemorates Ivan's battle for life.” in Uleaborg, a small town in the north-western part of Finland. While exploring the surrounding country— vast moors, lakes, and deep torests—I reached the shore of Lake Saitamosta, not far from a diminutive village bearing the same name. Here my attention was at- tracted by a cairn erected at a place where the outskirts of a dense forest almost touch the high beach. On this cairn was a flat stone bearing the following inscription :— Gis years ago I spent a summer ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF IVAN VARLAMOFF, A CORPORAL IN THE FINNISH GUARD, WHO Af THIS PLACE SLEW FOURTEEN WOLVES SINGLE-HANDED. The legend roused my curiosity, and on arriving in the village 1 at once made in- quiries as to the event commemorated by the cairn. The first man I approached could give me no information, but an elderly peasant who stood near by exclaimed :— ~ Oh, you mean Varlamoff, I never knew him; the event took place before 1 came here. But I have heard of his disappearance, of course—everybody has, though but few remember the details. But let Juhani Jaskylainen tell you the story. He knows it better than anybody else; he used to live with Wainimo, and Wainimo was with Ivan the night he vanished. In fact, he was the last man who saw him.” I made straight for Juhani, who kept a small beer-shanty on the outskirts of the village. The sound of my steps drew him out into the little garden in front of the shed. Ordering some beer, I invited him to drink with me. * Juhani,” I said, ‘the people tell me that you know the story of Ivan Varlamoff.” The old man took off his cap and brushed his sparse hair with his fingers. * Well,” he said, ‘' 1 know the story of Ivan, and I ought not to forget it either, for my friend Wainimo, with whom I lived till his death, used to tell it to me—that is to say, his own version of the story, for nobody could give the actual details, since Ivan was never seen again, and all that they found was his sabre.”’ **Would you mind telling me the tale, Juhani?” “1 certainly will,” he answered. There- upon he told me the story of Ivan the Wolf- slayer, which I am now going to retell. It was in those days when Uleaborg still had a garrison of Russian soldiers, mostly sturdy peasants from the Volga and the Caucasus, forming the so-called ‘ Finnish Guards ” which Finland, being exempt from conscription, had to maintain by an annual contribution to the Russian Empire. Ivan Varlamoft was a corporal in these Finnish Guards, a big, stalwart fellow from the Caucasus, and a most trustworthy man, too. The conscripts had to serve for six years, and at the time I first saw Ivan at Wainimo’s house it was his fourth year in the army. Contrary to his comrades, who kept to them- selves, Ivan was fond of associating with the

Page 27

20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. native population, and he used to spend his bricf furloughs with Wainimo. One night he was sitting in Wainimo’s cottage when the striking of the clock reminded him of the fast-flving time, and he rose to take leave of his friend. It was in vain that Wainimo asked him to stay till dawn. His furlough expired at six o'clock in the morning, and it was now close on mid- night, and he had twelve miles to walk to the barracks. “ But the wolves, Ivan,’ protested his friend. ‘You know that packs of them have been reported in the vicinity of late. Never since the great famine have the beasts been so ferocious as now. They are even making the villages unsafe; and no wonder, since it must be a hard time for the wolves when people have to mix bark with their corn.” But Ivan showed no fear. He was a man of indomitable courage and great bodily strength. Pointing to his sabre, he assured his friend that that weapon would render all the wolves between Wainimo’s hut and the barracks harmless. With these words he went away. His friend remained for a while at the open door, holding a lamp high above his head. And thus he stood immov- able, scanning the huge shadow of Ivan on the snow-covered field, and listening till his footsteps died away in the distance. Then, with a shiver, he closed the door behind him, for from afar, emanating from the dense pine-forest, he heard, though faintly, a many-voiced, long-drawn howl. Ivan tramped briskly along toward the dense pine-forest, and entered it at a place where the tall trunks stood somewhat far apart. He might have avoided the trackless forest, but that would have involved a con- siderable défour ; moreover, he possessed a rare sense of direction, an instinct to walk along a straight line. Ivan was the best marcher in the regiment, and the captain used to refer to him as the “ human com- pass.”” When Ivan entered the forest the last lights of the few scattered houses behind him soon faded away, and he was left alone in the pitchy darkness. He marched on at a great pace. The snow lay so thickly on the trees that the moon had no chance to peep through. If there were any paths in the forest, they had been entirely obliterated under the deep carpet of snow, but Ivan tramped on con- fidently through the gloom. What follows, of course, is a reconstruction of events, but there can be little doubt that it is tolerably accurate. As Ivan approached the edge of the woods he became more wary, and put his hand to the hilt of his sabre to make sure that the blade was loose in the scabbard. From the outskirts of the forest he beheld the immense ice-covered lake which he had to cross in order to reach the barracks. The moon hung high up in the icy air like a huge lantern, encircled by luminous rings. Far out on the glittering ice it cast a cascade of silyery-blue light, making the scene almost as hght as day. Leaving the shelter of the trees, he ran quickly out on the ice, but he had scarcely taken a dozen steps when a terrific howl broke the silence, and he saw two rows of wolves emerging from the forest behind him. The beasts trotted out in a sort of wedge formation; evidently they had some idea of tactics, and intended to encircle their victim. <A single glance told Ivan that he could not force a passage through the point of the wedge without being promptly attacked in the rear. He therefore darted back to the shore at a place where the forest reached almost down to the ice, put his back against a big tree-trunk, and drew his sabre. In another instant the whole pack were at him. Undaunted, he looked into the blazing eyes of the fierce leader, a huge brute, as it rose on its hind legs and tried to bury its awful teeth in his throat. Like a grey mass the other wolves leapt about him, now and then snatching at his legs. More than a score he counted, and their incessant howling was apparently drawing yet others from the depths of the woods. Ivan felt a sort of joy of battle, and he put up a magnificent defence. With one swift stroke he severed the head of the leading wolf, and as it fell helpless, the other brutes rushed on their fallen comrade and devoured the carcass, with gnashing teeth. Ivan took a few steps forward to thrust among the feasting beasts, but immediately felt a pain in his left leg, and realized that a woif had put its tecth into his thigh. With a single stroke he beheaded this animal in turn, and flew back to the protecting tree. Again and again he made the blade sing as he struck powerfully to right and left, with each stroke settling the account of a wolf. Whenever a beast dropped in the snow, the survivors would leap upon it, and thus afford him a brief respite. Only once in a while did a daring wolf snatch at him, but a thrust of the shining blade was sufficient to render the attacker harmless. Soon the ground where he stood became slippery with blood, which froze almost instantly on touching the ice. He counted fourteen dead wolves, most of which had been stripped almost to bare bones by the ghoulish survivors. When he could see but half-a- dozen left, all of them busy with the carcasses of their slain comrades, Ivan thought it safe

Page 28

SHORT STORIES. 21 to proceed on his interrupted march. The following morning there was a tele- Wiping the perspiration from his brow. phone call to the barracks. It was Wainimo, he thrust his sabre into the sheath. The inquiring for Ivan. long shining blade was still dripping with “He has not arrived, and he will be blood, but he did not trouble to wipe it punished accordingly,” came the answer. clean. He looked at his watch : the hands pointed “Jvan put up a magnificent defence.” to three o’clnck. He had still some seven It was the commander, Captain Sturgoff, miles to 8° to reach the barracks, and the who spoke at the other end. sun would not rise until nine o'clock. He “That is strange, to say the least,” set off at his best speed, leaving the dead replied Wainimo. “ Ivan left me about and living wolves behind him. midnight, and was sure of arriving in time.”

Page 29

22 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘ He has lost his way, I suppose,” said Sturgott. “That's not likely, Captain. He was perfectly sober when leaving me, and his sense of direction is infallible.” This conversation led to the calling out of two search-parties. Wainimo, with some friends of his, arranged to walk through the forest and meet the military party on the lake. It proved an easy task to follow Ivan's trail, as no snow had fallen that night, and his hobnailed boots left a clear imprint all the way. The track led straight through the forest, and the men could not but feel amazed at the almost incredible sense of direction which the trail indicated, for it actually followed a straight line as nearly as the trees would allow. Arrived at the outskirts of the woods, the party passed the place where the soldier had fought the wolves. Scattered on the ice were seen the remnants of some fourteen beasts, and here and there the men observed tufts of grey fur sticking in pools of frozen, brownish blood. The entire scene told plainly the story of a great fight in which the wolves had succumbed. The closest inspection, however, failed to reveal the slightest trace of the man who had killed the fierce beasts. The men looked at each other in silent admiration of Ivan's deed, and then hurried on. Far out on the frozen lake Wainimo and his companions met the military searching- party. * Found anything ? " asked Sturgoff. Wainimo shook his head. ‘ We have found the carcasses of fourteen wolves, but from that place it is impossible to trace Ivan’s trail.” Captain Sturgoff stroked his beard. * Good heavens!’ he murmured. * Four- teen wolves! Assuredly I shall not punish him for being Jate.”’ One of the soldiers suggested that Ivan might have fallen into a crevice. “That's impossible,” said the captain; "the lake must be frozen almost to the Lottom, and there are no cracks anywhere.” He raised his field-glass and scanned the ice, turning slowly round. “He may have been overcome by the cold,’” ventured one of the villagers. “I happened to examine the thermometer early this morning. It showed thirty-four degrces below zero.”" This remark led the party to scatter around the lake, searching for traces of the vanished man. The sun shone brightly, and the atmosphere was so clear that any small object could be clearly seen for a long distance Wainimo went somewhat farther than the rest of the men. Sturgeff watched him attentively, and presently noticed that he was approaching a broad drift of snow swept together by the wind. Suddenly Wainimo stooped as if lifting something from the ground, When he rejoined the party he carried a sabre in his hand. “ This is Ivan’s sabre, captain, isn’t it?” he asked, excitedly. Sturgoff gave a glance at the weapon and declared it to be a regulation army weapon. “ But where is Ivan himself?’ he de- manded. ‘ He cannot possibly have van- ished, and it is out of the question that he would throw away his only weapon.” Wainimo was closely examining the sabre of his lost friend. “ Captain,” he said, I think I can explain it all. My friend has been devoured by the ravenous beasts, swallowed to the very last sinew—bones, hair, uniform, cap, boots— everything! We shall not even find blood, for the wolves have licked the ice as clean as a plate; but this leather has proved too hard for them, or else their hunger was satisfied, for you can see the marks of their teeth in the sword-beit.”” With that Wainimo handed the belt to Sturgoff. The captain seemed lost in puzzled thought. Finally he passed the belt back to Wainimo. * But what you say is impos- cible,”’ he cried. * Would Ivan, after having killed fourteen wolves, surrender to others without even attempting to defend himself ? If he died fighting, he would have had no time or reason to put the blade back into the scabbard. Look for yourself, and you will sce that the sabre has not been drawn.” I think I can explain that, too,” said Wainimo, and turning the hilt towards the captain, he requested him to draw the blade. Wainimo himself took a firm hold on the scabbard, and both men pulled with all their strength. Failing at first to move the blade, Sturgoff ordered one of the soldiers to assist him at the hilt, while another took hold of the scabbard beside Wainimo. It was a regular tug-of-war, but the blade remained firmly in the sheath. * The blade may have keen bent,” re- marked one of the soldiers. “Nonsense! If it had, how could it have been put back in the sheath ? ’ Presently Wainimo ceased pulling, and spoke: ‘ You see now that he could not unsheath it when attacked for the second time, captain,” he said. “But why not?" asked Sturgoff, red- faced from his exertions. “ Because it was frozen to the scabbard. He must have forgotten to wipe off the blood from the blade after having finished with the first pack of wolves!

Page 30

SHORT SIORIES. SHORT STORIES. 23 LOCKED IN A FREEZING CHAMBER. By E. J. SMITH, of Cape Town, S. Africa. ILLUSTRATED BY W. G. WHITAKER. A municipal meat inspector's story of a terrible six hours’ ordeal.* BOUT four years ago, when the export of meat from South Africa was in full swing, my work—that of a meat inspector—was to examine the carcasses after slaughter at the abattoir in order to see that they were free from dis- ease, and to pass those that were in every respect fit for export. After each carcass had been passed it was the custom to label it with the Government veterinary label ; the carcasses were then quartered and taken to cold storage chambers and kept there ready for shipment. One day it was discovered that, owing to a shortage of these labels, a large quantity of “untagged ” quarters had accumulated in one of the cold storages, and as they were required for shipment within a few days I was asked to go to this depot and label them. This was on a Saturday afternoon, and before two c’clock I was on the spot ready to commence operations. A coloured man in the employ of the firm was told off to assist me. The quarters were in one of the freezing chambers, frozen hard, and I could see that it would be a difficult job. The temperature inside stood at 10° Fahrenheit (i.e., 22° below freezing point), so that it was impossible for us to stay in for more than twenty minutes at a time. With the excep- tion of two coloured men—one of whom, pamed Jonas, was with me, as already stated —there was no one else working, except in the offices upstairs. We got to work, had a couple of spells out- side in the passage in order to circulate the blood a little, and then went in again. This would be at about a quarter to three. On this occasion, in order to finish off labelling the quarters in one corner of the chamber, we stayed longer than usual. After about forty minutes Jonas asked me if he could go Mr. J. M. Cochrane, of the Imperial Cold Storage and Supply Co., Ltd., Cape Town, writes: ‘11 hereby certify that the facts as stated by Mr. E. J. Smith in his story are true iw every detail. Twas in charge of the cold storage department em this particular dav. out, as he was feeling frozen. I was just as bad, but, being anxious to finish off, I told him to go and I would fellow in a few minutes. When Jonas reached the door, I heard him shout :— * Baas, we’s locked in!’’ ‘ * Nonsense!’ I cried. ‘‘ How can that be?” As he still continued to call out, however, T went to the door, only to find his statement to be true. We were locked in! The first thought to flash through my mind was, ‘* How can it have happened ? The manager knows we are working here, and surely he would not allow us to be locked up and frozen like the beef!" I knocked on the heavy door with some pincers J] was using, but I knew it was use- less. It would be impossible for anyone to hear from the outside unless they were very close up to the door, and probably not even then. Was the door only locked as a temporary measure ? If so, someone would soon come and let us out. I suggested this, but Jonas did not agree with me, and kept on repeating mournfully, * Baas, we’s done ! It was a terrible position to be in, for if the people really Aad locked up and gone away, forgetting all about us, it meant that the door would not be opened again until the Monday morning. Long before that time we should be ‘dead meat,” frozen stiff, and ready for ouy labels! It was not a cheering thought. The obvious thing to do, it seemed to me, was to find some means of getting out. Waiting idly for rescue would simply hasten our doom, Jonas and I then commenced to search the inside of the chamber with a view to finding something that would be useful to try and break out with. Escape appeared a very remote chance, for the door was about nine inches thick, the inner and outer plank- ing being fully an inch thick, and the insula- tion about seven inches. On the outside of

Page 31

24 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, its resistance. Fortune favoured us, for in our anxious search we discovered a piece of iron piping about an inch and a half in diameter and two and a half feet long. This length of piping proved our salvation. With this improvised tool we commenced an attack on the door. It took nearly two hours to splinter the wood on the inside, but eventually we got to the packing. I should add that all the time it required a good deal of persuasion to get Jonas to “ do his bit,” for he was very downhearted, being con- vinced that we should freeze to death. However, when we got through the packing he cheered up a little and helped consider- ably. Toiling away together, we perse- vered until we could see the outer planking. This also proved a hard nut to crack, bur eventually we were rewarded by seeing a “With this improvised tool we commenced ray of light through a splintered hole. This an attack on the door.” caused us to renew our efforts; we worked with a will, and at last made a hole large the door were three large hinges with bars enough to allow Jonas to get through into along the whole length, bolted right through, the outer passage. As I am of much bigger and in addition to carrying the door they _ build, the gap had to be considerably widened afforded it greater strength and increased before I could get through, and I can assure

Page 32

you I was extremely glad to find myself on the outside of that deadly chamber. Both Jonas and myself were just about finished ; a little while longer in that awful cold and we should not have been able to get out at all. I could only breathe with difficulty ; my lungs seemed to hurt at every breath, and I was entirely numbed with the cold, in spite of my exertions. I am sure that it was only the hard work of breaking out of our prison that kept me from collapse. . Once in the passage, where the tempera- ture was higher, although still much below freezing point, we began to feel warmer and the pain in my chest slackened off a little. Nevertheless, we were not yet out of the wood. The chamber we had escaped from was situated underground, and, with several others, led out of this passage, which was locked up in a similar way and with the same kind of door as the chambers. After walking up and down the passage to try and get some circulation into our bodies, we decided to attack this second door also. Once outside that we should be safe. We took turns in trying to break down the woodwork, but soon came to the con- clusion that there was very little hope of getting through. Later, while Jonas was still banging away, 1 was walking up and down to keep some life in my body. Sud- denly he stopped, and I saw he was listening. I promptly joined him, and he told me that he thought there was someone on the other side, but I finally concluded that he was mistaken, as no sound reached our ears. “ Baas, dere’s someone!’’ he shouted again, presently, and sure enough the door opened. It was one of the engineers, and he nearly had a fit when he saw us. He told us that he -had been taking thermometer readings in the next passage, and, thinking he heard some tapping, decided to investi- SHORT STORIES. 25 gate. Having procured the keys, he un- locked the door and discovered us. On getting upstairs I saw lights in the offices—luckily for us, they were working late that night. One of the clerks stared at me as if I were a ghost. He said afterwards that he had heard of Rip Van Winkle and had seen representations of Father Christ- mas a few times, but I looked like a cross between the two! And no wonder, after six hours in a freezing chamber. Poor Jonas! all the pity he got was to be told that he had become a ‘‘ white man.” The manager was much concerned at our Narrow escape. His explanation of the affair was that he thought we had finished and gone home hours before. The coloured man on duty had apparently locked all the doors soon after we went in for the last time, and gone home. He did not trouble to look in to see whether anyone was inside the cham- ber, although the keys were in the lock and he might have known, if he had possessed any intelligence, that someone was working there. His carelessness or stupidity nearly cost Jonas and me our lives. I was given stimulants, put to bed, and made warm, but sleep was out of the ques- tion; nor did I sleep well for months after, having to be propped up in bed at nights, gasping for breath. The doctor said that the blood in the capillaries of the lungs had been frozen, and he warned me that my chest would always give me trouble. He was right, for I have suffered from asthma ever since. Jonas, apparently, sustained no ill effects, but whenever I saw him after- wards he would say, ‘Oh, baas!” and shake his head, to indicate what a narrow escape we had had. As to that I quite agree with him, for, had we not found that piece of iron piping, we should undoubtedly have been frozen to death.

Page 33

-UMRI* iii We Galloway OF THE INDIAN POLICE ILLUSTRATED BY | [_] |. warwick REYNOLDS The tragic story of a panther that had once been a police-officer’s pet. Going back wild life, he became the terror of: a district, though he still remembered a= to one or two of the lessons of his youth. Then, by an odd coincidence, he met his old master! LINE of elephants came slowly -through the long grass. The hot air quivered above the brown, wilted stalks that hung motionless in the fierce glare. Only where the hidden stream widened into a jungle pool was there a suspicion of green shade. As the swaying beat advanced an occasional black partridge whirred up, or a sounder of pig crashed, grunting, through the cover. They passed unmolested on their way. By the side of the pool a panther rose, stretched herself lazily, and, with head thrown forward, listened to the still distant sounds. For a moment she stood un- decided ; then made a soft purring call and crept into the densest patch. Fifteen minutes later a pad elephant suddenly stopped a few feet from her and refused to go on. Secure in concealment, she crouched closer to the ground. A whispered order, and the elephants on the wings circled round and ringed her in. A staunch tusker replaced the pad elephant, and almost beneath his trunk the panther slunk forward, but the grass betrayed her. The ever-narrowing circle drove her remorselessly to where the cover thinned. She dashed wildly to break through the line, but two rifles spoke simul- taneously and her wild life was ended. Thus died the mother of Umri, a helpless cub a fortnight old, who was taken captive. At the close of the shooting camp lots were drawn for him, and he fell to a young police officer. In size, he was little larger than a cat when he was whirled off in a first-class compartment with his owner to a neighbour- ing district. In disposition, after the open- ing days of bewilderment, he was like a kitten, playful and affectionate. Within a month he had become the bosom friend of an Irish terrier, who had, on first acquaintance, deeply resented his intrusion into the family. Given full freedom, he confined his wander- ings to the house and compound, soon learning that short excursions beyond it rendered him liable to molestation from stray curs and other annoyances. It was not until he was nearly four months old that he had any inkling of the strength with which Nature had endowed him. One day during the rains he was slumbering peacefully in a chair on the wide veranda when he suddenly sprang to life at the sound of a fierce dog-fight in the garden. Umri got up: to investigate, and saw his friend having much the worse of a deadly encounter with an Airedale. With the first snarl he had ever uttered, Umri launched himself into the fray. At the advent of the tearing, spitting fury the victor turned to flee, but Umri took him in full flight by the neck, flung himself over to the far side—and the fight was ended. He stood over his victim breathing defiance, and it was not until his hastily-summoned master had succeeded in quietening him down that he would suffer himself to be led away.

Page 34

At the end of October the touring season was at hand, and the problem of how to dis- pose of Umri arose. It was impossible to leave a three-quarter-grown panther alone with a servant in a deserted bungalow; to convey him round from one camping-ground to another in an endless succession ot marches presented almost insurmountable difficulties. Indian zoos are overstocked with panthers, and none had any vacancies. The district was devcid of forests, except along the north, where it bordered on the Terai. With some unformed idea that he might be able to give Umri his freedom in this region, the policeman had a box cunningly constructed and sent the animal off in advance with the luggage carts, which he proposed to follow up by rail. The camp was pitched, three marches out, near a great bathing fair, on the banks of the Ganges, that had to be supervised. The servants and orderlies were tired, and, trust- ing in Providence and the power of their Sahib’s name, left the tents unprotected, retiring to their own shouldaries at the far end of the grove. East or West, a concourse of people attracts adventurers eager to seize an opportunity. Two ex-convicts noted the disposition of the tents, and, in payment of an old score, determined to act. In the dead of night they crawled up to the dining-room tent, cut a flap out of the canvas, and entered. They worked in darkness, but with the mar- vellous dexterity of their profession. When they had cleared the tent of prac- tically every- thing of value, one of them busied himself with a large packing-case. It opened at one side, not at the top, and was sin- gularly air-free but strongly fastened. At last it was undone, and a tentative hand explored the interior. Next moment the silence was rent by a yell of unspeakable terror that woke the sleep- ing camp. Umri, inside the case, had been an in- terested — spec- tator of events, and while strange hands “Unmri” in playful mood. “UMRI.” 27 fumbled with his bars he had lain, with ears twitching, barely restraining a purr of pleased anticipation. When the triendly release from durance was accomplished he welcomed his deliverer with a lick from his very rough tongue. It was kindly meant, but the horror-stricken man fell backwards, leaving the way out clear, and of this Umri promptly availed himself. As he emerged, the thief, in a paroxysm of fear, struck at him with a knife, inflicting a deep gash on the panther’s hindquarters. A roar of rage blended with the chorus cf shrieks. Maddened by pain, Umri sprang through the doorway, dis- appearing into the night on velvet, noiscless feet. The guard rushed up, effecting an easy capture of the two trembling malefactors. Umri's one desire now was to leave behind for ever a place where he had been so cruelly treated. Reckless of his wound, with tail flung high, he sped from the haunts of men, instinctively heading for the adjacent Kadir. Out in the wide spaces he sniffed the river, and called no halt till he drank thirstily of it. Afterwards he sat down, tended his wound, and let the magic of solitude and the night sink in. Like a forgotten dream he found himself interpreting the noises that went on around, and, as he listened, with the star- light in his golden, unblinking eyes, civiliza- tion ebbed from his memory. Nature tri- umphed, making him master of his own destiny. Now Nature is a hard taskmistress, de- manding strength, experience, and craft. Umriwas plenti- fully endowed with the first, but hopelessly devoid of the other requisites, having led a sheltered life from infancy. As the darkness was paling into dawn, a_ wild boar with his family passed slowly to wind- ward, rootling on the home- ward journey from the fields. Umri realized he was hungry, and the hunting instinct stirred within him. He selected a straggler; but when he started stalking his wound, stiffened

Page 35

28 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by the long rest, sadly hampered him. The quarry was small, all unsuspicious of danger, and, with a ‘“ Wout!’ Umri landed on it from behind a bush. One crunch of his jaws ended the porker's life. A moment later, with a grunt of rage, the boar swept in, and a long, deadly tusk ripped Unnrri’s side as, completely taken oft his guard, he sprang away too late to clear the charge. The infuriated boar swung round in his tracks and came on again; Umri, dodging, fled headlong. He had learnt his first lesson comparatively cheaply, but the pigling made good eating, and carried him over two nights of painful, ineffective hunting. He gave a wide berth to the scattered huts of the herdsmen, and instinct warned him to leave the semi-wild cattle severely alone. In the early mornings the distant foothills that buttress the Himalayas were at times visible, and he moved slowly up-stream towards them. The Kadir is a_ kindly country of rolling grass and jhau, with an occasional sentinel tree. ‘The river winds a blue ribbon between broad stretches of sand or cuts, fretting into alluvial banks of its own making in the rains, and hereabouts the panther lingered. Three months later Umri left the grass lands, striking into a narrow strip of tree- jungle peopled by chital and sambhar, which bunched together at the forest edge preparatory to sallying out for the night among the young crops. One evening he was padding softly to lie up in wait, when, at a turn in the path, he came face to face with another of his own species. He stopped irresolute and unsuspecting, while the other crouched menacingly, snarling at the in- truder on his preserves. Umri was. still mildly inquisitive and conciliatory, all un- aware of the inflexible jungle law that no two male panthers may hunt the same beat. He had no time to decide, and was over- borne in the first rush, but dexterously recovered, and a savage fight to the death commenced. In weight he held the advan- tage, but his opponent was a tried warrior, blooded from youth. Up and down they raged, struggling, spitting, and tearing with claws and teeth. Now one, now the other, prevailed ; fierce gashes lacerated the spotted sides; teeth sank dcep into shoulder muscles ; both strained for the terrible hind- foot belly-rip. Together they tired and fell apart; as one they renewed the fight, bent on destruction. They weakened equally, but neither would yield, for yielding meant death. At length, blinded with exhaustion and only partially conscious of each other's presence, they dragged their blood-stained bodies back the way they had come. All that night Umri spent in covering two miles back to the Kadir and his well-known haunts, saving his life by the discovery of an old ‘ kill’ that, in the fullness of his pride, he had left half consumed but secure from the vultures, Summoned by the spring call, he set off again when his strength returned, and found a mate, settling down in company with her. He grew and flourished, conquering all his rivals and becoming increasingly savage with each successful fight. The next season he wandered oft to the hills, was twice fired at and once hit, and thereafter had no further dealings with tethered goats, however tempt- ingly oftered. He learnt to kill, eat, and return no more In the fullness of time he descended to the plains, taking up a rich beat in the selfsame fringe of forest. that his long- forgotten master had thought of losing him in. Fearless and tyrannical, a slayer of village cattle, his ill-fame spread to district headquarters. [t was then that I came into the picture. I had work in the north in any case, so altered my tour to admit of a week's stay at Bhawanipur. On arrival, I found the pan- ther was still in the locality, but there were no shtkarees worthy of the name, and no one knew his exact whereabouts. A curious feature was that no dogs had been carried off, and if there is one thing that no panther can resist, it is a village dog. This fact set me thinking, though I did not at first connect the marauder with the Umri whose history 1 knew so well. The evening I arrived [ spent to no purpose over a calf he had cut out from a returning herd. I offered him young bullocks, buffaloes, and goats; he would have none of them, but raided a cow- shed in the village itself at dead of night, dragged his victim a hundred yards off, and half devoured it. Next morning we tried in vain to follow his tracks. While my men were out endeavour- ing to pick up some information I set off for a sharp walk along the road that ran past the camp, skirting the forest line. I had not gone half a mile when my eye was suddenly arrested by tell-tale footprints in the sand of the highway. They were perfectly fresh pad marks of a very large panther, leading across the road from the main torest to a small patch of impenetrable thorn scrub. The right hind foot was slightly turned in, betokening some early, deep-seated injury. Then I remembered the knife-stroke in the dark of the tent, the strange immunity of dogs—due to his youthful training—and realized that my old friend Umri had just passed. As the sun dipped the jungle folk awoke ; the distant belling of sambhar stags mingled with the startled cry of chital, and

Page 36

Wamu = os $ Pea * ligt a REYKALOS / “Umri took him in full flight.” spur-fowl crowed defiant challenge. Umri stirred, stretched himself, and started on the night’s prowl. A peacock, noting him, screamed a warning. In the middle of the highway death struck him, swift and unexpected. A sad finish, but the end of all wild life is sad. His was mercifully quick.

Page 37

An Ashanti stool similar to the famous “ Golden Stool,” the symbol of sovereignty, which mysteriously disappeared and has never been recovered. O most stay-at-home people the Gold Coast is nothing but a vague term They know it is “ some- where in Africa,” and that the climate is supposed to be unhealthy to Europeans —hence its nickname of the *‘ White Man's Grave’’—and there their knowledge ends. It was with the idea of dissipating the prevailing ignorance and giving the general public some understanding of the natural and potential resources of this remarkable region that the cinematograph expedition mentioned above, of which I was chief photographer, was arranged by Messrs. N. A. and V. H. Greville. I think I may fairly Told by B. R. BROOKS CARRINGTON and set down by ELLIOT BAILEY. For many years the Gold Coast, the “ White Man's Grave” of tradition, has possessed am unenviable reputation. Though parts of it are still unhealthy, and certain dangers remain to be faced, it is now a rapidly-improving country, and ere long will be one of the world’s treasure- stores. Mr. Carrington has recently returned from an important cinematograph expedition which went out to film the Gold Coast under the leadership’ of Messrs. N. A. and V. H. Greville (Greville Travel Films, Ltd.), and here describes and illustrates his experiences, giving a vivid picture of the conditions of life in this rich and little-understood region as they exist to-day. claim that it fulfilled its mission. Such, at least, seems to be the opinion of the many hundreds of thousands of people who have seen the film all over the country. It is a wonderful place, this land of West Africa, isolated on three sides by arid deserts, impenetrable forests, and swamps where deadly fevers lurk. On the fourth side the mighty ocean rollers thunder cease- lessly along its low and lonely coast. For all who know it, in spite of its drawbacks, it possesses a mysterious fascination. ‘ It casts a hypnotic spell over the mind; it creeps into the blood. The call is heard in the echoing boom of the surf that beats on its shores; and the waving palm is a

Page 38

beckoning hand that lures one on into the mysterious silences of its forests with an insistence that cannot be resisted.” Almost every European State has from time to time made efforts to colo- nize the country. The Portuguese were the first to recognize its extra- ordinary wealth, and as early as 1482 they occu- pied Elmina and built the castle, which remains to this day. Since that gteat building was erected it has been successively occupied by Dutch, Swedes, Danes, and Germans, and it stands to- day as a monu- ment to their failure to subju- gate the fierce and warlike tribes around. Early in Feb- ruary, 1921, we landed at Sec- condee, where the railway runs down to the coast, and here I busied myself making ac- quaintance with the light, which has in those regions qualities not met with anywhere else in the world, at first rather disconcerting from the photographic point THE “WHITE MAN’S GRAVE.” 3r Elmina Lagoon, once a Portuguese settlement. of view. Eight white men, three lhalf-caste hunters, and forty-four native carriers formed the expe- dition. A few days later we went up by rail to Coomassie, the capital ot the Ashanti country, a distance of a hun- dred and sixty - eight miles from Seccondee, and here we established our head- quarters, Coomassie is a populous town and a great centre of trade. Tradition tells us that it was founded by a great councillor, or witch- doctor, of the Ashanti race named Anotchwi, who, when selecting the spot, planted a kuma tree, prophesying that as the tree flourished, so would the power of their king increase. This tree became the meeting-place, or The famous sacri- ficial tree at Coo- massie, where thousands of people were put to death. council-chamber, and in the native tongue was called Kumase, literally “Under the Kuma Tree.” With the coming of the English this became Coomassie Hardly had we reached Coomassie when I went down with fever, in the course of which an incident occurred which is amusing to look back upon, though I did not quite relish the humour of it at the time. In a semi-delirious state I had

Page 39

32 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. wandered from my bedroom, and on return- ing saw to my horror two great black “‘mammies,” or native women, squatting on the floor doing something with the sheet and bed-clothes. In my distraught state I was certain of one thing only—that I was dead, and that they had come to lay me out ! As a matter of fact, seeing me out of the room, they had merely come in to make the bed ! It was during this illness that I learnt what “ profuse perspiration ’’ meant. It is the solid truth when I say that the moisture from my body not only saturated the bed- clothes, but the mattress also, through which it soaked to make puddles on the floor. The man who nursed me through this bout of fever himself lay dead a month later—the “ White Man’s Grave ” was living up to its name ! Another misfortune overtook me later on, when, after my recovery, I was preceeding up the Offin River, along which are scenes of unparalleled beauty. I fell overboard—fortu- nately in shallow water, so that [ got ashore all right—only to get sunstroke on the bank, which caused me another dangerous illness. However, I got going on my work of photography at last, and one of the first subjects I took was the sacred lake of Bosomtwi. No boat or canoe has ever defiled its waters—it is strictly taboo. Why this is so has long since been forgotten, but to disobey the tradition would be to court the anger of the Ju-Ju, so that, though it abounds in fish, natives may only navigate its surface on logs of wood or a plank; no craft fashioned by hand may venture out. The native belicf is that it is bottomless. It is unmistakably of volcanic origin, and of great depth. Into the still waters of this lake King Prempeh, the iast of the Ashanti kings, is said to have cast the famous Golden Stool, the symbol of Ashanti royal power, to prevent it falling into the hands of the British. Some time ago the discovery of this stool was reported, but the report has since been discounted. If it is not in the lake, fear of the Ju-Ju has hitherto prevented any native divulging the secret of its hiding-place. Once, indeed, a native boy volunteered information to the authorities, who sent out an armed expedition, with the boy, disguised for his own protection, acting as guide, to the place where it was said to be hidden. After a time, however, dread of the magical powers of Ju-Ju took possession of him; he refused to reveal its whereabouts, and the quest had to be abandoned. An illustration to this article depicts a similar stool—except, of course, that it is not made of gold. Another interesting thing that I photo- graphed was the famous sacrificial tree, of which a picture is also reproduced. Coo- massie in former days was the scene of incredibly revolting orgies and human sacri- fices, and the sacrificial tree stands to-day a silent witness to these horrors. On the death of a chief or man of noble rank, hundreds of hapless people were sacrificed at the grave of the departed—' slaves ” in preference to free-born Ashant To bea favoured member of the king’s retinue meant death when the king died. This terrible custom applied particularly to women, of whom it is recorded that thou- sands were slain beneath this tree, the branches of which were bedecked with heads, To-day the human sacrifices are no more, but the tree still stands. It, like the lake, is taboo, and the ground over which its branches spread is sacred, and must not be used for any purpose whatever. In taking our film the Government aided us in every possible way, and therefore we did not experience the difficulties that we might otherwise have done. My own chief worry was snakes, which abound in the country—vipers, pythons, boa-constrictors, and many another, some large, some small, but most of them unpleasant. Often when walking along a path through the bush, so narrow that one had to place one foot before the other, I have heard that stealthy rustling in the undergrowth which betokened the presence of one of these dreaded reptiles. In a singte afternoon we bagged as many as thirty snakes, shooting some and_ killing others with sti On one occasion, I remember, we had a curious experience. The long line of black boys was preceding me down just such a narrow pathway as I have described, when the leader suddenly skipped aside in evident panic. Every boy did likewise when he reached the spot, and all of them were undoubtedly scared. When I got up I found that the cause of their fright was a tiny snake some seven or eight inches long, and no thicker than a piece of wool or string. Yet, from the awe in which the natives held it, I was of the opinion that it was better out of the way, so I ground it to pulp beneath my boot. I have often wondered what it was. The natives gave it a name I have forgotten, but it was one that conveyed nothing to me. Centipedes, scorpions, and tarantulas were also plentiful, and more than once, on turning down the bed-clothes preparatory to getting into bed, I have unearthed a great centipede nine to ten inches long and as thick as two fingers. The thought of such Tepulsive creatures is not conducive to slumber ! Qn one occasion, coming across a scorpion

Page 40

THE in my path, I hit it smartly with my stick. It was badly injured and, apparently despairing of getting away, twisted round and deliberately stung itself in the back of the neck, evidently preferring to “die by its own hand” rather than mine. I felt no compunc- tion about the matter, for they are venomous beasts. After filming Coomassie _ itself, and such objects as the Sacred Tree and Lake, we pushed farther into the interior, south-east to Accra, where the advancing rail- way is slowly eating its way throngh the track- less jungle. How slow and how laborious is this process, and how gigantic the task of the engineers, cannot be imagined until the operations are studied as we studied them. First comes the felling of the forest giants—and they are giants indeed—as a preliminary step to forming a clearing: next the laying of the track, the building of embankments, cuttings, and bridges, everything being done by native labour, and often hopelessly unskilled native Vol. xlix. —3. “WHITE MAN'S GRAVE.” 33 labour at that. Every spadeful of earth, every bucketful of cement, is carried by hand, or rather, on the heads of the natives, whose efforts would seem to be totally inadequate. ret the work progresses, and progresses steadily, and the iron road of the white man inexor- ably pushes into the unknown in- terior, driving the denizens of the jungle before it towards the unat- tained regions of the central con- tinent. They work like —well, “ like nig- gers"’— these blacks of West Africa, completing daily tasks which no European could hope to carry out, and under the General view of a native market-place. direction of British genius and creative skill, they erect marvels of engineering, which to the layman would seem impossible, having regard to the circumstances. Hitherto the great industry of the country, of course, has been gold-mining, and I was able to film some of the most complete gold- mining properties, equipped with up-to-date plant, in all the continent of Africa. Yet, great as these mines are, and rich as are the

Page 41

34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. alluvial reefs from which the Gold Coast will justify its name afresh. The reader will perhaps have noticed that I said “ hitherto” the chief industry has been gold-mining. I use the word advisedly, for re- cently a discovery has been made A mountain of 3. manganese ore. ‘ A native bridge in the forest. The sacred lake of Bosomtwi, on which no boat may float. deposits which have already been taken from which, vast as the gold yield will be when the rivers, it is certain that only the fringe, science and capital combine to exploit it to as it were, of the gold of West Africa has yet _ the full, may yet eclipse it utterly. been touched. Unworked as yet are great 1 refer to the newly-found manganese

Page 42

deposits, the most colossal and richest manganese ore deposits in the world, which were of in- calculable value during the war. Mr. William Bulloch, in describ- ing them, says :— “Gold is but a symbol of wealth; it cannot be beaten into ploughshares, nor fashioned into ships or engines of com- merce. Manganese ore is the sledge-hammer of industry, its uses are dynamic in the shaping THE ‘‘WHITE MAN’S GRAVE.” 35 A native weaver with his primitive loom. miles in extent, and mountains high, of virgin ore. Natives, recruited mostly from the Northern Territories and French Sudan, throng its slopes, wresting with pick , and crowbar great masses ot the pre- cious earth, sending it hurtling down the mountain sides, An empty surf-boat returning to the beach. of the destinies of nations and the world of They swarm like ants on an anthill, and yet the future. their labours will take centuries of time before “ Here, in the heart of the great bush, the great deposits show any appreciable sign there is a tract of country almost thirty of exhaustion. The staggering immensity of

Page 43

36 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. this great new source of wealth is hardly yet known or appreciated. It is stupendous.”’ 1 have already referred to the working powers of the native. Taken altogether, the Ashanti is a fine fellow. He is the result of a medley. of tribes born of a common stock, and having common characteristics. Yet many of these characteristics are conflicting. Thus, some of their customs, practised until comparatively recently, were revolting in their cruelty, and still are where the tide of Western civilization has not yet reached them. On the other hand, they can rise to great heights of nobility. It is well known how, during the last Ashanti war, they allowed the starving British garrison at Coomassie to emerge each evening for water, giving safe conduct to the water-carriers. They have settled down well under British suzerainty, and have honestly carried out their part of the bargain. We got on well with our own carriers, the only trouble being occasional brawls between the Ashantis proper and the Fantis, who are old rivals, but they would always bow to the verdict of a white man to settle the dispute. Apart from their dislike of snakes, they had a distinct aversion to monkeys, especially the large baboon varieties. {[ remember seeing one boy intently watching a group of monkeys chattering to each other in the tree-tops, and went up to him. “Well, boy,” I said, “ you think dem monkey talk, eh?” “* Yes, massa."” “ What are they saying, then ? ” “ Me no savvy, massa.” “Then why don’t you learn his talk ? ” He regarded me with a broad grin. “Monkey too clebber,” he said. ‘' He no Jet white man learn him talk—he know white man make him work if he learn him talk!” A bit of philosophy probably culled from his own experience. The white man had made him work. They are wonderful swimmers and divers, these boys. I myself have seen one dive overboard and bring up an officer’s steel uniform case frem the bottom of a river, the case and contents weighing at least sixty pounds, The religion of the Ashanti is fetishism and ancestor-worship—a jumble of ideas about commanding beings and spirits, Ju-Ju, and gods, a tangle of ‘ musts ” and ** must nots” governing and ordering their every act and every thing. Everywhere in the forest everglades and bushland of the Ashanti there is the brooding mystery of the Ju-Ju witch-doctors and their strange incantations. Believe them or disbelieve them, as you will, one cannot be Jong in the Gold Coast without experiencing in some form or other happenings and occur- rences in everyday things that are beyond the logic of the Western mind—things that tend to shake the general opinion that ridicules such happenings, and would dismiss them with airy incredulity as old wives’ tales. The Ashanti has settled down quite com- fortably under the rule of the white man, and one is quite safe among them—at any rate, so long as they know that other white men are within call. Cut off miles from other whites in the lonely bush, perhaps, one might not be so secure ; the old Adam in the breast of the native might then be too strong for him. Away north, outside British influence, the tribes are wild, and still practise the blood feud. The Coomassie native is more courteous than those on the coast. The latter have come into contact with all sorts and con- ditions of Europeans from passing ships, and are inclined to be aggressive. On one occasion 1 found it necessary to correct one of these coast boys, and showed him my clenched fist as a gentle hint of what he might expect if he did not mend his ways. He looked at me insolently, and replied :— **Me savvy Jack Johnson palaver too!” They very quickly pick up English phrases, and I remember one boy who perpetrated a bull worthy of an Irishman. 1 was trying to find an old cemetery, and, meeting a native, asked him, in the lingo of the country :— ‘Hi, boy, tell me where dem cemetery live.” “* Cemetery ”’ was too much for him. “Me no savvy, massa.”” “You savvy ‘cemetery,’” I replied, ‘* where white man go when him die?” Apparently he did not yet understand, so IT explained further. ** Where white man go when he take long sleep.” His face lit up “I savvy, massa,” he answered, * that place where white man go live when he die!” I managed to get some excellent pictures of cocoa production, the great agricultural staple of the Gold Coast, the climate of which is particularly suited to its cultivation. The total export of cocoa not many years ago hardly amounted to £4 per annum—now it runs into millions. Plantations are con- tinually being extended and new ones put into cultivation, and practically every manu- facturer of chocolate in Europe has _ his representative on the Gold Coast. Many of the native growers are extremely wealthy men. The cocoa, when packed in bags, is carried down to the surf boats by the natives, who will go on carrying their hundred-and-forty- pound loads cheerfully all day. The heavily-

Page 44

THE ‘“ WHITE MAN'S GRAVE.” 37 loaded boat is then paddled through the surf to the steamer waiting three or four miles out in the roadstead. The speed which the natives get out of these unwieldy craft, filled to the gunwale with cocoa, is simply amazing, and they have some thrilling races through the great breaking waves to the ship. The Government has established an agri- cultural college at Aburi, where the natives are being taught the rudiments of agriculture and the cultivation of cocoa, rubber, and so on—an example of Great Britain's genius The logs are made into rafts and sent on their journey downstream, meeting with countless obstacles, snags, and hidden rocks in their course, to some point adjacent to the railway, where they are hauled from the river on primitive and makeshift slipways, and sent by rail down to the coast. Here they have to be pitched into the sea, where the natives, all the while battling with the tremendous surf, form them into rafts once more, which are taken in tow by launches and so out to the ship. The bane of my existence at this time was Canoe-boys on the river. for colonization, which has evidently not yet deserted her. Another most interesting operation I filmed was the felling of the great forest trees, mahogany, African oak, and other hard woods. It was an eerie task to stand in the midst of those mighty woodlands and watch those majestic trees fall to the strokes of the axe. The rivers still form almost the only means of getting this magnificent and valuable timber from the forests. Felling, logging. and handling are still carried on with no other means than native labour and the most primitive native machinery or sawmills. the frequent tornadoes which came sweeping over the land at the rate of three or four a week. To be caught out in the forest by one of these storms was, to put it mildly, a most unpleasant experience. They did not last long, often not more than half an hour, but during that time the wind, lightning, and thunder were truly appalling, and the great trees crashing down all round one were simply terrifying. I was once caught in a clearing where only one of these forest giants had been left standing, and [ felt pretty certain that this would presently be brought to earth. The trouble was that [ had no means of gauging

Page 45

38 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, which way it would fall when it d:d come down. It duly fell—but fortunately not on me. One never knew, either, when one was free from these unwelcome visitors. The wind, which might begin blowing from the east, would suddenly sweep round to the west, and bring the storm right back again. And the rain! It literally comes down in solid sheets. 1 will give an example. I was in a room fifteen feet above the ground during one of these storms, and the spray raised by the rain as it struck the hard ground in almost solid masses came through the window to such etfect that we had to sit indoors in raincoats and with umbrellas. The natives get very expert in forecasting the track of these tornadoes, which in violence transcend anything I have seen elsewhere. Referring back for a moment to the subject of the natives themselves, there is one European custom at which they are already expert—chiefs and carriers alkke—and that is the principle of payment for services rendered ! They were quite ready to be filmed, but thev insisted on being paid for sitting. Their tariff ranged from sixpence to two pounds, according to the sccial status of the sitter, who would sometimes throw in gratuitously a bevy of his * worthless"? womenfolk. It is a fundamental principle with these simpie (?) savages to make the white man pay for everything he wants. Those who had never seen a camera took me, however, for a Government surveyor, and profiting by this misconception, I was able to secure, free of charge, many artless scenes of native lite and character. In Coomassie an Englishman has opened a pioneer cinema with separate sections of the house for Europeans and natives. The Natives’ greatest favourite is Charlie Chaplin ! He sends them crazy with delight. One little word of warning I should like to give here to any who may be thinking of exploring the Ashanti bush, and that is— never quarrel with your cook. If you do, sack him, and sack him quick. Not long ago a party of eleven mining prospectors quarrelled with their cook. They died—all of them—from ground glass placed in their food. This, and the employ- ment of obscure and deadly poisons, is a cheerful native method of getting rid of people with whom they disagree. In the instance given, the cook absconded, and was never caught. From the European sportsman’s point of view, Ashanti is disappointing. The small red bush-cow, leopard, elephant, and bongo, the forest antelope, are, however, hunted by the patient native hunters. Game abounds in the Northern Territories. North of Coomassie the country gets very wild, and one emerges from the forest land into vast tracks of scrub and orchard bush and open grass-land. Altogether the climate of the Gold Coast of to-day is much the same as it was twenty-five years ago, when the pioneers of British occupa- tion braved the humid tropic river-beds, guarded by pestilential swamps, forests where the light ot day never reached, where deadly reptiles lurked, and where malaria and dysentery gripped the traveller in their fierce embrace. Then few returned to the coast alive to bear the tale of lonely, silent graves of white men who lay down to sleep their last fevered sleep, leaving their bones to bleach in the trackless bush. But to-day hfe for the European is no longer fraught with such dangers ; conditions have greatly improved in the coast towns and other centres, where a sanitary system has been established. The water supply has also been seen to, and a better knowledge exists of the deadly diseases which once gave this region its ill-omened name of the * White Man’s Grave.” Yet much is unaltered; the great forests are the same, the limitless bush, the surf that beats and thunders on the palm-fringed shore. Ships of commerce still stand out in the offing, for harbours there are none, and native canocs bring out to them what is but a driblet of the land’s potential wealth, Roads are being made everywhere, and one can now motor from Seccondee to Accra and from Coomassie to Tamale in the far Northern Territories, and on to Gambago on the French Sudan frontier, a distance of six hundred miles from the sea. There are only two short lines of railway in all the land, that from Seccondee to Coomassie, a hundred and sixty odd miles in length, and that of thirty miles between Accra and Tafu—two hundred miles all told. The Coomassie line is being pushed on to Accra. Nevertheless, progress is making slow but sure strides. Ten million pounds are to be spent on harbours, and railways are in course of construction which will link up the interior with the coast. Fresh roads are slowly biting their way through the bush, the mines are being developed, and primitive native huts and kraals are giving place to buildings and towns on European lines. The native himself is rapidly being transformed into a valuable and useful member of the community. In fact, in every direction the country is now rapidly taking its rightful place in that great community of free lands which to-day make up the British Empire.

Page 46

(Birds nae 47.C.CREWS ILLUSTRATED BY WARWICK REYNOLDS On a farm in Southern Ontario lives a man called Jack Miner, who has become known all over America on account of his. interest in wild birds and his almost uncanny success in taming them. For many years naw flocks of wild geese and other migrants: have visited him regularly, and he has spent large sums. of money in feeding and protecting them. Lately the Ontario Government has recognized. the value of his life-work by pro- friends The Author recently visited this remarkable man and describes what he saw and learnt. EARLY half a century ago a sturdy pioneer named Miner left the State of Ohio with his family and took up land in Canada, locating in the western part of the Province of Ontario, near Lake Erie. A stiff proposition lay before the settler, as his farm consisted almost entirely of bush, and the home had to be literally hewn out by the axe. The head of the family was enthusiastically assisted by members of his family, however, and soon a comfortable little log house was erected. One of the boys was a red-headed, freckled-faced, jolly lad of about thirteen, whom everybody called “ Jack,’’ and who was destined later to make the name of “Miner” familiar all over the continent of America. The dense forest around the primitive house, inhabited by all kinds of animals and birds, made a strong appeal to the growing boy, and many of his leisure hours were spent roaming over the country with his gun, seldom returning without his game bag being well filled. In this way he cultivated a love for out-door life, becoming intimately acquainted with the habits of the beaver, the wolf, the moose, the bear, and countless smaller creatures. To-day he is recognized as one of the most experienced hunters in Canada, although he has, for the most part, exchanged the rifle for the camera, and now delights in making friends with all sorts of animals and birds. In course of time Jack came into possession of the property, and continued the clearing process until the farm became known as one of the best in the neighbourhood. As Essex County is very flat and much of the land is low, drainage is very important. Jack Miner recognized this and gave his attention to making tile for field-drains, a business in which he prospered, using original and enter- prising methods and working most indus- triously. The tile-making still goes on, but the owner does not give much personal atten- tion to it, as, in a very remarkable way, his Jack Miner's home in Ontario, showing some of his bird visitors.

Page 47

40 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mind has been di- verted to an occu- pation which gives him an immense amount of enjoy- ment, even though it is absolutely un- remunerative. Miner's extra- ordinary relations with the feathered tribe began several years ago, when a pair of swallows came to his tile shed and made their nests. He protected them from their enemy, the English spar- tow, and made them welcome. The next spring they returned, bringingtwo others with them, and before long there were fifteen pairs of swallows nesting in the tile shed. In 1913 Mr. Miner noticed a couple of purple martins around his home, and it oc- curred to him that they might be en- couraged to remain if comfortable quarters were pro- vided for them. Following a model which he saw in an American maga- zine, he made several bird-houses, and suc- ceeded in interesting the boys of the neigh- bourhood in doing the same thing, being greatly assisted by the school teachers. The birds showed their appreciation of this hos- pitality by coming in great numbers. Upon one occasion no fewer than seven hundred of them were seen perched upon the telephone wires in the vicinity of his farm. What has been the result of the advent of these birds? Flies and other objectionable insects have wonderfully decreased. The robins, too, have been welcomed, and have done fine service in destroying grubs, cut- worms, and so on. The value of these birds to the farmer is illustrated by the fact that in the crop of one dove Mr. Miner found one thousand seven hundred and ninety weed seeds. The quail, especially, is valuable as a weed destroyer. It will not live on wheat, Wild geese at Jack Miner’s farm. Many thousands of hess birds visit consumed eleven hundred but will scratch right down through the wheat to get the seeds of weeds. Shortly after this Jack Miner began to experiment with wild ducks. Several wild ducks’ eggs were placed under a domestic hen, and a nice brood of four hatched, to which the names of “‘ Polly,” ‘‘ Delilah,” “Susan,”’ and “' Helen” were given. They became great pets, and always responded readily when the pan was pounded at meal time. As they were fed close to the pond, quite frequently some of the food was pushed into the water, to the great satisfac- tion of the fishes, which soon learned to come to the shore whenever the rattle of the pan was heard. In the fall of the year the ducks, true to their wild nature, began to show indications of their desire to get away to a warmer clime, and Mr. Miner, being desirous of finding out

Page 48

THE FRIEND OF THE BIRDS. 41 Mr. Miner every year, and last spring they busbels of corn. whether they would return in the spring, fastened a piece of aluminium around the leg of each bird, containing a message asking that a communication be sent to Box 48, Kingsville, Ontario. About a week after the ducks left for the south Helen was shot in Tennessee. On March roth of the next year Polly came back. Delilah put in an appearance on March 18th, and Susan returned on March 30th, wounded in the wing. That fall they migrated again, and Susan was shot while on the journey ; but Polly and Delilah remembered old associations, and in the following spring found their way to the old home, and so tame were they that they ate out of Jack Miner’s hand. In the autumn of 1915 fifty fine black and grey mallards were corralled. Each little prisoner was caught, labelled, and a message attached toitsleg. Then they were liberated. After a few quacks, bows, and nods to each other they all took wing and made straight for Lake Erie. The bands which were placed on the legs of the ducks were one thirty-second of an inch thick, five-eighths of an inch wide, and two inches Iong. On one side of each band was stencilled the following : ‘ Write Box 48, Kingsville, Ont.” A week or two later word was received that one bird had been shot in West Virginia and another in Southern Missouri. Several years ago Mr. Miner bought seven geese and placed them in the pond near his house. For four seasons these, and others like them, might have been seen swimming about. One day in the spring the “‘ honk” of a flock of wild geese was heard, and the birds cautiously drew near. Whether they received any invitation from the tame geese or not can scarcely be determined; but at any rate eleven of the visitors alighted and proceeded to make themselves very much at home. When the month of May came they rose high in the air and said good-bye,” going straight north. They evidently enjoyed their stay at the hospitable Canadian home, for the next spring they came again, bringing so many others with them that on one day three hundred and fifty were counted swimming around the pond. It is difficult to.say how Many come and go during the season, but there must be several thousands. The geese usually leave their southern home early in March and stay with Mr. Miner until the first of May, when they ‘*honk ” their good-bye and fly away to the north for the summer. How far north they go is evidenced by the fact that one which had been tagged was shot by an Indian near James Bay. Through the kindness of a Hudson Bay Company official the tag was returned to Kingsville. When the chill days and cold nights begin to indicate the coming of winter, a remarkable instinct impels the geese to turn their faces southward, and then they come in great flocks, but invariably pay Mr. Miner a visit, stopping with him a few days, flying about his house, and swimming with great delight in the ponds. Their host walks among them, talks to them, feeds them, and so successfully impresses them with the fact that he is their friend that not the slightest fear is evinced by the birds. The entertainment of his feathered friends costs Jack Miner a considerahle sum, as they are usually very hungry when they arrive at his home. Last spring he fed eleven hundred bushels of corn to the wild geese ! Interested friends have helped in this work, and recently the Government has made a

Page 49

42 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. grant that has proved to be a very welcome addition to Miner's resources. Happening to be in the little town of Kingsville, about three miles from Lake Erie, in Southern Ontario, a friend said to me one evening :— “How would you like to drive out and spend an hour or two with Jack Miner ?”’ Soon we were motoring over a smooth country road in the direction of Miner's home. This proved to be a plain house, painted white, surrounded by two large ponds, and adorned with rather attractive poles surmounted by artistic-looking bird- houses. “ Jack,’” as he likes to be called, seemed highly pleased that we had come to see him, and gave us a royal welcome, showing us over the place, and telling us many interesting things about the birds and animals that he loves so much. The natur- alist is about fifty odd years of age, tall, gaunt, grizzled, and tanned by exposure. Keen of eye, and with a kindly smile, he “David and Jonathan,” the two inseparables. seems just like a big boy, full, of spirits, humorous and enthusiastic, constantly saying bright and original things. A large part of his time nowadays is spent in giving lectures all over the country on his experiences with birds and animals. Wher- ever he speaks crowded audiences are the rule. “Which do you regard as the most interesting bird you have had to do with ?"’ was one of my first questions. “ The wild goose, by all means,” was the instant answer, ‘‘It is the most faithful, self-sacrificing, and affectionate creature I have ever known. Let me give you an illustration or two, Jack Miner, the “Friend of the Birds.” ‘*One year, when the time came for the usual migration, a big gander could not leave, owing to the fact that his wing had been broken, His brother remained with him and did all that he could to induce the wounded bird to fly. When the Good Samaritan found that it was a hopeless case he voluntarily gave up his own liberty and remained in exile, so that his brother might not be without companionship. These two ganders are together yet, and they have been christened ‘ David and Jonathan.’ “A gander named ‘ Jack Johnson’ showed unusual intelligence and bravery. He and his wife decided to start housekeeping, and began with six eggs in the nest. While Mrs. Johnson was looking after these eggs, her liege lord remained on guard, and made things decidedly interesting for dny intruder who came near the nest. A horse, which strayed close to Mr: Johnson’s home, was attacked so vigorously that he made the best time of his life in beating a retreat. “One day I discovered that Mrs. Johnson was not well, and brought her into the cow stable to be cared for. Jack showed his sympathy by keeping watch outside the stable door with the great- est fidelity. During a tem- porary absence his mate died, and. was buried. Upon returning Jack. showed evi- dence of the greatest grief at her loss, and vented his spleen upon the cow, which he attacked at every oppor- tunity, thinking that she was in some way respon- sible for the death of his spouse. He continued to frequent the neighbour- hood, and even two years after might have been seen disconsolately standing be- fore the door of the cow stable, still mourning for his departed companion.” “ How do your domestic fowl get along with the wild birds ?’’ I ventured to ask. “Why, it is wonderful how well they agree. There is scarcely any quarrelling. I have hatched quail and they soon became so do- mesticated that they would follow me all around the yard, and go to the hen- house with the hens. “‘ During one season half- a-dozen goose eggs were placed under a domestic hen and several sturdy

Page 50

young geese were hatched. The hen was very devoted to her strange offspring, and remained with them all summer. months they were bigger than she was, but they never lost their affection for their foster mother. She would stay down at the pond with them all day long, and they protected her THE FRIEND OF THE BIRDS 43 “A horse was at- tacked so vigor- ously that he made the best time of his life in beating a retreat.” In six from assault by any of the other birds or animals.”’ ** It seems strange that so many wild birds can remain in a thickly settled community for weeks without being exte Tminated. How is this prevented, Mr. Miner ? ‘ For the first few years,” said he, “’ there was a little slaughter. Boys and thoughtless men would do some shooting, but the people of the neighbourhood are so thoroughly in sympathy with what I am trying to do that not a wild goose has been shot for several years. Recently the Ontario Government has declared my farm a bird sanctuary, and it is now regarded as a crime to destroy any of the birds Jack Miner is also known as the friend of the boys, who greatly admire him ; his manly strength and kindliness of heart appeal to them To encourage good, clean sport, Mr. Miner has set apart about five acres of the best land of his farm as a baseball ground, to be used by the young men and boys of the neigh- bourhood so long as they conduct themselves properly, and has also built a club-house for them The striking thing about Miner’s work is the fact that it is absolutely untouched by commercialism. He seems to be a natural philanthropist, and it does not trouble him in the slightest that he is sacrificing about a thousand dollars a year just to make birds and boys happy. Not long ago he refused a very large sum of money for his farm, because it would mean the breaking-up of his beloved bird sanctuary, to which he has given so much of his life.

Page 51

My JIU-dSITSU COMBAT S An article which will be read with more than ordinary interest. Capt. McLaglen is not only a famous exponent of the science of jiu-jitsu, being the author of an important work on the subject, but is also the unde- feated jiu-jitsu champion of the world. In this narrative he describes how he won his title by beating Japanese champions who were as invincible in their own special sport. Capt. McLaglen has trained police and soldiers all over the Empire in this wonderful art of self-defence, and is also the inventor of the system of bayonet- fighting now in use in the British Army. S a boy I was always interested in A physical development, and took a keen delight in all forms of athletics. I was tall for my age —I now stand six feet six inches in my socks —well proportioned, and strong. Thus, when a Japanese wrestler made his appearance in Europe and was defeating the Western champions of this ancient sport, I longed to see him. At last he came to London and my brother and I went to see him at the music-hall where he was giving exhibitions. To my surprise, I found a typical Jap, standing not much above five feet in height, broad across the chest, but otherwise slim of build, and certainly minus the appearance of a highly-trained athlete. Surely, | thought, our wrestlers, who were big, heavy men, but quick of movement, could easily overcome such an opponent. But I was soon to learn that a knowledge of the science of jiu-jitsu made the smaller and physically weaker man more than a match for any Western athlete. There had been a great deal of talk about the wrestler from the Land of the Rising Sun and the extraordinary methods he employed to defeat his opponents. At that time the science of jiu-jitsu was virtually unknown outside the Orient. Whereas, in the Western system of wrestling you defeat your opponent by forcing both his shoulders down upon the mat, the Japanese obtain the victory by certain locks and grips which are so painful as to make it necessary for the adversary to Cz aptain S: L: MeLagler epee set down 5 yy P Vik oh Shepstone signal defeat by tapping the mat three times with his hand or foot. I stared in amazement, trying in my own mind to fathom the secret as I watched the various combats. I failed to understand how such a smal! man could, apparently with ease, toss to one side an opponent twice his strength and weight. But he did it several times. I noticed that certain locks of the arm or leg always resulted in the Jap over- powering his opponent. I watched these holds very carefully and made a mental note of them. My brother, who was tall and athletic like myself, was more than interested in the exhibition, and late that night we practised some of the holds in our bedroom, to the detriment of the furniture and the annoyance of our mother. We certainly mastered a few of the holds, and some days later mentioned the matter to a gymnasium instructor whom we knew. He told us of others, and explained more fully what jiu-jitsu was. He told me how, with a knowledge of anatomy, it was possible by the Japanese system of physical training to render a man incapable by locking certain of the bones, or by bringing pressure to bear upon certain blood vessels or nerves. In the same way, quick blows by the leg upon an opponent’s body would result in his losing his equilibrium. Later, so-called text-books on jiu-jitsu made their appearance, which I devoured eagerly. I fear, however, they taught me very little, for by this time I had made myself acquainted with every bone, muscle, nerve, and blood vessel in the human body. In fact I had become an enthusiast in the new art. Shortly afterwards, in 1906, Learning I went to Canada, where I the fell in with a Japanese pro- Secrets. fessor. To my delight I found he was an exponent of the new science, and he offered to teach me

Page 52

wrestling. He certainly found me a willing pupil. He expressed his pleasure at the rapidity with which I mastered any new lock, and it was not long before I could easily defeat him. He introduced me to several of his fellow-countrymen, and we had many a friendly bout. About a year later I found myself in New Westminster, British Columbia. At that time there were several thousand Japanese residing there, engaged in the canning factories They had a gymnasium of their own, their favourite sport being wrestling, and it was not long before I was a spectator at these gatherings. For the most part the exhibi- tions were poor, and one day, as I began to know the Japanese better, I did not hesitate to say so. “You very big, and strong,” smiled my Jap- anese friend, blandly. * But strength no good. You be defeated.” Thereupon I challenged any of the wrestlers pre- sent, and it was not long before the arena was cleared and I stood garbed in the regulation canvas jacket and loose knickers, facing my opponent, a_ sturdy little son of Nippon. He was all over the place, and as slippery as an eel. I quickly tumbled to his tac- tics—his desire to secure a certain hold from which he knew I could not extricate myself. But I was not anxious to give him the opening he sought. We parried one another’s grips for some few minutes, when I got a certain leg-hold and knew I had my man. All his efforts to free himself proved futile, and he soon realized that the more he struggled the more he was working against himeelf. He began to breathe heavily and, recognizing that the game was up, gave the signal of defeat by striking the mat three times with his hand. The Japanese then crowded round me and inquired how I had mastered the science, and I told them. They told me how they had occasionally thrown burly lumbermen, often to the latter’s surprise and disgust. But the Japanese were anxious to get their own back, Capt. S. L. McLaglen. MY JIU-JITSU COMBATS. 45 and asked me if I would wrestle with one of their number who was regarded as the champion of the town, to which I readily consented. The match came off a week later, and again I proved the victor. The local newspaper reported the contest, and it was their representative who suggested that I should meet Prof. Kanada, the Japanese champion, who was then in Van- couver. Believing that my agility and quickness of eye, coupled with the knowledge of the science I had already gained, gave me at least a sporting chance, I consented to do so. The Japanese were delighted, as they felt sure that their champion would quickly dispose of the foreigner. I went to Van- couver and opened up nego- tiations with Prof. Kanada. He stood five feet ten inches in height, possessed very broad shoulders, and was heavily built. He was, in fact, the biggest Japanese in British Columbia. At last the articles were signed, the conditions being that the purse, a thousand dollars, should go to the winner, who would become Jiu-jitsu Champion of the World. It was further agreed that the contest should take place in New Westminster. Recognizing that it would be no child's play, more particularly if I desired to win, I at once went into training. I thought it would be an easy matter to get a Japanese or two to practise wrestling with me. But no offer, however big, would tempt them. Fortunately my brother Victor, who was tall and athletic, was with me, so I had to be content to polish up my wrestling with him. We took a bun- galow on the outskirts of Vancouver, close to the national park. Now you cannot practise wrestling in a bungalow. There was no option but to train in the open. There was plenty of space in the park, so to the park we went every day. The distance round the park was ten miles, and every morning, after a swim, I used to run round it. Then we began the more serious work of practising the locks, grips, and trips, and the strengthening of the

Page 53

46 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. neck and certain other important muscles. The Japanese soon learned of our rendezvous, and it was amusing to suddenly discover a pair of almond-shaped eyes watching us from behind a distant tree. I afterwards learnt that they were spies in the pay of the Japanese champion, sent to note our move- ments and report what we were doing. Prof. Kanada was meanwhile knocking himself into shape in the Japanese gym- nasium in Vancouver. At last the day of the combat, October 3rd, 1907, arrived, and I found u.yself the centre of much comment in New Westminster. It was arranged for the match to take place in the open, opposite the grand stand in the fair grounds. The ring, which was twenty-four feet in diameter, consisted of a wooden floor, covered with a slight padding of canvas. Mr. Kawsaki, a well-known Japanese mer- chant of Vancouver, acted as the Japanese champion’s representative, and Police In- spector Armstrong was unanimously chosen as referee. He was an all-round sportsman and knew. the Japanese and their ways. We both wore the regulation jiu-jitsu canvas jacket of thick texture, with short sleeves, short loose knickers, and sash. Our feet were bare. The grand stand was crowded, there being some fifteen thousand people present, including about five thousand Japanese. There were two Japanese judges, who, like the rest of their countrymen, looked very serious, it being impossible to tell their emotions from their sphinx-like faces. After my training I was feeling as fit as a fiddle, but when I stepped into the ring and squatted down on my haunches, like the Japanese champion facing me, and saw the great crowd looking on, I realized that I had undertaken no easy task. But I was de- termined to put up a good fight and believed that with luck I should pull through. After the preliminaries were over the referee jumped into the ring and clapped his hands, the signal for the bout to begin. Like a flash of lightning the Jap bounded across the arena towards me. It was a move I had anticipated, and instead of securing the grip he expected he was brought up with a jolt. I made a dart and nearly succeeded in obtaining a leg-hold, but my opponent was too quick. We parried one another’s grips for some time, often standing for seconds together facing one another, with slightly bent backs, hands ready, waiting for an opening. We came together again, and by a quick movement my opponent got me and tossed me clean over his head. While in the air 1 caught him, quite acci- dentally, with my foot, and we both came down on the mat together. I landed on my face, which was rather badly cut. To the onlookers it appeared as if the champion was having it all his own way, and. his countrymen did not forget to cheer him. But the sudden onrush at the opening of the match had taught me to adopt a defensive attitude. We wrestled for some. time, each en- deavouring to secure a strangle-hold, swaying this way and that, and making darting movements with arms and legs, but all to no purpose. If I secured a hold it was im- mediately counteracted before 1 could apply the necessary pressure to make it effective. At last the Japanese got a hold on my back, and it was only by exerting all my strength and skill that I managed to extricate myself from the grip. As we broke free I saw an opening and, springing forward, gripped my opponent and threw him over my shoulder. He landed, but brought me down on top of kim. As I turned the scale at fourteen and a half stone against his thirteen I proved no light weight. The champion’s nose struck the mat and bled profusely. What with perspiration and the blood our hands became so slippery that it was diffi- cult for either of us to get a successful hold. So we aimed at one another's jackets, which is quite permissible, and which are made strong and heavy for that purpose. Once again the Jap threw me, and as luck would have it my shoulder was _ badly wrenched. At first I thought I was a beaten man, but as the pain wore off I decided to hang on, determined more than ever now to go after my man and get him. To my surprise the champion showed not the least sign of distress or fatigue. If anything, he seemed quicker and stronger than ever.. The expression on his face never altered; it remained absolutely blank. This fact seemed to unnerve me, because I was aware that I had from time to time caused him intense pain through certain holds I had secured, though he had proved his ability to shake them off. Being now on the offensive I gave my opponent no rest, but it was some minutes before I got a grip which finaily gave me an arm-lock and I thought I had the Jap at my mercy. I applied pressure sufficient to break an ordinary man’s limb, and it cer- tainly had the effect of dislocating the bone from the socket. At that moment the champion, with a mighty effort, threw his leg over my neck. He knew where to strike me, despite the pain he was in, and it had the effect of instantly bringing me heavily to the ground. My head struck the mat much harder than I liked. Once more the Jap was free, and once more I sought an opening for a strangle-hold. The champion was particularly clever in working on the various nerve centres of my body. Over A Stern Struggle.

Page 54

JITSU COMBATS. 47 “By a quick movement my opponent tossed me clean over his head.” and over again he forced me to release my By a lucky move I got the Japanese on hold through the painful effects of these his face in a ve awkward position and pressures. was enabled to get a little rest. At that

Page 55

48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. moment, for the first time since the contest began, I got a glimpse of the audience, whose faces were tense with excitement. At the back of the ring I also caught a glimpse of my brother, who was looking pale and anxious. He gesticulated to me, but at that instant the champion, exercising all his strength, threw me heavily from his body and was upon his feet again. Cheers and yells from the Japanese spectators followed this manceuvre. It was a wearying and terrible time for me, and it certainly looked as if the contest would only be brought to an end by one of us being disabled through a broken limb. During a particularly fierce struggle I managed to throw my opponent heavily by exerting my whole weight. The fall knocked all the wind out of him. Quickly following up the advantage I seized his arm and by a herculean effort placed an arm-lock upon him. Although it was a deadly lock he was far too game to give the signal of defeat, but was at length prevailed upon to do so by his seconds. It was either that or a broken arm. Hardly had we separated when Inspector Armstrong jumped up and announced me the winner of the first bout. There I stood, cheered loudly by the Britishers present, but really too dazed for the moment to realize all that had happened. According to the rules of the game you must defeat your opponent twice, the winner being the one who secures the first two victories. My brother grabbed me and hurried me away to my corner to prepare me for the second bout. But before I was ready, however, we received word that the professor had announced his intention of retiring. There was no option then but for the referee to step into the ring and announce the pleasure it gave him to declare a fellow- countryman not only the winner, but the first European Jiu-jitsu Champion of the World. The Japanese judges came forward and congratulated me. The contest had lasted just over thirty minutes, and was certainly the most strenuous I had par- ticipated in up to that time. I was told after- wards, though I cannot vouch for it, that Prof. Kanada, as a result of the combat, was for some time under medical treatment. From Vancouver I went to San Francisco, but quickly discovered that my fame as a jiu-jitsu athlete had preceded me. I sup- pose it was my elation at defeating the Japanese champion that led me to accept a challenge from a well-known Japanese mer- chant that I should meet the two Japanese wrestlers, M. Tani and T. Hirai, one after the other, on the same evening. The contest took place at the Dreamland Rink, in December of 1907. Billy Jordan, a famous Western referee, informed. the spectatars that no rules governed the contest, and that ‘‘each man would take care of himself, the only things barred being nitro-glycerine and dynamite."" The Japanese plan was for the first man to tire me out, and the second, being fresh, to bring about a defeat. But the whole affair lasted less than twenty-five minutes. Hirai was the first to enter the ring. I could see he wanted to play with me and so wear me down. So I went after him, and it was not long before I secured a strangle-hold and he retired slightly injured. Tani started to put up a good defence, but I soon overpowered him. Like all Japanese wrestlers I have met he was very game, and it was only after he had badly strained his neck that he retired. In February, 1908, I met a much heavier opponent in Henry de Raymond, who weighed twenty-five stone, exceeding my own weight at that time by about nine stone. Not only was De Raymond a big fellow, but well proportioned, and no mean athlete. He had given a great deal of attention and thought to the science of jiu-jitsu and had met and defeated several Japanese wrestlers, though none of them were recognized as champions. He boasted that not only did he know all the locks and grips which jiu- jitsu teaches, but had discovered a number of his own. We had hardly started when I discovered I was up against a dangerous opponent, as quick as lightning and as strong as an ox. In the opening of the struggle he nearly broke my neck. We were loosening our- selves from a mix-up when his arm shot out and encircled my neck. In my efforts to shake him off he fell. In doing so he tripped my legs from under me. I, too, went down, but in such a way that my opponent struck my neck with the full weight of his body, and throwing out his arms secured such a grip that I was forced for some time to remain in that position with an ever-increasing pres- sure upon the nerves of my neck. I thought once or twice that my neck would snap, and breathing became difficult. At last, however, exerting all the strength I could command, I managed to interlock my leg across my opponent’s neck, and this at once had the effect of relieving the pressure on my own neck. Then, gradually, by the great lever- age which I was enabied to bring into play, De Raymond was forced to release his grip. Thus we struggled for some time, each in turn getting important holds, only to be counteracted by the cleverness and quickness of the other. But De Raymond was very game, and I am sorry to say that he refused to admit defeat until he had a broken arm and a badly wrenched shoulder. I was very glad when the contest was over, for De Raymond was undoubtedly a clever and formidable exponent of the science,

Page 56

Somewhat later, in Sacra- mento, I found two more Japanese challengers, in Shima and Yamanaka. The former was unable to fulfil his engagement and his place was taken by Bob Linton. Both put up an excellent show. Yamanaka, whom the American Press described as “chivalrous as his opponent,” was only defeated after a combat that aroused the utmost excitement among the spectators. This match had the effect of completely changing the convictions of many who had been previously opposed to this form of sport. My next opponent, Fukamauchi, who was well backed and certainly determined, was defeated in the presence of a Japanesc referee in twenty-seven minutes. Towards the end of the second bout I fell backward upon him, and he quitted with a dislocated thumb. Some time later Lee Blve, negro champion boxer of Kansas City, was my opponent in a novel contest. He sought to demonstrate that an expert boxer can beat a jiu-jitsu champion. I must confess that I felt some- what awkward in this bout, as it was the first of the kind I had ever taken part in. The conditions were that we should fight or wrestle, as the case might be, for three minutes, when came the usual rest. The boxer wore light gloves in order to fulfil the police regulations. The first essential in such a contest as this is to guard against a knock-out blow from the boxer. That, I believe, should not prove difficult to a trained jiu-jitsu athlete; his quickness should carry him out of danger. But he is certainly liable to get nasty punches when first coming to grips with his man. His nimbleness, however, ought to result in counteracting any bad effects. It is surprising what can be done in warding off a blow, even at close quarters, and also in making it fall just where you want it to and where it will do little harm. Hardly had the gong sounded when the negro tried to rush matters. Over and over again he came after me, but I not only dodged him, but, shooting out my leg, struck his body in the desired place, which had the effect of upsetting his equilibrium and bringing him to the mat. Quite two minutes out of the three of the first round my opponent spent sprawled upon the mat. At the end of the round I had him by a hold from which I knew he could not escape, and which, in an ordinary wrestling contest, would have given me the victory. Just then, however, the gong sounded, and I was forced to release my grip. With the excep- tion of a few harmless blows on the body the boxer had not touched me, and I retired to Vol. xlix.—4, More Victories, MY JIU-JITSU COMBATS. 49 my corner almost as fresh as when [ entered the ring, whereas the negro was plainly in distress. In the second round I got a nasty punch on the jaw which well-nigh dazed me, so I therefore got in close to my opponent, knowing that he could not harm me much if I kept at close cuarters. When I felt somewhat recovered from the blow on my face, I started. Getting a certain grip, I exerted all my strength and threw the negro clean over my head. He landed on his feet and rushed towards me, intending to deliver a knock-out. Quickly slipping to one side, I struck out with my right leg and brought him down on the mat. Almost before he had time to recover I got another grip, and again tossed him over my head. The negro now looked very distressed. If the gong had not sounded | should have had him at my mercy. In the third round, recognising more than ever that only a ‘knock-out blow would give him the victory, the negro came for me like a whirlwind. But I was ready, and his tactics only brought him heavily to the mat. Before he could rise I was upon him and almost succeeded in securing a strangle-hold, but as he was naked to the waist and his body slippery with perspiration it was difficult to get the gmp I wanted. Had he been wearing the regulation Japanese jacket he would have been unable to escape me. We dodged one another round the ring until I again brought my opponent down. Like a flash I was upon him and this time secured a hold from which I knew he could not escape. As I applied pressure he writhed, and then, raising his hand, waved it towards the referee. That official stepped forward and began counting, but long before the ten seconds had expired the negro declared himself beaten. I released my hold, and, getting up slowly, he went limping to his corner. The newspapers desired me to meet Jack Johnson in a similar contest, as to the result of which I had no doubt, but the fixture could not be arranged. I believe that a boxer is so handicapped by a lack of know- ledge of jiu-jitsu that the master of the latter, regardless of weight, should always win. No matter how hard and furiously a boxer hits out, a highly-trained jiu-jitsu expert should prove his master. The boxer would be liable to have his arms quickly seized and dislocated before he knew what had happened. The real expert in jiu-jitsu can, with a single swift blow, with the edge of his hand, break a man’s spine or dislocate his wrist or ankles —in fact, kill him with the most perfect ease. I am convinced that even the redoubtable Georges Carpentier would prove no equal to a really highly-trained jiu-jitsu athlete. The Boxer and Jiu-jitsu.

Page 57

50 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. My next opponent, Yamagata—who, I believe, had been brought over by President Roosevelt to train the cadets at West Point —held the ‘' seventh degree "’ of the celebrated Kodokan School at Tokio. The purse of a thousand dollars (a small stake for the present day) went entirely to the winner, as is general in jiu-jitsu contests. The ordeal was terrific. Yamagata'’s limbs were like rubber. Twisted wrists and bone-locks he squirmed from, to my utter surprise and consternation, and 1 have never been so nervous in any contest before or since. The first bout lasted twenty-six minutes and found me a victor when I was nearly un- conscious. The Japanese came to the second bout a few minutes later, with his left arm hanging at his side, and hobbling on one leg. The Minneapolis Tribune, of April 13th, 1908, declared that this second bout rendered the previous one child’s play. ‘‘ He was gradually weakening,” it continues, “‘ and McLaglen then made for the nerves on his neck. Almost instantly the Japanese fell back on the mat dazed, but the referee got no further than ‘ one,’ when Yamagata was on his feet and after his opponent like a tiger. McLaglen tried the nerve stunt again, and a second time the Japanese took a short count. A third time found him almost unconscious, though still game ; but he came back to the grapple, only to have his arm pinned in the deadly lock that forced him to tap his defeat. He was roundly cheered.” I will record, without description, that in other and successive fights, 1 defeated Watanalu, Rondo, Professor Tanaka, Ed. Conley, Professor Shimera, Rice of Pittsburg, Tini-Kora of Tokio, and Konder Kanara, before I met James Biel, the jiu-jitsu champion of America, for the championship of the world, at Johannesburg, in June, 1912. So that the reader may derive some portion of the thrill of the contest, I quote the Sunday Times, of July ist, 1912: “ The meeting was a struggle of giants. McLaglen is six feet six inches, and Biel is six feet two inches, and very broad across the shoulders. McLaglen seemed to be in trouble for the first two minutes of the bout. Biel pushed the champion’s chin back on to the mat, and it seemed likely that he would signal defeat at any moment, It looked a good thing for Biel, but the public could not see the cruel little hand-locks by which McLaglen pre- vented his hefty opponent from gaining his advantage. McLaglen was the ‘ bottom- dog’ in the game. Suddenly he threw himself over and drew his opponent's left arm through his legs. Biel had no hope McLaglen could have broken his arm in a moment, and the three taps on the mat signalled the end of the first bout. Biel staggered off the stage, badly shaken, but full of pluck. He had been thrown after four minutes and forty-four seconds, and he was a little bit the worse for wear.” The end of it was that I won, somewhat more easily than I had expected. In January, 1913, I fought a somewhat novel contest upon carpets worth about five hundred pounds apiece. The combat took place in the Durbar Hall at Calcutta, a place of a strange historic interest, where Warren Hastings and Francis & Charnock could little have anticipated an Englishman winning in a contest, wherein all previous skill had been so pre-eminently Asiatic. A still more novel feature was that I fought two Japanese at once. The Calcutta Statesman, of January 26th, 1913, records that once Yamasaki and Toda had me down, but “ by an inexplicable shuffle McLaglen cleared himself.” Later, ‘ for a moment it looked as if McLaglen was on the verge of being strangled. Recovering, however, with a mighty effort, he exerted all his strength and in the struggle freed himself and threw both opponents clean off the stage,”’ and after disabling Toda dealt with Yamasaki, and was declared the winner. ‘‘ A more interesting or instructive exhibition of any form of self-defence,’ says the Statesman, “had never been seen in Cal- cutta.” I had a very busy year in Training 1913, training both troops Soldiers and police in this ancient and Police. Japanese art of self-defence. Every policeman and every soldier, by the way, should be made ac- quainted with this system. Whena Japanese policeman of to-day has any trouble in arresting an unruly ruffian, he first strikes him on the elbow. He knows precisely where the ‘ funny-bone ” is located, with the result that the blow causes a temporary paralysis of the prisoner's arm. It is then simple for the officer to employ another of the secrets, and, before the law-breaker has time to recover, to seize hin: in such a fashion that he has either to follow passively or ‘for a certainty have his arm broken. soldier who knows something «of jiu-jitsu is a far more formidable opponent than his brother who does not possess that knowledge. That was first demonstrated by an exltbition my pupils gave at the Jubilee Hall, at Rangoon, in Burma, in the presence of Colonel Tizard and the famous Munster Fusiliers, who were stationed there at that time. There was a bayonet contest, one combatant being versed in the art of jiu- jitsu, while his companion, though an expert with the weapon, was ignorant of the science. I cannot do better than quote the Rangoon Times, of August 18th, 1912, regarding this display. ‘‘ The contestants were Corporal

Page 58

JIU-JITSU COMB: “In the third round the negro came for me like a whirlwind.” Bowker and Private Long, the former using to his opponent’s one.’’ The value of the jiu-jitsu methods. The result proved an bayonet can be increased six-fold in the easy win for Bowker, who gained six points hands of a soldier who knows jiu-jitsu,

Page 59

52 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Military experts have now admitted such to be the case, and men were trained in this new system of bayonet-fighting in the late war. I may add that I had the honour of training in bayonet work the men who took part in the famous Zeebrugge raid. While in the Far East I trained Cingalese, Burmese, Malays, Sikhs, Pathans, and Chinese, all connected with official police forces. Of these, the Sikhs were undoubtedly my best pupils; intelligent, keen, and observant. The Cingalese lacked energy; the Burmese _ physique. The Malays resembled the Japanese, sturdy and powerful. On one occasion I had need to demonstrate the science of nerve pressure, for the purpose of producing unconsciousness. I called for a volunteer, and a sturdy young Malay stepped forward. Ina few seconds he was motionless on the ground. I looked round to explain to my audience, and found they had fled. Superstition was, for the moment, too strong for them. *® This brings me to mention what to those unacquainted with the science of jiu-jitsu will regard as an astounding statement, namely, the possibility of restoring to life a person whose heart has actually stopped beating. I refer to what the Japanese call “Katsu resuscitation,” or the restoring of the dead. Authentic records prove that this method of resuscitation was known among the Japanese as far back as two hundred years B.c. There are in jiu-jitsu forty- The two principal holds or tricks. Death-grips. Although a professor could teach anyone the whole of these tricks in three hours, it would take an enthusiast two or three years to become proficient in them. Then there are a dozen or two death-producing grips and blows, some of which we know, while others we can only guess, as the Japanese are very reticent about them, which is perhaps only natural. Some of these death-blows are delivered on the spine, others on the head, and two on the face. When the victim of one of these deadly touches does not regain consciousness‘in a short time, and the heart’s action and the breathing reach such a low point that death May ensue, it is then time to resort to the secret science of Katsu. This is applied on certain nerve centres, and by pressure stimulates these nerves and causes a reaction of the heart. The nerves affected are those of the pectoral arch, where the thinness of the tissues and other matter leaves the nerve most exposed. Two other centres which are affected simultaneously are the pneu- mogastric centre and the auditory nerves of the brain, Over and over again, often after the heart’s action has actually stopped, this system of resuscitation has proved effective. It is my humble belief that a person is not actually dead until decomposition sets in. Right up til! that moment it should prove possible to restart the heart’s action, provided the operator has a thorough knowledge of anatomy, knows the science of jiu-jitsu, and something of this wonderful system of resuscitation. Thousands of men died in the war though they were not shot in a vital part of the body. They succumbed to nerve shock. If anyone had been on hand who knew something of this system of resuscita- tion many lives could have been restored. It is obvious that here is a science which should prove invaluable to the medical profession, and I believe the time will come when all surgeons and doctors will recognise the enormous advantage a knowledge of this method of resuscitation would give them. hy =m ne fo 2 Re.

Page 60

A TREASURE- HUNT IN THE LAND OF THIRST ze 7 fred CQrnell OBE. FRGS....... SAuthor of “ The Glamour of Prospecting,” etc., etc ) An enthralling description of an exciting trip into the practically unknown region to the north of Cape Colony, sometimes called the “ Mysterious Richtersveld.” Here, amid a range of unnamed mountains, uninhabited save by wild beasts and a few wandering natives, there is believed to exist a veritable treasure-house of Nature—diamonds, gold, copper, and many other valuable minerals. Mr. Cornell, @ veteran prospector, went into this arid country to investigate some of the legends concerning it, and here relates his experiences. By a pathetic coincidence, after risking his life time and again in the wild places of the earth, the Author was killed by a motor-omnibus in London within an hour after delivering his manuscript at our offices. Ill. REFERENCE to a rough chart of the district showed that the ‘ Tatas Berg” which Klaas referred to was at the extreme east of the big semicircle encompassed by the Orange, and it ap- peared to be entirely out of any possible route that Preuss, the discoverer ot the ‘‘copper mountain,” could have taken in breaking through the mountains; but Klaas was confident of his ability to take us to the very spot. More- over, our own eyes had proved that we were in a rich copper country, and as he soon showed that he was familiar with it our hopes went up again with a bound. We even argued that the incident that led take us to it in the to our desperate jour- morning. We spent half ney to the river, and The Orange at Tatas Berg. the night discussing the loss of two horses and a lot of our gear, might have been a blessing in disguise! We therefore made but a short stay by the river, pleasant though the banks were, with fine trees, green grass, birds singing, and the murmur of the dis- tant rapids forming a sort of Paradise com- pared to the Inferno in which we had been wandering and into which our search was now to lead us again. For we found the Tatas Berg even more difficult to traverse, and quite as waterless as the peaks we had already explored. At the end of a long and exhausting day we were cheered by Klaas telling us that we were close to the ‘ copper mountain,” and that an hour or so would

Page 61

54 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the future of the company we should form to exploit that copper—how we could find a way out for the ore, whether the river could be utilized for power, and, in short, building castles in the air that were doomed to an early collapse. For, after a hurried breakfast, Klaas, full of importance, led us, after an hour's scramble, to an outcrop of copper which was scarcely the size of an arm-chair, and which in nowise differed from dozens we had passed during the past few days. With a dramatic wave of the hand he announced that this was the copper mountain ! Language failed us, and Sydney's baleful —even homicidal !—expression had to give way to a reluctant grin when he realized that our cicerone really believed that he had * delivered the goods.” Klaas appeared to think, also, that a “cash” payment would be forthcoming on the spot, and I forget how many head of cattle and how much in trade goods he expected us to pay him ! The fact that we were by force of circum- stances in what appeared to be a most promising area, and the providential discovery of a small pool of rain-water almost in the centre of it, led us to prolong our stay in this particular portion of Thirstland; and long after our stores had disap- peared, and we were dependent on our Tifles for food, we clung to that tiny water-hole. Innumerable pro- mising-looking reefs led us to again search for gold, and day after day we brought gravel back to the fast-diminishing pool, to" pan ” laboriously for a“ colour ’’—but none came. Wan- dering Hottentots joined us, and several of them claimed to have been the original guides that Preuss had when he found the mountain. But by this time we took them at our own valuation, and found they could show us copper—but by no means a mountain of it or anything likely The pool near Tatas Berg where the Author first saw the leopard. to have been the place Preuss saw. We saw enough, however, to convince us that his tale was true; the trouble was that we were in a gigantic maze, in which, if one wandered too far afield, the paths might lead not to riches, but to death from thirst. These mountains, besides being waterless, are the home of big troops of baboons, of fierce and crafty leopards, and of many deadly varieties of snakes; and although few of these creatures wantonly attack man, the prospector or traveller has to be constantly on the alert. When cornered, wounded, or with young, the leopard is the most ferocious and formidable of all animals : the baboons, when in numbers, are feared by all other creatures, and there is no antidote against the deadly bite of the puff-adder or cobra. Usually, however, they avoid man, especi- ally the leopard, which hunts at night and lies close in his lair in the day-time—although he may be watching his two-legged enemy all the time. At this water-hole in the Tatas Berg I had an experience which taught me never to leave camp unarmed. The leopards had taken a poor half-starved Hottentot dog from quite close to the camp-fire the night we arrived, but ex- cept for numerous spoors I had seen no more of them. One day I was following a quartz reef round the flank of one of the slopes, within sight and call of the camp. Being so near, I had not even a revolver with me, nothing, in fact, but my prospecting hammer. I had on native untanned shoes, and as the rocks were firm and the footing good, I made but little noise. As the slope got steeper I came upon one of the little beaten tracks often found in these mountains, and generally made by a small buck known as a ‘ Klip-springer ’— a sort of chamois. Thinking of nothing but an outcrop of white quartz I could see ahead of me, I was working along

Page 62

A TREASURE-HUNT IN THE LAND OF. THIRST. 55 this little track, when I suddenly saw what I took to be a big snake move among the rocks, scarcely ten yards ahead of me. Halting in my tracks, I realized in- stantly that it was no snake, but the tail of a big leopard, whose body I could not see. That he could see me, how- ever, I felt sure, for in spite of my silence he must have heard me, or winded me, long since. In fact, the movement of the tail showed he knew I was there—and [ had nothing but a useless hammer ! How long I stood watching that tail I cannot say, but I knew I daren’t turn my back on him, and so, feeling very ridi- culous and helpless, I worked my way backwards, along that rocky slope, expect- ing to go head over heels at every step, until, having placed a fairly safe distance between.myself and the still-moving tail, and being on firmer ground, I took to my heels and never stopped tilt I had hold of my rifle! Though Sydney and I went straight back to the spot, Mr. Leopard evidently knew what a gun was, for we caught a momentary glance of him stealing away among the rocks long before we reached the place. He had been lying with his killi— a small steenbok—behind a rock in full view of the camp, and the glimpse I had of him stealing away, and the giant size of his spoor, made me profoundly thankful I caught sight of that ‘“ snake ”’ in time. Of the real snakes found in the Richters- veld mountains, the puff-adder is the most to be feared, as it is excessively torpid and slow-moving, and will not. attempt to move out of man’s way—as do most snakes—yet strikes with the most deadly swiftness. Another much-feared snake is the ring-hals, a black cobra which the extra- ordinary faculty of being able to spit its venom a distance of several yards, straight at the eyes of man or beast, and with great accuracy. This fluid causes terrible pain and blindness almost immediately, and there A difficult scramble leading to an outcrop of copper. are numerous _in- stances of men thus attacked having re- mained blind for days. Besides these known varieties, the Hotten- tots affirm that these wild hills are the haunt of a big snake with a head like a goat, and which de- . Vvours man. They credit it with being able to emit:a blast of air so strong that it can knock down a man whilst yet several yards away from him. This queer belief is pro- bably founded on the habit of the big rock python (which cer- tainly exists in these mountains) of darting at his prey with a battering-ram blow of the head, and thus striking it down be- fore crushing it by constriction. But it is in the Gariep River itself that the “Great Thing,” in which all the natives believe, and which may pos- sibly be a snake of incredible proportions, is said to make its home. The first white men to enter and describe this region, nearly a hundred years ago, heard of this creature, and left a record of it in print, and since then there have been numerous apparently well-authenticated instances of its having taken cattle of unwary natives from the banks, whilst ‘several of the older and more reliable natives claim to have actualy seen it. It was when we were at length forced to abandon the search for the copper mountain in the Tatas Berg that I first came across the spot where this “Great Thing” was believed to make its home. We had decided to attempt to reach our wagon base by the roundabout route of the river itself, where at any rate we should be free from the anxiety of thirst, which had hitherto been our worst enemy. One day we came by chance upon one of the loneliest stretches of the river—solitary, almost inaccessible, flanked by steep mountains, whilst the margin of the water was protected by a dense thicket of virgin forest. Here both Klaas and some other Hottentots who were with us betrayed

Page 63

56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, a good deal of uneasiness, and refused to sleep in our.camp by the river. After a lot of evasive reasons had been given it trans- pired that here, in a big cleft rock in the middle of the wide stream, the ‘ Ki-man” (Great Thing) was believed to make its home. Since that first visit I have reached the place on three separate occasions, and each time have made an attempt to dynamite the rock by throwing a charge as far as possible towards it. Until May, 1920, how- ever, I saw nothing. On that occasion, after several months spent lower down- stream, I again visited the “ Ki-man"’ rock and threw out a charge. Again the big upheaval of water showed nothing un- usual; but an hour later, and a mile or so lower down - stream, attracted by the yells of the natives, who were in great fear, I caught a momentary glimpse of something huge, dark, and sinuous making its way at terrific speed up-stream, against the full force of the current. What it was I cannot say, but the natives all declared that when they first saw it, it reared its head and neck to “twice the height of a man” above the water, and that it was the “ Ki-man’’! The only explanation seems to be that it isa huge python that has taken to the water —as they sometimes of them claimed to be the men who came upon him in the mountains and guided him through to Steinkopf, but none of them ever proved equal to following the route he was supposed to have taken. They showed us some wonderful things, however; on one blistering trip of three days from water to water, we saw the gigantic nugget of pure ‘‘ native ’ copper (as the ore in a natural metallic form is termed), a mass of many tons in weight, as pure as could be smelted, but lying on the precipitous slope of a well-nigh inac- cessible peak. On another. occasion we saw a veritable moun- tain. of iron—high- grade hematite suit- able for the making of steel, and showing an analysis of no less than eighty-four per cent. of oxide of iron! And with this giant peak of iron as a sample of what those ‘‘ Thirst Mountains ” contain in the shape of minerals, I have little doubt—in spite of our failure to locate it—that Preuss really found the mountain of copper he described. However, there came a time. when we were _ forced to abandon the search. We were in Tags, scorched and sun-dried to the con- sistency of leather, and so torn, bruised, and footsore by scrambling and climb- ing over sharp rocks that flesh and blood could stand it no longer. We decided do—but, if it is so, it is of a size in. credible. But to return to the ‘* Thirst Mountains,” which we did again and again in our endeavour to find the gold or the mountain of copper. No longer relying upon Klaas—except as a most excellent henchman and an always diverting and cheerful liar—we questioned every one of the scattered Hottentots that came our way, and found that all of them knew of copper deposits, whilst several of them cost us days of hard climbing, under conditions of terrible heat and not a little danger, to take us to spots which they believed to be that seen by Preuss. Several “ Dry sorting” for gold nuggets. to give up the search for a time, at any rate till rain fell and made life and prospecting a little more pos- sible in these waterless peaks. Many of the more promising gullies that we had traversed had remained untested for the gold that the natives declared they had found there—for very often we had no water to drink, much less to use for washing the gravel. But, gold and copper being for a time abandoned, we had still the chance of the richest prize of all—diamonds—and beside the river! True, the few times we had reached and traversed its banks we had seen nothing of the ‘ bright stones” that

Page 64

A TREASURE-HUNT IN THE LAND OF THIRST. 57 point lower down-stream than we had ever yet traversed, finding likely-looking gravel all along the banks, but no diamonds. “Farther on,”’ said Klaas, each time we stopped to sieve gravel. ‘‘ I know the place ; plenty bucket tull there!’ Now, | had a small rough diamond with me as a sample, and Klaas had identified it as the identical ‘“ bright stone ’’ that he could get in “ buckets,’” and in spite of all the wild-goose chases he had led us on, we again began to look forward to wealth * beyond the dreams of avarice.” And so we began rather shamefacedly to shirk the labour of sieving the extremely promising-looking gravel we kept passing, and to rather make the pace down-stream. “ There: ’* said Klaas one day, as we turned a mountain flank and came in sight of more open country. He was pointing in the direction of a beautifully-symmetrical tnple-topped mountain, some ten miles or so away. “ Plenty ‘ diamonds ’ there.” “It’s the other side of the river !—in German territory! "’ ejaculated Sydney, peering through his binoculars. “No! no!—bright stones this side,” assured Klaas. A camp in the mountains. Stuurman had told me of, but we understood that they were lower down, and had decided to leave them till last. ** Let's ask Klaas,’’ suggested Sydney. “Of course, he’ll lie, but still he certainly knows his way about. Klaas!’ * Baas!” ‘* Those bright stones—blink klipjes, where are they?” ** By the Gariep—the ‘ Great River ’ baas.” ** Do you know the place ? ” “* Ja, ja, Baas.” * Know it well, do you? Plenty of them there?” “Ja, Baas, bainja—plenty bucket full!” * Good enough. Diamonds ? ” “ Ja. Baas, diamond—bucket full!” “Pack up—we've been wasting time,” said Sydney. ‘‘ Wonder what he'll take us to this journey?” However, I am afraid we did not really much care, for one great fact remained, one that would atone for any disappointment Klaas might provide. We were going to the river, and, at any rate, Thirst, with all its terrors, would be left behind in the mountains. The entrance to a typical pass leading to And so we struck camp and made for a the river.

Page 65

58 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, And on we went, mentally buying mansions in Park Lane, deer parks in Scotland, yachts, and all sorts of other necessities of the diamond mil- lionaire. The stretch of beautifully wooded Tiver-bank oppo- site the mountain took a long time to teach, in spite of our haste, and it was nearly sunset when we reached the belt of trees. Stretching down from the moun- tains, that here receded for a mile or more, lay a magnificent ** beach” of gravel, which our eyes told us at once was far more promising-looking than anything we had passed. One of the Author’s “ prospect pegs” on the summit of the gravel terraces. The Orange River at a point near where the mysterious monster “ Over there,” said Klaas, pointing, as we stooped to examine it. On the slope of a little rise, a bare hundred yards away, the ground was flashing and glittering as it caught the last rays of the setting sun... . 1 am, to this day, proud that we did not break into a wild rush towards the treasure. Instead, with great restraint, and with half an eye on each other and the other half on Klaas, we actually sauntered in that direction. Well, in this instance Klaas was not to blame, for the ground was literally covered with ‘' bright stones ’’—beautiful, but quite worthless, crystals of quartz! They have deceived many a white man, and we could not blame the native. They were brilliant, white, transparent, and faceted, and although there were many fundamental differences to experienced eyes, neither Klaas, nor even Stuurman, could be expected to discern them. We picked up one or two and then sat down—rather heavily, I am afraid—and looked at each other in silence. Not so Klaas, for having, as he fondly believed, again ‘‘ delivered the goods,”’ he hinted at reward. Oxen, guns, wagons—all sorts of things had been promised him, and in view of his having in this case kept faith according to his lights, we felt we must do the same. So I gave him all my remaining tobacco—about six inches of Boer ‘ twist ” —while Sydney, with brilliant inspiration, made him a present of the whole ‘' diamond ” mine. A few days spent near the spot showed us, however, that in spite of the false scent we had been following, there was every indica- tion that diamonds did exist in the vicinity, though it might require machinery and labour to locate them. This led to further interro-

Page 66

A TREASURE-HUNT IN THE LAND OF THIRST. 59 gation of Klaas, and of a few other half- starved natives who had joined us. We had heard a rumour that, some years before, a big diamond had been picked up by a native somewhere in this locality and had been sold by him to a Jew trader at Steinkopf, a village about a hundred miles south. The natives nodded their heads when they under- stood, and after a long conference in the difficult ‘‘ Klick ’’ language—which we under- stood but little—they pointed towards the mountains. ** Not here,"’ they said, ‘‘ but up there!” “Let the blamed things stay there!.’’ said Sydney. ‘I'm not going back to those mountains. It makes me thirsty to think of it!” “‘No,” said Klaas. ‘‘ Baas is mistaken! Not in big mountains, but those /ttle ones this side of them |” This was quite another story, for the foot- hills he indicated were but a mile or two away. They looked like miniatures of the big range beyond, conical, or table-topped, and extremely regular in outline, and but for the natives I should probably never have gone out of my way to visit them. But as I approached them I had almost to rub my eyes, for these ‘‘ little mountains ” were not of rock at all, but gigantic terraces of layer after layer of gravel. For miles and miles they stretched along the base of the bigger peaks, and in many places these enormous concentrates were from two to three hundred feet in height. Moreover, a closer inspection showed that they were of gravel identical with that of the diamond diggings many hundreds of miles up-stream, but infinitely more concentrated. But the surprise of the discovery was reserved till I had climbed to the top of these huge débris heaps, for here I found the whole surface covered with pebbles so highly polished by the action of blowing sand, and so oxidized by the impregnation of iron, that the whole vast floor glittered like a mosaic. Among the stones lay agates, cornelians, jaspers, chalcedonies, and other semi-precious stones by the thousand. No wonder they had found diamonds here ! We expected to pick them up at every step, but in this we were disappointed, and it became evident that to profit by our discovery would mean a far better-equipped expedition than we had at our disposal. And so, having “ pegged ”’ these gigantic claims, we left Klaas in charge and, tem- porarily and very reluctantly, abandoned our treasure-hunt in the Land of Thirst. Those claims, so far as we know, lie un- worked to-day, for Mr. Cornell was fated never toreturn. Coming home to London, he was full of enthusiasm to make another trip, but, as mentioned at the head of this article, he was knocked down and killed by a motor- omnibus within an hour after delivering his manuscript at our offices. THE END. “THE PORT OF MISSING MEN.” Tu only point of human habitation in the aptly-named Death Valley of California is Furnace Creek Ranch, and even this is abandoned in summer save for an Indian caretaker, who frequently plays the good Samaritan to lost prospectors and thirst-crazed travellers in this region of torrid heat. The ranch maintains its own little cemetery, wherein lie the remains of many unfortunate. who have reached haven too late to save their livess This unique burial-ground—a veritable “ Port of Missing Men "—is shown in the accompanying photograph.

Page 67

ADRIFT IN THEYATLANTIC Dr. Grenfell—the famous medical missionary, “ Grenfell of Labra- dor "—sets down a remarkable ex- perience related by a former engineer HOSTS? Of course we all believe in ghosts, whether we say we do or not. Anyhow, a_ creepy feeling went all down my spine when one day a thin, meanly-dressed man suddenly confronted me with a smile and offered to shake hands. His general appearance was entirely strange to me, but I had an odd sensation that I had seen him before and ought to know him. But Bill—Bill who had been my engineer for so long—was dead. He was drowned at sea a year ago. And yet, the altered appear- ance could not convince my perturbed mind that out of the eyes of the stranger who stood before me Bill was not looking at me. “ Bill, is it you, or are you dead ?” was the sanest remark I succeeded in expressing. “It’s me all right, Doctor,” came back the answer, in the familiar English of our coast. ‘'A British barquentine picked us up at the very last minute.’” Thereupon, Bill extracted a pipe from his pocket, and told me the following remarkable yarn. They were bound for St. John’s late in the fall: the engine needed packing before they laid her up for the winter. It was only thirty miles from their starting-point to the entrance of the harbour, so they put aboard just enough food for a day, and a couple of tons of coal. When they left home the wind was moderate, and soon fell away almost to calm. Everything went like a dream till suddenly a breeze sprang up from the south-east. It freshened very quickly, gradually drawing ahead, and they pressed their little vessel all she could bear, so as to drive her on quickly under the shelter of the cliffs. Dr.WILFRED GRENFELL ILLUSTRATED BY WE WIGFULL of his who had been given up as dead. Very few men have passed through such an ordeal and lived to tell the tale. Fierce blasts of wind rushed down on them each time they passed a cove or inlet, but they got along safely until they were rounding the northern head of St. John’s Harbour itself. Then, suddenly, a_ real hurricane hit them, together with heavy snow, and nearly blew them over. In spite of all their efforts they made no headway— indeed, they gradually lost ground—and though they raised every pound of steam they could, they found themselves slowly falling into the trough of the sea. At last one big wave, as high as a cliff, rose up alongside, and had it hit them fairly would have sent them all straight to Davy Jones's locker. As it was, it swept the deck of everything loose and, filling the little steamer to the rails, poured down the companion hatch and flooded the engine-room above the plates. There was only one thing to do if they were to save their ship, and that was to put her before the wind just as quickly as they could. Seconds seemed hours while they tried to turn in the maelstrom, though, thanks to the steam, they were really soon before the gale, but now heading out south-east by east into the open Atlantic. Home and safety lay only a few yards away; but there was no arguing with that hurricane, and it was impossible to head her up to the great seas which continually hit her in the face. Out into the open they had to go, fervently praying that the storm might be but the tail-end of a cyclone which would soon pass over. As they ran farther and farther from the shelter of the cliffs the seas became posi- tively mountainous, and when the early darkness of December shut down upon

Page 68

them they none of them expected to see daylight again. The boat was only an old iron trawler. She had been a fish-cutter, serving with the “ Short Blue Fleet ” in the North Sea in the ‘eighties of last century. When no longer considered fit for that terribly exacting service, she had been bought up and sent out to be used on the Labrador coast, once again in the fishery business. As a model she was a perfect sea-boat; her construction had been all that British ingenuity could put into a boat of her size, and in her long life she had weathered many a gale in which larger vessels had disappeared. But she was almost in her dotage now, and her long-out- dated powers left little doubt as to the outcome if the storm held on. Game to the end, however, she would go down like a superannuated champion hurled back into the ring after his day was done. There were six in the crew—all New- foundlanders, and every one seasoned by many hard knocks of this same kind since their boyhood. So, grimly and silently, they buckled down to fight it out, and not a moment was lost in vain regrets. Their handful of coal was already almost gone, so they tore off the canvas boat-covers and feverishly converted them into a square sail to keep the ship before the sea. They let the fires out to save coal, in case of that last chance which the optimism of these Newfoundland Vikings, with the faith of children, just naturally expects. During the night the seas that swept over her had broken in all her skylights, and she had shipped a good deal of water, so it was absolutely necessary to raise and maintain a few pounds of steam on the donkey engine in order to keep the water out of the engine- room. Morning found them still afloat, the gale as furious as ever, and the watches still straining their eyes over the waste of waters. Only moving mountains of sea met their view, but not a man left his post. At daylight the improvised sail was hoisted, fixed on a pole, and served well. To nurse their little store of coal, they began to burn what wood they could find in the ship. for they were still forced to keep the pump going. The first things to be sacrificed were the tables, lockers, and bulkheads, and then the cabin floors. Next day the inside lining of the deck, the cupboards, and the deckhouses were cut up. They had a good lifeboat, so, when the third morning came and they were still afloat, the jolly-boat had to join the hecatomb. In the heavy sea they had not dared to lift her into davits, so they chopped her up as she lay on her blocks, which eventually followed her into the insatiable flames. That day smoke was seen on the horizon, ADRIFT IN THE ATLANTIC. 61 and, terrible as the weather was, they made out that the vessel must certainly cross the course upon which they were drifting. The captain, still in the wheel-house—a post he never once left till he quitted it for the last time—ordered all the steam they could get, and just as quickly as they could raise it. With the order, the last of their coal went into the furnace, with not a few rags soaked in oil, so as to throw up as much smoke as possible. Everyone knew that it was a race for life. The stranger's smoke was obviously crossing their bow ; yet all they dared to do was to run on before the seas, for the little ship was already partly waterlogged, and not for one second could they let her broach to even half a point. Neck and neck it seemed, at first, a race with death, with at least a sporting chance of being saved. Every valve was screwed down and every ounce of pressure raised that could be put on her, though it far exceeded the official limit of her aged boiler. To blow up is a sailor's risk, anyhow, and was accepted naturally. If it had been only. a question of a couple of miles it would have been all right, for she flew along before the wind and sea as in the best days of her youth, responding, like the heroine she was, to the crew's S.O.S. call for help. But the mountains of water were higher than ever, and at times the old carrier fairly buried herself, after jumping off the top of the combers, in the chasms that opened beneath her. In those troughs everything was lost sight of, but each time that she climbed to the crest of some extra lofty sea, they caught sight of what might mean safety to them, if only they could attract attention in time. Every man was praying that the stranger might be a tramp—just a “ ten-knotter ” or so. Then they could surely make her. Just as soon as her four spars topped the horizon, however, they knew that she was a big liner bound for the Old Country, and that there was no chance for them, for every second she was leaving them farther astern. The thought of the comfortable cabin, the warmth, and the hope of rest and food on board her wellnigh broke their hearts, for they realized almost for the first time that they were shivering and hungry, and that they had been soaked from head to foot ever since the first sea came aboard. It was a hard thing to go down below again, into that dark and gloomy engine-room. Every skylight had gone, and the holes had been blocked up, excluding almost all the light. To make it worse, they had to draw the remnants of the fire to save a few shovel- fuls of ashes in case they were to get one more chance for life. Another night went by. Their food had long since given out, and their only drink

Page 69

62 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was some sickly hot water which they had condensed in the engine, and with it the tiniest allowance of wet flour made into a stodgy dough, though they had left the tea-leaves in the kettle, as it seemed to make them feel ‘just a little homelier.””. That day they burned the hawser and some cables. They chopped them up in chunks, and put a little engine-oil and kerosene on to help them burn, The companion ladder, locker, and drawers, and the rest of the lining of the deck were also fed to the flames, and this fuel was helped out by the lifebelts and buoys, of which there were a hundred that had been carried " for the protection of passengers.” With a " drop o’ kerosene ”’ on them they “ helped some- thing wonderful.” The fifth morning things looked worse than ever. The labouring ship was now a thousand miles from home, and fifty miles out of the track of the trans-Atlantic traffic. There were exactly twelve small potatoes left, a pint of engine-oil, and “ not a sup more.” And yet, though there had been no sleep for anyone, and all hands were wet through, not a soul could be called sick. The morning inspection showed that the water was gaining faster on the pumps, and that the poor little ship was nothing now but an empty iron shell, already half-filled with water. It seemed certain that there was no longer any chance of help from a passing ship, and that only death lay looming on the horizon. They could only go running, or, rather, drifting, now, and every minute drove them farther from any hope of being seen. But suddenly there was a shout from the watch, which was repeated a moment later. Below they could tell by the change in the motion of the ship that something had happened, and they guessed that the skipper was taking a last desperate chance. He had altered their course ever so little, and the ship was no longer directly before the seas. ‘1 knowed at once that he had sighted some vessel,”’ said Bill, in telling me the story. ‘I was up so quick I forgot that the ladder was burned, but there, running off the wind and coming right up after us, was a large barquentine. Where she could ke bound for on this course God only knew. Yet she had all the sail she needed aloft, and was running with her sheets free, as if she had orders to cruise round the world and keep out of sight o’ land, or else she must have been sent to look for us.” - What could have led her to‘run like that when she had the whole Atlantic to -cruise ju? Why had she chosen, in tens of thousands of miles of ocean, to take exactly the very identical line along which a poor Jone wreck like the little trawler was hurrying to her doom ? They had been so long hope- less, and their strength was so far spent, that they took it they must all be '* seeing things ” —that the vision must really be a phantom ship. ‘‘ IT hadn’t been on deck for more than a minute at any one time before,’’ explained Bill, ‘and just then, with our head even a bit across the troughs, if 1 had thought of it 1 should have known that any second a sea might make a clean sweep of us. The ragged bottom of the spot where our funnel had stood before it was carried away was enough to send any man in his senses down off the deck in that weather! But I was seeing a ghost, though it had sails and spars, and was every minute drawing nearer. It held me fair scared to bits. It wouldn’t have been the first ghost I had seen, neither, and I realized that the end had come one way or t’other. I knew I'd never go below again, down into that old rolling horror where I could hear the roaring swish of water even from where we stood on deck. If this thing was real it would mean life; but if not, I reckoned that, anyhow, I had a right now to be drowned fair and square in the open,’ The tattered remnant of the old flag was still upside down in the main rigging, but signal flags they had none, having burnt them with all the other gear. Closer and closer the stranger came, passing so near that it seemed for a moment as if she intended cutting the derelict down. But she made no sign aloft—only a man’s head appeared over the rail. They seemed to be shouting something as they passed, but not a sound of any kind came to the Newfound- Janders’ ears. On she went, and it seemed then for all the world as if she was just sent *to torment dying men. But suddenly down went her helm, up she shot into the wind’s eye, over went her yards, and like some gladsome bird she came dancing back over those tremendous seas, evidently trying this time to pass close under the steamer’s lee. “We thought now she wanted to tell us something, and because we had hoisted no flags, knew that she could not talk in the usual way,” explained Bill. But to these desperate seamen, dazed with exposure and privation, it still seemed she must be either a ghost or a figment of their own imagination. Three times she circled round them, and though they had now got a megaphone up on deck, in the roar of the sea there was no distinguishable meaning to. their: shouts. Suddenly a three-flag hoist. broke out from her halyards. Surely she must be real.now, though ‘‘ our code-book, having gone into the flames, could not help us to make out their meaning. All we could do was to climb into the rigging and wave to her.

Page 70

ADRIFT IN THE ATLANTIC. “Suddenly a three-flag hoist broke out from her halyards.”

Page 71

64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, She had now hoisted her Red Ensign, and we knew she was an English ship and was going to stand by.” Seeing that he could not make them understand what he wanted, the skipper of the stranger took the only remaining chance. He ran under their stern, passing within a few yards and almost clipping it off, and managed to convey to them that he had lost his boat, and that the shipwrecked crew must therefore launch theirs. Then once more he was gone to leeward, and so lay “ hove to,” evidently ordering the fishermen to launch and drift down to him. It is one thing to say “ launch a boat ” in a sea like that from a small waterlogged steamer, but, “unless the good Lord in- tended that you should do it,”’ it cannot be done. It was with almost spiteful joy that six lifebelts, saved from the insatiable fires below, were dragged up on deck. If they must be lost, at least it lent fresh determina- tion to win out to think that they were having one last run to cheat the hungry fangs of old Neptune just when he thought he had them. For the first time the skipper left the bridge, and coming down, “ told we to put ’em on as coolly as if us were along- side the dock at home. ” The boat was lashed in gripes on the deck- house. It was no use trying to swing her out and lower her with falls; she would have been smashed to atoms against the rail before a man could scramble in and fend her off. There was only one chance to get her clear—they must put the ship in the trough, fasten the best line left, and plenty of it, to the boat, and then, when the steamer took her first plunge, even if she rolled over, chop away the fastenings and let the boat fall or be washed clear. Every man was in his place, the axes were given to three men, one to each gripe, and the others were to stand by on the house-top and just fall into the boat when the time came—if they could. ‘‘ As 1 think of it now, I see there was no chance,”’ continued my old engineer. ‘ How it all happened, anyhow, I don’t know.” As the steamer came broadside-on to the sea a great mountain of water threw her almost on to her beam ends. The gripes were cut as she was falling over, and when she staggered up again there was the lifeboat, floating right side up, at the very end of the hawser they had made fast to her! Sud- denly the line tautened. It gave the boat one great tug, and before they had time to think she was alongside, and six of the crew were shooting into her like falling off a log. It was easy “ because now we knew we was to be saved.” As they drove astern of the wreck they found the stranger close to, waiting for them, with a great lake of calm water under his lee. He was pouring out oil like the man in" Pilgrim's Progress.”’ There is not much more to tell, because they had not been missing long enough for wives to have married again before they wired home. But there really was something mysterious about the ship that saved them. The captain proved to be a veritable recluse, like Captain Nemo of Jules Verne’s ‘ Nauti- lus.” He was silent and almost invisible. He made no frills or fuss to celebrate the saving of six human lives ; indeed, he seemed almost to resent it. It was late one night when at last the sorely-tried crew were landed, and when daylight broke next ‘morning all traces of the rescue-ship had vanished. DO YOU LIKE STORIES OF MYSTERY A | PERILOUS ADVENTURE ? If so, do not miss our next issue, which will contain the long opening instalment of one of the most thrilling narratives you ever read— Trailing the Gun- Runners By A. HYATT VERRILL.

Page 72

MANS : Me eg of Like ae Love in sin to Bn Nat by The conclusion of this remarkable narrative, showing how the Author, after his many tribulations, started to build his dream-home by the shores of Odin's Lake. came a terrible Viking’s Cove, November 5th, 1916. AM home once more. I came from Skagway on a calm day with a lad who is going to help me build my cabin. I didn't want a very large one, for it was liable to snow at any time, and it would take too long for us to handle big logs. So I made it twelve feet wide and sixteen feet long, and when a week had gone by it was up and only needed a shake roof to be a shelter. Frank had some work to do in town, so he left me to do the rest. I got along fine until one day I broke the shake-maker and had to go to town to get another. There I found a letter from Marian in my box with an invitation from her to spend Christmas with her family. I was delighted, and read it several times, and as I read it again and again, it dawned on me that she was writing a great deal about her “ friend.’’ No, she did not love him ; it was merely a friendship. 1 can see that she has made a sort of exalted being of me, an ideal that she respects, and that no other man can take the place of in her heart. I am afraid that she has forgotten what I teally look like, and she will be very much disappointed when she sees me again, and will most likely marry the other man. I have a good notion to stay up here and let Fate take care of me—but maybe Fate wishes me to go south. No; I'll go and face it out. If I win, I know I shall be the Vol alix.—5. HJALMAR RUTZEBECK ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L:- WOOD LUCK letter from the girl he had worked so hard to win, and the bot- tom fell out of his world. Things came right at last, however, and the story ends on a note of happiness and hope. happiest man on earth; and if I lose—well, I'll come back up here and be married to my ranch till some day Fate sees fit to bring me a mate. I wrote a long letter to Marian, telling her just how matters stood with me. I asked her to think of me as just a man and not as “something tremendous, somehow,” as she termed it. Our acquaintance is but very slender, and I asked her not to let my love for her carry too much weight, because most likely when she saw me she would be dis- appointed in me. I have a feeling to-night that I have lost out in the marriage business. How could any girl love me, anyway? Girls like a jolly, joking, laughing sort of a fellow, one who can make them giggle and laugh all the time, one who can entertain them and give them a good time. I am not that way at all. I used to be pretty jolly, but the prison has taken that out of me, and I am too serious- minded to ever be iriteresting to one of those playful, fresh young beings. All I am fit for is to work. 1 work from early dawn till late night, and when I have a moment’s spare time, I read or write. In time, per- haps, I shall get used to living alone and not mind it at all. Well, time will show. I become too pessimistic when I get to thinking how small my chances really are, and I ought not to write about it at all. I’m sure it doesn’t help me. I have cut a lot of shakes, and the roof to

Page 73

66 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. my house is almost on. When I get a floor and a ceiling in, a bed in the corner, and a spruce mattress, I'll have a real home. My own home for the first time in my life! I'll make it comfortable and put in alot of grub before I go south, so that no matter in what financial shape I come back, I'll have a home to come to where I can at least live and eat. Viking's Cove, November 2oth, 1916. It is winter. The leaves fell off the trees a month ago, leaving the woods naked to face the big snows and the long cold. It has been raining, hailing, and snowing, and the wind switched around and came whooping down from the ice-bound interior, freezing everything. An inch of ice lay on the lake this morning, and when I poured a pailful of water over my head, the blood was sent rushing through my veins, and I ran, joyously frantic, for my little, warm cabin, and rubbed myself dry by the hot stove. Ah! but it is good to have a home and to be there! Here I am in my own cabin on my own ranch, where everything, animate and inanimate, is dear to me. The trees surrounding the clearing whisper of love, and the white en- circling mountains fill me with peace and contentment. I feel wonderfully loving and satisfied to-night. The spruce knots are crackling and spluttering in my stove and the cabin is comfortably warm. _ I feel strong and capable and confident of the future. Even if I never get a mate, the woods around me are full of life, and I love it all and shall not be alone. But to-night I don’t feel like a loser. I want a mate as badly as ever. My ranch, my lake, my woods are now my first love, but once She is here, they will have to take second place, for she will be queen of it all. I know that she will love it as I love it, for no one who has been here has had anything but praise for the beauty of the place. She and I will live here together, in harmony with the peaceful, natural life so abundant around us. To-day, I only worked for a few hours, for the sunshine was bright and it was the best kind of a day for hunting. I went down along the beach and got a fine mallard duck, then I went up into the woods and a blue grouse flew up and I put her in my bag. When I got into the alder and willow patches I shot four big white rabbits, and now they are all hanging up outside my cabin and I am supplied with meat till [ leave here next month. The duck, however, is roasting in the oven, all stuck full of thin strips of bacon and filled with apples, prunes, and bread- crumbs, and it is sending a tantalizing aroma through the cabin. I don’t like the idea of leaving here, and I wish I could get my mate without going away. Yet the big snows will soon be here, and I sha’n't be able to do much work, and a wife means more to me than a dozen ranches, so I am leaving in the first days of next month. I am going to her as I am, or, at least, I will wear the suit I bought in Skagway, and I shall try to be fair and promise her nothing but hardships and an uncertain life in a new, raw land—and love. Then if she comes, it will be for love of me, and all will be well on Viking’s Cove. Viking’s Cove, November 25th, 1916. Yesterday morning, after the rain had beaten down on the roof of my little cabin all night, the sun peeped through the spruce tops and a west wind swept the heavens clear. A blue jay chattered good-morning to me from a branch above the door, and the air was clear and crisp and sweet. I had a lot of work to do, but I hadn’t been to town for ten days. The trail looked mighty inviting and it did not take me long to go to town. I grabbed my rifle and ran lightly over my new-made trail to my neighbour's ranch a mile away. I talked with him a while and took an order for some grub he wanted me to fetch him; then I was off again across Flat Bay and through the woods to Chilkat River. I was full of life and jumped from root to root over the winding trail. I was glad that I was alive and whole and strong. I leaped along the trail as though tireless. There were many things to be had in town; news and letters waiting for me in my post-office box, so I ran and ran and ran, now and then stopping to take a deep drink of ice-cold spring water where it gushed out of the mossy ground and flowed. across the trail, trickling over roots and pebbles. O'Brien had caught a fox the night before, and I watched him skin it, and then ran on again, trotting along the beach of the Chilkat Inlet to Haines. It was with spirit as free from care and sorrow as the clean-swept blue sky above that I entered the post-office and took out my mail. ‘* Don’t put too much emphasis on my relations with this friend, but don’t put too little, either,"” were Marian’s words in her last letter. Just now I wasn’t worry- ing about him. As I expected, there was a letter from her, and I opened it eagerly, hoping it would read: ‘‘ Come south, friend Svend, and come soon. I want you to come, Svend Viking.” Instead, she said that she intended to marry her “friend” right away! I am used to hard knocks, and now, as I read her letter, I began to think. My plans had been blown to the winds. I gave up the idea of

Page 74

A MAN’S LUCK. = 67 “With my dogs at my heels I slowly mushed over the frozen snow.”

Page 75

¢8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. going south. Fool that I had been to build a world of love and air-castles. Then I read the second letter—from Martha. She said that she was “ knocked over’ by the news, and hoped I would stand the blow better than she. She hoped I would give up my ranch and come south and join them at the University in California. I'd like to go to college, but I am not going to give up my ranch. I may lose my girl, my friends, my money, but my ranch I am going to hang on to with all my strength. I am going to improve it if it takes my last ounce of energy and my last nickel. They needn't worry about me; I'l do nothing foolish. But here I am, bragging about my own virtues and my own determination, That's because I’m so stirred up. When a man who has been expecting to get married in a couple of months to a girl who has stayed with him through thick and thin for two long years learns, just before he is going down to claim her, that she is to marry another man before he can get there, it is no wonder that he is somewhat agitated. Ina few minutes [ had fallen from the highest spirit of optimism to silent, despairing meditation and doubt in myself. Oh, but I should like to go south! Her invitation for me to spend Christmas with her family still stands good, and all my other friends are expecting me and making plans for me, and maybe I'll go anyway. But 1 am afraid mine is the long, lone trail till [ make a pile of money. Or perhaps I'll lose patience and let a moment’s impulse sway my reason, take a squaw for my mate, and live like many squaw-men—without ambition or hope, let- ting drink drown my disgust for myself, and passing my days in stupid existence. Yet that is not likely. Though I feel broken in spirit now, I know that within me lies the spark of a mighty impulse that will again drive me on to my object—the respect of my kind, to be a man among men. That part of me would never tolerate any permanent idleness. And so now she is married! Married to the man she told me she could never love. Can it be that she is afraid of me and took him because she knew him better? Oh, [ wish I knew if she really loved him! I have half a notion to start south right away. “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady,” the proverb reads. If she is already married, as she said she probably would be when I got this letter, I can’t see what I could do. I think I'll keep on writing to her and sending her my diary off and on as she asked me to do. If he doesn’t like it, they can let me know about it. There is only one thing for me to do and that is to hope, and if I find out that she is emarried, then [ will forget about her. Viking’s Cove, December 2nd, 1916. Another week or more has passed since I wrote in this diary, a week of constant doubt and change of mind. One day I was going south and the next day I was going to stay on my ranch. But now at last I have made up my mind to stay here, doing what I can to improve my homestead. The snow is three fect deep on the level, and much deeper where it has drifted. I had to wallow in snow up to my armpits to get to two of my nearest traps, and I cannot reach the others until I can use skis. While I was struggling through the snow, falling headlong into it at times when I ran on to an unexpected root or log, I said to myself, ** You surely have nerve, expecting a woman from California who has hardly even seen snow to come up here and live under such conditions!" Everything has turned out right for me. This is a man’s country and will remain so till men make good roads, build warm, roomy houses, and have all the necessary comforts a woman Tequires. When we have all this, when there is a roomy, comfortable house on Odin’s Lake, then I shall feet justified in bringing a woman here. I hadn't thought deeply enough on this matter. I had thought of a woman as a creature much like myself, who would soon adapt herself to these conditions. But when I look back and see the men whom I have lived with, especially while I was in the army, and realize how often some of them would consider as hardships things which I thought were mere play or enjoy- ment; when I remember that these men were soldiers in fairly good condition, and then try to imagine a woman like Marian living my life and sharing my hardships, I see how impossible it all is. There is no chance that the kind of woman I want could build a home with me. I'll have to build alone, and build well, before I can ask a woman to come to Viking’s Cove. No; I'll wait till I’m a made man, with accomplish- ments to look back on, before 1 go seeking a mate. As things are now, I have only begun. Supper is over and I feel quite resigned to things as they are. Queer, how a good meal and a warm place to sit makes one feel satisfaction with life! My dogs are curled up at my feet, and my little new kitten lies on my bed purring and looking wonderingly atme. Ah, yes, it is good to have a home and family that loves me. Haines, Alaska, December 25th, 1916. I was going to stay on the ranch, spending the first Christmas in my home, but yesterday morning a spell of loneliness overwhelmed

Page 76

A MAN’S LUCK. 69 “She smiled at me as if she guessed my thoughts.” me, and I changed my mind and made ready to go to town in a hurry. I got into my good clothes and my warm coat, and was about ready to leave, when a feeling came over me that I might be gone for a long time. 1 thought it was only a silly notion, but I decided it could do no harm to be prepared, so I packed things away as if I were going to be gone for the winter, and I decided to take the kitten back to his mother to stay while I was gone; I put him in my pocket and started out. I wanted to look at the lake before I went, so I walked out on the ice and looked around, It was very beautiful. I never look at that scene without marvelling over the beauty of it. Around the lake the wreath of birch and spruce, and back of that a ring of white, towering peaks. Oh, the magnificent gran- deur of it. It was calm and the sky was azure. The air was clean and thin, about five below zero, and its freshness tingled in every fibre of my body. I felt reluctant to leave, and I promised my fairyland kingdom not to be gone very long as, with my dogs at my heels, I slowly mushed over the frozen snow toward town. The trail was ideal, for the snow was hard and I made town before dinner-time. There I met three men from up the river, and spent Christmas Eve with them. Norsemen, they are, and we had a real, old-time Viking feast, a great big, fat roast goose, stuffed with prunes, raisins, and apples, and everything

Page 77

70 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, else that goes to make a Christmas dinner. We had cakes and pies and preserved fruits : they drank wine and beer, and I drank grape juice, and we told jokes and yarns and roared with laughter till the whole cabin shook, Haakon, Knud, Einer, and I! Then we went to church to attend the Christmas-tree celebration, but we were not jolly and noisy there. We were timid and backward, ready to blush and run if we should happen, in our uncouth way, to make a mistake. This morning the boat came in with my Christmas news. Her letter came, and again my plans tumbled and fell helter-skelter about me. My plans for the winter and for my lonely life on the ranch all toppled over, and in their places rose joy, hope, and exultation. “Wake up, man of the north,” it read, “you have been dreaming. I am_ not married nor engaged to anyone, and I am not going to be to anyone but you. Maybe this will be hard for you to believe, but it is true, nevertheless."’ Ah, but my heart throbbed as I read those lines, and my pent-up lonesome love was let loose in the glorious sunshine of hope and expectation ! When she realized that I was coming, she had been afraid of me, the dear, and had ducked for shelter like a scared rabbit. But soon they both realized that their engagement was a farce, and had broken it off by mutual agreement. “ But now, Svend Viking,"’ she wrote, “ I'm not afraid of you any more, only a little bit. You see, there are things that are bigger than being afraid, and my caring for you is one of them.” “ Svend Viking, come south,” she went on. “ Don’t disregard this call. I have not only poked my head out of my shell to say this, I have come altogether out of it. Svend, for the pain I have caused you, oh, I am so sorry, so very sorry. You have never been far from my thoughts. I wonder if it is possible for you to understand all this ?. If you don’t understand, say so, for I'll not blame you. I want to explain that I am not planning to Marry you as soon as we meet. Nay, not so, but I want to see you, and maybe I have forfeited my right, but if you knew me better, you would know that I very seldom ask anything like this. Somehow, I feel sure that you will come. You are so very under- standing. And now back to the shell.’’ And then it has a postscript, just as a woman’s letter should :— “ P.S.—Any real woman would be insulted to be asked to wait, and not be allowed to help you build your home.” Can anyone wonder that my heart is light and my soul full of sunshine ? Can anyone wonder that my plans are changed, and that 1 am leaving to-morrow for the south, on the same boat that brought this Christmas letter ? And this is the end of my diary as a bachelor. I feel assured that when I again open this book to write I shall have a mate and we shall write init together. To-morrow I am leaving. And next spring I'll be— we'll be back. Viking’s Cove, May oth, 1917. The spring is here! To-day the sun shone warmly from early, early morning till this late hour, half-past nine. It filled the world up here by Odin’s Lake with security and promise of summer. The birches, alders, and willows unfolded their buds, and the song- birds sang from morning till night; the squirrels hustled from spruce to spruce, talk- ing to one another of the beauty and the love that the day had brought. When the sun sank beneath the pearly, studded peaks far to the north-westward, Marian and 1 sat up there on the clift looking down at Odin’s Lake, and out over the fiord and the mountain ; and oh, how beautiful it all was ! This day we did not work. It was a holy day, for the spring came to-day, and we spent most of our time up there on the cliff, bathed in the warm sunshine and reading this, my diary. As the sun disappeared, vanishing into the north, we sat there hand in hand, and thought of the many perils and unfortunate happenings of these years we have been apart. Marian was silent for a long time, but her hand lay reassuringly in mine. I looked at her golden-glinted hair and her fresh innocent face, her trusting hand lying there in mine, and I wondered if it was right that I, who had been only so recently in jail, an outlaw and a desperado, should have her for a mate—this girl who is so pure and unspoiled. She smiled at me as if she guessed my thoughts. “Do you know what [ have been think- ing?" she asked. ‘‘ Everything here is so pure and fresh and untouched, somehow, that it seems as if God incarnate might walk among these beautiful mountains and up these shining water-paths. And I wondered if you were thinking of the time when you were in jail, and that perhaps you did not belong to all this. But you know, Svend, the mistakes we make are only steps along the road to wisdom. You learned so many things—kindness, patience, resignation, jus- tice, and mercy. Do you remember that dream you dreamed when I came to you and said, * All's grist that goes to the mill’ ? That's what [ say now, Svend. It is all grist that goes to the mill.” THE END.

Page 78

De ‘Lropercio A FILM-HUNTER™ > Sees ae A ae Mello Saraiva ig What is probably the most adventurous expedition ever undertaken in the interests of the “ movies” is Prof. P. Saraiva’s daring journey up the mighty Amazon and its little-known tributaries. All told, he travelled over twenty-five thousand miles, penetrating remote regions never before visited by a white man, stumbling across unknown tribes, and meeting with many strange and weird experiences. In the following fascinating narrative, specially written for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Prof. Saraiva relates the most thrilling incidents of his great journey, illustrating his narrative with a selection of wonderful photographs. This successful filming of the rivers, lakes, swamps, and forests of this little known region, with the strange people and animals that dwell therein, was a feat of tremendous difficulty, and only accomplished after several years of patient toil and hardship. It is the first serious attempt that bas ever been made to portray the true conditions of life on the world’s greatest waterway. This film will be shown by Messrs. Gaumont. Vv. thousand feet of films of the more important Amazon waterways. All 1 wanted to make my collection really representative of the great Amazon basin were some pictures of the Putumayo River and the various Indian tribes that dwell along its banks. I intended to bring my films to England, and I knew that the British public would be keenly interested in the conditions that now prevail on the Putumayo in view of the stand British statesmen took some ten years or so ago in connection with the atrocities alleged to be practised at that time on the native rubber - gatherers. Accordingly, I made Preparations to proceed into Peru, through whose territory this great tributary of the Amazon runs. As it is a particularly wild region, not too well known, I gladly accepted the services of a personal friend, Mr. Careoso, who was anxious to accompany me. He was a capable operator, a fine sportsman, and a good chum. We had quite a delightful voyage up the Amazon—or, as some people hereabouts call it, the Solimes—to the ancient city of S a result of my numerous trips I had now secured something like twenty Iquitos, which is in Peruvian territory. The older buildings, built by the Spaniards when they first conquered the country, are of distinctly Moorish architecture, and one particularly noticed the projecting roofs to shade the windows from the fierce rays of the sun. The town lies two thousand seven hundred miles from the Atlantic, yet the river is a mile wide at this point, and is navigable all the way by large steamers! Rubber gathered in the great Peruvian forests, all watered by tributaries of the mighty Amazon, is shipped from here to Europe, and also an ever-increasing quantity of cotton. I filmed the latter industry, which is rapidly growing in importance. All over the Amazon valley the cotton tree grows wild, but around Iquitos it is exten- sively cultivated. In America and _ else- where it takes seven to nine months to obtain a crop, but in this favoured climate a similar yield can be obtained in three months—a very important advantage. After filming everything of interest in and around Iquitos, we took a steam-launch down stream to the mouth of the Putumayo River. Although the current was in our favour, our progress was painfully slow. A

Page 79

72 THE WIDE barge loaded with timber, which the launch used as fuel, was lashed to the side of our craft. When we stopped to replenish our wood, which was frequently, we always went ashore to stretch our legs. Our journey up the Putumayo was made partly by steamer, partly by launch and native canoe. One of the large rubber syndi- cates now runs a steamer up the river twice a year, on which travellers can take passage. Otherwise it is a case of chartering your own boat and going up the best way you can. The river being swift-flowing, and nasty currents and whirlpools frequent, it is a difficult journey, and competent boatmen are needed to guide the craft through the dangerous stretches. We were over three weeks coming up to El Encante from the mouth of the stream, and I doubt whether we should have man- aged it at all had we not fallen in with the syndicate's steamer. From El Encante we proceeded overland to La Chorrera, on the Igara-Parana, which is the principal rubber depot of this region. We were surprised at the activity we found on every hand. The road through the forest, between the two streams, runs al- most dead straight for a distance of about thirty miles. Here and there one strikes little streamlets over which tree trunks have been thrown to enable the rubber.- workers and mules to cross. We passe«l several mules loaded with the ubiquitous bollas of rubber, and noticed many _ bar- vacas and native huts alcng the route, Arriving at La Chorrera, we went to the offices of the rubber company and ‘were most hospitably received by the ‘manager, who placed a barraca and a couple of intelligent Huitoto Indian boys at our disposal. We stayed here forseveral weeks, and it is only fair to say that no restrictions whatever were placed upon our movements; we were allowed to roam where we wished and to film what we pleased. The officials of the station went out of their way to assist us, particularly in securing pictures of the lesser-known Indian tribes who dwell in this region. A Huitoto Indian chief. WORLD MAGAZINE, There was an air of peace and contentment about the whole place—a striking contrast to the conditions that prevailed as recently as a decade ago. The native is no longer forced to work gathering rubber for brutal overseers, and inhumanely flogged if he does not collect a stipulated quantity of the precious /atex. He is paid for his work, though I fear the metal discs he receives are of small value. They enable him, however, to buy clothing, utensils, and food from the company’s store. Of the many Indian tribes found in this district, the four principal ones are the Huitotos, Boras, Ocainos, and Orejones. Each tribe is further divided into sub-tribes, and an ethnologist could spend a lifetime studying them. There are nearly three hundred distinct tribes in Brazil alone, ranging in degrees of development all the way from the most primitive savages to a ivilization that almost equals that of the ancient Incas. Although most of these races speak different dialects, they have much in common, their vocabulary being very limited—a matter of a few hundred words in some cases. They live principally by cultivating the mandioca plant, by fishing, and by the chase, their weapons being the spear, blowpipe, or some obsolete form of firearm. We spent some time amongst the Huitotos, They are a well-made race, stout and strong, with broad chests, though of medium stature. Curiously enough, the women walk with their feet turned inwards, their thighs striking against each other as they move. The men, on the other hand, walk with their teet pointed outwards, and their big toes are so flexible that they use them to pick up articles from the ground, Their hair is black and coarse, and is worn long by both sexes. They have a peculiar habit of pulling out the eyebrows, eyelashes, and the fine hairs on other parts of the body. Thick, bristly hair is what they seem to admire, and the upper lips of the men are adorned with half-a-dozen long, coarse hairs—the Huitoto ideal of a mous- tache, I suppose.

Page 80

“g- A FILM-HUNTER ON THE AMAZON. 73 Their houses are large and circular in form, averaging about sixty or seventy feet in diameter. They are covered with a well- woven thatch roof, capable of lasting for years, made from the leaves of the yaruna, or vegetable-ivory tree; this roof often reaches almost to the ground. The framework, which is of some hard wood, is held to- gether by ropes woven from the bark of ‘a tree. As there are no windows, and only a small opening that serves as a door, no light can get in, with the result that when you first enter from the bright sunshine it takes some few minutes before you can distinguish objects. The heat and smoke in the confined space are often almost suffocating: As a rule, several families live in one -house, each. how- ever, having its own particular fireplace, furniture, and do- mestic utensils. These are generally limited toa few small bamboo stools and benches, several earthen pots, some baskets, various kinds of paints, a quantity of gourds used as plates; a few primitive musical instruments, such as crude drums, bamboo flutes, and bone whistles ; torches made of the heart of the manguey, or chonta, impregnated with resin; and several similar articles. I always detected dried fisH or meat hanging in the smoke just above the fire. The dress of the men is very simple, being composed only of a broad belt of the tough bark known as the /anchoma, from which another piece of the same material reaches down in front, and, passing between the legs, is attached to the belt again behind. The A Bora Indian, with a gourd stuck through the lobe of his ear by way of ornament. The Huitoto women, unlike their sisters elsewhere, take no interest in clothes, going practically garment is known as the moggen. The garb of the women is still more primitive, for they are clothed only in their beauty, except for a kind of leg-covering in the form of puttees and a bracelet or two. The “ puttees,"’ which are about four or five inches in depth, are worn just above the ankle. They are light, being made of the bark of the cotton tree, and are held together by twine. On the morning after my arrival at the station, I was strolling round the place when 1 met two Huitoto women for the first time. They stopped, stared, and grinned at me, innocent and unashamed, though clothed in the dress of Mother Eve. Once, while I was photographing a Huitoto girl who was anxious to ap- pear in the picture, she insisted on my waiting till she had put on her puttees, a necklace of teeth, and a couple of brace- lets, when she considered her- self fully dressed. The women particularly are very fond of painting themselves, one of their most common colouring materials being the Au:toc or jagua. This dries very rapidly, and is not easy to remove; it also has the excellent Property of being offensive to gnats and mosquitoes. They paint the body from the waist down to the knees, and further adorn the painted ground with quaint geometrical designs of a conspicuous bright colour. Over each tribe rules a chief, whose word is regarded as law. Their marriage rites are decidedly primitive. The prospective bride- groom clears a small piece of land. builds a house—or secures quarters in one al- ready built—gives a small quan tity of coca or tobacco the naked save for puttees and paint !

Page 81

14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, head of the tribe to obtain his approval. and also—(artful fellow !)—cuts a supply of fire- wood for his future mother-in-law. The girl’s father, apparently, does not count ! Shortly afterwards, mother-in-law being satisfied, the girl selected is given to him— an event which is made the occasion of considerable festivity—and the pair are then man and wife. These unions are considered binding. When a child is born, the mother takes it to the river, and, after washing it, covers the little newcomer with rubber-milk in order to keep it warm. The coca referred to is a kind of drug which is chewed like tobacco, and is supposed to have great sustaining powers. Leaves of the coca-tree are gathered, toasted, pul- verized, and mixed with the ashes of a certain plant. The drug, which is now ready for use, is inserted into the mouth and rolled up under the cheek, where it may remain for half a day at atime. The juice is swallowed. During our stay among these people we were often sur- prised to discover, when approaching a_ settlement, .that they had already been apprised of our coming by a quaint “ bush telegraph.”” This is worked by means of an apparatus called a tunduy. In the principal dwellings one Notices a dry, hollow trunk of a tree, about two yards long and half a yard in diameter, with five holes in it, diminishing in size. By Forest - Wireless.” striking this odd instrument with a stick, different notes are produced, each with its own meaning in the native code. The “ drummers "’ are very expert, and messages are sent very quickly over quite long dis- tances by being ‘' relayed ” from one village to another by this curious jungle ‘ wireless.’” 1 witnessed a ‘conversation ’’’ sustained between two Indians situated over a thousand yards apart, with a river in between. We had been at La Chorrera about ten days when we learnt that the natives intended to hold one of their rare dances. A present to the chief won his favour and permission to take moving pictures of the festival—the first ever secured. So far as costume was concerned, this may be described as a mix- ture of civilization and savagery, for while the majority of the men were clothed in an ordinary suit, or, rather, trousers and shirt, the women had only paint and bracelets. The music was decidedly weird, and the dancing a strange mixture of graceful steps and awkward shufling. The first excitement was the arrival of visitors from afar. It was a curious con- course of people that we saw coming through the clearing in the forest. The procession was led by solemn pole-bearers, or officials of the festival. They had painted their bodies specially for the occasion, their only garment consisting of a loin cloth. Around their legs were strings of rattling shells, while Women dancers of the Huitotos. These dances are very rare festivals, and the Author made the first film of one ever taken.

Page 82

A FILM-HUNTER ON THE AMAZON. 15 their heads were a mass of large, bright- coloured feathers. In their hands they carried long poles, tipped with some rare bloom or palm branches. They were fol- lowed by a bevy of young women and girls, all laughing and talking, while behind these were a crowd of le. They all disappeared into the appointed hut, and one wondered how they could breathe in such a suffocating at- mosphere. Pre- sently they emerged and the dance began. Led by the pole- bearers, the men arranged them- selves on one side and the women on the other. Most of the men— hus- bands and brothers of the women —- were dressed in regu- lation trousers and shirts, and not a few in white duck. The men always wear their best clothes on fes- tive occasions, and they will work extra hard at rubber gathering in order to obtain a‘ reach-me-down " suit in the company’s store that strikes their fancy. Not so the women. They go virtually naked, caring nothing for clothes, and it is this extraordinary contrast between the sexes that strikes the traveller most on first visiting the region. For this dance the women had painted themselves a dark grey, green, or blue from the waist to just above the knees. This painted background was further adorned with many quaint designs, representing trees and geometrical figures. So cleverly was the work done that from a distance the ladies appeared to be wearing some elaborately woven tight-fitting gar- ment. With the exception of their puttees, or leg-coverings, and a bracelet or two of animal’s teeth, the women were unadorned. The music began and the dance commenced. The heavy thud! thud! of the drums was interspersed by the shrill whistling of flutes. The performers A Tribal Dance. Huitoto warriors and their wives. The men occasionally wear clothing, but the women go naked. danced with wonderful uniformity, marking time with their right feet and at the same time singing in chorus their ancient songs. On the whole their movements were not without grace. As they danced they swayed their bodies to and fro, occasion- ally lifting their arms and pointing as if to empha- size the passages in the songs they sang. Then they half-turned, and marched round in a circle, one be- hind the other, with their hands on one another’s shoulders. For nearly an hour the dance was maintained without a break; then the cessa- tion of the drumming an- nounced that it was over. The dancers retired into the hut to partake of re- freshments, con- sisting chiefly of cahuana, a beverage made from the pulp of a forest fruit. We followed them into the hut, and though the place was crowded almost to suffocation many of them were still dancing. They passed us a calabash of the dirty brown- ish-vellow liquid. It is considered an insult to refuse to drink, so, placing the calabash to my lips, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. The taste was bitter and disagree- able in the extreme, so I passed it on to my friend. It was his duty to drain the recep- tacle, and he looked puzzled. The semi- darkness and the crowded hut gave him his opportunity, and, squatting on the ground like many of the others, he managed to appear to drink, while actually emptying his cup over the earthen floor. Many of the men were gravely sitting round a pot into which they dipped a finger, afterwards applying it to their tongues. This was a pungent liquor made from the leaves of the tobacco plant. The dancers go from hut to hut, the festivi- ties being kept up for several days. It was through the good offices of the chief of the Huitotos that I managed to secure some pictures of the Boras Indians. They are more primitive than the Huitotos,

Page 83

76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but much lighter in colour, being almost headmen of this They white. The chiefs and tribe have a very peculiar custom. cut out a portion of the lobe of the ear and insert into the orifice a section of a gourd, giving the appearance at a distance of a telephone re- ceiver. The Orejones, on the other hand, de- liberately enlarge the whole ear; in some of them this organ is as long as the face and as wide as the hand! This is said to be an old Inca custom, and by resorting to it the Orejones fondly imagine that they will be con- sidered to be descend- ants of the ancient and imperial race. During our canoe journey I Lose down the Igara-Parana we My Precious made frequent stops to film Camera. the various rubber estates and their Indian workers. Although the river was low the current was swift, and with its innumerable twists and bends, shallows, and floating trees, not at all easy to navigate On the after- noon of the second day we stopped for our midday meal and rest, and you can imagine my sur- prise, when I strolled down to the bank, to find that the canoe had disap- peared! Ishouted to the boys, who came running ‘down. Peering into the water, which was ten or twelve fect deep, we could just discern our boat lying on ‘her side at the bottom. My precious camera was in the canoe, as well as the whole of our be- longings, and in the magazine of the camera was an undeveloped film = which it would be impos- sible to dupli- cate without a Indian girls. A halt for lunch on the river-bank. lot of trouble. I was greatly upset, for it looked as though al] my patient work had gone for nothing. ‘ I knew there was a barvaca a little way above the spot, and I sent one of the boys for help. After beating the water with branches of trees to frighten away any evilly-disposed fish or reptiles that might be about, two of the Indians dived and, by a herculean effort, got the sunken boat on an even keel. Then they brought: up some of the heavy luggage, and, finally, by attaching .ropes to bow and stern, we got. our boat afloat again. She had evidently struck a rock which, unknown: to us, had caused a bad leak. We recovered most of our treasures.except the camera—naturally my most valuable possession. A moving-picture machine is a fairly weighty instrument, and when the canoe sank it had evidently fallen clear of the boat and got embedded in the -mud. We searched for it with poles and also by diving, but without success. It had to be found, however, so before dawn t morning we began the hunt afresh, but though some twenty boys were engaged in the task it was not till two days afterwards that we stum- bled across the precious ma- chine and got it to the surface, covered in thick, slimy mud. I thought it was completely ruined, buttomy delight found that the water had failed to penetrate the magazine and that my unde- veloped films were intact. It took me the whole day to clean the machine.

Page 84

A FILM-HUNTER ON THE AMAZON. 77 We were surprised at the variety of wild life to be found in this region, con- sidering the number of rubber workers that are gathered here. As is the usual custom in the bush, I always shook out my hammock and blanket before turning in, for one never knows what venomous insect may have crawled into its folds. I was in the act of performing this task one evening when out flopped a deadly snake. The nearest boy gave a scream, but before we could do anything the reptile had made off into the forest. That night, too, I Blood-sucking Bats. fresh meat by killing the game driven out by the tlames. The tract of land that was to be burnt was by no means large, probably not much more than a few thousand yards square. There being virtually no wind, fires were kindled along the boundary with the object of driving the flames to a common centre. It was some time before the fire got properly going, but when once it had started the flames leapt high into the air. There was a roaring like a furnace, added to whith was the noise of snapping boughs and falling trees. Above it all we could distin- guish the screams of wild beasts and the cries A group of Orejones in the forest. These Indians claim to be descendants of the Incas. felt something pricking one of my fingers. Striking a match, I was amazed to see a big vampire bat fly away, and an inspection of my finger showed that blood was pouring from a small round hole, about a quarter of an inch in diameter, on the first joint of my index finger. These blood-sucking pests are very common in this region and attack men as well as cattle. At one station I found a large crowd of natives, armed with a miscellaneous lot of weapons and seemingly very excited. On inquiry I found they were about to set fire to a portion of the forest to clear it, when they hoped to obtain a plentiful supply of of birds. Monkeys of all sizes came tearing down from the burning trees, scampering through the fire in their efforts to make their escape. Hundreds of them perished, and the few that escaped the flames were promptly killed by the natives. Snakes, large and small, some dangerous and others harmless, crawled hither and thither, as well as scores of horrible rodents and innumerable insects. It was a scene not to be readily forgotten, and the wonder was how the natives escaped being bitten. After the fire had died down an examination revealed the skeletons of many sloths and other creatures. Some of the trees of the Brazilian forest will burn for

Page 85

78 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. years before they are destroyed. This is owing to the extreme hardness of the outer wood and the inflammable nature of the core, which is composed of resin and oils. I knew of an instance of a tree burning for five years before it was consumed ! What with fish, which was very plentiful, turtle eggs, game, and tapioca cakes obtained from the various rubber depots, we fared very well. At one settlement I came across a most curious creature—a large turtle with two heads. It was apparently quite healthy, and had been there for years. We filmed it eating, and many naturalists have inquired about it. Apparently it can only bring one head into play at atime. When one mouth eats, for instance, the other is at rest. It can use either quite well, but for some reason cannot feed with both at the same time. The two- headed turtle is, of course, a freak of Nature. A Two-headed Turtle. Tapping rubber trees in the Putumayo district. It was during this trip that I witnessed a rainbow at night. I should never have thought such a phenomenon possible had ] not seen it with my own eyes. We had had heavy rains during the day, but at night it cleared up, and at nine o'clock there was the rainbow in all its beauty, stretching clear across the heavens. Very trying in the dense forests are the thunderstorms, which can be particularly severe in this part of the world. The whole sky is lit up by terrific fiashes of lightning, and the constant peals of thunder are almost deafening. On one occasion the lightning struck close to our canoe, and I thought our end had come. Before leaving the Putumayo district we filmed the farinka product, illustrating how the mandioca plant is pulled up by the roots, which are then cut up into strips, boiled, and converted into a crude form of tapioca. With the clay found in this region the natives make a very serviceable pottery, even turning out wares adorned in various colours. Every article is made by hand. They are also clever at decorating calabashes in bright colours and quaint designs, and these are dis- posed of by the merchants as “' Brazilian souvenirs.”" Arriving at the mouth of the Putumayo, we took steamer to Manaos, the “Clapham Junction” of the Amazon, and from there travelled right down to Para and the mouth of the river. Here and there we made side-trips up various tributaries to secure new films. For in- stance, we went up the Nhammunda_ river and took pictures of the egret, or snowy white heron, surely the most beautiful white bird in all the world. This much-sought- after bird—its feathers, or aigrettes,. fetch as high as ten pounds an ounce in the London market—lives in colonies, and builds its nest in the assuica tree. These trees are not only very high, but are covered with thorns, making it im- possible to climb them. As the birds are very shy, it was necessary for us to scale other trees in their immediate neighbourhood,

Page 86

—. A FILM-HUNTER ON A colony of egrets. There were fifty or sixty nests in a single tree. haul up tlhe camera by ropes, conceal it in the foliage, and wait. Our patience was well re- warded, however, a series of views being secured of the nests, with eggs, and the young nestlings being fed by their parents. The natives collect the feathers as the birds shed them, and I found several families who lived by feather-gathering. The aigrettes are very dirty when picked up, and have to be washed with soap and water before being sent to market. Unfortunately for the bird, its plumage is at its best during the mating season, and ry An egret with her young. the professional plume-hunter has THE AMAZON. 19 brought it perilously near extinction by callously shooting the parents and leaving the nestlings to starve. In pre-war days the London feather trade handled twenty thousand ounces of aig- rettes, on an average, a year, representing the slaughter of over a hun- dred and twenty thousand of these beautiful birds ! This is why the world’s leading naturalists, who are familiar with the facts, have tried to secure the passage of legislation to prohibit the wearing of these plumes. And so at last, my mis- sion accomplished, I bade farewell to the mighty Amazon, along whose waterways I had travelled so many thousands of miles, and brought my collection of films to England over THE END. This photograph was taken from a place of concealment in an adjacent tree.

Page 87

Se RL BROCK io oat i x SOHN G.ROWE or ILLUSTRATED BY Pe i Corsica, the traditional home of the vendetta, and the birthplace of the great Napoleon, now - bas an uncrowned king of its own—none other than a brigand chief, who holds sway like one of the old-time Robber Barons of the Rhine, terrorizing entire districts and maintaining a small army of retainers, who carry out his orders and safeguard him against the authorities. In addition to his nefarious activities, this odd bandit chieftain goes in for legitimate business, possessing farms and dairies which bring him in an annual revenue of £8,000. are like the bulletins of Napoleon’s “Grand Army” His mandates not to be questioned ; and he even enters horses for local races, with the all-sufficient wish that they should come in first ! HE island of Corsica comprises an area of some two million acres, of which about six hundred thousand are overgrown with dense, tangled brushwood—low, scrubby thickets consisting of arbutus, cistus, laurel, myrtle, heath, and broom-—forming an almost impenetrable cover. This jungle is called by the natives maquis. Though it is easily removed by burning, the land speedily returns to its old condition if it is not continually cultivated. From time immemorial banditry has flourished in Corsica, the maguis offering a ready-made sanctuary to all fugitives from justice. “At the present time, however, the maquis counts among its refugees a man who puts absolutely in the shade all his predecessors in the brigand line, either in Corsica or else- where. This is Romanetti, a man who has been described by Jehan Dardy, a writer in the Paris Matin, as ‘no vulgar malefactor or common assassin, but a powerful seigneur, rich, feared, respected, whose rule knows no limits, whose courage recognizes no obstacles, who holds a whole department under his law.”” M. Jehan Dardy met Romanetti on May 5th, 1921, at Ajaccio, where he was prome- nading in the Place de Casone among a mixed throng, which included a Marshal of France, an Italian prefect, the Archbishop of Aix, and other important personages. Romanetti was incognito, needless perhaps to say. The occasion was the celebration of the centenary of Napoleon’s death. ‘‘ No one would have suspected,”’ says M. Dardy, ‘ that this quiet spectator of elegant figure, who assisted at the solemn absolution, and applauded, like everyone else, the excel- lent discourses of the many orators, was an outlaw, three times condemned to death, the object of seven warrants of arrest, whom the gendarmerie had vainly employed every resource during eight years to call to account. ‘A strong flying column of gendarmes was actually beating the maguis in pursuit of him, an armed force was occupying his house, and watching all the approaches to his numerous estates, and yet there ke was quietly smoking his cigar in the crowd doing honour to Napoleon’s memory in the police- guarded streets and public walks of Ajaccio, the capital of the island. He sipped his coffee on the terrace and chatted affably with other customers as if he had no cares in the world, much less any fear of the authorities !”’ The fact that Romanetti thus attended the fétes of the Napoleon centenary was

Page 88

81 5 BRUSHWOOD.” SING OF TH THE ‘“ “He escaped by jumping out of a window.” Vol. xlix.—6,

Page 89

82 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mentioned in an eflicial report drawn up and addressed on the 7th Mayv—two days later—to Commandant Maitrot, of the gen- darmerie, by Lieutenant Richard. Known to-day in the island as the ¥ King of the Brushwood,” Romanetti has com- mitted something like a score of crimes, ainong them some half-dozen murders, of which he has been found guilty by default or non-appearance to answer to the charges. He still stalks the land a free agent, defying capture and lording it over all with whom he comes in contact. In fact, he is even carrying on business as a stock-breeder and dairy-farmer, and that on a biggish scale— so big that he is a wealthy landowner, drawing the exceedingly handsome annual revenue of two hundred thousand francs trom his numerous enterprises. Moreover, he runs a racing stable, the horses of which usually win their races when he so ordains; the executives find it ‘ healthier " to please him ! His latest development is a cheese-dairy, in which he employs ten workmen, whom he pays twenty francs per day. On the moun- tain of Basteilica he breeds pigs; at Pian d’Ovi he has a farm of a bundred and fifty she-goats, one hundred pigs, three donke and four horses, as well as a number of cows, and at another establishment, in the plain of Lava, he owns nearly thirty cows, a dozen heifers, a couple of hundred sheep, and half- a-dozen horses. Every morning he sells two hundred litres of milk at one franc fifty centimes the litre, and, as well as carrying on business in dairy produce, he deals in wool. Surely there was never a bandit chiet who sold milk before ! Romanetti first fell foul of the police in Igcg, when it was alleged that he attempted the abduction of a young girl at St. Andre d’Orino. Her mother interposed, whereupon he stabbed the old lady and escaped the vengeance of the neighbours by jumping out of a window to avoid arrest. He fled to the maquis, but was caught shortly after- wards and sent for three years to the Central Penitentiary at Nimes, in France. After serving his sentence he took up butchering, and was doing exceedingly well from a monetary point of view when a neighbour named Carbaccio, who had had some cattle stolen, accused him of being the thief. This was at Calcatoggio, in his native Corsica. Romanetti did not appear to answer to the charge, and it was found that he had fled once again to the shelter of the maguis. On May 28th, 1913, he was con- demned by default’ to five years’ imprison- ment. About a fortnight later, on the 11th of June, as M. Carbaccio, the accuser, was walking upon the high road within a few hundred yards of his native town, in broad daylight, he was suddenly confronted by Romanetti, who was armed with a gun, The brigand fired point-blank at Carbaccio, who fell bathed iu blood. Again he was sought for in vain by the police, who next heard of him in connection with the robbery with violence of a doctor named Cecaldi. Another brigand named Carli was concerned with Romanetti in this crime, and some time after- wards the gendarmes, hunting for the pair, found Carli's.dead body. Romanetti had quarrelled with him and shot him. One crime leads to another. Two gen- darmes named Fatou and Guglielmi, penetra- ting rather deeply into the maynis in pursuit of the desperado, were shot dead from ambush, their deaths being naturally laid at his door. Several other persons are said to have tallen by his hand at one time or another, and, as already stated, he was condemned to death for non-appearance tc answer the charges preferred against him. No fewer than seven warrants have heen issued tor his arrest, bunt he has baftled all attempts to capture him. The gendarmes have laid innumerable traps and ambushes for him, but he has successfully etuded them all, and at the same time, as M. Jehan Dardy points out, he has contrived to build up a very handsome farming and dairy business and so become a wealthy man. One might be excused for wondering how an outlaw can carry on business, but ap- parently his eldest daughter, who married a rich shepherd, is the nominal owner of his many farms and estates and conducts them. By means of the money that reaches him regularly, Romanetti is enabled to maintain a‘ guard of honour,’ a small army of loyal Tetainers, recruited from runagates of all kinds—outlawed brigands like himself and deserters from the army. Repeatedly hunted for his life as he is, he yet does not suffer the bitter hardships and privations that usually attend the bandit’s career—hunger, ex- posure,” constant anxiety, and suchlike miseries. He has his own motor-car and chauffeur, we are told, and he has also established a corps of spies and an elaborate system of ‘‘ bush telegraphs ”’ who keep him well posted as to the movements of the gendarmes in the neighbourhood, so that he always receives timely warning of any effort to capture him. To surprise him in these circumstances is impossible, as the authorities have learnt to their sorrow: he is surrounded by invisible guards who enable him to move away directly danger threatens in any quarter, so that he is as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp. His fastness, the maguis, is more trackless and almost as vast as the haunts of the bushrangers who formerly infested the Australian wilds.

Page 90

THE “KING OF THE BRUSHWOOD.” 83 “ Covering the trembling wretch with his revolver, he directed him to take off his clothes.” © Mention of bushrangers reminds one that he would even seem to be striving to emulate the exploits of ‘' Starlight,” the bushranger hero of Rolf Boldrewood’s well-known story, for only last year he entered a horse from his stable in a race on the course of Bocognano. Unlike the sportsmanlike Starlight, however, and more after the style of a Prussian over- lord, he significantly expressed the wish that his horse would come in first. It did, and so he took the first prize: the other competitors did not dare to thwart a desire so unequivocally stated. M. Jacques Stephanopoli, ex-chier of the staff under the mayor of Ajaccio, told M. Dardy that Romanetti’s orders were like the bulletins of Napoleon’s “Grand Army ’— not to be questioned. Undoubtedly this bandit chief possesses lion-like courage, high intelligence, and great energy; and altogether he makes a picturesque figure, for he does not rule by brute force alone. He is astute enough to play the part of the traditional Robin Hood, so as to win the affections, more or less, of those around him and keep in their good graces. He is ever ready with financial assistance for any of his friends in distress, and his largess is bestowed in such a way as to avoid giving any offence to delicate or proud susceptibilities. For the average Cor- sican is like the Spaniard—he has an unconquerable pride even if he be in rags. One of Romanetti’s spies or private inquiry agents will probably acquaint him withthe fact that some good man or woman in the vicinity has met with a heavy reverse of fortune—has perhaps lost a cow or a mule. Next day, the bereft one, to his or her great surprise, and greater joy, finds an animal in place of the lost one, tied up within the stable or shed. Or it may be that money is short and a heavy debt of some kind is pressing. A purse containing the required sum will be found pushed under the door. The person thus relieved will be furnished

Page 91

84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZI with no actual clue as to the identity of the benefactor, but shrewdly guesses who it is. “It can be no one else than that prince of goud fellows, Romanetti,”’ will be the general consensus of opinion, and the “ King of the Brushwood ” gains fresh or more devoted friends accordingly. These dramatic acts of generosity assure the friendly assistance of the peasants, and the resulting popularity is no doubt very agreeable to the brigand’s vanity, while it undoubtedly contributes greatly to his safety. His visit to Ajaccio at the time of the Napoleon centenary celebration is not the only occasion in which he has issued from his enforced seclusion in the maquis. He is a true bon vivant, and likes the pleasures of life. He frequently pays a Nving visit to the capital, or some other large town, and patronizes the places of amusement. Always, of course, he goes :mcog. and well guarded by his personal retinue, like the regal personage he is. Before he enters any such house of enter- tainment and gives himself up to the pleasure of the moment, he posts picked members of his bodyguard all around it, and at every door, so that if his identity be discovered and an alarm raised, he can readily make his escape. Sometimes, indeed, he boldly announces who he is, but genially reassures the startled company, begs of them to continue the fun, and treats everyone to princely hospitality. On one such occasion an inspector of police named Nongarotis attempted to take him prisoner. It was three days before last Christmas Day. The brave but unfortunate police officer was promptly shot dead, either by Romanetti himself or one of his body- guard. Prior to this, in January, 10920, Romanetti’s daughter was married at Cal- catoggio with great éclat. There were three hundred gnests, and amongst them = six mayors from adjacent communes! Whether these attended of their own free will or under duress it would be hard to savy, but in order to prevent any interruption by the gen- darmes, the latter were kept shut up in their barracks by forty men, who surrounded the building and stood, all the time that the festivities lasted, with rifles pointed at the doors and windows, ready to fire if a police- man as much as showed himself ! Consequently Romanetti was able to make himself the life and soul of the wedding party, and personally opened the ball which suc- ceeded the banquet or breakfast. Some idea of the brilliance of the feast may Le gleaned from the statement that it lasted from noon until six next morning—eighicen hours! It was a banquet fit te grace the nuptials of the daughter of a king. Although there is a price on his head, Romanetti is the idol of the people, and none of them would dream of trying to betray him. ‘I reckon to have none but friends in Corsica,” he wrote recently to Commandant Maitrot of the Gendarmerie. ‘‘ That is why you can do nothing against me."’ Needless perhaps to say, he adopts all manner of disguises, in which he is said to Le a past master. One day be is garbed as a peasant or shepherd, the next as a gentleman of leisure, a wealthy tourist, or a hawker, the Next again, maybe, as a coachman. It 1s said that he always pays his way and honours his signature, while his word is as good as his bond. The story is told of how he once punished one of his band who abused his credit. This fellow’s name, it. appears, was Pierangeh. Wanting a new pair of boots, Pierangeli went to a well-known bootmaker in Ajaccio, and represented that he came from his chief. ‘Sieur Romanetti requires a pair of boots,”’ said he. “ We take the same size, so you can take the measurements of my foot.” The bootmaker did so, and within a week the boots were ready. Pierangeli called for them and, telling the tradesman to charge them to the account of his “ patron,” went off with them. In due course the bill for the boots was presented to Remanetti. The ‘ King of the Brushwood " said nothing at the time, but privately instructed one of his secret agents to call upon the bootmaker and inquire when and how the beots were ordered. The bootmaker descrited the man who had ordered them, and—proof positive —displayed Pierangeli’s signature on the delivery-note. Romanetti, on receiving his agent's report, paid for the boots without comment: then he sought out Pierangeli, heaped invectives upon him, and ordered him to hand over the boots. Next, covering the trembling wretch with his revolver, he directed him to take oft his clothes. He made Picrangeli strip stark naked and then chased him from the spot, kicking him lustily. Romanetti’s career, presumably, cannot last for ever, but it will be interesting to see how long he succeeds in defying the autho- tities and conducting the dual business of farmer and brigand chief.

Page 92

ROPING A BEAR. By E. F. FLETCHER. Illustrated by A. G. Small. ’ A cow-puncher's story of what happened to a foolish youngster who “roped” a big Cinnamon bear. “The narrative is absolutely true,” he writes. HE big rambling old ranch had been ’ at its usual fall business, entertaining embryo big-game hunters, but they had now gone their several ways back to civilization, by way of Salt Lake and Denver, where they would pick up sundry game heads and hides as evidence to their Boston and New York friends that their adventure had not been entirely fruitless, nor their prowess entirely a matter of word of mouth. Their guides were now sitting in the bunk- house discussing their recent visitors, and various tall stories that had been told around the camp fires. ** What do you think of this idea of roping bears, Mac ? ” asked one man. “ Mostly lies, I guess!” * Mostly? I guess all of it.” : ‘I never said anything about roping bears,” cried one of the younger members of the party. “1 said we roped a cub, the summer before last, and I can prove it.” * I know, Dick,” replied the other, ‘ and the old bear chased you and Phil; didn't she?” “She chased us until we turned the cub loose. She was poor and mangy, and we didn’t want to kill her.” ‘* All the same, I think a man who tries to Tope one of the big ones is more kind of a fool than I would like to call him. Vic ’— he turned to a veteran—" you’re an old- timer in the Teton, why don’t you say some- thing?” ** Mainly because there isn’t much to say, and because I quite agree as to what kind of a fool such a man would be,’’ answered Vic. I never roped a bear or tried to rope one, but I did see a man rope one once—and that was enough for me.” “You mean he didn’t get away with it?” * Oh, we got the bear all right.” “Say, I’ve heard something about that.” put in Mac. ° About four years ago, wasn’t it, up near Jackson’s Hole? I never heard the rights of it? Spill it, Vic!” * Well, I was there,” returned Vic. “* Spill it, Vic.” “ Well, you know where the Little Camas heads up near the foot of the Grand Teton on its way to the meadows? There’s a big flat up there, just above and overlooking the lake. There were six of us, Cunningham and Maxwell, this kid Crawford, a fellow named Judson, myself, and a Mexican roust- about. We had a pack outfit, and were combing for strays just at the break of spring. The snow-line was working back, and the flat was soggy with snow-water. This kid Crawford had gone up into a little coulée after a steer which had broken away, but came back * hell for leather,’ yelling like an Indian. “*Say, Vic, the biggest bear you ever saw!’ he shouted at me. *Come on!’ and before I had time to get his drift he had wheeled round and was riding up the coulée again as fast as he could go. As I turned to see where the rest of the outfit were, I noticed the kid was letting down his rope. You bet I didn’t wait—I stopped just long enough to fire my gun in the air in the hope that the rest of our bunch would hear it—and then I lit out after the kid. My horse wasn’t as good as his, and before I reached the bend, the kid was right on top of the bear, and twirling his rope. As soon as I realized what he was trying to do I yelled at him. I might have saved my breath, for the next minute he let loose, his horse jumped back, and about the biggest Cinnamon I ever saw

Page 93

86 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. § a # “His horse jumped back, and about the biggest Cinnamon I ever saw came rolling over and over on the end of the rope.”

Page 94

came rolling over and over on the end of the rope. Before I could get anywhere near them, however—my horse being a natural born fool and as afraid of bears as most horses are—the Cinnamon had got on his feet again and the horse was down on his haunches, pulling for all he was worth but doing practically nothing but hold Mr. Bear where he was. My horse absolutely refused to go another step so I jumped off and, loosening my gun, hurried up there on foot. In the meantime, the kid had also dismounted and was running toward the bear, emptying his gun as fast as he coutd put finger to the trigger. he Cinnamon was now up on his hind Icgs, Seemingly quite unhurt. ; | [I was within a kundred yards when the brute seemed to gather himself together and made a sudden rush, and the next minute the kid and he were in a clinch. About the me time the rope either came off the horn of the saddle or broke—in my excitement I hever found out which—and the horse went aring off down the coulée and passed our fener who, on hearing my gun, had come helter-skelter after us. : ‘*Quicker than lightning it flashed into tiny head that the kid had fired all his car- tridges and of course, had had no time to re-load. My wind was about gone as I came up with them, but I kept my wits together ROPING A BEAR. 87 enough to hold my fire until I was right up close, when I placed two shots from my forty-five squarely into the bear's ear. He collapsed just hike a bag of meal, bringing the kid down on top of him. I fired another shot into his open mouth, and then wrenched his claws out of the kid’s back. The poor boy fell limply over to one side, his mouth wide open and a kind of grin on his face. He was as dead as a doornail ! ( * When we got the body down to Cody we found that all his ribs were broken. His chest was caved in, his back broken in three places, and his legs torn to rags by the bear's hind claws. I tell you, it made me sick. ’ As I said, it was early spring, and we got a wagon up there from a neighbouring ranch and loaded the bear and the poor kid on it and went into Cody. That brute weighed nearly six hundred pounds, but was as thin as a rail, He had no hide worth skinning him for, and had evidently just come out of his winter quarters—ugly, hungry, and as full of sin as he could be. * No; I never roped a bear, not even a cub, and I never want to. A husky three- year-old steer is plenty for me, and I'll let you young fellows have the bears. Maybe you'd better just talk about it, and let them do it in the movies.” WHAT ‘Here is a remarkable “ What Is It?” picture. Try at on your friends, and see what they make of it. As a matter of fact, the photographer set out to “snap” a harmless common or garden cow, but the IS IT? camera did not render the beast quite as he saw it. Once you have “‘ spotted” the cow, of course, it is difficult to see anything else, but not everybody can detect the animal.

Page 95

88 THE, WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, A BARBED-WIRE FRONTIER. Ke eke x / Vie Xn tinned aod ea * Tuts curious photograph.” writes a correspondent. “ought to interest your readers It represents a hus- band and wife, one being on either side of the Czecho- Slovakian and Hungarian froutier. Thz Czechs, as a precautionary measure. have surrounded their country with barbed-wire fences. and will let nobody in or out without many forma! Passports are most difficult to obtain for the inhabitants in Czecho-Slovakia, and at the moment of writing Hungarians are not allowed in under any circumstances. The wife in our picture is on the Czech side of a bridge over the Danube, and the husband is on the Hungarian side. The people on either side, as at Pressburg, are absolutely of the same race and language, and the frontier is purely an artificial one. The same state of affairs exists at many points throughout Eastern Europe, and represents one of the absurdities to which the Peace treaties have giv.n rise.

Page 96

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a ccc ccc AAA arriage Is a Crime!’ HE man who deliberately marries a good, pure, wholesome woman, knowing in his heart of hearts, that he is not 100% perfect, that he has abused Nature, and is otherwise unfit to be the father of those innocent souls he is about to bring into the world, is unworthy the name of Man—unworthy to be a Citizen of this great Nation—unworthy of happiness or financial success—He actually commits the worst crime known to Civil- ization, because he abuses the love and confidence of the woman he pre- tends to love and who confides in him and places her future in his hands— because it is the progeny of just such beasts that are filling our hospitals. our jails and our «sylums—DON’T DO IT, MY BROTHER. DON’T DO IT —come to me, confide in me and I will make you worthy of the best woman in the world—worthy of the deepest respect of your fellow man, I will build you up so that you can look the whole world in the face and say, ‘I am a Man—100% man.’ To Err Is Human and to Correct These Errors Is Manly ‘The man who admits he has physical defects has taken his first step toward manhood and honesty, but he must not stop there; he must see to it that he gets good competent advice and attention, and to do this he must go to the one who can prove by his own physical condition, that he is ABLE to REALLY give him THAT HEALTH, STRENGTH and PHYSIQUE he desires—GO TO A MAN who practices what he preaches—I AM THAT MAN: I built myself up first. I experimented with my own body, until I made myself what I am today, what those competent to judge say I am, ‘ The living illustration of the perfection of the human form, accord- ing to the highest standard." I don’t care a rap what has caused your Present unfitness, whether you have been brought to your rundown, physi- cally unfit condition by your own indiscretions, your own folly, or whether it has been cauged by circumstances over. which you have no control. I WILL REBUILD YOU. I WILL MAKE A MAN OF YOU, NOT A 50% MAN, bat a Man—A 100% MAN. TI accomplished all this in’ Nature’s own way.’ NO DRUGGING, NO MEDICINES, NO FADS OF ANY KIND. Simple scientific instructions added to the proper method of living, and what’s more, I guarantee you that I will accomplish all I undertake, and I won’t undertake what I cannot accomplish. STRONGFORTISM will in no way interfere with your occupation or plans. You may follow your daily caliing, no matter what that calling may be; even if you attend school or college, my instructions will not interfere with your studies in any way whatsoever. And what 1s more, you can follow to the letter, the Strongfort System in the privacy of your home, without the knowledge of any one in it, and without the ald of a Gymnasium. Now Be Honest With Yourself Get in line with the men worth while. Make work and living a pleasure, not a bore. Confidentially, mark your physioal trouble on coupon below, ‘and believe me, I will tell you frankly just what you should do, just what tionably the finest specimen of J can do, so that you can honestly face the world as a man, so that when physical developmentever seen.” = 5g, see your little ones playing around your fireside, you can proudly feel that you did everything you possibly could to bring them into the world Physically perfect. Don’t ever forget, all the world loves SUQQETUIUIIUGUIUIUIUITINIUI1INI000000000000000 manly men; women look up to and truly love them—men = FREE CONSULTATION COUPON admire them. = Did you ever see a thin, emaciated fellow—one who shakes hands yj; Lionel Strongfort, D 55. Ni ep, with you as though his wrist were broken. Did you ever sco such 2 Please wend me. your book, a pROMOTION "AND man amount to anything? NOW GET BUSY—DO NOT DELAY ONE SconsenvaTION OF HEALTH, STRENGTH AND SINGLE DAY. TENTAL ENERGY,” for postage of which I enclose Remember. by writing to me, you in no way obligate yourself to 10c piece (one dime). I have mark be- accept my instructions. whilo on the other hand. Iwill give you solid, SSfore the subject, in which Tame tnterceted fearless advice that will be many times worth tho few minutes it took = you to write me. Without anothor moment's hesitation cross the free = Tperonsed srormals Dinerdera consultation coupon herewith opposite what you consider to be your = Guan emtatet Errore malt ailment, sign and mall with your name and address written = puakne Vital plainly thereon. You will hear from me at once, and you will hear = maotency something well worth while. -Short Wind Get This Book—It’s Free If you will send me a 10c piece (one dime) to cover mi ing expenses, I will forward free my book, “PROMOTION = AND CONSERVATION OF HEALTH, STRENGTH AND = MENTAL ENERGY.” You should not be without it. Ut 3/77! “Nervousness . contains many startling facts and helpful hints. Mark = -Poor Memory. the items cn free consultation coupon on which you went =. - Rheumatism . special information. Manhood LIONEL STRONGFORT 2 Laer te... Weaknesses ~ Troubles (specify) — Physical and Health Specialist Founded 1895 Newark, N. J. Falling Hair ‘Weak E; Poor Sirculation Skin Disorders -Despondency Round Shoulders Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

Page 97

| “THE BANDIT SNATCHED MULHALL’S WEAPON FROM THE HOLSTER AND TURNED IT ON RINCKEL, WHO WAS FORCED IN TURN TO THROW UP HIS HANDS.” (SEE PAGE 93.)

Page 98

eke Gardner- Y BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY — by Aenneth F Aichards (‘LLUSTRATED BY E.PRATERO Daring to the verge of desperation, yet always smiling and never known to have killed or injured anyone, Roy Gardner is one of the most extraordinary outlaws of modern times. Having committed a number of train robberies, he led the officers a merry dance by a series of escapes, culminating in a remarkable “get-away” from an island prison that was supposed to be impregnable. While the subsequent man-hunt was in full swing. the outlaw, from his hiding-place, calmly appealed to the President of the United States for clemency ! Just seventy-one days after, however, he was caught once more while endeavouring to hold-up a mail-car, and this time, apparently, the authorities mean to lay him by the heels for good. For much of the matter contained in our narrative we are indebted to the courtesy of Mr. George L. North, of the San Francisco “ Bulletin.” OY GARDNER, laughing, debonair, cheerful, whose career as a criminal dates back less than two years, has _ in that short time won for himself the title of ‘ Prince of Bandits.” Though but thirty-four years of age, he has had one of the most spectacular careers of any Californian outlaw. Not even the wild days of the gold rush and the strenuous years that followed ever produced his like. Gardner first came into notice through his holding-up and robbing a United States mail-truck in San Diego, Cali- fornia, in April, 1920, and escaping with sixty - seven thousand dollars in nego- tiable securities, but was arrested in Delmar, near San Diego, a few days later, and all the stolen mail recovered. Gardner at first denied any connection with the robbery, teHing a story of two mys- terious men who had com- mitted the crime; later, on Vol. xlix.—7. Roy Gardner, the “laughing bandit,” whose extraordinary career is here related. his arraignment, he confessed, blaming for his criminal tendencies a silver plate in his head, placed there by the surgeons as a result of a mine accident. For this crime Gardner was sentenced to twenty-five years’ imprisonment on McNeil’s Island, Washington. With two Chinese prisoners, guarded by two Federal officers, he left for the prison on June 7th, 1920. As the train neared the Oregon-Washington line, however, Gardner diverted the attention of the guards for a moment, snatched a revolver from the holster of one of them, and covered them while one of the Chinese, Tom Wing, took the keys from the officer and unlocked his own and Gardner's handcuffs, which he placed on the helpless guards. The pair then robbed the other Chinaman of twenty dollars, locked the Pullman car door behind them, and, coolly walking the whole length of the train, dropped

Page 99

92 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, off as it entered the East Portland station. Thereafter Gardner completely disap- peared, and it was thought he had gone to Australia, until, in May, 1921, Federal officers intercepted a telephone message from him to his wife, who was at that time in Napa, California. He told her that he wished to surrender; but when she informed him that the officers were looking for him, his spirit of adventure asserted itself, and he stated that if they were seeking a fight, he would give it to them. A posse with shot- guns was immediately organ- ized, with orders to ‘' shoot to kill,” and in a short time had the fugitive surrounded in a wood on O'Kell’s ranch, eight miles from Napa. Once again, however, the bandit eluded his pursuers, and while they were searching the vicinity for him, Gardner showed up near Newcastle, where, on the night of May 19th, he boarded a Southern Pacific train, overpowered Ralph Decker, the mail clerk, and escaped with a pouch of registered mail. Then his luck deserted him: he was arrested without a struggle while taking part in a card game in Roseville on the night of May 25th. Mrs. Verdi Pitsos, a waitress in the Peerless Café at Roseville, first recog- nized him as he was eating. She had a copy of a Sacramento paper containing his picture and the account of the hold-up, and in order to ascertain whether her customer had the four gold teeth mentioned in the description, she drew him into conversation about the case. Her suspicions were verified, and she notified her employer, George Palmos, who in turn informed the Southern Pacific special officers. The officers walked in behind him, watched him play a hand out, and then told him that the game was up. Gardner was identified by the mail clerk, Decker, but stoutly protested his innocence, and it was not until he was brought to the jail at San Francisco that, on the pleadings of his wife, he confessed and promised to lead the officers to the cache where he had hidden the loot. He took them to what he claimed was the place, and showed them a hollow tree, but it was empty. If Gardner did secrete the hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth of securities, either someone else has found them or they are hidden in a safe place, awaiting the opportunity he may yet have of eluding the officers successfully and securing them. Louis Sonny, the constable who arrested Gardner after his escape from the Federal officers. After being arraigned in Federal court, and an additional twenty-five years’ sen- tence served out to him, Gardner was exceedingly cheerful, grinning broadly and seeming to be enjoying himself—a strange attitude for a man facing fifty years in prison! Some idea of his fearlessness and nerve may be obtained from the remarks he made while awaiting the trip to McNeil’s Island. ‘‘The Roseville robbery I planned carefully,’ he said. “I rode on the top of the train several times in order to get the lie of the land, and I noticed that on some of the sharper curves the hard rubber connections between the cars pulled apart for an instant. Friday night I set for the robbery, and caught the train as usual. We hit the curve and the connec- tions opened; in the second allowed me I slipped in; the connections closed; but I was in, and the door to the mail-car was open. It was but a few minutes’ work to awaken Decker and rifle the mail. All it took was nerve.” As he was being sentenced, Gardner turned to the United States Marshal, James B. Holohan, and said :— “IT give you warning, Mr. Marshal, that I'll not reach McNeil’s Island. I'll get away again!” This remark should have put the officers more than ever on their guard ; and, indeed, Deputy-Marshal Thomas F. Mulhall said that he would like to see Gardner try to escape again. He had the chance! On this second trip to the prison Gardner was in the custody of three officers—Deputy-Marshal Thomas F. Mulhall, Prohibition-Agent D. W. Rinckel, and Special-Officer Peter Kelly. In addition he was handcuffed and had an “Oregon boot ” on his leg. Gardner was so quiet on the way to Portland that the officers thought he had given up all hope of escape ; yet they still kept careful watch on him. At Portland, Norris H. Pyron, a counter- feiter, was taken on board the train and placed in charge of the same officers. The prisoners and their guards were in a com- partment by themselves, and when the time came to retire Pyron was placed in an upper berth. Gardner asked permission to go to the lavatory, but no sooner had Mulhall released his right hand than, like a flash, Gardner drew a revolver from his shirt-front —where, unknown to the officers, it had been secreted—and, pressing the muzzle against the Deputy’s body, ordered him to throw up

Page 100

ROY GARDNE his hands. Muthall’s revolver was in a holster strapped under his arm, and he had mo chance to get it; but Rinckel leaped towards the bandit, who promptly snatched Mulhall’s weapon from the holster and turned it on Rinckel, who was forced in turn to throw up his hands. Pyron then clambered down from his berth, secured the officers’ keys, and unlocked his own and Gardner’s fetters, putting the irons on the guards and chaining them to a steampipe in the car. Gardner took about two hundred dollars from the officers, but gave them back five dollars, remarking that they might need breakfast-money. Gardner told them that he required only twenty minutes to escape. Throwing the keys into the lavatory, he leisurely stepped off the train, while Pyron dived through a window. When the news, ‘' Gardner Escapes Again,” was published in the newspapers, thousands _ of people—such is human nature !—grinned and seemed to consider it a good joke. The interest in the chase was intense, and it seemed as though the public disappointment could be felt, so closely had the chase been watched, when he was recaptured. Pyron was caught almost immediately, badiy frightened, and putting up no resist- ance. He stated that Gardner had lost his revolver when he left the train, and that they had separated at once, each man to look out for himself. The search for Gardner, how- ever, was thrilling enough. Aeroplanes were aloft equipped with gas bombs to smoke him out of the woods, and posses of riflemen and hundreds of Federal and State officers began a systematic hunt for the elusive bandit. Reports that he had been R+BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY. 93 claiming that he had been injured in an accident in Tacoma; but Sonny thought of the large reward offered for Gardner's capture, and decided to take a chance and arrest him. The removal of the bandages showed no injury, and finally Gardner admitted that he was the man the whole country for miles around was searching for. Within a few hours the bandit was behind prison doors on McNeil'’s Island, being guarded on the last lap of the journey by almost a regiment of guards and officers, and handcuffed to two of them. When he reached the prison he said :— “ It was a good chase while it lasted ; but I was never more than a mile from Castle Rock until I caught a freight and went to Centralia. I was hungry, and I had to take the chance. I can’t tell you where I got the gun. It would be telling on a pal, you know, and I have always played square. And I'm through, absolutely. I’m done with that escape stuff. I'll take my medicine.” The officers, Federal and State, breathed easier when they knew Gardner was safely landed at the Federal prison, and the interest that had been aroused by his daring exploits had almost died down when the Western States were electrified by the announcement shrieking in big headlines in the newspaper *‘extras ’': ‘ Gardner Escapes Again!’ McNeil’s Island, the Federal prison, is located in the State of Washington, being one of a number of islands scattered in the inland body of water that has the Strait of uan de Fuca as its outlet to the Pacific. The Federal prison grounds occupy one end of the island, whose area is about twelve seen came from a score of different localities ; yet no reliable news con- cerning him was received until, after being at liberty for six days, he was cap- tured by Louis Sonny, a con- stable, at Cen- tralia. Mrs. Marion Howell, wife of the pro- prietor of the Oxford Hotel, told Sonny of a stranger who had registered at her house, and had aroused her sus- picions. He had his head bandaged, The Oxford Hotel, at Centralia, Washington, where Sonny captured the bandit.

Page 101

94 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, miles. The remainder is tangled under- growth, with here and there a farm. This undergrowth is difficult to traverse, and offers innumerable hiding-places that could shelter a fugitive indefinitely, providing he had means of securing food. On September 5th, 1921, the convicts had been given a holiday, and about two hundred and fifty of them were watching a ball-game between two prison teams. The baseball grounds have a high wire fence surrounding them, and just outside the fence are tall watch-towers, in which the guards sit, rifle in hand, with an unobstructed view of the prison grounds and the clearing around them. Gardner, with two other convicts, Impyn and Bogart, had contrived to seat himself at the back of the crowd of spectators. Their plans had been carefully laid and their move- ments timed to the second. Impyn and Bogart were soldiers stationed at Camp Lewis, Washington, and had com- mitted a dastardly attack upon an Army nurse. At first they denied all knowledge of the crime, but bloodstained clothing found in their possession refuted their claim, and they confessed. Guards and machine-guns had to be placed around the stockade they were confined in owing to their infuriated comrades endeavouring to take the law into their own hands. The penalty provided in the Army Regula- tions is death; but the pair were sentenced to life imprisonment at McNeil’s. These were the men Gardner picked out to escape with him, and it is possible that, knowing how the two ruffians were hated by the other convicts, he deliberately planned the use of the pair to cover his sprint for the woods, for the double purpose of ridding the island of their presence and aiding his own getaway. It was just three-thirty, and a_ tense moment in the ball-game, when the three suddenly bolted. Gardner was the first to run, and he had cut several strands of the wire fence with a pair of pliers stolen from

Page 102

ROY GARDNER— the prison shop before his escape was noticed. Bogart and Impyn, however, had hardly left the crowd before the guards saw them and opened fire. Impyn fell, killed instantly, and Bogart dropped a few feet farther on, seriously wounded; but Gardner, running like a deer, was rapidly nearing the stretch of undergrowth that meant freedom. He was seen to fall once, but picked ‘himself up. Again he staggered, but despite the fusillade of shots, he presently reached the brush and disappeared from sight. The attention of the guards was now centred on the other convicts, who, seeing the opening in. the fence, made a move towards it, but reinforcements promptly prevented a whole- sale exodus. The guards then set fire to the patch of brush to drive Gardner out, but the dense smoke which arose only seemed to aid the fugitive. Warden Maloney immediately placed every available man on guard about the island, patrolling the shore and cruising “Impyn fell, killed instantly, and Bogart dropped a few feet f. on; but Gardner, running like a deer, was rapidly nearing the stretch of undergrowth that meant freedom.” in launches, for the Warden believed it impossible for anyone to get clear away to the mainland, and he figured that it was only a question of time before hunger would lead to the bandit’s capture. For days the guards, reinforced by outside aid, beat through the underbrush and searched the BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY. 95 tangled woods, but all in vain. None of the seven hundred free residents of the island reported seeing him, save a few who occa- sionally mistook a guard for Gardner. The sentiment among many of the people may be gleaned from the remark credited to one of them :— “ If Roy Gardner comes around my place he will find a change of clothing and a package of food waiting for him on my back porch.” A number of the women on the island, wives of farmers, declared that they were in no way frightened by the fact that the convict was loose. * Gardner never harmed anyone,” said one woman. “In times past, when a prisoner escaped we have kept weapons at hand for instant use, but we are not worrying about Gardner.” Dr. Chas. Jento, the prison physician, drew the following information from Bogart, who was recovering in the penitentiary hospital :— “ Gardner told me and Impyn: * I’ve got it all fixed. When I slit the wires, you birds follow, and we will beat it for that patch of woods. Don’t be scared when the guards open fire—they will be shooting, but they won't try to hit us. I've got it fixed !’” The doctor stated that it was his belief

Page 103

96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. that Gardner deliberately selected the two men to act as his rearguard and protect him from rifle-fire. From the time that Gardner dived into the woods he was never seen again. The prison guards maintained their vigil day after day. Rumours came all the way from Canada to Mexico that he had been spotted here and there; excited people called officers up by ‘phone from scores of cities and villages, asserting that Gardner was in their midst ; and a close watch was kept on the home of Mrs. Dolly Gardner, the bandit’s wife. All the different clues, however, came to nothing —Roy Gardner had completely vanished. On Monday, September 26th, just three weeks from the time of his escape, the startling announcement was made by the San Francisco Bulletin, an afternoon news- paper, that Mr. George L. North, one of the journal's officials, had that day received two letters from Gardner, one telling of his escape, the other to be forwarded to President Harding at Washington, asking for clemency. The idea of an escaped convict calmly writing to the United States President was so astounding that at first the genuineness of the letters was doubted, but investigation proved that Gardner had _ undoubtedly written them. The letter to Mr. North ran as follows :— September 22nd, 1921. * Mr. GEorGE JL. NortH. “ DEAR S1r,—This will probably surprise you, but you must learn to expect surprises when you deal with me. This is written by Roy Gardner. I am going to give you a detailed account of my escape for your paper because I want it published in the Bulletin first... “On September 5th, about 3 p.m., we were watching a ball-game, and during the last half of the fifth innings I turned to my partners and asked them if it was time to wreck the ball-game, and they said ' Yes.’ I stooped and cut the wires in the fence and dived through. Two others and Bogard and Penyn followed. (Gardner evidently did not know the men’s right names, as he spelt them wrongly.) I suppose the other two lost their nerve at the last minute, because they failed to put in an appearance in the race across the field. After running about three hundred yards I turned and looked back to see how far behind the others were. I saw Bogard about twenty feet behind me, and Penyn was down about a hundred feet back. The other two were not in sight at all, and I figured they had been downed just after getting through the fence. I found out later that they never started at all. 1 was hit the first time when about two hundred yards from the edge of the brush, and I stumbled, but did not fall. It went through the fleshy part of my leg, about four inches below the hip. Bogard saw me stumble, and when he passed me he asked if I was hit. I said ‘ Yes,’ and told him to go on. He turned and started, and, after running about twenty-five or thirty yards, he spun around and fell on his back. When I passed him his mouth was wide open, and I thought he was taking his last breath. I felt awfully lonesome about that time. Seven rifles spitting at me, and badly winded, with about seventy-five yards to go. I was hit the second time when about fifty yards from the fence. That was when I fell the first time ; that one went through my left leg below the knee, and drilled my shinbone, but did not break the leg. 1 got up and took a couple of steps to see if my leg was broke, and it held up my weight all right, but my foot felt like it was asleep. “I had no feeling in it, and, of course, couldn’t handle it like I should. That was the reason I fell the second time at the fence. After getting over the fence I ran about evens A fi { y Wa Ay Ney Vn z Fs = a Charles 2 eh Tower n°6 a al Jach Embenk Tower NPT Where pe escape PE? camara True Tower Wer A diagrammatic view of the prison on McNeil's Island, showing how Gardner made his spectacular escape.

Page 104

ROY GARDNER—BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY. fifty yards and dropped in the brush, com- pletely exhausted. In a few minutes the guards were running past me, and, judging from their breathing, they must have been ‘allin’ also. Dr. Jento stopped within ten feet of me, and called to somebody to start A few minutes a fire and smoke later the Warden passed me, and missed stepping on my foot by about eighteen inches. He started a fire about fifty feet from the other side of me. I figured that was no place for Dolly Gardner's husband, so I began crawling back towards the fence that I had so recently jumped over. .I got back to the tence and ‘lay flat up against it until dark. “ About dusk the Warden and Dr. Jento came up and stood within twenty feet of me, and the Warden said one of the re- me out. Gardner's wife and child. porters wanted to know which one of the guards shot Penyn, and he said he didn’t know, and couldn’t tell him if he did know. I thought to myself I could tell him who shot me all right. I lay there until about mid- night, and figured my only way out was to crawl past Mr. Heister, the guard who was patrolling the field that I had run across that afternoon. I crawled along the fence until I was about a hundred yards south of Heister, and then I rattled the fence and coughed, and up came Heister tiptoeing down there and looking hard. While he was coming to where he heard the noise I was going back north along the fence, and I slipped through and crawled along the lane back towards the prison barn. “ When I got to within a hundred yards ot the barn I collapsed from loss of blood, and lay there about two hours. I thought I would have to give it up, but I finally man- aged to get to the water-trough and get a drink. That revived me like a shot of ‘hop.’ I got up in the hay-loft of the barn and stayed there two days, coming down at night and getting all the milk | 97 could drink. That milk sure was a life-saver. I left the barn Thursday night, and made it about half-way across the island, going north before daylight. I lay in the brush all day Friday, the 9th, and went to the north edge of the island that night. I watched the boats all day Saturday, Saturday night, and Sun- day, and swam to Fox Island on Sunday night, or, to be exact, early Monday morning. If I hadn't had the tide with me I never would have made it, be- cause it was the coldest swim [ ever expect to take. It probably felt colder to me than it really was on account of my having lost so much blood, but at that [ believe a Polar bear would freeze in that water. I thought I was a powerful swimmer, but I don’t think so now. That swim sure got my goat. (L will have to write on the back of these pages now, because I haven't any more paper.) ‘ I stayed on Fox Island four days, milking farmers’ cows and eating their apples, gaining strength every hour. I can't tell you where I went when I left Fox Island, because you would have a line on my present whereabouts if I told that. I can say this much, though: I am with a friend, who is a real friend, and here I will stay until my leg is entirely healed, if it takes six months. Please tell my little wife not to worry, because I am sure everything will be O.K. soon. You are at liberty, Mr. North, to use this letter as you see fit. If you care to use the details of my escape as a news item, go ahead and re-write it to suit your- self, and publish it, and if you still intend to publish my life story in book form, you might add this to it as the closing chapter, because this really closes my life story, as I am absolutely ‘ oft‘ criminal operations for life. “ There is no man on earth that regrets his acts any more than | do, and if there is any possible way to atone to my wife and baby and mankind in general for the suffering Mrs, Gardner still believes in her husband, and looks forward to the day when they will be re-united again.

Page 105

98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I have caused them by my criminal career, I certainly will do anything in my power to right the wrongs I have done. I wish you would tell the world that 1 am through as a criminal.—Respectfully yours, “ Roy G. GARDNER.” The second letter from Gardner, enclosing a message to President Harding, ran as follows :— “Mr. Nortn. * DEAR S1R,—I wish you would send the following letter to President Harding for me as a night-letter, by wire. Please prepay it and send the bill to my wife, and she will pay you. I am to-day instructing her to do so. If I can be fortunate enough to gain the President’s confidence it will be a hfe-saver for Dolly and Jean, and whether he grants me suspension of sentence or not, 1 am certainly ‘ off’ crime for life. If you have any suspicion where I am I trust you will not betray me. If you can add any- thing that will help my plea to Mr. Harding, please do so. 1 hereby grant you power of attorney to act for me as you see fit.— Yours, ** (Signed) GARDNER. “ P.S.—If you want to communicate with me, publish it in the ‘ Personal ’ column on the want ad. page of the Bulletin, and 1 will get it. I am asking Mr. Harding to address me in care of you in San Francisco. No matter what his reply is, whether for or against me, Jet me know immediately. I hereby grant you permission to open any mail addressed to me in your care.—Yours, “ (Signed) GARDNER.” The letter to the President is a remarkable document, and seems to convince the reader of the man’s sincerity :— * PRESIDENT HARDING, Washington, D.C. “Dear Sir,—This is an appeal to you from a penitent criminal fugitive secking just one more chance to prove to the world that I can be a man among men, J am now a fugitive convict with two twenty-five-year sentences awaiting me. It is true, Mr. Harding, 1 have committed a number of crimes, for which 1 am truly sorry. I have spent many sleepless nights both in and out of prison trying to figure a way to atone for and undo the things I have done. I have broken the heart of the dearest woman that ever lived, my wife, and my little baby Jean is growing up with the stigma of her father’s shame upon her. Mr. Harding, I am going to ask you to grant me one more chance by suspending the sentences now awaiting me. “Tam not asking, nor am I entitled to, a pardon; in fact. I am not entitled to any consideration {rom you whatever, but I am hoping and praying that you will grant me my one and only chance to prove to the world that a crimina! can reform and be an asset to society and a good husband and father. Mr. Harding, if you will grant my appeal, I promise before my God that you will never regret it. Let me be a protégé of yours, to point to in years to come as the man to whom you extended a helping hand and pulled from the mire when everything seemed lost. If necessary, I will work my fingers to the very bone to repay those whom I have wronged. The man doesn’t live who is more sorry than [ am for the crimes he has committed, As I understand it, the object in sending a man to prison is not to punish him but to reform him and try and return him to civil life a useful member of society. If you will return me to society and my wife and baby, Mr. Harding, I solemnly promise that I will devote the remainder of my life to honesty and integrity. “ By looking up my record you will find that I have committed a number of so-called ‘ desperate ' robberies. That is a mistake, because I am not a desperate man. I have what the police term a ‘clean record.’ In my entire criminal career I have never killed nor injured any person. Please bear that in mind, Mr. Harding, when you decide this appeal. I am now confined to my bed, suffering from two bullet wounds that I received in my recent escape from the Federal prison at McNeil’s Island. “Mr. Harding, if it takes mental and physical suffering to reform a man, then I have been reformed a hundred times over, because I don’t believe a man lives who has suffered both mentally and physically as I have. In closing, let me ask you to please grant me just one more chance to make good. If I fail in any sense of the word, then I am ready and willing to go back and serve every day of my time. “ Please, Mr. Harding, just one more chance.—Yours in all sincerity, (Signed) Roy G. GARDNER. “ P.S.—Please address me in care of Geo. L. North, San Francisco, Calif., care of the San Francisco Bulletin.” Mr. North sent the letter to the President that night, and then for several days there appeared in the ‘ Personal ” column in the Bulletin two notices to the hunted man, one from Mr. North and the other from Gard- ner’s wife :— “ Roy GarpNeER, Somewhere. *DeaR Roy,—In your letter to President Harding you said you had ended your criminal career. To show you really mean this, go back to McNeil’s Island. You can- not be a hunted man and lead an honourable

Page 106

ROY GARDNER- life. Show President Harding and everyone you are the man I have always said you were. Most anyone can be taken back, but it takes a Roy Gardner and a real thoroughbred to go back of his own accord and take his chances with the rest. The law renders your friends powerless to help you under present circumstances. Roy, do this one thing for my sake and little Jean’s. 1 want to do the best thing for you. Think this over, but do not let others think for you.—Lovingly, * Dottie.” To those familiar with the law, it is claimed that to return would be the best thing Gardner could do, as it would be establishing a dangerous precedent to parole ° z < J = < = ANDERSON ISLAND BANDIT EXTRAORDINARY. 99 On September 27th Mr. North received a reply from the White House to Gardner’s appeal :— * The White House, ‘ Washington, ** September 27th, 1921. “My Dear Mr. Nortu,—The President directs me to acknowledge the receipt of your telegram of September 26th, concerning the case of Roy G. Gardner, and to say that this matter will be taken up with the Attorney- General.—Sincerely yours, “Geo. B. CurisTIAN, Jr., ** Secretary to the President. “Mr. Georce L. Nortu, “‘ The San Francisco Bulletin, “San Francisco, Calif.’ 4 C4 Mere Gardner This map shows the location of McNeil’s Island and the bandit’s route after breaking out of the prison. a convict while he was at liberty. If he gave himself up voluntarily, however, and appealed through the proper channels, there is no doubt that the chances of his appeal being granted would be much greater. The reply of Mr. North was also in the ‘ Personal ’’ column :— “ Roy G. Garpner, Address Unknown. “ Your two letters addressed to me were received at nine o’clock Monday morning, September 26th, and published prominently in all editions of Monday’s Bulletin. Your appeal to President Harding was sent him by night-wire Monday night. For your information, Mrs. Gardner and your daughter are well and among friends. Any further information concerning your condition will be welcomed by them. * GeorcE L. Nortu.” It was firmly believed that Gardner would take the advice of his wife and return to the prison voluntarily ; but from the date of these letters nothing further was heard from him for months. Federal officers could get no clue to his whereabouts from the letters, as the postmarks had been blurred, but the hunt went on just the same all over the West. The devotion of Gardner’s wife was one of the brightest spots in the history of the case. She believed implicitly—and still believes— in the man, and says that an operation on his head, where he was injured, would restore him to his proper mind. All those who have come in contact with Gardner like him. He is always cheerful, fu!! of boyish spirits, and as he said himself, ‘‘ I have always played square and I never hurt or killed a man.” On November 16th last the news flashed over the wires that the vanished Gardner had

Page 107

100 again been captured. He had been at his old tricks once more—holding-up a mail-car —but had caught a Tartar in the clerk-in- charge. This happened at Santa Fé, New Mexico. For nearly twelve hours after his arrest Gardner attempted to conceal his identity, pretending that his name was “R. P. Nelson,” but the police-photographer taxed him with being Gardner, and he finally admitted he was the man who had escaped from McNeil’s Island. When the bandit was arraigned before the District Court at Phoenix, Arizona, Herman F. Inderlied, the mail clerk who captured Gardner, described how he went to his car and helped put the mail on board. About ten minutes before the train was due to leave for Los Angcles, he got out to get the mail from a drop box at the station, leaving his revolver on the table. When he returned to the car, he said, he was confronted by a masked man, who pointed a revolver towards his head and ordered him to hold up his hands and to back into the corner. “1 started backing, but didn’t hold up my hands,” he said. ‘‘ All the time I was trying to convince the masked man that there was nothing of value in the mail in my car. I don’t know why I didn’t hold up my hands.” When he got into the corner, he said, the bandit ordered him to lie down on his stomach. As he started to get down, the bandit put his hand on the back of Inder- lied’s head and shoved him. Then, he said, he started to straighten up, but only got high enough to see the revolver held in the other’s hand. ‘I made a grab for it, and seized his wrist,” Inderlied testified. ‘“‘ Then we started scuffling and wrestling.” Finally the bandit changed the revolver from his right hand to his left and tried to club the clerk with it, but Inderlied caught that hand in turn. At last both men fell down and continued wrestling, but finally the clerk got on top of the bandit and obtained possession of the revolver. About that time, he testified, help arrived in response to his calls. In reply to questions asked by Gardner, Inderlied admitted that the bandit had numerous chances to shoot him both before and during the scuffling. Inderlied said he kept the revolver he took away from the bandit until he returned from his run, when he turned it over to the officers. He identified five bullets as those he had taken from the revolver. Two of the bullets had wooden noses, and the others had lead ones. J. E. Wilke, special agent of the Depart- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ment of Justice, who followed Inderlied on the stand, explained that the wooden-nosed bullets contained small shot that would probably stop a man without killing him. Later the U.S. District Attorngy announced that Gardner would not be tried for his attempt to rob the mail-car at Santa Fé railway-station, but would be sent to the Federal prison at Leavenworth, Kansas, to finish serving his fifty-year sentences. Gardner, smiling, sat at police head- quarters and told how he had outwitted the man-hunters of the Pacific Coast after his daring escape from McNeil’s Island peni- tentiary seventy-one days previously. “It wasn’t hard to keep under cover,” he said. ‘ I came into Phoenix fifteen days ago, and laid quict. I watched all the trains carefully, and learned the schedules. You see, I didn’t want to spoil the scheme. “‘T knew men in almost every city on the coast, and I stopped in San Francisco for a whi I don't remember how many days. ‘Then I jumped to San Diego. By this time I was feeling pretty good. The bullet wounds in my leg had healed fine.” Gardner bared his leg to show the officers where the penitentiary guard had ‘‘ winged ’’ him on the day of his escape. *] stayed in San Diego for a while, and then decided to get into Arizona. 1 went to El Centro first, and then to Yuma. From there 1 took a ride to Maricopa Junction, where I dropped off the train. “From Maricopa I hiked into Pheenix. I spent a lot of time planning this mail job, and thought that I could get away with it without any trouble, but I figured wrong. That mail clerk was a game bird—and a big one, too.” Trying hard to keep back her tears, Mrs. Dolly Gardner, Gardner’s wife, took the news of his capture bravely. “People must know now that Roy is mentally irresponsible for his actions,”’ she said, almost in desperation. “‘T don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to think. It all seems so horrible— just when I thought he was safe. But I am a fatalist. What is to be will be. Nothing we can do will change things.” Mrs. Gardner declared that she still has faith in him, and always will have, no matter what happens. “ Roy couldn’t have known what he was doing,” she went on, ‘ Who could believe that any man in his right mind would have thrown away his last chance, especially when he had appealed to the President for clemency ? It’s terrible to hear of his capture after I had got into the habit of thinking him safe. I dreamed he was in Mexico, I thought he had _ started life anew. Oh, what did he do it for? But it

Page 108

ROY GARDNER- BANDIT may be for the best after all. I was always afraid something might happen to him, but now I know that he is not in danger of being killed. It’s hard, however, to think of him imprisoned again. “I'm as much for and with Roy as ever. I will always be. I faced this thing years ago; it’s nothing new to me. Even my EXTRAORDINARY. Ior from Mexico, where he was safe, and risk capture, unless there was ‘‘a screw loose ”’ somewhere. Since the above was written, Gardner has been tried at Phoenix and sentenced to an additional twenty-five years’ imprisonment. making a grand total of seventy-five years t “I made a grab for it, and seized his wrist. and wrestling.” own family thought I was wrong to stay with him, but I can’t help it. I love him, and I’ve just got to stick by him. Some day —I don’t know when—we’ll be together again, Roy, myself, and our little Jean.” Gardner’s latest escapade lends colour to the theory that the silver plate in his head may be the cause of his criminal tendencies. Surely no man in his right senses would come Then we started scuffling His lawyer states that he will endeavour to get the prison doctors to remove the plate in his head, which he blames for his lawless outbursts, and this course is said to have found favour with the Government officials. Gardner himself, when he reached Leaven- worth Penitentiary, boasted that he would again escape, but if he does get away from there—well, he will deserve a medal !

Page 109

Launching one of the sidecar-body boats by “shooting the chutes ” down a sand-dune. Exploring the Salfon Sea & aS ES £5, fC. Scherer ___& PHOTOGRAPHS BY GILLIAMS SERVICE. With the exception of the Dead Sea in Palestine, the lowest body of water on earth is the Salton Sea, located in the midst of a sun-scorched desert in California. It is two hundred and sixty feet below sea level, and in summer is a veritable inferno. To explore the islands with which it is studded two motor-cyclists recently made a most adventurous trip from Los Angeles, using their , Sidecars as improvised boats, and braving all the dangers of this sinister region of blazing heat, sand, and salt. Los Angeles, California, had a stirring tale of adventure to relate recently upon their return from the Salton Sea and the successful completion of one of the most unique expeditions undertaken in recent years. For the enlightenment of those who are not well up in geographic knowledge, it should be explained that the Salton Sea is in California, and is the lowest body of water on earth, with the exception of the Dead Sea in Palestine, being two hundred and sixty feet below the level of the ocean. It is located in the midst of the Colorado Desert, near the south central portion of California, and is some forty miles in length and about half as wide at its widest point. Its surface is studded with numerous islands, which are inhabited by hundreds of thousands of water Ji E. HOGG and Philip Johnston, of birds, such as pelicans, cormorants, gulls, and tern. It was the idea of photographing these birds in their native haunts during the breeding season that caused Hogg and his companion to leave the comforts of home and civilization, and attempt what would otherwise have been a most foolhardy trip. Owing to the extreme heat prevailing in that section, the dangers resulting from a negative elevation, and the many other risks involved, it looked truly like a madcap venture. For the reason that the Salton Sea is almost entirely surrounded by a bottomless saline mud-flat a mile or more in width, the approach to the Sea itself is a roundabout one. Only at one point is this odd sheet of water accessible, and that is at Mullet Island, the home of Captain Charles E. Davis, the head of the local fishing industry. ‘ Hell’s Kitchen,’’ the captain’s home on Mullet

Page 110

EXPLORING THE SALTON Island, was, therefore, the first objective of the two explorers. Leaving Los Angeles with their two side- car outfits, the day’s route was a most variable one in the matter of temperature and elevation, and most trying for both men and machines. Palm Canyon was to be the end of the first day’s run, and while Hogg drove one of the motor-cycles and Johnston the other, the sidecars were packed with tents, camping kit, and the necessary pro- visions. While covering the distance between Redlands and Palm Springs, they found it necessary to shed their coats and sweaters and don them again three or four times, as they travelled at different elevations. The temperature at Palm Springs was one hundred and ten degrees, while in the San Gorgonio Pass it registered only fifty-five degrees. * Some extremely rough going, of the kind the average tourist has no conception of, was encountered next day between Palm Springs and Palm Canyon, but, undaunted, the two riders made their way over cactus and boulders, across mesas and washes, bottomless sand and deep ruts, toward the Salton Sea. Palm Canyon, with its forest of majestic palms and cool mountain streams trickling down through its midst, is a veritable Garden of Eden to tired, thirsty tourists, and it was with genuine relief that Hogg and Johnston pitched camp there for the night. SEA. 103 Next morning, after travelling down from the canyon to Coachella and through the date farms that dot Coachella Valley, the two adventurers had their first glimpse of Salton Sea. Little did they know of the adventures the morrow held in store for them ! From the valley, the trail to Mullet Island winds around the southern end of the sea through the irrigated Imperial Valley, which twenty years ago was a barren desert. Between Coachella and Westmoreland the heat was found to be intense; in fact, in describing it, Hogg said that a good idea of the terrific conditions could be gained by standing in front of the entrance to a blast furnace for several hours. Despite this, however, the motor-cyclists made exceedingly good time over the desert roads. They felt extremely fortunate in that their motors were air-cooled and did not require water, which it would have been impossible to provide out there. Mullet Island, which is now connected with the mainland by a narrow strip of land where the sea has receded, was finally reached. Much to their disappointment, however, they were greeted only by ‘‘ Shorty " Beil, one of Captain Davis’s fishermen. It was discovered that Captain Davis had not received Hogg’s letter, written ten days before, asking for the use of one of his motor- “ Hell's Kitchen,” Captain Davis's aptly-named home. below sea-level, on the summit of an extinct It is situated two hundred feet

Page 111

o4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, boats for a cruise on the Salton Sea. It was a case of no captain, no motor-boat, and no visible means of water transportation. Then it was that Hogg hit upon an ingenious idea. * Boats ? ” he yelled, ‘* we don't need boats ! We've got a couple of sidecars that we can paddle across the sea.””_ ‘’ Shorty,” knowing the dangers of the region, protested vigor- ously, even questioning the sanity of the two visitors in no indirect terms. Nevertheless, he finally hauled out the can of pitch they asked for and also a couple of old oars, which were sawed off to make paddles. It took just about an hour to caulk all the seams, and the sidecars, after being removed from their chassis, were then left to dry overnight. however, * got away with it,’”’ and floated right side up after shooting over the surface for about thirty feet. The apparent stability of their strange craft gave them confidence from the start, and they soon discovered that the sidecar bodies made very stable and practicable little canoes. After acquiring the knack, in fact, they were able to stand up and paddle without difficulty. The day was a calm one and the first hour or two passed uneventfully, but soon after they noticed that their water supply, which they had considered ample when starting, was dis- appearing altogether too fast. It was neces- sary in the extreme heat—the temperature was one hundred and twenty-five degrees— ites Early next morning, after a night's sleep that was none too sound, due to frequent earthquakes which shook the house to its very foundations, the two men set out for Pelican Island in their improvised boats, with the intention of reaching their destina- tion, eighteen miles away, before their water- supply and muscular energy gave out. The sidecar boats were launched in the Salton Sea by what the explorers called “ shooting the chutes."" They coasted down the sand-dunes on which Hell’s Kitchen its situated, into the water, the improvised boats moving at something like thirty-five miles an hour most of the way, but going a bit faster when they struck the water. The riders, The explorers landing on Pelican Island, after padding their curious craft across the Salton Sea. to keep perspiring so that their temperatures would not rise above the safety point, so the matter was serious. They finally found relief by frequently wetting themselves from head to foot with the salt water from the sea. By this time Mullet Island had faded away astern. No shore line could be seen anywhere, the heat became more and more intense every minute, until at last it was almost unbearable, and they feared for their sanity. Painful blisters were a!so beginning to form on their hands. Fortunately, about noon, Pelican Island loomed unmistakably on the western horizon in the form of a mirage. This gave them renewed hope and Ph

Page 112

Vol xlix.—8. EXPLORING THE SALTON SEA. Some of the pelicans on Pelican Island. 105 The curious mud volcanoes on the shores of the Sea.

Page 113

106 courage, for they figured they must be half way between the two islands. Soon after, to their relief, a huge ‘raft’ of floating sedge-grass came their way, and on this they landed to stretch their cramped limbs and partake of some lunch. For the next two hours they paddled steadily onward without seeming to get any- where. It appeared to them that the Salton Sea was as boundless as the Pacific Ocean, and that they had been paddling there for ever in the terrific heat. Gradually, however, Pelican Island loomed larger and nearer upon the horizon, reviving new hopes. Two hours more passed, and then, just when they felt they would be utterly unable to longer endure the torture of sore muscles, open blisters, and the killing heat, they heard the welcome “ put-put-put ” of a motor-boat. It turned out to be Captain Davis heading toward them with his craft. He had sighted them from land and had taken them for a couple of boys who had drifted down from the Alamo River. The Captain and his right- hand man, “‘ Slim ” Crawford, soon had them aboard, and it was only a matter of a few more minutes before they reached Pelican Island. A rest in the shade, a good supper, a swim, and a night’s sound sleep followed. In the morning they were again fit and ready to set out for the various islands inhabited by the water-birds they wished to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, photograph. This work kept them busy for about two days, using the sidecar boats for going from one island to the other. There are about twenty of these islands in the Salton Sea, and they are the meeting-places of literally hundreds of thousands of pelicans, various species of gulls, tern, and other water- fowl. Hogg and Johnston timed their visits to the island for the coolest hours of the morning and evening, so that they would not disturb the mother birds during the heat of the day, when their wings are needed for the protection of the eggs and young birds from the scorching rays of the desert sun. Three days after their arrival among the islands the two adventurers had finished their photography of the birds, and the morning of the fourth day saw them, with their sidecar boats, on board Captain Davis's power boat, Salton, heading across the sea again toward Mullet Island. Landing on Mullet Island near where the cycles were stored under a large tarpaulin, the sidecar bodies were removed from the motor-boat and put back on their frames in quick time. Then, after packing up, the return journey to Los Angeles commenced. Despite their trying and hazardous experience the two cyclists reached Los Angeles in safety just seven days after beginning their apparently foolhardy venture, with everything accomplished that they had set out to do. MYSTERIOUS ROCK-CARVINGS. A FEW years ago an eccentric genius named Zadock Pratt, of Prattsville. New York, who owned nearly the entire vill ge and much of the surrounding land, con- ceived a novel scheme to perpetuate his name after his death. Being very wealthy, he employed a party of men to hew on the rocks above the village a number of objects, about a dozen in all. No one has ever been able to learn what these rock-figures sym- bolize. They are painted white every two or three years, causing them to stand out prominently. The horse shown in the photograph is ten feet high. These carvings are over thirty feet above the ground-level, and the rocks in which they are hewn cover an area of about twenty acres. Pratt had the whole area levelled in tiers, each with a steep incline leading to the tier next above. It was his inten- tion to use this ground as a cemetery, and one high knoll he graded with special care. Here he buried his favourite dogs and horses, and erected a tombstone in their memory. A spiral road leads to the top of the hill, and at intervals seats are cut in the rocks for weary travellers. Pratt intended to be buried among these tocks, and he had a vault hewn in them for that purpose, but some of his relatives put water in the hole when the workmen were absent, to give Pratt the impression that,the place would be wet. He then abandoned the idea, and selected another site for his tomb.

Page 114

An account of an adventurous journey through that little- known region where the frontiers of China and Tibet meet, in a country of lofty mountains, 1 LL who have travelled by the Burma rail- way northwards from Royal Mandalay must needs have heard tell of that little village called by the British Bhamo, and by the Chinese Hsin-Kai, or New Market—a_ grotesque name, for it ill recalls the breezy chalk downs of Cambridgeshire. Bhamo sprawls its untidy length along the left bank of the Irawadi, many miles from the railway— the globe-trotter knows it not—and nigh a thousand miles from the sea as the river flows. In the rains it is a swamp; during the hot weather it is Hades; but for five months in the year it is quite delightful. From time imme- morial traders out of China, coming into Burma, have passed through this one-horse village ; and since. it is the recognized start- ing-point for China, we were compelled to follow the crowd. Behold us, then, under the peepu! trees by the river, where the caravans camp, haggling with the Panthay muleteers for aset of scraggy animals to take us the first part of our journey. It is twenty- eight marches to KEMOTE YUNNAN by. CAPT. F. 4ATNGDON WARD FRG.S. ILLUSTRATED BY C.HOLLOWAY The Author, Captain F. Kingdon Ward. mighty rivers, and strange tribes. Captain Kingdon Ward writes with authority, and his descriptions and photo- graphs will be found particularly interesting Wei-hsi-t’ing, and no farther will these gallants venture ; for beyond the River of Golden Sand we get into Tibetan coun- try, and the mere mention of mysterious Tibet scares the Yunnan muleteer. After much talk, my “ boy” Lae-Wu, or “Old Crow,” conducting the opposition, the price was settled and the hour of starting fixed for six o'clock on the morrow. Then we returned to the dék bungalow, provided for the use of travellers bya paternal Government, to pack up; later the muleteers came round with their wooden pack- racks and tied on such of the boxes as we did not require. This would save time in the morning, they said. Old Silver Eye, my cook, had gone off to the bazaar to buy some eggs and a fowl for my supper. He returned somewhat ruffled, full of strange oaths directed against the Indian stall- keepers, who had ex- tracted more pice out of him than he con- sidered fair. After a hectic evening we had all the boxes packed, and went to bed pre- pared to be up at dawn. Five o’clock break- fast, with a heavy dew dripping from the long grass, and flocculent

Page 115

108 THE WIDE WORLD A Tibetan caravan negotiating a tricky bit of road in the gorges of the Mekong. MAGAZINE. and gently informed me that we could not start till next day as two of his animals wanted shoeing; so I spent the afternoon fishing. That night we went through the same. performance again, and the following day we really did start—at nine o'clock. In the East one never does to-day what one can put off till to-morrow. The journey eastwards across Yunnan is a series of ups and downs, so steep that the path is frequently nothing but a flight of badly-laid steps, and sometimes only a flight of imagination. In the valleys, which are given over to the cultivation of rice, one is compelled to balance on the narrow bund separating two swampy fields, and in wet weather men and mules slip off indiscrimin- ately into the morass. When it really rains the path becomes a cascade, and it is necessary to leap from boulder to boulder in order to avoid being washed away. Each afternoon we halted at a village set in the midst of fields where grew yellow tape-seed, blue flax, and scented beans. They were all alike, consisting of a single cobbled, sunlit street, lined with grey-tiled houses ; old women were seated in the door- ways, ginning cotton, twisting straw into sandals for the muleteers, or patching gar- ments; a few mangy yellow dogs lay stretched out in the sun. The whole village seemed wrapped in slumber. Even the venders of tea, blancmange, and pork fat, behind their stalls, seemed scarcely awake. The inns to which we retired upon arrival wads of mist lying down in the swamps. By six everything was ready, but there were no muleteers or mules. By seven we were beginning to get impatient. Soon after cight a man arrived leisurely with half-a-dozen mules; we re- quired twelve. By ten, two more had appeared, and by noon there were nearly a dozen col- lected outside the bungalow. At this stage we cried havoc, and other worse things, and had breakfast again. The tao- pan now came up Tibetan porters in the Mekong Valley. pyramid. In rear is a sacred “mani”

Page 116

were chiefly remarkable for smoke, smells, and small-pox. They were full of vermin and beastliness, very dingy and dirty; so that one had no serious difeulty in waking up at dawn—the roosters saw to that, or the butfalo rubbing down the wooden posts with their backs, or even the pigs in the yard. The village children have a playful and dis- concerting habit of wetting their fingers and poking them through the paper window, whence an inquisitive eye is applied to one’s privacy. There are no key-holes to serve the purpose, for the Chinese use padlocks of extravagant size and barrel-like form. More interesting than the inns were the muleteers, loafing along behind the animals, singing ear-splitting songs in falsetto, plucking flowers, and abusing the mules. But, never- theless, they know their job and do it ;_ their first care is always the animals. One needs to hear a Panthay talking persuasively to a mule in order to realize just how ignorant one really is of high-class swearing. Chinese profanity begins where ours leaves off. Three weeks of this sort of thing brought us at last to Tali-fu. From Tali we turned northwards, and on the fifth day reached the River of Golden Sand, Along the bank the snowdrop trees were in full bloom ; duck, mallard, and teal, on their way northwards to their cold breeding grounds, rested on the sandbanks, not yet engulfed by the rising water. Then, crossing the mountains, we dropped down to Wei-hsi-t’ing, the last city in China, where, a. desi oe ACROSS REMOTE YUNNAN. 109 A ruined watch-tower. The primitive rope bridge over the Mekong.—One slides across on a rope of twisted bamboo, trussed up like a pig going to market! half a century ago, Cooper, the pioneer of commerce in far Western China, was imprisoned by the mad mandarin. We halted a day here, having been a month on the road ; our Chinese mule-men had not contracted to accompany us farther, and we were compelled to hire Tibetans from this point on. Two days later, descending a gorge, we heard in the bowels of the mountains the rumble of the red Mekong, a warrior river fighting its way out of Tibet. Shortly afterwards

Page 117

THE WIDE WORLD 110 it came into view, and we followed it north. Gorge succeeded gorge. The road ascended and descended abruptly, the Tibetan muleteers shouting to warn approaching caravans of our coming; for on one side the cliff rose sheer and on the other the river roared at the foot of a precipice two hundred feet high. And then, round the next corner, appeared the head of a mule! He stopped, eyeing us askance, and a shout from far up the gorge echoed from cliff to cliff. The leading mule of our caravan plodded on, and his rival, standing at the corner, braced himself for the collision. A long-limbed Tibetan rushed ahead and clutched our leader, who stopped dead; and the two mules faced each other on the naked path. Now the rule of the narrow road is that caravans going up must give way to caravans going down. To pass here was impossible ; we must turn and go back. With infinite difficulty the mules were pushed round, turning in their tracks, and led back half a mile to where the path was wider. Here they were jammed against the wall, and kept there, while the downcoming mules were led past one by one. There were over fifty of them, and half an hour was thus wasted. At last the road was clear again and we were able to proceed on our journey. For some days we travelled northwards up the arid Mekong valley, which grew ever starker and more grim. Here, where a torrent has wearily thrown down a load of gravel, spread fanwise from the mouth of a ravine, white houses sheltered beneath massive walnut trees were scattered amongst terraces of wheat. Noisy streams chattered from terrace to terrace, between which the banks were covered with flowers. Over- flowing, the water poured down the steep path which wandered from house to house. Tall poles, from which fluttered strips of ragged white cloth, covered with faded print —" prayer flags ""—showed that we were in Tibetan territory. There were mani pyra- mids, too—heaps of grey stone slabs, with prayers scratched on them; whitewashed chorten, of mystic form, beneath which lie buried some holy fragments of sacred remains, and small monasteries inhabited by evil- faced priests, not always quite well disposed towards the Peeling, or foreigner. The big flat-roofed houses were crowned with small chimney-like fireplaces, where burning juniper branches sent a column of fragrant smoke up to meet the limpid dawn. We passed ruined watch-towers—tall, angular, mud-walled buildings erected by the first Chinese conquerors of the Tibetan marches a century ago. They are crumbling to ruin now, in spite of their thick walls, nor could we help wondering where the folk who inhabited them lived, or how. We may at MAGAZINE. least be certain—for nothing much is definitely known about these watch-towers— that they were not used as beacons to rouse the people and spread the news of war, for rarely do they occupy commanding positions, being often hidden away in valleys, as though apologetic for existing, and somewhat ashamed of themselves. No craft came dancing down the Mekong, for this roaring red river is utterly un- navigable for any kind of boat; even the skin coracles of the Tibetans or the dug-out canoes of the tribesmen who inhabit the country by the Salween could not live for five minutes in this wild water. Instead, there are rope bridges every mile or so—ropes of twisted bamboo passing from bank to bank, down which one slides, trussed up like a pig sent to market, and feeling about as cheerful. At night we sought shelter in the solid houses with their tiny wooden window frames —there is no glass, or even paper—and dark rooms. Meals were taken with the family in the large kitchen, where stand rows of gleaming copper tea-kettles and brass-bound churns, but I was always given a room to myself to sleep in. There is one great draw- back to a Tibetan house, in the summer at least. The ground floor is occupied by the stables, where the ponies, yak, and pigs are kept, and not only does the bouse smell in consequence, but it becomes plagued with flies. With the first hint of daylight they are on the wing, and soon make sleep im- possible; indeed, in the Mekong gorges, during the summer, I never managed to sleep after four o’clock in the morning. Sometimes after supper the Tibetans would ask if they might dance before me, and, upon my assent keing given, half-a-dozen men and women would appear, and to the music of a squeaky fiddle—yak hair stretched across snake-skin—cxecute various dances. Meanwhile I lay on my bed, watching, by the light of the fire, or by such other illumination as these people possess—usually chips of resinous pinewood burning on a flat stone. In this wise we followed the Mekong for a week, passing through the village of A-tun-tzu, at an altitude of eleven thousand five hundred feet. Then we crossed the river and began the ascent of the Mekong-Salween divide, making for a low pass which crosses the range at an altitude of about thirteen thousand feet. Mules were abandoned, and porters, men and women, requisitioned. Our path lay through dense forest, where grew many pretty flowers, including masses of tree rhododendron; from all sides water gushed down the mountain, and now we began to experience rain. Camp was pitched in the forest, fires lighted, and the men sat round them talking till late.

Page 118

ACROSS REMOTE YUNNAN. 1 “A long-limbed Tibetan rushed ahead and ‘clutched our leader, who stopped dead; and the two mules faced each other on ‘the naked path.” At dusk half the party would be scattered in the forest. Then someone would leap on to the angular granite boulder beneath which they were sheltering—a boulder as big as a cottage. all Diackened on the lee side by generations of camp fires—and sing out: one bringing a bundle of fuel, another edible “Come, good people, food is prepared!” bulbs and leaves grubbed up in the forest, a Thereupon the others would straggle home, third water in a bamboo vessel. And always

Page 119

112 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, these folk who did the work were women, while the men stayed by the fire. The leaves were thrown into the pot, where a thin soup was bubbling; the scaly bulbs were boiled in butter; the firewood stacked, and the Tibetans gathered round. Out came their little wooden bowls, their hide bags of tsamba, their bricks of coarse tea, and the frugal meal was par- taken of with much solemnity. Afterwards logs were piled on the fire, and our porters, wrapped in their long cloaks, indulged in talk. ‘‘ Dawa Tsering, wilt thou make the circuit of the wide mountain this year, at the season of the grain ripening?” “Nay, Lobsang; I go to the country of the Peeling with horses, and when I return, at the time of the great heat, in the Amid the Tibetan mountains. In the background thousand feet above sea-level. A view in the gloomy Salween gorges. the village of Atuntzu, over eleven A “mani” pyramid is seen in front. fourth month I go to the fair in the city of temples, over against the snowy ranges.” So the talk drifted on, of men and cities in distant countries beyond the moun- tains, of the road, of crops, and of the op- pression of the people by the priests. Next day, tramping through meadows and forests, by rushing streams and across melting snow - drifts, we climbed to the pass and looked down into the deep valley of the Salween. By good luck it was a fine day, and we gazed far over to the westward, to the snow-clad ranges where rises the Ira- wadi, the mighty river we had set out from a month ago. Clouds rested light as thistledown on the mountain crests, whose lower slopes are dark with forests, with a veil of blue mist flung over all.

Page 120

A dangerous “road,” on the brink of a terrific precipice, in the Tibetan Salween. Two. days’ descent brought us to the valley of. the Salween, another great river of Tibet ; and on the third day we reached the Lutznu village of Chamutong, where we were welcomed by the Chinese mandarin. Where the Himalayan ranges have been smashed: in, letting through those great rivers which roll down from the Tibetan plateau to the southern ocean, is the gateway into Kham. It was through this very rift— through the wide-flung portals of the Salween, Mekong, and Yangtze Rivers—that down the ages poured from the north those warlike races which overran South-East Asia, found- ing empires in Yunnan, Burma, Assam, Indo-China, and Siam. Once mighty and merciless, they are no more, save as isolated communities. But they died greatly. The pioneers who preceded them and built those wonderful temples in Cambodia, now swallowed up in the all-devouring Indo- Malayan jungles, have also passed on, leaving behind them to keep green their memory only scattered tribes indifferently related to one another. But the gateway through which these peoples marched to make history remains. The Mekong in the middle, with the Salween on one side and the Yangtze on the other, separated from each other by mighty rock walls rising to twenty thousand feet, follow courses for a distance of over two hundred miles, and, roaring through this breach, they are squeezed into a beit of country only seventy miles wide. Thus it is possible to perform the remarkable feat of crossing three of the biggest rivers in Asia ACROSS REMOTE YUNNAN. 113 during a week's march After negotiat- ing the 10Wwy passes which separate river from river, we must needs make a journey through the breach, fol lowing the gorges of the Salween River from Chamutong. Thus we cross the Chinese frontier into Tibet proper. Climbing along the stupendous cliffs of the Granite Gorge by means of nerve - trying bamboo ladders.

Page 121

114 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, On the Tibetan roads we employ local transport—ponies, yaks, or porters, according to the conditions. The roads are cut out of the cliff face in the arid river gorges, and shored up from below with poles. Sometimes they are hundreds of feet above the river, which can be heard and seen boiling over the rocks below. Flights of stone steps climb the spurs, and fierce gusts of wind rage through the rent in the mountains, so that the pack-ponies can sometimes scarcely get along. Then swarthy men seize them by the tail. ‘Go slow! Go slow!” they cry The exit from the Granite Gorge, showing the Salween at the point where it enters Chinese territory. in monotonous warning; “Hold! Stop! Get on now, get on! Ha!” in a tone of pitying contempt, “This pony’s dead!” followed by a pithy account of the said pony’s unfortunate ancestry, none too flat- tering. Meanwhile the leading animal is standing on the brink of the precipice bracing itself with legs asprawl against the blast, till presently, during a lull, it ventures to proceed. Sometimes, however, the road is compelled to leave the main gorge and ascend a lateral valley. It then crosses a spur of the main range, and dropping down the far side, re- joins the river higher up. In the Salween valley there is a remarkable climatic change as the river crosses into Chinese territory. Roaring through the dry stony ravines of eastern Tibet, the stream enters a gloomy granite gorge. By the time it emerges at the lower end, exhausted after its struggle, it has been tamed. Now it flows placidly between wooded spurs and cultivated slopes. Incessant rain falls, and the whole valley is verdant. Here dwell, not Tibetans, but the redoubtable Lisu tribe, the men of the cross-bow and poisoned arrows. Beneath the palm trees and clumps of feathery bamboo are the thatched huts of the jungle folk. So bad is the path that we can no longer employ pack-mules for transport, but must rely on men and women to carry the loads. All this change in the course of a few miles, while the river bursts its way through an uninhabited gorge! To pass from this fresh monsoon region. into the gorges of Tibet it is gener- ally necessary to leave the river, climb up and up through trackless forests, cross a pass, and, drop- ping down on the far side, rejoin the river some ten miles from the starting point. But in January, when the turbu- lent waters are hushed, and the iron grip of winter has chained up the spouting tor- rents which feed it, it is possible to penetrate the gra- nite gorge itself. It was in January when I started out to traverse this great gorge from end to end. The first day’s march from Chamutong brought us to the lower entrance, and we camped for the night on the river bank. There was no level ground anywhere, so we did not put up the tents, but, rolling ourselves in our blankets, slept on the ground amongst the river boulders. Small shrubby bushes grew here on the steep slabs, and there were many shrivelled ferns on the granite tors. In January it is cold at night even down in the valley, and we were glad of the fires. Next morning we plunged into the gorge, the Tibetan porters leading the way ; and at once the scenery changed. At first the going was easy, clambering over the rocks, but presently we found the way blocked by sheer

Page 122

ACROSS REMOTE YUNNAN 115 Lutzu huts in the Salween Valley. precipices, and now matters became more difficult. Up and down these forbidding precipices we had to climb by means of rough- hewn ladders—mere notched logs—jambed close up against the cliff; so close, indeed, that it was impossible to thrust even one’s fingers behind, let alone embrace them as one would have wished. My boots slipped on the smooth notches, into which I could only thrust my toes, and having successfully negotiated one of these alleged ladders in con- siderable awe, I sat down and removed my footgear before essaying the next. After falling over a precipice on to a granite ledge, I thought, one would take little interest in subsequent proceedings in any case; but lest there should be any doubt, one’s career, I now perceived, would not end there, for, having bounced on the steep rocks below, I would get no respite but continue the fast life till 1 reached the Salween itself, a couple of hundred feet lower down. For this reason I treated the climbing with respect. Not so the Tibetans! Half- way up one of these amazing ladders 1 glanced up to see a man bearing rapidly down on me, carrying a sixty-pound box on his back! He descended with the un- concern and agility of a monkey. All that morning we climbed up and down amongst the cliffs which here wall in the bois- terous river; and in the afternoon we varied the game by crossing chasms which cleft the masonry on rickety sloping bamboos. No hand-rail was _pro- vided, and we had the choice of falling off either side into the gorge below. The harsh scenery hereabouts was very impressive. Perpendicular grey cliffs, tier on tier, reared their bulk up from the river, Pelion upon Ossa piled. We scrambled along ledges, climbed towers, and worked our way amongst shattered tors. Every stream showed as a streak of silver against the forest as it leapt to meet the river; for the ravines were well forested, and higher up angular pines clung precariously to the naked rock. Down below, the frantic river fought its way through the gorge, its course further as Some of the “Black Lutzu” who inhabit the Salween Valley.

Page 123

116 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. impeded by giant blocks which had crashed down from above. Some of these were as big as houses, and the furious waters burst round and over them with a noise like thun- der. It made me giddy to look down on the tumult. Only for a few hours a day now did the winter sun peep into this narrow rift in the twenty-thousand-foot ranges. By two o'clock in the afternoon we were in shadow again, and towards dusk, having passed the cliffs, we came down to the river side and camped in forest. Here it was very dark, but warm, the temperature barely falling to freezing point, though there was frost in the open. So the men lit the fires, we had supper, and sat round talking till late. “How far do we march to-morrow ?” I asked. ‘ Are there more cliffs ? ” “To-morrow the path is easy, Bimbo. Afterwards we shall reach the boats.” “Oh, we go by boat, do we?” In the stillness of the night the hungry roar of the river just below sounded terrible. The fires blazed up suddenly, illuminating the dark trees and long ropy creepers, and an owl hooted dismally away up in the forest. “Yes. Last year the big canoe struck a snag coming down stream and was upset. The men were drowned, of course, and many bags of salt were lost.” “ Cheerful fellow,” I thought ; “ evidently he wants to encourage me."” And somehow, after that, I did not specially look forward to that canoe voyage. The forest here was still quite jungly. Masses of orchids enveloped the rocks, tropical-looking creepers hung from the trees, and birds’ nest ferns stood up stiffly on the boughs. On January 3rd we continued the march, keeping at first to the river bed and scram- bling over a fantastic jumble of boulders. Then came cliffs again, the water washing heavily round their feet, so that up we had to climb once more, balancing on ledges cracked across slanting slabs down which, at a false step, one could easily roll into the river. The rocks at the foot of the cliff were riddled with pot-holes where swirling eddies had spun captive stones round and round ceaselessly, until these natural mills had ground circular holes in the granite. Some of them were as much as three feet across and several feet deep. At dusk we descended to a turtle-backed sandbank, where a big dug-out canoe was drawn up. Huddled round a fire sat a crowd of ghoulish-looking Lutzu women, the crew of the jolly-boat, roasting yams. These people carried my boxes to the canoe, and, heavily freighted, set out to paddle up stream. The short winter day was drawing to a close, and they were soon lost in the gloom. A cold wind began to blow, and I was glad to sit over the fire till the canoe returned, half an hour later. We now embarked in our turn, and the crew, standing up in the bows, worked together with their paddles, banging them on the gunwale between the strokes to mark the time. But work as they would, the heavy canoe seemed hardly to move against the powerful current. Presently we came to shallows where the waters rippled musically over shingle. Overboard leapt the Lutzu, tying up their short skirts yet higher, and paying out a long bamboo rope as they went. Now they were nearly waist deep in the cold water, hauling us foot by foot through the protesting rapids. Paddling and tracking thus, we finally beached the canoe on a sandbank where a fringe of wood embroidered the cliffs, and disembarked for a night’s lodging. It was dark by this time, and a breeze with a keen edge to it was blowing. We dug holes in the sand for shelter, and, lighting the fires, had supper. The crew had nothing but their jungle roots and a thin broth boiled in a big iron pot, into which they threw salt and herbs. These poor wretched Lutzu, their wet skirts pulled tightly about them, sat round the fire all night with their heads resting on their knees, which were drawn up under their chins. Never have I seen people sleep so peacefully under such disheartening conditions! As for me, I rolled myself in my blankets and slept soundly in the sand. In the chilly dawn, troops of monkeys appeared high upon the clifis opposite us, and disported themselves. After breakfast we launched the canoe and started up stream again, the Lutzu some- times paddling, sometimes tracking. When we came to rapids the crew had to go aboard, and hug the cliffs, pushing against the rocks with their paddles; we had to keep away from the middle of the river here, and at the same time fend the canoe off dangerous rocks inshore. Then the bows would slue round in a whirlpool, the racing current would catch us broadside on, and we would go spinning down stream, threatening every minute to capsize. In a trice all was confu- sion. The steersman aft yelled orders as he vainly tried to turn the boat’s head, and the crew all shouted at the same time. ‘‘Across ! Across! Make for the other side! Turn her, turn her; don’t get broadside on in that rapid or we shall be upset |! Paddle starboard ! All together! Now, now, NOW! Look out— rocks! Fend off, push, push!’ Gradually, in spite of the uproar, the canoe was worked across. The thunder of the rapid below grew louder; we could see the water dragged down amongst the rocks. Once inside the jaws of that hungry monster, nothing could save us. Skilfully manceuvtfed in the face of ee ee

Page 124

ACROSS REMOTE YUNNAN. 117 “In a trice all was confusion. The steers- man aft yelled orders as he vainly tried to turn the boat’s head.”

Page 125

118 danger by the Lutzu crew, cool despite all their shrieking, the canoe shot into slack water just in the nick of time. The sun was now in the gorge and it grew quite hot, so, beaching the canoe, the men went ashore and stretched themselves on a sandbank for a well-earned rest. Embarking for the last part of the journey, we passed through two grim portals forming a gateway at the upper end of the gorge, and came toa fall where the river crashed down several feet. Past such a formidable barrier it was impossible to get the canoe afloat, so sixteen men lifted it out bodily and carried it over the rocks to smooth water above. Turning a corner, we now saw the first Lutzu village THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. equally small pigs and puppies, waddled about; and there were a few ancient mariners sitting by the fire smoking and sipping soupy liquor. Otherwise the village was deserted, for the young people were all out at work in the fields or trading down the river. Who are these Lutzu? Well, at the ultimate sources of the Irawadi, just over the mountain barrier to the west, dwell a dwarf people called Nung. These primitive folk tattoo their faces and build huts in the tree-tops. Their weapon is the cross- bow, they wear hardly any clothes, and, like the animals which inhabit their own jungles, they eat when they are hungry, living largely strung out along the bank, and an hour later the canoe was run inshore and tied up. “Welcome, Bimbo!” A lanky Tibetan put his tongue out at us as we entered the darkness inside the headman’s log house, where we found an old white-haired woman baking cakes as follows: First, a circular slab of stone was scoured with ashes, and rubbed clean. It was then heated over the fire, and the maize meal, mixed with water into a paste, spread thinly over it. This was soon crisped and turned over, whereupon the biscuit (for such it really was) split into two wafer-like halves as the steam inside ex- panded. These wafers, toasted and buttered with fresh yak butter, proved excellent. Small naked children, clutching almost A group of slaves in the Salween Valley. on roots grubbed up in the forest. The Tibetans capture these wild people for slaves, and take them across the mountains to the Salween valley, where they treat them kindly. The Lutzu are a small tribe occupying a few miles of the Salween valley, and are simply a mixture of Tibetan and Nung, with a few pure Nungs—released slaves—thrown in. They have nothing to do with the Lisu tribe, those mysterious cross-bow men who inhabit the Salween valley just below the granite gorge. After having replenished our supplies of butter, biscuit, such as we had just seen manufactured, and goat's flesh, we proceeded on our way, following the road by the Salween: (To be concluded.)

Page 126

wee eee —_—- ~. —— = - ~. ~. ~. ~ / BESIEGED BY ™ _ MAN-EATING \ ‘ A WOMAN'S TERRIBLE ORDEAL The story of one of the most dreadful experi- ences that ever befell a wife and mother. The Author writes: “ The narrative is the result of an interview with Mrs. Monk in Madras, when she told me the story, for publication in ‘The Wide World Magazine,’ in the presence of several witnesses. The truth of the statements made can be attested to by many Civil servants in Madras and Mombasa, as the tragedy is not one likely to be forgotten.” D about twenty years ago, relief opera- tions on an extensive scale were undertaken by the British and Colonial Governments. Every assistant who could be spared was pressed into service on the work, and among the Civil servants thus diverted from their normal occupation was a road construction engineer named O'Hara. He, together with his wife and two young children, had just arrived at the port of Mombasa from Madras in order to take charge of the road-building operations in connection with the Uganda Railway, which was then being laid between Mombasa and Nairobi. Mr. O’Hara was placed in command of a few askaris and about five hundred porters, and sent into the interior to distribute grain among the starving population. As it was not convenient to leave his wife and children at Mombasa, O'Hara made the necessary arrangements to take a larger personal camp outfit than had at first beer! intended. The party eventually departed, well equipped for a journey through dense bush infested with big game, for then, as now, lions were to be found in considerable numbers. For their URING the very severe famine which visited the East African colonies by ltred He ee Sharkey pai own consumption the O'Haras took with them a small flock of sheep. % After a period of several wecks the greater portion of the district allotted to the engineer had been relieved and the danger of imme- diate starvation removed. As the supply of grain diminished O'Hara discharged th2 porters, who returned to the base town. Eventually the camp was reduced to the four Europeans and four askaris. One of the latter was supposed to be a trained ‘* tracker,” but another was a mere lad. There was evidence of the presence of lions all round them, but this did not disturb the engincer or his wife, who were both well used to a life in the jungle. It was realized, however, that the sheep would inevitably attract any of the large carnivora in the neighbourhood, and the pen was therefore placed at a little dis- tance from the main tent, but under fire from its doorway. One of the askaris was on watch all night, his chief duty being to main-- tain a large fire which had been lit to kecp wild animals away. It was soon evident that there were lions of rare courage in the vicinity, for without fail a sheep was taken each night, in spite of the fire and the constant discharge of their Titles by the frightened askaris. This was

Page 127

120 chiefly due to the fact that O’Hara was too ill to take any interest in the arrangements for the defence of the camp, as he had de- veloped acute malaria and was also suffering THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. dining off zebra, deer, or other jungle in- habitants. On the night following the disappearance of the pet goat Mrs. O’Hara warned the “The lion returned and began to gallop round the tent, growling savagely. from “' jiggers,"" a form of chronic inflamma- tion of the feet caused by a tiny insect burrowing under the skin. Mrs. O’Hara rose to the occasion nobly and took charge of the entire camp, but the courage of this lady was to be severely tested before she again reached civilization. Her little boy, ‘“ Paddy,” owned a pet goat, and, although the child cried bitterly for his “ Nanny,’’ the animal was removed from the tent, as Mrs. O’Hara realized the extreme danger of allowing the goat to remain there. Poor ‘‘ Nanny ”’ fell a victim to a lion on the very first night of her banish- ment. By this time all the sheep had gone, and . it was hoped the lions would now find other hunting-grounds, as it is rare for one of these animals to attack human beings unless driven by stress of hunger or unless the lion has become so old that his natural prey escapes him. Once a lion has successfully attacked a human being, however, he seldom, if ever, reverts to his original practice of He seemed and the almost askaris to keep a good look-out and to pile up the bonfire well. The African lad was due to stand his watch, and he took up a position at the tent door, as near the fire as possible. The other men decided to make assurance doubly sure. They accordingly dug a hole to a depth of six or seven feet, surrounded it with brushwood, and, having retired to the bottom of the pit, lit the brush- wood and thought themselves safe. The lad _ at the tent door, however, neglected his watch and, falling asleep, allowed the blaze to die down. The fire being apparently dead, a full-grown lion calmly “ stalked ” the sleeping youth. The camp was awakened by a fearful yell of terror from the boy and angry snarls from the lion. The animal had sprung, and landed with its fore-paws on the sleeper and its hind legs in the “ dead ” fire. There was enough heat to burn the beast badly, and in its fright and anger the lion struck at the boy, ripping open his leg from hip to knee before bounding away into the bushes. The remaining askaris hastily

Page 128

BESIEGED BY MAN-EATING LIONS, 121 te be perfectly well aware that no real danger threatened from the two terrified natives woman. rearranged their fire and huddled themselves am the pit in the centre. An hour later, without the slightest warning, a huge lion sprang Tight over the flames into the midst of the terrified natives, and returned the way it had come—with one of their number in its mouth ! The position of Mrs. O'Hara, with a sick husband and two small children to care for, can scarcely be imagined. All night the heroic lady had nursed her husband, with a Tifle close at hand and a revolver strapped to her hip. She breathed a heartfelt prayer of gratitude as davlight appeared, and noted with joy the fact that the patient’s tempera- ture had begun to show signs of such im- provement that he could safely be moved. One of the two remaining askaris was promptly dispatched for help, but as his message was never delivered it can only be assumed that he, too, fell a prey to the prowling lions. This left the effective combatant strength of the camp much reduced. The wounded \ Vol. xlix.—9. boy was of little assistance, and the following night Mrs. O’Hara herself kept a look-out while the last askari had a short sleep. At midnight he was called and the brave lady attended to her children, giving the youngest a drink of condensed milk from his bottle. At this moment the watching native saw a large lion creeping round the side of the tent, and he at once fired, badly injuring the beast. In its agony, the lion leaped into the air and fell on the tent, crushing in the canvas wall across the cot on which, a moment before, the baby had been lying ! The native, with praiseworthy bravery, continued to fire and also threw lighted brands at the animal, which speedily escaped into the jungle. The man had a very narrow escape, as it is not at all usual for a wounded lion to run from its persecutor ; almost in- variably it charges straight at him. By this time the wounded lad had secured a rifle and joined his countryman outside, and the pair continued firing in all directions, many of the shots actually passing through

Page 129

122 THE WIDE WORLD the tent! The noise and general excitement lent the sick engineer sufficient strength to stagger to the doorway of the tent, where he ordered his men to cease firing. He was struggling to carry a rifle and himself see to the safety of his loved ones, but the effort was too great, and Mrs. O'Hara had to assist him back to bed. The children slept between his bed and the tent wall. Husband and wife, worn out, lay down together for a brief rest, Mrs. O'Hara next her children. Presently O’Hara inquired what the time was, and his wife replied that she thought it was about one o'clock. He then asked her to place his water-bottle near, so that if she were asleep he could reach it without disturbing her. This she did, and then, wrapping an extra blanket about him, lay down again. Sleep was impossible in the circumstances, and the sorely-tried woman lay awake, longing for daylight and a move towards the railhead, which was some fourteen miles away. Then, the baby becoming fretful, she leaned across and stroked the little fellow’s head to hush him to sleep. While she was thus engaged she felt a sharp tug at the blanket, and, thinking her husband had become restless, turned to replace the bed-clothes on his body. To her intense horror, she saw that her husband was at that moment being carried off by an enormous lion, which had silently crawled under a loose portion of the canvas and had seized O'Hara's head in its jaws ! In an instant the courageous woman dashed across the tent and seized a foot of the victim in either hand. The struggle de- veloped into a grim tug-of-war between the animal and the frantic wife, and fearful was the confusion. Mrs. O'Hara was shrieking for help, the lion was angrily growling, and the askaris were firing and yelling ‘ Lion! lion!” but rendering no help. Eventually the distracted woman was compelled to relinquish the body to the man- eater. With horrified eyes she watched the lion pull O'Hara clear of the box which stood at the doorway, drop the body on the ground, and begin to lick it. Madly she rushed at the beast again, and, with an angry roar, the lion sprang over the still burning fire and vanished. With the disappearance of immediate danger, the two askaris came to her assistance and helped to carry the mangled body of the unfortunate engineer back to the tent. He was quite dead. MAGAZINE. Almost at once, to their horror, the lion returned and began to gallop round and round the tent, growling savagely. He seemed to be perfectly well aware that no real danger threatened from the two terrified natives and the almost hysterical woman. The constant wild firing from the tent can be the only reason why the beast refrained from further attack. Daylight saw the lion disappear, to their great relief. Mrs. O'Hara then fashioned a rough bier from the bedding on which her husband’s body had been laid. The ashavi and the wounded lad—the only two left of the original four—took the burden, the widow bearing the baby in her arms and the other child toddling along, clutching at its mother’s skirts. Thus the sad little pro- cession wended its way through the jungle to the nearest point on the new railway. All that day they wearily pursued their way, and at length were met by the officer in charge of the railway, Cvlonel Patterson, himself one of the most famous lion-hunters in East Africa.* Colonel Patterson was horrified by the tragedy. Carrying both children, he escorted the broken woman to his quarters, where she was at once put to bed and attended by Dr. Rose, the medical officer of the railway works. A strong sleeping-draught was given to her and the children, and a guard was set about the hut in which they were housed. The two white men then ordered a grave to be dug, and with all solemnity read the burial service over what was left of poor O’Hara. Hasty arrangements were made to send the three survivors back to Mombasa, as it was felt that Mrs. O Hara’s brain would give way if she were allowed to rest and come to her senses near the scene of her terrible experi- ence. She was therefore sent on to Mom- basa in a special train, and there taken care of by the sympathetic railway officials. Not long afterwards Mrs. O’Hara returned with her two children to Madras, from which port she had set out in high spirits such a short time before. The Colonial Govern- ment, in consideration of the devotion to duty which was invariably displayed by Mr. O’Hara in his lifetime, awarded his widow a pension, which she received till she married again. As Mrs. Monk she is living to-day, a well-known and _highly-respected member of Madras society. * Colonel Patterson wrote a very remarkable account of his adventures, entitled. The Man-Katers of Tsavo,” which was published in our pages —Evitor.

Page 130

A thrilling story from the far North, describing what happened to the passengers and crew of a little schooner that was wrecked amid the icy waters of Bering Sea. In an open boat, without food or water, and at the mercy of the elements, they underwent appalling hardships, their experi- ences being probably unique in the annals of Alaskan adventure. Some of the names of the parties concerned have been changed, by request, but otherwise the story is absolutely true, as testified by the Author in an affidavit. N August 2nd, 1913, the power schooner Wasp lay at Nome, Alaska, loaded and ready to depart on her voyage to the Kuskoquim River with a load of Government school supplies and seventeen passengers for different points along the coast and river. She was a little beauty, white-painted and built on dainty lines, with a “ clipper ’’ bow and bowsprit. Captain Madison, a veteran navigator of the Polar seas, was pacing up and down the deck, anxious to get under way, for black clouds were showing up in the south-east, and the Nome roadstead is not a very com- fortable place in a south-easter. He was waiting for Mr. Jackson, the superintendent for the North-Western District of the Alaska school and reindeer service, also a veteran of the Land of the Midnight Sun. A few minutes later a little Jaunch ran alongside and Mr. Jackson stepped on board, with a salute to the captain, and asked him if he was ready to start. ‘All ready!” came the answer. ‘ Start the engine! Pick up your anchors!’’ The deck-hands on the forecastle head, with some ten or twelve willing helpers, quickly had the anchors up and secured on deck. The dory, a flat- bottomed boat fourteen feet long, was then taken on board and set thwartships over the stern, lashed fast, and the Wasp was soon under way on what was destined. to be her last voyage. The black clouds were now moving faster, SHIPWRECKED IN BERING SEA és (LLUSTRATED BY ES ‘HODGSON and Bering Sea began to show its white teeth, but the little ship ploughed fearlessly onward and reached Saint Michael's, her first stop, without mishap. There some more goods were taken on board, and a few tons of coal finished the cargo. The freight for Hooper Bay, the next stop, was discharged, and the Wasp continued her way to Good News Bay, situated in the mouth of the Kuskoquim. She then pro- ceeded up the river, stopping at Quinhagak, Bethel, and finally discharged the last of her freight in Akiak, where Mr. Jackson inspected the Bureau of Education’s school buildings and gardens. Mr. Jackson and Mr. Roberts, the latter a well-known public man, Alaska’s first dele- gate to Congress, had decided to return to Nome on the Wasp. So, with six men aboard, the little schooner started on her return trip down the river, bound for Nome. The mail and a few hundred musk-rat and mink skins were taken on board at Bethel, and farther down the river the captain traded with the natives for some more furs and dried salmon. After passing Good News Bay the course was laid for the centre of Etolin Straits, which separate Nunivak Island from the mainland. On the morning of August 25th a strong

Page 131

124 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, north-easter was coming up and the Wasp was on the port tack, trying to get well in towards Cape Avinof, so that she could make the shelter of Nunivak Island on her next tack. As luck would have it, however, the current in the Strait was running to the south, drifting the vessel in a south-westerly direction. Determined to try to get the Wasp under Nunivak Island before dark, the captain ordered the little craft about again and ran as close to the mainland as he considered safe. This is a very treacherous coast, with sand- bars and mudflats extending for many miles seawards from the low-lying tundra land, which is invisible to the eye from the alti- tude of a ship's deck. The gale was momentarily increasing in force, and the white combers rushed along at terrific speed to meet the little vessel and drive up savagely over her bow, falling on board in smothers of foam and hiding every- thing but her masts from view. In eight fathoms of water she was again turned about towards Nunivak, and the double-reefed foresail did its best to help the little engine. At a snail’s pace the Wasp was moving towards her goal, but at the same time the current steadily drifted her south-westwards, thereby losing all the ground gained by tacking. It was about six o'clock in the evening when the captain was weighing in his mind which would be the Lest to do— “run before it’ or “* heave to’ until morn- ing—that the unexpected happened. A ship's length to windward an enormous wave foamed up. It towered high; then it broke with a terrific roar, and masses of white and green water rushed up over the deck and masts of the Wasp, making a clean sweep of everything. : The schooner stood still, shaking like a tree struck by lightning; then she braced up again and began gathering a little headway on her course towards Nunivak Island. Keklonack, one of the Eskimo deck-hands, was at the wheel and Captain Madison was standing near him, ready to help him turn the spokes and run the ship into the wind in case another similar wave should come along. “Bad one!’ muttered the Eskimo, in his own language. “Yes; she sure was a bad one, Keklo- nack,” answered the captain. “It is a good thing that they are far between. The ship acted as if she struck a solid rock, but we are right in the middle of Etolin Strait, and the chart shows everything clear. Still, we will heave the lead and see how much water we’ve got under us.” Thereupon Azazuck, the other Eskimo, hove the lead and found twelve fathoms of water, which, according to the chart, proved that the Wasp was in the middle of the Strait. Shortly after they had hauled the lead on board, Johnson, the engineer, stuck his head out of the companionway and asked the captain to send a man to the pumps, as there was “ quite a bit of water” splashing from the bilges on to the flywheel, thereby making the magneto mis Madison explained to him that Azazuck had pumped her but a few minutes before until she ‘ sucked,” which proved there was no more water in the bilges. However, he sent the Eskimo to the pump again, telling him to pump the schooner per- fectly dry. Meanwhile Johnson started the bilge pump, which was attached to the engine, and the Eskimo worked hard with the deck pump; but to their surprise they found the water gaining on them every minute. "Oh, Cap!” yelled the chief, from the engine-room, “ the water is over the engine- room floor! Is anybody pumping her out ? ” ‘ Why, sure; the Eskimo is pumping to beat the band,’’ replied Madison. With that he pulled off his oilskin coat, grabbed an axe, and ran for the main hatch, which he tore off in a hurry and jumped into the hold of the vessel to examine things for himself. The water was already above the skin on both sides of the keelson. He laid his ear against the side and tried to determine where she had sprung the leak, which he knew must be the case, but the terrific roar of the sea breaking against the schooner made it impossible to locate the point where the water was rushing into the hold. Chopping and tearing, the captain stripped the ribs on the port side amidships, and then did like- wise on the starboard side, but all to no avail. The little Wash was swiftly filling, and the only thing to do was to pump and bail with buckets to try and keep her afloat for a few hours until they could make the flats on the mainland, and then take their chance of getting ashore somewhere near Cape Avinof. Hurriedly Captain Madison explained the situation to all on board, and told everybody to get busy with buckets and pumps. Then he tacked around and shook a reef out of the foresail, in order to give the schooner more specd on her course for the Cape. He took the wheel himself and let her go for all she was worth, being careful to gain every inch he could and only run the vessel into the wind whenever an exceptionally large breaker rose to windward. It was a dangerous piece of work, with a beam wind and sea, an almost empty ship, the engine going at full speed with a single-reefed foresail to help, and the hold filling with water which was rushing from side to side with the rolling motion of the schooner. But it was their only EEE eee

Page 132

SHIPWRECKED IN BERING SEA. 125 “A ship's length to windward an enormous wave foamed up.”

Page 133

126 chance of salvation, and even then a slim one. Occasionally a comber would rise above the bulwarks, break, and cover Jackson and Roberts with the flying spray as they worked in the main hatch bailing with buckets. In spite of every etfort, the water was gaining stea‘lily, and at nine o'clock the carburettor filled with salt water and the engine stopped. All hope of reaching land with the schooner had to be abandoned immediately the engine failed, but still the buckets and pumps were kept busy, and Azazuck was told to help the engineer to get some provisions into the dory and have it ready to launch. The fresh-water barrels had been knocked over- board by the big sea which swept the decks, so there was not a drop of drinking water on board. A compass and dish-pan, as well as a few other items, were put into the boat, and she was ready for the emergency call The schooner was now getting pretty cranky under the singie-reefed foresail, although she ran much ea-ier after the engine failed, and accordingly another reef was taken in the sail. There was a curious, sodden motion about her, however, which made them feel very nervous, and as they were still a long distance from the flats Captain Madison decided to take the whole sail down and let her ride the seas while they tried their last resort. The mainsail was unbent from the boom and all hands called to help get it under the vessel, hoping that the suction of the water would draw the canvas up against the leak and plug it sufficiently to let the pumps and buckets hold their own. Ropes were passed under the bowsprit from side to side and one end fastened to the sail; then a long boat- hook was employed to press the ropes under the forefoot and along under the keel. Although big seas were continually breaking on board and drenching everybody, the men kept on doggedly until the ropes were all in place. Everybody was waiting with interest to see if the sail would serve their purpose, but after hauling on the lines for a few minutes they found, to their horror, that the sail, or the ropes, had caught on some obstruction on the kecl, and they could get it no farther. Nor could they get it back again, they dis- covered, and as the vessel was drifting to the south-west and the current now running to the north-east, the whole sail stood out like a balloon under the water. It was im- possible to shift it; all they could do, it seemed, was to wait for the end. The water was still rising in the hold, but the IWasp rode the seas remarkably well, only taking occasional sprays over the bow. Mr. Roberts lay down on one of the loose hatches near the rigging and the remainder THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, of the crew walked aft and stood by the dory, which was their sole hope. “Well, boys, she looks bad, but as long as there is life there is hope,”’ said the captain, presently. “Only a madman would take to the dory in this weather unless he had te.”” At eleven-thirty the decks were awash, but still the little schooner rode the seas like a cork, bobbing up and down with her nose to the white foaming combers, which showed up like gleaming ghosts in the pitch-dark night. Captain Madison gazed anxiously into the poorly-lit compass and then forward into the darkness of the night. He had noticed a motion of the vessel which foretold that she was swinging into the trough of the sea. That meant only one thing—capsizing. “Cut the lashings!’ he cried, and almost instantly his own knife severed the after- lashing of the dory, while Keklonack, quick as a flash, cut the other. The Wasp was slowly rolling over on her starboard side, and as the dory slid into the water the men scrambled into it in a hurry. Mr. Roberts, however, being too far away, clambered towards the fore-rigging, where he hung on for dear life. As the boat drifted away he called out :— “Good-bye, boys! If you make land, tell my wife and the kiddies that I am all tight.” The captain, determined not to abandon Mr. Roberts on the derelict, was just about to get the oars out from the bottom of the boat, when he heard a cry for help. Look- ing around, he was startled to discover that it was Mr. Jackson, who was clinging to the painter of the dory, which he had caught as the vessel rolled over and the boat slid into the water. Several attempts were made by Madison to get Jackson in over the side, but owing to the heavy sea running it was a dangerous undertaking, as the boat nearly capsized at every trial. “ Throw some of the boxes overboard and make room for the pecpi2: ” cried the cap- tain at last, and the two Eskimos and the engineer, in the darkness and their excite- ment, got busy and cleared the boat of practically everything—even the ten-inch compass, which was mistaken for a box of some kind! Finally, by getting right up in the bow and watching for the dory to take a dive, Captain Madison succeeded in getting Jackson into the boat. Then, getting the oars out, he started to pull against the wind and sea in the direction where the derelict should be, though she could not be seen in the darkness of the night. When they finally reached the wreck the castawavs were nearly exhausted. The hull of the Wasp afforded an excellent breakwater, lessening the ferocity of the white-topped

Page 134

SHIPWRECKED IN combers ; but it was no child’s play to get on board to make the line of the dory fast and rescue Roberts. As they lay there in the tossing boat they stared up at the sodden hulk of the schuoner. Wallowing drunkenly in the swell, she pre- sented a pitiful appearance. ‘The large fuel tanks which had acted as life preservers had been torn from their fastenings on deck, everything was smashed or adrift, and it was evident that before very long she would slip quietly under the surface. “We have no water, and in the darkness the boys threw all the provisions and odr ‘compass overboard,”’ Captain Matlison told Mr. Roberts: ‘* but we have a pair of oars and plenty of hope and backbone. If the wind and sea are the same, which should be north-east, then we can steer by that. We have been drifting to the south-west for the last thirty-two hours at the rate ot about a mile an hour, so we should now be about fifty miles oft Cape Avinof.”” It was decided not to remain idle till the ship sank, but to take the chance of reaching land. A slim chance it was indeed, with a leaky dory, only one pair of oars, and a big sea still running. The captain took the first spell at the oars, and was followed by the engineer and then the Eskimos, Jackson and Roberts being unable to handle them owing to blistered hands, caused by their exertions with the bailing buckets. On and on they went, the boat moving at a snail's pace, while the men took turn and turn about at the oars—wet to the skin, chilled, sleepy, hungry, and, worst of all, thirsty. They waited momentarily for the breaker that would fill the frail dory and end _ their struggles, but luck was with them and they kept on in the direction set by the captain, using the wind and sea as their compass. “Your turn at the oars, Chicf,” cried Captain Madison, presently. He was ad- dressing the engineer, who was lying flat on his back in the bottom of the dory. With a foolish stare in his eves, the engineer looked up and asked what was wrong. “Oh, nothing,” replied the captain, “ only it is your turn at the oars.” It seemed to the observant seaman that the unfortunate engineer’s brain was giving way under the strain of their trying experience, and it took many efforts to get him to his feet and finally place the oars in his hands, as that seemed to be the only chance of keeping him from going out of his mind entirely. The cure worked, for a little later he began to pull steadily at the oars, remarking that he had been in a stupor but felt better now. During the terrible days that followed many incidents occurred which ought to be described in detail, but as I am no story- writer I find myself quite unable to set down BERING SEA. 127 sufficiently vividly a description of the hardships that these men had to endure in that leaky little dory, tossing about in the midst of an angry sea. Without food or water, drenched, chilled, sleepy, hungry, thirsty, and every minute in danger ot losing their lives if a wave broke on board, their situation was appalling indeed. There was no sign of rescue, no trace of land; nothing but an endle: procession of menacing, white-topped waves. “My ship and all the furs for a drink of water!’ cried the captain, as he watched the black clouds gather over their heads. Everybody licked their parched lips as they thought of the clear and sparkling elixir of lite. A few minutes later the precious rain- drops began to fall, and an oilskin coat was hurriedly stretched out between four men to try to catch some of the valuable water. About six or seven tablespoons of water were gathered in the coat, but to their horror they found it as salt as the sea, and quite untit to drink, owing to the brine which had dried on the coat from the flying spray. The black clouds passed on and the rain stopped. Great as was their disappointment, they still kept their nerve and rowed doggedly on. On the morning of the fifth day in the boat a few scattering raindrops fell again, and Captain Madison stood up in the bow of the dory with his mouth wide open, trying to catch a drop on his tongue now and then. For some time now he had watched the staring, bloodshot eyes and troubled-looking face of Mr. Jackson, who was everlastingly looking forward into the horizon, where they saw only the same dreary vista day after day—heaving water, grey sky, and once in a while a stray sea-gull. Seeing two gulls circling round the dory, Madison produced a Colt revolver and a full box of ammunition and tried several shots at the flying birds, thinking they might help to alleviate their thirst and hunger, but the dory was rolling and pitching too much to get any proper aim, so after a while he gave up in disgust. Presently he stood up in the bow again, staring ahead for possible signs of land, which, according to his calculations, should not be far off. Suddenly, about three points on the starboard bow, he detected a black object on the horizon line. He rubbed his tired eves, wondering if he was the victim of a delusion. “Is it possible?’ he muttered to himself, and strained his eyes again. “It sure is !and,” he told himself: ‘' but if I cry out ‘Land ahead!’ the chances are that they will all jump up at once in their excite- ment and capsize the dory, and then we shall all drown here like a bunch of rats after all.” So, determined to break the news gently, he sat down again.

Page 135

WIDE THE 128 ““ Well, boys,’’ he began, quietly, “I suppose, if I were to tell you that I had seen land ahead, you would all jump up like a lot of wild men and in your excitement capsize the dory. Wouldn't you, now?” “ Why—what do you mean?’ The ques- tion came from several throats at once. ** Did you see land? What are you driving at?” “ Sit still and I will tell you,” replied Madison; ‘and promise you will all keep your places and not get excited. I saw something black about three points on the starboard bow, but a long way off, and Iam almost certain it is land, although I couldn’t swear to it until I take another look. If it is, we will make it, but it would be pretty tough to capsize in our excitement over the discovery.” Everybody sat quietly while the captain took a second careful look, and finally announced that it was land. It is impossible to describe the change that took place in the little boat after this dis- covery. It scemed as though new life had come to these shipwrecked men; they were all talking, smiling, laughing, and joking together. As they drew nearer the land they detected what looked like three snow-white tents, and as these indicated the presence of WORLD MAGAZINE. “As the boat drifted away he Several attempts were made to Eskimos they felt much relieved. Coming closer, however, to their horror they saw the three “ tents” fly up in the air, and it was then discovered that they were three sea gulls that had been sitting on a sand- bar, but had looked for all the world like three tents on a strip of low-lying land. Great was their disappointment, but at the same time they knew that the real land could not be very far off, so, after stopping for a few minutes to inspect the sandbar, which was about half a mile in length by sixty feet wide, they pursued their course again, hoping to reach the land before dark. At this point it may be stated that when the men stepped out of the dory to look at the sandbar they found that the stopping

Page 136

SHIPWRECKED IN of the circulation of the blood by sitting in the same position for several days had swollen the feet of Jack- son, Roberts, the engineer, and one of the Eskimos to called out, ‘Goodbye, boys!’ get Jackson in over the side.” a huge size, because they had either rubber boots or shoepacks on. The captain and the other Eskimo, however, were wearing the Northern mucklucks, or Eskimo boots, made of sealskin, which are always large and dry, and thereby saved their feet a great deal. The sea hereabouts was perfectly smooth, and mosquitoes, kelp, and driftwood were floating on the water, showing the near presence of land. It was almost dusk when land was seen in the distance, and they figured they would be able to get ashore before dark: but owing to a strong ebb tide this hope did not BERING SEA. 129 materialize. The darkness came on, but they still kept pulling in the direction of the land, which they could barely distinguish the outline of, until they finally got stuck on the mudflats Realizing that they were still quite a dis- tance from the shore, they decided to stick an oar in the mud and make the dory fast, so that they could walk ashore in search of water and spend the remainder of the night It was a sorry-looking pro- cession that painfully wended its way through on terra firma the mud, the men going arm in arm in order to help those with swollen feet. Their pro- gress was slow, but they hoped to make land before the tide began to rise again, as it was now dead low water. After walking for some time they were confronted by an unexpected obstacle in the form of a " slew,’’ or good-sized creek run- ning through the mudflats, which they found themselves quite unable to cross. Greatly disappointed, they finally came to the conclusion that the only thing to do was

Page 137

130 to retrace their steps and go back to the dory, where they would wait tor the rising tide and daylight, which should not be far oft. Within a few minutes their tracks were covered with water from the swiftly-rising tide, but still there was no sign of the dory, and as it was too dark to determine if they were going in the right direction they stopped for a minute to try to get their bearings from the land, which was barely distinguish- able. Then they moved seawards again, walking slowly and painfully, with the water almost to their knees, but no sign of the dory could be seen, “Are we going to drown here like a lot of rats in a trap, after all?” cried the captain, presently. ‘ We must either swim for the land or form a crescent and move towards the place where the dory should be.” They decided to go forward. ‘“* Very well,” con- tinued Madison, ‘‘ but we must spread out as much as possible, so that we can cover the maximum distance. You fellows with the swollen feet will simply have to forget about them for the time being, in order to save our lives.”” In this way, looking anxiously about them for the boat, the castawavs advanced, and I will leave it to the reader’s imagination to picture the poor fellows’ plight. Struggling along through mud and water up to their knees, hungry and thirsty, and fatigued to a point beyond description, they still plodded onwards, praying that their lives might be spared, so that they could once more see their homes and families. “‘Here’s the boat!” yelled Azazuck, the Eskimo, who was the last man on the right. The cry sent a thrill of joy through the whole party, and it took but a short while for them to scramble into the dory, where they remained until dawn. Once it was light, the Iand was reached after a few minutes’ pulling, and great was their joy when they encountered three Eskimos, who happened to be down on the coast gathering driftwood. These men told them that they were twenty miles from the nearest village. The first thing the castaways looked for was water to quench their terrible thirst : and when the Eskimos led the way to a small lake it was a difficult matter to stop them from jumping into it bodily. The captain deemed it advisable to limit each man to one cup of water, fearing that otherwise they might get cramp in the stomach. Small as the ration was, it greatly relieved their thirst. The friendly natives then pro- duced two dried salmon and a small bladder containing seal oil, which answers the pur- pose of butter among all the northern Eskimo tribes. A fire was built in an old hut, and the Eskimos brought a large tin THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, . tea-kettle from their omiak (Eskimo skin- boat), filled it with water, and, when it came to the boil, put in a handful of burnt flour, which made a beverage similar to very weak cottee. The kettle had to be refilled several times, and the castaways drank to their hearts’ content ‘Then, having had a smoke, they dried their sodden clothes and finally lay down to enjoy the first real sleep for many days. Next day they reached the village of Sligpogamute, and as they entered the “slew ’’ which runs close to the landing- place they saw about twenty kayaks (skin- covered hunting canoes), formed in a circle on the ocean side of the beach. In the midst of them could be seen a school of white whales, the Eskimos yelling and splashing their paddles in the water to keep the whales in the centre of the ring. When the tide fell it left twenty-two of the creatures stranded on the bare mudflats. This was not only fortunate for the natives, but for the ship- wrecked men as well, as white whale-meat is not at all a bad dish, especially when you are in a place where no ‘’ white man’s grub is to be had for hundreds of miles, or at any price. Several days were spent by the castaways at the village, recuperating from their trying experiences. Later, a large omiak, bound for the mouth of the Kuskoquim River, took the little party away. é After a five-day trip along the coast in the open boat, during which time they had to be content with whale and seal meat for food, they reached Papka salting station, where they were met by the first white men they had seen since leaving Bethel. Here a Columbia River boat was secured, and in this they made the remainder of the trip up the Kuskoquim to Bethel, where they spent severak days under medical care. Leaving Bethel, they continued the trip up-river, and were much surprised to find that the story of the shipwreck was known at every village they reached. The two Eskimo boys were met at each landing by a delegation of natives, who escorted them to every house in the village and told them they would have to drink a cup of tea or eat a piece of bread with the head of the house- hold, or otherwise they would bring bad luck to the village, as they were considered to have returned from the dead. The party finally reached Mud Creek. which is the starting-point of a hundred-mile portage between the Yukon and Kuskoquim Rivers. After a six-day trip across the portage they reached Johnson Slew, which empties into the Yukon River, and then made their way up the Yukon to Russian Mission, a vil- lage and trading-post, where they were lucky

Page 138

SHIPWRECKED IN enough to catch the last river steamer of the season going down river to Saint Michael's. Mr. Zipp, manager of the Northern Com- mercial Company at Saint Michael’s, imme- diately sent the company’s tug Weteor to Nome with the shipwrecked crew, and they finally reached their homes and families after one month and sixteen days of the worst hardships ever recorded in Alaskan history. In conclusion, it may interest the reacter to know that Mr. Jackson was later declared insane and placed in an asylum, where he died, owing to the hardships he had endured. Verification of the facts of this story can BERING SEA 131 be obtained from the Nome Daily Nuggct of October 11th, 1913. Captain Hardy, of the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey, at present commanding the U.S.S. Surveyor, can also confirm the loss of the vessel and the manner in which the castaways finally reached Jand. He was then commanding the U.S.S. Yukon, and was charting the Kuskoquim River, assisted by the U.S.S. Explorer. The Revenue cutter Bear and the two Survey vessels were sent out to search for the missing Wash, but after being out several days without finding any signs they returned to Nome. A “NEW” Some twenty miles to the south of Cairo, in a delight- ful grove of palm trees, there is to be seen a magnificent example of that strange Egyptian creation, the Sphinx. The famous archeologist, Professor Petrie, stumbled across it in 1912 while excavating at Memphis. The monument was allowed to remain partially buricd in the sand until after the war, when it was brought to the surface and placed in its present position. Although many scores of such monuments have been found in Egypt, this is the largest and best-preserved example of the Sphinx, the features being practically perfect. The monument measures twenty-six feet in length, EGYPTIAN SPHINX. is fourteen feet high, and weighs about ninety tons. Memphis was an ancient Egyptian city founded by Menes, the first monarch of the first dynasty. Until the unearthing of this Sphinx, all that the visitor has seen when he kas visited its site is the forty-foot statue of Rameses II., lying prone under a group of palms. The remains of this once magnificent city have either been carried away or are buried beneath the sand and mud of successive Nile inundations but the discovery of this fine monument has led some scholars to believe that a systematic exploration of the site might lead to other valuable finds.

Page 139

TRAI LING the - GUN-RUNNERS Mystery, breathless sus- pense, thrilling situa- tions—all these things figure in this exciting story of adventures that occurred in the turbu- lent Negro Republic of Dominica in 1906-7. The United States Government undertook the onerous task of pre- serving peace by keeping out supplies of arms and. ammunition for the revolutionists. Spite of their utmost vigilance, however, arms were smuggled in somehow, and the Author, who was on a scientific T was a wonderful tropic evening, soft and balmy, with a gentle breeze rustling the palm fronds with a caressing touch and filling the air with the delicate odour of jasmine and orange blossoms. Beyond the twinkling lights of the little Dominican town the bay shimmered in the moonlight and silhouetted the black hull of a mail steamer swinging at her moorings near the quay, while from distant dance halls came the dreamy strains of ‘‘ Sobre las olas”’ and the liquid tinkling of guitars. Lulled by the charm of the night, we had ceased our conversation and sat silently smoking in the vine-shaded gallery of Le Croix’s house. Presently, from the fort on the hill, a bugle sounded ‘“ taps,’’ breaking rudely into our thoughts, and Le Croix spoke. “ That reminds me,” he said ; ‘‘ Mateo was in to-day. He says all the people are talking revolution and that arms and ammunition are plentiful in the interior.” “The beggars! ’’ exclaimed Branch, the British Consul. ‘‘ How the bounders evade you Customs chaps is most extraordinary, Merritt.” “Yes, hang it all!” cried Merritt, the Customs Inspector. ‘‘ They certainly do get by us. I'll stake my reputation they don’t get their stuff through the ports, though. Verrill “ILLUSTRATED BY *, STANLEY LMDOD |: ~ expedition in the coun- try at the time, was asked to try and eluci- date the mystery. It was a quest on which he carried his life in his hands, for the gun- runners were known to be desperate characters. Mr. Verrill’s account of his experiences will be found as thrilling as any work of fiction. He has furnished an affidavit © that the narrative is a record of actual events, but for obvious reasons names of persons and places have been altered in several cases. It may come over the Haitien border, or they may land it at some God-forsaken part of the coast, or, for all I know, they may bring it by aeroplane. Yet the Revenue boats are on the job day and night, the border is patrolled, and if a ‘plane ever showed up here people would have a panic. All the same, they get the goods.” “There are plenty of chances,” declared Le Croix, the steamship agent. ‘‘ You can’t expect to guard two hundred miles of jungle border with a few dozen lazy natives, nor watch a thousand miles of coast with three tin gunboats. Nobody can blame you, Merritt, but our Uncle Samuel will have to give you more men and. boats if he doesn’t want to fall down on his job of keeping: peace in by keeping arms out.” “What I want is a few good men, not a crowd of boobs,”’ answered Merritt. “ If I had even one good smart Yankee, and the natives didn’t know he was a Revenue man, he might be able to locate the leaks; but I haven’t got him.” “By Jove!” cried Branch. “I say, Verrill, old top, why don’t you help Merritt out ? You knock about all over the island, and none of the natives would conceive of a bug-hunter being interested in their game. Top-hole idea, don’t you think ? Merritt's feet came down from the rail with a bang and, slapping Branch on: the

Page 140

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. shoulder, he cried : ‘“* Hang it all, man, you’ve hit the idea all right! What say, Verrill ? Drop your bugs and orchids and hunt smugglers for a change. I'll fix the salary all right—say two hundred a week and expenses. Is ita go?” For a space I was nonplussed. Here was I, a naturalist-explorer, being asked to turn special Revenue agent to trail down the gun- runners! To be sure, my collecting work was practically completed ; and I was a free lance anyway. The work promised excite- ment and adventure, and the salary was not to be scoffed at. In a moment my mind was made up. “ All right,” I said, ‘‘ I'll take it. I don’t believe your smugglers are any harder to find than that orchid I showed you.” “ Right-ho, old chap! ”’ cried Branch. “T'll bet on Verrill,’’ declared Le Croix. “When do you start?’ queried the practical Merritt. : ‘‘At daybreak to-morrow,” I replied, adding, “‘ By the way, Le Croix, is your motor boat in good shape ?_ I'll borrow her, if you don’t mind. Can Mateo run her ?”’ “You're welcome to the boat,’’ answered our host. ‘‘ Yes, Mateo handles her well. I'l tell him to be ready at the dock to-morrow morning at five. Want any supplies ? ” “No, thanks,” I replied. ‘I'll take my own outfit in the canoe. I’m off to the Colorado swamps to explore the river, if anyone asks questions. I imagine Mateo’s a good talker, and the more he talks about the crazy Yankee over in the Colorado the better. I'll be back by canoe when I’m ready, so don’t send for me. If I want to communicate I'll find a way, but don’t let anyone pay me a week-end visit. Did Mateo mention where he heard most of the revolutionary talk?” “‘He came in from the south,” replied Le Croix. ‘ He said that every man in the Seybo district was a walking arsenal already. But the whole south-east of the Republic appears to be full of arms.” “Well, boys,’’ I remarked with a yawn, “it’s late, and if I’m starting at dawn I'll have to turn in.” Merritt and Branch also rose, and bidding good night to Le Croix we passed between the.masses of shrubbery to the street. Branch left us at the first corner, but Merritt trudged along up the hill with me, talking over the details of my coming trip. * Verrill,”” he ejaculated, after Branch had gone, “ I'll bet old Fales is at the bottom of this deal. Did you hear how cleverly he got the goods in for the last rebellion. when Mendoza was President ? Shipped his cartridges in as tinned vegetables and meats. We should never have discovered it if it 133 hadn’t been for a hungry Turks Island stevedore. He dropped a case of beans and collared one of the tins for his lunch. When he opened it up, instead of Van Camp’s best, he tound it filled with 30-30’s packed in black powder! Nice pleasant job it must have been to solder it up, eh ? We couldn’t very well open every tin that came in, and couldn’t prove anything against the shippers. Some of the stuff was genuine all right ; we opened half-a-dozen. cases—all bond-fide There was not a mark to show which was which. We tried weighing, but that was no go; the real beans and ammunition tins balanced to a ‘T.’ While we waited for instructions from Washington the revolution broke out; but as old Mendoza got wise through the stevedore’s find he licked the life out of Fales’s men. Old Miguel had to beat it over the border and went to Jamaica, where he used to entertain the tourists there by telling them how he fooled the Yankees with his loaded bean-tins. He’s a mighty decent sort, too—a jolly, good-natured, gentlemanly old chap. He was educated at Princeton and talks United States as well as anyone. Never lets on, though, and pretends he doesn’t spout anything but Spanish, unless you're wise to him.” “T think I’ve met your friend,” I replied. “At least, I became acquainted with a native of that name coming down on the ship—a stout, light-coloured fellow, with laughing eyes and a thin moustache. We were quite friendly on the ship, after he discovered I spoke Spanish. He took a lot of interest in my work and gave me valuable hints about the country. He said he lived at ‘La Antigua,’ in the Seybo, and invited me to visit him there. He promised me a good time and said there were lots of rare things in his neighbourhood ; but I’ve never tun over there yet.” “That’s Don Miguel, right enough!” declared Merritt. ‘ He has a big estate over there, and lives like a feudal lord, with an army of half-wild retainers. After old Mendoza got out and Carillo came in, Fales came back. He lives an easy life, but loves kicking up trouble for excitement. Money’s no object—he’s got at least a million salted down in the States. You're in luck, Verrill. If Miguel asked you over you'll be as welcome as the flowers in May, and knowing you came here after bugs he’ll never suspect you're looking for anything else. If the buzzing is over in Seybo, you can bet old Fales is the queen-bee of the hive. But be careful, Verrill; if he or any of his bunch get wise to your game you'll never see little old New York again, my boy.” By this time we had reached my hotel and Merritt stopped for a few final words before leaving me.

Page 141

134 “Draw on Le Croix for expense money or anything you may want,” he told me. “I don’t want anything to show up between us. If you send any messages, put them through Le Croix or Branch. If you need one of the gunboats anywhere just let me know, and we'll send her around. But what's this Colorado stunt, Verrill ? There’s nothing doing over there. What is it—just a bluff?” I laughed. ‘I've a ‘ hunch,’ Merritt,” I answered, ‘‘ but I’m not giving my plans away, even to you. Nevertheless, as the advertisements say, ‘ there’s a reason.’ ”” “All right,” grinned Merritt. ‘I don’t want to know anything—so long as we get results. Good luck to you, and for goodness’ sake take care of yourself.” With a hearty handshake he left me, and I watched his spruce, white-clad form disappear in the shadows as he walked briskly towards his bungalow. Although it was late when I reached my hotel, I routed out a sleepy servant and sent him with a message to Joseph. Joseph was my “ Man Friday,” my porter and travelling companion com- bined. He was a St. Thomas boy, black as night, but with the features of the Caucasian and the dignity of a Spanish grandee. Over six feet in height and lean as a rail, he seemed built of whipcord and steel, and was ever ready to obey any command regardless of time or place. Taciturn, faithful, willing, and honest, with an intelligence far above the average of his class, he had proved an ideal servant, and had accompanied me on all my expeditions into the interior. Only on one occasion had he ever jibbed, when he first entered my little Oldtown canoe. His long, grasshopper-like legs were a serious handicap in the tiny craft, and he hid grave fears concerning its seaworthiness. After one or two experiences, however, he became accustomed to the canoe, and now, after numerous voyages on rivers and bays, he was as fond of the craft and could handle her as well as myself. He had the greatest contempt for the natives, especially those of his own colour, and classed them all under the general term of ‘stupid niggers.” I therefore felt that Joseph would be an essential part of my expedition and could be fully trusted to keep secret anything which might be discovered. THE START. With the first sign of dawn the next morning Joseph knocked at my door and, shouldering my dunnage, departed for the dock. Eating a hasty breakfast, I gathered up my few remaining things and made my way through the still sleeping town to the water-front. Early as it was, Le Croix was waiting at THE WIDE WORLD. MAGAZINE. the quay to see me off, his little gasolene launch ready, with my canoe laid across its deck, and Joseph seated on our bundles in the bow. Mateo was on hand, and after a few parting words with Le Croix I stepped aboard, Mateo cranked the motor, and as the exhaust aroused the drowsy pelicans on the beach the painter was cast off and our voyage began. In a few moments the dock was left far astern and Le Croix, waving his hand in farewell, was hidden by the mist rising from the water at the touch ot-the golden sun as it rose amid a riot of colour, beyond the palm trees on the point, As yet I had scarcely spoken to Mateo, for he had been busy about the motor, but now, with a twenty-mile run before us, he had nothing to do but steer and talk. He was a Porto Rican, with the clear skin and reddish hair often found among the natives of Catalan descent, and being an honest and intelligent chap had risen to the position of buying agent for Le Croix, his duties being to travel through the interior and purchase cacao beans from the small farmers. In this work he met natives of every class and made innumerable friends, so that he knew the gossip of every town and village in the Republic. As he regarded Le Croix with - a sort of reverence and boasted that he was an “ Americano ’’ himself, he was quick to report anything that savoured of revolution or disloyalty to his adopted country. Mateo was filled with curiosity as to why I was going to the Colorado, for he could not conceive how anyone in his senses could leave civilization to camp amid the vast mangrove swamps at the river’s mouth. He rattled on with Joseph and, as I expected, began to chatter of his recent trip through the island. * And who knows ?” said he. ‘‘When you return from the Colorado—if God wills that you are not eaten by mosquitoes or killed by fever—but that you may find a new President at the capital ? Everywhere there is talk of revolt, and never have I bought cacao so cheaply, Sefiores. The people desire guns, and to buy guns they must of a truth have money. Por Dios! Had Don Enrique but given me cartridges in place of gold, I could have made his fortune, and yet one can buy guns cheaply, yes! At Almacen, two months ago, a gun was worth three sacks of cacao and cartridges cost two reales each. Now, but Thursday last, when I stopped at Seybo, one could buy a gun more cheaply than a horse—while a peso would purchase a dozen cartridges. ’Twas so I told Don Enrique, that he might apprise the Sefior Merritt, for it takes not the fortune-teller to know that when arms are thus plenty the smugglers are busy.’’ Not caring to show undue interest in his

Page 142

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. story, and yet wishing to learn all I could of the district, I remarked, casually, ‘* But tell me, Mateo, what sort of a country is this Seybo ?_ Is it mountainous or flat, wet or dry? Do the people raise cattle or crops? It’s a part of the island I have not yet seen.” Evidently, from what Mateo told me, he knew the district well, but he could give me little information that I did not already possess, and I gave myself up to plans for my campaign and allowed him to chatter on with Joseph. The mist had now cleared from the bav and the magnificent sheet of water stretched away for miles to the south and east. Before us, and a dozen miles distant, the Sierras rose above the horizon, their summits wreathed in rosy clouds and their rugged forest-covered slopes purple in the morning light. Nearer, and to the west, the deep, rich green of the mangrove swamps marked the limit of the bay—the home of countless water-fowl and the haunt of enormous alligators. Soon the motor was slowed down and Mateo told Joseph to keep a sharp look-out for floating logs which appeared here, there, and everywhere. At last the logs became fewer, and presently we were again speeding through clear water across the mouth of the great river. The launch was run ashore on a little island, and in a few moments the various bundles, the guns, and the tent were put ashore with the canoe. Joseph and I pushed off the launch, Mateo started his motor and was soon out of sight beyond the nearest point, and we were left alone. As soon as Mateo was fairly off Joseph pushed his way into the bush towards the interior of the island, evidently bent on exploration. A minute later there was a tremendous crashing as something dashed headlong through the brush, and the next instant Joseph rushed madly from the jungle with a perfect cloud of mosquitoes swarming about him. Beating wildly with both hands, he tore down to the beach and, dropping on all fours, plunged head and shoulders into the water. As he rose, dripping and spluttering, I burst out laughing, for his expression of mingled anger and offended dignity was irresistible. “ Never mind, Joseph," I replied. ‘* We’re not going to camp here, so don’t worry. Just pack all the things in the canoe, with guns and cartridges handy, and we'll soon leave your mosquito friends to themselves.’’ He looked at me quizzically for a moment, but forbore to question, and at once commenced to busy himself with the baggage. At last all was ready, and, shoving our little craft into the water, we stepped in, 135 picked up our paddles, and started down stream. While Joseph had been packing I had been considering how far I should take him into my confidence, as 1 knew he would be of the greatest assistance, for by mingling with the people we met he would learn a great deal which would never reach my ears otherwise, and his colour would enable him to win the confidence of the natives far more teadily than I could hope to do. As I had already proved his intelligence and_ his devotion, and as he was not talkative, I had no fear of his betraying my secret. The only risk was that in his zeal to help he might be incautious and arouse suspicions by his questions, but on the whole I decided that it was wisest to inform him fully of the nature of my trip. JOSEPH LEARNS MY SECRET. “ Joseph,’”’ I said, after we had been paddling for a few moments, ‘ I suppose you’re wondering where we’re going and what we're after. I want you to remember that everything I’m going to tell you must be kept a secret. If vou even let anyone guess the truth it may mean death for both of us, and it will certainly mean that we'll be in a heap of trouble. We're bound ona dangerous trip, and if you want to turn back, or are afraid of risking your life, let me know before it’s too late.” Joseph's reply was prompt and to the point, as I had felt it would be. : “Mr. Verrill,”’ he answered, ‘‘ Ah’m pleased to have yo’ trus’ me, an’ yo’ know Ah’ll never be false to yo’ confidence. Ah'm not minded to dessart yo’, sir, an’ Ah’m not afraid of anythin’, when yo’s with me, no!” “ Thanks for the compliment, Jeseph,” I laughed. ‘ If you do well on this trip there’s a nice little pile of money coming to you. We're bound to San Lorenzo and_ places beyond, and we're going to try and catch the gun-runners. You heard Mateo’s stories about arms being brought in. You know the United States has charge of the Customs and that we’ve guaranteed to keep out arms and ammunition so as to prevent revolutions. I'm going to try and find out how the stuff is getting in and who’s getting it, and I’ve an idea that it’s landed somewhere on the southern shore of the bay near San Lorenzo. That’s the northern entrance to the Sevbo, and Mateo tells us most of the guns and cartridges are over there. I want you to help me all you can. Whenever we're at a house or village, get a chance to talk to the natives, keep your ears and eyes open and your mouth shut, and tell me everything you hear, whether you think it’s of interest or not. Do you know anvthing about the San Lorenzo country? I've never been

Page 143

136 there, but I’ve heard about it, and it seems to me it’s a likely spot to land a cargo.” Joseph was grinning as I finished, and replied: ‘*When Ah was a boy, Ah was cookin’ on a St. Thomas boat. Charlotte Amelie was a free port then, yo’ know, sir, an’ plenty o’ smugglers run from mah home down the islan’s. Ah knows they ways an’ Ah'll be please’ to he'’p yo’ cotch the stoopid niggers, sir. Trus’ me to use mah ears an’ report all Ah hear. San Lorenzo's a pretty place fo’ smugglers, Mr. Verrill. There’s a big shallow lagoon with mangrove all about, an’ quant’ties o’ li'l cafias (channels) runnin’ atween them. Outside the bay there’s a long point o’sand growed over with coco-nut trees. This side the land’s hilly an’ full o’ caves—thousands o’ them.” “ Not thousands of caves, surely, Joseph ?” “ Ah’'m speakin’ true, Mr. Verrill,”” he said, in a somewhat injured tone. “Ev'ry hill has a cave, sir, an’ off the shore they’s plenty o’ li’l keys, an’ ev'ry key has a cave in it as well. Ah worked at Caiia Honda one time, an’ Ah been to the caves often. The stoopid niggers said a treasure was hid in one o’ the caves, an’ we use’ to spen’ our holidays a sarchin’ fo’ it.” “ That must be a fine place for smugglers,” I responded; ‘‘ but if there are so many caves it will be some job to locate the right one. You say you worked at Cafia Honda. Do you know the road from there to Seybo ?”” “ Yessir,"”” he answered. ‘‘ Ah been over that ol’ road many a time. It cert’nly is a road.” “Is that the only trail to Seybo from this side, Joseph?” “Yessir. Most of the people go by way o’ the south shore, by boat.” “Caiia Honda’s deserted now, since the company failed, isn't it ? '’ I asked. “‘No, sir; there’s a caretaker there. A Dutchman named Hirschfeldt, with a native wife; but there’s no work goin’ on. The plantation’s all growed to bush, an’ the docks gone.” I was glad I had consulted Joseph on these matters, for his knowledge of our destination was invaluable. I had heard of the land- locked bay of San Lorenzo; of the huge abandoned estate of the Cafia Honda Com- pany, and, vaguely, of the wonderful caves ; but Joseph had actually worked on the estate and knew the ground intimately. To my mind there was little doubt that the smuggled arms found their way to the Seybo from the northern side, for I well knew the efficiency of the coast patrol—three miniature gunboats officered by American Customs men—and I felt sure that no native would take the risk of running in to land a cargo on an open coast where one of the patrols might pounce upon them at any moment. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The great Bay of Samana, with its low shores, sHoal waters, tortuous channels, and wooded islands, offered far greater oppor- tunities, and if a vessel could once enter the bay unsuspected, and then hugged the southern shore after nightfall, there would be nothing to prevent the crew from making a safe landing in one of the smaller bays or lagoons with their thick fringe of mangroves. As the only available trail from the southern shore of the bay to the interior of the Seybo district led from San Lorenzo, I had decided that this was the most promising point at which to commence my hunt. “‘Mr. Verrill,"’ said Joseph, presently, “Ah’m arskin’ yo’ pardon, sir, but Ah‘ be please’ to know why we went to Colorado first, sir?” It was the first time he had ever evinced the least curiosity as to my movements, and I realized that in so doing he had naively hinted that now he had been taken into the secret of the trip he considered himself a member of the Revenue force rather than a servant whose duty it was to obey commands and ask no questions. “| headed for the Colorado just to throw Mateo off our track,’’ 1 replied. ‘‘ I knew he’d report where we went to everyone, and if the gun-runners got wind of strangers about San Lorenzo they might keep away, even if they believed we were still bug-hunting. Besides, by keeping close inshore we can dodge behind one of the keys, or into the mangroves, if we see anyone about. With the green canoe we can’t be seen more than a few hundred feet away, while the launch or a sailboat would be hard to hide. As soon as we get near the first key we'll head close inshore and go carefully. I plan to spend the afternoon hidden within easy reach of San Lorenzo Bay, and if you know of a cave where we can camp and hide the canoe, and from which we can keep watch on the bay and lagoon, we’ll run there after dark and stay until we locate the smugglers’ boats, if they really come this way.” “Yessir,” replied Joseph, promptly. ‘“ Ah know a cave tha’s jus’ the spot yo’ wish. Ah don’ doubt yo’ humbugged Mateo. Yo’ heard what he said a-comin’ over, sir.” A little later we paddled close to the shore and soon spied a landing place—a little beach in a small cove among the trees— where we ran the canoe ashore and made a noonday camp. As Joseph busied himself with the cooking I studied a map of the country and found that we should just about reach San Lorenzo by sundown. Then, going to the canoe, I got out a heavy Colt’s +38 and a box of cartridges, which I handed to Joseph, remarking, ‘‘ Here’s a present for you, Joseph. You may need it at any time, and at any rate it will make you feel brave.

Page 144

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. 137 “The next instant Joseph rushed madly from the jungle.” Vol. xlix.—10.

Page 145

138 THE WIDE WORLD But don’t turn revolutionist in order to use your gun, and for Heaven's sake don’t gamble away your cartridges or let anyone steal them.” He thanked me profusely and dropped his cooking while he strapped on the holster, as proud as a peacock and grinning broadly at my remark, for Joseph was not a gambling man and knew I was mercly joking. As a matter of fact, I had little faith in the efficiency of the gun in Joseph’s hands, for, as far as I knew, he had never used a revolver in his life. But I felt that if it did come to shooting he was quite as likely to hit his assailant as to be hit, for the natives are notoriously bad revolver shots and depend mainly on their long, sword-like machetes when at close quarters. Both Joseph and myself invariably carried these useful imple- ments, and in addition I had a double- barrelled shotgun, a 25-35 Marlin repeating rifle, and a Savage automatic, so that 1 felt we were well able to take care of ourselves in case of trouble. Little did I dream how much my present to Joseph would mean to me or how much I erred in my estimation of Joseph’s marksmanship ! We soon finished our meal and, pushing off, resumed our trip towards San Lorenzo, keeping close to the shore and maintaining a sharp look-out for boats; but for several hours we saw nothing. About three o’clock, however, a sail was sighted emerging from behind a large island half-way across the bay, but as it stood away from us and headed towards the northern shore we decided it was some freighter on legitimate business. A little later a smudge of smoke trailed across the eastern horizon, and we watched the Clyde liner as she worked slowly up the bay, hugging the channel a couple of miles to the north. Shortly after this the character of the land, ahead and to the south, began to change, the low-lying, rounded, coastal ridge growing more and more broken, and presently giving way to numerous sharp, conical hills. Joseph called my attention to these, remarking that thev were the ‘cave hills ’’ he had mentioned, and half an hour later we reached the base of the nearest one. THE CAVES OF SAN LORENZO This hill stood near the water, its steep, brush-covered sides rising abruptly from the bay with merely a few masses of broken rock for a beach. Rounding one of these accumulations of débris, a large, arched opening was disclosed in the side of the hill, its roof four or five feet above our heads. Passing under the arch, we entered the cavern and floated upon the calm water within. Overhead the roof rose to a height MAGAZINE. of thirty or forty feet and gleamed with countless stalactites of every size, from tiny, needle-like affairs to great, inverted cones five or six feet in diameter. On all sides the water extended far into the dim recesses among the limestone columns, and looking down we could see the white, sandy bottom a score of feet beneath us. Far above our heads a break in the rocky roof admitted sunlight, but in many places the cave was dark and mysterious with shadows. On one side was a little beach, and landing here we walked about among the huge stalagmites which joined with the stalactites above to form huge stone columns of innumerable forms. It was an ideal spot for smugglers, for a good-sized boat could easily pass through the entrance; but Joseph stated that in rough weather the waves dashed into the cavern with terrific force. Leaving this first cave we continued on our way, and as we had an abundance of time we paddled near each conical hill that lay in our course; and in every one, as Joseph had said, was a cave of some sort. In some cases the openings were submerged and entrance impossible, in others the en- trances were far above the water on the side of the hill. Some of the caverns had narrow slits or crevices leading to the interior, while others were merely huge open hollows in the hillsides. In size the caves varied from small affairs a few yards square to immense chambers several hundred feet in length, and with vaulted roofs a hundred feet or more above the floor. In many instances the floors were covered several feet in depth with fossil sea shells, while in others they were of shining, crystalline limestone. As we neared San Lorenzo we found many of the hills separated from the mainland by narrow channels, and here and there they stood a quarter of a mile or more from shore and formed queer islands of sugar-loaf form. I could well imagine how difficult it would be to search through all these caves on a hunt for pirates’ treasure or smugglers’ contraband, and so, keeping well out of sight of possible observers by following the channels behind the islands, we pushed steadily onwards towards our goal. Just as the sun topped the western mountains we reached the last of the hills and, looking ahead, saw a stretch of smooth, sheltered water bordered on its farther side by an enormous coco-nut grove stretching eastward as far as the eye could see, while near us the land fell away in rocky cliffs clothed with a jungle of brush and vines. At the foot of this cliff we could see the remains of what had once been a dock, for a few crooked iron rods and sagging timbers

Page 146

TRAILING: THE GUN-RUNNERS. still projected from the shore or stood drunkenly in the water. We had reached the end of our day’s journey ; before us was the entrance to San Lorenzo Bay and the abandoned wharf of the derelict Cafia Honda estate. About three hundred yards away a wooded island rose to a height of some two hundred feet above the water, and Joseph pointed this out as the spot he had in mind for our camp. The islet was almost square in shape, with bold, precipitous sides, overgrown with thick brush, small palms, and a tangle of vines. Joseph declared that there was a sheltered beach between the rocks backed by a large, dry cave, and I judged from his description that it would prove an ideal spot for my purpose. Without further hesitation we paddled across to the islet. Joseph ran the canoe between two great masses of limestone, and the little craft grated upon a smooth, sandy beach a dozen yards in length, and com- pletely concealed by the jutting rocks between which we had passed. Beaching the canoe, Joseph led the way for a few yards inland and, pushing aside the hanging vines, disclosed the entrance to a cavern. Stepping within, I was surprised to find the interior almost as light as outside, and looking about I discovered that the apex of the domed roof was open to the sky, and through the aperture I-could see the branches of a tree. The cave was of immense size. The floor was covered deeply with fossil shells, and sloped gradually towards the farther side. Scrambling over the débris on the ground, I noticed a narrow opening on the opposite side of the cavern about three feet above the floor. Making my way to this crevice 1 peered out, and to my satisfaction found that I could look directly upon the entrance to San Lorenzo Bay and the coco-nut grove beyond. This was indeed a spot exactly suited to my purpose! Our canoe was safely hidden from passing boats, the main entrance to the cave was concealed by hanging vines, the smoke from our fire would scarcely be visible as it issued from among the trees around the natural chimney in the lofty roof, and by peering from our peep-hole we could maintain a constant watch upon the bay beyond. Fresh water was the one thing lacking, but Joseph assured me that there would be no trouble on that score, for a good-sized stream ran into the bay on the mainland near at hand, and it would be an easy matter to paddle across after nightfall and secure our daily supply. It was now growing dark, and hastening to the canoe we soon transferred our belong- ings to the cave, where, selecting a spot 139 behind a barrier of fallen dripstone, so that the light would not be visible through the openings, a fire was soon blazing cheerfully and Joseph cooked supper. As soon as the meal was over my com- panion paddled ashore for water while I maintained a watch upon the bay through the peep-hole. As we had no idea at what hour a smuggling vessel might arrive, I determined that one of us must be constantly on watch from sunset to sunrise, for I felt sure that if a vessel approached it would be after nightfall. Within half an hour Joseph returned with the water, and I told him of my plan for keeping a sharp look-out. I offered to take the first watch lasting until midnight, and he at once curled up on his blankets and was. soon sleeping soundly. As the bay was bathed in brilliant moon- light, and the coco-nut grove and even the distant shores stood out as sharply and distinctly as in broad daylight, I felt that it would be impossible for a boat to approach unseen ; but nothing appeared, and at mid- night I roused Joseph. I cautioned him to keep a sharp watch, and, instructing him to call me promptly if he saw any sign of a boat, I threw myself on my camp bed and did not awaken until he touched my shoulder and told me coffee was ready. He had seen nothing. The day was spent in sleeping and eating, and late in the afternoon we undertook a tour of ourisland. It was hard work scramb- ling over the steep sides and pushing through the tangled brush, but by cutting a way here and there we managed to reach the summit and had a splendid view in all directions. From this elevation we could look back across the bay for miles, and could even distinguish the tiny white dots of houses among the greenery on the northern shore. Towards San Lorenzo we could look down directly on the coco-nut grove and the en- trance of the broad lagoon itself, with its fringe of mangrove swamps broken by in- numerable little creeks or cawias that turned and twisted among the dense green foliage. Here, far above the water, the sweep of the trade wind was cool and refreshing, and I at once realized that it was far superior to the cave as a look-out. I accordingly suggested that we should clear an easy trail and make a brush shelter from which to keep watch. On one side of the summit we found the opening in the roof of our cave, and by lowering a string through this we could easily arrange a signal to arouse the sleeper within the cavern, in case anything suspicious should be sighted. Joseph at once fell in with my plans, and we set diligently to work, clearing a path

Page 147

150 through the brush from the summit to the bach. The task was completed before dark, and with splendid appetites we ate a hearty meal. The wind had now dropped, and as no sail was in sight I knew that it would be impossible for any vessel to arrive for several hours, I therefore decided to paddle over to the lagoon and explore the entrance and the surroundings. The moon had not yet risen, and although the stars made the night fairly light, yet there was little chance of being seen, even if anyone was in the vicinity, which I thought very unlikely. We made our way quietly over the calm water to the grove, and passed over the bar at the entrance of the lagoon. I fund that in most places the water was very shallow, and that the only channel that would permit a large vessel to pass was at the southern end of the bar, close to the old dock. This made it certain that any boat which entered from the bay must pass quite close to our island and could scarcely escape detection, even in the darkest hours of the night. Returning to the island, I made my way to the summit, carrying a long coil of fish-line with a lead sinker at its end, after instructing Joseph to tie this to his foot when I lowered it down through the top, so that I could “awaken him if necessary. Dropping the sinker through the aperture, I jerked the line up and down, so that Joseph soon located it in the darkness, and presently he called up that it was secured about his ankle. The other end of the line I fastencd to a shrub within easy reach, and then, spreading my poncho, I sat down with my back against a palmetto and gazed out across the bay to where the moon was now rising. THE HILL-TOP LOOK-OUT. It was a beautiful night, with just enough breeze to ripple the moonlit water and cool the air, but glancing towards the northern shore I saw a heavy bank of clouds hanging over the distant mountain-tops, and I felt sure that before morning we would have a heavy shower. For several hours I sat at my post, but nothing appeared, and J began to think that my theory must be at fault, and that, after all, the smugglers might land their contraband at some other spot. For all I knew the revolutionists might already have obtained all the arms they required, and while I was looking for the gun-runners the rebellion might break out. On the other hand, I reasoned that, if this were the case, there was no reason why the revolt should have been delayed until after my departure, for beyond a doubt as soon as a full complement of arms. was received fighting would begin. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The leaders, I knew, would make every effort to rush their contraband in as rapidly as possible, for at any hour they might be discovered, and the more they obtained before they were stopped the better. I appreciated the fact that the moonlight would put them at a disadvantage, but they could scarcely afford to delay until the nights were dark; and even with a full moon a vessel might creep in under the shadow of the land without being seen from the settle- ments on the shore a dozen miles across the bay. Turning these matters over in my mind, I glanced seaward again, and instantly my interest was aroused, for against the silvery moonlight I saw a moving black speck—a vessel without a doubt—and apparently headed towards me ! Intently I watched, and slowly the boat increased in size until, half an hour after I first sighted her, I could distinguish her rig, and made her out as a small schooner. She was coming almost directly towards our island, and I was just considering the advisability of arousing Joseph when the schooner's helm was suddenly shifted and she stood off towards the northern side of the bay and disappeared against the dark shadows of the mountains. I was greatly disappointed, for I had quite made up my mind that the vessel was a smuggler bound for San Lorenzo, but apparently she was merely a trader and had followed the southern shore on account of a more favourable wind or current. There was nothing to do but wait, and the hours passed slowly, while the bank of clouds to the north spread across the sky and the moon was frequently hidden by masses of scurrying vapour. At last my watch was over, and descending the path I aroused Joseph, tied the cord to my own foot, and went to sleep. I was in the midst of an exciting dream when I awoke with a start, to find my leg being pulled vigorously by Joseph’s cord. Quickly throwing off the loop about my ankle, I hurried from the cave. The night was inky black and I was greeted with a terrific downpour of rain. Turning towards the pathway, stumbling among the bushes, I had not progressed a dozen yards when Joseph met me and, cautioning me to step carefully and to make no sound, led the way rapidly towards the summit of the island. Here we stopped, and in a whisper Joseph asked me to listen carefully. For a few moments I heard nothing but the slash and rattle of the rain beating on the foliage, but as the downpour ceased for an instant I caught another sound—a steady, swirling roar, like a torrent of running water, accom- panied by a creaking, grating note. “What is it ? ’ I asked.

Page 148

141 GUN - RUNNERS. THE TRAILING 4 : i 2 a 3 i : |} 3 :

Page 149

142 “It’s a boat!" answered Joseph, and added: ‘Ah don’t see it, sir; but he’s comin’ nearer all the time. Ah can’ mek out where he’s at.” Again I listened intently, turning my head first one way and then the other. The rain poured down in a sudden shower, but in the next lull I once more caught the mystifying sounds. Then came a squall of wind and a heavy downpour, and through the sob of the wind and the splash of rain we heard the sharp creak and rattle of a tackle-block, the slatting of a fluttering sail, and the loud clatter and crash of a boom swinging. There was now no question of the boat’s position, The louder sounds had located it, and we strained our eyes in a vain attempt to penetrate the murk. THE PHANTOM SCHOONER. Suddenly a shaft of moonlight pierced a rift in the scurrying clouds, and by its momentary gleam we caught a glimpse of a schooner rushing madly through the channel between our islet and the southern shore. There was a mass of foam at her bows, her lee rail was awash, and her outflung boom was actually tearing the hanging vines from the sides of the island, as, like a phantom ship, she was swallowed up in the blackness of a perfect cloudburst. Drenched to the skin, but wildly excited by what we had scen, we rushed down the cliff and sought shelter in the cave, while outside the wind howled and the rain came down in solid sheets. Within the cavern we at once fell to discussing the presence of the vessel we had seen. So unreal, so unexpected, and so wraithlike had been the sudden glimpse we had caught that we could scarcely convince ourselves that it was not an hallucination. It seemed incredible that any vessel would attempt to run between our island and the shore from the west, especially when driven through the inky night by the fierce squalls of a tropical storm. I did not in the least doubt that the strange craft was a smuggler, for 1 knew well that no honest vessel would be sailing without lights, and that none but desperate men would risk their lives and their ship among the shoals and reefs of this uncharted and unfrequented portion of the bay on such a night. Joseph was almost as surprised as myself over the matter, but when, in the course of our talk, I mentioned the sail I had seen earlier in the night, he expressed the opinion that the schooner I had sighted and the one which had just passed were identical. His idea was that in the bright moonlight the gun-runners were afraid of being detected if they headed THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. towards San Lorenzo, and that to avoid suspicion they had swung over towards the Northern shore as if bound for La Cacao or some of the other ports, trusting to the clouds to hide the moon later and thus enable them to tack back and reach the lagoon unseen. This seemed a very plausible explanation, for the smugglers probably did not expect to be caught in a storm, and had to take their chances and run for the lagoon when it broke. It seemed impossible that they could safely steer their course over the bar in the wind and darkness, and we both fully made up our minds that, with the coming of dawn, we would see the smugglers’ schooner piled upon the sandbar or on the rocks at the entrance of the lagoon. We dared not start a fire, for fear its light would be seen through the opening by any of the desperadoes who might have escaped from the schooner if she had been wrecked, or who might be on the look-out in case she had escaped destruction and had anchored safely in the lagoon. Soaked by the rain, cold, and in utter darkness, all we could do was to wrap our- selves in blankets and tent cloths and spend the few remaining hours until daybreak shivering and miserable. At last the rain ceased, the wind died down, and looking through our peep-hole I saw the eastern sky growing bright with the approaching dawn. Rapidly the pink flush overspread the sky, the last remnants of the storm clouds glowed crimson and gold, the sun rose from the sparkling sea, and another perfect day had dawned. Our first glance was towards the south-east and the entrance to the lagoon, but not a sail or other sign of a vessel was in view. We were more than surprised, and leaving the cave we hurried up the pathway for a wider view. As I reached the summit I clutched Joseph’s arm and pointed to the lagoon. There, hidden from our cave by the coco palms, were the two tapering masts of a small schooner, her hull hidden by the mangroves that bordered the little creek wherein she was safely moored ! Even as we gazcd at her a red flag rose to the mast-head, dipped, rose again, and a second time fluttered down. It was evidently a signal, and in a few moments a rowboat, pulled by four men, issued from the hidden creek, headed up another cafa, and disappeared among the mangroves. In reply to my query, Joseph replied that the small boat had entered Cana Honda Creek and was evidently bound for the landing place, a mile or so up the stream. Telling him to go down and _ prepare breakfast, I stretched myself on a dry rock

Page 150

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS in the sunshine and kept a sharp watch on the schooner and the swamps. Through my glasses every detail of the foliage and trees was visible, and I had easily made out that the boat contained five men, four at the oars and another in the stern. There was no further sign of life near the vessel, and when Joseph called me to breakfast I left him in charge when I descended. On my return to the look-out I found Joseph with his eves glued to the binoculars, but he reported that he had seen nothing during my absence. We waited patiently, talking of the schooner. and wondering how she had managed to run into the lagoon to find a safe refuge among the mangroves during the storm. “ Whatever else our friends may be,” I told him, “they are surely mighty good sailors. It would stump most men to get a schooner there in broad daylight and with a fair wind, and how those chaps ever managed to run over the bar, across the lagoon, and into the creek in a miniature hurricane and in absolute darkness is a marvel beyond my comprehension.” “Yessir,” answered Joseph. ‘ Thay’s mighty good sailor men an’ Ah think they’s from down the islands. Ah was studyin’ the masts while you was eatin’, sir, an’ Ah think she’s a Dutch schooner, Mr. Verrill. The masts rake too much fo’ a native boat, an’ they’s too tall fora Frenchman She mebbe a St. Thomas boat, but Ah think she’s mos’ liable from ’Statia or Saba, sir.” This theory seemed quite probable, for the Dutch West Indian boats, especially those trom the quaint islands of Saba and Eustatias, are noted throughout the Antilies for their seaworthiness and speed, while the Dutch islanders are born sailors. Moreover, many of the political exiles from the Spanish American Republics find a safe refuge in the Dutch colonies, and from their retreats aid their friends by providing the sinews of war. No doubt the little ship hidden in the mangroves had made many previous trips to San Lorenzo, and her captain and crew probably knew every reef, shoal, and bar on the coast, and could find their way about with their eyes shut. We had been chatting and waiting for fully an hour when the rowboat again appeared at the mouth of the creek, and headed towards the schooner. This time, however, I was prepared, and focusing the glasses upon it I saw that four of the five occupants were stalwart negroes, the man in the stern being of a lighter hue and, apparently, a mulatto or quadroon. The next instant the boat shot out of sight behind the mangroves, and a few moments later the red flag rose to the mast- 143 head and fluttered down again. It was evident that this was a prearranged signal to someone on shore, and probably signified that the boat had reached the schooner safely. All that day we kept watch, one of us constantly on guard at the summit of the island ; but no sign of life was visible, and no boat crossed the open water between the creeks. Evidently the arms had all been carried ashore in the first trip of the small boat, or else no further attempts would be made to land until after nightfall. After darkness came on it would be impossible to discern the movements of the smugglers from our island, and for that matter it would do us little good merely to watch the boat. It was essential that we should discover where and how the goods were landed, the name of the vessel, and to whom the smuggled arms were delivered. After discussing this matter with Joseph I finally decided to paddle around the lagoon and approach close to the schooner after nightfall. There would, of course, be considerable risk in the undertaking, for in the stillness of the evening the least sound would be audible for a long distance, and if either of us made a misstroke or rattled a paddle we might instantly be discovered by the smugglers, for I had not the least doubt that they maintained a keen look-out and possessed sharp ears and eyes. Fortunately for my plans the moon would not rise until very late, and we would have at least two hours of intense darkness in which to approach the schooner and take up a favourable position within a short distance of her moorings. Having decided to attempt this, I told Joseph to have everything in readiness, to remove the remaining things from the canoe, to have arms and ammunition handy, to cover the floor of the canoe with blankets, and to wrap each paddle with cloth from blade to grip, so as to deaden the sound in case they should rub against the gun- wales. Just before sundown he reported every- thing ready, and as soon as the sun dropped behind the horizon I left the look-out and descended to the cave. We ate our evening meal rapidly, and for my own part I must confess that I was inwardly too excited to have a good appetite. By the time we had finished darkness had fallen, and we hurried to the beach prepared to embark upon our rather perilous undertaking. Before pushing off I again cautioned Joseph against making the least sound, and told him that in case of necessity I would leave the navigation of the canoe to him, for he was better acquainted with the swamps and channels than myself. I added that if

Page 151

144 anything happened to me he was to report at once to Merritt, but that I hoped for a successful outcome of the trip. Lifting the canoe, we set it in the water and, slipping off our shoes, placed them in the tiny craft. Then we knelt in our places, took up our paddles, and silently started on our way. UNDER COVER OF NIGHT. The night was very dark and the shores were scarcely visible, but open water could be distinguished by the sheen of the stars on its surface, and we found little trouble in making our way towards the land. We first ran across to the southern shore, and then, keeping well within the shelter of the banks, headed for the old dock and the entrance to the lagoon. Passing the dock with the utmost caution, to avoid striking the rotting piles, we paddled carefully up the lagoon. It was very difficult to judge distances, and each clump of mangroves looked so much like another that I was frequently doubtful of our course. We had progressed thus for some time, and I had commenced to think that we had missed our way, when, from the darkness ahead, I heard the faint sounds of voices, Instantly we stopped paddling and drifted motionless in the shadows of the mangroves. The voices came from the dense mass of trees to our left, and, straining my eyes, I dis- tinguished the outline of the schooner’s masts against the stars beyond. We were a little off our course, and in order to approach the vessel closely were compelled to cross a hundred feet or more of open water Although from our low position in the canoe the water seemed very dark, yet I realized that, looking down upon it from the height of the schooner's deck, the canoe might be seen, and I hesitated about attempting the passage. There was nothing to be gained by waiting, however, and as the voices were too far distant to distinguish words, I made up my mind and, dipping our paddles, we swung the head of the canoe towards the sound and started forward. All went well and we were close to the farther side, when we were startled at hearing the splash of oars and the creak of thole-pins" rapidly approaching from the blackness ahead. With a sudden plunge of my paddle I whirled the canoe around, drove it forward, and crouched low in the bow. Joseph followed my example, and we both remained silent and motionless, expecting each moment to have the approaching boat bear down upon us. In less time than it takes to relate we heard the swish of water around the boat’s bow and the splash of the oars, apparently within a few feet of us. The THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, next moment our tiny craft was rocking and tossing on the wave made by the boat’s passage and the sounds were growing fainter in the distance. It was a mighty close shave, for the boat had passed within a rod of our canoe, and to this day I cannot imagine how we escaped detection. The boat was now behind us, and from the direction it had taken I felt sure that it was bound for Cafia Honda landing. Resuming our paddles we crept cautiously towards the hidden schooner until we reached the man- groves beyond which she was moored. These mangroves grew directly from the water, and between their spreading roots were many open spaces wide enough to admit our canoe. To endeavour to push through the growth was a tremendous risk, for the roots and trunks of the trees were covered with oysters, while giant crabs scuttled over them, and if by any chance we should run against them the grating sound would surely betray our presence to those on the vessel. z em To attempt a passage around the trees, and a direct approach to the schooner, was even more hazardous, however, and in the lowest possible whispers I made my decision known to Joseph and worked the canoe into the opening between the nearest trees. .- - « Slowly, and with extreme caution, we proceeded, holding out our ,hands on, either side and working our way among the roots by pushing and pulling. moving by inches, but ever drawing nearer to the schooner in the creck ahead. ae Our hands were cut and bleeding from the razor-edged oyster shells, but we had accomplished the greater part of the journey without mishap when, without the least warning, an ibis flapped from its roost above our heads and with loud croaks expostulated at the invasion of its haunts. The noise was enough to arouse anyone on the schooner, and we listened with bated breath, expecting a challenge. No sound reached us, however, and after a few moments we again pushed forward. In a few minutes more we reached the last of the trees and. peering ahead, saw the hull of the vessel looming up within a dozen yards of us. No light showed upon her, and everything was as silent as the tomb. We listened to catch the sounds of whispered voices or the faint noise of footsteps, but the stillness remained unbroken. I thought it very strange that no guard had been left, and wondered if the five Negroes composed the entire crew. Certainly if men were aboard they were wonderfully quiet. Possibly they might be below and asleep, but this hardly seemed probable, for the night was hot, and I well knew how uncomfortable and stuffy

Page 152

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS 145 “A sbaft of moonlight pierced a rift in the scurrying clouds, and by its gleam we caught a glimpse of a schooner rushing madly through the channel.”

Page 153

146 the cabin would be, here in the midst of the swamp. It was of the utmost importance to learn the schooner’s name and port and, if pcssible, locate the contraband, and we now had but scant time to investigate and follow the trail of the rowboat before the moon rose. With our hands as paddles, we pushed out from the shelter of the trees and cautiously approached the schooner’s bows. Reaching her side without mishap, we slowly worked our way aft along her side until we reached the stern. Here we passed under the counter, and by peering close to the woodwork we could distinguish lettering, but the darkness THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was too intense to decipher the words. I dared not strike a light, and was exasperated to think I could not make out the name, when, in fending off the canoe from the vessel's rudder, my fingers came in contact with the stern, and to my intense satisfaction I discovered that the letters were raised. Feeling about until I found the first letter, I carefully went over each with my finger tips and at last made out the name Gaviala. Below was the name of her home port, and again I felt each letter with infinite care, and with my fingers spelt out the word Curagao. Joseph was right; the schooner was Dutch ! Do not miss next month's thrilling instalment. a A Pre- historic ; dragon, recently discovered during excavations in Mexico, on the site of a pre-Aztec temple. Very pee is known about people who sculptured this great bead, but the work is undoubtedly of im- mense antiquity, and the builders of the temple must have been adia high degree of civiliza- tion. we

Page 154

festFi oY COLIN seswusesseee CAMPBELL CLEMENTS iSht «-«e Five Hundred ILIMSTRATED BY JOHN DE WALTOV A moving first-hand story of a terrible tragedy concerning which the outside world has heard practically nothing—the events attending the siege and fall of Urfa, an ancient city in the midst of the Mesopotamian deserts. Here, for sixty days, five hundred French soldiers held out most gallantly against an overwhelming force of Mustapha Kemal Pasha’s rebel Kurds and Turks. Finally, with food and ammunition well-nigh exhausted, and the long-promised relief nowhere in sight, they were compelled to surrender. The enemy allowed them to march out with the honours of war, but amidst the mountains a death-trap was treacherously arranged for the unfortunate French, and in a ring of fire from concealed were shot down and bayonetted almost to the last man, the officers’ heads being afterwards carried in triumph through the streets of Urfa. Mr. Clements, an American connected with Armenian relief work, was with the French throughout the siege, and after the massacre escaped to Jerablus. His narrative—told here in extracts from letters written to his fiancée, Mr. Winston interest, a vivid pen-picture of one of the most tragic episodes in post-war history. IIL. Churchill's cousin—will be found of the utmost March i2th. AWOKE before daylight and came downstairs. With the dawn I expected to hear the cannon getting busy. It is now after ten and the rebels have not fired a shell! It seems too good to be true, for Friday has always been the day of heaviest fighting. ‘‘ Black Friday’ we call it. Later. All through breakfast we ate silently— awaiting the cannon. All through lunch hardly a word was spoken. All the afternoon we have been waiting for the cannon. And now darkness is upon us. A Friday has almost passed and we have not been shelled. The waiting, the expectancy, is even more of a strain than being under shell-fire, but somehow we all seem strangely relieved to-night. At dinner we were quite hilarious ! Miss Smith appeared in a lovely Turkish costume of old-rose silk and silver em- broidery, Mrs. Mansfield in a frilly blouse, and Miss Waller in a white frock. Weeden and I shaved (alas, the beards itched too much !) for the occasion and polished up our Sam Browne belts. Sergeant Le Brun brought forth, in truly French style, a wonderful dinner of beans, potatoes, black bread, and horse-meat camouflaged and done up as a steak after the manner of the Café de la Paix. Weeden had discovered a half-bottle of mouldy lime-juice, so after dinner we all drank a health to the unequalled and renowned Sergeant, who cooks as well as he fights! There was a round of toasts—to the relief column, to the French, to the days of freedom ' March 15th. Lieutenant Sayer came in this evening. He wants food for the horses and salt for the men. Fortunately, we have plenty of salt, but very little food that can be spared for the animals. The French have been forced to kill many of their horses for food. There were still some lentils and several bags of hay in our cookhouse, so we crawled up there to scrape up anything the rebels left. We had been afraid to eat the food from there for fear the Turks had poisoned it. Our trip to the cookhouse proved a success and we brought back a great haul. With careful picking we were able to fill ten sacks with lentils, wheat, and barley. The grain was scattered over the floors, all the sacks having been carried away by the enemy, as were the copper knives, forks, and spoons. Loop-holes, large enough for a rifie-barrel, had been dug in the wall of the cookhouse nearest our post and a trench dug all along the inside. The rebels also know something of modern warfare! We picked up a quantity of empty cartridges, many of them German but the majority Russian. Captain Perrault came in shortly after Sayer left. He told us that so far only one man had been dangerously wounded at Post 412. He also said that an Armenian had succeeded in getting into the city from

Page 155

148 THE WIDE WORLD Seroudj. A ‘ télégraphique optique ” had been received from the Old Orphanage saying that the relicf column is in part at Tel-Abiad and in part at Birijik. All was qinet until after midnight, when a sharp fusillade began. Perhaps the rebels heard us in the cookhouse and are trying to take the place again. I rather think the rifle grenades, which are banging as I write, will keep the unwelcome strangers away. The third patrol brought us horsemeat but no fat. Mrs. Mansfield had sent a note to the French asking for grease, but their supply is gone. They also have but little bread left, so we have asked them to cut our ration to half. I went over our supplies again and find that we have very little left except evaporated potatoes and milk. Almost since the beginning of the siege we have been sharing all our food with the French and giving them ‘medical supplies, as they had none. March 16th. There has been a fine drizzly rain all day long. The plains, the mountains, the white mosque are half-hidden by a slow-moving mist—and the world is grey. In the half- light we have been able to move about unseen by the rebels. Captain Lambert’s trenches at the back of the house proved impracticable to fight from, but just the thing for catching the water which runs down through our compound, in tiny little streams, from One Tree Hill. All these we directed into the deserted trenches, which were quickly filled with muddy, yellow water. Our supply of water should now last five or six days—nice thick, yellow water, which gives the soup a rich, nourishing look and makes the coffee taste as though it were made from old shoes ! One of the soldiers told me two Armenians had succeeded in getting through the Turkish lines to French Headquarters. That means we shall have some definite news from the Old Orphanage to-night. We are told that we are fighting the Namik forces (Nationalists), under the direct command of Mustapha Kemal, who is now at Angora. Another large body of Turkish cavalry has arrived in the city and several new tribes of Kurds have been, brought in by the gendarmes, who, until the siege, were paid by the French. : In spite of the heavy firing, Lieutenant Sayer came in shortly after sunset. He brought us letters from Miss Holmes and Miss Law—the first letters we have had from them since the rebels took Orphanage Hill. That was on February 26th. The letters told us that four more orphans had been killed. The supplies in the Armenian Quarter MAGAZINE. are still holding out, though they have been forced to cut the rations more than a third. In the Orphanage each child gets one small piece of bread, a bow] of soup, and a handful of rice a day. Later. Captain Perrault writes: “ We received this afternoon an envoy under a flag of truce from Namik (Commandant of the Nationalist forces at Urfa). He congratulates the French troops on their defence and promises on his honour to let us march out with arms and baggage to any point we choose. He says that the Nationalist forces have not declared war on us, but that they have sworn to make us evacuate Urfa, that the losses have been bloody up to now, that the town is besieged, and the population, Armenian and Turkish, is dying of hunger. “And further: That we need not look for help, a column commanded by Colonel Normand having been driven back by the Anezehs (he doesn’t say that it hasn't advanced since.) ”’ We also learn that a telegram has come straight from Kemal to the Mutsarif order ing that no American be harmed in any circumstances. This new order may save our house from being shelled, though it certainly has not kept our American and Red Cross flags from being ripped to pieces by Turkish fire. March 21st. Dr. K- , one of the leading Armenians of Urfa, came in at 2 a.m. this morning. He succeeded in getting through the Turkish lines to French Headquarters and from there to us. He brought letters from the Old Orphanage and a supply of tobacco, the first we have had for days and days and days. The firing goes on,. but very seldom now, and there is no doubt that the end is near. Forty-two days in a front-line trench! Plenty long enough ! March 22nd. It has been a clear, cold day and we could see far. For hours we stood at the windows with the sentries looking out over the plains with the hope of seeing the advancing column. But morning soon became evening : the light faded into darkness—and no relief. Miss Smith is having a barricade of sand- bags made around the narrow balcony in front of her window—a second-storey dug-out with just room enough for six people and a small table. Here we shall take tea and get a breath of God’s clean fresh air. But there will be no tea to-day—perhaps to-morrow. We are afraid of the water supply giving out and have again cut the ration to one-third of a cup per person per day.

Page 156

THE LAST FIGHT OF THE FIVE HUNDRED. The house has become almost untenable, but since there is nowhere else to go we must suffer in silence. Grumbling is absolutely forbidden and we have all adopted the motto: “If you can’t say something pleasant, keep your mouth shut.” But as I was saying, the house—oh, the hotise ! The floors are now covered with a sticky yellow mud tracked in by the patrols who come and go all through the night. With bullets flying outside, and often inside, and the house in its present un- sanitary and murky damp condition, we are far from comfortable. Even so our post is much more comfortable than any of the others. At Headquarters the Commandant and his officers are living in a damp cellar, the Sisters now have their hospital in a dark cave, the men at Post 412 are living in a hole, and the men at Marceroux’s Post must lie all day and night in a muddy trench. March 24th. It rained all through the night, and our roof leaks—every square foot of it. The upstairs rooms are now puddles of soft, watery mud. The floors may collapse at any minute and down we shall go, stones, mud and all, on the heads of any unfortunate ones who happen to be below. ‘‘ But it’s an ill wind,” etc. When we get low on water it rains, and when it rains we get baths and shaves and tea. Delightful siege! The soup and potatoes may be a bit watery, but the baths make up for the other things. The nurse, with rolls and rolls of rubber sheeting, has made a three-sided tent in the middle of her room, so that her daily clinic for wounds, aches, and colds goes on as usual. March 25th. Elias arrived, evidently on all fours, from the Old Orphanage early this morning. A letter from Miss Holmes tells us that the peace terms were offered Turkey and that Turkey refused them, Consequently Con- stantinople is occupied by the Allies, Armenia is to have Bitlis, Erzeroum, and Van, witha good stretch on the Black Sea. Turkey is given Anatolia; the Arabs get Damascus ; the Greeks get Smyrna; Konia goes to Italy ; Mesopotamia and Palestine go to England ; and the French get Syria and Cilicia. There was also a letter vid Turkish post from Mr. Jackson, the American Consul at Aleppo. He tells us that Admiral Bristol has sent word to the Mutsarif asking him to care for American lives and property. I am - afraid his letter to the Mutsarif has been lost somewhere along the line! There is one thing certain: if the news of this siege has reached Constantinople it has surely reached France, and in that case orders must have 149 been sent for the column to come to our help at once. After dark most of the family went over to French Headquarters to inspect the trenches. It was a black night when they started, but before they returned the moon came out full and bright. I sat downstairs and fumed and worried and fumed. Why is it one worries about other people getting hurt when one hasn't the slightest fear for oneself? The fear faded to joy when, standing near the corner of the house, I heard the sentry challenge ‘“‘ France" and the soft answer came back “ France’; then four American faces came up out of the shadow. : About midnight there was sharp firing from our house. In the morning the Sergeant reported three tents stolen—stolen from under our very noses ! March 28th. Lieutenant Sayer came in with the first patrol. The boy seems absolutely dis- couraged about his men. His company is Algerian and refuses to eat horsemeat. For the last three weeks they have been living on bread and coffee, and now the bread is giving out! Men can’t go on fighting with nothing but black coffee in their stomachs. Also, there is no more food for the few horses which are left. Every tuft of grass and the new twigs from our small trees within the French lines have been gathered for the poor animals. At midnight the Kurds came down in a drove to carry off more of our tents, but were successfully driven off. March 2gth. Weeden and I celebrated this fiftieth day of the siege by going over to French Head- quarters with supplies for the nurses and men. The Sisters showed us their underground hospital, a pathetic, smelly, dark little place under one of the houses. On the way back we stopped for a moment to speak to the Commandant and his officers. They have been living in a cave under one of the stables since the rebel shells from One Tree Hill knocked their old Headquarters to pieces. Near Post 412 we were met by Captain Perrault and Lieutenant Deloire, who con- ducted us through the trenches overlooking the city. We saw several dead rebels lying close to the walls. The Captain told us that they had been killed several days ago. When this fuss first began the Commandant used to allow the Turks to collect their dead after dark, but he soon learned that under this pretence the rebels were digging themselves in. Before we again reached our post sharp

Page 157

150 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, firing began. Bullets began to fly around our ears! Down we went, and for some time lay there in the dark listening to the song of the bullets. Not a pretty tune! April 2nd. This morning we learned that the rebels have established themselves in a house below the hill between here and Post 412, and that they are again digging trenches all along the top of One Tree Hill. On all sides of us, north, south, east, and west, the rebels are flying flags, hundreds of them—blood-red flags with a white crescent in the centre. There is no doubt that all this trouble is a part of some national movement of the Turks helped by their mercenaries, the Kurds, and not: merely a local insurrection, as we first thought. F About eight o'clock the cannon from One Tree Hill began to shell Headquarters, and from the city came shrapnel! The bom- bardment lasted for only an hour and a half, but there has been continual rifle-fire from three sides. Mrs. Mansfield, not wishing to be outdone by the red flags which the rebels flaunt at us from all sides, has set the whole household to making a gigantic American flag. We all voted that if we must die we want to do it under a respectable-sized Stars and Stripes. ‘The idea of making the flag was splendid, but the question of getting the material was not 60 easy. After a long search we found an old quilt with a red lining. For the white we used muslin (filched, I believe, from Miss Smith’s mountain of bandages), and blue stars were cut by Manuel from hand- woven, hand-dyed curtains. To-night, after dark, we shall all go to the roof to hoist this beautiful new flag. The flag is up! Later. Captain Perrault writes that he thinks the cannon stopped suddenly this morning to go and meet the French reinforcements ! Apmil 3rd. All day long there has been constant firing. It is no longer safe to walk through our halls. Our inner walls upstairs have been chipped to bits, for we found that the shells fired from the rebel post below 412 pene- trated the soft stone of our outer walls. That is getting close! As I write I can hear the shell-fragments pattering against my wall, and now and then pieces of stone come falling down over my table. The rebels seem to have taken a particular dislike to our new flag and seem to be trying to shoot it to pieces! Well, let them shoot ! April 5th. The “ télégraphique optique ” from the Old Orphanage last night saic that food there is scarce.. We are all very much worried, but powerless to relieve the situation in any way. Our food, too, is almost gone, and the French have little left to eat. Later. Food scarce, water scarce, tobacco gone | Gur supply of tobacco gave out long ago. For days we have been smoking tea, coffee, evaporated potatoes, and the leaves from Miss Holmes’s beloved carnation plant! To live without food and water may ‘be possible, but to live without a smoke now and then—impossible !_ We have made plans to storm the town and seize the tobacco shops! Without a cigarette now and then, the days are sixty hours long and the nights unending. vs April 6th. Not good news! The Armenians are out. of food, the supplies at Headquarters have almost gone, and we have little more to share with them. At the beginning of the siege, almost two months ago, the French had food for only fifteen days, but by cutting the rations, eating their own horses, and sharing with us they have been able to carry on for two months—four times longer than they at first thought they could. April 7th. Alas, the tree on One Tree Hill has disappeared ! The rebels have built a stone wall all along the crest of the hill, and from behind this barricade keep up a constant shell-fire. No news has yet come from French Headquarters, so we have no idea what the fate of our orphans is to be. We can but wait—the hardest thing in the world to do. April 8th. Dumais brought us a letter from Dr: Vischer :— “ Last night some prominent Armenians were allowed by the Turks to come and see Commandant Hauger. The food is finished in the Armenian Quarter and can only be got from the Turks. The Turks have said that they will allow the Armenians to buy food if the French soldiers leave the American Orphanage. A definite answer must be given to-morrow. The situation is critical.” April oth, 61st day of the Siege—Friday. Little firing all morning long. There is a strange calm everywhere, as if a great doom hung over us, Later. At ten o’clock we saw a horseman, a Turk, carrying a white flag, coming towards us

Page 158

THE LAST FIGHT OF THE FIVE HUNDRED, “We saw a Turk, carrying a white {lag, coming towards us. At his side walked a French soldier, also carrying a white flag.’

Page 159

152 from French Headquarters. At his side walked a French soldier, also carrying a white flag. Weeden and I went out to meet them near the big gate of our compound. We learned that the Commandant, because his provisions are exhausted and because the Armenians are facing starvation, has sur- rendered. The French will leave Urfa to- morrow at midnight ! Dr. and Mrs. Vischer and, later, Captain Perrault and Lieutenant Sayer came in to see us. This has been a great blow to French pride and honour. One “ seventy-five” or one aeroplane with bombs might have saved the whole situation. But with no more food for his men, and with the Armenian supplies gone, there was no other way out for Com- mandant Hauger. Retreat would have been impossible, as the rebels now have a large cavalry force, while the French have only a few horses left. lf they had tried to go through the mountains they would have been cut to pieces, and if they had retreated across the plains toward Tel-Abiad they would have been surrounded on all sides by hostile tribes. Besides, we are told that the small French garrison at Tel-Abiad is also being besieged and that the railroad between there and Aleppo has been cut. To have retreated would also have left the Armenians to the mercy of the Turks—and the Turks have no mercy. At French Headquarters we learned the terms of peace :— 1. The French will march out with all honours, taking their arms and am- munition with them. 2. The Turks have promised not to molest in any way the Americans, the Swiss, the French Roman Catholic mission- aries, and the Armenians who remain in Urfa. 3. Twelve Turkish notables must go with the French as hostages as far as Birijik. We have decided that one of us must go to Aleppo with the French to get in touch with Dr. Lambert, head of the Near East Relief, and Mr. Jackson, our American Consul. Weeden went to see the Mutsarif about it, and was told that im no circum- stances must any of the Americans go with the French. But in spite of the Mutsarif’s command we fee] that one of us must take the news to Aleppo. Captain Perrault has asked me to go in the advance guard with him and his two leutenants, eloire and Frange. Later. After some hot and heavy debates it has been decided that Woodward and his inter- preter go with the French to-morrow night. Woodward happens to be a British subject, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and is afraid that if the Turks find this out they will hold him as a spy. April roth. We were all up with the sun. Turks and Kurds seem to be everywhere. They swarm—men, women, and children— over the hills, around the French outposts, and through our compound. Early in the afternoon the family gathered : Mrs. Mansfield, Miss Holmes, Miss Law (both of whom we had not seen,'of course, for two months), Miss Smith, Miss Waller, Weeden, Woodward, and I. At 4 p.m. the French officers came in for tea, as in the old days, but this time it was to say good-bye. Captain Sarjous was very despondent and hardly able to speak. The Commandant, his chin quivering and tears rolling down his cheeks, kept saying over and over again: ‘] have plenty of ammunition, but no more food for my men.” The other officers were sad, crestfallen. Captain Lambert was loath to go and lingered long after the others had left. As he talked to us he seemed a little dazed and kept mumbling, “ After so long at Verdun and now, this—this!" We asked him if he thought there was any danger of the French being attacked in the mountains by the Turks. He shrugged his shoulders :-- + “‘Commandant Hauger trusts the Turks. 1 do not. Commandant Hauger believes the Turks will keep their word—to an honourable man all men are honourable.” I had asked this same question of some of the younger officers. They told me that even if the Turks did attack them there were the best chances in the world of getting through. We have planned to meet them all in Paris next year and celebrate with a big dinner at the Café de la Paix. But who knows what next year may bring—or even to-morrow ? Living as we have for the last sixty days has taught us to make each day a life complete and to leave the future to Le Bon Dieu. Elias the reckless, and John—Beloved Jobn we now call him, because he has been our guide and adviser since first we came to Urfa—are to go with the French to-night. Both of them are ‘‘ marked men” by the Turks, and prefer to take the chances of having to fight their way through with the French rather than stay here and be mas- sacred by the rebels. Weeden and I gave them both uniforms and Captain Perrault sent over rifles and helmets for them. After midnight. The French left shortly after twelve. The soldiers who have been with us here left the house at dusk. One by one they shook hands with us, saluted, smiled wearily, and

Page 160

THE LAST FIGHT went trudging across the vineyard to French Headquarters. There was hardly a sound as the French left. Even the street dogs were silent. We heard a single shot, and then the creak of the wooden carts as they moved away. Mrs. Mansfield and I stood at the window looking out into the darkness toward the Arab-Poonar road. It used to be such a gay little white road, wandering aimlessly through the mountains, but now it has be- come a road of shame and—fear. A blood- red moon rose slowly over the deserted French Headquarters. The Turkish guards, sent to us by the Mutsarif, came to our house at four this morning. With them was a young German- looking officer wearing a Turkish uniform. He spoke to me in German. *““What did you do before you came to Urfa?” 1 told him that I had been in the American army. “* You were in the American army? Bah!” With that he turned on his heel and walked away, calling back over his shoulder: ‘ Of course, these guards must have the same treatment as the French. They must be quartered in your house.” After the officer had left the sergeant of the guard demanded beds and food for six of his men. He told me that his soldiers were tired and needed sleep. ** But if the Kurds come down. es | began. “ The Kurds are our friends,” he replied. “ They are very good-natured, the Kurds.” April 11th. Shortly after the French left we heard the muezzins calling from the minarets ; this call continued all night long. 1 asked one of the guards what it meant, but he only shook his head. At dawn we heard machine-gun firing from the mountains. The French have been attacked |! Weeden rushed off to see the Mutsarif, who has his office in the old Seraglio building. The firing lasted only fifteen minutes and then all was quiet again. An Armenian came running to us from the Old Orphanage. He threw himself at our feet, and with great sobs shaking his body told us that the muezzins had called all Mohammedans to go out and overtake the French! He also told us that Captain Sarjous had killed himself last night when the French flag went down. That explains the single shot we heard as the French were leaving Urfa. About 9.30 the firing in the mountains began again. From our windows we saw thousands of people on foot and horseback going out along the road by which the French Vol. xlix.—11, OF THE FIVE HUNDRED. 153 left last night. has continued. Weeden told us that when he asked the Mutsarif why he had not kept his word the old man simply shrugged his shoulders and said :— “If the Kurds attack the French can I help it?” “ But there is an American with the French troops.” : The Mutsarif's face turned first purple, then white. ‘ But I—I told you that no Americans were to go with the French!” “You also told Commandant Hauger that he and his men would be safe |” The Mutsarif rushed to the door and shouted to a cavalry officer: ‘ Go at once ! An American is with the French! If he is killed there will be h- to pay!” Then he returned to his office and, mopping his face with a handkerchief, sank down into the chair. For two hours now the firing Later, Before noon we saw the camel train which had carried the French ammunition being led into the city, and after them the little wooden carts were dragged down the hill by yelling madmen. Horsemen carrying red flags galloped backwards and forwards. The hills and the city walls were covered with shouting women and children. An angry mob of Kurdish men and women tried to come into our house, but were driven off by the guard. In the midst of it all came a note from Miss Holmes, who is still with the children in the Old Orphanage :— “ The French have been attacked and all of them killed. A head is being displayed in the streets. Some say it is that of the Commandant. The panic of fear is spreading among the Armenians.” We soon learned that Woodward and Anthony had been brought back by the Turkish cavalry. We also found out that the notables whom the Mutsarif promised would go with the French troops never left the city ! April 1ath. We have been told the most horrible stories of the massacre in the mountains yesterday. One man said that a wagon-load of heads had been brought back into the city, and another described how the heads of the officers, stuck on poles, were carried trium- phantly through the crowded bazaars. We were also informed that even the day before the French left the trap had been planned by the treacherous Turks. Letters were sent out to the tribes between here and the Arab Poonar and Tel-Abiad calling on them to slaughter the French and share in the loot. As I write the rejoicing still goes on. All night long and all day there has been constant

Page 161

154 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, shooting, music, and wild, drunken songs. One of the gendarmes told me that the city would be ‘“‘ wide open ” now that the French were gone and that all the Armenian girls would be made to dance in the cafés. lasked him who the leader of the Nationalist move- ment was. He replied :— *‘Mustapha Kemal Pasha, who is now at Angora. He isa Bolshevik, and the Germans are giving him money and supplies. Germany has always been Turkey’s friend. Turkey for the Turks, England for the English, and France for the French!’ He then told me a long story of how the great war is going on once more, that Germany has beaten France, and that America has refused to come into the war again. It all seems impossible. But here, cut off as we are from all the rest of the world, who knows what may be going on ? A pril 13th. Word came this morning that the Turkish cavalry had brought back some forty or fifty French soldiers whom they found scattered through the mountains. I left at once for the prison, but was told by a savage-looking old Turk that it was impossible to see the French prisoners. I said I would get permission from the Mutsarif, but the old Turk shook his head and said that even if I did get permission to see the prisoners I would be endangering my life by being friendly to the enemy ! Before I reached the Seraglio I heard that an American Commission was on its way to Urfa. The news of that commission changed the whole situation! The Turks bowed and scraped to me and told me that I could visit the prison and hospital whenever I desired. I went back to the prison at once and there, in an open court, filthy and swarming with vermin, I found some forty French and Algerian soldiers. I was greeted by a shout, “O Monsieur Clemau! Monsieur Clemau ! ’” Lieutenant Deloire was there, Joyoux, Du- mais, who proudly showed me a bullet wound in his arm, Hamed, and many others, The men had been stripped of everything and driven over the stones by the Turkish cavalry, who lashed them with long whips. Their feet were cut and bleeding and their bodies bruised, I went to our house at once to gather shoes, uniforms, “The guard, crawling at

Page 162

THE LAST FIGHT shirts, blankets—anything and everything we could find. As I was again passing the prison gate one of the guards spat in my face. He was immediately knocked down by an officer. The guard, crawling at my feet, kissed my hand! The “ unspeakable Turk.” Deloire told me that the French left Urfa shortly after midnight. They had marched for almost six hours, with a short rest after each hour, and had reached a place called Feriz Pasha, where the road makes a sharp bend and is surrounded on three sides by high, rocky hills. The advance guard passed the bend in safety, but when Com- mandant Hauger and his officers reached the turn the hillsides blazed with rifle-fire. The French, with less than five hundred men, were attacked by an enemy three or four times their strength. The French, having deployed on both sides, returned the fire and were able to mow down many of the rebels, but high above them and under cover was a much larger ring of Turks, so that victory for the French was hopeless from the start. Commandant Hauger, seeing the impossibility of the situation, sent out a white flag and asked the enemy to cease firing. For a time the fighting stopped, but it was impossible to carry the word to the rebels high up in the mountains, and soon the firing became heavier than before. In spite of the fact that they were in a death-trap, and their ammunition cut off, the French kept up the fight. Lieutenant Deloire said that after the ammunition was gone the Turks and Kurds rushed down on the French with bayonets and slaughtered them like rab- bits. The ditches were running with blood and the road filled with dying men, horses, and camels. The Turks cut the throat of every wounded man they encountered and then stripped him of his clothing. April 14th. All morning long we have been carrying medical’supplies and tobacco to the soldiers. I found many men I knew in the Turkish ‘hospital and at Dr. Vischer’s ‘hospital. The my feet, kissed my hand.” OF ‘THE FIVE HUNDRED. 155 doctor is working with the wounded night and day just as he worked all through the siege. The wounded soldiers seem dazed and unable to give any account of the fighting in the mountains. It was all so unexpected,

Page 163

156 so unprepared for, that none of them seem to know just what happened or how. I am always asked one question, ‘‘ Have the officers returned to the American Mission ? ” Always I must shake my head. Late this afternoon a French aeroplane came over the city. It flew out over the plain and circled around several times as if looking for the French troops ; then it hung over the mountains for a time and disap- peared. April 16th. In spite of the reassuring news that the American Commission will arrive to-morrow the panic and fear in the Armenian Quarter is distressing. The Mutsarif went to the quarter this afternoon and in a long speech informed the Armenians that no harm would come to them; that Turkey was simply fighting for her own country. He told the people that they could keep their arms as long as the Turks were allowed to keep theirs. He promised them that the Ar- menians would be allowed to send a HIGH COMMISSION OF IN SYRIA AND CILICIA. THE FRENCH REPUBLIC THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, April 17th. The American Commission arrived this morning. The ‘‘ Commission’ happens to be Dr. Lambert, of the Near East Relief, an interpreter, and two workers, and in no way represents the United States Government. Of course, the Turks do not know this, and will not be disillusioned, From Dr. Lambert we have learned that this is far from being a local affair. The French are being hammered at Aintab, Adana, Marash, Mardin, and other places in Cilicia. © It has been decided that Mrs. Mansfield, Miss Law, Woodward, and I go to Aleppo with Dr. Lambert, and that the others stay here until the doctor returns. April 20th. Up at four, as we leave Urfa at daylight. Six Americans with two Turkish guards, who are going with us as far as Birijik. Of course, all trunks and even hand luggage must be left behind. We may be attacked along the road, al- though the Mutsarif G.H.Q., ALEY 22nd. delegate to Angora with the Turkish delegates. But the Armenians say: “The Turks promise many things with their lips but 2o¢ with their hearts.” Almost before the Mutsarif had finished this flowery speech of brotherhood and pointed out the high ideals of this new Turkey the com- mander of the Turk- ish forces sent a patrol to the Ar- menian Quarter and demanded as_ pris- oners two influential Armenians who did much for the French during their occupa- tion of Urfa. We have hidden these two men in one of our buildings and will send them to Dear Sir, I wish to tender you my best thanks for your letter of congratulation on the occasion of the entry of my troops into Damas. There is every reason to think that this success will make for peace in Cilicia, where, as you know from your own experience, the situation has been so difficult and complex. I shall not easily forget how you and other of your compatriots have cheered and comforted our French soldiers in these tragic hours, nor the invaluable help you have given my officers, as many letters to myself testify. I have asked General de Lamothe to send up your name with a recommenda- tion for reward—a recommendation which I shall warmly support. Believe me, my dear sir, Yours sincerely, (Signed) Govuraunp. to the Author, thanking him for his services to the French troops. has given us papers, a flag, and two guards —but the Mutsarif ! In spite of the dan- ger of having French papers on me I am taking Captain Per- rault's letters, tucked away in my boots, to Aleppo. They are the only record of the siege written by a Frenchman that has been preserved, and may be valuable to the French. Later. Passing through Feriz Pasha was ter- rible. The Turks had sent out Armenians from the city to bury the dead, but only a thin covering of dirt had been thrown over the bodies, and this was soon scratched away by the wild Aleppo disguised as Arabs when the way is clear. Word was sent back to the Turkish commander that the two men he asked for had gone out with the French, and that since they could not be found they had probably been killed. beasts and vultures. The road and the sides of the hills were strewn with the corpses of men and animals. At Seroudj we were forced to stop. From the direction of Tel-Abiad we could see shells exploding over the hills. An angry mob of.

Page 164

THE LAST FIGHT Kurds, armed to the teeth with guns and knives, crowded around us. Seyid Bey, dressed in a French officer’s uniform, drove the savages away. ““We are storming Tel-Abiad,” he said. “The French soldiers there will soon be in our hands. We have cut the railroad, and now it is only a matter of time!” Seyid is a savage Kurd with close- cropped hair, bulging red eyes, and nasty brown teeth that come out over his under lip. From Seroudj we drove across the desert to the ancient city of Birijik. Before we reached the city we met a band of horse-, men, but the red flag under which we were forced to travel was raised, and we passed unmo- lested. The gen- darme in the back of the car called to his companion on OF THE FIVE HUNDRED. 157 Lawrence, the now-famous young English- man who, during the great war, went into the desert and trained the Arabs to fight on the side of the Allies. Later. We left Djerablus at sunrise and arrived in Aleppo at noon without a mishap. <A_ re- cord—one hun- dred and sixty miles across de- serts, through rivers, and over the worst roads imaginable with- out a puncture | Apmnil 26th. I leave for Killis to-morrow morning to take Captain Perrault's letters and a map of Urfa to General de Lamothe. May 8th, Bevrut. We have again reached civiliza- tion! How won- derful it is to look out over the peaceful Mediterranean and to know that I shall soon be leaving this the front seat :— terrible country. “ They are the General Gou- most famous raud, that splen- outlaws in this [_~ did soldier who part of the i went through country, I won- The autographed porual pievented| to the Author by the fighting at der why they did Photo. Romanais. Gallipoli and not stop us?” : commanded our The gendarme in front shrugged his own ‘ Rainbow Division’ in France, sent shoulders. ‘“‘ Why should they? I know for me after lunch. He thanked me for the them all. I was a member of their band for eight months !'” We stopped at Birijik only long enough to get the car across the Euphrates on an old boat. From Birijik we went straight to Djerablus, where we stayed the night with Major Woolley, formerly of the British Army. He has lived here for years excavating the old Hittite ruins for the British Museum*. The house in which we stayed belongs to Colonel * See our issues for June to Sept., 1921, inclusive.—Eprror. aid we had given the French soldiers and officers during the siege of Urfa. For two hours he talked about the siege, about France, and about America. Later. A three weeks’ armistice has been arranged between the French and Turks. By an agreement arranged with General Gouraud and the Turkish Nationalists the prisoners at Urfa are to be brought to Beirut. THE END.

Page 165

AMERICAN CROOKS IN EUROEE , Pe \j yngston ZLLUSTRATED BY Mes Shia WGWHTAKER HEN the American criminal first in- vaded Europe in search of fresh worlds to con- quer he brought with him a skill, originality, daring, and resource which astonished his competitors. The latter were for the most part content to work for gains ridiculously disproportionate to the danger involved ; their perverted cleverness was wasted because of lack of imagination, and con- sequently the most successful crooks existed in a sort of sordid dinginess when in funds and starved in a slum when penniless. The American, on the other hand, took him- self as seriously as any captain of industry might. He dressed well, travelled in comfort, pat- ronized the best hotels, and held his head high amongst honest men, There was nothing of the ‘‘ hang-dog” expression about him; nor did he love darkness, and whenever he put _ himself within reach of the law he saw to it that he stood to gain a fortune. Adam Worth, for instance, did not consider anything under five thousand pounds good enough to endanger his personal liberty for, and other leaders When the American criminal extends his nefarious operations to Europe he usually works on a big scale, displaying unusual skill and daring. Spite of his audacity, however, the law generally proves a match for him in the end. This interesting article sketches the meteoric careers of some of the most famous trans-Atlantic crooks who have “practised” in England and on the Continent. and capitalists of the American underworld were no less ambjtious. Worth was, probably, the most remarkable American crook who ever ‘“‘worked”’ Europe, but in many respects the late Max Shin- burn was a _ more interesting personality. Shinburn had earned the reputation of being the most successful of bank thieves before he invaded Europe. His courage was immense, his brain-power enormous. He controlled a turbulent gang with the same ease as he repressed himself, and, possessing a genius for organization, he raided several American banks and deprived them of close on a million of money. It is not, however, with his American career that 1 am dealing, and it will be necessary only to record that it was in order to avoid the attentions of Pinkerton, the famous detective, who had arrested him, but from whose clutches he had escaped, that Shinburn temporarily emi- grated. He did not come to England, guessing that the first inquiries of the New York police would be di- rected to Scotland Yard, and it was in Belgium that he lived for a few months on the small sum he had

Page 166

AMERICAN CROOKS IN been able to bring with him. He was, despite his lack of funds and consequent inability to do full justice to his peculiar abilities, charmed with Belgium, and he decided to make it his permanent home. Throughout his life Shinburn had _ been socially ambitious, and had it been possible he would have settled down in the States and become a leading local light. That being out of the question, however, he resolved to acquire a fortune at one stroke, return to Belgium, and become what is termed a respectable member of society. The crook had a prepossessing exterior, could converse intelligently on almost any topic, and was a master of three languages. He was deeply versed in the literature of his country, and even when his existence was a case of “here to-day, gone to-morrow,” because of the attentions of the detectives, he was never without a favourite book. THE CROOK WHO BECAME A BARON. This was the man who returned under an alias to America and burgled the Ocean Bank of New York, with a net profit to himself of fifty thousand pounds. Before the police had thought of him in connection with the crime he was on his way back to Belgium, and a few months later Max Shinburn was installed ina historic chateau within ten miles of Ostend, and with the aid of a Cabinet Minister, had acquired, at a price, the ‘title of baron ! It was a startling transformation for the Yankee crook, who made a more or less ludicrous attempt to copy the manners of, the old noblesse and who, by means of lavish entertainments, became very popular witha large crowd of notabilities, many of whom were bankers, the class which had been his special prey in the past. Shinburn, undoubtedly, intended to ‘‘ make good” in his new réle, but the evil brain could not vegetate amidst respectability, and old ambitions were re-created by reports in the papers of sensational robberies within a hundred miles or so of his residence. Presently, former confederates sought an interview and told a wonderful story of the huge profits to be made by investing a few hundred pounds in the robbery of the Belgian . mail. The compatriots of the pseudo-baron had not come unprepared, for with character- istic American thoroughness they had already ascertained that on a particular date a large consignment of diamonds would be dis- patched from New York to Russia vid London, Ostend, and Brussels. It did not trouble the gang that extra precautions would be taken to safegi.ird the treasure and that the mail-van would be locked and padlocked and well guarded when not actually in motion. They knew that they could overcome all.these difficulties provided EUROPE. 159 they had sufficient capital to prepare for emergencies. Shinburn’s old enthusiasm for crime revived when he had heard them, and when they promised to submit to his direction and authority he agreed to supervise the campaign. The sequel to this conference was that on Saturday morning, November 27th, 1886, when the mail train stopped at Verviers, the officials were alarmed by the discovery ‘that the official padlock which had been attached to the mail-van at Ostend was missing and that it had been replaced by a substitute, obviously the work of thieves. The van was instantly entered and a first glimpse proved that their fears were justified, for it was littered with torn letters and parcels. A hasty examination revealed the fact that all the diamonds from New York had been stolen; and later, when the records could be consulted, it was found that an immense sum in cash, banknotes, and letters of credit had also vanished. All told, the thieves got away with more than fifty thousand pounds, and there was not a clue to their identity ! When the Continental police had grudgingly admitted that they were helpless they ap- pealed to Scotland Yard, and half-a-dozen shrewd officers were assigned the task of tracing the crooks. By dint of amazing patience and intelligent inquiry they were able to draw up a dossier of the coup, which fitted in with all the known facts. Un- doubtedly, Shinburn’s followers had assem- bled at Dover and from there had gone to Ostend, where they had been joined by certain men engaged by them as supers. These latter had, on the arrival of the train, promptly entered the compartment next to the mail-van, and thus by filling it had reserved it for themselves. During the journey it had been easy enough to climb on to the footboard, remove the official lock, and enter the van, and with plenty of time at their disposal they had had no difficulty in finding the mail-bags containing the liamonds. It was owing to Shinburn’s perfect or- ganization that the police, although they strongly suspected three Americans, could not arrest any of them. The authorities knew that it would be useless bringing the men to trial, as it would be impossible to prove anything against them in view of their ignorance of the identity of the leader of the gang. At this time Max Shinburn was not thought of in connection with the affair, and while the world was discussing the sensational train robbery he was living in genteel style in Ostend. But his success was dearly bought, as the sequel proved. The crook lived more extravagantly than ever, convinced that a ready means of replenishing his exchequer

Page 167

160 THE WIDE WORLD lay always at hand, and, believing that his means were unlimited, he gambled away thousands of pounds and awoke one morning to find himself almost penni- Iess. This involved an immediate return to crime, and, as his principal lieutenants were by this time back in America, he had to attempt a coup on his own account. The old skill and originality were there, but a few years of the life luxurious had not strengthened his nerve, and at the critical moment, during a Napoleonic raid on an Ostend bank, his courage evaporated and he fled, leaving his burglar’s outfit behind him. He got safely out of Belgium, and for a week or two concealed himself in London before sailing for New York, but there Pinkertons were on the look-out’ and, suspecting that he would hang himself if only they gave him sufficient rope and scope, they waited until he was found in the act, and then pounced on him. The “ Belgian baron” was Subsequently convicted and sentenced for life. Walter Sheridan was an intimate friend of Shinburn and worked with him occasionally, but the two men were too masterful to be perfect associates, and it was only when in Europe that they combined forces. At home, in America, each was capable of earning a large income by devious methods, and, if Sheridan had not Shinburn’s personality or education, he never resorted to violence, and specialised, not in burglary, but in forgery. Sheridan talked bankers and merchants out of ‘their money; Shinburn entered their offices at dead of night and stole it. Yet Sheridan had no taste for the finer things of life, and his friend found him a dull companion in the palmy days when he was a Belgian nobleman. It was then that he persuaded Sheridan to take a house near Ostend, but the latter became homesick and reappeared in New York to sell seventy thousand pounds’ worth of forged railway stock, and when detected to scuttle back to Europe, carrying in his trunks imitation railway bonds of che face value of fifty thousand pounds. He got rid of these in London, Paris, and Brussels, and he spent the proceeds recklessly, rivalling Shin- burn foratime. Sheridan, however, never felt at home out of his own country, for he had never forgotten how near he had been to sharing the fate of the Bidwell brothers .who got lite sentences at the Old Bailey for the famous one hundred thousand pounds fraud on the Bank of England. It was Sheridan who invented that swindle, and he withdrew from the task of carrying it into effect simply because the Bidwells insisted on interpreting his instructions in a way that displeased him. ‘I'll have nothing to do with it,” he said, sharply, ‘‘ unless you obey me blindly. Your so-called improvements MAGAZINE, will lead to disaster."’ The Bidwells, how- ever, held their ground, but, although favoured by fortune for a time, their plans miscarried and—here they missed Sheridan’s peculiar genius—they were not able to cover up their tracks, and as a result they were run to earth and severely punished. DEFRAUDING THE BANK OF ENGLAND. Sheridan conceived the little trick by means of which the Bidwells obtained an introduction to the manager ot the West- end branch of the Bank of England, and I will recall it because it was typical of him. It being absolutely essential that the American brothers should have a working account with the premier bank in the world, and it being equally obvious that-they could not secure it in the usual way owing to their antecedents, one of them, at Sheridan’s instigation, ordered several suits of clothes from a London tailor, cultivated his better acquaintance during the transaction, and, when the clothes were ready, paid with notes, simultaneously explaining that as he was a stranger in England he had to-carry his capital about with him. The tailor there- upon pointed out the risk he was running, and was met by a request to take care of twelve hundred pounds belonging. to his customer. The tradesman, unwilling to be the custodian of so much cash, brought him to his bank—the Bank’ of England—and introduced him to the manager.. Once the syndicate of sinners had an account at their disposal they started on their colossal fraud, and tens of thousands of pounds were paid to them by the bank for bills of exchange purporting to bear the signatures of the Rothschilds and other eminent financiers. The game was fast, furious, and merry until one of the crooks accidentally omitted the date from a bill, and then the conspiracy collapsed because the bank sent the bill to the supposed. drawer to be rectified, and he, of course, repudiated it. There were sensational ele- ments in the Old Bailey trial of the gang, among them a plot to enable the prisoners to escape, and for which a warder was punished for participating in; while the heavy sen- tences created considerable talk, and, inci- dentally, convinced Sheridan that he was a lucky man. He had heard of the horrors of English penal servitude and he wisely pre- ferred imprisonment in America, where the jails in comparison with the British are luxurious. Sheridan took part in several robberies and forgeries in Europe, but he seldom remained for more than a few months at a time, and as i. was his lot to have nearly as many failures as successes—and failure meant jail—he was justified of his dislike of Europe. In common with all men who have tried to make fortunes out of crime, the

Page 168

AMERICAN CROOKS IN EUROPE. law proved too strong for him and smashed him in the end. Undeterred by the fate of the Bidwell brothers, Adam Worth descended’ on England with a retinue of rogues and made criminal history with a vengeance. A man of small stature—his intimates referred to him affectionately as ‘ Little Adam ’’—this master-crook hired a furnished flat in Piccadilly and from there directed operations against banks all over the world. He had in his service one Charles Becker, a German- American, who could imitate any hand- writing without the slightest difficulty, and, besides the forger, he had trained burglars, who provided Scotland Yard with more problems in three years than it had pre- viously tackled in ten. Worth’s expenses in London were over two hundred pounds a week, but the treasury was always in funds, and despite his unimpressive appearance, he was able to attract by sheer personality. His London name was “ Harry Raymond,” and at the flat in Piccadilly he gave dinners to men and women who never suspected the source of the wealth of the ‘ American millionaire.’’ There is a legend to the effect that at one of these parties a pompous Englishman, who boasted of a lengthy pedigree and purse, exasperated his host by slighting references to the land of his birth. Adam kept his temper, but he avenged himself by sending one of his retained burglars to relieve the Englishman of all his cherished heirlooms. The story goes that the victim came to ‘‘Mr. Raymond ” for advice, and that the crook actually accom- panied him to Scotland Yard to give details of the outrage to the police ! But the earning of the income Adam Worth deemed essential to his needs as well as the large sums he had to pay his followers kept him very busy. Hundreds of pounds were of little use to a man who kept his own steam yacht at Cowes and who thought nothing of gambling away a thousand pounds in the course of a few hours, but after one or two frauds on English banks he discovered that cheques for large sums were not paid on demand, as they were in America, and that the custom was to have the presenter of the cheque identified to the satisfaction of the cashier. This was the reason why Worth decided that the safest method of extracting money from the English banks was vid the Continent, and with Charles Becker's assist- ance he prepared a large number of forged letters of credit purporting to be issued by Coutts’s Bank. These letters were payable at banks in Belgium, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, Smyrna, and Constantinople, and when they were ready Becker and three other members of the gang started on the “ grand tour.” They picked up a couple of thousand 161 pounds in Belgium, passed on to France and collected three thousand; relieved the Germans of the same amount, and_ hood- winked the Austrians to the extent of seven thousand, From Vicnna they went to Constantinople and from there to Smyrna, where the greatest coup of all was to be attempted on the principal local bank. But Charles Becker and his companions had grown careless with repeated successes, and Chapman, who, next to Becker, was most trusted by Worth, entered the Smyrna bank in a semi-intoxicated condition, and when asked a question by the cashier turned and fled. His conduct aroused suspicion, and the four men were promptly arrested and, after conviction, conveyed to Constantinople, to be incarcerated in a foul jail. Adam Worth had just returned from the opera at Covent Garden when he received news of the catastrophe, and, although he guessed that they had only themselves to blame for the disaster, he promptly made arrangements to secure their release, That was the reason why a society journal announced a few days later that ‘‘ Mr. Harry Raymond, the well-known = American millionaire, has departed for a cruise in his yacht Shamrock.” As a matter of fact, Worth did not use his yacht, which would have proved too slow a vehicle for him. With five thousand pounds in his pockets, he went to Constantinople by the shortest route and entered into negotiations with several of the officials of the prison. These gentlemen, not having seen their salaries for more years than they could remember, were only too anxious to oblige the ‘‘ American millionaire,”” and the escape of the quartette of crooks was quickly arranged. When well bribed even a Turkish official can be thorough, and in this instance they did not fail Worth, for, although on the night which was to prove in a literal fashion that ‘“ stone walls do not a prison make or iron bars a cage,” one of the prisoners was too ill to move, the Turks guaranteed that he would gain his freedom when it was convenient to himself ! And they kept their promise, too ! BLACKMAILING THE BRITISH GOVERN- MENT. His dealings with these gentry probably had some influence on Worth when another of his followers, Thompson, had the misfor- tune to fall into the clutches of Scotland Yard in connection with a misplaced forgery. Thompson was offered bail, but could not get it because the bailees had to be English householders whose pasts would bear in- vestigation by the police, and he was accord- ingly taken back to prison to await his trial at the Old Bailey. Worth, through an agent, offered to deposit ten thousand pounds as

Page 169

162 bail, but not being an English householder the pseudonymous offer was rejected, and then the exasperated Yankee crook decided that the English Government would have to be blackmailed into a reasonable frame of mind. It seems too ridiculous, yet it is a fact that Adam Worth stole the famous picture, Gainsborough’'s ‘' Duchess of Devon- shire,” from Messrs. Agnew's art gallery in Bond Street, not with the object of making money, but wholly and solely with the intention of using it as a lever to obtain Thompson’s release! He was under the impression that rather than lose the master- piece the Home Sccretary would set Thomp- son at liberty, when, of course, Worth would smuggle him out of the country. All his trouble was, however, useless, for, owing to a flaw in the indictment, Thompson was discharged at the Old Bailey, and Worth was compelled to keep the painting until some twenty-five years later, when he restored it to Pinkertons, who were acting for Agnew’s, for a payment of two thousand pounds, That was long after Adam Worth, in the vigour of his manhood and intellect, had led the gang which robbed the Belgian mail train of forty-seven thousand pounds and later defrauded a Paris bank of nineteen thousand pounds by forging the signature of one of its directors. That was a particularly daring exploit, for the director was living within a hundred yards of the bank, and Worth’s agent had to pretend that he had come straight from the Frenchman's house ! Other big jobs this king of crooks brought off were two robberies of diamonds from a Bond Street jeweller’s shop; at least a score of long-firm frauds which were planned and carried out from Manchester; and the obtaining of ten thousand pounds from a credulous Englishman who was persuaded to pay that sum as a deposit on the purchase of shares in the Bank of England! But as fast as the money came it went, and in one year as much as sixty-three thousand pounds was spent. Of this enormous sum Worth was personally responsible for three-fourths, for the American crook had one weakness, gambling. His flat in Piccadilly was almost nightly the scene of a poker party, and when- ever he could he attended English race- meetings, betting in thousands and with a recklessness which threatened to make him dangerously prominent. But the very fact that he lived an open life and apparently feared no man told in his favour, and thus while Scotland Yard dctectiv.s were daily teceiving complaints of forgeries, burglaries, and other swindles, and while they were heing warned that a clever American was at the bottom of them, they never took the trouble to inquire into the origin of the wealth which the sallow-faced little man with the THE WIDE WORLD - MAGAZINE. small dark eyes and marvellous teeth spent so freely. Yet, for all his successes and his amazing run of good fortune, Adam Worth ended in much the same manner as the brainless pickpocket and thief. In the days of his prosperity he had owned mansions in England and America, a steam yacht, racehorses, and —most important of all to him—the souls and allegiance of half-a-dozen men who had been content to treat him with almost Oriental deference and allow him to reap where they had sown. In the days of his misfortunes he was a lonely old man who starved in a garret.although he owned— illegally, of course — Gainsborough's ‘Duchess of Devonshire.” That painting had been valued at twenty-five thousand pounds, but its possessor could not convert it mto twenty-five cents to buy a meal to warm his famished body. He had more than once boasted that he had stolen half a million of money in Europe, but when he died he would have been buried in a pauper’s grave if Messrs. Agnew had not made him the pay- ment aiready mentioned for his confession and his restitution of their property. A RESOURCEFUL FORGER. Another danng crook was George Engles, who refused an offer to work for Worth on salary and commission, and who for several years was quite a well-known figure in continental circles. Engles was a clever actor and was Becker’s only rival as a forger, having learnt the * business’ from Wilkes, also an American, who proved his expertness by defrauding a score of European banks in the ‘seventies and ‘eighties. Engles was something of an artist and had an inventive brain. He did not like presenting his own forgeries at bank counters, and asa rule, when he set out on the European tour, he took with him someone to perform that part of the fraud, but as it often happened that his confederate was arrested and, accordingly, pending the arrival of a substitute from the States, he had to face the bank officials himself. He was a great cosmopolitan, visit- ing England, Germany, France, and Spain in turn, and changing his name almost as frequently as he forged a cheque. Once he brought off a big coup by pretending to be deaf and dumb. He had been staying at an hotel in Madrid when he made the acquaint- ance of a wealthy Spaniard who, he ascertained by chance, kept an account with a Paris bank. Engles thereupon stole a couple of cheques from the Spaniard’s trunk and forged one for fifteen hundred pounds, A few days later he entered the bank at Paris and presented it, and the cashier, having carefully scrutinized the signature and com- pared it with the original in his book, counted

Page 170

AMERICAN CROOKS IN EUROPE. “*What shall I do?’ cried the agitated girl.”

Page 171

164 out the notes. He was making them up into a neat parcel to hand to the customer when to Engles’ horror he began to speak to him in fluent Spanish, a language the forger spoke very badly, although if the name of the person to whom the cheque was payable was any criterion he must be a full-blooded Spaniard! The crook had only a moment in which to save himself, and he did not fail. Drawing a piece of paper to him he picked up a pen and scribbled a message in Spanish to the effect that he was deaf and dumb. The cashier nodded sympathetically, and Engles passed out of the building with the money and perspiring profusely. But tricksters are frequently tricked themselves, and Engles was once cleverly defrauded. He was very fond of Paris and, while temporarily residing there, he had an extensive flirtation with a waitress in a restaurant. She was a very pretty, quiet- mannered girl, and Engles was fascinated to such an extent that when he passed a forged cheque on a London bank and gained a thousand pounds by the transaction he put the money 1m a sealed envelope and asked Marie to take care of it for him, for he was afraid that, the numbers being known, they might be traced to him. Marie lived with her mother, who was the widow of a municipal employé, and Engles, certain that she would never be suspected, was content to live on the proceeds of other forgeries, and whenever he had a surplus add it to the money in the girl’s keeping. In this way Marie had over two thousand pounds belonging to him the mght she accosted him in the street near her home with the startling news that two detectives had that moment called on her mother and were cross-examining her as to her daughter’s relations with the American gentleman. “What shall I do?” cried the agitated girl. ‘‘ They will search my room and I shall be ruined.” The crook felt that his own position was worse, for he was in danger of a life sentence, and he did a bit of quick thinking. ** Run home at once,” he said, in a hurried whisper, “and remain in your room, If the detectives come upstairs burn the notes. Don’t leave a trace of them. If they are suspicious say you've burnt some love-letters you did not wish your mother to see.” With that he vanished, and it was a month before Marie saw him again. During the interval, however, she had written him a brief description of the destruction of his banknotes. “I was only just in time,” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. wrote Marie, “ and the detectives were angry with me when they saw the ashes. But you are safe, my friend, and I hope for your poor Mane’s sake you will not put yourself in danger again.” Engles was soon compelled to return to New York, where he remained for nearly a year, but when he was in funds again he came back to Paris, and the first person he inquired about was Marie. To his amazement and anger he heard that in his absence she had married a young waiter who had _ been employed in the same restaurant as herself, and that they had bought for a large sum a restaurant near the Gare du Nord and were doing exceedingly well. *“We have not ceased to marvel where they obtained the money,” said the Ameri- can’s informant. ‘ The business must have cost them at least fifty thousand francs, but 1 suppose Marie had a rich friend.” The crook guessed at once how he had been outwitted, but as Marie knew too much about him he did not trouble to reveal his thoughts to her, though her lying story of a visit to her home by detectives rankled for a very long time. THE “DIAMOND RING TRICK.” Another crook who did well in Europe, only to come to grief in his own country, was Louis Brown, who was an ingenious swindler, and robbed banks, hotels, and acquaintances with an impudence really amazing. It was Brown who invented the ‘diamond ring trick,’’ and who successfully practised it in London and Paris as well as in New York. Brown owned a diamond ring of peculiar shape and worth at least six hundred pounds, and the swindle consisted of depositing it with the manager of the hotel he happened to be staying at as security for a loan of five hundred pounds. Of course, before the money was advanced the genuineness of the ring was tested by the nearest jeweller known to the manager. A few days later Brown would redeem the ring, and about a fortnight afterwards admit to being hard-up again and ask for a second accommodation. Once again the ring would change hands and repose in the hotel safe, but Brown never redeemed it a second time, because the lender held only an imitation of the original ring and the crook preferred to disappear with the cash. The ring was so unique and quaint that the manager never thought of having it tested a second time, and he could scarcely be blamed, seeing that the rogue tncked more than one astute pawnbroker by the same means,

Page 172

ihe A ZO An engineer's story of a singularly DECOY TELEGRAM 7 Stattord Ransome ILLUSTRATED BY Hl COLLER_ ring experience, involving a very narrow escape from trying death. The Author vouches for the facts, but for obvious reasons the names of persons and places have been altered. Must see you at once. Come to-day. Will meet 7.15 train. —HarvIE.” HAT was the wording of a telegram which reached me in London one August morning very many years ago. It caused me to drop every- thing, pack a handbag, and rush off to King’s Cross. I caught the midday express by the skin of my teeth. During the long journey I had ample time to speculate as to the inner meaning of that brief message. Hardie was essentially a man who knew what he wanted, and would never have sent for me so peremptorily unless he had wanted me very badly. In any case I had to go, for he and I were close friends, and I feared that he was in some serious trouble. The telegram came from Wrexton, a little North-country town where, as a very young engineer on his first job, 1 had spent the better part of a year. I had been back in London some six months when this tale opens. It was at Wrexton that I had met Hardie, a man about five-and-forty. He had travelled much, and went out of his way to be extremely kind to me in rather boring surroundings. He was, I understood, financing the factory, but although he seemed interested in my work he did not take any part in the active management. To a boy of twenty-three the unaffected friendship of a man-of-the-world, so much older than himself, appeals irresistibly, and we became firm friends. Hardie, who was a younger son of a rather exalted father, had been bundled out into the world to make a place for himself as best he could. He had led an adventurous life in all sorts of countries until he took up ranching in the Argentine and made a fortune. After all his stirring experiences, he had settled down in this little one-horse town of Wrexton, where he led practically the life of a hermit. I often used to wonder why. I did not care much for the other good people with whom I found myself in contact, and so turned to Hardie for companionship. My intimacy with him was all the closer because he did not seem to mix with the local people except in the hunting field. He was a wonderful and totally reckless horse- man. I spent my week-ends with him, riding and yachting, and I dined at his house three or four times a week. Curiously enough, he never once asked me to sleep in his house, though we often played billiards there until the small hours and it was some distance out of the town. It was isolated and stood in a delightful old garden completely surrounded by a high wall His only domestics, apart from a couple of grooms and a gardener who slept out, were an old Scotch couple, James and Maggie, who had been with him for years and knew his ways thoroughly. Hardie may have been eccentric in many ways, but he was kindness itself. His interest in the poor people was extreme, and he gave his money to anyone who was in need with a lavish but unostentatious hand. His servants too, worshipped him, and I— well, I put him on a very high pedestal. Our intercourse was interrupted from time to time by periodical illnesses from which he suffered at intervals of a month or two. When he was ill I was never allowed to see him. His old manservant, James, was obdurate on that point. ‘It's one of his

Page 173

166 old attacks, sir, which take him at times,” he would say, ‘* and the doctor says that he must be kept quite quiet.” And this was strange, for I knew very well that no doctor was evcr summoned on these occasions. It was quite clear, however, that old James knew how to handle his master, for these illnesses seldom lasted more than a few days. When the train drew up at the familiar little station on that August afternoon I saw Hardie on the platform. His back was to the train, and he appeared to be absorbed in an advertisement on the station wall. He was standing quite still and did not even turn round when the train stopped and the passengers began to alight. I had to go up to him, touch him on the shoulder, and accost him before he seemed to realize that he was there to meet anyone. I greeted him cor- dially, and then at last he turned slowly, and looked at me with a dull expression that I had never seen on his face before. He seemed neither surprised nor pleased to see me. “Oh, yes, Ransome, of course. How d'ye do? Come on, we will go and have dinner,” was all that he said after a perceptible pause. i I was mystified. What had happened to my old friend? I had expected a warm welcome and to find his smart tandem waiting at the station, with one of the delightful old evenings at his house to follow. But it was not to be. “Give your bag to that chap,” he said, pointing to a porter. ‘' We are going to the hotel.” I did as he suggested, and together we walked out of the station and on to the principal hotel of the town. I was surprised, for never during the whole of my stay at Wrexton had I been inside that hotel with him before. And now that he must have something of importance to say to me, why should he choose this public place for the first time ?_ 1 could not make head or tail of the situation. During the short walk to the hotel I saw that Hardie was making a big effort to pull himself together and talk naturally, but he was not successful. He made no reference to the telegram, and when I asked him point- blank why he had sent for me, he answered : “We will talk of that later on. There’s plenty of time,” and he laughed a little uneasily. He had obviously ordered the dinner before my arrival. I was not surprised to find that he had champagne, as that and brandy were his only drinks. As a rule he was not in the habit of taking more than a glass or two at meals, but always after dinner, in his own house, he would have a bottle of champagne at his elbow until he turned on to brandies THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and sodas. But he never encouraged me to drink more than was good for me. Although Hardie was in the habit of drinking a great deal of his two favourite beverages, however, I had never seen him in the slightest degree intoxicated. The dinner was not a success. Hardie was not the same old Hardie that I- had known. He obviously made a great effort to act the genial host, but it would not work. I began to feel that he had some terrible trouble on his mind and I only wished that he would tell me about it and get it over. “Come and play billiards,” he said, abruptly, after dinner, and we adjourned to the billiard-room. Again I marvelled that we did not go to his house, for the hotel table was not a patch on his own. There was nobody in the billiard-room, and I thought, now that we were alone, he would at last unburden his soul. I approached the subject, but it obviously irritated him. He rang for the marker, and we played almost in silence until the hour of closing. Almost the only remark he made to me during the evening, except in reference to the game, was just before we left, and it was rather a startling one. ‘‘ Ransome,’ he said, “ have you ever seen a man eat a champagne glass ? ” With that he raised one to his lips, drank the contents, bit a piece out of the glass, and munched it up! I rushed to him. “* Spit that out,” I said, and I tried to drag him out of the place so that he could rinse his mouth with water. For the moment I thought that he was mad. But he only laughed and continued to chew the thin fragments. ‘It’s all right,” he said. ‘I have often done it before. It’s a trick I learned in South America.” Apparently he swallowed the pieces. There were no traces of blood on his lips, however, and he asserted that he had suffered no ill effects. I took it for granted that I was to sleep at the hotel as he had brought me there instead of to his house. But,no. One of the hotel cabs was waiting for us, and in it was my bag. We drove to his home, about two miles out of the town. Again 1 wondered why he had not ordered his own trap. Arrived at the house, he watched the cab disappear and then opened the gate in the high wall with a key. We went inside, and he locked it after us. I was not surprised at this, for I knew that the gate was always locked day and night. It was one of his fads. We then went into the house and into his den on the ground floor. Hardie lit a lamp with a perfectly steady hand and offered me a brandy and soda. We sat down, and I felt that at last I was to learn the reason of his sending for me.

Page 174

I saw, of course, that something was radically wrong with him—that he was really ill, in fact. But I knew him and his eccentricities so well, and was so convinced of his great fr :ndship for me, that I can truly say, in spite of the incident of the champagne glass, that I was not yet seriously alarmed. His next words, however, gave me a shock. ‘‘Do you know,” he said, looking at me with a furtive and unnatural smile, and rising from his seat. ‘Do you know that we are alone in the house ? ” “No,” I said, in what I hope was a fairly steady voice. ‘‘ What has become of your servants ?” ee | knew you would come,” was his curious reply, ‘“‘and so I sent James and Maggie away for a holiday. But they have left everything all right, and will be back in the morning. Come; 1 will show you your room. 1 tried not to let him see that I thought it strange that he should select the time of my visit to have the house empty, but I fancy that he must have noticed something uneasy in my manner. He seized my arm rather roughly, with a very firm grip. ‘‘ Come along to bed,” he said. I thought it better to offer no resistance, and together we ascended the stairs. The house was very old. It was, in fact, part of an ancient convent, of which nothing remained but a big straggling ground floor with two rooms upstairs. These were the bedrooms, and faced each other on the narrow landing. Hardie took me into the right-hand room, still retaining his firm grip on my arm. Everything was in perfect order. The bed had been turned down, and near the window, on a large mat, was one of the old-fashioned flat baths with water already in it for my cold splash in the morning. Everything looked very comfortable. And still the friendly but firm grip on my arm was not relaxed. “TI think you have got everything you want,” he said, in almost a conventional tone. And then, without any warning, he seized my other arm and with a loud laugh began dragging me across the room. I struggled, for I did not in the least understand the position. ‘I am going to put you in the bath,” he laughed. I was sufficiently young not to object to “ragging ’’ among boys, but I was more than surprised to find myself having a rough- and-tumble with Hardie. Certainly, in all my experience of him in the past, he had never shown any inclination for a friendly ** scrap.” However, we wrestled, and I found him @ very tough opponent. Fortunately, I was THE DECOY TELEGRAM. 167 unusually strong and in excellent condition. Hardie, however, seemed possessed of the strength of a maniac, and he very nearly succeeded in his purpose before I had grasped the situation. The tussle lasted some time, and my opportunity came un- expectedly. In our struggles we came close to the candle, which I had placed on the dressing-table when I came in. Hardie suddenly let go his hold on one of my arms and dashed the candle to the floor with his fist. It went out, leaving us in darkness. Before he could seize me again I managed to get a firm body-grip on him and simultane- ously I tripped him up and forced him back- wards. By a mere fluke he fell into the bath. I fell with him, but on top. His grasp relaxed instantaneously and we both rose to our feet panting heavily. We were in pitch darkness. I fully expected to be grappled again and was half inclined to make a bolt for the door—if I could find it— and lock him in. It had been too much like a real fight for me to care to go on with it with a friend. But the cold water seemed to have had an instantaneous and surprising effect on him. “ Ransome,” he said, in a quiet and rather husky voice. “Ransome, where are you, old chap? It’s all right; I was only fooling.” I was still very uncertain as to what was going to happen, but I felt in my pockets for a match-box and picked up and lighted the candle. Hardie was leaning against a chest of drawers, drenched to the skin, and his clothes were dripping water on to the carpet. He seemed very exhausted, and I was not surprised, for the encounter had been’ a trying one for both of us. “I’m awfully sorry, Ransome,” he said, ‘for making such a fool of myself. Really there was not the least excuse for it. I don’t think I quite knew what I was doing.” I laughed it off as the best thing to do in the circumstances, but although his manner was now more natural, and his speech more coherent than it had been at any time since I met him at the station, I was far from easy in my mind. ‘Look here, Hardie," I said, “ you had better get those wet clothes off and go to bed.”” And I, in my turn, took him by the arm and led him to the door. He offered no resistance. I lighted his candle on the landing table and took him into his room. He was very apologetic and subdued, but his eyes were shifty, and I did not like their expression. He seemed to be watching me furtively, and I noticed that he cast quick glances on the walls and into the remote corners of the room. This was the first sign of nervousness I had seen in him.

Page 175

108 “ T don't sce them now,” he said, evidently greatly relieved. ‘‘ But you take this,” and he picked up a heavy Indian club, which was resting against a chair by the bed, and handed it tome. “If any of them show their faces while I am undressing, break their spines with this.” “What are they ?”’ I asked him. “A sort of crocodile,” he replied, ‘ but much larger, and they have tecth at both ends. It's no good hitting them on the head. That's the worst of it. They give me Hades at times.” He uttered these preposterous words so rationally and seriously, that he might have been a scientist discoursing to his class on an unusual breed of reptiles. Of course, I knew now what was the matter with him. He was suffering from dehirim tremens, though his symptoms were by no means of*the usual sort. Though he was obviously on the qui vive and disliked in- tensely the presence of these beasts, which were to him quite real, he did not show that abject fear of them or the trembling which is so usual in these cases. Knowing that I had better humour him until I had formed a plan of campaign, I solemnly mounted guard while he undressed. “There! there! Quick!’ he shouted, as he was pulling off his dripping shirt, and pointed excitedly to the foot of the bed. I gave a mighty smite upon the bed-post with my club. “Splendid,” he cried. ‘ You got him that time.” Once or twice I was called upon to repeat this farcical performance, and each time apparently with complete success. When at last he was equipped in his pyjamas, he walked warily over to a cupboard in a corner of the room. ‘ Perhaps you would give me a hand here, Ransome,” he said, and he opened the door. Inside was a huge feather mattress, and I helped him to drag it out. Together we solemnly laid it on the floor in a corner of the room away from his bed. My curiosity was so keenly aroused that I could not help asking him his reason for this curious operation. “Oh,” he said, “don’t you understand ? It is for the crocodiles to sleep on, and then they won't get on my bed.” I remembered now that the only thing to do in cases of delirium tremens is to get the patient off to sleep, if possible, and 1 was wondering how hest to do this. “ Do you sleep pretty well ? ” I asked him, casually. He glanced up at me quickly and suspi- ciously and then looked away again. “Yes,” he said. ‘‘ Oh, yes.” And he got into bed. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, There was a decanter of brandy and some soda on the table, and I had a notion that a “hair of the dog that bit him” might possibly be good for the purpose. ‘“ Sup- posing I give you a stiff drink now that you are in bed,” 1 suggested, and I moved as if to get him one. To my surprise he refused it, although I had always heard that men in that condition had a terrible craving for more drink. “Nonsense,” he said, irritably, “1 shall sleep all right. Good night.” I was uncertain as to whether to remain in his room with him or not. I was afraid to leave him in his present state, at all events until he was asleep, and in any case I was determined not to close my eyes during the night. He seemed perfectly calm now, but he was obviously anxious for me to leave him. “ Why don’t you go to bed, too?” he asked. I blew out his candle for him and went into my room, leaving both doors wide open. They were directly opposite each other, and had it been light 1 could actually have seen him in his bed from mine. 1 took off my boots, jacket, and waistcoat, and lay down on my bed. Soon I heard him breathing heavily and regularly and to my intense relief 1 believed him to be asleep. I had taken the precaution to remove, surreptitiously, a razor which I had seen on his dressing table, and I carried into my room the Indian club with which I had valiantly slain the ‘' crocodiles.” I Jay on my bed, thinking over the curious and exciting events that I had gone through during that memorable evening with my old friend. I was astounded at seeing him ina character of which there had not been the vestige of a sign during my long and intimate association with him. For a long time I pondered these things, and from time to time I listened for some signs of restlessness in the other room. But there was nothing. My thoughts presently became confused. I fought with crocodiles and ate champagne glasses. I played bil- liards in trains and wrestled with colossal Hackenschmidts. I was, in short, young and tired, and—I fell asleep. Suddenly I found myself rolling on the floor with a homicidal maniac clutching my throat. The early morning light was filtering through the blind. Hardie's face, distorted with frenzy, was close to my own. He was foaming at the mouth and his eyes were bloodshot, glaring into mine with a fixed intensity. I was in a very tight place. I had been taken completely unawares, and his grip was firmly in before I had a chance. We struggled and fought until I, at all events, was exhausted to the last degree. I

Page 176

THE DECOY TELEGRAM. 169 —_ 7 — —: —coming apparently from nowhere—a “IT was on the point of suffocation, when suddenly. little, insignificant, frail old man stood before us.” Vol, xlix,—12,

Page 177

170 was on the point of suffocation, when sud- denly—coming apparently from nowhere— a little, insignificant, frail old man stood before us. It was Hardie’s immaculate man-servant, the faithful James. I had never looked upon James as a man of great strength or imposing personality. I had merely regarded him as the perfect servant. Could such a man succeed in dragging away my powerful adversary before it was too late? Even in that crisis I weighed the possibilities in my mind and did not derive much comfort. But I hoped that he would be quick and do what he could. James, however, made no attempt to join in the strife. He approached his master quietly and laid his hand gently on his shoulder. He stooped down and looked steadily into his master’s face. “Come, come, sir,’’ he said, ‘ this won't do at all. You come along with me, and I will put you into bed.” The effect of his voice and touch on Hardie was magical. He dropped his hold on my throat and turned away his head, abashed. * Of course, James, of course,”’ he said, as his servant helped him up. With his hand still resting lightly on his master’s shoulder, James turned to me as I struggled to my feet. ‘I am very sorry, I am sure, sir, for this,” he said, apologetically. "T hope you are not badly hurt. Do you think you can manage for a few minutes while I make the master comfortable? I will not keep you waiting long, sir.” I told him that I should be all right and was not badly hurt. Hardie never once glanced at me. He seemed to be quite unaware of my presence. There he stood, my erstwhile hero, the perfect being whom I had always admired and reverenced. There, dishevelled and sub- dued, he cowered, the picture of all that is helpless and pitiful, before his quiet and dignified, but still respectful, servant. He allowed himself to be led away without protest. I heard them go into his bedroom and the door was shut behind them. Then I sat down on my bed, feeling very limp and ill. Presently I rose and had a look at myself in the glass. Truly I made a disreputable picture! My hair was tousled and my shirt torn to shreds. There was blood on my face and clothes and one of my eyes was nearly closed. The pain at my throat was intense. It was much swollen and _ bruised, and in places the flesh was torn, where his nails had been driven deep into it. What took place in the other room I do not know, but in perhaps a quarter of an hour James came back to me, bringing some- thing in a glass which I drank with avidity. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. He looked as composed as if nothing unusual had happened, and busied himself in putting the room in order. In the twinkling of an eye he had unpacked my bag and laid my things out. He also replenished the bath, which had been practically emptied of water in our struggle. “‘ Perhaps, sir,’ he said, ‘‘ you may wish to go to bed after your bath ?” “How is Mr. Hardie now ? ” [ asked him. “Very well, thank you, sir,”” he replied, respectfully. ‘‘ He is sleeping quite quietly, and he will not wake for some hours.”” After my bath he again returned, bringing me tea, and some medicaments which he applied very skilfully to the wounds on my throat. I took his advice and got into bed, and in a few minutes was fast asleep. I woke up about midday and, without my summoning him, there was the marvellous James by my bed with a breakfast-tray. When he brought my shaving water and clothes a little later James appeared to be hesitating, as if he expected me to speak to him. “ Well, what is it?” I asked him. “T was wondering, sir, what your plans might be. You see, sir, your eye will be a little unsightly for a few days, and I do not think that you will wish to have it known that this unfortunate mishap has occurred. May I suggest that you should remain here until Mr. Hardie is better? If, when he gets right, he remembers that you have been here, I am sure that he will wish to speak to you before you go. He thinks the world of you, sir.” I smiled rather grimly as I thought of the manner in which that friendship had so recently been demonstrated. I could see what the faithful James was driving at. I had discovered, by an accident, the terrible secret in Hardie’s life—a secret that had been jealously guarded from every- body in the neighbourhood by his two faithful servants—and scandal must be avoided at all costs. The meaning of Hardie’s periodical “ ill- nesses,”’ which had always been spoken of as a recurring fever, was now clear to me. He was a hopeless dipsomaniac and, while the effect of his heavy and constant drinking did not show itself in the ordinary way, it resulted in these periodical and_ terrible crises, one of which had so nearly cost me my life. I sent off a telegram to London to explain that I should be away for some days. Four days later, Hardie, under the mar- vellous handling of James, had returned to his right mind and was well enough to see me. James had told him that I was there. My poor friend was still very weak and in

Page 178

bed, but he insisted that I should go into his room so that he could talk to me before I left. During the days that had intervened my face had more or less resumed its normal aspect. . In any case, I was fit to be seen. I had had several talks with James and found him to be the acme of politeness and assiduous kindness, but he was not very communicative about his master’s affairs, and, of course, I did not press him. ‘* Mr. Hardie,” he explained, “is a little difficult at times. He has had sunstroke in India. He is not always a very good patient when he is ill.” That was the severest criticism of his master that James would vouchsafe. James voluntarily explained, however, how it was that he came to be absent from the house on the night of my visit. It was no unusual thing for Hardie to allow him and his wife to go to her mother’s, some ten miles away, for a night. The old lady was ailing, and on those occasions Hardie was quite willing to be left. ‘‘ You see, sir,” said James, “ the master has roughed it all over the world and, though he must have everything all right as a rule, he doesn’t mind shifting for himself on occasion.” Hardie had told James nothing about expecting a guest on that particular night, and there was nothing in his manner to warn James that one of his attacks was impending. Hardie himself must have prepared my room for me. “ But don’t you know, James,” I asked him, ‘‘ when these attacks are coming on?” “Yes, sir, I always have done. But you "see people are precious artful when they are like that, and they think things out’and can pull themselves together wonderfully. I saw no signs of anything wrong this time, because, you see, sir, he knew he had to de- ceive me. At ordinary times he only has to deceive other people, and he will sometimes even tell me when he feels that he is going queer. It’s the sunstroke, sir; it isn’t him. Why, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Then James explained to me how it was that he had turned up so opportunely. It appears that he had been restless and could not sleep. He had a presentiment that something was wrong. Much to the disgust of his wife, therefore, he had insisted on getting up about midnight, and he had walked the ten miles to Wrexton, instead of waiting to drive back in the morning. “ But I want you, sir, if you will be so good, to tell me exactly what happened,” he continued, ‘‘ because the master won’t re- member half of it when he comes to again, and he will ask me everything about it, and THE DECOY TELEGRAM. 1qI it is better that he should hear it from me than from you. You see, I can tell him in my own way, and I can choose the right moment. When you go in to see him, sir, I should make light of it, if you don’t mind, and if he doesn’t mention anything about it, I should leave it alone, if it’s all the same to you. You see, he is very fond of you, sir.” James's honest old eyes were pleading with me to look over the matter, and certainly I had no inclination to pain my unfortunate friend. When I went in to see Hardie, he was lying in bed very pale and weak, but he was quite his old self, and was obviously. very pleased to see me. “Tam very glad, old chap, that you did not pass through Wrexton without looking me up,” he said, “ but it is rotten luck that I should happen to be ill at the time. James has told me how he met you yesterday and insisted on your stopping the night here, and Iam glad that he did so. I hope he gave you a decent dinner last night and has looked after you properly ?” “ Oh, splendidly,” I answered, ‘‘ and I am very sorry that you are so bad.” “It’s that cursed malaria,” he explained ; “you never really get it out of the system when it has gripped you properly. But I shall be all right in a day or two.” Then we talked of old times, and he urged me to stop until he was out of bed again. It transpired that, according to James’s account, I had stopped at Wrexton to see the factory, and that I had met that arch- diplomatist accidentally in the street. He, it seems, told me of Hardie’s illness and invited me, on his own initiative, up to the house. “I really have a wonderful asset in old James,” said Hardie, with enthusiasm ; " he always does the right thing.” “‘He certainly does,’’ I admitted with conviction. After saying good-bye, and as I was going out of the room, Hardie called me back. “‘ Ransome, old chap,” he said, taking my hand again, “ you know, it is a funny coincidence that you should turn up just now, for last night I dreamed about you. It was a horrible and very vivid dream. I imagined that I had sent you a telegram to come, and that I meant to kill you. And the funny thing is that I actually dreamed that I had strangled you. 1 can laugh at it now, but I can tell you it was just beastly while it lasted.” “It must have been,”’ I assented—and I meant it !

Page 179

A Model Town Made From Corks. A general view of the “town,” which is composed of hundreds of corks, cut into shape with a knife and painted with water-colours. HERE are some “ bird's-eye” views of a remarkable model town, constructed by M. Jean Bertrand, the musical director at Maskelyne’s Theatre of Mysteries, London, assisted by his two boys. This pictur- esque and realistic Lilliputian seaport was made from ordinary bottle-corks, cut into shape with a sharp pocket-knife and painted with water-colours It includes some hun- dreds of houses of various styles of architecture, public buildings and statues, as well as a cathedral, a castle, promenade, beach, and bandstand. The harbour is filled with shipping, and every vessel is complete in all details of rigging and equipment ; whilst the streets are dotted with miniature taxi- cabs and other vehicles and peopl.d with model pedestrians about half the size of a pin. The distant hills—upon which diminutive sheep are grazing—are Another view of “Cork-town,” This picture gives one a good idea of the scale of showing the water-front and shipping. the model. simply pieces of green baize. whilst American cloth serves as a very passabe imitation of water. Virgin cork and fine sand constitute the cliffs, the trees are made from pieces of loofah. and the railway track is constructed from sections of whalebone extracted from an old fan. The model trains, when drawn by thread, run with remarkable smoothness, and take the points without the slightest jolt. The town com- menced its career in the form of a few roughly hewn cottages (like those shown in the hand in the accompanying photograph), and has grown to its present proportions in the course of three years. Every portion of the model is separate— even the castle and the cathedral are made up of a number of sections —so that the owner's interest is greatly enhanced, not only by the pos- sibility of further developments, but also by the facility of infinite rearrange- ment.

Page 180

The Limits of the Law. By FRANCIS DICKIE. ILLUSTRATED BY J. WADDELL. In the eparsely-inhabited Northlands of Canada the more influential residents are occasionally called upon to administer justice to their neighbours. In many cases they are farmers and traders possessed of little education and almost an entire absence of legal knowledge. To assist them in arriving at a proper decision they are given a code, but lack of education occasionally places them in an awkward predicament. The following story tells how an Justice of the Peace preserved his dignity and honour in a perplexing case he was suddenly called upon to try. “The tale is perfectly true,” writes Mr. Dickie, “and the incidents happened as related.” Ss ONGRATULATIONS on your appointment as Justice of the Peace,”” said Corporal O’Connor, of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, as he drew rein before the home of Gustave Leroux in the little settlement of Mink Lake, in the Lesser Slave Lake district. “ Merci, monsieur,” replied Leroux, smiling genially from his doorway. “ You will stop awhile ? ” “Not to-day, thanks. But here’s some- thing the Inspector instructed me to bring you.” O'Connor rummaged for a moment in his saddle-bag, bringing forth a stiff, leather-bound book of considerable size. “It’s a criminal code—the latest,” he explained, as Leroux took it from his hand. Neither Corporal O’Connor nor the In- spector in charge of Lesser Slave Lake district, of which Mink Lake was an outlying part, were aware that Leroux could not read. And Leroux, swelled by the importance of his recent appointment, did not care to make known his failing. So he returned profuse thanks to the smiling officer and was still repeating them when O'Connor rode away. Entering the house once more, Leroux laid the book in solitary state upon the centre of the parlour table, which, in the event of any cases coming before him for trial, would be changed temporarily into a judicial bench. Beyond parallel fifty-three in the Canadian northland, in addition to the Mounted Police, representing law and order, and for the hearing of such cases as may come up in their particular district, are local justices of the peace, receiving their appointment from the Crown. These positions are always assigned to old-timers of the district, of good reputation, who have the confidence of the scattered population of the region. These requirements of office seldom go with a liberal education ; often very much to the contrary; and hardly ever is one of the appointees possessed of the least glimmering of a knowledge of law. The Justice of the Peace for the Mink Lake district, Gaspard Clement, had passed away two weeks previously. A few days following his demise, Gustave Leroux, being the best- known and most respected man in the Mink Lake community, had received word from Government headquarters, two hundred miles away, of his succession to the office. Now Gaspard Clement, during some six- teen years on the bench in the Mink Lake district, had succeeded in establishing for himself a reputation for much legal know- ledge, and had made a record for fair decisions. Unlike many of his fellow-magis- trates in the northland, he had been a man of much learning, well read on many subjects, and had studied the law carefully. In view of the reputation of the dead man, Leroux viewed his new position with no small inward qualms. But for his pride he would have been glad to forego the honour of filling a role that, to him, was full of terrors. Viewing the bulky law book the mounted policeman had just left only heightened his fears. He turned over the pages with deep respect and yearning. Upon them was written a vast number of things, the know- ledge of which he sorely required, but was for ever denied by lack of ability to read. Suddenly a great idea came to him. He closed the book. Tucking it under his arm, he went out of the house to the home of Father Lemare, half-a-dozen doors away on the other'side of the little settlement’s single street. Father Lemare was a very worthy man, widely read and travelled. Possessed of a keen judicial mind and a deep understanding of men, he was one of those strangely out-of- place people that are occasionally to be found in lonely outposts. To him, Leroux confided his fear that he

Page 181

174 might fail in his judicial duties, and begged advice. Presently, after careful thought upon the matter, Father Lemare gave counsel : ‘' My son,”’ he said, “1 think that of all the men in the district you are as worthy as any to fill the position. But I shall be glad to help you with my ability to read and my knowledge of life. Whenever any case is brought before you, listen care- fully to all the evidence ; then, when all the parties have spoken, bid them return on the next day, stating that you need time to give full consideration to the case. This will always flatter them, and give you time to come under cover of the dark to my home and relate the matter to me. Then, with the knowledge I have, and with the aid of the criminal code which the Mounted Police have supplied you with, you will be in position to render a fair and, I hope, satisfactory verdict on any case which may come before you for judgment.” Intensely relieved, Leroux repaired to his home, and, by aid of the priest’s wise counsel, in the next two years following his appoint- ment he became noted throughout the neighbourhood for wise and impartial de- cisions, till the fame of his legal acumen even overshadowed that of his predecessor. Sitting beside the fire one bitter afternoon, Leroux was roused out of his bachelor calm by a pounding upon his door. Opening it, he saw with astonished eyes his sister’s husband, Baptiste La Fleur, from some twenty-five miles up the lake, accompanied by Alphonse La Rose and half-a-dozen other men from the same néighbourhood. From the bearing of the latter men, Leroux sensed that Baptiste La Fleur was a prisoner, and his suspicion was quickly verified by the storm of voluble French that La Rose im- mediately began pouring upon him. Always a stickler for judicial dignity, Leroux waved his hand with a magisterial air for silence, remarking : ‘ Proceed to the court-room, and let the case be heard in the proper manner.” Thus brought to a proper sense of the majesty of the law, the little crowd trooped into the tiny parlour of Leroux’s log-walled home, and settled themselves round the room, While they did so, the magistrate, assuming an unusual severity of mien, which he always affected at such times, sat down on the chair placed behind the parlour table. The court having been duly called to order, he listened gravely to the statement of Alphonse La Rose charging Baptiste La Fleur with the killing of his dog. On La Fleur pleading not guilty, the case proceeded. There had been “ blood trouble ”’ between the two, Leroux learned. This had arisen a short time before owing to La Fleur buying a cow from La Rose which had died the day following. Claiming that the cow had been THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, discased, La Fleur had demanded the return of his money, which La Rose had refused. In revenge for this, La Rose asserted, La Fleur had shot his most treasured sleigh-dog. Now, in this particular region the French- Canadian and half-breed farmers combined winter trapping with their small agricultural operations, so that the killing of a valuable dog was a crime most heinous. Aware of the gravity of the offence, Leroux proceeded with the case, listening with particular thoroughness to all the evidence. Each of La Rose’s six witnesses he questioned very carefully. Their testimony left no doubt in his mind that La Fleur, his brother-in-law, was guilty. Two of the neighbours, it seemed, had just been emerging from the woods at a point of the lake that touched one end of La Rose’s farm when they heard a shot. Hurrying into the open they saw a dog lying on the ice. Half-way across the lake, heading for his cabin on the other side, was La Fleur, a rifle in his hand. These two witnesses had quickly informed La Rose. The three had then gone to La Fleur’s cabin, picking up on the way three other neighbours. Reaching the cabin of the accused, La Rose charged him with the crime. Upon receiving a stout denial, the assembled men had examined his rifle and found that only one cartridge was gone from the full “clip” in the magazine. The cartridges were soft-nosed bullets. That the dog had been killed with such, each man testified, was evident from the large size of the wound. On the strength of these facts they had forced La Fleur to accompany them to the house of the Justice. The case for the prosecution closed, Leroux, as usual, made his little speech, one similar to all those he had delivered under the same conditions since first he had taken his place upon the bench as magistrate of Mink Lake district. ‘* Dis is a ver’ serious case, my friends,” he said. in the book.”” Here he tapped with great solemnity the leather-covered criminal code, a little worn now by much carrying to and from the house of Father Lemare. For the first time in all his judicial career, however, this speech brought forth a storm of protest from La Rose and his witnesses. Astounded and thoroughly angry, Leroux, with a scathing rebuke, commanded order. When silence again reigned, La Rose, some- what chastened, but still in very decided tones, requested an immediate decision. “ We lak your honair to give decision now,” he urged. ‘‘ We come ver’ long ways; we got much stock to feed at home an’ we lak to get back this night. Besides, it is easy to know he keel my dog.” Leroux hesitated, and was lost. “I must have the time to look careful *

Page 182

THE LIMITS OF THE LAW. 175° “*Dis is a ver’ serious case, my friends,’ he said. “Eh bien,” he said after a moment, “ court is adjourn for one half hour. Den I giff my decision.” file out and down to the village store, and thus give him a chance to hurry to Father Lemare. But they all remained in their seats, conversing in low tones. Now Leroux’s reputation would ‘not permit of his leaving the court-room. So he slowly opened the criminal code, staring with pretended deep concern at the—to him— meaningless printed page. He had hoped they would * ‘I must have the time to look careful in the book.’” Robbed of the assistance of his keen- minded aid, he sat on, wondering what to do. Had it been any other case, Leroux would not have been so deeply concerned ; but the present one was further complicated by his personal relations with accuser and accused. For his brother-in-law, La Fleur, the justice cared not a snap; but he had a wholesome respect for the terrible tongue of La Fleur’s wife, his only sister. Besides, if he found La Fleur guilty, the only fitting punishment was jail; and with La Fleur in jail, the

Page 183

176 support of his wife would fall upon the Justice, he being her only kin in the region. On the other hand, Leroux, who was _ hopelessly easy-going, had borrowed five hundred dollars from La Rose three years before, giving as security a first mortgage on his home. The five hundred still remained unpaid, and, in addition, three years’ interest at eight per cent. Should he now fail to render a verdict satisfactory to I.a Rose, the latter might turn from a very easy and indulgent creditor to a vindictive one, demanding immediate payment of both principal and _ interest. With the realization of all these things in his mind the perplexed Justice sat staring hope- lessly at the open book before him. Further, even if he made up his mind to convict his brother-in-law, he could not read in the criminal code and find out what was the proper penalty to inflict. But he must deliver a decision—his reputation depended upon it ! Cold sweat stood out upon his brow. He raised both hands, and shaded his eyes from that keenly alert and waiting little crowd. With fingers pressed against his throbhing brow, he remained apparently absorbed in the mysteries of the book. Occasionally, for the strengthening of the illusion, he turned over a page, but no solution of this horrible dilemma came to him. His heart began beating so loudly he feared they would hear it, for Leroux was a very nervous little man. One moment he determined to find La Fleur guilty, brave the awful tongue of his sister, and put up with her presence in his peaceful bachelor home ; but he was always stayed by the terror this situation raised. The next instant, he decided to declare the evidence insufficient, and let La Fleur go. But the evidence was all too plain. ‘To render such a verdict would make him ridiculous in the community, and, worse, or nearly so, might make him homeless, for the vindictive La Rose would undoubtedly foreclose his mort- gage. So Leroux sat on, turning page after page, while the restlessness and impatience of his audience became apparent to him by their shuffling feet. Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, but gloriously reviving, came a wondrous, saving thought, a heaven-sent inspiration. Leroux’s breath escaped in a long sigh of relief. As the idea became clearer he leaned momentarily closer to the book, appearing to study the words before him with added interest. Then he turned to the back of the book, as if consulting to make sure of an important discovery, fully aware that the eyes of all in the court-room were upon him. A moment he dwelt solemnly here; then he straightened up with the air of a man at last arrived at a great decision .for vengeance. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. atter painful toil. Clearing his throat he called the court to order. “ Alphonse La Rose,” he said, turning his eyes ugon the accuser, “1 want you to point out to me on the map, as near as you can, the place where your dog, he was keel.” As he spoke, the Justice pointed to a large local Government map of the district that adorned the near-by wall. Astonished at so strange a request, La Rose crossed to the map and, after studying it a little, marked with a pencil the spot where he judged the dog had been slain. When he had done so, Leroux bade each of the witnesses in turn to inspect the map, receiving from them corroboration of La Rose's judgment. The Justice then descended from the bench, crossed to the map and examined the marked spot with great care, comparing it with a ruler to the lines of latitude running through the map. Finally he shook his head very solemnly, and returned to the bench. “‘ Alphonse,” he said, very gravely, a tinge of regret in his tone, to the now wondering man, “ your dog he was keel north of the fifty-fifth parallel of latitude.” “Oui,’’ said La Rose, uncomprehending the reason for this strange statement. “I was much afeerd of that,” the Justice went on, in tones that grew more regretful. Then, turning abruptly to La Fleur, he commanded in thunderous tones: " Baptiste La Fleur, stand up. I tink you guilty lak h. for keeling that dog!” He paused a moment to let the wave of applause that emanated from the relieved La Rose and his friends subside. Then in lowered, very regretful tones, the Justice went on: “1 tink you guilty, and I wish I could give you what you deserve—but here in this book,” he paused for a long moment, staring down at the page before him, “ here in this book,’’ he repeated, ‘I find there is no law for dog north of the fifty-fifth parallel. So you go free.”’ He sat back with an apparent great weariness ; but with keen eyes he watched, and saw with secret triumph that he had won his way safely out of this difficult dilemma. His thundering statement of belief in La Fleur's guilt had satisfied the accuser’s thirst That the judge could not rectify this strange oversight of the law they recognized, and as they filed out, a bit of conversation floated back to the Justice: “ By gar, dat Leroux, he sure know the law fine, eh?” And Leroux drew a breath of relief. He had retained his reputation, his home was saved, and his virago sister would not have to become a member of his peaceful bachelor household.

Page 184

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Pelmanism Awakes the Giant ‘e e Within You From the World Over Comes the Indispurable Testi- mony of a living Avalanche of 650,000 Pelmanists By George Creel Awake to your powers, be the man or woman you ought to be. Beneath your everyday self lies a giant—an unsuspected self of infinite possibilties, It is this unrealized self that sometimes awakes at a critical point in your life, and makes you outdo your- self. Sometimes when you were at the point of despair it has made you grit your teeth and go in and win. And often after the victory is won your every-day self wonders and says, “How strange, I didn’t think I had it in me.” But you do have it in you. All men and women who can read or write have the giant of reserve-power within them. But very few discov- er how to scientifically train this master, bigger, in- ner self—and use it to their own advantage. 650,000 Pelmanists have dis- covered that way. Resolve now to discover your unsus- pected self. Pelmanism Discovers and Trains for Action Pelmanism can and does develop and strengthen such qualities as will power, con- centration, ambition, self-reliance, judgment and memory. Pelmanism can and does substi- tute “I will” for “1 wish.” I have seen the influence of Pelmanism turn poor jobs into good jobs; small salaries into large salaries; make home owners out of the homeless, Increases Income I have seen bundles of letters telling how Pel- manism has increased salaries from 20 to 200 per cent. With my own ears I have heard the testimony employers to this effect. Why not? Increased efficiency is worth more money. But Pelmanism is bigger than that. The advantages of Pelmanism touch life and liv- ing at every point. Pelmanism is practical. Its results are not intang*ble, vague—but positive—definite. It takes the negative qualities—purposeless- ness, indecision, timidity, mental lethargy, changing them into positives—purpose, de- cision, courage, mental activity and keenness. It puts interest and joy into living and work- ing—it gives the true key to successful ac- complishment—right think- ing and right acting. Pelmanism has values for women as well as for men, for the woman who works in the office, and for the wo- men who work in the home. It has social as well as ma- terial values, opening the door to a richer, more inter- esting 1 fe. Drive—Don’t Drift What are you doing today? What will you be doing twelve months from today? Are you in the hands of fate, or do you direct your own fate? Are you drifting or driving? Remember thought is fire. Thought is your best friend er worst enemy. Undirected or misdirected thought burns up purpose, character, hope. Directed, mastered thought is the fire that cre- ates the steam to drive the wheels of progress. Know this hidden, sleeping giant—train it— develop it—master it. Make it save you, don’t let it destroy you. How to Become a Pelmanist “Mind and Memory” is a book which throws the searchlight of trath on Pelmanism. It shows clearly why and how Pelmanism has positive benefits for both sexes, all classes, all ages, from the boy of 14 to the man or woman at the end of Ife. Your copy is rcady for you, It is absolutely free of charge and free of any obligation whatsoever. Don’t hesitate. Don’t put it off. ACT NOW—Send for Mind and Memory today. Now is the time—this is your op- portunity. The booklet Mind and Memory is free, but within its covers thousands are finding the key to financial, intellectual and social success, Use the coupon below. ' PELMAN INSTITUTE OF AMERICA. | Suite 353, 2575 Broadway, New York City, N. Y. Please send me without obligation on my ‘part, your | free booklet, “Mind and Memory.” I I | Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

Page 185

“INSTANTLY THE STEERSMAN LEAPED TO HIS FEET AND, WHIPPING REVOLVER, FIRED POINT-BLANK AT ME.” (SEE PAGE 183.)

Page 186

TRAILING “the = GUN-RUNNERS The continuation of an exciting story of adven- tures that occurred in the turbulent Negro Re- public of Dominica in 1906-7. The U.S. Gov- ernment undertook the onerous task of keeping out supplies of arms and ammunition for the ‘revolutionists, but nevertheless arms were smuggled in somehow. The Author, who was on a scientific expedi- tion in the country at the time, was asked to try and elucidate the mystery—a quest on * IME had passed more rapidly than I thought, and as I was about to push the canoe out from below the over- hang of the stern I was warned bya Jow hiss from Joseph. Busy in discovering the name of the schooner, I had relaxed my vigilance, but now I heard the swish of oars and the subdued sounds of voices ahead of the vessel, and realized that the returning boat was close upon us. We were indeed ina tight place! Toattempt to push off and gain the shelter of the man- groves would be to invite destruction, for the boat was within a score of feet of the schooner, and no doubt its occupants were even now pecring ahead with cat-like eves in order to locate the exact position of their craft, and the least-movement of our canoe would be instantly detected. After the men came aboard they would undoubtedly allow their boat to swing around to the ship’s stern, and we would be discovered at once. There was no time to hesitate, and with but slight hopes of success I crouched low and dragged the canoe as far beneath the stern.as possible, trusting that, in the deep shadow of the counter, we might escape detection. Joseph at once grasped my idea and followed my example, and in a moment the canoe was laid athwart the schooner, close to her sternpost. It seemed ridiculous to imagine that we Vol. xlix.- 13 4 SLED att VEIL ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY LK0OD which he carried his life in his hands, for the gun- runners were known to be desperate characters. Names of persons and places have been altered, for obvious reasons, but Mr. Verrill vouches for the authenticity of the narrative. The first in- stalment described how, with his Negro servant Joseph, he located a mysterious schooner ina creek, and, under cover fter seeing a boat leave the vessel, a canoe to investigate her. ; of night, set out Il. could avoid being seen, for the canoe was Jonger than the schooner was wide, and one end of our craft projected several feet beyond the vessel's side. Judging, from the sounds, that the row-boat was approaching my side of the schooner, I gently worked the canoe back until its bow was flush with the vessel's side, and breathlessly awaited results. Luckily, the rudder of the schooner was swung hard over, but I realized that, should one of the men move the tiller, the rudder would grate against the bottom of the canoe and either capsize us or make such a scraping, unusual sound that an investigation would immediately follow. Our canoe was scarcely in position before the row-boat grated alongside and [ heard a man Jeap on to the deck. A moment later four others scrambled aboard As they reached the deck I heard one of the men give a low command, and although I knew it was not in English I could not deter- mine whether it was in Dutch, French, or Spanish. He was answered in quiet tones, and I heard a door grate on its hinges. The men were evidently barefooted, for IT could not distinguish the sounds of footsteps ; but I judged that they had gone below, and a moment later my supposition was verified, for I heard subdued noises issuing from the schooner’s interior. Each second | fully expected to see the

Page 187

180 THE row-boat drop back to the stern and to find a smuggler peering at us| but: nothing hap- pened, and presently, gaining confidence, I peered past the edge of the stern. I could see the boat lying alongside, and as I watched ] heard a rustle on deck and the next instant a man straddled the low rail and dropped into the boat. Another form appeared at the rail and, in Jow tones, addressed his comrade in the boat below him, ‘‘ Arl ready dar, Pete?” he queried, “Yas, ma bo’. Parse da garns, Jan,” was the reply, and, without further hesita- tion, the man called “Jan ” passed a package over the rail. Pete laid this in the bottom of the boat, and reached for another and another until the tenth was stowed in the row-boat. Two more heads now appeared at the rail, and one man sprang into the boat while the other remained on board. Jan stepped up to him, and together they lifted a heavy box. “ Put the cartridges in the stern and under the thwarts,’’ muttered the latest arrival, in Spanish ; “ but move lively, or we don’t get off to-night.” Pete and his companion in the boat deftly seized and lowered the box, and the two above retired. Presently they appeared again, another box of ammunition was safely placed in the small boat, and once more they went below. As they disappeared, Pete and his com- rade conversed in low tones. “*Da’s de las’ box, ch? ’’ I heard Pete ask. “Out, m’ fren’,’’ was the reply, in the broken English of a Leeward Islander. “ Plainty rifeel an’ peestol more.” The others now arrived and handed down package after package, until over fifty small boxes and bundles had been stowed in the boat. The fifth man now approached the rail and stepped into the row-boat, which was already very low in the water. ‘‘ Carrajo!”’ he cried. ‘* The boat has all it will stand, and there’s another load on board. Come along, men; we can’t wait here all night.” At his words the other two dropped into the boat and, throwing off the painter, picked up their oars. As they pushed off from the side I ducked back to the shelter of the counter, and in doing so bumped my head against the stern. Instantly there was an exclamation from one of the men. ‘ Sacre!” he hissed. ‘' Wha’ dat?’ For a brief instant I thought dis- covery was certain; but the huge stroke- oarsman answered, contemptuously : ‘‘ Nar- thin’, yo’, Franch niggers plenty ’fraid, yes.” There was a subdued chuckle at this, instantly silenced by a sharp command in WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Spanish from the steersman, and without further comment the men’s oars caught the water and the boat headed towards the other creek, We pushed the canoe from under the stern d stretched ourselves with relief. A precious crew they've got aboard there, Joseph!’ I whispered. ‘ The scum of the Dutch, French, and English islands, with a Spanish captain! I’m going aboard ; I don't think there’s any danger. There is no one on the schooner, I'm sure, and the boat will not return until they’ve unloaded her. You wait alongside in the canoe and keep watch. As soon as I’ve gone through the schooner I’m going to follow the boat.” As I spoke I worked the canoe-round to the side of the vessel, and grasping the lanyards of the main rigging pulled myself up to the rail and jumped aboard. There was no light, and I stepped carefully across the deck to the companion-way. The door was un- fastened, and without hesitation I stooped and entered the cabin. EXPLORING THE SCHOONER. Inside it was as dark as pitch, but I knew that the smugglers must have had lights, and as we had seen no evidences of them I reasoned that the windows must be screened ; I therefore struck a match without fear. In the light from this I saw a hanging lamp, and, lighting it, I glanced about and found, as I had expected, that the four windows were all covered with heavy cloth. There seemed nothing suspicious in the cabin, but at the forward end was a small door, evidently leading to the hold. Taking the lamp, I walked to the door and, finding it unlocked, stepped through into the schooner’s hold. This was a large, dim place, smelling abominably of bilge-water and swarming with cockroaches. The space was partly filled with bales, boxes, and barrels, and a hasty examination convinced me that these were legitimate goods undoubtedly destined for delivery at some regular port. I had no doubt that the schooner made frequent trips among the islands, and that, after delivering her secret cargo of arms, she would sail leisurely up the bay, unload at some port, and never be suspected of having made a side-trip to San Lorenzo, Hurrying about among the cargo, and searching for a likely hiding-place for the remaining firearms and ammunition which I had heard the captain declare were on board, I was compelled to stoop slightly, for the deck above was not high enough to allow me to stand upright. I could find no signs of contraband, and could see no pos- sible hiding-place, and I had about given up in despair when my hat was suddenly pulled from my head by some object which

Page 188

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. 181 projected from the ceiling. Holding up the lamp to ascertain the trouble, I found my headgear caught firmly on a loose screw. Wondering why a screw should be thus placed, I wriggled it backwards and for- wards to remove it. As I did so, the entire strip of sheathing moved, and with little eftort I slipped it out and disclosed an open space between the ceiling and the true deck above it. Reaching into the cavity, I was overjoyed to feel my hand come in contact with a package. Seizing this, I drew it out, and saw instantly that it was a heavy army revolver in its pasteboard box, Here, then, was the hiding-place of the gun-runners, and a_ hurried examination showed that the entire space between deck and sheathing served this purpose, and that at various points openings could be made by removing sections of the ceiling. I had no time to waste in a further investi- gation, for my mission was accomplished, and quickly replacing the boards and screws I returned to the cabin, blew out the lamp, passed out of the companion-way, and hurried to the rail, where Joseph waited in the canoe. We had not a minute to lose, for the night was already growing lighter from the rising moon, and I feared that before we could reach the landing and take up a position from which to. watch the smugglers the moon would be well above the horizon. With rapid strokes we paddled away from the schooner and headed for Caiia Honda creek. In a few minutes we entered the broad and sluggish stream, and were soon following its tortuous channel between the fringe of mangroves on either side. I felt sure that, if the boat had disposed of its Joad and was on its return trip, we should hear its approach in time to dodge into the mangroves, and we made all haste up the stream. Presently Joseph whispered that we were approaching the landing, which was around the next bend, and thus cautioned I headed the canoe close to the bank on our right, and, proceeding very carefully, we worked slowly ahead. To round the turn and come in sight of the landing was a risk I did not care to take, for there was now enough light for objects to be visible at some distance on the water. While hesitating as to what to do, the sounds of conversation reached us, followed by the splash of oars, and realizing that the boat was returning we pushed the canoe back among the mangrove roots and, crouch- ing down, slipped behind the low-hanging branches. In this way we were effectually screened from view. We were scarcely hidden before the boat swung around the point and passed within ten feet of us. The oarsmen were joking and Jaughing in low tones, and seemed to feel perfectly safe, little dreaming of our presence so close at hand, As soon as they had passed out of hearing | learied back and, in whispers, asked Joseph if he knew how we could get a view of the landing without being seen, for I thought it probable that there was someone on shore to receive the arms. Joseph replied that on the opposite side of the stream a small channel entered the mangroves, and that by running up this a short distance we could land on fairly firm ground and view the landing through the grass. This was exactly what I wanted, and we accordingly paddled across the stream, where Joseph skilfully piloted the canoe into a well-hidden backwater, Push- ing carefully through the screen of branches, we came upon a narrow, dark opening in the trees—a mere ditch, which curved and twisted among the mangroves, and which was barely deep enough to float the canoe. A few minutes’ paddling up this little waterway brought us to a clay bank, and, grounding the canoe, we crept ashore. Joseph led the way, while I followed, and flat on our stomachs we sneaked through the coarse grass for several hundred feet. Presently my guide lifted his hand for caution, and we wriggled forward to the crest of a little rise. It was now as light as day, and before me lay the main creek, its surface bright with moonlight. Its farther shore was low and free from brush or man- groves, and with a sharp-cut clay bank. A few feet back from the water's edge grew a single large tree. ated beneath this, a huge pipe in his mouth and a gun across his knecs, sat a man. HIRSCHFELDT THE DUTCHMAN. His back was partly towards us, and I could not see his face, but his enormously broad shoulders, thick neck, and massive build proved that he was a giant in strength and stature. Presently he turned his head towards our hiding-place, and in the brilliant moonlight 1 saw his features. He hada broad, heavy, brutal face, looking scarlet in the moonlight: and half hidden in a great tawny, tangled beard, close-set, pig- like eyes beneath overhanging brows, and a shock of red hair growing low on his fore- head. There was no mistaking his nation- ality, and Joseph’s half-whispered ‘ Hirsch- feldt ' did not surprise me, as IT had already suspected that the man was the Dutch care- taker of the old Catia Honda estate. Behind him on the grass were piled boxes and packages, while, at one side, fully fifty

Page 189

182 THE WIDE rifles were laid upon a strip of canvas. At his feet stood a lantern, its flame weak and sickly in the moonlight. That he was awaiting the last load of the smugglers was evident, and we prepared ourselves to share his vigil. The minutes dragged slowly; — insects chirped in the bushes, the eccasional call of a night-bird broke the silence overhead, and now and then a fish, jumping in the creek, would startle us with its splash. Our bodies were cramped and chilled from the damp earth, various creeping things ran over our hands and faces, and once when a great land- crab scuttled across my legs 1 could scarcely resist. reaching down to knock him off. Luckily there were few mosquitoes ; but even without these pests it required all my patience and will-power to remain motionless and silent while the grim watcher a few yards distant sat like a statue and puffed great clouds of smoke from his enormous pipe. At last we heard the sound of oars, and Hirschfeldt rose from his seat, stretched him- self, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and stepped to the edge of the creek. A moment after the boat came in sight, ran alongside the bank, and the Dutchman deftly seized the painter and secured it to a stake. A second rope was then made fast to the stern of the boat, and, with scarcely a word, the five men began to unload their craft. Rifle after rifle was passed ashore and placed beside the others on the canvas, to be followed by dozens of the flat square packages which I knew contained revolvers, until the last box was safely ashore and the men stood waiting. Hirschfeldt and the steersman, whom I now saw was a villainous-looking mulatto, stepped to one side. Each held a paper in his hands, and running their fingers down the pages they rapidly checked off various items in low tones. Hirschfeldt then pro- duced a bag from his shirt bosom, and, counting out a number of coins, handed them to the mulatto, who turned and gave an order to his men. At the command, the four blacks picked up the canvas containing the rifles, and each holding a corner, they started across the grass-grown land towards a dense mass of trees and brush bevond. Hirschfeldt and the mulatto, the latter carrying the lantern, followed. As they passed from view Joseph whispered that they were going to the old machine-shop. It was a tumbledown building hidden in the trees, he said, and originally the tracks of the little tramway which led to the dock had passed through the mass of tropical vegeta- tion which now concealed it. Presently the men returned, and each having picked up a box or package, again WORLD MAGAZINE. made their y to the hiding-place. Trip after trip was made until all the goods were out of sight, when the men stepped into their boat and sat waiting, while their captain remained talking with Hirschfeldt under the big tree. A more villainous-looking lot of cut- throats than that boat's crew I never saw. Each and every one would have been a fitting type for a dime-novel pirate. One was an enormous, jet-black fellow naked to the waist and with huge, gorilla- like arms and receding forehead. He spoke in the deep, guttural voice of the Dutch creole, and was doubtless a native of Curagao. Another was a bull-necked, chocolate-coloured man whose thin, cruel lips and bloodshot eves were made more hideous by the mop of red wool which covered his head. He was the one who had laughed at his companions’ fright when I knocked my head against the schooner’s stern, and I at once put him down as a native of Montserrat, where many of the negroes have inherited the red hair of their ‘ wild Irish ’’ ancestors who originally settled the island. The two remaining meinbers of the crew were as ugly as their comrades, but of slighter build and more active in’ their movements. Having already heard one speak, I surmised that they were natives of St. Vincent or St. Lucia. As I watched the men, Hirschfeldt produced a jug from behind the tree, and both he and the captain drank copiously. The Dutch- man then handed the bag of money to the mulatto, and the latter, carrving the ing, walked to his boat and handed the liquor to his men. With a last handshake and numer- ous ‘ Adios" from the captain and ‘ Goot lucks "' from Hirschfeldt, the boat was cast oft and started down the creek. As soon as it was out of sight we wriggled back through the grass, and, reaching the - canoe, paddled along the narrow stream among the trees. I had not as yet formed any very definite idea as to my next steps, but in a general way I planned to reach the bay and, after watching the schooner depart, return to deal with my Dutch friend. I regretted that I could not capture the schooner’s crew as well, and considered sending word to Merritt in order that he might hold them when they arrived in port. 1 was busy thinking out plans as we paddled along, and gave httle heed to our course. taking it for granted that Joseph was guiding the canoe towards the main creek. Suddenly it dawned upon me that we were seemingly taking too long to gain open water, and I was about to ask Joseph his opinion when I caught sight of clear moonlit water through the trees ahead.

Page 190

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. Thinking we had reached the creek, I paddled forward and pushed aside the branches. Scarcely had they parted when I dug my paddle into the water in a furious attempt to back the canoe. Not fifty feet distant, and coming directly towards us, was the smugglers’ boat ! That they had seen us was at once manifest, for instantly the steersman leaped to his feet, spat out a Spanish oath, and, whipping out a revolver, fired point-blank at me. At his exclamation every man in the boat turned, and the suddenness of their action, and his own impetuous movement, saved my life, for all three of his shots ploughed through the foliage above my head. PURSUED! Almost before the last shot had rung out, the canoe had darted back among the trees, and, whirling it about, we paddled with the utmost speed up the little creek. We had scarcely covered a dozen rods when we heard the heavy boat crash- ing into the branches _ behind us; but the creek was narrow and shallow, the branches hung low, and I doubted if the men could force their craft through the chan- nel to follow us. Undoubtedly we could have stopped and held off our pursuers, or we could have sniped them with the rifle from our hiding - place among the trees ; but I felt sure that any shooting would result in betraying the fact that we were enemies, and would also alarm Hirschfeldt. On the other hand, by simply retreating, we ae ‘ might lead the smugglers to 183 believe that we were merely natives, for they could not have caught a good view of my features ; and if Hirschfeldt had heard the pistol-shots, he would probably assume that they were fired at some bird or animal. Moreover, by attacking the smugglers, we would undoubtedly prevent them from attempting to land another cargo, or even visiting one of the ports, and I was anxious to have the vessel captured on her next trip. All these thoughts rushed through my brain as we made the canoe fairly race over the water among the trees, never ceasing our efforts until all sounds of pursuit were lost in the distance. Then, mopping our faces and panting from our exertions, we rested upon our paddles and looked about us. We were floating on the edge of a large, “ Seated beneath the tree, a huge pipe in his mouth and a gun across his knees,'sat a man.”

Page 191

184 THE WIDE quiet lagoon in the midst of a mangrove swamp, and in the bright moonlight I saw that on every side were scores of waterways between the trees. Certainly we had never been here before, and, turning round, I asked Joseph if he knew the place. There was no need for him to reply, for 1 knew by his blank expression and puzzled look that we were lost—lust in the labyrinths of an enormous swamp that stretched for miles along the coast, a maze of waterways and mangrove trees, the home of countless waterfowl, but without a drop of fresh water or a spot of dry land throughout its vast solitudes. THE VOODOO DANCERS. It was useless to stop and bemoan the predicament into which our blind hurry had landed us. The most important matter was * to find our way out, and in doing this we would be compelled to trust wholly to luck. There was no appreciable current in any of the small creeks to guide us, and attempt- ing to find our way by compass was hopeless. To be sure, we knew we were to the south of the bay, and if we could work our way north we should in time emerge from the swamp; but the waterways twisted and turned and doubled back among the trees, and to maintain a straight course in any given direction would be an impossibility. Selecting the largest of the many channels which led from the lagoon, we paddled along, frequently passing other creeks which joined the one we were following. Whenever one of these appeared to lead north, we entered it, and for over an hour kept steadily travel- ling in this manner. Joseph seemed very much upset, and blamed himself for our troubles; he could not understand how he had missed his way in the first place. To cheer him up I laughed at his fears and regrets and turned the con- versation to the gun-runners and Hirschfeldt. We had been talking for some time as we paddled along, when my ears caught a peculiar sound—a sort of rhythmic vibra- tion that reminded me of the throb of a ship’s engines. I stopped paddling and called Joseph’s attention to it. At first he said it was the bellowing of a distant manatee, but after a moment or two he admitted that this could not be the case, and confessed that he was as puzzled as myself. We again resumed our paddling, and presently realized that we were gradually approaching the mysterious noise, which was constantly becoming louder. 1 had never seen Joseph frightened, but I now saw that he was nervous, and | admit the noise was eerie and uncanny—ar. all-pervading tremor that seemed to issue from the very air around and above us. At any time or place it would have savoured of the supernatural, but here, WORLD MAGAZINE. on the black, unknown waters of the vast swamp, with the shadows of the mangroves and the illusive moonlight distorting the roots and branches into weird forms, I could feel little creeping sensations running up and down my spine. For perhaps ten minutes we paddled in this way, when suddenly the explanation of the sound dawned upon me. “Joseph,” I exclaimed, “I know what that noise is! It’s a tamboola. Somebody’s giving a dance, and there must be houses or a village ahead.” Now that the mystery was solved we could laugh at our nervous fears of a few minutes before, and, plying our paddles vigorously, we drove the canoe rapidly towards the sound, Louder and louder the noise became, and presently we could distinguish’ the regular‘ tum-a-tum-tum-tum, tum-tum, tum-a-tum-tum ” of the crude African drum. Soon after we emerged from the creek and came upon a large lagoon among the man- groves, with its farther ‘side bordered by huge trees, their branches showing in dark masses against the moonlit sky—a sure proof that solid ground was close at hand. From beyond the trees the sound of the tamboola boomed loud and resonant, and between the giant tree-trunks we caught the ruddy glow of a fire. Supposing that we were approaching some small native village at which a dance was im progress, we paddled rapidly across the lagoon without hesitation. Reaching tbe bank, we ran the canoe ashore, and stepped forward beneath the trees along a rough but well-worn pathway. As we reached a turn in the path we both halted in our tracks and crouched low behind the bushes. THE SECRET DANCE. Ahead of us was a circular clearing in the forest, and in its centre a great fire of blazing logs. At one side squatted a nearly-naked Negro with an enormous tamboola between his knees, while around the fire danced a double row of terrifying, demoniacal figures. Black, brown, and yellow, naked to the waist and with horned heads and dragging tails, the hideous creatures seemed veritable demons, keeping time to the boom of the monotonous drumming by strange contortions and a droning chant. Now and then cone of the dancers would leap forward and rush madly about, scream- ing, raving, and working himself into a perfect frenzy, and instantly I knew that instead of an innocent village dance, we were looking upon a Voodoo orgy, and that if discovered we should pay the penalty of death by torture. Joseph also was keenly aware of our peril, and as our only hope lay in a hasty and

Page 192

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. silent retreat, we started to turn about and retrace our steps to the canoe. As I rose from my crouching posture a pair of enormous arms were flung about me, and ere I could resist or cry out I was borne to earth, my wrists were jerked behind me, and in a breath both hands and feet were securely bound. I realized that two men were binding me ; but not a word was uttered until, when firmly secured, I was pulled rudely over on my back and into a sitting posture. Over me stood two half-nude Negroes, each witha drawn machete in his hands, “ Qia ga?” (‘* Who is it ?"") queried one of my captors as the other peered into my face. “T don't know,” replicd the other, straightening up and adding : °° Rise quickly.” He enforced the order by roughly jerking me to my feet. My half-formed suspicions were confirmed ; the few words in French West Indian patois proved that the men were not natives, but wild, half-civilized Haitiens, many of whom are devotees of Voodooism and hold weird orgies and ceremonies in the depths of the forest. But I could not imagine what they were doing here. Glancing about, I saw that Joseph was also a captive and, like myself, was being dragged towards the fire by a couple of blacks. The surprise had been complete, and I raged inwardly at having been so easily captured. I well knew what our fate would be, for no white man would knowingly be permitted to witness a devil dance and live to tell of it, and [ dimly wondered if Merritt would ever guess what had become of us. I had little time for reflection, however, for my captors, seizing me by the shoulders, forced me rapidly towards the fire. As we emerged from the shadows of the forest the drumming ceased abruptly and the dancers stood silent and motionless until we were within their circle and were thrown violently on the ground beside the blaze. Instantly the wild creatures burst into cries and imprecations, in their barbaric patois and commenced a mad prancing about us. Faster and faster they circled, the drum thundering outsa deafening roar while the whirling, gyrating savages struck at us with their hands and feet and charged us with the horns bound to their heads. Nearer and nearer they came, and I knew that in a few seconds more their frenzy wouid be worked to the proper pitch and we would be tossed, bound and helpless, into the flames behind us. Suddenly one of our captors sprang forward through the crowd. “‘ Ouaill!”’ he cried. “ Press; Le vini Papa!” (‘Silence ! Papa comes ’’) and instantly the hubbub ceased and 185 the dancers formed into two long lines, while every head was turned expectantly towards the forest. Following their gaze, I perceived a gigantic figure approaching in a half-dancing, half-crouching manner. On his head were strapped an enormous pair of steer’s horns from which hung clanking chains attached to his belt. About his middle was the hide of a cow, its tail dragging on the ground, In one hand he bore a black horse-tail wand— the insignia of the obeah man or witch doctor—and in the other he brandished a gleaming butcher's knife. At the first sight of this awe-inspiring figure I realized that here was the high- priest of the clan and that to him was to be left the pleasant task of dispatching us. Slowly and with deliberate steps the priest advanced, while, with cach contortion of his body, the great muscles rippled like coiled serpents beneath his skin, gleaming bronze in the firelight. Twisting and prancing he entered the lane formed by his fellows, and, passing between them, moved relent- lessly towards us. As he entered the firelight and came within full view of our faces he straightened up, gazed steadily at me for a moment, and then, with a wild yell, rushed forward with up- raised knife. I felt that the end had come and closed my eyes, expecting to feel the cold steel at my throat. Instead, I felt the knife slash down between my ankles, I was whirled over on my face, there was a quick slash at my wrists, and, utterly amazed and breathless, I was jerked to my feet and stood, freed of my bonds, beside the obeah man. Instantly a babel of cries broke out from the circle of onlookers and several started towards us; but a wave of the mystical horse-tail and a commanding : “‘Arréte ou!" (“ Halt!) stopped them, “We do not burn friends,” cried the witch doctor, in his barbaric patois. “And what has he done for us, Papa?” chorused the bh odthirsty crowd. **He bought me bread. The white man saved my life,”” replied the leader, and I realized that, for some unknown reason, my life had been saved as by a miracle. At the final words of my new champion the onlookers seemed satisfied, and) while some grumbling continued most of the dancers greeted the words approvingly. Then, at a further order from the oleah man, the crowd dispersed, melting away in the shadows of the surrounding forest. Stooping over Joseph, the strange giant cut the bonds that held him, and as he dic so I spoke for the first time. ** Coument ou, ka cri ou 2”’ (“" What is your name ?”’} [ asked in his own patois, Thad

Page 193

186 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “ Following their gaze, I perceived a gigantic figure approaching. . . . I realized that here was

Page 194

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS, 187 the high-priest of the clan and that to him was to be left the pleasant task of dispatching us.”

Page 195

188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, expected him to start with surprise at my words, for his dialect is known to but few white men ; but in that I was mistaken. “Maft!” he cried. ‘ You do not know me, m’sieu ?”’? and with a low chuckle he pulled off his head-dress and, stepping close to me, exclaimed, ‘* Moin Clisonne ! "” A STRANGE MEETING. It was my turn to be surprised, for, without his horns, I recognized him instantly. It was indeed Clisonne—a man who, many years before, 1 had known and employed in the French islands far to the south. “Clisonne'!"’ I exclaimed, and grasped his hand, ‘“ What in the world are you doing here among these savages? I never expected to meet you.” He laughed. “ Ah, m’sieu,” he answered ; “only mountains never meet; people always meet again. But come, let us talk.” So saying, he led the way into the forest. A few yards within the outer fringe of majestic trees we entered a small clearing containing numerous little thatched and wattled huts, the homes of the dancers. Stripped of their savage adornments, the people appeared like very peaceful and ordinary Negroes, and as they greeted our arrival with pleasant words and _ light laughter it was hard to believe that a few minutes previously they had been clamouring for our deaths. As we passed through the tiny village one old hag cried out: ‘* You are brave, yes, white man of the good heart,’”” and her compliment was greeted with a low murmur of approval. Evidently the fact that Clisonne vouched for us was amply sufficient, and from being hated strangers to be ruth- Tessly slaughtered we had been transformed into friends to be respected. Presently we reached a hut on the extreme right of the clearing and at Clisonne’s invita- tion entered. I was consumed with curiosity to hear the fellow’s story, but in response to my first questions he had asked me to wait until we could converse freely, and I there- fore held my peace until he was ready to tell his tale. Although I spoke his patois, I knew that Clisonne spoke English, and I was not at all surprised when he commenced his narrative in my own language. He related how he had left the islands to find work in the Dominican Republic owing to the glowing promises of labour agents from the Cana Honda estate. After the abandonment of the plantation, he and a number of his countrymen had wandered into the forest and made a clearing, built their homes, and attempted to live peacefully and indepen- dently on their tiny garden plots. All had gone well for some time until, one day, Hirschfeldt had descended on them and, after ordering them off his land, had destroyed their gardens and burned their huts, enforcing his orders and threats by the aid of armed natives. Discouraged and embittered, the little band of maroons had wandered farther into the bush and, little by little, had reverted to Voodooism and Obeah practices. * But we are not savages, m’sicu,’”’ added Clisonne. ‘We dance the famboola and we cry obeah, but we have houses. Oui! We cultivate the land and we carry our things to the towns and buy clothing.” “Yes, Clisonne,”” I replied. ‘‘ But how about burning strangers who come near ? ” “Ah!” he exclaimed. ‘“ That is differ- ent,”” and he proceeded to explain that the men had mistaken us for some of Hirschfeldt’s retainers and had hoped to make an example of us out of revenge; but that no harm would have come to us if we had been recognized as strangers. 1 had my own private opinions as to the truth of this statement, for I well knew the childish and primitive character of these people, and how readily they would resume the savage practices of their ancestors once they were freed from the restraint of civilization. Moreover, 1 had not forgotten that Clisonne had been regarded with considerable awe in his ewn island, and that, even to me, he would be unwilling to admit that he believed in the weird rites which he practised. However, we were safe and bygones were bygones, but in my heart I was rather sorry that Hirschfeldt had not been in my shoes earlier in the evening. One thing was certain: Clisonne could undoubtedly help us to find our way out of the swamp, and, moreover, I could kill two birds with one stone by getting him to carrya message to Merritt and bring my belongings from the cave on the island. : He had already asked me how we happened to reach his village, and in a few sentences I explained that we had been bound for Cafia Honda on a hunting trip and had become lost in the swamps. I added that I was anxious to send word to my friends that all was well, and asked him if he could guide us on our way and also carry my message. I mentioned: further that I had left some of my things at the cave, expecting to return for them, and I suggested that, on his return from his trip with my letter, he could stop at the island and secure my belongings. All this he readily agreed to do, and as I wished the news of my discoveries to reach Merritt as soon as, or even before, the schooner made a port, I asked Clisonne to get the messenger off before dawn, T knew I could trust him personally, but I knew nothing of his comrades, and when I

Page 196

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. 189 mentioned my doubts as to their ability to follow my directions he offered to take the letter himself, adding that he would start directly I had the note written. Tearing a leaf from my notebook [ wrote briefly to Le Croix as follows: * All well. Tell M. to warn all ports of Gaviota, Curagao, Space between deck and ceiling in hold. Cargo landed last night in Hirschfeldt’s care. Will attend to him personally. Advise next moves later.” The note thus tersely written could be stowed in a very small space, and removing the bullet from a rifle cartridge I emptied the powder, slipped the letter inside, re- placed the bullet, and handed it to Clisonne. “ Take that to M’sieu Le Croix," I directed, “and if he is not there give it to M’sicu Branch.” I then admonished him not to deliver the cartridge to any other soul and to hand it to Le Croix or Branch in person. Then, adding that he would receive a liberal reward for his services, I wrote another note to Le Croix authorizing him to deliver twenty-five dollars’ worth of merchandise and __half-a-dozen machetes to Clisonne and to charge the bill to Merritt. Telling Clisonne of its contents, I instructed him to hand it to Le Croix with the cartridge. A few moments later Clisonne disappeared in the forest in company with another stalwart Negro, and I felt sure that my message would be in Merritt’s hands within a few hours. Now that the excitement was over, I found I was terribly tired and woefully in need of sleep. Joseph had already curled up in a hammock, and as I crawled into another I remarked; ‘ Well, Joseph, what do you think of to-night’s fun?” “Stoopid niggers!” he replied, with a yawn, and a moment later was snoring loudly. (To be continued.) Tuts is how the inhabitants of the picturesque village of Clovelly, on the coast of North Devon, get their coal. The one and only village street is very steep, consisting merely of a long flight of steps, so that coal and other weighty loads are brought down in sleds, wheeled only the front and drawn by sure- footed donkeys, who have learnt how to take the “bumps ” correctly

Page 197

HUNTING WILD GOATS BYSEAPLANE ,,,, “Unique” is a greatly over-worked word, but here is an account of an expedition which is surely unique in the annals of sport—the hunting of wild goats in their mountain fastnesses by means of seaplane and motor-cycle ! The article, with the striking photographs that accom- pany it, will be found of the utmost interest, both to the stay-at-home reeder and the sporteman in search of new sensations. ROM an elevation of a thousand feet F we scent the seaplane spiraling down- ward toa landing in Choke Berry Cove, a tiny harbour on San Clemente’s western shore, where, with hidden rocks just below the surface of the ocean swells, it took some careful manoeuvring to set the big bird down without knocking the bottom out of her. We had been in the air just forty-five minutes, covering sixty miles of open ocean a thousand feet above the white-capped waves. The trip we had made from Los Angcles harbour to the island's western shore would have taken us from six to eight hours with the average boat. As the ’plane roared through the sky, with San Clemente’s moun- tain peaks gradually rising from the steel- blue rim of the ocean, we wondered if the fishing-boat had put our motor-cycles and camping outfit ashore in accordance with previous carefully-made plans. While we were still a thousand feet in the air, however, and began circling down to a landing in the cove, all doubts as to the whereabouts of our outfit were dispelled, for there beneath us on the shore, pulled up high enough to be out, of the way of the tides, stood the two motor-cycles ; and a few feet away was a piece of sailcloth spread over what we knew to be our camping outfit, carefully weighted down around the edges with stones. The fishermen with whom we had contracted to land our outfit on the island had carried out their job well. Probably nine out of ten persons who read these lines have never heard of San Clemente. It is a large rugged island in the Pacific Ocean, seldom mentioned in print, and unless one has been a student of maps and geography its exact location is probably vague to the average mind, San Clemente, to be exact, is the southernmost of the Santa Barbara . harbours. Islands, off the coast of southern California. It lies in latitude 33 north, longitude 118.30 west, and any good political map of California shows it. It is one of eight large islands of the Santa Barbara group ceded to the United States by Mexico. It is still a part of the Federal domain, and under the political jurisdiction of Los Angeles County, although practically uninhabited, and almost the same to-day as when it was first discovered by Cabrillo, the Spanish navigator, in 1542. When Cabnillo landed on San Clemente he pronounced it worthless, even fur use as a penal colony, which Spain was in need of at that time. Cabrillo did one good thing, however. On a trip from Spain subsequent to the island’s discovery, he brought over a herd of Castilian goats and turned them loose on the island to propagate a source of food supply for distressed mariners who might be compelled to put into its coves and The goats found a_ favourable habitat, so that to-day, instead of the mere handful liberated there by the Spaniards, the island is literally infested with wild mountain goats. Of course, through count- less generations of wild life, the goats have lost practically every trace of their original domestic state. They are now simply wild— as wild as deer—maturing cnermous horns, and exceptionally fleet of toot over the roughest and most inaccessible crags With the exception of a single shcep-camp, San Clemente is devoid of human inhabitants. Commercial fishermen plying their trade in the southern Californian water~ land there occasionally, and tramp inte the mountains and canyons to shoot a supply ot wild mutton, Sporting anglers after tuna and swordfish sometimes camp on. the island, ‘but apart from these few human activiues: the entire island is a wilderness—t vu and fer any form

Page 198

HUNTING WILD GOATS of agriculture other than sheep range, in- hospitable and uninviting. It was wild-goat hunting which attracted us to San Clemente, and having a perfectly good seaplane at our disposal we decided to fly to the island, sending our motor-cycles and camping outfit over by a fishing-boat to insure a means of living and transporta- tion through the interior, where virtually no roads exist. There is a wagon trail leading trom Choke Berry Cove back into the island for a dis- tance of about eighteen miles. No auto- mobile could traverse this ‘‘ road,’ but a motor-cycle, and even a motor-cycle and sidecar, can negotiate it with ease, providing the rider doesn’t mind a few generous bumps and an amount of tyre depreciation that is little short of appalling. There are many sidehill grades to be ridden, and for most of its length the trail skirts the edge of blood- curdling cliffs and precipices ; but the motor- cyclist who is not dizzy-headed will find two and three wheeled power !ocomotion far superior to the use of a horse, or ‘' Shanks’s mare,” for getting about in the interior. It took but a few minutes to anchor the seaplane in the deep water of the cove, where it was safe from the wind and tides ; then we dived overboard and swam ashore. We packed our outfit in the sidecar and, with Johnston riding the solo motor-cycle, toured away into the interior, bound for the heart of the best goat-hunting grounds. The trip of eighteen miles from the cove to McGonigal’s sheep-camp occupied a matter BY SEAPLANE. 191 of two hours. There we got acquainted with McGonigal, a picturesque old Scotsman, with such a broad dialect that it was difficult for us tounderstand him. He is the custodian of the sheep-herds, which at that time were nearly starving to death because the wild goats ate up most of the pasture before the sheep got a chance at it. McGonigal seemed to be somewhat incredulous when we told him we had flown to the island from Los Angeles. A seaplane was evidently something that he had never seen or heard of, and too far out in the ethereal vastness of space for the range of his imagination. A photograph of the ‘plane, which 1 happened to have in my pocket, seemed to partially convince him, but only when I offered to carry him down to Choke Berry Cove and take him for a ride over the island did the seaplane become a thing of reality to him. The old man shook his head until his long beard dusted both his shoulders, with an emphatically expressed intention to keep both his feet upon the earth. Even the motor-cycles were objects of curiosity to him, and he seemed to regard us as a pair of superhuman folk who had mastered unknown forces. Nevertheless, we found the old man thoroughly hospitable, and gratefully accepted four dozen fresh eggs which he offered us. At McGonigal’s camp the trail practically ended, but in spite of that fact we managed to push on into the island for six miles more with the machines. The first mile after leaving the camp was up the sandy bed of a wash and the last four along the summit of The rugged shore-line of San Clemente, as seen from the seaplane.

Page 199

192 THE WIDE a cactus-strewn ridge, where we contrived to go ahead by breaking a path through the prickly plant with a club. We virtually “made our own road” over the ridge and down into an oak-thicketed canyon beyond, where we set up our camp. It was nearly sundown by the time we had made camp. Both of us were tired, and with the drone of the seaplane motor still in our ears we agreed that supper and an easy evening about the camp-fire was in order for the balance of the day, with goat-hunting the programme for the morrow, The camp site we had sclected was an excellent one. There were a few annoying © fox stickers ”’ in the grass surrounding the place, but to make up for this disadvantage there was an abundance of oak for firewood and a stream of fresh water flowing down through the canyon, We had the whole country to our- selves, but with three rifles and enough ammunition to start a revolution we feared neither man nor beast. We had purposely brought more ammunition than we expected to use, together with an extra Winchester, as a safeguard against the possibility of one of our hunting rifles going wrong McGonigal had told us we should find fairly good goat hunting 1f we tramped up Silver Canyon, which was only about two miles over the ridge beyond our camp; so after breakfast next morning, we got into our hob-nailed boots, donned our cartridge-belts and hunting-knives, and set out over the ridge with our rifles. Less than half a mile from our camp we were plodding along up the face of a ridge when an unmistakable Bah-ah-ah-ah !) echoed down the canyon, We dropped in our tracks and began comb- ing the country with our field-glasses. Three-quarters of a mile away, on the very summit of a thousand-foot-high crag, we discovered the source of the cry. It was a lordly old “ billy,” with a magnificent pair of recurved horns and a beard like the one that Moses wore, sithouetted against the azure sky Down the wall of the canyon, just a little distance from him, was a herd of a score or more of smaller‘ billies,’”’ “ nannies,’’ ‘‘ mimnies,”” and half-grown kids. There was absolutely no way of approaching the herd withont the old ‘sentinel getting wise to us, so we just dropped out of sight behind a clump of cactus and waited until the big fellow descended from his perch. Watching him through the field-glasses, we had our plan of action outlined the moment the old goat hopped down from the crag. We would go up the canyon on the other side of the ridge we were on, creep to the summit of the crag, poke our rifles over, and shoot down into the herd. ‘Ths plan, when put into a few words, sounds very simple, but in practice it was far mere datncult. WORLD MAGAZINE, There was a descent of almost five hundred feet perpendicularly to get into the canyon beyond the ridge we were on, then a crawl of half a mile along a cactus-strewn water- course, and a climb of a thousand feet up the face of a nearly perpendicular cliff to get up to the crag where the big-bearded “’ billy ”” had stood. It took an hour to get there, and by the time the job was done we had collected so many cactus thorns that we felt like human pincushior Creeping cau- tiously over the top of the crag, however, we were delighted to find that the herd was still there. They had moved down the face of the cliff a little, but were still within three hundred yards of us, which is pretty fair rifle-range as wild-goat shooting — goes. Crawling over the crag on all fours, we kept our heads down behind the cover of a clump ot cactus until we got to where we could get our rifle-barrels over the clitt—and there were our goats browsing through the under- brush, utterly oblivious of the presence of two deadly enemies! Johnston, being the better rifleman of the two of us, was to take the old billy.” 1 was to sight on the next biggest pair of horns, and when ready to shoot was to call out Fire |" and we would both shoot together. After bagging the goats aimed at, we were both to try to get into action with the smaller animals in an effort to knock down a young kid, or * mutton minnie,” for camp meat. Gradually I worked my rifle through the cactus until I was aiming at a big billy- goat’s shoulder. When I got the sights on him he was almost covered up, for at that range he looked little bigger than a mouse. Phil, meanwhile, was sighting on the old ‘billy.”". For a moment he was silent, drawing his bead. Then he whispered : * Are you ready ? ” ‘Yes,” I replied. ° Fire!” Our two rifles roared with a report that sounded like one gun. In fact, I would not have known that Johnston had fired haa it not been for the ejected cartridge from his automatic rifle flying out and striking me a stinging blow upon the left ear—but our bullets had found their marks! The goat I had aimed at collapsed as if every bone in his body had turned to water. Johnston’s big quarry jumped straight into the air, turned a double somersault, and then dived headlong down the face of the cliff, dropping straight down fully five hundred feet, and passing out of our range of vision into the canyon below. As our rifles cracked the rest of the herd started down the face of the cliff like enor- mously overgrown and extraordinarily active fleas. We were on our feet in an instant. “Ping! Ping! Ping!” rang out my _ high- power smokeless; and ~ Bang! Bang!

Page 200

HUNTING WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE. Bang!” roared Johnston’s automatic blun- derbuss. The surrounding cliffs and moun- tains echoed until it sounded as if a battle were in progress. My second shot was a clean miss, merely tearing up a cloud of dust under the feet of a nanny-goat that was going down the can- 193 our search up the canyon, we eventually found the goat. In spite of its injuries, the animal had got to his feet after toppling five hundred feet down the canyon wall and had run blindly up the canyon for a hundred yards, over almost impassable boulders, before dropping dead yon as fast as her slim legs could take her. The second shot did better, however, for it caught the goat squarely in the middle. She let out a stifled “ Bah-h-h-h-h!”’ and tolled hoofs over horns down the face of the cliff. Phil scored three clean misses with the three shots he fired after tumbling the old goat, but a fourth sent a half-grown kid down like a poleaxed steer. It never budged after going down, and a projecting rock kept the carcass from toppling off into the canyon. By the time our last shots were fired the remaining goats were safely out of rifle- range around the face of the cliff, or had disappeared into the canyon below. We made our way down at the edge of a water- hole ! The discovery of this water-hole was a wel- come relief, for our stalk and search for the goats had been a hot and thirsty one. We drank all the water we could hold. Then we cleaned Johnston’s goat in order to lighten the load, slung the car- cass on a pole, and began lugging it to the top of the ridge. This was a far from easy job. The carcass. weighed fully a hun- dred and fifty pounds, and the almost per- pendicular climb up to where our other game lay consumed an hour of heavy, back-breaking labour. By the time we got up to the other goats the ravens had been there and had picked the eyes out of the three animals left on the cliff, and found my big “ billy” as dead as a boot-sole. The soft-nosed bullet from my Savage had ploughed into his left shoulder, ranged through the length of his body, and gone out near his tail, The “nanny” I had knocked over had rolled into a clump of scrub oak and was stone-dead, fifty feet down the canyon wall from where her legs had collapsed under her. Johnston’s kid hadn't budged from behind the rocks against which it had lodged, but his big old bearded warrior was nowhere to be found. We searched down the face of the canyon wall, but without success. Then we hunted through the bushes at the bottom, thinking the beast might have plunged all the way down—but no goat! After hunt- ing through the canyon for half an hour, examining every bush and every clump of cactus, we had almost come to the con- clusion that the goat had got away when I discovered a drop of blood on a rock in the water-course. It was quite fresh, and on a near-by rock was another drop. Renewing Vol. xliv.—14 The prickly pear—the bane of the hunter ! the cliff. We got Johnston’s big goat to the top of the grade and then went back down the cliff and brought out the “nanny " and the two kids. The job, however, was so arduous that it taught us a lesson about shooting goats. We had shot more game than we could ever hope to get back to camp with. Johnston, being a giant in strength, declared he could carry his goat into camp alone if I would bring out as much meat as I could carry, the rifles, ammunition belts, and every- thing else. Accordingly we dressed the car- cass of one of the kids and strapped it on my back with the guns and other supplies. The journey back to our camp was very trying. The true distance—about two miles —seemed to lengthen out to many times that space before we got there. We had to make frequent stops for rest and to pick the thorns out of our flesh, and it was nearly sundown before we staggered into camp, hungry and just about exhausted. It was this long dreary march into camp

Page 201

194 with our game, with every step over the rocks and through the cactus more or less of-a torture, that put an idea into my head. That kid on my back, and those rifles and ammunition belts, seemed to get heavier every step [ took. I began to think how nice it would be to sit on the cushion behind the wheel of my seaplane and dive down at those goats out of the sky.‘ What a bone- head a man is,” I thought, ‘to use his muscles in competition with = modern machinery! That seaplane motor would take the two of us and five hundred pounds of weight around the island and over it while we were climbing up one thousand-foot ridge on foot.” But could) Johnston hit goats with his rifle while diving down over their backs at eighty miles an hour? There was the rub—could he do it? The idea might be worth trving. I thought, but I preferred to ponder over it a bit before mentioning it to Johnston. A pot of black coffee revived our drooping spirits; then we worked the fire down to a bed of coals, and soon had a haunch of mutton, basted with strips of bacon, simmer- ing in the oven. We had sweet potatoes, and even a bottle of mint sauce, brought over in the seaplane. Two hours later we felt like a couple of fighting cocks as we sat down to the table with the meat all beauti- fully roasted. Wild mutton is really wonder- ful meat. An old * billy,”’ of course, would hardly be fit to eat; but a haunch of young kid, with mint sauce, is as delectable as spring lamb. In fact, one could hardly detect the difference, except that the wild mutton has somewhat of a gamy taste that only adds to its deliciousness. We were as hungry as a couple of wolves, and we ate an immense supper. When leaving our camp that morning we had cached our provisions in a tree to put them out of the reach of foxes, wild dogs (with which the island is infested), and other possible camp marauders. We had put our canned goods in the tent because we thought they would be safe there ; but in this we had missed our guess. The canned goods in- cluded a half-gallon tin of maple syrup that we had opened for flap-jacks that morning. The cover had been carefully replaced on the can and the can put in the tent with the other supplies. During our absence, how- ever, a fox, a wild dog, or some other creature had called on us. The lid had been torn off the syrup can and the sticky liquid, we dis- covered, had been smeared over everything. It was in our beds, on our spare clothing, and in fact everything we touched, until our whole outfit was like a lot of sticky flypaper. Before we could turn in for the night we had to have a general cleaning-up. We sponged up most of the scattered syrup, and thought THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. we were through with it ;~but our troubles had really only just begun. Along in the small hours of the night, when we were snoozing peacefully, we were awakened by feeling some sort of insects crawling over us. Phil switched on the tent light, run by electricity. from one of the motor-cycle storage batteries—and behold! our tent was literally alive with big red ants! There were simply millions of them, and our slumbers for the rest of the night, in so far as sleeping in the tent wa» concerned, were at an end, The ants, of course, had been attracted by that wretched syrup. There was nothing to do but take our beds outside, shake what ants we could out of them, and finish the night under the stars. In the morning we took down the tent, bundled out our entire outfit, and had a regular Monday wash-day getting rid of what was left of the syrup. As a result of our labours of the day before and our disturbed slumbers during the night, we didn't feel much like goat-hunting next day. We decided to rest, and to vary our programme with fishing. Accordingly, we loaded our tackle into the sidecar and toured down to the seashore at the other end of the canyon our camp was in, a distance of about three miles. There was a beautiful little land-locked cove at the mouth of the canyon, and into this sheltered water, from the high rocks about the shore, we cast our lines. The fish were there right enough, but it wasn’t fishing at all. My first cast landed a three- pound rock bass almost as soon as the hook went below the surface, and as we continued to make additional casts the fish simply leaped at our hooks. Every cast brought up a fish, and when I tried putting on two hooks I hooked two fish! Three hooks brought up three fish, and we could probably have gone on pulling in as many fish at a cast as we had hooks on our lines, up to the breaking limit of the line. Twenty minutes after making the first cast we had more fish than we could hope to eat before they spoiled, but we amused ourselves for the rest of the day catching fish and throwing them back into the sea again. Most of the fish were rock bass averaging around two or three pounds each, but we hooked an occa- sional corn-fed mackerel, sea perch, or sheep's-head bass. We finished the day with all the fish we needed that evening and for breakfast next morning. The following morning, our third day on the island, we resumed our hunting again. We surmised that the goats in the vicinity of our first day’s shooting had been scared out of that section for several days to come, so decided to carry out our operations in another quarter of the island. We were still suffering somewhat from muscular soreness,

Page 202

HUNTING WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE. 195 The hunters’ camp on San Clemente. so for that day’s shooting we decided to push into the hunting country as far as it was possible to go by motor-cycle. This would give us the means of getting our game back to camp without the labour of lugging it up and down ridges, through water-courses, and over mountain ranges. We left Phil’s solo mount in camp and, with the aid of the motor, managed to push the sidecar to the summit of a near-by ridge. From there pro- gress was fairly easy, and we toure] along the summit of the ridge for four miles before reaching the edge of an abysmal canyon over which there was no passage for anything on wheels. From the end of the ridge we located goats with our field-glasses in the canyons at three points of the compass below. The country was literally alive with game, so we decided to go after that which could be most easily carried to the sidecar. In one of the canyons below, and less than a mile away, we spotted a monarchical billy- goat with a monstrous pair of horns, and began stalking him. Johnston was anxious to get a head with a big pair of horns to turn over to a taxidermist upon our return to civilization, and the glasses revealed that the goat we were after was just right for the purpose. Keeping under the cover of a live oak thicket that shrouded the near-by canyon wall, we dropped down into the gorge below. Progress along the canycn wall was utterly impossible, for it was almost perpen- dicular, and afforded scarcely a tochold. Following up the.water-course at the bottom, therefore, offered our only chance, but even in this plan we thought we were baffled. The channel was very narrow at the bottom, and between it and the canyon walls there were thickets of cactus—perfect jungles of it—through which there appeared to be no passing. A man in a suit of armour might possibly have made his way through, but having descended the canyon wall for fully a thousand feet, we were reluctant to turn back. Johnston tried clubbing his way through the cactus barrier, but before he had gone ten feet his hob-nailed boots slipped from under him on some of the moisture- impregnated lIcaves, and he sprawled full- length into the prickly mass. He made his way back to the canyon wall looking like a porcupine, and in agony, of course. There was nothing for him to do but undress upon the spot, and then we spent an hour picking the ‘‘ stickers ”’ out of him. He'd had about enough of cactus by then, and was for going back up the wall. I didn’t blame him a bit, but I was determined to get into that water- course, if it was the last thing I ever did on San Clemente Island. I decided to try it alone, but with my hunting-knife lashed to the end of a pole instead of trying to club the prickly growth out of the way. I had heavy motor-cycle driving gloves, which gave some protection to my hands, and by whacking down the cactus with the knife and then trampling the stalks with my hob-nailed boots 1 found that progress could be made, although it was tedious and slow. In half an hour I had ploughed a path across the barrier and got

Page 203

196 THE WIDE WORLD out into the wash on the other side, and Johnston was able to follow me through. Sneaking silently up the wash, keeping under the cover of the oak thickets lest we should come upon a herd of goats in the canyon we were in, we made our way up the gorge to the point opposite the crag where the big sentinel goat had stood. We were creeping along through the underbrush when Johnston suddenly grabbed the seat of my breeches and motioned me down. — I dropped silently in my tracks, and looked where he pointed—and there, almost over our heads on the canyon wall, stood our goat. He had apparently sauntered up the ridge, and was perched on a rock overhanging the canyon we were in. He was quite four hundred vatds away, and there wasn’t a_burglar’s chance of getting closer to him without his seeing us. ‘ You’d better pick him off,” whispered Johnston ; “my rifle won't reach him, but yours will.” Without further ado [crept into the thicket just in front of us and found a stout hori- zontal branch above which I could see blue sky through the foliage above my head, with the goat silhouetted in bold relief against it. He stood there poised like a statue. It was a long shot, but better than no shot at all. I took a rest on the oak limb, carefully centred my sights, and squeezed the trigger. The report of the rifle down in that narrow canyon sounded like a twelve-inch naval gun, but as the echoes went rolling through the surrounding hills the goat tottered on his lofty perch. Then he Ict out a stifled grunt and plunged, hoofs over horns, off the face of the cliff. He came down perpendicu- larly fully four hundred feet, struck the canyon wall, and then rolled the rest of the way in a huddled heap, followed by an avalanche of loose boulders and decomposed granite. He plunged to the very bottom of the water-course, and we found him wedged between two boulders so tightly that we almost pulled his hind legs off before we could get him out. My bullet had taken him just behind the shoulder and shattered his backbone. Apparently he died the instant he was hit, and all four of his legs had been broken by the fall down the face of the cliff. We pulled the goat out of the rocks, and were admiring the length of his horns and beard when a startled ‘ Bah-ah-ah-ah!” echoed down from the rocks almost over our heads. We whipped our rifles into position just as a yearling buck-kid tore out of the rocks from within a few vards of the point from which I had just picked off the big fellow, and began travelling along the face of the cliff as fast as his legs could take him. He looked like good camp-meat, and both of us got into action with our rifles. I blazed away with two shots, and Johnston MAGAZINE. got in three, but neither of us did greater damage than to chip the rocks under the gvat’s hoofs. I had put only four cartridges in my rifle before shooting the big goat, and I missed a beautiful chance for a fifth shot when I snapped the trigger on an empty chamber. Johnston had emptied his maga- zine, and was fumbling in his pocket for a fresh cartridge, when the goat stopped short in his tracks for a second or two and peered down at us. Watching the goat and at the same time reaching into my pocket for a fresh cartridge, I was utterly dumbfounded to see the animal fall on all fours and then, apparently with a great effort, get up and run again, It was evident that one of us had chipped him, and a glance through my field-glasses revealed blood on the side of his head. He was wounded, and knowing this we hated to let him get away. Johnston ran up the opposite canyon wall and began throwing lead across the gorge at the goat, but apparently he was shooting wild, for bullet after bullet did no more than splatter up the dust or chip the rocks around the goat. Knowing tke goat was wounded and not likely to get very far, I let Johnston bang away at him on the run while I watched and awaited my chance. Johnston had no more than emptied his second magazine when the goat stopped again. I hadn’t moved out of my tracks the while ; but there was my chance! I drew a careful bead and fired. Simultaneously the goat crumpled up and rolled down the canyon wall into the oak thicket. He had breathed his last when we reached him, for my bullet had taken him through the foreward part of his bedy and passed through his heart. We found upon examining the carcass that in shooting from the canyon wall Johnston’s marksman- ship had not been as wild as it had appeared. Three of his bullets had ploughed through the animal’s hindquarters without putting him down, and a fourth had trimmed off one of his ears as clean as if the job had been done with a pair of shears. In spite of these injuries the goat had not stopped until my final shot went through his heart—a_ fact which evidences their tremendous vitality and the necessity for fast, hard-hitting bullets. We dressed the yearling buck on the spot, packed the meat between the two of us, and then began the irksome task of getting the big goat, slung on a pole between us, to the motor-cycle. The big goat was worthless for meat, but we wanted him in camp for photo- graphs, and eventually managed to get him to the machine, and finally to camp, five miles away. Sitting by the camp-fire that evening with our pipes, my mind again wandered to the thought of shooting goats from the ‘plane. I had been staring into the firg in deep

Page 204

HUNTING WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE. 197 thought for several minutes when Phil interrupted me with a gruff, ‘‘ Well, what’s the matter; getting homesick ? “Not exactly,” I replied. ‘I’ve got an idea for shooting goats that I believe has this cactus-hiking beaten a thousand ways.” “Well, that sounds interesting,”’ said Johnston. ‘* What is it?” “‘ Just this,” I answered. ‘ We're going to try shooting goats from the air. I’ve been thinking the thing over ever since we began scrambling about these hills, and I'll stake my shirt that I can fly over this island at a thousand feet elevation over the moun- tain-tops, locate our game from the air, and dive down upon it to within easy rifle-range. If you can handle the rifle, I can drive the to do is to dive down on geats on some of these ridges that we can ride with the motor-cycles. We'll take the motor-cycles down to Choke Berry Cove, go out with the ‘plane, shoot our goats, and land back at Choke Berry Cove again. Then we'll take the motor-cycles and go in search of our game.” So the plan was agreed upon, and we were ready to go gunning in the sky for goats next morning. . We were in the midst of a happy ceremony over piles of steaming flap-jacks next morn- ing when we got a fright that nearly ruined our breakfasts for us.. I was putting away flap-jacks and bacon, and thinking what a wonderful combination these two articles of Bringing one of the wild goats into camp in the sidecar. ‘plane and put you within a hundred feet of the herds. Then it’s up to you to see what sort of a marksman you are while fiving over their backs at seventy-five or eighty miles per hour.” Johnston's eves bulged with excitement. He’s the type of fellow who is always ready to try anything with a new thrill in it, and shooting goats from the air promised a ven- ture surpassing anything he’d ever tried before. His trip from the mainland to San Clemente Island had been his first time off the ground in any sort of aircraft, but the idea appealed to him, and he was eager to try it. * But how are we going to get our goats after shooting them ? "’ he asked. “' That’s easy,” I replied. ‘ All we’ve got food make, when from somewhere came the unmistakable drone of a seaplane motor. My first thought was that somebody who knew something about driving a seaplane had found our “ ship ” down at Choke Berry Cove and gone joy-riding in it. For a moment my blood literally ran cold ; but the suspense was soon ended by the big mechanical bird _ swooping down out of a bank of cumulus clouds directly overhead. I trained my field- glasses on the ’plane, and it was green—not a red one like mine! ‘‘ Who on earth can it be?” I mused, as I studied the ‘plane through the glasses. Then, as it began spiraling earthward, I made out the lettering on the lower wing— Holloway.” “ That’s Steve Holloway, from Avalon, Santa Catalina Island,” I called out to

Page 205

198 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The great canyon into which the flying hunters dived in quest of wild goats. Johnston, who was twisting his neck sky- ward for a view of the ‘plane. ‘‘ And he’s apparently going to land down at Choke Berry Cove.” We swallowed what was left of our flap- jacks, nearly sizzled our gullets with boiling coffee, threw what supplies we needed into the sidecar and tore out for the cove. We went down the wash in front of McGonigal’s place at about forty miles an hour, without even stopping to pass the time of day with the old man, who was standing in the door in open-mouthed amazement, and were at the cove just an hour after leaving camp. There was Holloway, with his ’plane riding at anchor while he tinkered around with the motor. After he had splashed ashore and we had exchanged greetings, he told us that he had come to San Clemente Island looking for a derelict motor-boat that had gone adrift from Avalon. He had sighted the boat and released a carrier pigeon to inform the owners of its location, so that part of his job was done. When we told Holloway about our goat- hunting plan he was keen to go with us. “I'll pilot your ’plane,” he said, ‘‘ and then we shall have two gunners, with better chances of hitting the goats.’’ In another hour we had fitted a couple of salt sacks over the receivers of the two automatic Winchesters (to keep the ejected cartridges from flying back into the propeller), and were in the air. Less than ten minutes after leaving Choke Berry Cove we sighted a herd of about two hundred goats on the summit ofa mountain. The mountain was probably fifteen hundred feet high, and we were at least a thousand feet above them. Johnston and I crawled out on to the nose of the ’plane, and in another instant the machine was diving down through space. Lying prone, with our heads and shoulders over the nose of the ‘plane, with only a couple of guy-wires to keep us from slipping off, it seemed as if we were riding through space on nothing, with the landscape below—and the goats—coming up with a dizzy rush. Holloway, however, is a wonderful pilot, with several Huns to his credit during the recent war, so we had little fear that he would not “ flatten out ” in ample time to prevent us hitting the mountain-top. From the time we began the nose-dive it seemed but a couple of seconds until we were “ zooming ”’ over the backs of the goats, the said goats meanwhile running around in circles, and generally acting like chickens with their heads cut off. Some of them, in their haste to make a get-away, plunged headlong over the cliffs, and were un- doubtedly killed on the rocks in the canyons below. Others dived into the rocks or the scanty underbrush, like barnyard fowls at the approach of a hawk. All this time our rifles were cracking, but the reports were scarcely audible above the roar of the motor. We could only get a bead on the goats while diving down at them, for the moment we “flattened out ” the speed and the terrific pressure of the wind precluded all possi- bility of accurate rifle-shooting. As we

Page 206

HUNTING “zoomed "’ skyward from the first dive, however, there were three goats that neither fled down the cliffs nor dived for cover behind the recks and bushes. They were laid out déad—probably the first land game on record to-go down before the rifles of flying -hunters. After getting high enough: in the air to safeguard ourselves against crashing on the mountain-tops we circled about to study the lie of the land and to map out the route for retzieving our game with the motor-cycles. The-job was not difficult, for we observed a rideable ridge leading down from the moun- tain on which the goats had ‘been killed to McGouigal’s ‘‘ road.”” It was less than three miles from the ‘ road ” to the summit of the ridge, and beyond the last canyon, where we knew it would be impossible to go with any- thing on wheels, it was less than five hundred yards to where our game had been put down. After taking these bearings, we winged our way over the island, looking for more goats. From an elevation of four thousand fect, which is about two-thousand: feet above the highest mountains on the island, we could see every inch of San Clemente’s surface except portions of it hidden down in abysmal canyons. Herds of goats were everywhere! McGonigal had told us he estimated that there were ten thousand wild goats on the island, but from what I have seen of San €lemente’s goats from the air I believe the number is nearer fifty thousand. Had I succeeded in inducing the old man to take his feet off the ground, I believe that he, too, would have been convinced. Winging our way over the island, we gradually dropped down until we dragged WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE. 199 our tail above a two-thousand-foot ridge and found ourselves over a great canyon.. This canyon appeared te:be four or five-miles in length, about fifteen hundred’ feet deep, and not more than a thousand: feet wide-at ‘the top. There were herds of goats perched all over the walls, and every: projecting rock bristled with them, unti} it looked as if they had run short of standing room. Holloway pointed to a herd of-some two hundred goats that were moving along a trail they had worn on the canyon wall, and before I had a chance to protest by signs or writing we were going nose down after them: ‘We plunged down to within a hundred: feet of the canyon wall, and as Johnston ‘and I cut loose: with our rifles four goats toppled: off the ledge. In another second we had “ flattened out ” and were wheeling around in the canyon five hundred feet below the rim, with our right wing-tip:not more than fifteen feet from the perpendicular wall. ._ For fully five breath- less seconds"},clung. on the nose of the ‘plane, just. waiting for the crash, and it was a wel-- come relief when we finally got turned around in those close quarters and had gained suf- ficient elevation to take us out over the sea above the rim of the canyon. The writer has been flying since 1912, and holds one of the earliest pilot’s licences ever issued. In spite of hundreds of hours in the air I am still living, while most of my _ early-day aviator friends, and not a few of the more modern ones, are under the sod ; but in all the flying I have ever done I have yet to wing my way into a hole like that we had just come out of. Holloway had taken a chance that I would never have risked. Had the motor “ konked out ” while we were in the canyon, This unique photograph shows the shooting of wild goats from the air, out on the wing of the ‘plane to get it. The picture was taken by the Author, inbe chmbed Johnston 1s seen on the nose. in the et .! firme at a goal as the machine flattened out” above tie herc.

Page 207

2c0 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the instant death of all three of us, and the wrecking of a five-thousand-dollar seaplane, would have been the inevitable result. As soon as we were out over the sea again I wriggled back into the cockpit. Con- versation against the roar of the motor was impossible, so I wrote a note and handed it to the pilot. It read: ‘* No more of that suicide stuff! Fly over goat-herds within gliding radius of the sea, but if you want to dive into any more canyons let me out first and fly your own plan Holloway smiled as he put the note in his pocket, and nodded approval. Two hours after taking the air from Choke Berry Cove we had put down seven goats. We were about to cross over the island for a landing in the cove when we espied a lone “ billy’ standing on a rock that projected from the shore about five hundred fect per- pendicularly above the sea. We dived at him, and rolled him over with a single shot from Johnston’s Winchester. As luck would ‘have it, there was a beautiful little land- locked cove in the shore only about a quarter of a mile from where the goat had been put down. It looked about as big as a butter- dish from a thousand feet above, but we knew it was quite big enough to set the ‘plane down in. In another minute we were gliding down over the meadow behind the bay, and had dropped like a scooter duck into the quiet waters of the cove. There was a sandy beach on the shore of the cove on to which we ‘taxied "’ the ‘plane. The tide was going out, so, leaving Holloway to watch the ‘plane to see that it didn’t get stranded, Johnston and I went ashore after the goat. It was somewhat of a scramble up to the summit of the cliff where we had rolled him over, but in half an hour we were back to the ‘plane with the goat. We loaded him into the machine, and then rose into the air again, heading around the island for Choke Berry Cove. It was but little farther around the island than over it, and with the wind on our tail we went around it instead of spiraling for elevation to get over the mountains. It was just two hours and forty minutes from the time we left Choke Berry Cove until we were back again, with nothing more to complete our aerial hunt except to go out with the motor-cycles to pick up our game. Holloway wanted to take the goat we had brought in back to Santa Catalina in the ‘plane. He declared he would need evi- dence to substantiate his story upon his return to Avalon, so we told him to take the goat along, and helped him load it. A few minutes later he cranked over his motor, sped out of the cove, and was lost to our view as he went into a bank of clouds a thousand feet above the waves, and several miles out to sea. We could still hear his motor humming as he passed out of sight, but gradually the sound grew fainter and died out altogether. Johnston and I were alone once more, with only our rifles, the sidecar motor-cycle, and the seaplane to keep us company. We pumped the bilge-water out of the seaplane, anchored it in the deep water of the cove, and swam ashore. Then we set out with the sidecar to retrieve the game shot from the air. We had little difficulty in making our way up the ridge to the point where it was intersected by the canyon which could not be crossed with the machine. Our goats, however, were on the ridge just beyond. Making our way across the canyon and up the ridge on the other side, we knew our goats were there by the presence of a flock of ravens hovering over the spot. We soon found them, or rather what was left of them—two “billics” and a fair-sized “nanny,” the latter having been almost devoured by a pack of wild dogs and the ravens. The dogs had apparently slunk off at our approach, but they had nearly picked the ‘‘ nanny's ” carcass clean, and the ravens had finished what they had left. There was not enough of the animal left to be worth our taking back to camp, so we contented ourselves by cleaning the two bucks and carrying them back to the sidecar. Loading one goat into the car and lashing the other on top of the cowl, we made our way down the ridge, and arrived back at our camp about, as the overhead sun indicated, noon. There were other goats to be retrieved, but with the meat we already had in camp we could see little to be gained by going out after them. We had about come to the conclusion that driving motor-cycles over mountains, up canyons, and through jungles of cactus, where neither roads nor trails exist, was almost too hard upon machines and rubber to be worth while. We'd had about enough of goats, anyway— big goats, little goats, and all kinds of goats. What did the useless slaughter of a few wild goats on San Clemente Island amount to, anyway ? Our last days on the island were spent at fishing, hunting fresh meat, or just loafing about the camp in accordance with the dic- tates of fancy. By the end of the sixth day we were getting somewhat tired of mutton, and had begun to long for a piece of beef- steak. We had enjoyed every minute of our sojourn on the island, but looked forward with pleasure to winging our way back to the mainland and home by motor the next day. ‘The fishermen who brought our outfit to the island were due to pick it up at Choke Berry Cove the next morning. There was one job yet to be done, however. We were sick of mutton ourselves, and hated to look

Page 208

HUNTING WILD GOATS BY SEAPLANE, 201 The flying goat-hunters and their seaplane. a dead goat in the face, but all our friends at home would be expecting us to bring them a sample. Accordingly, the last afternoon was set aside for a ‘' mutton hunt ”—a hunt for young kid haunches and loins to go back to Los Angeles by seaplane and motor-cycle. There was simply ‘nothing in it.” The young kids are not as wise and wary as the older goats, and even as we journeyed up the canyon in which we were camped, with the sidecar motor-cycle, we ‘jumped ” a herd of about forty goats, among which there were half-a-dozen kids that scampered away at our approach. With four shots between the two of us we bagged four young goats, dressed the meat, and were back in camp again within two hours after starting out. Nine o’clock next morning, the appointed hour for us to meet the fishing-boat, found us down at Choke Berry Cove with our outfit. Ten o’clock came, and no boat; then eleven o’clock—and still no boat! We were begin- ning to get worried for fear the fishermen might have forgotten their agreement, been wrecked, or any one of a thousand things. We weren't exactly marooned, for we could get away in the seaplane; but with two motor-cycles, a sidecar, and fully a thousand pounds’ weight of equipment, the transporta- tion of our outfit was a job for some sort of a boat that travels on water, and not in the air. Noon found us getting hungry—and still waiting for the boat. I was for cranking up the seaplane and putting out to sea to look for the craft, when Johnston climbed to the summit of a high rock at the mouth of the cove and spotted a sail. By that time we had begun to have an inkling of how Robinson Crusoe must have felt. In another hour the fishing schooner was in the harbour, and our outfit was lightered out and hoisted aboard. Then the sails went up, and the boat slid out of the cove in the direction of the mainland. She was a long time getting out of sight, but we were in no hurry to follow her, for we knew that we would fly over her mizzen-mast before she got half-way across the Santa Barbara Channel even though we started out several hours behind. We lunched ashore, spent some time filtering twenty-five gallons of gasolene into the seaplane’s reservoirs, and by four o’clock were ready to take the air. A. strong inshore breeze was blowing into the cove as we sped out to cea, which helped us to rise quickly over the heavy swells that were pounding in from the open ocean. At a thousand-feet elevation we picked up the fishing-boat, and twenty minutes later dived down over her masts to wave to our friends on board. By this time the scenery con- sisted solely of sky and ocean, and I was steering for Los Angeles harbour by the compass. With nothing but blue sky and bluer water all around us, it was a comforting thought to know the fishing-boat was trailing along behind to pick us up in the event of a forced landing. Half an hour after passing over the fishing-boat we picked up Middle Rocks at the southernmost end of Santa Catalina Island, corrected our com- pass, and headed north-east across the Santa

Page 209

202 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Barbara channel. A few minutes later we picked up the steamer Avalon, plodding along between Santa Catalina Island and Los Angeles harbour. We dived down over the steamer to wave to the passengers on board, and then laid our course to stay in her path as an additional safeguard against a forced landing. Our wind- speed indicator and the white-capped waves below showed that we were bucking into the teeth of a strong headwind. As a result, it was one whole hour from the time we picked up Santa Catalina Island until we sighted the Breakwater Light- house at the entrance of Los Angeles har- bour. Disregarding the compass, we pointed the ship around to head for the mountains on the mainland, and twenty minutes later we spi- raled down over the battleships and scores of commercial craft that throng the water- front of the busy sea- port. Down we came from an elevation of fifteen hundred feet, with little puffs of steam shooting up from the whistles of the vessels at anchor. They were tooting a welcome to us—just as they always do upon the arrival of aircraft overhead—but we heard not a sound as we droned down out of the sky. We soon glided to a landing in The goat-hunters winging their way homeward. The photograph was taken by a passengeron ing expedition, the the steamship Avalon as the seaplane p over the vessel on the way to Los Angeles. front of the Navy seaplane hangars, where a marine threw us a rope, which was later pulled in by an electric winch to drag our “ship ” into the skidways. It was ten o’clock that night before the fishing-boat got in and we had our outfit ashore. Then we sped along over the twenty-five miles of glistening highway into the city, and were home again—to find my wife with a pot of coffee and a lot of “ eats ” such as men never can prepare waiting for us. We had released a carrier pigeon with a message telling her we were coming home as soon as the fishing-boat got under way from the island, but the foolish bird either got lost or was remiss in his duty, for it was noon next day before he alighted on the house- top, so exhausted that he had no objection whatever to being picked up and carried to the dovecote. Thus ends the story of what we believe to be the first combination .motor-cycle and sea- plane wild goat hunt- story of a week on an uninhabited island, into which brief period was crowded a whole lifetime of thrills and wholesome recreation—to say nothing of memories which will last as long as either of us shall live. THERE IS ONLY ONE “WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE” And there is only one way of making certain that you will get it every month. Give your newsagent or book- seller a definite order to reserve a copy for you—and do it NOW. “Sold Out” is a very poor substitute for the magazine you were looking forward to reading.

Page 210

REMANDED AANAA AVE you ever had the misfortune to go to prison? If so, you will pro- bably not read this story unless you happen to wish to refresh your memory. Perhaps, however, you have been there ‘‘ on remand,” because you had no one to “‘go bail” for you. I once found myself very much in the same predicament, and I propose to give you an account of my experiences. I had gone to the North of England to be treated by a certain doctor of whom I had heard from friends, and was staying outside the city at a small country hotel. I had been there four days when, having an appointment with the doctor on the Saturday morning, I went to catch the early train to town. On the platform I was accosted by a police-ser- geant, who asked me quite politely if he could have a few words with I said; ‘only be quick, me. “ Right-o!” as the train is signalled.” “Tam afraid, sir, you will not be able to catch this train,” he told he. is important.” I must own that I felt uncomfortable at the way he spoke, but before I could explain that it was also im- portant for me to catch the train, he continued: “ Your name’s Thompson, isn’t it?” “Yes,” I replied, “my name’s Thomp- son— John Thomp- son.” “Ah!” he ejacu- lated, enigmatically, UNCONVICTED PRISONER Ho. 49 ee: ONE WHO. KNOWS ILLUSTRATED BY GP. CARRUTHERS Do you know, gentle reader, conscious of your own re- spectability, just what would happen to you if you suddenly found yourself accused of a crime you hadn't committed ? Are you aware that, in all probability, though you were as innocent as a babe, it would mean a sojourn in prison and treatment such as is meted out to a convict? Here is ‘the story of a business man who found himself in just such a predicament and discovered, to his dismay, that the law has terrors even for perfectly blameless people. passage. “The matter chairs, ANAA ‘this will mean something for me!” I thought for a moment that he was referring to a possible tip, but he went on in a firm voice: ‘ You had better come with me to the station.” ‘*But I’m there,” I replied, rather feebly. “IT mean the police- station,” he snapped. At that Iam afraid I began to lose my temper. ‘What on earth for?” I asked. I hadn’t realized that while we had been talking we had also been walking, until, ignoring my ques- tion, the sergeant said: “You had better step in- side.” Then I saw the police- station in front of me, and, shrugging my shoulders, walked in, intending to de- mand an explanation and make myself thoroughly disagreeable to everyone. I found myself in a long, bare room something after the style of a On one side were three steel doors with slits in them. the other side were desks, cupboards, and “Cells,” I thought. On The sergeant whispered something to an (1600—16-10-48) Facsimile of the Author's prison “ticket.” inspector, who looked up quickly from the desk at which he was working. For a moment he _ stared hard at me; then his stern face gradually relaxed into a smile as he said: ‘So we have got you at last, John Thompson !” My anger left me, to be replaced by a feeling of great per- turbation. ‘‘ What the devil does this all

Page 211

204 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mean?” I demanded. ‘ What am I here now,” the latter went on; “ off with your for?” collar and tie, and turn out your pockets. “You are here for obtaining money from various banks and tradespeople all over the country under false pretences,” returned the inspector, calmly. That fairly upset me!‘ You scoundrel ! ”” I cried. “1 am John Thompson of o and I gave my full name and address. The inspector merely smiled at my rage, which infuriated me all the more. “ We've heard that tale before,”’ he told me. “Well,” I retorted, “if you don’t believe me, go to the Green Plough, and ask Mrs. , the manageress, if 1 am respectable or not.” “It was she who told us that you were John Thompson—the John Thompson—and that you had asked her to cash a cheque on a London bank for you,” he replied. This was quite true, and if I remembered rightly she had got out of doing so very cleverly. “Now,” continued the inspector, as I stood there silent. ‘‘ Isn’t this you?” With that he produced a copy of the Police Gazette and handed it to me. Taking the paper, I read of one John Thompson who was badly “ wanted.’ His age was about my own; he was my height, my colouring, and was, moreover, wearing clothes which might have been mine. A warrant for his arrest had been isgued. I groaned as I realized the futility of convincing the police as to who I really was. I asked if I could phone to London, “ Sorry,”’ replied the inspector, ‘ but that is absolutely against all regulations. You cannot communicate with anyone except your solicitor, and as it is nearly midday, and Saturday, it is no use attempting that till Monday morning.” Realizing that it was not the slightest use arguing any further, I asked by what time I should have to be in court on Monday. ‘We'll have to be there about ten,” I was told; ‘“ you'll probably get remanded until Thursday, while investigations are being made.” Not having had any previous experience as a prisoner, and not knowing the routine, I foolishly asked: ‘‘ Well, will you call for me at my hotel to-night and have a drink, and in the morning we- is I was interrupted by a burst of laughter from the inspector. ‘ You're a rare bird, you are!” he said, adding, by way of explanation, ‘‘ You've got to stay in one of these to-night ’—pointing to the afore- mentioned cells—‘‘ and we had better shut you up now.” “ In—one—of—those ?” I exclaimed, aghast. The sergeant and inspector nodded. * And Count your money, and we will look after the things for you till you come out again.” I was so completely dumbfounded by what had occurred that I mechanically obeyed, ‘Here's some books,’’ said the officer, when I was ready. ‘ Now in you go, and make yourself at home.” I entered my cell, the door clanged to, and I was alone. My first impression was that it looked clean, dismally clean. It was a whitewashed room about twelve feet long by eight across. At one end, the end I had entered, was the steel door, in which was a small trap through which I could be peered at and food passed to me if I happened to be a dangerous character, Along one side ran a long, hard, wooden bench, on which lay a couple of moth-eaten brown blankets. The end opposite the door was a plain brick wall, into which was let a heavily-barred window, about ten feet off the ground. The height of the cell was some thirteen or fourteen feet. I sat on the bench and tried to console myself with the idea that this absurd mistake would be rectified within a few hours, My thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of the inspector, his appearance being accompanied by a great clanging of bolts. He placed on the bench beside me some bread and butter, a lump of cheese, and a large tin mug of tea. “What meal is this ? ”’ I asked. “ Dinner,’’ he said—and I groaned aloud. “My docter has placed me on a special diet," I told him, ‘‘ one of the main items being ‘ no bread.’ ”’ “‘ Sorry,’’ said the inspector, kindly, “ but we can’t help that.” “ Then can I have a knife ? ” I inquired. “ Against regulations,”” came the answer, and with that he left me. I heard him whispering outside to the sergeant, who then peered at me through the trap. I think they had an idea that my demand for a knife showed that I was bent on suicide. I must own that if my counten- ance looked one half as bad as I was feeling just then, it probably conveyed to them a really sound justification for their suspicions, An hour later I was summoned into the passage and had to give a detailed account of myself; Where was I born ?) Who were my parents ? Were they alive? Where did they live? Where did I live? My age? If I had a wife, or wives? My movements for the last three months? Where I had obtained money under false pretences ? How many times had I been convicted before ? : After half an hour of this I began to wish

Page 212

that I had taken the Pelman Course in my spare time. When the inquisition finally came to an end, the inspector said: ‘‘ You still persist, then, that you aren’t John Thompson ? ” “Nothing of the sort,” I replied. ‘I am John Thompson, but not the one you want. Also '"—this with what I considered to be withering sarcasm—" I am not in the habit of running round the country cashing ‘ dud’ cheques, or of obtaining money in any other than a perfectly legal manner.” “Oh, I see,” said the sergeant, “your FC aRguTNERS: “The sergeant whispered something to an inspector, who looked up quickly. ‘So we have got you at last, John Thompson!’ he said.” defence will be that you are John Thompson’s double ? That won’t wash, you know.” “ All right,” I answered, *' time will tell.” As the inspector was again shutting me up, I heard one of the young constables outside make some feeble pun about ‘‘ time” and “cells.” I devoured my luncheon, and then tried to get comfortable by sitting on two blankets and wrapping the third around me. This accomplished, I immersed myself again in the humours of Mr. Pickwick, wondering how he would have liked to have been in my position. Unconsciously I felt in my pocket for my cigarettes, and swore softly when I Tealized they were so near and yet so far. y ‘ " REMANDED. 205 It began to get cold, but I was revived by one of the constables bringing me more bread and butter, cheese, and a mug of tea. ‘‘ Tea-time ? ’”’ 1 asked, with a smile. “No; this is your supper. Next meal breakfast.”’ ‘Look here,’ I said, desperately, “ it’s infernally cold and I’m hungry. I haven't been proved guilty yet, so I want a couple of hard-boiled eggs and a dozen decent cakes.” * I'll ask the inspector ; he'll soon be in now,” he replied, hopefully, and left me with my bread and cheese. An hour later the inspector entered my cell with the provisions. He spoke rather testily: “I hope you fully realize, Thomp- son,” he said, ‘that this is against the Tegulations, but as you will probably get three years you had better make hay while the sun shines.” Although his remark was not exactly encouraging, I merely smiled. He was a decent fellow, and somehow we got talking.

Page 213

206 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. In the end I persuaded him to throw a semblance of light through the trap in the door, which made it just possible for me to read. I thought that this favour showed that he did think that there might be a mistake somewhere about my _ identity. I saw him a few days later, however, and he assured me that this was not the case. 1 asked him about my sleeping kit and my things at the hotel. He told me he had collected them, but all he could do for me was to get me some extra blankets, for which I was very thankful. Well, I curled up, expecting to spend a miserable night, but to my surprise I slept comparatively well. The boards being very hard necessitated a change of position more than once, and the constable on duty woke me occasionally by flashing an electric torch round the cell—presumably to see that I was still there. 1 woke about dawn, and some time later the sergeant entered and asked me if I wanted to wash, to which I replied in the affirmative, adding, “‘ and a shave.” “ That you won’t get, anyhow,” replied the sergeant, emphatically. ~ Why ?” IT asked. “’Gainst regulations,”” came the parrot- like order, and again I cursed. ‘And where do I wash?” I. asked, sulkily. * Follow me,” was the reply. We went up a passage, and the delightful odour of fried eggs and bacon greeted my nostrils. At the end of the passage we emerged into a yard, enclosed by high walls. Here, on a box, was a basin of cold water and some soap. Shivering, I took off my shirt, plunged my hands into the icy water, and had a lick over as fast as I could, while the sergeant stood watchfully by with the towel—in case I should make an attempt to drown myself, I suppose. I dried myself rapidly and then hastened back to the comparative warmth of my cell and blankets, where there awaited me a delicious mug of tea. It did me a world of good. About eleven the inspector visited me, allowing me to sit in the sun in the passage outside my cell while he asked me various questions so as to get his case against me into proper order. He was really human, for he searched for my cigarettes and allowed me to smoke till lunch, which I ate in my cell. The meals were as the previous day, and I read Pickwick until I grew heartily tired of him. ; Late that evening, the inspector paid me another visit. I asked him how I was going to get hold of a solicitor in the morning. He told me there was a good man just near the court, and that we could stop there on our way. ‘Although,’ he added, ‘I don’t see he can do you much good.”” What optimism | Morning at length arrived, and after much persuasion the inspector allowed me to use my razor as it was a “ safety,” for which I was very thankful. I then asked if my things could be taken to the court with me, and also if I could now have my money. Not a bit of it! They were absolutely certain that I was going to ‘‘ quod” and wouldn't get my things again until I came out. There was no use in quarrelling, so I resigned myself to the inevitable. Two constables, the inspector, the ser- geant who arrested me—in plain clothes— and myself walked to the station. I sin-. cerely hoped that I should not meet any of the people I had seen, and especially any to whom I had spoken at the Green Plough. Luck was not with me, however, for I saw S——, the manager of some motor works, and a very decent chap, too. He saw me as well, and bolted in the opposite direction like ahare. I mentally consigned that suspicious hotel manageress to a very warm region. On the way to the court we stopped at the solicitor’s, as the inspector had promised me. I told the lawyer my story, which I am certain he did not believe at the time as he asked me if I was going to plead guilty or not guilty! I was naturally rather annoyed, but all the same didn’t really blame him. 1 gave him full particulars as to how he could establish my real identity, and he said that it would be best to ask for a remand till Thursday and meanwhile apply for bail, which would no doubt be granted. By that time, he thought, he could get all the in- formation concerning me that would be necessary. Though I was disappointed, I left it at that, and, still in charge of. the sergeant, crossed to the court, and was immediately placed in the dock. I had a fellow-prisoner with me. Most of us at some time or other have been to a court to be fined for breaking some trivial local law, or something of that sort, so I will not waste space by describing the procedure. After the usual petty offences, my fellow- prisoner’s case was heard, and I thought him rather lucky to get off with fourteen days’ hard labour for stealing a bicycle, con- sidering that he had twenty-eight previous convictions against him. I was then called, and rose to my feet. “Are you John Thompson ?” asked the clerk of the court. “Tam,” I replied ; “ but not the one you think I am.” There was a titter in court, and even the clerk smiled.

Page 214

After this, a lot of whispering took place between the clerk and the chief of the police. The clerk then whispered to the magistrates, and at last, speaking audibly to the chief of police, he said, ‘‘ I understand that you have so many charges against the prisoner that you wish for a remand till Thursday ? ”” The chief of police replied in the affirma- tive. Then my solicitor arose. bail, sir ? ”’ he asked. More whisperings ensued, and finally I was told, “We cannot grant bail, as certain charges have to do with other courts.” My heart sank, as I thought of three more nights in that cell with only Mr. Pickwick for company. I was then allowed to leave the dock, and sat listening to the other cases. Later on the sergeant who had arrested me came near me, and I whispered to him, “ So I’m coming back to you?” “No, you’re not,” he answered, “‘ you'll be going to the prison.” Prison! If I had had a stroke and become totally paralyzed I should have been able to speak, I think, more easily than I could have done at this moment. My solicitor did his best to cheer me up, saying that he would do all that was humanly possible before Thursday, but I was dazed and did not hear all that he told me. “Why should I go to prison?” “What about I asked REMANDED. 207 myself again and again. I felt highly indignant that I was to suffer such an indignity because I was unlucky enough to have the same name as someone else. At length we left the court—my fellow- prisoner with a constable, myself with a plain-clothes inspector (thank goodness !), and another prisoner from another court handcuffed to a uniformed constable. We boardedatram. My cigarettes and “ baccy ” were finished, but the kindly inspector took pity on me and gave me his, saying, ‘‘ You’d better make good use of your time now, as you won't get any up there.” He took a great deal of interest in my case, and was the only person who had shown any sem- blance of belief in my tale of mistaken identity. After leaving the tram we walked up a by-road until we came to the massive walls of the prison, and eventually to the gates, The inspector rang; the portal opened, and, stoically resigned to my fate, I entered my new residence for a spell of three days. I must confess I experienced a sinking feeling in the lower regions as the gate clanged to behind me. “*Are you John Thompson ?’ asked the clerk of the court. ‘I am,’ I replied, ‘ but not the eone you think I am.’ 799

Page 215

208 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The three of us, still escorted by the police, crossed the courtyard in front of the Gover- nor’s house, and, passing the chapel, entered an office. We were now in the prison proper. Two warders were seated behind a large desk, and the inspector accompanying us greeted them as old friends. The senior warder looked up at us and, evidently recognizing my companions, said: ‘‘ Back again, I see.’ He smiled, paused for a moment, and then added, suddenly ; ‘‘ Look sharp now! Off with your coats; lay your money and things there.” First one and then the other turned out their pockets and gave him their valuables, while I watched the proceedings lolling against the desk. Then he turned to me and, in a voice that reminded me of the parade ground, thundered : ‘‘ Stand up, can’t you ? Don’t loll about here; you ought to know better.” *‘ Haven't been here before,” I replied. “We'll soon learn you, then. What are you here for and how long ? ” Glancing up my papers he went on: “Umph! Remand till Thursday—getting money under false pretences. You'll get a full year for that. Turn your pockets out.” I obeyed, but as I only had a pipe and an empty tobacco pouch, he didn’t seem to believe me, and felt me al’ over, but failed to find anything, even missing a pencil which I afterwards discovered. We had cards given us, as per the illustra- tion on the first page, with our numbers and full particulars, and were then hurried away. The ruffian who had got fourteen days’ hard labour was hustled off to a different part of the prison, and I didn’t see him again. Myself and the other fellow, who had been remanded for the Assizes, were shut up in two separate cells. These were certainly not more than six feet by four, with a bench at the back. I sat down and wondered if I was to spend my three days there. If so, I felt that I should be a raving lunatic by Thursday morning. As I was thus debating, the fellow next door called out as someone passed : “Hey, there! We haven’t had any food since breakfast. Bring us along something.” “ All right,” replied a gruff voice. ‘‘ Won't forget you.” Half an hour later, the warder brought us our food. It consisted of a tin, about the size of a Nestlé’s Milk tin, and rusty, in which were some shreds of bully beef. Besides this was a great chunk of stale bread. There were no utensils of any kind, nor anything to drink. When the warder had gone, I gazed at my coming meal and, smiling ruefully, tried to eat a little of the meat with my fingers, but not with great success, although 1 had had nothing since the morning, and it must then have been getting on for three o'clock. Before I had managed to swallow a couple of mouthfuls, the door was opened and a warder in a white smock beckoned me to follow him, which I did up numerous passages until we at length came to the finger-print room, He then told me he was going to take my finger-prints. To this I objected, explaining that I was only on remand until the day after to-morrow ; that my case was one of mistaken identity, and that there was no chance of my being convicted. “Come along now,”’ was the only answer I received, to which I retorted that, ewen supposing I were convicted, surely he could take my finger-prints when I returned on Thursday. Thereupon the warder lost his temper, and his red moustache began to bristle. “Look here, my boy,” he cried, “ I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. I’m here to do my job, and my job is to take your finger-prints. We will either do it nice and quiet or I shall get help, and then it won't be so nice. Moreover, you will be reported to the Governor for breaking the regulations.” I swallowed my ire and replied, laughingly : “All right, then, fire away; but as to your regulations, I should like a copy as I have only been here half an hour and haven't seen them yet.” The process of taking the finger-prints was somewhat as follows :— I had to wipe my hands on a cloth, which I understood was to take the natural moisture off so as to give clearer markings. Then each finger of each hand was put on a greasy board covered with a black preparation ; from this my fingers were in turn laid on a form all marked in squares, one square for each finger. Then the fingers and thumb of each hand were done all together. At the bottom of the sheet I had to sign my name. From the finger-print-room I was escorted to the photographer’s room. Here I was sat in a chair and had a side and full face photograph taken, which I suppose now adorns the archives of Scotland Yard. Two other prisoners arrived and I had to wait while their photos were taken. One, who would have been clean-shaven if he had shaved during the former week, had to have his superfluous hair removed. This inter- ested me greatly, for the photographer took a large pair of shears, quite big enough to have clipped a horse, and removed the hair from the side of the face he was going to take. I should think such a “crop” must be most uncomfortable, and the results would hardly induce your best girl to let you give her a kiss, After this ceremony, I was again taken back to my cell and left to my own diversions

Page 216

«| REMANDED. 209 e Ga yowcr . “ My fingers were in turn laid on a form all marked in squares.” with the remains of the bully beef. The bully beef remained untouched, and my diversion was to think of those wooden- headed magistrates who had landed me in this infernal spot and placed me on the same level as a convicted criminal. I certainly cannot understand the justice of taking the finger-prints and photographs of a person who may not be, and in my case was not, guilty of any crime whatsoever. I did not have long enough to really get specially bad-tempered about it, as another warder came and I had to follow him, wondering what the next indignity was to be. This man marched me off in a different direction to a room where a very flushed warder sat, also with ginger hair, at a desk to which I was more or less led. Two convicts were in attendance and stood behind me. I was then told to take off all my clothes except my shirt and stand behind a screen. Much against my will I did this, as it was not the slightest use arguing with anyone at prison, as 1 had already found out. My height was then taken and the warder asked me for my card. You are only here for two days,” he said. ‘You'd better put your own clothes Vol. xlix.—15. on, as it’s not worth handing you out prison kit.” For which mercy I was thankful. While this was going on my clothes, as I afterwards discovered, were being searched for contraband goods. I was then led down a narrow passage for a bath, which was the first sign of civilization I had discovered so far. i Perhaps it would be as well to give an idea of the prison kit, at least the outside part of it. It was ancient Army and Navy cast-offs with arrows on them, together with the old slouched Army hat, Army socks, and so-called Army boots. Some were all of one colour, others a piebald: mixture of stained blue and khaki. The bath-room was large, with a row of some twenty baths, separated by partitions about three feet high. The soap seemed to be made of brick dust, and the sponge of a very coarse fibre. I bathed, and as I began to feel refreshed so my spirits rose. I was valeted by a convict who had another three years to serve. I was desperately thirsty, and asked him if he could get me a drink, which he did, saying, ‘‘ I bet yer you'd like that to be beer instead of water!”

Page 217

210 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. My clothes, which had vanished, were then brought to me, and I dressed. ‘You aren't here for long, or you would be in the prison kit?’ asked my valet. “Get away with much oof? I see by your card you're here for getting the dibs—false pretences, yer know.” “No,” T replied; ‘the silly fools have mistaken me for someone else.” To my surprise he seemed to believe me. “ Hard cheese!’ he said.“ Then I won't see you again after Thursday ? ” © TL hope not—personal company excepted,” I replied, with a smile. This talk took piace in a whisper, as does all prison conversation, for one is not sup- posed to speak to fellow-prisoners. I was now dressed, and he conducted me down a passage, and said, “ Sorry I have got to shut you in here for a bit.” I entered another cell similar to the first one, only that this one had a bag in the corner. Asking what this was, I learned that it consisted of sheets and towels of various sizes and descriptions, but clean. The next two hours seemed about the slowest I have ever passed. It certainly brought home to me the terrible realization of what a poor devil undergoing a life- sentence must feel. It is a wonder to me that they don’t all go mad. As it began to get dark a rowdy batch of prisoners were lodged in adjoining cells. They were just back from the courts, and had received sentences varying from one year to three. They were a merry crowd, bantering jokes from cell to ccll, singing sentimental and comic songs. The warders had enough to do to keep them quiet. Supper was the next item on the pro- gramme, and consisted of a mug of excellent cocoa and some more dry bread. “ Back-chat " from one cell to the other continued, and one remark I heard caused me a great deal of perturbation; it was: “Nice to be here all night, won’t it?” This caused me to examine my bundle again; the two sheets and miscellaneous dusters did not seem much for a coldish night. The main problem, however, was where to sleep. I considered that it might just be possible to lie at full length if one lay diagonally across the floor; but as this was of cement, I did not relish the idea. Fate intervened before I had solved the solution by the warders calling out: ‘‘ The doctor! Prepare for the doctor!” I hastily packed my bundle again ‘and got ready when I heard him about two cells away. My turn then came. “ Anything wrong ? ”’ the doctor asked. He was a short dark man with a rather humorous mouth, and struck me as being a good sort. “No,” I replied, “except for chronic indigestion.”” “We'll soon put you right here,” he replied, with a smile; “simple food and simple living, you know.” He then sounded my heart and looked at my teeth, and a cipher was made against my name in a book kept for the purpose which a warder was carrying. Then he left. Not long after this a warder opened my cell and three others, and told us to bring our bags and follow him. We traversed innumerable passages and halls until we came to a kind of office. Here we were given a round piece of yellow felt on which were stitched certain numbers, which I afterwards discovered to be the block and number of our cells. These we had to wear. My 4 number was F—. The F was the block I was 27 to be lodged in; the 4 was the fourth floor ; and the 27 the number of my cell on that floor. We then had issued to us the rules of the prison, a text card with morning and evening prayers printed on it, a Bible and prayer- book, and three novels. I was then taken to my cell. The warder explained what was what to me, and left me for the night. The cell was certainly a great improve- ment both on the boxes below and even on the one at the police-station. The dimen- sions were a good fourteen feet by eight, and about twelve feet in height. A good-sized window was opposite the door, and inserted in the wall at the side of the door was a square pane of glass through which a strong electric hight shone. The bed consisted of three boards fastened together by cross- pieces. There was a very decent mattress, three blankets, a pillow, and the two sheets that I took from my bag, utilizing the bag for a pillow-case. The other furnishings were a small deal table and a stool; a tin can (similar to a small milk-pail), which was used for water; a highly-polished tin basin for washing; a tin knife, a spoon, a tartlet dish for salt ; soap, scrubbing brush, plate powder, and a pile of rags. I only glanced at these out of curiosity ; made my bed, got undressed and into it; read a letter; turned over, thinking that this was comparative luxury, and then to sleep. Very early next morning I was awakened by the clanging of a bell, and thought no more about it till I heard other people on the move and the banging of cell-doors. I hastily got out of bed, washed, and was partly dressed when the warder arrived. ‘*'You should have been ready,” he said. “Not been here before?” “ No,” I replied.

Page 218

“ Well, I'll send someone along to show you what to do.” Presently a fellow-prisoner arrived, who told me what each article was used for. He showed me how the blankets and sheets were folded into the neatest of rolls, likewise the mattress, and carefully stowed away in a corner. The bed- boards were leant against the wall ; the slops emptied; the tins cleaned and polished; the table, stool, and bed-boards scrubbed ; the books and sundries tidied, and finally the slate floor washed and scrubbed. On this occasion I merely fetched water and looked on, taking care to note how everything was done. Half an hour afterwards another opening and shutting of doors betokened the arrival of breakfast. This consisted of a mug full of very sloppy porridge and more dry bread. It was not appetizing, and I fear that I did Not do justice to it. Immediately following, we were all marched down to the ground floor and drawn up in lines to sec the Governor. We had to wait some time before he arrived, and then our names were called out by the chief warder, and one by one we had to file before him. The chief warder read out what money the authorities held belonging to each REMANDED. individual, and the Governor asked if the amount was correct. He then said, ‘‘ Have you anything to say to me ?”’ to which the usual answer was: ‘‘ No.” We then filed back to our places. 211 - EhndurHensy “The chief warder read out what money the authorities held belonging to each indi- vidual, and the Governor asked if the amount was correct.” While this was proceeding I had time to examine my fellow-prisoners. Nearly half of them were Chinese, waiting deportation. An American got into whispered conversation _ with me—we were a long way down the line and there was little risk of being detected— and told me he had been there six months waiting deportation, which struck me as a very long time. When the Governor had left, we still had to remain as we were, this time waiting for the coming of the padres. The two of them arrived together, a Roman Catholic and a Church of England priest, and entered cells next door to each other. We went in turn to the one to which faith we belonged. The Church of England clergyman was excep- tionally nice and took a deep interest in all the prisoners, asking them what he could do for them. He was surprised at my case, and down on the magistrates for not having

Page 219

212 allowed bail. parted. Back I went once again to the cell, but not for long. Again we were paraded and marched to the exercising-ground. After this, back to the cell and dinner—dry bread and vegetable soup. This ended the day until supper at six, which was the same as the previous night, and then to bed. The next morning my friends would have been amused if they could have seen me scrubbing the floor and folding my bed- clothes. I certainly did not do them half so well as my helpmate of the previous day, and was much slower; but as I heard no complaint, I suppose they just passed muster. The same breakfast followed ; another parade for being weighed ; another to see the Church Amy Salvationist ; then those who were leaving on the following day saw the Governor, as before ; and then to exercise. It was a wretched morning and inclined to rain, and we had only been at exercise a quarter of an hour when the downpour started in earnest. Then some order was called out that I did not hear, and there was a stampede for the door, where we were given Government cloaks just about as long as an ordinary jacket. The first twenty were comparatively dry, but the last hundred (there were about two hundred of us all told) got decidedly wet. Ten more minutes of trudging round in the wet, and then we went indoors, where we were marched up and down stairs and passages for a full hour. At last it ended, and then came dinner. This meal was even less appetizing than the one of the previous day, consisting of a lump of sticky suet, two potatoes, and some more dry bread. The rest of the monotonous day proceeded as the former, through which I read until lights out. I got up promptly when the bell rang next morning, and the warder fetched me before the other inmates (except those who, like myself, were leaving that day) were ready to clean their cells. He wished me luck, and so we We then marched down and returned our badges, books, bag of sheets, and miscel- laneous articles, after which I was locked up in a similar cell to the one I had been shut up in on arrival, where breakfast of the same sloppy porridge was brought. Later I was called out and my pipe and pouch returned to me. I then signed the prisoners’ book, and was escorted through the yard to the gate which I had passed on my arrival and from there to a waiting cab en route for the court. The warder in charge and myself arrived a full hour before anyone else, whereat my guardian seemed somewhat perturbed. “You know I ought to put you in a cell THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, until there is somcone here to take charge of you,” he said. “That's all right,’ I assured him. ‘I sha‘n't make a bolt for it’; adding, as I felt my rough chin, “ I wish I could have a shave, though.” “That don’t matter,” he told me; “ you can get one when we sce you this afternoon, if you're so particular.” “You won't see me again, that’s dead sure!’ I answered. About this juncture my old friend the police-sergeant arrived, took me over from the warder, and placed me in the dock. The constables, the chief of police, and the magistrates all arrived in due course, in- cluding my solicitor, who gave me a cheery nod. The court opened. To my surprise my name was first on the list, and as it was called I arose. The chief of police whispered to the clerk of the court, the clerk to the magistrates, and then the leading magistrate spoke: ‘' We are extremely sorry, John Thompson,” he said, ‘that you have been detained and put to some inconvenience. The police have withdrawn the case, as they feel assured that this case has been one in which there has been a remarkable mistake regarding your identity.” With a sigh of relief I left the dock, but could not leave the court until it had ad- journed, as several papers needed signing, and I wished to repossess myself of my belongings. After leaving the dock I began to experi- ence the first pangs of hunger that I had felt since my arrest, and being near the sergeant, I asked him in a whisper if I could have my money, as I was about to die of starvation. He shook his head, but his hand slid into his pocket, and I felt five shillings placed in my palm. I was out of that court in a jiffy, heading for the first eating-house I saw. I passed a barber’s on the way—but no. food first! I washed down two chops with a pint of ale, and found I had just enough money left for a shave. Then I returned to the court, which was about to adjourn. I signed some papers, secured my belongings, returned my loan with interest, and caught the next train South. I managed to attend a directors’ meeting next day, but I said nothing, needless to say, as to my experiences. A fellow-director, in the course of conversation, remarked : “ You’ve got a rotten cold—the beastly weather, I suppose. Did you manage to bring off that deal you mentioned in the North?” ‘ No,” I replied, ‘‘it was a proper cold cell.” Well, it is all over now, but I am still hoping that some day, somewhere, I may meet the ofher ‘‘ John Thompson.”

Page 220

(Full Speed ILLUSTRATED BY £.S.HODGSON Marine engineers are hard-headed folk, not usually given to idle fancies. Here is (STAT _ GULBRANDSEN’ a very remarkable story, showing how the lives of four hundred men on board a large steamer were saved through the seemingly incomprehensible action—even to himself—of the young engineer on watch.* What was the explanation? Was it the hand of Providence, or was it a striking example of telepathy 7 HETHER the ship was in her correct position or off her course, naturally no one knew, for she had been navigated by ‘ dead reckoning” for the last two days. Owing to mist and clouds, there had been no oppor- tunity of taking observations, but there was no ground for assuming that she was ‘‘ out ”’ ; and if she was, the error could not be more than a mile or so. She was a modern ship of five thousand tons, well found and equipped, belonging to a Japanese company, and her name was Remiji Maru. She was now about two days out from Hong-Kong, bound for London and other European ports, fully laden. In addition to her own complement, which amounted to nearly one hundred officers and men, she had on board as passengers about three hundred and fifty officers and men of the Japanese Navy. These were going to England as a navigating crew to take over and bring out a new battleship that Japan had acquired. In round numbers there were some four hundred and fifty men on board, but no women, and of this number there were but five Europeans, all English— the Remiji's captain, first and second officers, chief and second engineers. It is with the latter that this narrative is chiefly concerned, his name being Edward Fergersen and his age about twenty-five. At the moment my story opens he was asleep, and nothing in his tranquil features would have led even a physiognomist to infer that he had any characteristics other than mediocrity. Possibly an error would be made in judging the sleeper’s age, for there was a faint smile on his face, making it appear younger than it really was. We do not know the reason of that smile— most probably pleasant dreams, although Fergersen always averred that he never dreamt, or, if he did, that he never remem- bered his dreams. In any case, he was going home to England after four years’ absence, where he would meet old friends and renew lapsed acquaintanceships. His thoughts or dreams, however, were soon to be dispelled, for presently his servant entered his room with the morning fruit and coffee which Fergersen always took before going on watch. He was gently awakened, arose, sponged his face and chest—the morning bath would come after watch and before breakfast—finished his coffee and fruit, stepped across the port alley-way into the engine-room, and descended the shining steel ladders until he arrived at the bottom or ‘“‘starting-platform.” He was five minutes early, but he had practically relieved the “retiring "" watch by the proper time— eight bells, or 4 a.m. It would serve no purpose to describe the procedure followed in “‘ watch-relief,’’ beyond saying that the head oilers and stokers had reported to him that everything was in order. So Fergersen, after he had returned © The Author writes: “T have slightly altered the names hoth of the ship and the persons mentioned, but otherwise the events herein narrated are absolutely true in every detail, and I am prepared to swear an affidavit to this effect.”

Page 221

aig THE WIDE the morning salutations of the “‘ off-going ” engineers, intimated that he “ took over.” With the exception of his oilers he was now alone in the engine-room, and, true to his habit, commenced pacing up and down— somewhat like a caged tiger—the strip of matting that lay on the thirty-five feet of platform in front of the engines. We have now an opportunity of making a better estimate of him, as it is necessary, in view of subsequent events, that we should form as clear an idea as we can of his per- sonality. We already know his age; his height would be a little above the average, perhaps five-ten, and in build he was broad and muscular, if somewhat spare. The softened look that he had when asleep had “gone, and was now replaced by a certain alert tenseness ; this was more marked when he raised his eyes to look at the long row of shining pressure-gauges that adorned the column feet. Perhaps his attire would seem incongruous in an engine-room at sea, for he did not wear the usual blue serge reeking of oil, nor the washed-out suit of dungarees, but was dressed in clean white drills, as was his custom in the tropics, for, as he would remark when this habit was com- mented on, washing was so absurdly cheap that the luxury of clean white drills every watch was really a comfort obtained for almost next to nothing. There is no doubt that his environment atfected or influenced his imaginative facul- ties, because at no time was his mind lethargic or prosaic. His chief interest lay in machinery, consequently his duties, how- ever arduous, never wearied or palled upon him. He saw beauty in the graceful curves and perfect proportions of the engines that towered thirty feet above him. To him there was poetry in their rhythmic beat, as they gave, without groan or complaint, the energy of five thousand horses, yet were obedient to the slightest pressure of his hands. Sometimes, as he saw the mighty cranks swinging easily around thcir centres with a movement seemingly irresistible, and watched the gigantic rods striding through their oscillating paths, with their burnished surfaces gleaming and flashing in the soft light, he often imagined the huge fabric to be almost sentient, and certainly to be the crowning glory of man’s ingenuity and the apotheosis of his achievement. Fergersen knew and loved his engines as a man loves his mistress. His half-hourly round of inspection em- braced the shaft-tunnel and the stokehold. In the former he was in a totally different atmosphere, almost tomb-like, dim, cool, and damp. Here the noise of the engine-room melted into a continuous murmur, replaced, WORLD MAGAZINE. as he got farther aft, with the swish of the propellers cutting their endless spirals through the sea. The silence, lowness, and narrowness of the arched space gave a curious, eerie feeling of oppression. In the stokehold there was another con- trast, especially in the night-watches. Some- times, when the men were cleaning fires, he would linger in his inspection to watch them at their work. He seemed to see or imagine something weird and spectral in the Rem- brandtesque effects ; for now the half-naked bodies of the sweating men were bathed in the fierce red-gold light, as they stood clear and distinct in front of the opened furnaces. Another moment they were enveloped in swirling clouds of sulphurous vapour that arose from the quenched ashes they had drawn; their distinctness vanished; only the shadowy forms remained, and as the furnace-glare tinged the eddying vapours with redness, they appeared more as ghostly demons tending the eternal fires than as human beings. On this occasion Fergersen had returned to the engine-room and, filling his pipe, resumed his walk. The next round was half an hour away, unless anything was amiss. He looked at the gauges. Yes; the steam was creeping up. ‘‘ Good men, those fire- men,” he thought ; “ they know their work and give no trouble.” He counted the revolutions. “ Yes, just over sixty-nine— seventy in five minutes for certain.” Every revolution gained, he told himself, shortened the time to England, and all that he was looking forward to. Undoubtedly the first thing would be to order a thick grilled steak, with floury potatoes, and a pint of stout ina tankard, and then apple-pie with thick cream ; yes, and then cheese, with real fresh butter, and perhaps another tankard. He smiled as he thought of the jolly time he would have when in London. Suddenly both his thoughts and his walk stopped abruptly. Turning quickly, in two strides he had grasped the reversing lever and jammed it down to the “ go astern” position. The reversing engine or cylinder always had steam, so the effect was nearly instantaneous. The huge engines quivered and shook as the enormous strain of arresting their momentum came upon them ; they moment- arily stopped and then started backward with gathering speed. What had he done? Fergersen still stood by the levers in a dazed manner. Thoughts rushed rapidly through his brain, each vivid and distinct. Yes; he knew his action would have smashed many engines, with a probable loss of life. Was he drunk or was he mad ? Not the first, he knew; perhaps the second—and yet he could still think.

Page 222

FULL SPEED ASTERN. 215 “What had he done? Fergersen stood by the levers in a dazed manner. Was he drunk or was he mad?”

Page 223

216 THE WIDE WORLD But, heavens ! what would they say ? This finished his sea life. He glanced at the telegraph ; yes, there it stood, still indicating “Full speed ahead."’ He looked up, and saw above him the two oilers, with their hands grasping the handrails, bending over, watching him. His eyes travelled to the alley-way leading to the stokehold; and there he saw a small crowd of men staring at him— and well they might, he thought. All around him in their racks the polished spanners were dancing and jingling; the vibration of the ship was terrific, and as he noticed the vibration in the lamps, the inconsequent thought came to him of glasses dancing and breaking in the saloon pantries. Fergersen looked at the clock above the telegraph. Exactly 4.17; it was as well that he looked, he thought, because he must log it. The chief would be down in a minute or so, or he would whistle down his speaking-tube; no one could sleep in a vibration like that. But why didn’t he stop her, and pull the reverse back ? At that moment the telegraph rang clamorously. To and fro went the pointer— Fergersen*could see the matter was urgent by the manner of its use on the ship's bridge—and finally it stopped at “ Full Speed Astern.” The engineer stared at it in a dazed manner, as if the order was super- fluous, looked at the cranks—yes, quite all right; they were going astern, and also faster than they should, but he didn’t attempt to check them. A moment or two after the telegraph clanged out again, with the pointer coming to rest in the “ Full Speed Astern’”’ position. Fergersen looked again at the reversing lever and cranks, and muttered, ‘Curse the fools! Why, she ts going astern.” Again, for the third time, it rang. Fergersen went over to answer it and found that the answering handle was in the former or “ Full Ahead ” position. He swung the handle over and the clamour stopped. This action seemed to recall him to himself, and he eased the speed slightly, for really the vibrations were awful. He looked up again to the platform above him; the oilers had returned to their duties, apparently satisfied now that they saw the telegraph-pointer corresponded to the direc- tion of the engines. He gave a curt order or two, and glanced at the steam-gauge to see that the pressure was all right. What the trouble was on deck did not concern him much; what worried him was the insistent questions—'‘ Why had he reversed without orders ?"’ and ‘‘ Why did the order come about twenty seconds after he had reversed ?” He knew it couldn’t have been much more, or even less, for he had counted at least ten revolutions after he had reversed, and then the engines were turning hardly more than MAGAZINE, fifty to the minute, ard after that he had noticed the men watching him. While he was thus trying to account for these things that troubled and worried him, he felt the platform heave and then move from under him. Involuntarily he took a step forward to save himsclf from falling. Then came a bump, and then another ; and the vibration, which had lessened, ceased entirely. Now he knew the ship was aground; of this he was sure, for he had been aground before. Fergersen signed to an oiler, who evidently knew that something serious had happened, for he came at the double. Fergersen told him to call all the engineers to the engine-room as well as the eight-to-twelve watch of men, and to tell the watch that had lately gone off to stand-by on deck for orders. He then whistled up the Chief Engineer’s speaking-tube and told his superior what had occurred and of the steps and orders he had taken and issued. The old Chief's reply was characteristic: Ferger- sen was to ‘ carry on,” do the best he could and look to his pumps, and, if he could spare them, send him two or three men. It was still too dark to see what had really happened, he added, but as soon as he could find out he would let him (Fergersen) know. Fer- gersen glanced at the clock. It was 4.20; three minutes had gone since he reversed. The engineers (there were eight in all who had been called) soon came tumbling down the ladders. Fergersen gave them their orders. Three of them were to remain on deck to look after the deck machinery, the remainder were sent to different posts in the engine-room. He himself went to the hoid. He had had the foot-plates lifted from over the bilge-strums and the strainers cleaned ; he was not sure as yet if the ship was making water ; he could not tell because she had a list of sixteen degrees to starboard. Men of the additional watch were set to watch the strums while the others drew up and dumped overboard the ash and clinker that had accumulated on the stokehold plates. It was not long before the men watching the strums came and reported that there was no reduction of the water; it was, if anything, inclined to gain. Extra pumps were put on, but it was of no use, the water gained steadily, and they knew that the ship was either “ holed’”’ or had sprung a big leak. As yet Fergersen had received no Teports from the deck about water in the holds ; these would come soon enough, he thought. He looked upward to the skylights, and saw that dawn was just breaking (it was now about 5 a.m.), and as the water was now rapidly gaining he thought he would go on deck and see if the pumps were discharging

Page 224

their full bore, and also to speak with the Chief, whom he had not scen since the grounding. Everything below was all e- “He noticed as he put his foot on the first step that the water was up to his waist.” FULL SPEED ASTERN. 217 right, except for the rising water, so up he went. As remarked before, the dawn was break- ing, and as usual in the tropics it broke tapidly. He saw that the sky was nearly free of clouds, with a light freshening wind, and a sea that he thought would increase. The deck was a scene of ordered confusion. About two hundred of the naval ratings were drawn up and standing “at ease”; the remainder were assisting the ship’s crew to launch boats—for what purpose he did not know. He saw his Chief, who was now dressed, and informed him that the water was gaining, the reply being that he was to “carry on ’’ while it was possible to remain below, or until the captain gave other orders. Fergersen retired to his room, put a small revolver in his pocket, and went below again. Although he had not been gone more than five minutes the water on the starboard side was nearly awash with the footplates. He had the bilge injection connected, but even this did not help, and soon the cranks were dipping at every revolution and picking up the black, dirty oil and scum floating on the surface, throw- ing it in showers over the engines and everything near. Fergersen instructed the “ Third” that no- body was to leave the engine - room without his orders, and then returned to the stokehold. It was not long before the water was above the foot- plates and was fast rising to the ash- pits of the centre furnaces. He went back to the engine- room and reduced the revolutions a little, for he could see now that all efforts would be nearly useless, because very soon the fires would be put out, and it was as well to let them have steam on deck as long as he could. By this time the engine - room was a_ veritable shower-bath ; every man, including

Page 225

THE WIDE WORLD 218 himself, was soaked and dripping with oil and water. The ‘“ lhird,” in obedience to his orders, had taken up a position on the ladder, and was vainly endeavouring to light a sodden cigarette ; the others were splashing * about knee-deep in water. Fergersen re- turncd once more to the stokehold, and shortly after the ship again slightly listed and suddenly submerged the starboard wing and centre fires. This sudden quenching of the roaring fires was similar to a mild ex- plosion; he looked above through the fiddleys and saw the funnel belch out a huge dense volume of smoky steam and ashes. “They will know what that means!” he thought as he saw it. The steam-pressure fell rapidly, so he again reduced the revolutions. He himself saw no use in going on, ‘‘ Why not let the men go and give them a chance if anything is going to happen?” he thought; but orders were orders, and they must stick it for a bit yet. It was not long, however, before other fires were out, and again the steam fell rapidly. He moved from the stokchold ladder steps, where he had stood, and made a sign that all was over. Up went the men quickly, orderly and silent ; not one had attempted to leave without permission. In the engine-room the engines were still running, although slowly. lergersen did not speak, but nodded his head towards the ladder. The gesture was understood, and up they all went. Fergersen shut the main stop-valve to save the remaining steam for the deck. He looked at the clock. It was five minutes to six—the shortest watch he had ever kept, and his engines were stopped for ever. He went up, and noticed as he put his foot on the first step that the water was up to his waist. He saw his Chief as he stepped from the engine-room door and reported; the Chief merely replied that he had noticed the water had reached the fires, by the eruption from the funnel, and further advised him to change and clean himself. This advice was really superfluous, for Fergersen felt utterly filthy. As he stood there, oil, water, and black grease oozed from him and formed puddles at his feet ; his head and face were the same. After he had changed he saw the Chief again, who told him the ship was aground on rocks and that they had smashed six of the largest boats in endeavouring to get the kedge-anchors out. None of the men manning them had been lost, however, and the attempt had now been abandoned. After breakfast, the hour of which had been advanced, the skipper was going to hold a council-of-war, to which they were both invited. MAGAZINE. That which the Chief had facetiously termed a council-of-war proved to be a meeting of all the European officers in the Captain's room. The Captain asked them if they had anything further to suggest to the course he proposed to adopt, which was to send the two remaining lifeboats, under the command of the first and second officers, to Hue, a port in Annam, some two hundred and fifty miles away, with instruc- tions to telegraph to Hong-Kong for assist- ance. It was obviously the only thing to do, and it was agreed that one boat should start as soon as it could be provisioned and got ready, and the other twelve hours later. Fergersen could not dismiss from his mind the events of the morning, especially what he now called his fit of mental aberration. As they were returning together from the Captain s room, his Chief noticed this silence and asked the reason. Tergersen then told him of the whole affair. The old gentleman (he was over sixty) thought for some time before he replied, and then said that the only possible explana- tion he could think of was that he (Fergersen) was overwrought by the suddenness of the accident, and that his imagination had played a trick upon him, Fergersen wouldn't have this, for he knew different, and maintained that what he had related undoubtedly occurred. While he was trying to convince his superior he noticed one of his oilers on the deck, and immediately suggested to his Chief that he should call and question him, for Fergersen knew that the man had seen all that happened. The Chief did so, and Fergersen walked away, in order that the man should not be influenced by his proximity. After he had seen the oiler depart he rejoined his Chief. ““Yes,”’ said the Chief, ‘the oiler confirms what you say. I asked him in Japanese if you did reverse without orders from the telegraph, and he said you did. I then asked him what his thoughts were when he saw your action, and it pains me to say, Fergersen, that his reply was that he thought you were either drunk or ill.” There was a slight twinkle in the old gentleman's eye as he said this, and then he continued; “ I asked him also how long was the time between the reversal and the ringing of the telegraph, and he answered that it was quite a minute, but few men can estimate small fractions of time, and these people possibly least of all, and no doubt the period you mention is far nearer the mark.” They walked in silence for a time, and then the Chief broke in with: ‘It is the most providential thing I have ever known or heard of, and I believe you will think the same when I tell you that they took sound- ings before trying to put the kedge-anchors

Page 226

out and found forty fathoms (two hundred and forty feet) a ship’s length ahead of us, and more the same distance astern. The ship is evidently resting on her middle on the very narrow apex of a steep shelving rock, and it would seem that had vou not reversed when you did, we should have struck, tipped her bottom out, gone over, and sunk like a stone in three or four hundred feet of water, and every man now alive would be in Eternity! We can thank God,” h added, in a quiet little voice. The Remiji’s chief officer kept the four-to- eight watch on the bridge, and it was he who had been on watch when the ship went aground. Fergersen, although wishing to speak to him all the morning, did not have an oppor- tunity of doing so until nearly lunch-time. He then met him entering his room to fetch some personal belongings that he wished to take with him in the boat which would shortly put off, under his command, on its long and hazardous voyage to seek assistance for those left on the ship. Although they had only known each other since joining, they were on very friendly terms and good ship-mates ; so when he had told him of his wish to speak to him, Fergersen accepted the invitation to enter his room and have a gin and bitters before lunch, especially as they both tacitly knew it might be the last drink they would have together. After they had drunk to each other’s luck and safety, Fergersen requested him to describe the sighting of the rocks, and what occurred on the bridge that morning. Barriford, the chief officer, complied readily, and said that he was doing the customary pacing up and down the bridge, occasionally glancing at the compass and keeping the usual look-out on either side and ahead, when he heard a shout from the “look-out ’’ man in the bows. He could not catch exactly what he said, so he leant FULL SPEED ASTERN. 219 over the front rails to hear more distinctly. The cry was “ Breakers ahead!" Bartiford gripped the rails and stared ahead for all he was worth, and dimly saw through the darkness the white water breaking over something, he did not know what. It appeared to be the same on both sides. He did not dare to try and turn the ship; she would not have answered the helm quickly enough. He was horror-struck, and could not even relax his grip of the rails; he could neither shout nor speak. All that he thought of was—‘ Oh, if the engines would only go astern!” This thought was so insistent and strong that he seemed to grasp the rails the harder. Then he felt the ship vibrate and shake ; this brought him relief, for he jumped immediately to the telegraph and rang “ Full Speed Astern.” He rang it very hard—so hard, in fact, that he thought he had broken it, especially as he got no answer. ‘‘ Why was that, Fergersen?” he asked, interrupting his narrative. Fergersen then told him what had occurred below and explained how he had reversed before getting the telegraph signal, and that the vibrations were the result. He further pointed out—what Barriford could now easily see—what the result would have been if he had not done so. Barriford was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘“‘ By Heaven ! it was the hand of Providence!” Fergersen, however, had his own ideas on the subject; he thought it might be tele- pathy, but was not sure. Both the boats, favoured with smooth seas and a fair wind, reached their destination in safety and procured assistance, which arrived in the form of a specially-chartered relief ship, which took off the whole crew (with three exceptions), after they had been on the wreck ten days. From observations taken on board it was found that the Remiji was forty miles to the westward of her proper course. A diagram showing the position of the steamer, perched on top of a rock, with deep water on either side.

Page 227

Tola by FREDK. BURLINGHAM. ~ - A more or less apocryphal “ wild Mr. Burlingham in camp on the Barito River, five man of Borneo” used to be the chief hundred miles from the coast. attraction of every village fair and circus, but the “wild men” Mr. Burlingham journeyed so far to see were the reel articles, still living M Y recent trip to Borneo, the tradi- a eva othe: of peers tional home of the far-famed “wild man,” was the outcome of a desire to see human nature in its most primitive state. It seemed to me that it would be interesting to compare life as lived by man at his wildest with that peculiar to London, New York, or any of the great centres where civiliza tion has reached what we are pleased to think is its highest level. Once the spirit of this new adventure began to stir in me I was not long in preparing to do its bidding; as a Mae A group ina Dyak village. traveller and explorer of some experience I knew that the longer I tarried the more insistent the call would become. Most travellers will bear me out when I say that the wanderlust grows in in- tensity with every at- tempt at repression. Borneo, it may or may not be necessary to explain, lies in. the A Dyak house, built on stilts, by the riverside. East Indian Archipelago,

Page 228

WILD OE NEO Set down by REGINALD POUND. and indulging every now and then in a murderous head-hunt. The expedition came to an abrupt end owing to trouble with the Dyaks, but nevertheless, Mr. Burlingham saw and photographed many most interesting phases of life. midway between Asia and Australia. It has an area of some two hundred and ninety thousand square miles, and is the world’s third largest inhabited island. Outposts have been established here and there in the jungle depths of Dutch Borneo, but for the greater part the territory is a land of awesome mystery and oppressive silences, where the panther, the rhinoceros, the crocodile, the wild boar, the banteng, or wild ox, and the boa-constrictor live out their lives undis- turbed, and where the jungle paths have A ceremony never previously photographed—a Dyak woman baptizing her three-days-old baby in the river. A Dyak “long house.” The building is lengthened as the tribe gets bigger. RL AS ALITA TE A NPN TE OO eS rarely known footsteps other than those of jungle men. I left civilization two years ago, arriving in Java after a seven weeks’ journey, during which time I covered twelve thousand miles by land and sea. I spent a month in Java, fitting out the expedition and completing my plans, and then, in the following April, I started out, having for a companion Oom Frinking, a Dutch interpreter, who was well acquainted with the various tribal dialects. Leaving Soerabaji, we crossed the Java Sea to the south coast of Dutch Borneo, embark- ing there in prahus, or large native canoes, for the trip up the Barito River, which leads right into the heart of the Borneo jungle. Much of the country we traversed had not previously been explored, while many of the natives regarded us as the novelty of their lives. © Indeed, some of the people with whom we came in contact showed such immense curiosity concerning our persons and apparatus that, without further questioning them on the subject, it was made plain to me that a white man was a surprise which Mother Nature had never before sprung on them. The river voyage was remarkable in a variety of ways. Every bend revealed new beauties and inspired new sensations. Right from the start we had for company on cither side chattering hordes of blue, red, black, and grey monkeys. They leered at us from the bamboos and _ reeds, screeched at us from the tree-tops, and howled at us from their lairs in

Page 229

222 THE WIDE WORLD invisible jungle fastnesses. There were monkeys everywhere, except on the river itself. I saw, too, innumerable carrows and adjutant birds, as well as flocks of parrots, resplendent in green, gold, and red, and butterflies more lovely still. To the natural- ist Borneo offers one of the richest and most fertile fields for research in the whole world. Noon of the third day on the Barito provided one of those little thrills which every traveller relishes less at the time of their occurrence than afterwards. A blinding sun had driven us into the shade of a huge overhanging tree, where the Malay “ boys ”’ who formed my crew rested lazily on their paddles, while Frinking and I dozed. Suddenly one of the Malays gave a frightened yell, which brought me back to wakefulness with a start. Looking up into the quilted leafiness of the tree I espied two burning eyeballs, set in a wicked, tiger-like. face, with jaws that were parted in a fierce, prolonged snarl. Like a flash the canoe shot backwards into open water, and not until the tension of the moment had thus been relieved did I appreciate the real gravity of the position. I had actually been enjoying a siesta with a full-grown black panther crouching within five feet of my scalp ! I have no doubt that the animal, a fine specimen of its kind, had caught us all slumbering more or less peacefully (although the crew were supposed to be on the watch and, in fact, loudly protested that they had This remarkable picture shows a monkey, all unconscious of the photographer, fishing in a jungle pool. MAGAZINE. been strictly on the yui vive all the time), and had crept along the branch with the intention of springing down on one of us—probably me, since I happened to be nearest—from above. At any rate, it is my earnest hope that I shall never again be caught ‘‘ napping ” in quite such perilous circumstances. Each succeeding day added to the wealth of beauty on which we feasted oureyes. Dense primeval forests fringed both banks of the river with luxuriant foliage. Giant trees in the background flaunted aloft great clumps of exquisite flowers—the jungle’s offering to the gods. Vines trellised trunks and branches, around and over which orchids trailed in splendid profusion. And at night millions of fireflies starred the darkness, which was illuminated fitfully here and there by great blotches of the pale blue light of phos- phorescent bark. This alone was worth travelling twelve thousand miles to see. Borneo, however, is not all beauty; it happens to be the home of certain creatures from which I would rather be twelve thousand miles distant. Croco- diles, for example. The week I arrived at Bandjermasin three Malays had been eaten by these aquatic cannibals. I am by no means easily scared, but I do not mind admitting that one little experience gave me an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of the stomach. This was when, in the course of the river trip, the prahu ran into some obstruction in mid- stream, shooting me, alone of the boat’s occupants, head-first into the water. The Fates love to play grim jokes on us poor unsuspecting mortals. Instead of en- suring me a ducking in a safe part of the Barito, they contrived that I should make its acquaintance at a point where its depths were infested by crocodiles. Exactly what happened the moment I touched the water I do not know, but some- thing brushed heavily against my leg, causing me to kick out in a blind frenzy of apprehension. Coming to the surface, I noticed almost immediately several log-like objects bearing swiftly down on me from a spot twenty yards away, each object sur- mounted by a pair of prominences that looked like stumpy periscopes rippling the water. They were crocodiles ! My sensations at that moment of realiza- tion were such as to be incapable of descrip- tion. I remember shouting and_ hearing someone yell in response. A moment later—

Page 230

THE WILD MEN OF BORNEO. it seemed years to me—I found myself being unceremoniously hauled into the boat, the most profoundly thankful man in all Borneo ! I have faced death in a good many of its varying forms, but I do not recall being Jess pleased with the prospective mode of it than Il was on this occasion. My nerves were raw-edged for an hour or two afterwards. I found that it was Frinking who had been chiefly instrumental in saving my life. ‘‘ But no crocodile would have attacked you with a beard like that! ’’ he assured me, humor- ously. ‘ They would have mistaken you for a bunch of weed!” After crocodiles, insects gave me most cause for concern. Microscopic specimens swarm therein millions. Worst of all is the wangagong, which bores a hole exactly like a gimlet in operation. I have seen these terrifying little creatures emerge from their hiding-places in the ground and, in a very short time, pierce even the hardest wood. One of them, finding the fleshy part of my back easy going, got to work in the middle of the night, causing me to roll with pain and sending me home, when at last the time arrived, with a wound that took weeks in healing. And, as if some malignant influence was at work against me, the very next day I narrowly escaped being bitten by a particu- larly deadly kind of scorpion, which appeared under the table in the midst of a meal, within an inch of my bare feet ! It was at Moeratewe, two hundred and sixty miles up the river, that I saw my first head-hunters. They were a repulsive - looking crowd, with leer- ing faces and ears whose lobes hung down to their shoulders. There had been an inter- tribal feast a few days before, and in the middle of the proceedings the murderous in- stincts of some of the chiefs got the upper hand, with the result that two of the guests were suddenly deprived of their heads ! This tragic reversion to type, together with the sight of blood, set the whole gathering in an uproar, and more heads would inevit- ably have been lost in the course of the mad man-hunt which followed had it not been 223 for the timely arrival of the Dutch police, who rounded up the ringleaders and brought them in to serve five years’ rigorous imprison- ment. Most of the head-hunters have been tamed, although there still exist in the remote interior a few tribes which continue to make a hobby of collecting human heads. A Dutch official told me that even the most peaceable Dyaks, if left too long undisciplined by the white man’s laws, will often return to their native state in the jungle, deserting their villages on the ground and taking to the trees exactly in the manner of their monkey-like forefathers. My first night on land was spent near a Dyak village called by the Dutch Bahitoem. The huts in which the Dyaks live are built of bamboo, and are perched twelve or fourteen feet above the ground level, entrance being gained by means of a notched tree-trunk, slanted earthwards like a Jadder. In this way the occupants protect themselves from marauding: animals, although even so they are not immune from molestation by tree- climbing snakes, which annually take a by no means insignificant toll of Dyak lives. The following morning I saw and photo- graphed a ceremony which had never before been pictorially recorded: it has, in fact, Native women weaving rattan mats. been witnessed by only a very small number of whites. This was the baptism of a Dyak child. Without quite realizing the importance of the occasion, I stood outside one of the huts watching a very old woman climbing back- wards down the notched log. She had in one hand a short length of sugar-cane on

Page 231

224 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, which were placed several fragments of hard- boiled egg. Reaching the ground, she scattered rice by way of propitiating evil spirits, and then slowly made her way down to the river. After her came two young girls, who, on nearing the water, removed their scanty clothes, Finally there came the mother and her thvree-days-old baby, on whose brow was plastered a piece of dough. Father, I may say, apparently took no interest in the proceedings, for he did not put in an appearance, Having reached the river, the old woman, the maidens, and the mother with her baby waded in up to their waists, after which the old woman removed the mother’s enormous basin- shaped hat and held it over the child, to protect it from sun-devils, while the ‘A heads mother repeatedly plunged the little one hunter's in the muddy depths of the river. A dance. European mother would naturally shrink at the merest suggestion of sub- jecting a three-days- old infant to such an ordeal, but although some of the weaker Dyak children do un- doubtedly succumb as a result of the treatment, most of them survive it with- out any ill-effects. Still more strange, from the spectacular point of view, was a Dyak wedding to which I contrived to Pig’s blood is mixed with rice and thrown into the air after a wedding ceremony in order to propitiate evil spirits. A Dyak wedding feast. get invited. The bridegroom left his dovecot home early one morning, accompanied by a crowd of grotesquely masked and costumed friends. Form- ing a weird, straggling, noisy procession, they trooped off to the bride's home, where elabo- rate greetings were exchanged, The bride then came forth and joined the procession, which set out for what I can only call the altar. This consisted of a stockade of bamboos surrounding a soli- tary squealing pig, musicians seated on their haunches nearby meanwhile making music—I suppose one must let it go at

Page 232

THE WILD A flood scene on the Barito. The river rose above its normal level. that—with gongs and tom-toms. Here the bridal pair sat down, to be showered with spirit-propitiating rice, a custom which, strangely enough, still obtains in some civilized countries. The pig and a chicken were then killed, their blood being smeared on the bride and bridegroom’s foreheads by the kapala kampong, or chief. I noticed that throughout the proceedings there was no reference to a deity, the main object of those performing the ceremony, apart from the actual business of marrying the couple, being to keep on the right side of the evil spirits. Following the anointing with blood, the pig was cut up into small pieces and dis- tributed among those present, dancing beginning immediately afterwards. Incidentally, I was warned at the beginning of the ceremony not to laugh on any account, this being considered an ill omen. The Dyaks impressed me as being a most practical people. One labour-saving device for which they apparently hold the patent com- mends itself to the notice of British and American housewives by its simplicity. The floors of the huts are latticed with split bamboo, which renders scrubbing and sweep- ing unnecessary, for dirt and refuse automatically fall through to the ground below. In some respects Dyak intelligence, so far as the everyday affairs of life are concerned, is equal if not superior to our own. When one of my large shop-bought tents began to leak in a rain- storm, the villagers brought me Vol. xtix.—18. The expedition leaving the last Dutch MEN OF BORNEO. 225 cunningly woven rattan mats, which thereafter kept me per- fectly dry, even at the height of a tropical downpour. Again, when my tent ropes gave way, after being subjected to a very slight strain, Dyak woven vines proved far more effective sub- stitutes. And when my lamps gave out, or were damaged, the Dyaks provided me with torches, soaked in palm oil, which afforded warmth as well as illumination. Time, which fetters us all in civilized countries, is a factor which does not bother the Dyak, who often has not the slightest notion of the passage of the years. An old man, palsied with age, solemnly in- formed me that he was born only ten years previously. Another man, who could not have been a day under sixty, casually mentioned that he was twenty-five. Pushing inland beyond Manjkahoi, we came to a place known as the “City of Stone,”’ which the Dutch used as a fort in one of their punitive expeditions against the tribesmen, fourteen years ago. The place still has the appearance, to some extent, of being fortified, but to-day it is a place of silence and desolation. With its great limestone towers and turrets, its battlements, its vast underground chambers, and its miles of subterranean passages, in which one might easily get lost for ever, it must have been a formidable stronghold. Up to the time of its evacuation many years ago, the sixty feet outpost.

Page 233

226 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Dyaks “ buried ” their dead on the tops ot the highest pinnacles, which now rear them- selves above the surrounding jungle like lonely sentinels—monuments to the days when the fierce head-hunters roamed the wilds, their bloodthirsty passions unre- strained by the beneficent influence of the white man. It was just as the expedition was nearing the Equator that my trip came to an untimely end. The Barito River was tremendously swollen, and my Malay crew began to doubt the wisdom of proceeding farther, either into the jungle or up the river. The controversy was brought to a climax by my refusal to allow the crew to share the Dyaks’ sleeping quarters, my objection being based on the fact that the Malays are born thieves, and in this case might have caused serious trouble among the Dyaks. I had long since come to the conclusion that, peacefully inclined though they were, it was distinctly unwise to incur the Dyaks’ displeasure, since one could never be quite certain when their bloodthirsty proclivities would obsess their minds again. My decision made the crew sullen, and it was soon apparent that they were plotting against me, though whether against my person or my belongings it was difficult to tell. However, for safety’s sake I directed that all the portable goods and apparatus should be brought into the tents, where Dyak friends volunteered to keep watch. Two or three nights after the first signs of discontent began to manifest themselves among the crew I was awakened by one of my “ boys,” who excitedly announced that the Malays had ‘‘ vamoosed ’’ down-stream, taking with them several prahus, the bulk of my provisions, and setting adrift a raft of mahogany logs. This was serious—more serious than I at first anticipated, for the Dyaks, the moment they heard the news, fitted out a canoe and, arming themselves to the teeth, set off in pursuit of the Malays. Here, in sober truth, was a real head-hunt ! My interpreter, realizing that the situation was extremely grave, decided that our best plan would be to make for Poeroektjahoe, two days’ journey by river, and there place matters in the hands of the Dutch outpost authorities. Aided by the rising flood, the greatest known for thirty years, we made the outpost in record time, and within a short while of our arrival a posse of police was on its way to the scene of the trouble. Later 1 heard that our prompt action had averted by a matter of only a few hours what in all probability would have been a terrible massacre. After that I decided that for the time ‘being I had seen enough of man at his wildest. I mean to visit Borneo again some day, however, for it has for me a lure and a fascination possessed by none of the many other countries in which I have travelled. “ K.K.K.”, COSTUME AS FANCY DRESS. An effective group of amateur “K.K.K.’s.” “WHILE reading your recent Ku-Klux-Klan articles,” writes a correspondent, * it struck us what an effective fancy dress the ‘K.K.K.’ costume would make. A party of six of us therefore attended a large charity fancy-dress ball in Leeds attired in the uniform of the Klan. So complete was the disguise that, although three of the party were ladies, nobody ever suspected the fact, and one of the newspapers next day reported the presence of * six young men as the Ku-Klux-Klan.’ We had literally hundreds of friends and acquaintances at the dance, with many of whom we had conversa- tions, but not once was our identity discovered. and we had many amusing encounters. A day or two before the dance we took a flash-light picture of the party, and I thought a print of the result, ‘ fiery cross’ and all, might interest you. The ‘negro’ was an_ in- terested relative who lent himself to an impromptu make-up, which you will perhaps agree is rather effective. The idea may appeal to some of your readers who require a cheap and effective fancy dress, as the ‘K.K.K.’ costume fulfils both conditions, and the wearers can obtain unlimited fun from their anonymity. If you should publish this hint, please withhold my name and address as I should hate to form the piéce de résistance at a ‘necktie party’ of incensed Klansmen.”

Page 234

An account of an adventurous journey through that little- known region where the frontiers of China and Tibet meet, in a country of lofty mountains, Il. T is hard enough to get | into Tibet by the Sai- ween entrance, but once through the Granite Gorge it is harder still to get out again. Not for lack of routes, however. In Tibet everyone travels, and there are roads everywhere to suit the requirements of these restless folk. Vaga- bondage dies hard, and even the men who have settled down in villages, snatching thin crops from the stony soil, have sprung from nomadic peoples, so that where there are no recognized tracks it is not difficult for these born explorers to improvise a route. We had, therefore, plenty of choice. We might cross over to the headwater streams of the Irawadi, to the west, and reach India; or we might go eastwards over the sacred stone- stair pass to the Mekong, and so back to Yunnan that way; or, con- tinuing northwards to a nucleus of radiating roads, we might take our pick. In reality, however, our choice was very limited. Most of these routes were closed by some- thing more im- pregnable than snow — they were barred by political difficulties. oe REMOTE YUNNAN by. CAPT. F. ALNVGDON WARD FRG.S. ILLAISTRATED BY C.HOLLOWAY Our camp at Pai-ma-shan, fifteen thousand feet above sea-level. mighty rivers, and strange tribes. Captain Kingdon Ward writes with authority, and his descriptions and photo- graphs will be found particularly interesting I had with me as escort a Chinese soldier —an unwel- come gilt, for, whatever the Tibetans thought of my pre- sence in the country (and I had no reason to believe they were enthusiastic about it), it was certain they would not lightly brook the presence of a Chinese soldier. Without him I might or might not be able to get along; with him I was a marked man, asking for trouble. Moreover, we had all the appearance of being in collusion. Neither of us spoke a word of Tibetan; I even had to speak to my Tibetan inter- preter in Chinese. That was bad enough. The soldier made things infinitely worse, for by no conceivable means could he pass as a Tibetan, even if he were willing to try, which

Page 235

228 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, . he was not. A dozen times had 1 tried to rid mysclf of this encumbrance, but all to no purpose. He had his orders. At the very first village we came to matters reached a crisis in a rather humorous way. It was like this: We had paddled up from the last Lutzu village by canoe and found transport await- ing us at the head of the gorge on the left bank. Now the Tibetan village lay in a rocky valley on the right bank. No sooner had we arrived at this point than the Lutzu began unloading our canoe, transferring my boxes to the waiting pony-men. “Stop!” I said. ‘* We will not go farther to-day ; land the boxes on the other side— I wish to go up to the village.” There was a pause. Everyone looked at me, then at the soldier; they exchanged glances. Obviously they had received orders from the Tibetans to move us on. Now they were in a quandary. Whom should they obey—the Tibetans, or me? Happily the unknown made the greater impression on their imaginations, and, paddling across the river, they hastily began to throw out my boxes on the right bank and Lamas at the monastery of Ho-pa, in the Mekong Valley. A Tibetan bridge over a torrent near A-tun-tzu. take themselves off before they got into trouble. No sooner had the soldier stood up than there appeared before him from nowhere two of the strangest little men imaginable. They were less than five feet high, but perfectly proportioned, dressed in Tibetan attire, which looked absurdly incongruous on their tiny persons, for the Khampas are big men. These little strangers, bowing low like Tweedledum and Tweedledee, laid at the feet of our warrior presents of butter, tsamba, eggs, bacon—a regular grocer’s shop, in fact—and stood waiting. Their dumb action expressed a hope that the military would be pleased to be lenient and not capture the village immediately. Mcanwhile a wave of embarrassment had submerged our soldier and left him gasping. He knew no word of Tibetan —what should he do? His knowledge of etiquette would not rise to the occasion. So he did nothing, and while he hesitated, look- ing from one to the other of us for inspiration, the matter was decided for him. 1f he thought he was going to get all these things for nothing he was woefully mistaken. No sooner had he

Page 236

reached out a hand to take them, than they were whisked away as swiftly as were the viands from under Alice’s nose after she had been formally introduced to them. The nervous people were anxious at all costs to hold out the olive branch to him, but they were not prepared to part with it altogether, and it was skilfully withdrawn. These dwarfs were Kintzu, from the sources of the Irawadi, and were slaves to the Tibetans. Two days later our embarrassing escort finally retired, much to our relief. We con- tinued up the naked corridor of the Salween valley for three days’ march, reaching the village and monastery of Menkong. There were a number of slaves working in the fields here. Now we turned off to the north-east, and, after crossing two great ranges of mountains, found ourselves after five days back by the Mekong. Where these great gutters flute the roof of the world, little tributary rivers, no bigger than the Thames or the Trent, also flow parallel to them before swinging round to join them. Consequently range after range, gorge after gorge, has to be crossed when one is travelling counter to the main rivers. ACROSS REMOTE Y(NNAN. 229 In the Mekong valley we halted at the first village, a jumble of smail houses appar- ently piled on top of one another in their desire to pack as closely as possible. They were mud-coloured and dingy, intersected by narrow cuttings ankle-deep in slime. Nota tree, not a bush, was to be seen. Water was brought from a torrent a mile distant by a dripping aqueduct raised on piles. Evi- dently it was far too valuable to be used for luxuries like washing. But the Tibetan inhabitants were friendly as ever. They plied me with tea, parched green rice, and walnuts, not to mention excellent maize-meal cakes. Two days later we reached a village of very different aspect. Here the houses were as big as hotels and whitewashed. They were widely scattered, and were shaded by walnut trees. Water gurgled down a dozen streams which irrigated a flight of broad terraces given over to agriculture. But the people were just the same kindly, dirty folk. Here the village headman made a neat little speech, ** Bimbo,” he said, “ the girls of the village wish to make you a present, because you have been kind to the people in the valley and Inscriptions on the cliffs overlooking the Mekong River.

Page 237

230 THE have paid them well.” Whereupon he gave me a stone jar of icy-cold Chinese wine, which looks like gin and tastes like methylated spirit. 1 thanked him and made what reporters call ‘a suitable reply.””. We then continued our journey, the headman accompanying us part of the way and himself carrying the precious bottle of spirit. The time came for parting. “Sir, please ride carefully,’’ he said, politely; to which I answered, ‘ Please remain seated on your mat.” ‘There was an uncomfortable pause ; my interpreter coughed deprecatingly. ‘Take the bottle of wine,” I said; but he did not move, and the headman turned back, having absent-mindedly forgotten all about the “* present.” “What about the bottle of wine?” I asked. ‘ Aren’t you going to give it to us ?”” The Tibetan hung his head. He looked a little shamefaced, 1 thought. ** The girls want two rupees for it, Bimbo,” he said, and I paid over the money and laughed. I could have bought that bottle of wine anywhere for a rupee if it hadn't been given to me first ! During part of the journey a headman rode with me to see that I got all I wanted at the villages we passed through. One evening the men wanted to halt at a certain village, but I expressed a desire to go on to the next, not far distant. No notice was taken of my protest by the leading pony- men, who began to unload their beasts, whereupon the headman roared at them to desist. Leaping from his pony, he picked up a rock as big as a quartern loaf and hurled it at one of the men standing five yards away! It caught him full in the stomach and he doubled up like a shot rabbit. I thought murder had been done this time by my violent companion, but no ! the victim immediately recovered and hasti began tying the loads on again. His thick chu-pa or cloak, the sleeves of which were ticd round his waist, leaving his chest and shoulders bare, had saved him. My zealous escort also carried a leather whip, with which he was prepared to belabour unmercifully anyone who hesitated to do what I asked ; and once I had forcibly to restrain him from horse-whipping a man who had displeased him. They are hard task-masters, these Tibetan swashbuckiers. By and by we left the Mekong and went up to the village of A-tun-tzu, passing through a narrow gorge. Since the Lama rising of 1905 the Chinese have thrown a stout wooden barrier across from cliff to cliff; it is pierced by a door, and inside a hut a sentry sat— fast asleep! At the lower end of the village WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. itself are the ruins of the monastery, taken and retaken half-a-dozen times during the merci- less brigandage and reprisals of seventeen years ago. It has since been rebuilt on a hill-top close by. We halted a few days at A-tun-tzu to buy supplies from the Chinese merchants, and arrived in time to enjoy a Tibetan wedding. The bride was led to her husband’s house by her friends, and following behind came a solid phalanx of little girls in their best frocks — bridesmaids, in fact — carrying bunches of flowers. There was no religious ceremony. In the rear was a string of donkeys bearing presents from the bride’s family—practical things like bags of tsamba, sugar, tea, and similar commodities; also a large brass-bound tea-churn. There was an orgy that night, and all the men got drunk. More interest was aroused by the funeral of a Chinaman which took place two days later. The coffin” was carried by six men, preceded by a band of skirmishers clearing the devils out of the path with volleys of crackers ; there seemed to be a lot of them ! Half the village followed behind, talking and laughing, and there was a band—gongs, cymbals, and other devil-scaring noises. The people enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and that night there was feasting and drinking of a most expansive kind. All the men got drunk again, and several were heard to say that they were looking forward to the next funeral. The most likely candidate, Lao-niu, or ‘Old Cow,’ a venerable merchant of seventy, was quite popular. But Lao-niu had made plenty of money trading with the simple Tibetans, and would certainly be taken away to the home of his ancestors for burial. One night the merchants invited me to dinner. A number of bare tables were laid in a draughty room opening on to an odorifer- ous courtyard, across which was the kitchen, and we sat down on hard wooden benches without ceremony. Each guest—there were three dozen of us—was provided with a pair of chopsticks and a china bowl, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Then the fare was brought in, also in bowls, a dozen at a time, and placed on the tables. Special delicacies had been got up from the cities on the plains, There were sharks’ fins and birds’ nests, béche-de-mer, obsolete eggs, chopped ducks’ liver, toadstools, sprouting beans, and many nameless delica- cies known only to the Chinese epicurean, besides bow!s of steaming rice. Half-naked, perspiring cooks rushed back- wards and forwards between the kitchen and our room, removing empties as fast as they could and substituting piping-hot stuff, whereat the clatter and chatter would

Page 238

; q . “He picked up a rock and hurled it at one of the men.”

Page 239

232 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. : = The ‘city of Likiang-fu. break out afresh. Not being dexterous in the management of chopsticks, I should have come off badly in a contest where all struggled to nip the tit-bits out of the bowls had not my host selected spicy pieces for me, extract- ing them with his wooden forceps with admirable cunning, much as a dentist ex- tracts a tooth. There was not much scope for conversation; everyone was too busy shovelling large quantities of hot food into capacious mouths, gulping noisily meanwhile, to attend tothat. But by this time the wine was circulating freely, and the laughter was long and loud. Before drinking from the little thimble- like cup provided, it was necessary to play at “ guessing fingers with your neighbour. The game is played thus: At a given signal each party, from his doubled _ fist, throws out any number of fingers, at the same time shouting a num- ber. If the num- ber you shout is the same as the nuinber of fingers both players have exposed, you lose, and drink forfeit. Custom demands three bouts with each guest at your own table—heavy stakes if you lose frequently ! There is no pretence about Chinese wine; it isabsolute alcohol. Consequently, the party grew rapidly more and more noisy. Men shouted across the tables to each other, or laughed uproariously at nothing; then would come a lull while more bowls were set down, and for a few minutes no sound would be heard but the clapping together of chop- sticks picking up tit-bits. When nothing remained but a few scraps floating in watery soup, the drinking would start again, with attendant gusts of laughter. At last the meal ended, the bowls were taken away, and the room, littered with scraps and greasy tables, looked like a third- rate Soho fried-fish shop. The merchants, now very red in the face, wiped their mouths —indeed, they rubbed their faces—on hot wet towels which were handed round, and we all poured out into the street, laughing and talking. I had a frightful head next day ! Starting off on our travels again, we descended the stony valley, and climbing a low col, saw, a day’s march ahead, the high mountain range between the Mekong Bes Sacred “mani” pyramids in South-East Tibet.

Page 240

7 t : ‘ and the Yangtze, which we now had to cross. That night camp was pitched on the edge of the forest at an altitude of thirteen thousand feet; and next day we crossed the pass—fifteen thousand eight hundred feet. Everywhere grew flowers ; the slopes were spangled with them. A herd of yak were browsing in the grassy valley not far away, and we went across to the herders’ tent for a bowl of tea. An enormous shaggy mastiff, tied to a stake in the ground, sprang at us, baying fiercely, but luckily the rope held. The herdsmen welcomed us with smiles, and while one set about churning the buttered tea, the other busied himself with kneading tsamba into an unpaiatable bolus. Bitterly cold it must have been in that tent by night, even in the summer. A low stone wall ran round three sides, and over this was stretched the ragged black hair cloth which did duty for a roof; the fourth side was stuffed up with branches. Three stones made a fireplace, and in the corner stood a tea- churn and some hide bags of tsamba. There was also a wooden milk bucket, and a couple of long guns, with pronged supports, leant against the wall. The herdsmen slept on a low bench, raised a foot from the ground, wrapping their long cloaks about them and piling on a few goat-skins which lay in an unsightly heap. Such was their home for four months in the year. At night the yak are tethered to ropes stretched along the ground between pickets, and are guarded by fierce dogs. A Lutzu homestead in the Salween Valley. After a rest, we proceeded on our way and, dropping down towards the Yangtze, reached at nightfall the monastery of Tung- chu-ling. Next day we crossed the river in an enormous triangular scow, and on the opposite bank found a company of people digging for gold. The gold-bearing sand lay a few feet from the surface, and was dug up, sifted, and washed by enthusiasts who, being more or less naked as to their bodies, were bright ochre-coloured, this being due to the fact that the finest sand, sifted and blown about by the wind, was this colour. Leaving the “ river of golden sand,” we climbed mountains for several days, and presently found ourselves up on the Chung- tien plateau, a broad, grassy valley which had all the appearance of an ancient lake- bottom. We found a curious tribe of Tibetans here whose women supplemented their natural hair with an enormous queue of wool, which was bound on top. They wore very baggy trousers of sackcloth, so voluminous that they looked like skirts, an effect enhanced by aprons of the same material hanging down fore and aft. On their feet were strips of leather shaped to the sole, and over their shoulders they wore striped blankets of the coarsest texture. Chungtien itself is a Tibetan village of wooden tiled houses, the slates kept down with stones, as in a Swiss chalet. A few miles distant is a fine monastery with three thousand Lamas, who keep very much to themselves and will brook no interference, but the village folk are kindly. An angular

Page 241

234 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. street, pimpled with cobbles, and compressed between high house-walls whose jutting roofs almost meet overhead, bisects the town. At one end is the mule square, with the public well, where matrons and girls hourly draw water and gossip. They are cheerful souls, these finely-decorated Tibetans, dirty, callous, immo- ral, yet in their own way quite fascinating. Two more marches across lush meads speckled with grazing yak, past a hot spring besieged by eager convalescents, and we left Tibet behind us. Tier on tier the white mountains spread away on every hand, silent and eternal. Down, down, down we went from high Asia to the great grey plains where men dwell and the weary rivers drop their burdens of silt and grow old and serious in a night. We crossed the Yangtze a second time—it forms a loop here, both limbs of which had to be crossed—and came to the city of Likiang-fu. Five hundred years ago, be- foretheChinese | came to Yun- nan, when the mighty Shan power spread its palsied grip over south- east Asia, Likiang-fu had its own king. It was the ancient Moso capital—the chief city of a people who stepped out of unknown Asia into history, bringing with them a mys- terious picture- A Tibetan belle. five days’ jour- ney, andanother sixteen marches beyond that brought us to the Burma frontier again. Straight from the pine-scented woods of Yun- nan, rustling with pheasants, we plunged into the colonnaded jungles of Burma, where the prowling tiger answers the baying sam- bur at night and hunts it to the death. Kachins, dirty enough to re- mind us of their cousins the Tibetans, sat outside enormous thatched huts, weaving cloth, smoking, drink- ing, quarrelling. Their women-folk, barbar- ously dressed, were away in the fields working, and would not be home till dusk. Only the men, and women too old and children too young to work, are at home by day; they lie about in the sun-drenched clearings and doze. A few women were weaving striped skirts, as coarse as bath towels. And so we came to Bhamo again, and civilization. We had marched patiently for fifteen hundred miles through the province— no great dis- tance, you may say, seeing that the Continental express requires less than three days to do the same distance, and a Cunarder crosses the At- lantic in tive days. But we had _ actually been marching every day for three months— not including halts—and he who would leave the tra- velled waysand see something of unknown Asia must do A Chungtien girl. writing. KS From this — — city back to the Tibetan women of the Chungtien district. blue Jake is but masses of wool into their hair, as shown in the case of the two women on the right. They weave the same. It is worth it.

Page 242

The “pink” Terra Nova, nicknamed the Turn Over. TWO — and a PINK 7) Bonnycas tle Dale Two returned Canadian soldiers bought an odd little sailing craft locally known as a ILLUSTRATED BY smcenccmmrsemcrmmsmmorenssmmcemcsemsamnameamee FC WIGFULL: “ pink,” and set off for the coast of Labrador in search of sport and adventure. They found both in plenty, their eventful cruise terminating with one of the most extraordinary and terrifying experiences imaginable. ERE is an item clipped from a Halifax, Nova Scotia, morning paper: ‘ The little pink, the Terra Nova, returned irom Labrador. All well aboard. Nothing special to report.” Doesn’t sound very exciting, does it? You would think it was a “ pink tea” they were talking about, and not a three months’ cruise of adventure among ice-floes and all the perils of the deep. Perhaps, however, we had better go back three months. Allow me, first of all, to introduce my friend “Sliver.” We were two returned soldiers who had just finished office duties for the Canadian Expeditionary Vorce—establishing men on farms and what not—and now we were ‘‘ on our own,” with a bit of back pay in our pockets and an idea of adventuring off somewhere in quest of sport and excitement. Just then we met ‘ O-Be-Joyful,” as Sliver called him. He was“ runner "’ for a boarding- house, so we took rooms just to oblige him. Then we sauntered down to the water- front and met a man who, according to his own story, owned the only likely sailing vessel in Nova Scotia. He called her a “pink.” At first sight I thought the fore- mast was a little too near the bowsprit and that the whole air-dried hull was shedding its coat, like a dog with the mange. “She's only a wee bit over-dried for caulkin’,”’ the owner assured us. ‘‘And the bits of sticks around the edge are coming off,’”’ observed my friend. “Combin’ is a bit sun-dry,” agreed the man.

Page 243

236 “ And the bowsprit’s got a kink in it,” continued Sliver. “The stay will soon put it straight,” the owner told him. While they were arguing I was inspecting the boat. She was a two-masted forty- footer, with a draught of seven feet and the slimmest stern I ever saw on any sailing craft. This, I was told, was why she got the old English name of “ pink.” All down Gulls flying over the bay where the “pink” lay. this narrow stern ran the rudder, hung on the vessel like a shutter on a house. She was on the ways, so we could see every bit of her. She was fitted with an auxiliary gasoline engine, and a tiny propeller stuck out far down between her big rudder and the stern-post. The owner, a typical Nova Scotia man, sized us-up quite correctly as two greenhorns, and asked us just double her value—some fifteen hundred dollars. Thereupon Sliver exe- cuted a neat right wheel, and I fell into line. ‘Perhaps you don’t want the scows and boat-house, eh ? ” the owner called after us. We halted. Evidently the enemy was offering an armistice. We went back, and after much chin- wagging Sliver and I beat that Nova Scotian down to an even five hundred dollars, ‘‘ all fixin’s " included, signed, sealed, and delivered right then and there. ‘I don’t like her name,” said Sliver, afterwards ; ‘‘ too much like ‘ Turn Over.’ ” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “ Leave it as it is,” I told him. it meant ‘New World.’ —let’s go and find one.” Sliver evidently thought I meant a beer, but it was worlds I meant. ‘ Ever been up Labrador way?” asked Sliver. That settled it, for he had, and he wanted to go again, so we bought Admiralty charts, launched the Terror, as 1 fondly called her, filled her with all sorts of things that can be eaten, and one bright, breezy October day we two poor landlubbers set out east-by-north in search of ad- ventures. By nightfall we were well off the land on our way round Cape North. The chart in- structed us to give the land a “good offing” —whatever that meant—so we crept in as close as we could. We divided the crew into two watches. Sleepy Sliver took “‘sun-up”’; I took all the dark hours. The wind gave us a south-easterly course, but some- how we dodged the deadly Sable Island. We saw a big Greek ship ashore there, but in our ignorance thought she was at anchor. Lucky for us we did not join her ! Every starboard light we saw at night I invariably seemed drawn to steer for, but it was “‘ all hands on deck ” with a vengeance, when—bump !— bump ! — bump ! — I either ran our little craft over a submerged derelict, or else discovered the only uncharted rock off the coast. : The next morning dawned as fair as if storms had ceased for ever, but at noon we were running before a snorter of asou’-wester, with just a corner of a sail drawing. The way that ‘ pink” corkscrewed down a watery slope, wriggled in the trough, and then—with hesitation—climbed the next hill, made me wish I was back at Vimy. The whole crew—Sliver and I—were on watch all day. Everything was battened down, the dory lashed, the decks continually flooded. Once she struck her slim bow so tar into a “ He said That's good enough

Page 244

great wave that I thought we were ‘‘ goners.”” All night long we clung to ropes and steered by instinct. Once we were hurled past a great black wall that sent out a scream from its whistle which made us leap wide awake. For a moment we saw the stern-lights of a big passenger ship; then she was swallowed up in the darkness. With only a “ hand-out ” by way of food, we steered our “pink” nor’-west between Newfoundland and Cape Breton and out into the open Gulf of St. Lawrence. Fortunately for us it was daylight when we sighted the Magdalen Islands, or else we should have piled her up high and dry. Oh! the joy of anchorage. We splashed our mud-hook off the leeside of a big bluff island, and just lolled and fished and then lolled again. I cursed Sliver for the dozenth time for buying this erratic craft of ours, but he only laughed. “Wait till you see Labrador,” he said; “talk about your big guns—it’s blowing great guns there all the time!” We caught some nice cod; then we went ashore and got a few buckets of clams. Finally we plucked up our courage—and our anchor —and set sail for Anticosti. I believe they saved up all the big rollers and let them loose off this gulf for our special benefit. Huge dark. blue seas rose at us con- tinually, topped with flying spray that cut our faces like a whip-lash. Sliver had just staggered to me with a cup of something he called coffee when crash ! went some- thing up aloft. There was a rasp- ing and a scraping all night, and when the good old sun peeped out next morning we saw we had lost our topmast. Sliver shinned up and cut it loose, but the hamper dragged and our mainsail bagged. We never took it down—- just waited for it to blow away. We finally reached Anticosti without anything worse than a jib blowing to tatters, but Sliver put on (he says “ bent” is the The Author’s companion, Sliver, with his pet surf duck. Mr. Dale says that Sliver always reminds him of Bairnsfather’s “Old Bill.” TWO MEN AND A ‘ PINK.” 237 correct term) a new one. Down went the good old anchor in a rather exposed spot, and we both took a long-needed nap. I slept the clock round, and was only awakened by the leaping and bumping of everything loose aboard. We were dragging our anchor in a wind blowing dead ashore ! Sliver is a jewel! While I was trying vainly to get her off on a tack, I heard ‘‘ put— put—put.” Our baby-size engine was work- ing, and it soon took us offshore, right in the teeth of a nasty ‘“‘ wester.” Presently we made another bay, a little more sheltered than the last. Down went the big anchor this time, and off we went ashore, gunning for ducks. There must be a little god that sits up aloft looking after poor Jack, even when he is a landlubber! We ran our dory into the mouth of a little creek and walked over and hid in a sandy hollow near the shore. The ten-bore was loaded with “ B.B.’s”” in the right and ‘‘ number ones ”’ in the left barrel. Presently a flock of eiders settled down on the calm water and started towards the mussel-covered rocks. In they came, right for us; then they stopped, stared, and started to swim out. While we watched them we heard a ‘“ Whoof! whoof!” and looked up. There was a big black bear calmly inspecting us ! Sliver is undoubtedly ‘‘some”’ hunter. Up he leaped, took two strides towards that

Page 245

238 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. growling beast, put both barrels against its chest, and pulled the trigger. 1 never saw anything so dead in all my life. Oddly enough, these Anticosti bears have white faces. Through no fault of ours we made our next harbour safely, just a few miles west of where the Esquimo River tuns into the Straits of Belle Isle. We barely escaped the breakers off Cape Whittle — heard them roaring in the dark of a cold October night— but we had got used to narrow shaves of this kind. This particular harbour was a nice sheltered bay. There was a fresh-water river and a ledge of rocks dividing the bay into deep water and tide flats, and there were thousands of wild geese and ducks to hunt. We made this our headquarters for a month, living on game and clams. I took many pictures of good “ bags,”” and Sliver put out traps and caught musk- rats, mink, and—as it was getting cold —some white sable (weasel). Although it was only late November our rigging was hung with grouse and rabbits, cod and herring. We had bear-meat salted and dried, and everything was looking rosy when—slap! bang !—the weather changed, and up came a nor’-easter. We managed to hold to our moorings the first night, but had to put out two mud-hooks next morning. The waves came across from distant New- foundland crested with white horses. Mile after mile of these great rollers broke into our little bay until it was just a heaving mass of angry water. Presently our cables parted, and away we drifted down the bay. We brought up on the tide flats, where the waves broke clean over us. It was freezing hard now, and soon the “ pink” was a mass of ice. A seal which visited the ice-bound “pink.” We noticed, directly the tide ran in again, that the ice was ‘ rafting ’—forming into great cakes—and that we were rising up on it. This made us safe from the breaking seas, but added fearful risk of an upset. For three days we rode easily in our icy dry dock. Then the wind died away, rose again from the oppo- site quarter— and off went the whole of the bay ice out to sea, with the little Terra Nova perched ten feet above it! Not even the shoe of the keel was in the water! Never, surely, weretwoamateur sailors in such a position before ! We travelled just as fast as tide and wind could carry us. I asked Sliver if it would be worth while trying to drag the dory and some pro- visions across the ice to the shore. I knew it was hopeless, but it seemed as though we ought to do something, for we were fast being carried out from the land. Just as the red sun dipped in an angry sky we encountered the swift incoming tide of the Straits and were swept westward. The ice-field on which the “ pink ” was elevated was about half a mile square and about twelve feet thick at the level places, but the hummock on which the ship was perched stood higher than the rest. All that night, while a bitterly cold “ norther” blew, we drifted inward and off shore a little. Twice we made out the lights of vessels bound to the river’s mouth, but luckily they passed up the centre of the Straits. We were in no mood to try the effect of collisions while hung up on an ice-floe | When morning dawned cold and clear the thermometer was down to zero and Sliver and I were chilled through. We put a bit of sail on the “ pink ” in a frantic endeavour to induce our ice-raft to clear Cape Whittle. Then we just filled ourselves up with mush

Page 246

TWO MEN AND A “PINK.” 239 “ Down that icy decline, just as a sled shoots down a hill, the Terra Nova sped. She took the water like a duck and dived beneath it until her decks were full to the top of the bulwarks.”

Page 247

240 THE WIDE and coffee and thick, fat bear-meat. We had a little cuddy on deck where we did outside cooking ; somehow we didn’t feel like using the fore-cabin while danger loomed so near. No sooner did the tide change than a heavy swell set in. This, we realized, meant the break-up of the ice-field, and we wondered what would happen to us. Cake after cake broke off the edges until the floe was barely half its former size. We decided to put on dry clothes and oilskins, stuff our pockets with biscuits and chocolate, and take to the Tigging. By this time there was a reeling, rolling mass of crushing ice-cakes all round us, flecked with leaping spots of blue water, amidst which the old “ pink” rolled and staggered giddily. At times our masts swung out until, from our position in the Tigging, we could have touched the “ slob” ice that was washed over the heaving cakes. Up! up! swung our novel dry dock, and then down, down it would go. Meanwhile we were guessing whether the “ pink” would slip off bow first or backwards, like a crab. “Very near it that time!” sang out Sliver presently. Yes; so near it that my heart jumped ! WORLD MAGAZINE, The giddy dance of that cracking ice-raft and its strange burden went on for a few short minutes more, and then, just as the floe was sliding down a watery slope— sliding in such a terrifying fashion that every nerve tingled and my hair must have stood on end—‘‘ Hold fast!” I cried suddenly, warned by some instinct. Down that icy decline, just as a sled shoots down a hill, the Terra Nova sped. She took the water like a duck, and—like a duck again—dived beneath it until her decks were full to the top of the bulwarks. Then she seemed to settle quietly into her native element and, rolling a little, threw off some of her burden. But, alas! the cuddy was gone, the dory was drifting away to star- board, and nearly all our game, with our gun and most of my films, were on their way to Davy Jones’s locker. But we were afloat again, and still right side up, and that was something to be thankful for. We made some sort of sail on her, and with a fair wind reached our home port five days later. As the paper said, it was a case of: ‘‘ All well aboard. Nothing special to report.” Few of us would care to handle a swarm of bees without the usual precautions against being stung. There are. however, at least two bee-keepers in America who scorn the use of veils and gloves, and, as BEES—WITHOUT A BONNET! the photograph shows, one of them will even allow his head and face to be * anointed We will add that the photographer showed the better part ot his valour by wearing a veil ! with the living insects.

Page 248

meditated crime on an extensive scale— crime that made use of the resources of science and laid elaborate plans long ahead—there is pro- bably no equal in modern annals to the record of Henri Girard, the Faris poisoner who died in prison while awaiting his trial, leaving two women to be tried by the Paris tribunal as his accom- T°’ the history of pre- plices. Girard was a modern “ Brinvilliers ’’—a man gifted with imagination and resources beyond the ordinary, which he did not hesitate to make use of for the accomplishment of his plans. His motive was a simple one. He was fond of the good things of life, and he was extravagant, yet his capacity for earning his living by ordinary methods was not of the best. He therefore clients. the law, it is perfectly legal to insure a_per- son’s life and reap the “benefit ’’ when he dies. But human life, short as it is, is too long tor people like Wainwright and Girard, and the Parisian, like his prede- cessor, set out to hurry Nature. easy matter to another person’s and, having kept up the payment of miums, to draw the re- ward when the insured conceived the plan of taking advantage of the lives and deaths of others. Few men have been so gifted in the art of exter- Mination; few have been able to use the fell and subtle genius of the poi- soner with such calm and Girard had his but they were mostly due to circum- stances over which he had no control; he made few real blunders, and Nemesis only overtook him in the end on account foresight. failures, of a combination of events arising from the very elaborate- ness of his opera- tions. Henri Girard found all the help he needed in the absurd laws — or Tack of laws—con- cerning insurance companies. Like that famous artist in poisons, Vol. xlix.—17. he Story of an firtist in Crime aes a : Sommerville § tory ILLUSTRATED BY X «. FOFHLEY j-" Poisoning cases have been very much to the fore in the newspapers of late. This narrative gives an authoritative account of a strange character who made poisoning a veritable pro- fession, gaining a livelihood by insuring his victims’ lives for considerable sums, usually without their knowledge. He studied the litera- ture of obscure poisons, maintained a secret laboratory for his experiments, and kept a grim diary in which he recorded his sinister activities. At the last, in 1919, he cheated the guillotine by dying in prison, leaving his women accomplices to “face the music” alone. 241 Wainwright, whom he had _ probably studied, he made capital out of the big sums which in- surance companies pay at the death of their According to It seems to be a very insure life, the pre- party dies. And, so long as Nature is left alone to get rid of the insured person in: her own way, there ap- pears to be nothing reprehensible in the : Practice. What Girard did was to bring the date of his payments nearer—make it certain, as it were, for the insured person might have gone on living in- definitely, or nearly as long as himself, which would not have suited his purposes at all. Like the Englishman we have mentioned, he was in his way an artist. He studied his victims and elaborated the most seacr gik subtle methods of collect- ing the insurance money as speedily as possible. He took great precau- tions, and yet there was a sort of daring about his methods which showed how sure he felt of him- self and how far he was from fearing the meddling of other people. With one aim before him, he

Page 249

242 studicd science and art as aids to his pur- poses, faithfully recording his impressions as his experiments progressed. Endless circumstances seem to have helped him in his calculations and made his path easier. How extraordinarily easy it seems to be, for instance, to get an insurance company to insure a person who presents himself for medical examination; they do not even trouble overmuch about that person’s identity! To move from one country to another in war-time, and in some cases long after, endless formalities are Necessary, but to insure a person’s life it is only necessary to go to the insurance office with another person and aeciare that this is “xX ” or the one to be insured—and the company appears to look no farther. Another operation which, one gathers, is as easy as child’s play—at any rate in France—is to go to a chemist’s and buy murderous "' cul- tures ” of bacilli. You cannot buy opium or cocaine easily, or anything of that nature, but there is apparently nothing to prevent you from buying as much illness and death as you like in convenient phials that may give the ‘ quietus ” to a dozen people who stand in your way. Girard outdid all the famous poisoners of the past in the fact that he was the first to inoculate his victims with deadly diseases. La Brinvilliers, the famous woman poisoner of the seventeenth century; Wainwright, with his dilettante methods; La Pommerais, the doctor who used the vegetable poison digitaline and was condemned to death in 1864; Dr. Samuel Palmer—all these people were mere apprentices by comparison. Where did Girard first get the ideas that made of him a poisoner? That, in a way, is perhaps not a difficult question. It is not so easy to conceive how and where he acquired the patience and steadfastness which a poisoner requires for the exercise of his art. He probably first learned something about poisons when quite a child, for his father had been a pharmacist, dropping that profession later to become a tax-collector. Henri’s youth was not a very virtuous one; he was twice expelled from school for theft. Perhaps he was already meditating other and more terrible crimes, but was not yet able to grasp the possibilities and the rewards they might offer. _ At eighteen years of age he entered the army and became a sous-officter, but was reduced to the ranks again for some fault. On returning to civil life he drifted from one occupation to another, doing well in none. He kept a beershop, he travelled in wine, and he became an insurance agent—thus gaining useful experience for his future operations ; but cither because he was lazy or the occupa- tions did not please him, he failed in them THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. all. He even for a time practised the profession of bookmaker, although in France this is contrary to the law. For a time he lived on various expedients, and in rgo0g he served a short term of imprisonment for fraud. All this, however, was only an apprentice- ship, as it were, for the great task of his life. The fact that he earned very little money did not deter him from incurring heavy expenses, for he loved luxury. In 1897 he made the acquaintance of a young woman named Dagneaux, with whom he lived for some nineteen years. A few years later he met a married woman named Joséphine Douéteau, a butter merchant at Vincennes, who obtained a divorce in order to live with him, which she did for some years, although he was at the same time continuing his friendship with the woman Dagneaux. In 1916 he and Dagneaux separated, and a third lady came on the scene, by name Jeanne Drouhin. It would seem that Girard was already keenly in- terested in pharmaceutics and poisons, and it looks as if he chose this woman because she was employed in a large pharmaceutical products business. In 1918 he married Jeanne Drouhin. This kind of life would not seem to be possible for a man who was all the time doing badly in various poorly-remunerated occupa- tions. In December, 1912, however, Girard had received a hundred and twenty-five thousand francs in insurance money on the policy of a man named Pernotte, who died very soon after he was insured. Pernotte was the son of a merchant doing business in the Faubourg St. Antoine, Paris, a married man and the father of three children, He and Girard became fast friends and were always together. Pernotte was a simple, unpretentious fellow; he seemed to have little idea of business or worldly matters and trusted Girard implicitly. Poor Pernotte had no idea that this friend—this wine merchant, as he then was— was a great student not only of poisons but ot bacteriology. This apparently ordinary citizen, who might have been supposed to have enough to do to look after his wine business, had an elaborate laboratory at his home. He dabbled with sulphate of strychnine, nicotine, and other poisons ; and cultures of tetanus and the typhoid bacillus of Eberth were contained in phials in his study. He read deeply in manuals of toxicology and legal medicine, searched for and studied poisonous fungi, and soon became an authority on the subiect. Even if the gentle Pernotte had known all this, however, it is doubtful whether it would have made any difference to him, Once he had got into Pernotte’s confidence,

Page 250

Girard cultivated the friendship to the utmost. In November, 1910, Pernotte in- sured his life for a sum of a hundred and twenty-five thousand francs, which on his decease, it was arranged, was to be paid to Girard. Another policy was taken out with the Gresham, this time for eighty-five thousand francs. Thus Girard would benefit by his friend’s death to the tune of over two hundred thousand francs, which in those days and for a man in Girard’s position was quite a little fortune. The two friends were, as the saying goes, “as thick as thieves.” They constantly went out together, and Pernotte was fre- quently invited to Girard’s house to Juncheon and dinner. In 1912, in the spring, they spent a day together at the Horse Show. That evening Pernotte was ill. One may seek the explanation of this illness in Girard’s notes about this time, for the famous poisoner, like his English predecessor Wainwright, kept a diary, in which he methodically noted down the results of his experiments, his purchases of poison, and other operations. About the time of Pernotte’s first illness, the following entries were made by Girard in his diary :— “May 6, 1912.—Poisons. tubes and gauges. May 7.—Prepare bottle. May 8.—Phial and bottle. June 5.—Microscope. Prepare tubes. (His microscope cost him 600 francs.) June 13.—Indiarubber gloves. June 22.—Buy books on microbes.” A curious hobby all this, surely, for a traveller in wine ! Pernotte recovered from his illness, but in the following August the whole of the Pernotte family were attacked by typhoid fever. They had left their home at Fon- tenay, a Paris suburb, to spend their summer holiday at Royan, feeling very tired and fatigued. Hardly had they arrived at Royan than first the children, then Pernotte, and after him his wife, were attacked by a disease which was diagnosed by a doctor as typhoid fever. The two servants in the Pernotte household escaped ; they drank water from the tap, whereas their employers drank it from a filter that was always kept on the dining-room table. Pernotte’s great friend, Girard, had been almost daily in the house just before they went away. Little did his victims know, when they left him alone in the dining-room, that he was in possession of a phial of Eberth’s typhoid bacillus. Now it has been proved that this bacillus when put into water will thrive for several days, and experiments have shown that after forty- Go and fetch “GENTLEMAN” GIRARD. 243 eight hours, forty-five per cent. of the bacilli are still alive. One can imagine Girard’s anxious eyes turning towards that filter as he took his friend’s hand in his in the evening, saying, * Bon sow, chey ami!" A sum of two hundred and ten thousand francs might be the result of a slight operation on the filter water ! The following sinister and ominous note is found in Girard’s diary opposite the date of August 24th :— “If Pernotte comes back. Pernotte did come back from Royan. His wife and children were cured, but he himself was still suffering. After his return Girard went almost daily to visit his good friend at his suburban home at Fontenay, tenderly watching the progress of his illness. Among the doctor’s Prescriptions were injections of camphorated camomile, and Girard, to save the family trouble, himself. brought this and other medicines to his friend. At the same time Girard did not neglect other details. He went to pay the premiums on Pernotte’s insurance, and his purchases of bacilli became more and more frequent. With almost devilish cynicism, he notes that he bought some of this stuff (always at the same shop) on the 14th, 18th, 20th, 22nd, 23rd, 28th, and 29th October. All the time he was watching at his dear friend’s bedside ! But Girard was evidently getting tired of this dilatory method of dying. On November 3rd there is another curious entry in his diary : “ Pernotte piq’”’ (injection). On the 7th there is “* Pernotte—Reuil ”’ (Reuil being the name of the chemist where the bacillus was bought). The note referring to injection” is accounted for by the fact that Girard himself on that date made the injection * to show Mme. Pernotte how to do it,’’ as Pernotte had complained that the injections made by his wife had hurt him. Girard’s injection, however, was apparently done even more badly, for the patient suffered more after it, and on December 1st—although the doctor had pronounced him to be out of danger—he died. It was not until six years later (when Girard was arrested) that the details of the case came to light, and then the autopsy of poor Pernotte’s body could throw no light upon the matter ! In any case, Henri Girard was not quite the first to poison a person with the bacillus of Eberth. Iu rorq a Berlin butcher had given his wife typhoid fever by mixing the bacilli with her food Girard lost no time in claiming the reward for his trouble. He went immediately to ”

Page 251

244 the ‘ Assurances Générales "’ Society, and was duly paid the hundred and twenty-five thousand francs. At the Gresham, however, difficulties were raised, and the company threatened to bring a suit to annul the contract. Girard, not daring to fight the matter, made no further attempt to obtain the eighty-five thousand francs. But this man was a spendthrift, and a year or so later there was nothing left of the sum he had received. He had to get some more money, and he lost no time in setting about it. He made friends with a M. Godel, a cashier, who lived with his wife in the same house as that occupied at Vincennes by Girard and Mme. Dagneaux. They became very intimate, and Godel frequently lunched and dined with his charming neighbour. Little did the cashier know that he was a man condemned to déath, and that his death would bring two hundred thousand francs to his new friend! It was in August, 1913, that a person calling himself Godel went to the “ France’ Insurance Society, accom- panied by Girard. Both were medically examined, and both took out insurance policies for the benefit of the survivor. But this Godel was not the real Godel; it was a man named Braguier, whom Girard had found to serve his purpose. Braguier furnished all the indications of Godel’s personality and status, and signed the policy in his name. But Girard was not satisfied. A policy for two hundred thousand francs was not sufficient for this man, who was becoming emboldened by success. He sent Braguicr again to insure himself in the name of Godel —this time with the Equitable. The com- pany, however, did not accept the proposal. Girard therefore thought it would be best to get the real Godel to go and insure himself. He did not, however, tell his cashier friend that he was already insured. It was arranged between Godel and Girard that they should insure themselves together for seventy thousand francs, and that the survivor should carry out his friend’s wishes. Godel underwent the medical examination and signed the policies without even reading them. He had such faith in his friend that on December 13th, 1913, he signed four policies amounting altogether to three hun- dred thousand francs with the ‘‘ National ’’— which sum was to be paid to Girard if Godel predeceased him. In the February following Girard told Godel that the ‘‘ Hafnia ” Company would give them more advantageous terms, and advised him to annul the old policy. A few days later they went to the “ Hafnia”’ and signed fresh policies which were to bring THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, seventy thousand francs to the survivor. This was a policy to bearer, and Girard transferred it into the name of his friend, Mme. Douéteau. Godel, of course, thought that he was insured for seventy thousand francs, In reality, however, Girard had insured him for five hundred and seventy thousand francs, but he knew nothing at all about the five hundred thousand | It was now important for Girard that this man should die. In 1913 and 1914—about the time the insurances were being arranged —Girard was buying bacilli at the Rieu pharmacy. But Godel’s life was saved by the war! He was mobilized and left home on August and, 1914. After being wounded at Verdun he was sent out to Senegal, where, at any rate, he was safe from his friend’s sinister attentions. This did not at all suit Girard, who had no money with which to go on paying the premiums on the insurances until the war was over and his intended victim returned. He therefore stopped the payments and looked round for a fresh victim. In 1915 he made the acquaintance of a merchant named Delmas, living at Charenton, a Paris suburb. This man, like himself— Girard never left Paris during the war—was mobilized in the motor-car service, and was also ‘‘ running” a tea-shop in the heart of Paris. A few months after their first meet- ing Delmas—though he himself knew nothing about the matter—was insured for forty thousand francs in the “ Baloise ” Insurance Company, the sum being payable to the bearer of the policy, who was, of course, Girard. This time Girard changed his modus operand:. He had somehow contrived to obtain Delmas’s identification papers, through a third party, and went to the insurance company, declaring that he was himself Delmas, underwent the medical examination, and signed the policy in the name of Delmas. After that he saw his intended victim daily without ever informing him that his death would bring him (Girard) a nice little sum of forty thousand francs. The trend of Girard’s thoughts can be traced unerringly through his habit of keeping a diary record. As the day for the first payment on the policy—April 3oth, 1917—drew near, Girard shut himself up more and more in his laboratory of poisons. He went almost daily to Cogit’s, the scientific supply stores, in the Boulevard St. Michel, and bought microbe culture. His diary contained some very tell-tale entries about this time, among them the following notes :— “Feb. 7, 1917.—Cogit, Delmas, white wine,

Page 252

“ GENTLEMAN” “Girard’s anxious eyes turned towards the filter as he took his friend's hand in his, saying, ‘Bon soir, cher ami !’”’

Page 253

. 246 Feb. 8.—Cogit, Delmas. Teb. 9.—Sce the Delmas pills. Feb. 12.—See safe, Delmas, Cogit. Feb. 14.—Delmas comes ; white wine. Feb. 17.—Delmas dines. Cogit. Feb. Delmas, dinner. Feb. 24-26.—Cogit.” From the beginning of March Delmas began to experience curious pains, and early in April he was struck down with typhoid fever, just as Pernotte*had been. He had dined at Girard’s shortly before this, when the latter had pressed on him a ‘ home- made” liqueur, though the host drank something else. Delmas recovered, but when he was convalescent Girard proposed to him that he should manage to get himself dis- charged from the army, and for that pur- pose Girard offered some excellent pills, which, he said, would make him become thin! Delmas, however, declined this inter- esting proposal. Girard was now in need of money, and in his extremity he committed a great im- prudence. He forged Delmas's name to some bills and got them discounted. He took similar liberties with the name of a man named Grimault, and this time, it is said, Jeanne Drouhin helped him. Delmas had recovered from the typhoid fever, but when, in due course, he learned of Girard’s forgeries, he ceased to see him. This, then, was another good “‘ affair’ that had failed, and the poisoner had to search once again for a victim. He had made the acquaintance of a postal employé named Durioux, a rather unintelli- gent if not actually feeble-minded fellow, whom his friends nicknamed ‘‘ Mimiche.” Mimiche was very soon entirely at Girard’s beck and call—he did errands for him, carried parcels, and was his obedient vassal. On April 15th, 1917, Mimiche —like Delmas and Godel—was insured with the “National ’’ Company for twenty thousand francs, though he himself knew nothing at all about the matter. Girard had gone to the company personally and signed in the name of Duroux, and the policy was made payable to acertain Ramon, who, as a matter of fact, did not exist, but on October 9th a person called and transferred it to Jeanne Drouhin, Girard’s lady friend. And Girard’s diary for the month of April records visits made to Cogit’s shop and the purchases of the bacillus of Eberth. But the diary also shows another important fact—namely, that Girard was now seeking for fresh poisons. He was finding out that it was Not really easy to give a person a fatal dose of typhoid fever by administering bacilli. Pernotte must have been finished off by the injection, and Delmas, as has been seen, recovered. Real poisons are more efficacious, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but they need careful preparation. Among the vegetable alkaloids there are poisons that leave no trace for the autopsy, and many a crime, without a shadow of doubt, has remained undiscovered through the use of such things. But if cholera, typhoid, and tetanus can be bought in bottles, it is not so easy to procure, for example, preparations of poisonous fungi. For these a doctor's prescription is necessary, and no doctor will give one to a traveller in wine. Neverthe- less, there are terrible poisons to be found in the fields, among the moss, and in the woods. Any handbook of botany will point them out, and there is nothing to prevent anyone who wishes to do so strolling out into the country and bringing back a basket full of the most deadly poisonous mushrooms, such as Messaline used to employ in olden times ! There are numerous kinds of poisonous mushrooms, and in France, where the edible fungi are much more extensively used than they are in England, these are well known. The most deadly of them all is the genus amanita, which specdily spreads its poison through the body and yet leaves no trace. Symptoms of mushroom poisoning are diffi- cult to trace, and it cannot always be dis- covered that the victim has actually eaten mushrooms at all. After his failure with Delmas and the typhoid bacillus, Girard had turned his attention to the study of amanita muscaria. He bought works on the subject, and soon familiarized himself with the deadly effects of this vegetable. He next hunted out a flower-dealer of St. Germain, and, telling him that he was a doctor who was making experiments, com- missioned him to find him specimens of these and other - poisonous fungi, such as the poisonous agaricus and phallus impudicus, showing him coloured botanical plates, so that he should make no mistake. He told the house-porter, who saw the things, that they were to make poisonous gases to use on the Germans ! Having obtained his material, he invited the inoffensive Duroux to dinner, and poor Mimiche was only too delighted to dine with his entertaining friend. The sinister diary now has these entries: ‘May 10.— Mushrooms. May 11.—Mushrooms. May 14.—Invite Mimiche to dinner.” The servant girl remembered this dinner because Girard and Joséphine Douéteau had told her to keep the crockery used by Mimiche apart, as he had an_ infectious disease! But they changed their minds, and when the dinner was over they told her it was late, and sent her to bed. As soon as Mimiche had gone, they shut themselves up in the bathroom and themselves washed the

Page 254

crockery, and the girl later noticed a smell of disinfectant. But Girard’s apprentice hand was evidently not yet cunning enough. Perhaps the poison was badly prepared. At any rate, Mimiche on this occasion felt no ill effects. The whole business had to be begun all over again. About this time Girard was “ put away” for a short time for an irregularity which had nothing to do with his real work, and as soon as he was released again on December 4th, he went to see his old friend Mimiche to renew the intimacy which had been broken off by his detention in prison. He asked him to meet him at a café near the Eastern “GENTLEMAN” GIRARD. 247 ‘December 10.—Mimiche. 12.—Legs swollen. 1I9.—Mimiche. 20.—See Mimiche. 27.— Mimiche 6 o'clock.” “ Mimiche,”’ said his friend, “ just go across and get me a paper, will you ?” When Duroux returned home he ex- perienced the same pains and illness as before. He told his employers, who advised him to have nothing more to do with Girard. Luckily for himself, he recovered, although Dr. Dervieux declared that his symptoms showed a determined attempt at poisoning by noxious fungi. Mimiche followed the advice that had been given him and “cut ” Girard entirely. Photograph of the trial of Girard’s accomplices, Joséphine Douéteau and Jeanne Drouhin (Mme. Girard). Both received long terms of penal servitude. Railway Station, and there, when they had been served with drinks on the “ terrasse,” Girard said :— “‘ Mimiche, old chap, you might run across and buy me some cigars.” Duroux did as he was asked, and then came back and drank his liquor. Girard left him almost immediately after, and Mimiche took the underground railway. Almost at once he felt ill, with pains in the head and the back of the neck, while his legs became slightly swollen, Mimiche, however, was not easy to dispose of, and the mysterious illness passed away. A few days later they met again at the same café, Jeanne Drouhin being present. It was December 27th, and the diary about this time contained the following entries: But it would be strange if so resolute a character as Girard, who had elaborated his plans so well, should not finally achieve success. He sought another victim, and this time the poison did its work. Jeanne Drouhin was in the habit of taking her midday meal in a small popular res- taurant, and there one day she mct a Mme. Monin, a widow, thirty-seven years old, who had been a milliner, but during the war was employed at the Pensions Ministry. She still continued to make or alter hats at her home in the evenings in order to add a little to her income. She made Girard’s acquaintance through Jeanne Drouhin. One day, early in April, 1918, Mme. Monin was very much astonished to receive a visit from a man she did not know, who said

Page 255

248 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. he was a genealogist and who asked her for her papers, on the pretext of arranging to claim an inheritance for her. Mme. Monin did not understand what he was talking about, but nevertheless she entrusted her papers to the stranger. On the 8th and gth of April, Girard visited four insurance companies—the ‘ Urbaine,” the ‘ Phénix,’’ the ‘ Abeille,”” and the “ National’ — accompanied by a woman who said she was Mme. Monin, widow, and had all her papers of identity. In the first three companies she insured herself for twenty thousand francs, with policies payable to bearer, while in the fourth company it was Girard himself who made the contract, he to receive, in the event of Mme. Monin’s decease, the sum of twenty thousand francs. The woman who signed these policies in the name of Mme. Monin and went through the medical examinations was none other than Jeanne Drouhin herself, as Girard and she confessed before the death of the former. Naturally the real Mme. Monin was quite ignorant of the fact that her death would bring sixty thousand francs to Jeanne Drouhin and twenty thousand to Girard. The companies had all waived the first payment of premium, but the second pay- ments were due on July 9th and 11th. If the demands were presented to Mme. Monin on those dates the whole plot would be revealed, so the accomplices had to prevent this. Either they must go to the offices of the company and pay them personally or— and this would be the more economical course—Mme. Monin must die before the date named. That is what happened; the insurances were dated April 9th, and on April 30th Mme. Monin was dead. One day Jeanne Drouhin brought a hat to Mme. Monin, asking her to make it up again. ‘‘ You can come to me on the 30th,” she said; ‘‘I shall be at home, and we will try it on.” On the date named, about six o'clock in the evening, the milliner went to the house in the Faubourg St. Denis where Drouhin lived with Girard, taking the hat with her. She found the pair seated at the table having a drink together. There was nothing ex- traordinary in that; ‘‘quinquina” is a beverage frequently taken by French people before meals as an appetizer. Both women went to a mirror and tried onthe hat. From that spot it was impossible to see what was going on at the table. Then Jeanne took the milliner for a moment into another room. When she came out again, Girard said to her :— “Are you going, Mme. Monin? At any rate, you will have a little glass of quinguina with us?” So she sat down beside them and chatted with Girard, the experimenter in pvisons, and the young woman with the piercing eyes set in a deathly pale face, which afterwards, when she was in court, reminded the on- lookers of some Italian picture of the sixteenth century. They talked about the weather, the war, and the dearness of living, laughing and joking. Mme. Monin did not stay long, and they did not press her to tarry—the work was done. Girard breathed a sigh of relief when she had departed. He had had so much disappointment with other attempts ; now, surely, his efforts would be crowned with success. Mme. Monin went to the underground railway, but no sooner was she on the plat- form waiting for a train than she began to feel terribly ill. She sank on to a bench, where she writhed in suttering and could not get up. Two policemen were fetched, and they took her home in a cab. *‘ She looked as if she was going to die,” one of them said. She told them what had occurred, and that she had just come from Girard’s, where she had taken nothing but a simple little drink of ‘* quinquina.” She was taken upstairs and put to bed, complaining of cold and violent pains in the stomach. Sympathetic neighbours came and tried to make her eat, but she could not. They made tea for her, but her jaws were too contracted to permit her to swallow it. Then they rubbed her limbs, which began to be paralyzed. Gradually her speech thick- ened and became more difficult. The neigh- bours sent for a doctor, but when he arrived poor Mme. Monin was past all human aid. An autopsy of the body was not made until six months later, and then nothing. was found, for, as has been said, amanita mus- caria leaves no perceptible trace. But the organs were found to be quite healthy, without any trace of a lesion that might have caused death. The cause of this sudden decease remained a mystery, but the expert medical specialist, Dr. Dervieux, came to the opinion that it was due to poisoning from amanita, of which Girard had been making a collection. On the evening of the poor miulliner’s death a man named Leliévre, to whom she was engaged to be married, sent word round to Girard and Jeanne Drouhin. They did not go to see their dead friend and they did not go to the funeral. But a week later Girard went to the “National” and was paid the twenty thousand francs, the amount of the insur- ance, while Jeanne Drouhin went and received a similar sum from the “ Abeille ” company. The ‘ Phénix,” however, refused to pay. They wished to make further je. pe at a eae

Page 256

inquiries, and finally they brought a charge of fraud. In view of this attitude the couple did not go to the other insurance company. Girard began’ to be afraid ; he felt instinctively that the toils were closing round him, and he began to destroy his books on poisons and anything else that might compromise him —anything but the diary! As if they hada sort of feeling that they would be stronger if united, Girard and Jeanne Drouhin were married on the 8th July. At the same time Joséphine Douéteau, in order to save him and herself, began to burn the books that had been left with her and to destroy the tubes of bacillus culture. From 1912 to 1919 she had been his almost constant companion, and in spite of the fact that he had forsaken her she had remained faithful to him. ‘I believed in him im- plicitly,”’ she said later in court; ‘‘he was a god for me, and so learned!” A portion of his laboratory was found later at her flat under the roof, while other stuff had been taken to one of her friends. She was not curious about anything that he did, and declared that mostly she knew nothing. Girard himself rented a safe at the Crédit Lyonnais under the name of Delmas, and she had authority to visit it under the name of Mme. Delmas. The insurance agent-wine dealer-poisoner must have had a very ingratiating and plausible way with him. He had two of the “GENTLEMAN” GIRARD. 249 three women with whom he associated entirely under his thumb, and he found it easy to make friends and to induce them to believe all he said. They called him “Gentleman "’ Girard, and the profession of poisoner is one, it would appear, that calls for a certain amount of gentlemanliness in its followers. You have to gain the confidence of your victims to obtain real success. The action brought by the ‘‘ Phénix” company finally led to Girard’s arrest. He remained the “ gentleman ”’ to the end, as he escaped the guillotine by dying in prison in the summer of 1919 of consumption, during the course of the preliminary magisterial examination. The two women paid the penalty of their friendship with him by long terms of penal servitude. One of the indirect results of this astound- ing case is the new “‘ identity card "” that has been brought into use by M. Leullier, the popular and energetic Prefect of the Paris Police. The card, which is at present optional, but may become compulsory by law, contains the indications and description of the bearer, his or her photograph and finger print, with, of course, a note of any police proceedings in the past of the in- dividual. This identity card can be asked for by an insurance company to whom an application for a policy is made, and such personation frauds as those by which Girard profited should in future be impossible. UNTIL 1916 the picturesque ancient cottage seen in the above photograph was the home of a labourer, who, when called to the Colours, shut up his “little wooden hut,” which had not been reopened again when our picture was taken. The peculiarity about the cottage is that it is built entirely of parts of trees, more or less in their natural state. The porch, for instance, consists of two gnarled old trunks, while the sides of the dwelling are simply rough hewn slabs with the bark on. The chimney, of course. is of brick, but otherwise the place is entirely of wood. This odd Peter Pan sort of house stands close to a by-road some ten miles from Hereford.

Page 257

The wonderful mask and headdress worn by “Roller.” THE GHOST DANCERS YAM IMST ete A, Avian “ Scheller,” fierce moustache, is the hero of the festival. with his It is not only among the savages of Africa or the South Sea Islands that fantastic dances, barbaric ceremonies, and wild heathen rites survive. At the little village of Imst, in a quiet valley of the Tyrol, the simple peasants have kept up, ever since the darkest ages, a sort of fetish or mumbo-jumbo carnival, the origin and meaning of which is now doubtful. Mr. Vivian gives a vivid description of the mad revels in ancient wooden masks, and bas secured a fine collection CCORDI NG to legend, Claudia Pro- cula, the wife of Pontius Pilate, after relating her dream and making vain efforts to save Christ from the fury of the Jews, devoted the rest of her life and eternity to the souls of un- baptized children. Tyrolese _ tradition asserts that she started a special paradise for children’s souls, where they spent a life of inno- cence and happiness, playing with flowers, joining in the song of the birds and the murmurs of the waterfalls, in an atmosphere of per- petual springtime. Hence, it is be- lieved, came a half- heathenish, half- early-Christian celebration in the beautiful old - world village of Imst, in the Tyrol. The memory of Pilate’s wife and the unbaptized child- ren was soon lost, ex- cept that the teasing of remarkable photographs. “Roller” and “Scheller,” the representatives of Winter and Spring. Notice “Scheller’s” belt of cowbells. of witches still sur- vives. The rest is just noisy fun, horse- play, and general uproar, Every three or four years at Carnival- time the population gives itself up to the wildest revels. “Scheller,” who represents spring, has the duty of killing “ Roller,”’ the repre- sentative of the winter of the local discontent. It is a symbol of the vic- tory of Spring over Winter. The whole popu- lation dresses up in fantastic costumes and wooden miasks which have been handed down from generation to genera- tion. The masks are kept in the museum of Imst, and the Burgomaster told me that he lends them out without much hope of more than half of them being returned. The characters include giants, bears, Turks, savages, wandcring Jews, and—most

Page 258

THE GHOST DANCERS OF IMST. characteristic of all—witches, who are looked upon as the representatives of the Evil One and the tormentors of un- baptized children. They are subjected to all sorts of horseplay, including even a ducking in the mountain torrent. One of the features of the show is that, according to immemorial tradition, no woman takes part in the masquerade, so that it is invari- ably a man who enacts the ré/e of a witch, and he always takes the consequences in good part. Sometimes he wears a strange loose gar- ment made all in one piece. The witch may also wear a huge straw hat like a Spanish sombrero and a really fantastic mask of exceeding ugliness; or he may appear in a granny bonnet and Tyrolese costume, with chintz skirt and laced bodice. His mask has big projecting teeth, and he carries a soft rag-bag or rubber balloon to defend himself against the mischief of the crowd. Like most of the other masqueraders, he wears a girdle of sleigh-bells or enormous cow-bells, some of which weigh as much as seventy pounds. The masked revellers run This picture A couple in Tyrolese costume. gives one a good idea of the life-like nature of the wooden masks. 251 Two maskers armed with syringes, with which they squirt water over the crowd. in and out of houses like the Furry-dancers at Helston, in Cornwall, on Flora Day, which probably has a similar origin. The whole business is called Schemen- laufen —literally ‘‘ Shadow-running ” or “ Ghost-capering”’; and the custom is to career from village to village yelling, crack- ing whips, playing every kind of practical joke upon sober citizens, and giving them- selves up to the most absurd horseplay imaginable, until the hour of the Angelus, when all doff their masks, cross themselves, murmur an Ave, and retire to supper-places until it is time for the fireworks and the native dances that bring the proceedings to a close. In olden times there were similar revels in various parts of Central Europe—the “ Butchers’ River-Dance ” of Lower Bavaria ; the “ Bellmen’s Races” in the Salzkam- mergut; the ‘‘Mad Thursdays” of the Lower Inn valley; and the “ Bell-Beating”’ of the Brenner. These, however, have never attracted much attention, and are considered feeble imitations of the famous carnival of Imst. The old mining trades unions—who waxed fat and kicked in the Middle Ages even more than they do now—subscribed lavishly to the “ ghost dances” and kept them up for centuries. The people of Imst are among the most

Page 259

252 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, religious in the Tyrol, and take a patriotic pride in their masquerade. An old lady who objected to its sup- posed heathen origin tried to stop the revels by sub- scribing a sum of money for the exposition of the sacra- ment in the parish church on the Thursday before Lent, commonly called ‘ Foolish Thursday.” This was a serious matter, because any form of revelry or dissi- pation was forbidden on all holy days or whenever the sacrament was exposed. The difficulty, however, was overcome by transferring the masquerade to the pre- vious Tuesday. The attachment of the people to the masquerade was proved on May 7th, 1822, when there was a big fire, which burnt to the ground two hundred and six houses out of the two hundred and twenty in the town. Before anyone in Imst thought of saving their own property, they first devoted themselves to the rescue of the precious wooden masks and_head- dresses ! The various parts are played year after year by the same men, and are handed down as an inheritance in the same families, like the parts in Passion plays. A man of seventy-four, for instance, can boast of having played “ Roller” fourteen times, and the agility of his jumping still excited the admiration of the villagers on the last occasion. Apart from influencing good harvests, the ghost dances are regarded as great helps to matrimony. Though the young women do not join in the revels, they all come out to see the fun, and there is a superstition about a special blessing attaching to engagements made on that day. Good luck is also con- ferred on any houses where the dancers form a circle and sing the ancient songs. The carnival affords an excellent oppor- tunity of ventilating grudges against un- popular people, especially those in high places. Something akin to the ‘rough music” of the South of England takes place, tin-pots and drums being beaten and old muskets being fired into the air, while a spokesman of the township recites the offence of the culprit. Windows are sometimes broken ; Some of the extraordinary characters and the victim may be dragged out, stripped, and even ducked in the nearest horse-pond. The authorities have long striven to stop this custom, and heavy penalties have been imposed on the perpetrators, but it continues to crop up in spite of everything. The ghost-dancing ceremony proper begins with an assembly in the early morning, and this is followed by a procession from the upper town to the Stag Hotel. Here a herald in mediaeval costume reads a proclamation, surrounded by an eager crowd. Prince and Princess Carnival are by his side, while he sets forth the ancient glories of the ghost dance, and behind him, dressed in the most fantastic garments, are the musicians—men dressed up as women in nightdresses, old- fashioned caps, and everything as ridiculous as possible. The great idea is to display the comic side of things, very much in the same way as Southern Italians try to conjure away evil influences with rattles, funny figures, and anything calculated to make even a demon laugh. Witches are supposed to bring about disastrous thunderstorms, and

Page 260

THE GHOST DANCERS OF IMST. 253 who take part in the festival. if they can be propitiated by the ringing of bells and the playing of merry pranks the crops may be saved. As in all high- land countries, pipes play a big part in the festivity. Scheller and Roller may or may not be descended from primeval gods, but they are still celebrated as disputants over the advent of spring. The whole ceremony, in fact, appears to be a sort of intercession for a good harvest, especially of flax and Indian corn. The head-dresses of Scheller and Roller are said to have some symbolical con- nection with cows coming home, though nobody i have met can explain precisely how or why, the cow-bells being the only survival. Roller has a feminine face, pink and white and smiling, and he wears orange-blossom and bows of white satin, as though he were a bride. His head-dress is about eighteen inches high, studded with bits of glass, feathers, and artificial flowers, and he has white stockings and low shoes decorated with ribbons. He advances with a light, dancing step, and then jumps wildly into the air, keeping time and measure in a way that is open to criticism from the public if he fails to main- tain the customary tra- ditions Scheller, on the other hand, is eminently mascu- line, and his head-dress is nearly twice as big as his col- league’s, with big branches of yew at the back. In contrast to Roller’s pink- and-white prettiness, he wears most ferocious-look- ing moustaches. He has a bright red kerchief hanging from his head to his shoulders, and carries a big stick, or shepherd's crook, in his right hand. Another character is the Sprinkler (" Spritzer”), who wears a costume of the time of Louis XV. and scat- ters water with a brush on the laughing spec- tators. He is supposed to represent a | “ water - sprite, and _ indulges in all sorts of practical jokes at the expense of his audi- ence. Some- times he wears a black mask and a_ black smock, but quite recently he has begun to affect gold- spangled shocs and a_ pearl necklace. Tra- dition has de- creed that he shallnot receive the same popularity as the other masks ; even the witches and the onlookers are allowed to tease him quite roughly. Any- body who happens to have a personal grudge against him can always vent it without inter- ference, even to the extent of flinging him into the nearest pigsty. A typical witch.

Page 261

254 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The witches wear high wooden noses, goats’ beards, warts and bristles, and pigs’ teeth. Sometimes their noses assume the shape of serpents and dragons! They wear flaxen wigs, conical straw hats, white neck- ties, black or coloured stockings, and buckled shoes. The small boys amuse themselves by trying to take away the sack from the Wandering Jew, the squirt from the water- sprite, but most of all, as great trophies, the brooms from the witches. These ladies are accompanied by a special band of their own, consisting of youths in red coats and red Turkish fezzes, and their music is what might be expected from a witches’ Sabbath. On the whole, everything is taken as a huge Again, there is the Labaya, a quartette of singers in male and female masks, the males wearing top-hats and frock-coats, the women “ high-life "’ costumes as interpreted by the fashionable critics of Imst. Special songs are prepared by local poets for these singers, and have acquired a certain celebrity. A book has been published containing the Labara songs of the last fifty years, and some of them are quite witty. The more carriages and triumphal cars that accompany the masquerade, the more fantastic and ridiculous the procession, the wilder, noisier, and rowdier the entertain- ment, the more convinced are the people that they will exorcise bad influences and joke, and the witches distribute biscuits out of big baskets to the crowd, thereby dis- arming mischief. In olden days the witches used to duck small children in the river and then pacify them with these biscuits, but now they receive the biscuits without the wetting. Scientists have tried to establish a connection between the ducking and an original symbolism of protection for unbap- tized children, and there may also be some- thing sacramental about the distribution of the biscuits, which resemble wafers. The masks are made of pinewood, and are often carved quite artistically. Some of the best have been bought up by travellers, or collected in Austrian museums. A favourite character is a chimney-sweep, with a ladder and brush. Another is the flower-maiden. Tyrolese singers in a decorated car passing through the packed streets. secure a good harvest. In the year 1900, for instance, great hopes were aroused by the appearance of a huge wagon filled with Moors, with a silken-and-golden canopy, to protect people rigged out as Sultans and Sultanas. In 1911 there was a car like a ship, in which all the aristocracy of the neighbourhood figured in grotesque naval uniforms. Other cars have been designed to represent windmills, phonographs, matri- monial agencies, monkey-houses, and bear- pits. Until you have seen the Ghost Dances of Imst you can get no idea of the geniality and vivacity of the affair, the shouts and yells of the masks, the tumult of the witches, the cats’ concert of all the different bands and choirs, the merriment of the sack-men and

Page 262

THE GHOST DANCERS OF IMST. 255 A “chip” in the procession of cars. sprinklers, the friendly horseplay of crowd and performers. The Carnival of Nice or the Mid-Lent revelries of Paris are not a patch on it. Imst is very proud of her traditions. Her people are among the most charming and courteous of all the districts of smiling Tyrol, and His Worship the Burgomaster, a typical mountaineer, whose face exudes grace and energy and friendliness, grudges no moment of his precious time to anybody interested in the history of the masquerades of Imst. The maskers performing an ancient dance.

Page 263

“DOWN THE _ OLD DELPH } A Be FRANK, REYNOLDS ILLUSTRATED BY DUDLEY TENNANT With a companion the Author set out to explore a disused mine, where they underwent an ex- perience which neither of them will ever forget. “The story is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Reynolds. ‘ Wild horses would not drag me into the Delph again.” OBY MILL is a tiny village in Lanca- R shire, nestling on the wooded slopes leading from Gathurst valley to the crest of hills overlooking Southport and Liverpool, where stands the ancient land- mark known as Ashurst Beacon. I spent a holiday in this locality during the summer of 1920—a holiday which I shall never forget, by reason of a terrible experience just prior to its conclusion. One very hot day in August I was lounging outside a cottage I occupied temporarily, along with my family, chatting with a friend who had resided in the locality for some time, and who was describing the beauty spots of the surrounding country. The heat even at that time in the morning was oppressive, and we fell to discussing a means of refreshing ourselves. We had almost decided on a swim in a neighbouring pool when a group of miners passed the cottage, diverting our attention. The conversation turned to mining. “Have you ever been down a mine, Frank?” asked my friend, whom I will call Long. “Never,” I replied, “ but I hope to have the opportunity one of these days.” ‘* Well,” he went on, ‘‘ what do you say to exploring the Old Delph instead of going for a swim? It is gloriously cool down there, and I can show you a well containing the finest drink- ing water in England, and icy cold to boot.’’ “The Old Delph ? ”’ I queried. “ What sort of a place is that?” “It is a disused stone mine,” The Author, Mr.R. Frank Reynolds. and joined Long outside. The mouth of the “Old Delph.” he explained. ‘ Hasn’t been worked for twenty years or more, I understand. I spent a short time down there a month ago, with a man who had been employed in it as a youth, and it proved to be an extremely interesting trip. The workings extend beneath us here, and cover many acres. There is an entrance in that clump of bushes over yonder, from which a ‘road’ leads, by a fairly stiff incline, down into the main galleries. We can keep to the parts I visited with the guide, which I shall easily recognize again, so that there will be no danger in taking the trip un- accompanied. Are you game, Frank ? ” “Certainly,” I responded ; “ anything to get where it is cool.’”” “There is one thing we must make quite sure of,” continued Long, ‘‘ and that is—plenty of lighting tackle. Candles are most suitable. I'll fetch a couple of lanterns I have by me.” ““Never mind them,” I told him; “I’ve lanterns and candles in the cottage.” My wife had gone out with my little daughter, but I found a large packet of candles, and leaving a note to the effect that I was going for a stroll and would be back for lunch, I snatched up a couple of lanterns

Page 264

DOWN “We are not likely to be short of candles,” remarked Long, as he watched me adjust the lanterns and tie up the remaining candles into a bundle, which I slung to my arm by the string. Then we set off, eager to com- mence our explorations. It was now I1.15 a.m., and we reckoned on having plenty of time for the trip. The entrance to the Old Delph was almost overgrown with bushes, and bevond the rim of the five-foot opening in the sohd rock which reared vertically before us the intenor looked dark and forbidding. We stepped within the aperture, passing immediately into a cold atmosphere that smelt earthy and felt clammy, and proceeded down the steep gradient up which the stone from the depths had been hauled to the surface on trolley The ruins of the engine- house, I had noticed, still stood at the entrance like a grim sentinel. After proceeding for, I should say, half a mile along the entrance tunnel we reached the junction of several “ roads.’’ Turning down the widest of these, we found progress much more difficult owing to obstruction by large blocks of stone which had apparently fallen from the roof. These were slimy to the touch and needed careful climbing. A few minutes of this exertion and we halted for a rest within a cavern, one of a series of spacious low-roofed areas. The scene here was magnificent and yet repellent. The walls and the uneven sur- faces of the enormous pillars that held up the roof oozed moisture; countless stalactites hung from the ceiling, and the colouring of the various strata was gorgeous. “The well is a little to the right, up yonder narrow * road,’ ”’ said Long, after we had explored another cave. His voice sounded hollow and uncanny, and the rumbling of its echoes, which died away in the distance with a peculiar moan, tather startled me. “You will notice we have now ceased descending,” he went on. ‘We must be a terrific depth below the village. I've heard the villagers speak of an immense subter- ranean lake which lies beneath them. It can only be reached through this mine, I believe, but it is said that no one has ever explored its farther reaches, even in the days when men worked down here.” At one point in our advance towards the well we came across a huge slab of rock about ten or twelve yards long. This had fallen from the roof in a solid mass a foot thick, completely covering the floor of a cavern. “It weighs some tons, that,” said Long. “Tam told people in the village heard the crash when it fell last winter. Nobody worried much, however; they are used to Vol. xlix.—18. THE ‘“‘OLD DELPH.” 257 what they call the © grumblings’ of the Old Delph.” We found the well in a recess in the wall. My light showed the crystal surface of the water through the hole in the floor, and I gazed curiously into its depths, but could discern no bottom. " Deep, eh, Long ?” I queried. “It must be,” he answered. *‘ The guide told me no one had sounded it, to his know- ledge.” I scooped up a drink with my hands, and it was certainly the most delicious water I have ever tasted, and icy cool. Again I sampled it. The coldness of the water numbed my hands, and I was rising to my feet, shaking my fingers over the well pre- paratory to drving them, when suddenly the parcel of candles shpped from my arm and dropped with a dull splash into the depths of the well ! E * What's that, Frank ?” cried Long. “The candles—gone ! ”’ I gasped. **Good heavens, man! Got any in your pockets ?”” * Not an inch.” My heart sank as I realized our predica- ment, for we had already used practically three-quarters of the candles in our lanterns. “Come on, or we shall never be able to get out with the remaining candles,” said Long. ‘ We must make a dash for it. Put yours out; it’s the only way we can make the light last.” : We hurried on the return - journey, stumbling over the boulders breathless and anxious. The solitary light was barely sufficient for a cautious journey, let alone a race against time along a subterranean road where so many dangers lurked. Speech was superfluous—a mere waste of precious breath. A quarter of an hour or so elapsed, and then we passed a huge triangular boulder I could not recollect having seen before. “ Are you on the right road, Long?” I gasped. “ Yes,” he growled. We struggled onward for some distance farther ; then we were brought to a stand- still, for a solid wall barred further progress. “Confound it! I’ve taken the wrong turning somewhere, Frank,” cried Long, in dismay. “Let's get back to that triangular boulder we passed a while ago,” I replied; ‘ you went wrong somewhere there, I’m sure.” We retraced our steps, but again we came upon solid rock—and we had not reached the boulder referred to ! “Wrong again! Let’s try this,” said I, indicating a branch “road” in the vicinity.

Page 265

258 Five minutes or so later we arrived at the identical spot where we first met the solid wall, “We are lost,’ muttered Long, faintly. * What’s to be done ? ” “Done?” I said, ‘ we've got to keep searching for the right road, that’s all. Give me the light ; let me have a try.” We dashed about at a reckless pace, first along one “ road,” then another, occasionally crossing deep cuttings, some of w h were bridged by rough stone slabs, others yawning bridgeless, but which we jumped. Many were of a width I should never have attempted to cross with a leap normally, but we were desperate and did amazing things. We fell into slimy holes, crawled through small apertures, and climbed ragged heaps of stone and rock, but alw: we came upon blank wall. Every ‘ road" scemed a cul de sac. Apparently we were hopelessly lost in this underground maze—and every moment the candle burnt lower ! By this time, what with suspense and exertion, I was panting for breath. Per- spiration streamed from me, and the icy coldness of the atmosphere chilled my damp clothes, making them clammy to the touch of my body. Slowly exhaustion from our mad _ rushes to and fro began to make itself felt, and at last, realizing the folly of this waste of strength without a definite course of action, I stopped. When I shone the light upon Long I saw that his condition was pitiful. Dirt and blood disfigured his face where he had wiped away the perspiration with a torn hand. His clothes—like mine, caked with mud— were saturated with moisture. At this moment the lantern spluttered and went out. One of our two pieces of candle was exhausted. Tor a time we sat there without lighting the last piece, both of us quite unable to speak. Never shall I forget the terrible blackness that descended on us! I could almost feel it pressing on my chest, so that my breath came in sobs. My eyes, too, hurt horribly. At last I could stand it no longer. I fumbled for my matches and the stump of candle taken from the lantern at the well. Thank heaven! The matches were intact and dry. Lighting Long. ‘“We are completely lost, old man,” I said, as calmly as I could. ‘* What do you suggest is the best course to adopt ? ’’ He answered not a word, but sat huddled on the stone, staring fixedly at the light. His hopeless attitude increased my alarm, and the deathly silence, the cold, damp up once more, I turned to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, walls and dripping roof, which saturated the oozing clay at our feet, all added to my discomfort and increased my horror at our plight. Just then the candle spluttered slightly and began to burn rather more dimly. Long started to his feet. ‘‘ What about the light, man?” he shouted. ‘* We cannot stand the dark—the dark means madness ! ” I attempted to convey an impression of my ridicule at such a possibility, but my wavering voice betrayed my anxiety. How- ever, I plucked up courage and continued :— “ Well, we've got to economize this light, and we've also got to make another effort to find a road out. We will rest for a few minutes ; that will give us strength for the next effort. There's always hope, old man, and if it comes to the worst we shall have to wait for a search-party.” ‘Wait and be hanged!” growled Long. “We can’t sit here. We shall be gibbering lunatics an hour after that bit of candle gives out. Besides, it may be many hours, or even days, before anyone thinks of looking for us down here.” I realized that this was only too true, for no one knew we had come on the trip, and only discovery of the fact that we had taken lanterns from the cottage would give any inkling as to our whereabouts. “T must have a rest anyhow, Long,” I told him. ‘I'm absolutely exhausted. We will save the candle and light matches at intervals.” With that I blew out the lantern. Once, between the intervals of light, I heard a rustle, and something whirled past my face, scratching it painfully. My heart thumped suffocatingly as I tremblingly struck another match. Even as I did so I saw an enormous bat skim through the air from a ledge above me, and away into space along one of the ‘‘ roads ” in the vicinity. This incident upset me completely. Long half rose, with a startled exclamation, and continued to stare after the bat. In the match-light his eyes, to me, seemed filled with an unnatural light, and his blood- smeared face added to his look of ferocity. Suddenly he jumped upright. “ See, there they are! Come on—quick !” he shouted, and made as if to dash away into the blackness without light of matches or candle. I dropped the matches in my agitation, and, without knowing why, I sprang at him, grabbed his leg in the darkness, and hung on like grim death. We rolled about, fighting and struggling like two madmen in that horrible place. Neither of us know to this day exactly why we fought. I had an idea he was going without me, or that he had taken leave of

Page 266

“*The candles— gone!’ I gasped.” his senses. He, I have since ascertained, thought he saw lights in the distance, but he is not at all clear on the point. Anyhow, the fact remains that we tumbled about amidst the clay and stones, I yelling at intervals, “‘ The lantern! We've lost the lantern!” I recollect the awful thoughts that flashed through my mind during that DOWN THE “OLD DELPH.” 259 nightmare struggle. into one of those horrid chasms, or the subterranean lake itself ! Suppose we dropped At last I heard Long shout: ‘ The matches, Frank! They are under me. Light the lantern.” I remember feeling for and finding the flattened box of matches. By the light of a precious match—fortunately

Page 267

260 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the box had not become wet—I found the lantern containing the bit of candle which, I now began to realize, was all that stood between our rational selves and insanity. Once more the lantern beamed, but now, after the gloom, it appeared like a thousand- candle-power lamp. “Long,” I shouted, “ there’s a draught from this ‘ road’ behind us. Let us try it.” Hastily, and with seemingly renewed strength, we clambered along the “ road” down which the I struggled up, and as I did so I felt Long stir a little. He was unconscious, and doubt- less I had been the same. As my brain cleared I found myself gazing at a small white speck. As I looked I realized that from the speck there beamed a tiny shaft of light. “Long! See—lght!” I shouted. My cries roused him, and when we had recovered sufficiently to enable us to stand, we staggered forward and upward towards that speck of light, which grew draught had come to stir our candle-light, and along which, I re- collected, the bat had flown. On—on, for what seemed ages we toiled, our clothes torn to ribbons, sharp edges of stone cutting our hands and knees, but we felt no pain— nothing mattered but the finding of the source of that draught, which had now become an ob- session with us. Slowly our scrap of candle burned down to the socket in the lantern bottom. Pre- sently the wick was merely floating in the melted fat, and I dared not tilt the lan- tern. Still we pressed on. Were we on the way out, or merely travel- ling deeper into the mine? It was a terrible thought, but we encountered no blank-wall obstruction, and this gave us courage. The light spluttered ; it was nearly out. Suddenly my foot encountered empty air, and I crashed down into space. There was a terrific jolt ; then came blackness. How long I lay there I shali never know. I recollect feeling a horrible pain shooting across my forehead, and the dead weight of Long holding me down to the floor, which was fortunately dry. Ashurst Beacon, Lancashire, a well-known landmark near the “Old Delph.” larger and larger as we approached it, until we recognized it as the entrance- hole through which we had passed so lightheartedly many hours’ before, for, glancing at my watch, I saw that it was 5-15. We had been down the mine six hours. In the glorious light of a summer day we reeled out of that maw of darkness and sank down on to the sweet grass in the warmth of the Aug- ust atmosphere, nor did we move or speak until the shadows lengthened and the sun sank below the spire of the “‘ Beacon "’ tower. “A near thing, old man!” said Long, later. ‘And now I will tell you something you will thank Heaven you did not know this morning.” “What's that, Long ? ’” “Some of the villagers will tell you a story—it may be a legend or it may be true— but they will tell you how, years ago, two men were lost in the Old Delph for many hours. When the search-party found them, one of the poor fellows had lost his reason, and babbled about darkness and stone until he died.”

Page 268

aa : Conrad Suis NE of the few remaining virgin climbs among the peaks of the Northern Tyrol is the North Wall of the Prax- mar mountain, some miles west of Innsbruck. The west side is almost MARO ONED ona PRECIPICE ce hy re | a VW Herbert ILLUSTRATED BY C. FLEMING WILLIAMS xg rath \ Karl Aichner. But the demons of the mountains seemed to be in league to de- fend their wild domain. After overcoming all sorts of unexpected difficulties the three men succeeded, at nightfall, in reaching a a tourists’ promenade, and presents no difficulty to ordinary climbers; but the forbidding approach The terrible adventure that befell three climbers while endeavouring to make a record ascent ledge about eighteen inches wide and three feet long — something in the like half a_ tea-tray, from the north has long tempted and _ baffled the boldest of Alpine pioneers. The last bit of it con- sists of a sheer, crumbling rock which it is impos- sible to negotiate unaided. It has no projections on which Northern Tyrol Having reached a narrow ledge, three feet long and eighteen inches wide, they found to their horror that they were unable either to advance or retreat! Cling- ing precariously to a nail driven into the rock, and perished with cold and hunger, they endured six days and nights of mental and physical torture before a relief-party finally succeeded in rescuing them. though it was by no means so smooth as that. Here, as it was impossible to descend in the gloom, they de- cided to spend the night huddled together on crumbling rubble, clinging to a rope they had tied to a _ nail ropes can be slung; and neither hooks nor nails can be fixed into it with any sense of security. A party from Munich made two attempts late in July, 1921, but had to return hopelessly discouraged. Then one, Conrad Schuster, with his friends, Alois Netzer and Karl Aichner, determined to make a bold effort to add to their laurels as rock-climbers by storming the hitherto-impregnable fortress. They started on Sunday, the 31st of July, at six in the morning, with more courage than confidence. They had left all their superfluous baggage at the hut and set out with only their climbing kit, ropes, hooks to be hammered into the rock, and safety nails. They wore only leather breeches, climbing shoes, and short Tyrolese coats like Eton jackets. They carried with them provisions sufficient to last for one day, naturally imagining that, win or lose, their effort could not be a long one. Alois driven into the rock. Their goal was_ still about two hundred yards above them, but it presented one of the most difficult problems of rock- climbing, for it was not only as steep as a wall, but was defended by four overhanging projections. Below them a sheer cliff stretched down for hundreds of yards, with scarcely so much as a tuft of moss to relieve the horror of the abyss. The night passed without mishap, and on the Monday morning they determined to resume the struggle, starting off at five o’clock. Netzer went first, but could obtain no foothold with his climbing irons on the slippery, slimy rock. He slid down back- wards to the ledge, where the other two were just able to hold him. Presently he ham- mered a nail in and hoisted himself up to it, preparing to place another farther on, and so scale the wall. It looked as though he would succeed this Netzer.

Page 269

262 time, but, unfortunately, one of his nails suddenly gave way, the rock being too brittle to hold it. Netzer fell with such a crash that he dislodged Schuster from the place where he was clinging, and the pair slid down together. Aichner was clutching another nail farther down and, by exercising all his strength, just managed to support the couple until they could once more get a foothold on the ledge. It was a very narrow escape from utter disaster for all three of them. Netzer had lost consciousness owing to the violence of his fall, and it was hopeless to attempt any further progress until he recovered. As they crouched there, watching their injured companion, Aichner and Schuster realized to their horror that practically all their climbing kit had gone over the precipice when they slid back to the ledge, and that without it they were utterly helpless. There was not the slightest chance of returning the way they had come, and any attempt at reaching the summit was equally im- possible. They could neither go forward nor back ! It was now nine o'clock in the morning, and they spent the whole day crouching on their tiny ledge ’twixt earth and heaven. Imagine the horror of their situation, with the equivalent of a dead man to support on a loose projection of rock, with only a bit of rope and a shaky nail to save them from being dashed headlong down a bottomless pit! Schuster clutched the hook with one hand, Aichner huddled against him, and both had to keep their eyes open in order to guard the insensible Netzer from rolling off the ledge to destruction. It was a hideous nightmare, and these poor fellows were fated to endure it for six long, weary days and nights ! An overhanging rock kept the sun’s rays from them all day except for half an hour just after dawn, and they suffered as much from cold as though they had been immured in an ice-cavern. Netzer remained uncon- scious all day, but the other two still hoped against hope that, when he recovered his senses, they would be able to find some practicable route up or down and so make their way home. There was still enough to eat, but it was distinctly short commons. On Tuesday morning, about four o'clock, just as the sun was rising, Netzer regained consciousness, though he still felt weak and giddy. After an anxious consultation the trio attempted to reach what looked like a downward track by leaving the ledge and sliding down a small watercourse. Before essaying this they ate up their last frag- ments of bread and sausage. After a perilous descent of some eighty yards, clinging to their remaining ropes, they realized that the apparent track was a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, delusion, and that there was not the faintest chance of proceeding any farther, especially as the experiences of the two previous davs and the bitter cold of the night had numbed their muscles. There was not even a foot- hold to be obtained, and so they had to crawl back to their old resting-place on the ledge, reaching it at 6 a.m., after a desperate struggle, in a state of utter exhaustion. Towards ten o'clock they caught sight of some sportsmen who were out after chamois, and were lucky enough to attract the attention of Baron Ringhofer, the leader of the party. He promised, in a shouted message, to return at once and inform the Rescue Society at Innsbruck of the climbers’ predicament. Sure enough, that very evening the un- fortunate men were encouraged by flashlight signals from the valley, telling them that help was on the way. During the night they were able to notify their whereabouts with their electric torches, occasionally repeating the Alpine signal of distress. By this time they had nothing whatever left to eat, and the pangs of hunger were added to their other troubles. The only thing to do, how- ever, was to tighten their belts and per- suade themselves that no effort was being neglected down below to secure their safety. On Wednesday, very early in the morning, the first rescue party, consisting of three men, arrived within hail, and it was soon followed by a second trio. The wretched captives informed them by shouts that the only chance of salvation was by letting down lines from the summit. The rescuers, unfortunately, were unable to reach it, because they had come without sufficient ropes, and all hope of escape that day there- fore faded away. The only consolation was that the would-be rescuers had an oppor- tunity of studying the conditions and inform- ing others of what was needed. The prisoners’ worst suffering at the moment was their terrible thirst. Necessity being the mother of invention, they swung a waterproof cape, tied at the corners, down to the half-dried watercourse below, managing to collect sufficient water every half-hour to give one of them a mouthful. To appease their hunger they chewed leather and all sorts of odd things that had never hitherto formed part of their bill of fare. All three were now utterly worn out, but they comforted them- selves with the retlection that this was - certainly their last day of confinement. Towards one o'clock in the morning a great mist swept over the whole valley, enveloping them in its clammy embrace until they could not see their hands in front of their noses. At six it started to rain, and at eight a violent snowstorm began, continuing to rage for many hours. This was an

Page 270

MAROONED ON amazing picce of bad luck for the unfortunate men, for it was the one and only storm of the whole summer. No one who has not had an experience of storms on the high mountains A PRECIPICE. 263 can have the faintest idea what they went through. Not only were they perished with cold, crouching there on that slippery ledge, but it was brought home to them that their rescue was now indefinitely postponed. Their spirits, like the temperature, sank below zero. Dreams of cannibalism and raving maniacs on impoverished rafts haunted their tortured brains, and often they became almost unconscious. It isa miracle, all things. considered, that they continued to hold on. When the storm finally abated and the mist disappeared, the rocky panorama all around presented the aspect of the depths of winter; every ledge, pro- jection, and cranny in the rocks was deep in snow. It was now four nights since any of the three men had slept a wink, and their bones felt frozen to the marrow. The snow that fell on the ledge, however, had enabled them to relieve their parched throats to some slight extent. They warmed themselves as best they could by pressing against one another, and took turns in clinging des- perately, with frost-bitten fingers, to the solitary nail which supported them “Only a bit of rope and a shaking nail to save them from being dashed headlong down a bottomless pit!” biatized ty GOORTe Cc

Page 271

264 Luckily for the climbers, relief was not long withheld. By the evening, the snow was replaced by rain, and on Friday night they were informed by signal that a new rescue party was approaching. This good news inspired them with fresh courage and almost made them forget the bitter cold and the fierce pangs of hunger. Now that the air was clear they could watch the progress of the rescuers. Time, however, only , brought fresh disappointment, for it was soon made apparent that the new-comers had once more failed to bring sufficient rope for reaching the summit. It was a dreadful blow to their hopes, but there was nothing for it but to resign themselves to yet another night of agony on the rock. On Saturday, at five in the morning, they learnt that a large expedition was approaching the summit from the west side, which is quite easy going. At nine an unexpected shower of stones from above almost swept them to destruction, but consoled them with the knowledge that their helpers were now above them. At four minutes past one conversa- tion was possible, and they learnt to their joy that the rescuing party was now actually forty yards above them, on the very rock THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, exhaustion, with white, emaciated faces and trembling limbs, but they rapidly recovered after a prudent administration of nourish- ment. The joy of partaking of hot tea and bread and butter was indescribable. Never in their lives had they relished food so much! Schuster and Netzer were able to climb down to the valley the same day, but Aichner was not so strong, and found it more prudent to spend a seventh night on the mountain— this time, however, in comparative comfort. All Innsbruck remained breathless through- out the six days during which the lives ot the marooned climbers were in peril, and much admiration was expressed for their pluck and endurance. Old members of the Alpine Society, however, shake their heads and say that the misfortune was not alto- gether undeserved, as greater precautions ought to have been taken to secure a way of retreat in.case of failure. One explanation of the delays that occurred, and which might well have proved fatal, is that a rumour reached Innsbruck on Friday morning that the three men had been swept away by the storm, and as a conse- quence the relief party did not start till two Typical Tyrolese mountains in the region where the climbers were marooned. where they had originally met with their misadventure. The prisoners now shouted that it was not necessary to come down to them, as they were still strong enough to fasten ropes to themselves. Soon after three, lines were lowered and Netzer was pulled up, and by five o’clock all three had reached the summit in safety. The three men, when rescued, appeared to be in the very last stages of in the afternoon. It must be remembered that, on such occasions, the rescuers have no hope of glory or gain, but expose them- selves to every sort of peril and fatigue for no other motive than that of philanthropy. Thirty-four men took part in the relief ex- pedition, dividing themselves into small parties who proceeded by stages, and a thousand yards of rope had to be employed in the work of rescue.

Page 272

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a BERMOYY VACATION TOURS 9 Days, $83.00-$88.50 and up Including All Expenses Via Palatial Steamers With all the attractions of a delightful yachting trip to a quaint foreign land. Bermuda is Cool in Summer (Average Summer Temperature 77°) Modern Hotels—All Outdoor Sports Sailing, Bathing, Golf, Tennis, Riding, Driving. Cycling, Fishing, Dancing, etc. Steamship Sailings: July Every 5 Days—Beginning August Twice Weekly No Passports required Send for special Summer Tours Booklet FURNESS BERMUDA LINE 34 Whitehall Street, New York Or any Tourist Agent Professional a Amateur Courses DEMAND FOR WIRELESS OPERATORS exceeds the sup: Experts earn big pay. $125 to $250 a ith to $10,000 yearly. We will make you an expert Wireless Operator in shortest possible time. No previous experience required. A quick, easy. interesting, simplified, instruction by Radio experts We givo best theory, text books, instruments free with courses. ‘We are recognized as the foremost wireless {nstitute, Free "ss." Radio Phone cut". given free with professional course, also Omnigraph used by U. 8. Government in your license examinations. FREE—This Learn-O-Graph Code Sender given with Amateur Course, Simple-non-technical-qualifies. you for amateur license. Wireless Operator. NEW YORK WIRELESS INSTITUTE 154 W-Nassau 8t., New York City. TRY My Best Electrical Belt FREE 60 DAYS for Rheumatism, Backache, Kidneys, Bladder, Liver, Headache, Neuralgia, Paralys’s, NERVES or PAIIN, no vigor, poor circulation, ness. No shock or danger. Just a warm glow ing, invigorating, stream of electric Mfe nerves, organs and blood while you sleep, work, Greatest power; low price; genuine free tr Catalog and EYE-OPENING facts about electric belts free. Be- ware of imitations ; A. P. OWENS, Dept. 77, Box 861, Indianapolis, Indiana Restore YOUR / Pep and Power: Resist the forces that aresapping your vital powers. Banish the weakness that make your lifea wretched failure. Stop gzPerimenting with dopeand drugs and foolish fads. Shake off Oatarrh. Con- stipation, Indigestion, Dyspep: Bad Blood, Rupture, Nervousness, Youthful Errors, Vital Depletion, Impotency and and the other results ‘of neglect and abuse (see Consultation Coupon). Don't Be a Chronic Weakling You know that life isn’t worth livin, without the ability, power, virility of of vital, healthy manhood. You know that you can never be a 100% Man again, until you regain the vital force that you have lost thru overwork, worry, excesses and abuse of Nature's immutable laws. Dope and Drugs, Pills and Powders can never help yor Such methods are the refuge of a weakling who hasn’t the sand to acknowledge his error and get a now start in life, There is only one way thatyou can escape the misery of mental and physical weakness and that is through strict adherence to Mother Nataure’slaws. She will not fail you if you sinc y want to rey yourfailing vitality and be a red-blooded man, with pep and power to measure up to real manhoc Build Up Your Body And Brain Banish Your Ailments. You can bo ge ato Healthy, Virile and Successful—you can sieve free yourself of the weaknesses and de- fects that rob you of the Joys of and that sooner or later will cause you to | your friends and your position. You can ‘Come To Me In Full Confidenc: me your full story. The more confidence you place in me, the more quickly Tcan help you, Come to me as you would to a brother and let me help you correct past errors and achieve your fondest hopes and ambitions, Remember that everything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence, STRONGFORTISM The Modern Science of Health Promotion Do not confuse thi: lature with ordinary so-called physical calture or gymnastic Suna all that ts embodied a scientific eppifeations anoas, Rupture, Constipation, gestion. Dyspepsia, Bad Habits and Breaking Nature's Laws... You will tored, rejuvenated—made over fa an inflow of vital our i ealth, Happivens and a age. occupation or gurrounding how often you Sica disappolated: You cannot fail with Strongtortism, Send For My Free Book plained tn) my swondertully 2 Promotion and. Conservation of Health, Strengt Gnd Mental Energy,® It will tell you the priceless Truths about your body how you how you can make yourself over Into a vigorous apeckmon of Vital, Magnetic Manhood.” Just check the subjects on Free Consulta tion Goapon on w ‘want special confidential information and send ith ide te help pay postage, ete. I'l do the reat. Send for my tree book Right Now—TODAY. LIONEL STRONGFORT Physical and Health Specialist Dept. 879 Founded 1895 Nowark, N. J. FREE CONSULTATION COUPON Mr. Lionel Strongfort, Dept, 879 Ne me your book. “Promotion and Conserv Strength and Mental Energy,” for postage on which I enclose a 10c piece (one dime). I have marked (X) before the subject in which I am interested. Colds Diabetos Catarrh Pimples Tashima, Binekheads Hay Fever Insomnia Obesity Ushort Wind Headache L.Flnt Feot ‘Thinness "Stomach Raptaro Disorders Lumbago astipation Neuri Nearal Flat Chest ive of your tried and «Vital Lowes Impoteney 2Palling Hair “Prostate Troubles Despondeney :-Round Shoulder Lang Troubles Stoop Shoulders Museular Development «Great Strength + -Nourasthenia + Indigestion Deformity INervonsness (Deseribo) ‘Poor Memory « Suecesafat +: Rheum Marriago «-Female Disorders Inerensed Height --Youthful Errors Name.. Age... Street... davdouvas QReE Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

Page 273

“HEY, THERE! WHAT YUH DOIN’ WITH THAT IRON?” (SEE PAGE 273.)

Page 274

‘Just as surely as there is a time in men’s lives when crooks go straight, so there is also a time when good men go crooked.” TURNED THIEF ine “Darling ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L.WOOD Our readers have a treat in store in this remarkable narrative—the story of an honest man whe turned thief and afterwards made restitution in dramatic fashion. The narrative deals with the most mysterious one-man robberies that ever took place in America, though the matter was never made public. “The story,” writes the Author, “is true in every particular, but I have changed all the names of persons and places concerned. I am personally acquainted with every character represented, and my closest friend is the man who ‘pulled off’ the robberies, and afterwards, in all humility, told me the details of how he worked, why he did it, and why he finally returned the loot. There are only four persons living who know the real facts—my friend, his wife, his mother-in-law, and myself. I have set it all down in story form for the convenience of the reader, but it is absolutely authentic, constituting the strangest experience I have ever met with—and I have lived for the best part of fifty years on the frontier, where human life has been the cheapest commodity on the market.” il HE two men seated within the rail- them walloped the other over the head to ing of the Express office at M make it look as though he had resisted.” Junction were discussing the latest “Huh!” grinned the messenger. ‘‘ He express robbery. George Keene,the must have hit him awfut hard! I under- messenger, a fair-haired six-footer, lay back in his swivel chair, with his knees crossed. A blackened briar pipe was gripped firmly in his strong teeth, and his rather large head stand Don just laughed when he examined that dainty little sore spot—and then he turned those grey eyes of his on them. I can imagine just how he looked! It was was thrust forward from between a pair of ll over; they simply wilted and confessed shoulders that were a source of envy to the everything.” He threw out his hands ex- friend to whom he was speaking. pressively. ‘‘ Poor fools, I feel sorry for “T tell you, Charley,” he was saying, them.” s “it’s a shame to send those two kids to “So do I,” said Charley ; “ but they will prison.” “Sure; but what else could you do? They confessed.” “Yes, I saw in the paper that they had ; that’s the pity of it. Young fellows don’t seem to understand that there is a great difference between talking about pulling off do it, some of them, and when they do it means prison. There have been robberies —big ones—pulled off in my time that were never cleared up, but mighty few.” “Well,” said George, “if I ever pull one off, I flatter myself that it will be one of the few.” a robbery and doing the deed. And Don His friend smiled. ‘No doubt, if you McFee has had nearly forty years’ ex- don’t confess e perience in handling robbers of all kinds.” ““Me confess?” flashed George. “I'd “ But they planned pretty well. One of Vol. xlix.—19, like to see the man who could make me

Page 275

268 But I'd confess ! do it alone. ners for me Charley looked searchingly at his friend for a moment, as though he might be in earnest. Then he replied: ‘ You might get away with it, but I have my doubts. Detectives are always in practice, you know, and amateur robbers have a lot to learn before they become professionals.” * All the same,” said George, ‘ detectives are human, just like other folks. I have been through the ropes a little during my thirty years of life, and I’ll bet I could rob this company blind, and old Don would lay awake many a night before he ran me down. Say, wouldn't that be fun? By gosh, Charley, I’ve a notion to do it!” Charley deliberately scratched a match on the sole of his shoe, carefully applied it to his pipe, gave two or three big putts, and then asked : ‘* Does much money go through here?” 3 “ Yes, boy, quite a lot, take it from me a parcel every weck. But I forgot—you are in the sheriff’s office.” And he grinned pleasantly. Charley Crane was a dark-haired man with piercing black eyes. He spent most of his daylight hours in the saddle, looking for the horse thieves that infested the wild region known as the ‘“ Blue Mountain Country,’ where the invisible line between Colorado and Utah runs its tortuous way to the still wilder country of New Mexico and Arizona. Crane was one of George Keene’s many warm friends, and passed his evenings, when in town, with George ; and it was just as natural for them to talk of robberies as it is natural for a minister to talk religion. On this occasion their conversation con- cerned two young men, whom they both knew slightly, who had seized fourteen thou- sand dollars, the monthly pay-roll of a coal mine. The money had always been shipped through in a canvas sack, and it looked a simple thing to these two boys—for they were nothing else—to get away with it. The net results were that Don McKee, the chicf of the Rocky Mountain Express Company’s detective force, simply scared them into a confession. George, with a heart al i sympathy with the under dog, expresse: himself to his friend as he felt, withont regard to the rights or wrongs of the case. Crane, under-sheriff for the county, naturally took the opposite side. Their talk was interrupted by ‘ No, 3’s” whistle, and a minute later the train roared into the Junction station. George, with his truck loaded with packages for the West, came alongside, Charley accommodatingly pushing from the back end. As the train came to a stop Don McFee, the detective, No part- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. stepped out of the express-car door on to the truck and, reaching down, grasped George's hand to give him a lift as he sprang up. ‘ Halloa, Don!” said George. ‘Howdy, Keene. How goes it ?” “Fine and dandy.” As George was unloading his parcels and getting the receipt from the messenger Don turned to greet Crane, who was standing on the platform. ““T see by the paper that those two kids confessed,”’ said Crane presently. “Yes, they did,’ replied the detective. “It's a shame that boys don’t know any better than to try to pull off such a thing as that. But they’ll know better next time, maybe.” “It’s a pity they should go wrong, because they are nice boys,”’ said the under-sheriff. “Yes, they were nice enough boy agreed Don, “ but nowadays young Americans get it into their heads that they must have a lot of money, whether they earn it or not; there’s too much _ joy-riding altogether. There are cases where I sympathize with the poor devil who goes to the bad; but when two kids with nobody but themselves to look after deliberately try to walk off with fourteen thousand dollars I have no sympathy for them.” George had listened to the detective’s remarks as he was working, his brows con- tracting a little more with each package he unloaded. Jumping down off the truck, he pulled it across the platform into the office, Don and Crane following. After a little further conversation between the two officers, during which George said nothing, they bade him good night and went up-town, After they had gone. Keene posted his books and loaded the truck with the next outgoing packages; then, having nothing to do for several hours, till '' No. 6'’ came in at 2.30, going east, he filled his pipe and sat back in his chair, staring hard at the knob of the safe. His thoughts naturally ran along the line of the conversation with Charley Crane. In his mind's eye he saw two young men, with their hands shackled, led to a prison door, through which they disappeared. GEORGE GETS AN IDEA. Then his thoughts changed, and he began to evolve a scheme by which the boys could have escaped being suspected. Gradually there came into his mind a method by which the Express Company, might be robbed and the thief never be traced. This idea kept persistently in his brain; he could think of nothing else. His pipe went out from inattention as he sat

Page 276

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. controlled by this obsession. The belief that the scheme was workable—that he could carry it out—grew stronger and stronger, till it almost became a desire. Thus he sat till the whistle of the train aroused him. Hastily he got to his feet, passed through the railing to the door, which he unlocked, and ran the truck out on to the platform. Making the exchanges with the train mes- senger, he returned to the office, checked up his parcels, and posted the books. Then he put on his coat, stepped outside, locked the door, and started home. On the way he walked slowly, still revolving the robbery idea in his mind. He had reached a point where it seemed to be almost necessary for him to do it. As he turned into his gate and looked at the house where he and his mother lived, however, he realized with something of a shock that the thing he was thinking of was utterly wicked and foolish. His dear old mother was entitled to more consideration than that. Then, again, there was Minnie. What could he be thinking of, even to dream of an action that would kill the sparkle in her blue eyes, take the proud lift from her head, and make her sweet mouth droop with grief? There was no girl in the world like Minnie. As he thought of her and his mother he brought himself up witha jerk. ‘* No, there’s nothing doing,”” he muttered. ‘I must be mad to dream of such a thing.” Spite of himself, however, his last thought, before he went to sleep that night, was: ‘‘ It would be easy!” Don McFee, tall and slim and dark, with firm but friendly eyes, was chief travelling detective for the Rocky Mountain Express Company, with his headquarters in D : A man-hunter to the core, his deductions followed the line of least resistance, which, though seemingly simple, is about the hardest thing to do. It takes a keen student of human nature to judge what a man will do next, and how and when he will do it. It was said that Don’s failures to run his man to earth in thirty years of service could be counted on the fingers of one hand. At times he used desperate measures to bring about the desired results ; but to his credit be it said that no innocent man ever went to prison to satisfy the demands of his employers for an example for the ‘ good of the service.” George Keene, thirty-three years old, six feet tall, and strongly built, was the night- express agent for the R. M. Express Com- pany in the small city of M—— Junction, located in the heart of the Rockies in a Western State. A year before the opening of this story— in 1905, to be exact—his mother had in- herited a small sum of money through the 269 death of a brother, and with this money George had pre-empted a piece of land on the high mesa a dozen miles from the city, and improved it to the extent of building a substantial three-roomed log house and an outbuilding or two. He had also ploughed three or four acres of the ground for garden stuff, which he sold in town. This necessi- tated transportation facilities of some sort, so, with the last of their money, he bought a small auto-truck, which left him in need of employment till such time as he could bring his ranch to the self-sustaining point. This problem was speedily solved by the aid of friends, and he became express agent for the Rt. M. Company at the munificent wage of fifty-five dollars a month. George, for a working man, had a wide range of good friends. During the year on the mesa he had become acquainted with the cowmen who lived and had their being on the range. Their occupation, of course, was the growing of beef on the hoof ; their diver- sion was making life miserable for the sheep- men, who grew mutton and wool—on the run, mostly ; for though the line of demarca- tion between the two ranges was invisible, the cowmen knew within a foot where it ran, and whenever a sheepman crossed the boundary a cowman was sure to be within shooting distance. George’s ranch was nearly the closest place to town, and thus became a very convenient place for the cowmen to “stop over’ when, as was often the case, they made a late start out from the city. Thus George made friends with men who lived in the open and who believed that friendship is something more than a word in the dictionary. In the city he also had a host of friends; but they were a different class of people from those who lived ‘on the hill,” as the mesa was called. George rented a small house a short dis- tance from the railroad station, and there he and his mother lived contented and happy. The old lady knew he was the very best son on earth, and he never gave her any reason to alter that conviction. George’s duties demanded that he should be at the Express office at six o’clock in the evening, and he remained on duty till “No. 6” passed at 2.30 in the morning, after which time he was at liberty till the next evening. Thus, by sleeping till ten or eleven o'clock in the morning, he had a good portion of the day to himself. MINNIE. On the morning after Crane and he had discussed the plight of the two young men who had so signally failed to become suc- cessful express robbers, he arose and made himself presentable for a call on Minnie

Page 277

270 Carlyle. His ring at her door was answered by the young lady herself, who, with a cheery smile, bade him enter. He followed her into the house, and as she held out her hand for his hat he said, ‘‘ No, Minnie; it’s too nice to stay inside. Get your hat and let’s take a walk.” : “ll be ready in a minute,” she answered. He scated himself, and as he waited for her reappearance the thought that had bothered him so much the night before reared its ugly head and demanded recognition ; try as he woufd he could not put it aside. The girl’s entrance put it to flight for a moment, and they passed out into the street. They walked silently for a few steps, and she noticed his abstraction. With a sly upward glance into his face she said, ‘‘ Why so thoughtful, old grumpy ?” : Quickly he turned toward her. “I guess I was sort of gloomy, and I apologize,” he told her. ‘I was thinking of those two boys who stole that money from the company a while back. They have confessed and will be sent to prison.” “Why ! how terrible,” said the girl, “and they are only young boys. I really feel so sorry for them.” 7 “Yes, and so do I. Charley Crane came down to the office last night and we got to talking about them. He’s an officer, you know, and naturally we took opposite sides about it. Finally I got warmed up on the subject and told him that I could rob his old company and get away with it The girl looked at him in shocked surprise. “Why, George !_ How could you say such a thing ? ’ she demanded. George flushed at her evident earnestness. “ Of course I was only joking,’’ he replied. “ But he was so sure that it could not be done that I took the opposite view, more to see what he would say than for any other reason. And do you know, ,Minnie, that “thought has been persistently in my mind ever since? I don’t know why it should be, but it has been, and I’m such a fool that it looks easier all the time.” And he smiled down at her. Minnie bridled a little at his levity about such an unwholesome thought, and she walked along silently till he became just a little alarmed at her attitude. He was wise enough to know that in her life such things were not even thought of, much less talked about. So, after a few moments, he said: “ Forgive me, Minnie, for mentioning such a subject.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, ‘Oh, you don’t need to ask my pardon,” for I introduced the subject myself,” she told him, “ but for a moment I thought you might be in earnest, and it shocked me inexpressibly.”” They turned toward the bridge that spanned the river, crossed it, and wandered afield. It was late spring, and the afternoon was warm and balmy. They idled along for an hour, climbing the gradual slope that overlooked the valley. The beautiful green of the fields, with the ribbon of the river winding through them, cast a glamour over the pair, and presently they seated themselves on a grassy bank and enjoyed the view. Far be it from a man to tell what a woman would think about on such an occasion, but with George it is easy. He had cherished definite ideas concerning his companion for some time, and now he resolved to put them to the test. For one second he faltered, and in that fraction of time the thought came to him that if he failed he would rob that Express Company of its last dollar. Then he threw his hat down and said, huskily :— “ Minnie, I love you ! _Q-ao oe I cannot wait any longer; I’ve just got to tell you that I love you.” She turned to him quickly, her eyes met his, and she smiled her answer. As she leaned slightly toward him he grasped her in his arms. She hid her blushes on his shoulder. George gazed rapturously down the valley. The thought came as he smiled: “ Gee! I didn’t fail!” Proudly he spoke of the ranch on the hill that weuld be theirs, of how he would work

Page 278

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. so that they could use it as a summer home, spending the winter in town. At last the time came to return, and he assisted her to her feet. As he tucked his arm under hers, their hands came palm to palm, their fingers clasped. ‘‘ Girlie,’’ he said, “‘ name that most wonderful day.” She glanced at him shyly, ‘‘ George, dear, some time in the fall, when your work on the hill is finished—then we can decide."’ “ Very well,” he replied, then he drew her hand upward and, counting on her fingers, said, ‘‘One, two, three, four. It is four months till fall, and that is quite some time to wait, don’t you think?” She smiled indulgently at his affectionate tapping of her fingers. ‘‘ Oh, no,” she smiled, “it will soon pass. You have your work and I have to get my trousseau together." She laughed happily at the thought. “Whenever a sheepman crossed ‘the boundary a cowman was sure to be within shooting distance.” in due course the lovers arrived at the girl’s home, and George, with his arm around his sweetheart’s waist, presented himself to her mother, who smiled at him and said :— “You don’t need +o explain things, 271 George—you couldn't, anyway. I have been” hoping for this happy day, and I give my consent freely, and my blessing if you need it.” With one stride he reached her, grasped her in his strong arms, and kissed her. “That is just the way my mother would have said it,’”’ he laughed. It was getting late, and though he felt in no mood for humdrum things, his job beck- oned and so he hurried homeward. Supper was waiting—but who could eat ordinary food in such circumstances ? George could not, and did not, but he pulled his mother down on his lap and told her about the wonderful thing that had happened. She listened with a smile on her beautiful old face, and as she re- membered her own young days the smile deepened. At the station that evening, after the day man had gone, George at- tended to his duties, whistling as he worked. Robbers and robberies had no place in his thoughts, nor would they have intruded at all had not his friend Crane ap- peared just before “No. 3"’ was due. which he pushed open with friendly violence, dropped into a chair, and put both feet upon the desk, very much in George’s way when Crane strode to the gate, he was making up his bills. George promptly jigitized Google

Page 279

272 grabbed the intruder round both legs and heaved both chair and occupant over back- wards on to the floor. Then he turned back to his work without a word. Charley scrambled to his fect, adjusted the chair at the end of the desk, and sat down once more. He pulled back his coat lapel, ostentatiously displaying his badge of office, and then produced two cigars, one of which he handed to George, who, on their appear- ance, suddenly became alive to the other's presence. Friendly relations being restored, Crane said :— “ Well, how about it ? Still think you can rob this outfit and get away with it ?” “Sure I do; it’s the easiest thing in the world.” “ How would you do it ?” George smiled enigmatically as he blew a column of smoke into the air, ‘ That would be telling,” he said, mysteriously. Something in his friend’s voice made Crane glance at him keenly. Once more it flashed into his mind that the man might be in earnest. George caught the look and added, quickly, ‘‘T mean what 1 say; it’s the easiest thing I know of.’ Then he went on, with a bright smile: ‘“ But I am not going to do it. Something happened to me to-day that has put all such thoughts out of my head.” “Good,” said his friend, “ tell me about it.” “Well, I’m engaged to be married,” returned George. “Fine,” said Crane, “ I congratulate you on vour good sense. You should have done it a long time ago.” ‘No, you're wrong, for if I had I should not have got this girl.” They were interrupted by ‘No. 3’s” whistle, and Charley, after helping to push the truck out on the platform, turned and mingled with the passengers alighting from the train. Ever on the alert for crooks of all sorts, he scanned some of their faces closely and then left the station and walked slowly up-town. His thoughts turned back to his friend and the earnest look that had flitted across Keene’s face when he had contended that it would be easy to rob the company. CRANE THINKS THINGS OVER. Detectives know that, just as surely as there is a time in men’s lives when crooks go straight, so there is also a time when good men go crooked. Crane did not try to account for it—he just knew it was a fact —and as he walked along he mused. The thought came to him that this might be the turning-point in George Keene's life. The fact that he had just become engaged to a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. girl he no doubt loved very dearly had more of a bearing on the case than would appear to a man less versed in the psychology of the human mind. The fact that he had won the girl’s love would have a tendency to make him, to a certain extent, reckless and light-hearted ; he would go far if his mind turned definitely in a certain channel. His friend’s age even, Crane thought, was against him. George had worked hard all his life. The little money his mother had inherited was pro- bably almost gone. True, they had the ranch on the hill, but the fact that George was working for the Express Company argued that they were none too well off, and now, with the desire to give the One Girl everything her heart could reasonably wish for, he would be very keen on getting money. His confident boast that it would be casy to rob the company might implant the conviction that he could do it—and from that point to action was but a step. Such thoughts are bound to arise in the mind of the man who makes man-hunting his life’s work, and it must be set down to Crane’s credit that he fought them off and took himself sharply to task for even allow- ing them to enter his mind. But the idea was there, and he took it to bed with him ; and many times afterwards, during the months that followed, it rose up and de- manded_ recognition. Though it was quite early ‘in spring, George set about using his idle daylight hours to some advantage. Twice a week, after ‘‘ No. 6” had passed, he would crank up the truck and drive to the ranch. Arriv- ing there about four o'clock in the morning, he would at once go to bed, setting the alarm clock to awaken him at eleven. After break- fast he would do garden work or fence- making, for his cowmen friends had said they would be glad to pay him for any pasturage he cared to fence in. He worked till four o’clock in the afternoon, which gave him plenty of time to drive down to the city, have supper with his mother, and appear for work as usual. On these days of extra labour, and on the way up and back, it constantly occurred to him how handy a little money would be at the moment—to hire this, to buy that, or to get some job done. These reflections invariably inspired the thought that he could get money, and plenty of it. This idea became daily more and more insistent as he sweated over post-holes or lugged rails with which to enclose his—and Minnie’s— ranch. His hands became hardened and calloused, his finger-nails dirty and broken. There a rasping noise that grated on his sensibilities when he rubbed his palms together ; he had always been just a little

Page 280

THE proud of his hands. And now, with Minnie in the foreground of his thoughts, he wished fervently that there was some way in which he could avoid this drudgery. Unfortu- nately, the wish alw; brought to his mind a plan. Nebulous at first, as the line “of fence grew in length it became more matured, till finally it seemed perfect. With the per- fection of the plan came a resolve to carry it out. George Keene had taken the first downward step: he had decided to act ! On the evening he had made up his mind to go through with his scheme to rob the Express Company he sat reading the paper, and received something of a shock when he saw that his young friends had each been sentenced to serve five years at hard labour in the penitentiary. The words ‘“ HARD LaBouR ” stood ont in bold relief to his frightened eyes. ‘“ Heavens! And it’s hard labour I’m trying to avoid,’’ he muttered. For a few minutes he sat staring in front of him. Then he straightened up and growled, under his breath: ‘‘ But those kids con- fessed. I'd never confess. I'll just keep my mouth shut and Ict Mcl*ee do the worrying.” Once resolved on his course, George sat for a long hour going over his plans care- fully to make sure that there was no loop- hole left for detection. He went so far as to try to study out what he would do if he were a detective confronted with the rob- bery, wherein the loot would seem to have vanished into thin air. But he gave that up as useless, for he could not decide what a detective would do who did not know his plans as he knew them. He was blinded to what another would do from the fact that he knew just what Ae intended to do. In handling the cash-boxes as they passed through his office en roufe to the mining towns. Keene had noticed there was a con- siderable difference in their weight; he judged that their value might not be so much at variance, for those containing paper currency would probably be of more value than the heavier ones, which no doubt con- tained gold and silver. He concluded, however, that for his purpose the gold and silver would be less liable to be traced, for numbers and series of currency notes would probably be made note of on every ship- ment, He had no way of ascertaining the value of the boxes, for the shipping bills were made out according to the number of the box, without regard to its contents. According to his plan it would be neces- sary to replace the contents of any box he rifled with something of about the same weight. He realized that when he once started the ball rolling he would not have much time to make the weight exactly right, and with this idea in view he began MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 273 to cast about for something he could get handily and quickly. His first thought was that iron would be just the thing, and he gazed speculatively out of the window at the lights of the station roundhouse, only a short distance away. There, he knew, he could find scraps of old iron that would not be missed and would be hard to trace. A BAD SCARE. As soon as “No. 6" had passed that night George postponed going home and took a stroll over to the roundhouse with the idea of locating some iron that would suit his purpose. He was industriously collecting old bolts and nuts of every sort and carrying them to a place where he could get them at a moment's notice, when he was rudely dis- turbed by Barney Doyle, the railroad night policeman, who said, gruffly :— “Hey, there! What the h—— yuh doin’ with that iron?” George’s heart sidestepped for four quick beats ; then his wits came to his rescue and he stammered : “ Oh! is that you, Barney ? I was just picking up some scraps of iron to make a balance for one of my gates up at the ranch.” “Oh, that’s all right, George; I didn’t recognize you fer a minute,” replied Barney. “T thought it was one of them junk- hunters; they’re allus bothering round here.” He walked on, swinging his ‘ billie,” which in this case was a pick handle, for Barney was firmly convinced that a pick handle was the only weapon that had any effect on the ‘ hoboes '’ who infested the roundhouse, trying to keep warm while waiting to “jump” a train. George was never perfectly certain of the route he took during his stumbling return to the safety of the office. But he arrived somehow, very much shaken, and fell into his chair. He dropped his arms on the desk and leaned forward, fairly sprawled across them; his body heaved with his laboured breathing. If his statement to the officer had been the exact truth he would not have given the mecting a moment's thought. But it wasn’t— and for him to be suddenly confronted by the law in his very first act towards following out his plan to accumu- late money rapidly stirred him to his inner- most soul. For the first time the realization of what he was about to do came to him overwhelmingly. He lay thus for some moments ; then his breathing became less laboured, and he sat up. He took the little hand-glass he had on the desk and stared at his image therein for a long minute. The face that looked back at him was drawn, the jaw sagged a

Page 281

274 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN little. He had received a severe shock— and he showed it. ‘ This won't do,” he told himsclf, grimly. “You've got to pull yourself together, George ; there'll be worse things than this to go through with.” It was typical of the man that, his mind once made up, he did not contemplate abandoning his project, though there was still time. Instead, he ‘ pulled himself together” to such good purpose that very soon he bore no trace of the ordeal, and even his mother’s cyes noted nothing wrong when he arrived home. The next detail Keene had to attend to was the preparation of a safe hiding-place for the moncy he was making ready to steal. Underneath his shack on the hili was a cellar with an earthen floor, and the next time he went up there he descended to this cellar and proceeded to excavate a hole in one corner. The earth that he dug up he carried to the garden, where, in utter dark- ness, he scattered it around over the freshly- upturned soil. This process he continued until there was no loose dirt left in the cellar to show that any digging had been done. In the hole he stufied a number of empty sacks ; then he carefully smoothed the floor and threw two or three empty boxes over the place to make it look natural. When he had finished his task the first streaks of dawn were just appearing. Lock- ing the cellar door, he went round into the upper part of the house, where he brushed his clothes thoroughly, undressed, and went to bed. He had worked in haste, and was very tired. A few hours later the alarm clock told him that it was time to get up and get busy. After a hasty breakfast he devoted the day, ostensibly, to building a gate, though, as a matter of fact, he was adroitly covering his tracks. The top rail of this gate was some ten fect longer than the gate proper, extend- ing out into space. By fastening a box on the outer end of the extension, in which he could put the iron that Barney had nearly frightened him to death about, George would have a “ balanced ” gate, and would also have a valid excuse for obtaining more iron if he decided to build more gates of the same sort. The job finished, he viewed his work with grim satisfaction, a smile spread- ing over his face. ‘ Barney, old boy,” he laughed, “ I had to think quick, but I guess I thought to some purpose ! ”” DAN DALE THE COWBOY. His thoughts were interrupted by a shout from the house. Turning, he recognized one of his cowboy friends, Dan Dale. “ Halloa, Dan!” he called, and, picking up his tools, started towards him. Dan dismounted as he came closer, and, anchoring his horse bv the simple proc of tossing the bridle-reins over the animal's head, followed George into the house. Soon they were deeply engag:d in the mysteries of evolving a man-made meal from the con- tents of a cupboard, and as the cooking pro- gressed they talked of things of interest to the guest. “What's the news on the hills ? ” asked George. “Oh, nothing much. The sheepmen are edging in a little closer all the time.” ““So one of the Mentey boys was telling me the other night. I ran across him at the depot, and I guess he said more to me than he would have to any other town man.” Dale nodded his head. “Well, we don’t look upon you exactly as a town man,” he said. They ate their meal and Dan lighted a cigarette, while George filled his pipe. They smoked in silence for a time, and then Dan said :— “T’m going over beyond Monument Spring for a bunch of beef, and I shall hardly have time to get to my place with them to-night. Will it be all right if I put them in that pasture von’ve just fenced for a few days?” “ Sure,” answered George. ‘‘ Help your- self. Leave ’em there as long as you like.” The two washed up and put away the dishes ; then Dan said: ‘ Well, I guess I’ll ride along. So long!’’ He went outside, mounted his horse, and, with a wave of his hand, trotted away. George watched him till he passed from sight around the brush beyond the garden. “I wonder what he would think if he knew ?”’ he muttered to himself. After returning to the house for his hat and coat, he got out his truck and started for the town. As he stopped to open the balanced gate, which was quite heavy, he thought: ‘I'll have to bring up that iron next trip.” The next afternoon’s mail brought George a package ftom a mail order house, contain- ing three locks of the pattern used by the Company. That night, after * had passed, he hid the locks under the ae and, taking some sacks he had brought from home on his arm, went over to the roundhouse. Fortune favoured him, for Barney was clsewhere. In each of the sacks he put thirty or forty pounds of odd scraps of iron, He left them in a convenient place, with no thought of concealment, and returned to the office, where he sat down, his eyes wandering about the room as though he were engaged in memorizing every detail. »

Page 282

THE MAN The office was an extension of the rail- road station proper, and was perhaps twenty feet square. It had two large roller doors, one facing the tracks and one oppo- site, facing the street, where express could be delivered and unloaded for shipment. The room was lighted by one double window at the end, where there was a railed-off space containing a desk, two chairs, a small safe, and a table, on which lay an assort- ment of magazines. A three-foot steel bar, used for loading heavy boxes, stood by the safe, also an axe and a can of oil for greasing the trucks. Beyond the railing were the scales, two express trucks, and the usual collection of uncalled-for packages, piled up in one corner. The platform outside stood a matter of two feet above the ground, and there, at the end of the building, George parked the motor-truck on the nights he expected to go to the ranch. These details are important in view of what follows. In unwonted haste, it seemed to George, Fate threw down the gauntlet, daring him to pick it up. The challenge came in the shape of a cash-box arriving on “‘ No. 15" from the South, which was to be held over until morning, when it would be sent forward on the main line to the East. The precious box was accompanied by two brawny sleuths, who, after George had receipted for it, hauled it into the back of the office and then nonchalantly went up-town, saying they would be back in an hour or so. The same thing had happened a score of times before, and George had not given it a second thought. But now it seemed that Fate was rushing matters—just at a time when he didn’t want to be rushed. After the guards had gone, Keene leaned back against the desk and stared thoughtfully at the iron box on the truck. For some moments he stood thus ; then he opened the gate in the railing, walked over to the truck, and carefully inspected the box. He saw that it had a sort of clip riveted on the top of the lid, in which was a typewritten card showing its destination and to whom the box was shipped, together with a state- ment that the contents were valuable and must not be left unguarded at any time. Elsewhere on the iron surface was pasted a small square of paper bearing the words, “Value 78 M.” George studied this legend for some time, but could form no idea as to its meaning. He grasped the handle at one end and lifted the box; he reckoned the weight to be per- haps a hundred pounds. Then he stood the box up on one end, and heard the package inside slide down. From this he judged that the contents must be principally gold and silver. WHO TURNED THIEF. 275 “Tam all ready,” he muttered, ‘and I might as well start the ball rolling.” Walking swiftly to the window, he stared for a minute at the lighted street. There were no guards in sight. He turned ner- vously back to the box, fumbled with the lock for a moment, took a step over to the railing and glanced at the steel bar; then he returned to the cash-box. He was hor- ribly nervous, and he knew it. Once more he went back to the box and rammed both hands deep into his pockets. His fingers came in contact with a coin. He: fumbled it for a moment, and then drew it out and looked at it. As it lay in his hand he seemed to come to a conclusion, for he spun it into the air. It fell on the floor and rolled a short distance before it stopped. George walked over to it and stooped to pick it up, but before he touched it his lips moved: ‘‘ Heads I'll do it,” he breathed. He stooped again and picked up the coin. Abraham Lincoln's head lay uppermost ! He strode to the door and shoved it back, stepped outside, closed the door, and locked it. Then he turned for a moment, his eyes searching the platform and the vicinity for Barney, but, as luck would have it, that limb of the law was at the moment evicting a gang of hoboes and the way was clear. Rapidly he walked to where he had left the sacks containing the iron ; there were several of them. He picked up a couple, judging their weight as best he could, and returned to the oftice. First of all he went to the window, where, by looking diagonally through the glass, he could see far some distance up the street. A man was coming towards him. Ner- vously he glanced at his watch, waited until the man had passed from view, and then switched off the lights. In total darkness he strode to the door and went outside. One quick glance around, and he had grasped a sack of iron and hurried back inside, closing the door. He felt his way to the desk and got the spot-light; with this he located the bar, and, stooping, reached under the safe and brought out a lock. Then he went back to the window to glance up the street. No one was in sight. He drew ina long breath and stood looking at his watch. His eyes brightened and a smile softened the grim lines of his features. He had carefully timed the man who walked down the strect a few minutes before, and now, with no one in sight, he knew he had time to finish the job before anyone could reach the office, even if the guards came in sight at once. THE ROBBERY. He strode to the box and, inserting the pointed end of the bar in the circle of the

Page 283

276 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, lock, gave a sudden twist. The lock came free. He put the broken pieces into his pocket, lifted the lid, and, putting his hand inside, caught hold of a canvas sack, which he quickly exchanged for a sack of iron. Hastily he closed down the lid, and, taking his own lock from his pocket, snapped it in place. Then he boldly opened the door and, with a glance that took in everything in sight, almost ran to the motor-truck. With energy electrified by the desperate chance that the guards might return before he could get back to the office and switch on the lights to see if everything was all right, he tore at the second sack of iron and thrust the canvas bag into the bottom, clawing wildly at the metal so that the money would be underneath. This done, he tied the sack tightly with a heavy cord, tossed it over into the body of the truck, and hurried back to the office. The next move was to reopen the door leading to the street just a few inches. He drew in a long breath of relief as he saw that there was no danger from that quarter. Closing the door again, he switched on the lights. Taking the broken lock from his pocket, he looked at it, holding it close to the light to examine it, and, with a quick intake of breath, he saw something that was vital to safety. It was stuffed with tinfoil! In his calculations he had forgotten that part of his abi, Wildly he looked about—then a thought struck him. Quickly he ran to his coat, hanging on the wall. From one of its pockcts he took his sack of tobacco, and in a moment he had the tinfoil surrounding the contents in his hand. It was the work of but an instant to cram some of it into the lock with his pocket knife. During this process a small scrap, perhaps half an inch wide and an inch long, was separated from the rest and fell to the floor unnoticed. Having completed the job, George went back inside the railing and sat down. He drew a long breath and his eyes sparkled : he had come forth victorious from a very exciting adventure. The one thought run- ning through his brain was: ‘‘ I have done it! I have done it! I have done it!” He sat for some time without moving, staring at nothing, feeling only that thrill of excitement and that ever-recurring “I bave done it!” The sound of footsteps on the platform brought him back to realities with a jolt, Startled, he half rose from his chair. It was then, for the first time, that he realized just what he had done. Up to now he had been sustained by action and his brain had worked swiftly. Now, however, his blood had cooled some- what, and sober second thoughts brought forth the consciousness that he had violated every principle of honesty and manliness, He settled back in his chair with a stifled groan. ‘Good heavens!’ he thought. “Tam a thief!” Then sheer panic seized him and he sprang to his feet with some wild idea of restoring the sack of money to the box. Quickly he reached the window and glanced up the street. Toolate! The guards were return- ing—would be with him in less than a minute. Weakly he tottered back to his chair and mopped his brow with a handker- chief. 1t was only by a supreme mental effort that he was able to meet the guards in his usual manner when they knocked for admittance. Once inside, the men made themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit. George, with his eyes reduced to mere slits, leaned back in his chair and smoked furiously for the half hour before ‘‘ No. 6”’ was due, George will never forget that half hour, waiting for ‘No. 6’ and Don McFee to arrive, for Don was to escort that same box to the State line. But the half hour passed, as all half hours do, even if one is waiting to be hanged. George lived through it, and Don duly arrived, took possession of the box, and went away with it—but not until he had put the “‘kibosh ”’ for all time on George’s conceit. DON McFEE SEES SOMETHING. It came about through WNeene’s over- wrought mind grasping details thét he would never have thought about in any other cir- cumstances. ‘‘ No. 6” rolled in and Don stamped cheerily into the office to sign for the box. He shook hands all round, sat down at one end of the desk, wrote his receipt, and passed it to one of the guards. Then he went through the gate to the truck on which the treasure reposed. George watched every movement with eyes that, in spite of himself, seemed to be bulging from their sockets. As Don approached the truck he noticed something bright on the floor and stooped to pick it up. George saw the object at the same instant—and nearly fainted. It was a small piece of tinfoil! Don saw what it was—and let it lie. He stepped to the front of the truck, took hold of the tongue, and guided it out through the door to the express car, with the guards pushing behind, leaving the young agent almost a physical wreck. Weakly George arose and almost stag- gered to the other truck, which held his packages for this train. As he came to the bright piece of tinfoil he half-stooped to pick it up, but like a flash it came to him that

Page 284

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF 277 “Resting his spot-light on a box, he took out his knife and cut the string tied round the canvas bag.”

Page 285

278 THE WIDE WORLD he dared not do it. Don McFee was out on the platform and might return at any minute. With his eyes trained to notice minute details, coupled with the fact that he had observed its shine and had stooped to pick it up, he would in all probability detect its disappearance if he returned. In view of that, and of what he would inevitably learn concerning this cash-box during the next forty-eight hours, it would be a valu- able clue as to where the robbery might have been committed and who might have committed it. So George passed on. Much to Keene’s relief, after he had loaded his parcels and the train had gone, the guards bade him ‘‘ Good-night ” and passed round the end of the building on their way up- town to find a place to spend the night. But that vile creature ‘‘ Fear” handed him one more dig before letting him go, for the guards, as they passed his motor-truck, stopped for a moment to casually look it over, while Keene, with his knees knocking together, watched miserably until they passed on. After posting up his books, George put on his hat and coat and prepared to depart. As he passed through the gate he saw the offensive piece of tinfoil. Savagely he ground it into powder with his heel. ‘* Curse it!’’ he growled. ‘“ Next time I'll know better ; I'll be more careful.” A swift glance at the motor-truck showed him that the sack was still there. He twisted the crank viciously and sprang into the seat. In crossing the bridge over a twenty-foot depth of the Powderhorn River, half a mile away on the road to the ranch, George stopped his car and, taking the broken lock from his pocket, tossed it over the rail and waited to hear the splash. ‘‘ There! ’’ he cried, exultantly. ‘‘That’s one bit of evidence they won't get!” At last he reached the ranch, and, running the machine under its shed, went indoors and lighted a lamp to examine the house. Making sure that it was unoccupied, he returned to the truck. Lifting out the sack he carried it into the basement, where he poured its contents on the ground. Resting his spot-light on a box, he took out his knife and cut the string tied round the canvas bag. On the clips on the gold and silver and on the packages of the cur- rency notes were the figures of the amount of each. He marked these down on a piece of paper and added them up; the total was seventy-eight thousand dollars. He stared thoughtfully at the pile of moncy. MAGAZINE. “H’m! Seventy-eight thousand!” he muttered, ‘ So that is what ‘ 78 M ’ meant ! I shall know next time what I’m getting.”” He came to himself with a start and, ree moving some of the boxes, took the shovel and soon uncovered one of the sacks he had stuffed down the hole. Putting the money back into the canvas bag, he wrapped the other sack around it and rammed the whole parcel down into the bottom of the hole. Then taking a box, he went to the garden and filled it with earth. This he brought back and emptied into the hole, beating it down firmly. Then he put the iron back into the original sack and carried it out to the truck. George had been under a severe mental strain for several hours, and now, as he turned back into the house, he realized that he was very weary. His feet dragged as he made his way to the bedroom. With brain and body fagged, undressing was a task. He sprawled across the bed, half drew the clothes over him, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It was after three o’clock when he awoke, with the afternoon sun shining upon his face through the window. Rising, he spread out his long arms and expanded his chest. The deep sleep, attended by complete relaxa- tion, both physical and mental, had greatly refreshed him. A look of astonishment spread over his face as he noticed that he was fully dressed. Then memory chased away the surprised expression, and when he glanced at the clock he put away all thoughts of breakfast and hurried out to the truck. A glance showed him the sack of iron. A few minutes later he was pouring the scraps into the box on the ex- tended end of the gate. Opening it, he found that it still lacked a little weight. ‘‘T shall have to bring up some more ‘iron’ one night,’”’ he thought—and smiled grimly. On the way back to town, as he guided the car round boulders or across ruts, he took himself sharply to task for his mental misery of the night before. \‘‘ No more of that stuff,” he thought. “‘ From now on I must be absolutely in control of the situa- tion. No more fear! No more shying at shadows! Don is a wise guy, and will be as suspicious as a jealous wife. I have got to be a wiser one to allay his suspicions.” Thus ran his thoughts until he passed through the gate he'l open by his mother. He sprang down and kissed her and, with his arms around her, they passed into the house, What will happen when Don McFee discovers the robbery? Do not miss next month’s exciting instalment.

Page 286

ITH A CAMERA IN PORTUGAL Everybody knows that Portugal is where the port wine comes from, and that it is next door to Spain, but there most people's knowledge stops. Mr. Cutler went a-wandering in this little-visited country, and here describes and illustrates some of the quaint things he © A woman carrying the Author’s heavy trunk to his hotel. More women porters at work. saw. AP ORTUGAL is one of pat Yea those countries ue which, though easy of access, remain but little known. Most people appear to regard it as a land of frequent strikes and unlimited supplies of port wine, possessing few, if any, of the comforts and attractions to be found else- where on the Continent. I went to Portugal in the ordinary course of my work as a camera man, travelling right through from north to south, visiting in all twenty-five different towns and villages, and I can only remember two places where the accommodation was dis- tinctly poor. [For the most part the hotels were superior and the service in every way better than at similar places in England. ° The first experience of the traveller will be with the inevitable Customs — that necessary but unpleasant ordeal which the new arrival The steepest street in Oporto. always dreads, whether he An ox-cart in the streets of Oporto.

Page 287

280 carries anything dutiable or not. In Portugal, however, most travellers have very little trouble in this respect, though the search for contraband incessant, and a similar formality has to be gone through in every seaport town in the country, not only at the stations, but also at bridges and ferries. Leixdes is the port for Oporto, and just outside the Custom House, on the arrival of a steamer, a vociferous group of women invariably gather, arrayed in a great varicty of coloured garments and carrying discs of padded cloth on the crown of their heads. These ladies are porters, and the competition amongst them to carry your baggage to the tram or other conveyance which will take you the six miles to Oporto is decidedly animated. Having secured your patronage, the women seize your luggage and put it on their heads, which is where the padded discs come in. These women think nothing of carrying a box weighing well over a hundredweight on the top of their heads, at any rate for a short distance, and in the introductory photo- graph a woman porter is seen carrying my steamer trunk on her head to the hotel at Oporto. This box weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, and she carried it in this way with ease for at least half a mile, up steep hills the whole way ! The head-burdens carried by the women of Portugal are undoubtedly one of the most striking features of the life of the country. Every conceivable kind of load is carried on the head ; and by way of contrast with the heavy box mentioned above I may say that one day I noted a woman going along eating an orange, the part she was eating in her hand, the rest balanced on the top of her head! I have seen a woman with a single cabbage leaf on her head, and a whole group with large round market baskets piled high with vegetables. On rainy days you are sure to see at least one peasant woman with her closed umbrella neatly balanced on the top of her head; and any man who prides himself on his agility might try balancing an ordinary broom on his head while walking rapidly along the street. I have even seen that done—also by a woman. Another extraordinary custom of the poorer-class women is to walk barefooted, carrying the shoes carefully balanced on the top of their heads. I was told that the women were sometimes to be seen carrying small children in baskets on their heads. This sounded like a tall story, but I witnessed such a scene twice in Oporto, and one day out in the country I observed a woman coming into market with her sleeping infant in a small round basket on her head, one hand holding the basket and the other an um- brella to shield off the strong rays of the sun ! TIIkK WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The steepest street in Oporto—and I should say in the whole of Portugal—is a long, roughly-flagged thoroughfare beginning at the water- front and ending quite a thousand feet directly above the Douro. Up this precipitous road, all day and every day, women may be seen carrying on their heads immense loads of heather, used for kindling fires. Even little girls of ten engage in this task, with smaller bundles than those borne by their mothers, but far heavier than children of the same age in England could carry even for a very short distance. The photograph reproduced, showing the upper half of the hill, gives a good idea of what this street looks like. The ox-carts of Oporto constitute the most common street feature of that city. They may be seen more or less throughout the country, but in Oporto they are very numerous, being used exclusively for all kinds of carting. The oxen invariably have a long, narrow, carved board above their heads—an ancient institution dating back to the Moorish occupation. So highly are these boards valued by their owners that they will not part with them at any price ; they are regarded as heirlooms and handed down from father to son. A story is told of an Englishman who oftered five pounds for one of these boards—a sum of money in the nature of a small fortune to a man of the peasant class—but it was immediately tefused, The oxen are driven by frequent prods from a long stick with a steel-pointed tip, but they are always led by means of a leather strap fastened to the horns, and it is the quaintest sight imaginable to see a small boy or girl, as young as eight sometimes, walking in front of a team of these animals, with their huge horns, hauling bravely on the leather strap with the whole of his or her tiny strength. Women also lead these ox-carts, and, as will be noted in the illustra- tion, a long staff is invariably held in the freehand. This staff is used in a very curious way to guide the oxen. In rounding a corner it is held backwards over the heads of the beasts, while the person leading looks straight in front, straining on the leather strap to right or left according to the direction in which it is desired to go. The ox-girls of Oporto are a distinct type, and undoubtedly for generations back the girls of numerous families have been dedicated to this special task. They all wear a black soft slouch hat; very often a black sash just below the waist, and they mostiy go barefooted. They spend the whole day with their oxen, with which they are always on affectionate terms. The lunch-hour in Oporto is another queer institution. It is called almoco, and while

Page 288

WITH A CAMERA IN PORTUGAL, 281 it compares with our “ dinner- hour,” it is really the first meal of the day, almoco meaning break- fast, though a cup of coffee and a roll may have been taken an hour or two previously. About eleven o’clock girls and women will be noted in every direction walking swiftly along with one or more small tin band-boxes on their heads, or sometimes as many as half-a-dozen on a wooden tray. These tins all contain a/mocos, either belonging to the carrier or to a husband or brothers at work somewhere. This meal is usually eaten out of doors, and is sure to include small brown baked beans, a universal article of food in Portugal, and very likely a bottle of wine. This will not be port, but claret, better known as finto ; and the humblest man in work can afford his bottle of ¢into, as it costs only a few pence, and is to all intents and purposes the “ beer ’’ of the country. Talking of meals out of doors calls to mind a very sad phase of the life of Oporto and, to a lesser extent, the whole country. I refer to the large number of Oporto people who live entirely on the street-arabs. generosity of the market women and what little money they may be able to beg. Oporto is full of beggars and one is struck by the number of boys, clothed only in rags, who hang about the market-places in the morning, half starved and shivering with cold. It should be borne in mind that, while Portugal js a southern country, it is apt to be bitterly cold in the early mornings during the winter months, though later it or gets quite hot in the sun. It was seer nne:bost on such a morning as this that I The lunch-hour in Oporto. Not a sea-serpent, but a cardine-net being put on board a boat. The odd fishing-boats of Portugal, almost i like a crescent moon in shape. Vol. xlix.—20. oistizea ty GOORTe

Page 289

282 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. observed two boys standing at the entrance to the Mercado do Anjo, very insufficiently clad, with purple lips and shivering with cold and hunger. As the women came out of the market with their purchases the boys made a mute appeal for something to cat, and presently one woman opened her basket and gave one of them a large piece of bread. He promptly shared it with his friend, and if anybody so much as glanced in their direction they held up the bread and beamed with expressions of the utmost dehght. This is a sight only too common in Oporto on an icy-cold winter morning, when even those fully clothed and nourished feel the great discomfort of the strong east winds or the still colder fogs. Portugal is by no means one of the famine areas of Europe ; indeed, there is an abundance of food for everybody ; but a strong natural tendency to laziness, born of abysmal ignorance, is 4n part the explanation of this abject state of poverty. Education is not compulsory, and about three-fourths of the population are said to be completely illiterate. It is a curious fact that, while Portugal is recognized the world over as “ the place where the port wine comes from,” one sees very little indeed of this industry during the greater part of the year. The steep, sweep- ing hillsides on either side of the Douro in its upper reaches are certainly clothed with grape vines, and for two hours the train runs parallel with the river and these millions of vines—in winter nothing but bare twigs, though covered in spring with a beautiful fresh green leaf. The picking of the grapes, however, does not take place till the autumn, and those who visit Portugal in the winter months may sce only an occasional load of port wine passing through the streets on an ox-cart, or one of the quaint port-wine - boats, with its huge square sail, going majestically up the Douro. These boats, by the way, are very interesting, and quite unique in their construction. The stern of the craft is covered over, and contains the living quarters of the crew. Just above this covered section is a high, roughly-built plat- form, rising some ten or twelve feet above the bottom of the boat, and reached by a ladder at one end. From these platforms the huge, clumsy-looking rudder is operated, one or sometimes two or more men standing on the platform for this purpose. I went through a port wine ‘“ lodge” while at Oporto. These store-houses are on the opposite side of the river to the city, and consist of ranges of immensely long cellars, containing barrels of port wine piled ceiling high. A very interesting feature of a lodge is the vats where the wine is stored before bottling. Those I saw had a depth of about fourteen fect and a capacity of over nineteen thousand gallons. The grapes are crushed by human feet, seven or cight men, wearing, short trousers turned up high, getting together into a round tub full of grapes. They take hold of each other under the armpits, the foreman starts a song, and then, singing the whole time, an endless tramp, tramp, tramp begins. 1 was told that once started merrily on their way they will keep the tramping up for hours without stopping. Travellers in Portugal cannot fail to be impressed with the extraordinary powers of endurance of the workers. The people may be lazy, but those who do work make up for the others. Right along the water-front from Le to Oporto women may be seen engaged in all kinds of heavy tasks which in other countries, and certainly in England, would be done by men. There appears to be no limit to their physical capacity, and the explanation may be the healthy outdoor life lived in a pecuharly invigorating climate, and the fact that hard work, in the way of lifting heavy burdens, is begun at an early age, so that eventually it becomes second nature, In Central Portugal I ran across a man interested in a mine five miles from the nearest village. He told me that a woman had balanced on her head for the whole of that distance a heavy suit-case which he himself had previously experienced difficulty in carrying a few hundred yards. The ferry-boats used by the peasantry are frequently rowed by women. The oars are very heavy, and there are no rowlocks, the women standing up in the boat with their backs to the stern, placing the oars in the water in advance of themselves and pushing with a peculiar jerky motion. A more laborious task it would be hard to conceive, and one which might easily baffle an ex- perienced boatman accustomed to rowlocks and the ordinary method of rowing. I hired one of these boats to go to a village a few miles up the river. It was pulled—or rather pushed—by a man and his wife, who each handled an oar in the manner described. All the way we were going against the cur- rent, and the whole trin occupied considerably over two hours. The woman rarely spoke, but during the entire time her husband never ceased talking for a moment. Arrived hack at Oporto, he asked an unreasonably high fee, so was given something less, and when T left him he was still talking Foz, at the mouth of the river, is a suburb much frequented during the summer months, and here you may see something of another very important Portuguese industry—sar- dine fishing. I shall not forget my first glimpse of the fishermen of Foz. I went down there to try and secure some photo- graphs of the fishing boats, which I had heard were rather peculiarly shaped. At the first

Page 290

attempt the place seemed to be deserted, but far away on the opposite shore, near the famous bar at the mouth of the Douro, one of the boats could just be seen close inshore. Stretching from the boat some consider- able distance up the beach was what ap- peared to be a chain fence, and it mystified me as to what purpose a fence situated in sucha spot could serve. There it was, however, the posts an even distance apart, the loops between them almost touching the ) When knitting, Ng @ A Portuguese windmill. Little pots are attached to the ropes between the WITH A CAMERA IN PORTUGAL, 283 Portuguese women loop their wool over a crooked pin on their shoulders. sand. Then the mystery: deepened, for I saw a post begin to move. Next, two posts moved simul- taneously, and, my curi- osity aroused, I hired a boat and was soon on the way to a closer inspection of this extraordinary fence. The mystery soon solved itself. The ‘posts,’ I speedily discovered, were men, and the “chain” turned out to be a net, literally hundreds of yards long. They were sardine fishermen, engaged in load- ing a sardine net into one of their boats. These sardine nets are truly gigantic affairs. I have seen as many as forty men staggering under the weight of a single net, and the photograph shows the peculiar way in which it is carried behind the head, over the shoulders, and then clasped with both arms, When set the net covers an immense area of water. The men do not go out unless the sea is calm, because the action of rough water might tangle the net, and to straighten it out would probably take as long as making a new one. The second sardine-fishing picture was taken at sails and make curious music as the arms revolve. (8) The girl seaweed-gatherers of Vianna do Castello. Espinho, some fifteen miles south of Foz, and shows another method adopted when carrying the net. It is suspended in sections from short poles, the ends of which rest on the shoulders of the fishermen, who work in pairs. I was disap- pointed in not actually seeing a sardine-fishing ex- pedition, the men never getting nearer than a more or less leisurely preparation—load- ing the nets and interminable lengths of rope into their pictur- esque boats, which are shaped un- commonly like the © first quarter of a new moon. These fishermen are their own masters, and I was ,00g1e Google

Page 291

284 informed, and firmly believe, that they take advantage of the smallest excuse for not going out; how they live is a complete mystery to me. Espinho is a fishing village right on the coast, and I wasted much valuable time there in an endeavour to photograph the return from an expedition, On these occasions oxen are harnessed to the Jong ropes which encircle the net, and in this manner the net, with its burden of perhaps tens of thousands of sardines, is hauled up the beach. Numberless seagulls circle with screams of delight over the squirming silvery mass, and hundreds of people gather on the beach to witness the strange sight, which represents the grand climax of the fishing. Portugal is a land of small.surprises, and one of these is its paper currency, You see nothing but paper money from the time you enter the country till you Icave it. They have a note which, when I was in Portugal represented the English equivalent of le; than half a farthing. On the trams the conductor sometimes gives you in change a small paper ticket. worth three centavos— around a farthing—which can be handed in as part-payment of your fare on the next tram you take, and it will not be long before you get some postage-stamps in your change. At one hotel where I stayed the waiter brought me amongst my change a postage- stamp and two small boxes of matches, “No have,” he explained, apologetically, and I was too sympathetic to include the stamp and matches with his tip. Another surprise, and a less agreeable one, is the noisiness of the traffic and the people. Just one word describes it, and that is “appalling.’” The private motor-cars are the chief offenders. Whatever the make, the engines are frightfully noisy, and the horns arc tooted incessantly and quite unneces- sarily. Many of the public carriages also have horns, and the driver is apt to be a musician with a fondness for crescendo notes, A train coming into a station will blow its whistle at full blast some hundred yards before arriving there, and the whistling stops only when the train does. “Why all this noise?’ I inquired of an Englishman who had lived in the country many years. ‘ Because,’’ he told me, ‘ the people would not pay any attention to an ordinary sound.” Undoubtedly there is a good deal in this. The Portuguese are naturally exceedingly vociferous in_ their conversation, and they are such voluble talkers and become so absorbed in what they are saving that it takes something unusual to attract their attention. To go into a café of an evening is quite an experi- ence. One’s first impression is that every- body is quarrelling fiercely. It is useless to call the waiter; you must clap your hands THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. loudly, or give utterance to a long-drawn-out “ Ds-ssst 1" Irom Oporto I went north to Vianna do Castello, a village on the coast some three hours distant by train. The seaweed girls of Vianna will live long in my memory. Seaweed is used extensively in Portugal as a cheap form of manure, and the gathering of the weed at Vianna gives a livelihood to some two hundred peasant girls living at a village on the other side of the River Lima. The seaweed is gathered when the tide is out. which happened to be in the mornings during the period of my stay. Around half-past six or seven o'clock on the morning after my arrival the sounds of dis- tant singing broke the stillness, coming from the difection of the long bridge over the river. Nearer and nearer it came, many voices singing a mysteriously fascinating tune. Presently a muffled shuffling could be - heard—the tread of countless shoel feet. Then a single voice—a girl's, of great strength and clearness—sang a bar of the melody, followed by a crashing chorus. They were the seaweed girls on their way to work. They passed under my window, a barefooted army with baskets on their heads, each girl carrying two baskets, one containing a change of clothes ; the other empty, for her seaweed. The gathering of the weed is an extra- ordinary sight. The girls go right-into the water, sometimes up to their waists, hooking off the seaweed clinging to the rocks under the surface with the old-fashioned corn-sickle, and singing the whole time. Not the least interesting feature is the ox-carts, which are loaded with the seaweed, and in some utterly inexplicable way are taken, vid rough natural channels, through a veritable labyrinth of huge rocks and boulders right out to the farthest point reached by the retreating tide, a distance of quite half amile. To cross this rock-strewn track will take you a long half-hour, and you stand to have your boots ripped to pieces in the process. The only people who negotiate it with ease are the girls, who, at the turn of the tide, may be seen in twos and threes nimbly hopping from rock to rock with their baskets—still balanced on their heads—piled high with seaweed. An interesting phase of Portuguese life is the different way in which the most ordinary things are done, as compared with the method to which we are accustomed. Take for instance the simple courtesy of shaking hands. The Portuguese shake hands every time they mect. They never say ‘ Good morning ” or ‘‘ Good evening,” but shake hands instead. Thus there is a great shaking of hands at the midday almoco, but it is nothing compared with the numerous hand- shakes in a crowded café after business hours.

Page 292

WITH Practically every woman knits, but it would never occur to most British women to loop the wool over a crooked pin fastened to the shoulder. This is done throughout Portugal. The idea appears to be to arrive at a small, hard stitch, stockings and socks being very closely knitted. While at Vianna I witnessed a fiesta held at a village a few miles distant. The only way to get there was to walk or go in a » carriage, and the latter method was chosen in spite of the sympathetic protests of a friend of the moment, who intimated that the charge named by the driver was far too high. The said friend accompanied me on this occasion. He could not speak English, but he never- theless most kindly helped me to secure some photo- gtaphs which would prob- ably otherwise have been lost, since the Portuguese peasant is extremely averse to being immortalized by the camera, and very hard to persuade. I do not know what special event this fiesta was intended to celebrate, but it The great Tuesday market at Braga. appeared to involve an offering of food—to whom remains an open question. Just behind the band walked several women carrying—on their heads, of course—baskets full of oranges, bottles of wine, and live chickens ; while other women carried im- mense flat biscuits, cakes shaped exactly like magnets, and small cots covered with white spreads. Arrived at the church, these offerings were not taken into the edifice, which was brilliantly lighted and decorated A CAMERA IN PORTUGAL. 285 with coloured tinsel for the occasion, but were placed on a small platform erected in a corner of the large open yard in front, where the band now played selections, A market in Portugal presents a scene just about as full of human interest as could possibly be imagined. The peasants are inclined to “dress up” for the occasion, and to see the pigs being driven into the village by the farmer’s daughter or wife, her dress a blaze of many bright colours, en- hanced by the simplicity of her bare feet, is indeed an impressive sight. Pigs and cattle constitute the chief live-stock on sale, and it isa remarkable fact that, while donkeys An inn yard on market-day. are used by the peasantry everywhere in rural Portugal, I never once saw a donkey for sale in a market-place, though I was present at a number of markets through- out the country. It was at Braga that I first noted the eccentric custom of decorating the heads of cows or oxen offered for sale with bunches of flowers, tastefully grouped on the crown of the head between the horns. Close to the market a mother and her daughter, both barefooted and arrayed in clothes of a great variety of colour, were bringing in two fine cattle thus adorned, Both women carried the long staffs so popular with the Portuguese peasantry. With the utmost difficulty the girl was persuaded to pose with her team, which she held by the familiar leather strap attached to the horns. An hour or so later I spotted her amongst the throngs of marketers, her patient charges still unsold, and while I was red by GOORLEe Pes

Page 293

286 debating the possibility of securing another photograph, one of the ammals, apparently discouraged at the poor prospect of finding a fresh owner and secking some form of consolation, calmly ate the flowers oft the head of his comrade ! As things go in Portugal it is a far cry from Braga to Aveiro, which was one of the places I visited en route to Central Portugal. Aveiro is noted for its salt beds, the manu- facture of salt being the chief industry, and it may well be described as the Venice of the country. Venetians reading this and later going to Aveiro would be terribly upset by the comparison, and I therefore hasten to explain that it may only be likened to the Pearl of Italy in that the whole country for miles around is absolutely flat and inter- sected by innumerable narrow canals or waterways. Every field is surrounded by one of these channels. I arrived at Aveiro about the middle of one very warm afternoon, and though the town was almost a mile from the station there were no conveyances of any sort outside. However, Portugal is a land of porters, and presently a decrepit old man and a small but very active boy standing near by offered to carry my things to the hotel. I was pleased to be relieved of some of my baggage, and together we started for the town. It was not long before the pace set by the boy began to be too much for the old man, and soon I found myself midway between the two, with an ever-widening gap, vainly endeavouring to keep track of my worldly possessions. But I need not have worried, for the three of us eventually met at the hotel. The salt beds of Aveiro are irregularly shaped, though usually long and narrow. Work does not take place on them till July, but pictures in blue tiling on the outside walls of the station—a striking feature of some of the stations out in the country— show men at work on these beds, scraping off the salt with long wooden tools like rakes without teeth, The boats employed in carrying the salt along the waterways are very interesting. Shaped a good deal like the sardine boats of Espinho, they are poled along the narrow channels by bare-legged men wearing short white cotton trousers, I have referred to the universal use of donkeys by the peasantry of the country, and in this connection am not likely to forget a market day which I witnessed at Caldas da Rainha, in Central Portugal. THE WIDE. WORLD MAGAZINE, It so happened that my bedroom window at the hotel overlooked one of the main thoroughfares entering the village, and I was awakened one morning by the sound of a constant. pitter-patter passing the hotel. Going to the window I was just in time to see seven or eight peasants on donkeys amble by, while one or two more, also on donkey: were just behind; in’ short, a constant stream of peasants was coming in on their slow but sure mounts. After breakfast [ went to the market not far away, and now I found that other roads terminating at the market were all literally swarming with peasants coming in on their donkeys— occasionally two on the same animal, sitting back to back! For three solid hours they kept arriving until the market-place was packed. 1 managed to get a photograph of one of the several yards where the donkeys were being stabled for the day, and it will be noted that those owning horses appear to be decidedly in the minonty. High hills encircle Caldas da Rainha, and crowning the summits of these hills at the highest points, silhouetted against the horizon, may be seen. solitary windmills, their sails turning slowly in the breeze. I made a close inspection of one of these windmills, situated on a hilltop not far from the village. As IT neared the mill a peculiar moaning wail broke on the ear, and it soon became apparent that this was caused by tiny carthenware jars attached to the ropes between vacant sections of the whirl- ing arms supporting the sails. The wind getting into the pots as the sails went round was responsible for this weird form of music, The mill was grinding Indian corn, and two men at work courteously beckoned me to enter, Inside there was only just room to make one’s way up a short ladder to the loft above, where the operation of the mill could be seen. The corn was slipping down a slanted funnel into a hole in the centre of an immense round stone, and, working under the heavy upper stone, was quickly ground, coming out as fine as dust. These windmills are a prominent feature of Central and Southern Portugal. One's memory is haunted by the drone of the sails and the uncanny strains of music which every breeze wafts over the silent country- side. It is symbolical of that mysterious charm which is one of the chief attractions of the Jand where the port wine comes from.

Page 294

MR TODRURYS TRAWLER TRIP «< of Written and Mlustrated by \ LRBRIGHTWELL HE = specialist assured Mr. Todbury that the only thing which could do his (Mr. Todbury’s) pecu- liar form of indigestion any good was a sea voyage. He might as well have advised a starving tramp to try a course of sweet- breads and cld_ bur- gundy. Not that Mr. Todbury was a starv- ing tramp—far from it—but one cannot in- dulge a taste for travel on an income of,three hundred a year, especially when one is the sole supporter of a crippled sister. So Mr. Todbury paid two guineas—not without a pang—and, stepping forth into Harley Street, thought that, irreproachable thoroughfare a trifle more depressing, if possible, than before the interview. But the great man’s advice sank home. It disturbed Mr. Todbury’s hack-work in the British Museum library most cruelly. Blue spectacles and an cgg-like head may conceal a burning wanderlust, and that word “voyage ”’ revived old yearnings which for many years Mr. Todbury had successfully Tepressed. The specialist's advice set in motion a train of thought which spoilt Mr. Todbury’s work that afternoon, harried him in the Tube, and chased him home to Upper Tooting. To his dismay his sister actually abetted the specialist in his torturing sug- gestion; she increased the agonies of Tantalus. Urged on by his sister and the growing idea, Mr. Todbury wrote that very night to a certain scapegrace nephew in the Mercantile Marine, who, the sister urged, “might know of something.” Almost by urban antecedents, spurred on by medical advice, goes for a sea-voyage on a little trawler, his nautical education is apt to proceed with startling rapidity. So it proved with the hero of this amusing story. “I guarantee the veracity of everything,” writes the Author, “ with the single exception of the name of ‘ Todbury.’” } return Mr. Todbury received a letter from the skipper of a steam trawler. The skipper wrote in a fine free literary style, unham- pered by capitals or punctuation, and stated that as one de- lighted to do anything for a friend of Mr. Shoreleave (the scape- grace nephew) he would be honoured to have Mr. Todbury’s society on his very next trip —in two days’ time. A wire was to follow. Now, one may read abouf-the sea for a lifetime and still have about as practical a conception of its requirements as a camel has of opening oysters. The articles of clothing which Mr. Todbury’s sister said he ought to take, the things which Mr. Todbury thought he “ might want,” to say nothing of the paraphernalia {which an elderly aunt was convinced was absolutely indispensable, would have brought tears to the eyes of Mr. Shoreleave of the Mercantile Marine and made the worthy skipper sign the pledge. As Mr. Todbury was debating for the hundredth time what headgear he should wear the telegram arrived: ‘On board at once, leave to-morrow.” * By a_ miracle Mr. Todbury, a huge portmanteau, and a New Ssuit-case (bought for the occasion), caught the 10.30 Cornish Riviera express at Paddington. Five hours later Mr. Todbury and his luggage were safely ensconced at 137, Sea View Road, Plymouth. It was a tiny house, identical with three hundred others, in a narrow back street, shut in on all sides by bricks and mortar. Mrs. Cord, the s&ipper’s wife, explained that the sea was clearly visible—before the road was built. The

Page 295

288 THE WIDE skipper, it] appeared, was away, buying stores. Mr. Todbury would sleep at the house for the night. He certainly went to bed—but sleep ? to steam for the Atlantic ! thought Mr. Todbury —''l've forgotten my spirit kettle.” “ Heavens |" It was at breakfast that Mr. Todbury’s - nerves reccived their first real jar. He understood that the skipper had several daughters, but the interest they took in his breakfast was— well, embarrassing. The trouble “began with a short, fair girl who came in with the butter. Mr. Todbury, _ blissfully unconscious of the young lady’s ___ill- concealed delight in his bald head, meck side - whiskers, and blue spectacles, was engaging her in a blameless conversation when he was greatly disconcerted by her abrupt withdrawal and the substitution in her stead of a tall, dark young lady who inquired if he wanted any more cream. During the next twenty minutes Mr. Todbury rapidly lost count of Captain Cord’s many daughters. At the fifteenth—a short, red- haired, impudent-looking girl—he began to think the number rather excessive. The twentieth young lady quite unnerved him, so that it was in a semi-stunned condition that he presently received some five or six other damsels who came in on one pretext or another and went out to giggle behind the door. When the door opened again Mr. Todbury felt that he must either scream or run away. By a violent effort he pulled himself together and glanced apprehensively over his shoulder. “ G'morning, sir! The young ladies from the laundry been looking after you? That's the style! So you’re a comin’ fishin’ with us, are you ?”’ Captain Cord, a gigantic man with a face like a piece of old oak, extended a hand that took in Mr. Todbury’s nearly up to the elbow, and with scamanlike directness pro- ceeded to inspect Mr. Todbury’s ‘ gear.’’ The result of the inspection was that Mr. Todbury was provided with a vast blue handkerchief ornamented with yellow horse- shoes in which to take a few essentials down to the quay—lcaving the rest of the outfit when to-morrow he was | “Mr. Todbury was provided with a vast blue handkerchief in which to take a few essentials down to the quay.” WORLD MAGAZINE at 137, Sca View Road. Sea boots and oil- skins would be provided on board. We will pass over the delight of the Plymouth youth when they encountered Mr. Todbury and noted the pleasing incongruity of his own meek urbanity and his nautical—not to say piratical —bundle. Twenty minutes after leaving Sea View Road Mr. Todbury was on board the trawler, had fallen over nearly everything on deck, and knocked himself against everything else. He had also made the acquaint- ance of an animated pillar of grease and coal dust—intro- duced as the chief engineer—and been allotted his ‘ bunk ” in the after-cabin. Mr. Todbury can still taste that cabin air. At the first encounter he felt he could have cut it with a railway refreshment-room knife. The chief odour was fish, but there were others —tar, oil, coal, rope, yarn, salt water, man— to mention but a few. The general ap- pearance of the place was as of a miniature model of a very shabby billiard saloon lit by a skylight which had to be kept shut, owing to the impossibility of closing it again when once opened. As it was the place perspired like a fungus pit. Mr. Todbury was glad to get on deck. To this end he hauled himself up the iron ladder and . . . His hat was swept from his head and providentially struck against the wheel-house, where it felt and came to rest in a pail of cabbage water. By an equally providential duck on the part of Mr. Todbury his head just escaped being swept from his shoulders. A nonchalant young gentleman clad mostly in coal dust and tattoo marks turned aside his hose and apologetically explained that he . “didn’t see the genl’man.” “ Er—don’t mention it,”’ said the abashed Mr. Todbury; ‘‘has there been a fire on board ? ’” The young man with the hose explained that they had just been coaling. He further volunteered the information that there was “thirty ton aboard,’’ and warned Mr. Tod- bury to keep clear of the hose in future—a warning which that gentleman presently forgot and was forcibly reminded of when later the devastating stream shot between

Page 296

MR. TODBURY’S his legs—to the joy of the crowded quayside. A timely diversion came in the appearance on board of a number of local worthies. According to bi-monthly custom the harbour- master, the owner, the “ shore skipper,”’ the skipper of the Board of Fisheries trawler alongside, and a few other particular friends of Captain Cord all crowded into the unspeak- able little cabin and partook of a stirrup cup. Mr. Todbury felt a most fearful dog, and devoutly hoped that he would continue to feel one when the ship began to move. As the last of the visitors clambered over- side Skipper Cord raised one finger signifi- cantly at him of the hose pipe, now ensconced in what Mr. Todbury imagined to be a species of conservatory perched high above the engine-room skylight, and commanding a full view of the ship fore and aft. The youth seized a string that dangled through a hole in the roof of the conservatory and . . . Gee-h-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 . . . oot roared the firen, and amidst a storm of cheers and waving hats and good-natured chaff the Stormcock steamed from the quay, out through the Cattewater, past Drake's Island and Cawsand Bay, and.so into the dancing wavelets of old Plymouth Sound. Mr. Tod- bury passed the next few hours perched on an orange box in the cosy wheel-house and felt as one in a sunlit dream. His interest in all around him, coupled with an apparent determination not to be sick—and a very fair hand at cribbage—was beginning to override a certain pity the seaman must always feel for the land lubber. With the lights of Falmouth, darkness fell, and the Storm- cock began to roll to the first great waves that heralded the Western Ocean. The cook’s whistle took the first mess below (the trawler carried a crew of nine), and Mr. Tod- bury turned another page in his chapter of adventures. “ You'll get into it in a day or two, sir,” said the skipper, Teassuringly. Meanwhile, Mr. Todbury experienced con- siderable difficulty in getting his victuals into himself. It was a generous meal, that first tea. Cold pressed beef, sausages, a huge plum duff, bread, butter, jam, and tea by the imperial pint. The Stormcock enjoyed herself mightily with Mr. Todbury. Sometimes she made him spear himself with his fork, put dabs of butter in his hair, and pour scalding tea down the front of his new white sweater. Then she would vary the game and play cup and ball with him, or, lifting him off the TRAWLER TRIP. 289 settle like a naughty child about to be banished to the nursery, deposit him with a thud in the ample lap of the cook. The crew were curiously faddy in their diet ; the idea of eating meat that had been kept on ice filled some of them with horror. They were unhampered, too, by the dinner - table formalities that cramp life ashore, and conversation there was none until the cigarette stage of the repast. On the whole it was with something very like relief that Mr. Todbury regained the deck, where want of space prevented him being flung for a greater distance than nine feet. “It'll be rough, master,” said the mate as he fixed the “ kicking straps ” and jerked his thumb aft. ‘‘ See the dirty birds ?—Mother Carey’s chickens.”” A cloud of tiny black stormy petrels were whirling and wheeling like a sooty snowstorm in the Stormcock’s wake. Her deck shone with a hundred bluish lights that emanated from the phosphorescent scraps of fish which even the hose could not unearth from the cracks between the deck boards. As she bucketed her way past the Scillies Mr. Tod- bury realized that she was no longer riding mere waves, but reeling up and down vast hills of water. And ever and anon one such would burst athwart the deck-house with a crash, and pour in a roaring torrent across her slimy decks. The mate’s cigarette glowed dimly, the compass overhead added “His hat was swept from his head.” its creaking voice to join the choir of wind and waves, and as the Bishop’s Light—last point of land—fell far astern Mr. Todbury felt that now he was indeed at sea. So far his attention had been entirely taken up by an ineffectual attempt to feel quite at home in his new environment, in a stealthy exultation over his extraordinary digestive system which, never efficient ashore, was now apparently (like the Captain of the Pinafore) ‘“never never sick at sea,” and above all in

Page 297

290 THE WIDE WORLD “Then said the Stormcock, ‘My move, I think.’” the delight and interest of his new acquaint- ances. Of the Stormcock herself, however, he knew absolutely nothing. He could distinguish fore and aft, leeward and wind- ‘ard, port and starboard—but there their acquaintanceship stuck. He was to know the Stormcock better before many hours had sped ! When Mr. Todbury bade the watch good- night at one o’clock in the morning the trawler was (to quote the watch) ‘‘ beginning to feel it a bit.””". Mr. Todbury was inclined to agree, seeing it took him rather over ten minutes to get from the wheel-house to the cabin aft. With every sea the Stormcock lay down on her side as might a tired sow in liquid mud, and the dark green water poured across the deck in a boiling flood. Mr. Todbury hovered at the top of the iron MAGAZINE. ‘stairs,’ which he had not yet learnt to call the com- panion-way, and began to wonder whether it wouldn’t be better to fight his way back to the wheel-house. The Stormcock decided for him by hurling him head first into the cabin below, smashing a cherished pipe, and pitching his spectacles —as luck would have it— into his bunk at the far end of the cabin. Ten minutes later Mr. Todbury made up his mind to dis- pense with his pyjamas— just for this night—and confine undressing to the removal of his boots. In the bad five hours that followed, the Storm- cock spoke to Mr. Todbury in all her hundred voices, voices that squeaked and bubbled beneath his un- easy pillow, gulped and gurgled at his elbow, or raved in maniac bellowings and crashings overhead. At hourly intervals she declared that Mr. T. was not attending properly, dragged him _petulantly from his bunk, and flung him underneath the cabin table. Through it all the unhappy Mr. Todbury mar- velled at the skipper, lying within his little cubicle like a stone Crusader in some ancient church, at the mate curled in his bunk like some huge cat, and, above all, at the cook. That worthy—his vast bulk stretched almost naked in his bunk—murmured in his sleep a sort of litany. At regular intervals there issued from his salt-encrusted and placidly- smiling lips this soulful formula: ‘‘ The same again, miss . . . twice.”’ .There are plenty of the bulldog breed that blink behind a pair of blue spectacles. Mr. Todbury was one of these. At five a.m. by the cabin clock he picked himself up out of the fireplace, and, with safety razor gripped between his teeth, a sponge-bag full of washing tackle slung round his neck, and a clean towel in his pocket, clambered on deck and into a world like a picture by Somerscales—and the air! A descent into the engine-room and a return to the deck with half a tablespoonful of hot water (out of the original pint presented by the chief

Page 298

MR. TODBURY’S TRAWLER TRIP. engineer), and Mr. Todbury, feeling vastly invigorated by his escape from that unspeak- able cabin, was ready to begin another round with the Stormcock. With his many washing requisites cunningly stowed in Positions of apparent safety Mr. Todbury got quite a lot of lather on to his face and not more than a third of it in his eyes and mouth. Then said the Stormcock, ‘My move, I think,” and hurled his safety-razor into the galley, where it joined some “ tow ray” in a pan of boiling fat. Mr. Todbury, after retrieving it, returned in time to see the last of his washing outfit roll out through.a scupper-hole. Still undaunted, he made shift to have ‘‘ a bit of a sluice ” in a bucket full of sea water. “Oh, you will, will you?” said the Stormcock, and shipped a sea that landed bather and bucket into the cabin just as the breakfast whistle blew. “ First down, eh, sir?” laughed the skipper as he surveyed the drenched and dishevelled Mr. Todbury. ‘Had a good night ? I see you're joinin’ us, after all.” Mr. Todbury smiled a salt and shaving- soapy smile. ‘“‘ Yes,” he said, ‘ I’ve decided to do as the Romans do—till calmer weather —or the duration of the voyage.” 291 ‘“‘Haul up at twelve, Sam,” said the . skipper. “ Haul up at twelve it is,’’ said the mate. Mr. Todbury was agog to know what the haul up might be like. He had seen the trawl] shot at eight o’clock—the two hundred and fifty fathoms of wire cable screaming off the winches, the struggle to adjust the ‘‘ messenger,’’ the wire that keeps the tow lines of the trawl together and ensures the even gait of the net; and he had much appreciated the steadying influence of the trawl upon the general deportment of the Stormcock. She travelled now merely like an inebriated hippopotamus rather than a semi-delirious kangaroo. Haul up at twelve ! Mr. Todbury had four hours to himself meanwhile, and he spent it in making the better acquaintance of the ship. There was not much that he did not investigate, from the bunkers to the ice-house, the engine-room to the fo’c’sle—the latter with an atmosphere that made the cabins seem (by comparison) like attar of roses. The deck for’ard was transformed. A series of huge wooden pens had been erected, and above them swung two big acetylene lamps—with which the ship was lighted throughout, adding greatly to her many odours. A number of ugly- looking knives stuck haft upwards in a coil “* First down, eb, sir?’ laughed the skipper.”

Page 299

THE WIDE of rope, baskets and buckets were drawn up in platoons before the pens, and the before- mentioned fire hose was in evidence. “Haul up!” “ Ting, ting’ went the engine-room bell, The Stormcock checked in her roi! and with the first clack of the winches a gull appeared —from nowhcre—hanging motionless above the straining ship. Ere twenty fathom of dripping rope had piled itself upon the windlass, the gull had been joined by twenty others, then fifty, a hundred—a driving, whirling snowstorm that shricked and chat- tered in a deafening babble. The silent petrels had also increased in numbers, and presently tall, evil-looking fins came bobbing through the water—soon to be alive with big blue sharks. ‘Stop!’ The Stormcock came to a halt, rolling madly, and Mr. Tod- bury from the safety of the wheel-house watched the crew, up to their waists in water, hauling the net aboard. Now the fish began to show. First one and then another—late comers who had not found their way to the “cod end.” The ‘‘cod end’’ presently hove in sight—a vast globular mass of fish twelve feet in diameter—whilst the sharks snapped and worried at heads and tails stuck pathetically through the meshes. The bo’sun hurried forward with the that attaches the “cod end” to a tackle running through a pulley at the mast-head, and with a screech the huge swirling mass was swung aloft and hung dripping above the pens. Whilst the crew let fall the great doors once more—the huge iron-shod structures which keep the net mouth open—and again shot the net, for no time is wasted on a steam trawler, Mr. Todbury gingerly left his retreat and crab-walked his way to a safe position commanding a good view of the work to come. He had not long to wait. The mate was soon struggling to untie the rope which opens the mouth of the ‘cod end” and sends some tons of fish crashing to the deck. Unfortunately, there was a hitch in the proceedings; the mate gashed his thumb upon a fish spine. Now was Mr. Todbury’s chance to be of some service. He was beginning to feel unpleasantly useless and slothful amongst all these strenuous fishermen. “Allow me,"’ said Mr. Todbury, and politely proceeded to undo the knot. Now, untying a “cod end ’’—like all things else— can only be done the right way after some practice. Mr. Todbury had not yet acquired that way. Too late came the cry “‘ Stand back, sir!’ Ship and sea were blotted from Mr. Todbury’s sight in a roaring, lashing cataract of very lively fish. Some ten minutes later he was at last exhumed with no worse damage, luckily, than a black eye WORLD MAGAZINE. from a lemon sole, a lobster in one of his + borrowed sea-boots, and a liberal coating of slime and fish-scales to his person generally, This absurd mishap went far to put Mr. Todbury on a goud footing with the crew. He was a happy man when, seated on a barrel, the chicf engineer, who seemed to have appointed himself as the landsman’s chief mentor, waddled up and explained that he had been thirty years at sca and never missed a haul-up yet. Each man had his appointed place at the killing and cleaning pens, and, arms bared, embroiled himself in the lashing prismatic chaos before him. For a time the deck was like a flower garden with the graceful forms and gorgeous colours that the trawl had brought to light—a flower-bed that was soon to be a shambles. Killing and cleaning are not the least of the dangers that ever beset the fisherman. Wounds from fish spines almost invariably turn septic, and most of the men had one or two such painful sores upon their hands or arms. Weaver fish, with their poison spines, may give a man an arm as big as a bolster, the teeth of hake and angler fish are nearly as bad, whilst a torpedo ray can inflict a shock that will make one feel considerably below par for an hour or two afterwards. Then there are conger, animated steel cables that can break a man’s wrist or bite the heel from his boot. Only the conger will stand up to the big blue shark, and Mr. Todbury heard stories of giant eels that have taken possession of a small boat and obliged the crew to clamber overside and do the monster to death with sea-boots and boat tiller. The engineer's fund of natural history was illuminating, but not such as to be accepted by the Royal Society. According to him scallops were solemnly affirmed to change their colour with the phases of the moon. As for the spotted dogfish, the engineer shook his head sadly over the present degenerate days when men‘no longer put that creature reverently overboard in the belief that whoever “ read his name in the spots’? was booked for almost certain disaster. Such deep-sea superstitions are ever popular with fishermen. Many were the after-dinner debates upon this fascinating topic. When, three days later, Mr. Todbury Jet a bucket fall overboard, the mate (who swallowed fish gall bladders ‘‘ for his rheuma- tism ”’) lived under a cloud of apprehensive dread that did not desert him till the following day. He recalled endless tales of disaster that had followed the loss of a bucket, and darkly expressed his hope that Mr. Todbury was not a Jonah. The more enlightened members of the crew chuckled joyously at the mate’s consternation when Mr. Todbury,

Page 300

MR. TODBURY’S TRAWLER TRIP. “The ‘cod end’ presently hove in sight, whilst sharks snapped and worried at heads and tails stuck through the meshes.” discussing victuals, innocently mentioned “ rabbits.’’ When, later, that unfortunate gentleman recalled the fact that he had passed a charwoman on his way to the quay, the mate suddenly remembered some duty that took him up on deck—and the skipper choked in his coffee cup. When the skipper and Mr. Todbury sat together later in the wheel-house, the former delivered himself upon the dark topic. “ Meself, I don’t hold with such onlikely beliefs—at least, not all of ’em, though I do believe as there's folks as can ‘name’ a man. The on’y time I were in Lunnon a

Page 301

294 child sellin’ papers comes up to me an’ says ‘ Late news, Jack?’ Jack,” said the skipper, ing Mr. Todbury solemnly, ‘ Jack—my name, that is. Now how should that child know it, eh?” Mr. Todbury thought the explanation fairly obvious and was framing a tactful reply, when the skipper continued :— “ But there, Lunnon’s a wunnerful place. Terrible indeed. To think of all them poor folks, millions of ’em, an’ not a blade o’ grass nor yet a flower in the whole place. I never see the place but once, an’ that was enough for me. Oh, yes; I seen Lunnon. Walked tight down the main street. An’ the sights 1 see and the sounds I ’eared—well there, sir, p’r’aps you're used to it, but it were far too much for me. I went straight aboard an’ stayed there till we'd unloaded an’ put to sea again. Eh? What were the name of the street ? Why, Billingsgate.” With such talk many an idle hour slid by. Ere Mr. Todbury had been on board a week he had every man's family history and war-time career, heard stories without end of every sea and every kind of ship that steams or sails, acquired a dictionary full of naval slang, and came to realize why fish is sometimes liable to rise in price. The crew never had more than two hours’ sleep at a stretch, for the net was hauled and shot six times in the twenty-four. Day or night, fair weather or foul, it was all one, and only the engineers were exempt from the frequent necessity of working thirty hours on end. A very little rope hauling made Mr. Todbury realize what it must be like to work with hands cracked by salt water, pitted with cuts and gashes, and arms covered with boils made by the chafing “‘ oily frocks.” “Do anything for ‘em?’ inquired the ship’s “ boy” (a man of forty) to Mr. Todbury’s horrified comment on his inflamed and discoloured arms. ‘ Wot’s the good, master? They’d on’y come again. 1 did go to a doctor once. ‘Wot you want,’ says ’e, ‘is plenty o’ fresh air. Wot about a voyage ?’” It was the day after this conversation that the mate again had cause to recall Mr. Todbury’s mishap with the bucket. The net came up with nothing better than a big blue shark’ and a cartload of Dublin Bay prawns. The spare net was shot and all hands turned to mending the rent made by the shark. Four hours later the second net came to the surface with a stone weighing several hundredweight—and damage to match. In the middle of the night the Stormcock came to with a fearful lurch that hurled Mr. Todbury on his face into a pile of blood-stained hake, and the wire ropes came on board with nothing at the fifty- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fathom end. Doors and net had both gone —representing a loss of eighty pounds or more. Mr. Todbury could well believe the skipper’s tales of how in his younger days he had sat on the edge of his bunk and tugged his hair to think what he should do next, The ‘skip ” showed no uncertainty now. A glass of grog all round, and away went the Stormcock for the great “ Porcupine ” bank upon the west of Ireland, where the winds blow without rest the whole year round. It was a day and a night’s journey, over leaden seas that shut out the horizon in a mist of icy spray. Here was a different kind of fishing altogether. The hake ran larger— monsters of over a yard in length—though infrequent at night, for the hake rises from the bottom when the darkness falls, to feed. Often the net would come up choked with the prickly sea-eggs from which the bank took its name, and the arrival of the ‘“ cod end” always brought to the spot a serious competitor to the shark. This was the barracuda—a finny monster nine feet long— who, marshalled in his hundreds, tore great holes in the net, gulping the hake down as though they had been sprats, sometimes biting the ‘cod end” clean through. The huge brutes sprang out of the water with a noise like a gun. Shark and porpoise alike seemed feeble and ineffectual beside them. The crew cursed them heartily, for the barra- cuda has no sale in the English market, though a French trawler staggered past with its rigging full of the monster fish, which find a ready sale in a more thrifty land. One of these finny pirates was in especial evidence. He far outran any of his com-. patriots both in size and voracity, and drew upon himself the bo’sun’s ire by swallowing that gentleman’s tobacco pouch when it fell overboard. But the bo’sun was equal to the emergency. His revenge was peculiar but effectual. The big barracuda continued to pursue the trawler long after the others had fallen astern. To Mr. Todbury’s surprise the bo’sun presently appeared with an armful of fish—and deliberately dealt them out like cards to the monster alongside. They were seized and gulped down ere ever they touched the water. Within ten minutes the barracuda showed symptoms of distress. He was unable to submerge and became enormously inflated—a phenomenon that was explicable when the bo’sun, with a joyous wink, stated that the fish so recently devoured were all filled with carbide. Even a barracuda cannot digest some twenty cubic feet of acetylene gas! It was soon an easy matter to gaff the monster, and a rough- and-ready post-mortem revealed—amongst other,matters—eight cod-hooks, an iron bolt, a clay pipe—and the lost tobacco pouch !

Page 302

MR Two days later the Stormcock made for home. Other trawlers that had played jackal to her all the trip now made for port likewise: it was a race to get first ‘look in” at the market. Not without regret did Mr. Todbury note the change that came upon the old craft that he had learnt to love. No longer did the skipper lie smoking in his bunk— “thinking hake” and studying the next point to make for in the fishing- grounds. He devoted him- self to cribbage and calculations on the backs of grubby enve- lopes concerning the number of the catch. Even when in foul weather the Stormcock drove through _ nights of blinding hail, and St. Elmo's fire, a ball of lurid green light, hung quivering at the truck,, Mr. Todbury inwardly quailed at the thought of clinging to a Tube strap instead of a rat- line, and climbing stairs that would seem painfully still. Even the prospects of a wash and shave hardly reconciled him. How he would miss hanging over the bow at night and watching the mackerel fly to right and left like showers of phosphorescent arrows ! How tame would the lights of Tooting be beside the lurid flarelights that dotted the TODBURY’S TRAWLER TRIP. “Ship and sea were blotted from Mr. Todbury’s sight in a roaring, lashing cataract of fish.” 295 horizon at night —the only sign that even then men were labouring to supply the sub- urban breakfast table. Not for anything would Mr. Todbury have _ bartered his place on board for a berth on the mighty liner that glided past, a mile to starboard, like a floating hotel. And when at last he found himself with a burning face, and still a little giddy, in the rocking London wain whose motion made such a poor substitute for the pitch and stagger of the trawler, he thought with a pang of the gallant old vessel putting out to sea at noon on the morrow, whilst he——! The refresh- ment - room of the British Museum is not altogether the place for cere- monial toasts, or, indeed, anything but the most subdued revelry. It was therefore something of a surprise for its discreet habitués to see one of its most sedate members raise his glass of warm milk to a marble Venus as the clock struck twelve. But Mr. Todbury was utterly unconscious of the marble goddess, or, indeed, of anything else around him. He was drinking bon voyage to all on board the Stormcock. Se a oe aoe

Page 303

Short Stories A RECORD LAUGH. By BURKE BURNETT. ILLUSTRATED BY H. M. BROCK. The story of an unsophisticated Kaffir, a “live” wire, and a laugh that was heard four miles away! ing in the open mine at Kimberley when the following incident happened —an incident I shall never forget. In the mine at the time were about three thousand Kaffirs and two hundred whites. The mine was really nothing else but a huge quarry, some seven hundred feet deep and fifteen hundred feet in diameter. The “blue ground,” containing the diamonds, was being worked in terraces, everyone in the mine thus having an uninterrupted view of all the workings. A crowd of raw Basutos, straight from their native kraals, had just been sent down. One of them was given a twenty-foot drill and told to go to the top of an incline in the centre of the mine and wait there until his ** boss ’’ came. The native started off as proud as a dog with two tails, carrying the drill on his shoulder like an assegai. About half-way up the drill came in contact with a live wire stretched across the incline some twelve feet from the ground. The Basuto, of course, got a shock that sent him flying, and the drill was knocked out of his hand. I never in my life saw a more startled Kaffir! When he picked himself up he stood looking at the drill, walked all round it, and had a look over the side of the incline to see if the fellow who had hit him was hiding there. Then he came slowly back toward the drill, eyeing it very closely and suspiciously. By this time practically everyone in the mine was watching him. Gaining courage, the native crept up to the drill, put out his hand, very gingerly, and touched it. Finding that it did not bite him, or do anything ferocious, he picked it up, took another good look round, and put it on his shoulder. He had no sooner started off, however—taken one or two steps, maybe —when the drill again touched the electric St eighteen years ago I was work- wire. Down went the implement and round spun Mr. Basuto, now in a real funk. By this time work had ceased all round, and the whole mine was waiting for the next move. The native stared at the drill as though expecting to see it get up and attack him; then, crouching low, he crept to the side of the incline, to make sure once again that no one was hiding there. Satisfying himself that there could not possibly be an enemy there, the Basuto turned his attention to the drill once more. Picking up a good-sized Piece of rock as a weapon in case of need, he approached it on tiptoe and stubbed it with his foot, rolling it over two or three times. He then decided to have another try at carrying it, and, stooping down—looking round all the time, he slowly began to pick it up. Finally he got it on his shoulder, and, still glancing suspiciously sideways, started again. Everyone was now holding his breath. There was not a sound in the whole mine, and the suspense was almost painful. The native took one step forward and then jumped suddenly round—presumably to catch the fellow who was hitting the drill. As he turned, the drill touched the wire again! The Basuto must have got an extra dose of current this time, for the drill flew over the side of the incline and the unfortunate native was knocked flat on his back. Up to this time he had not uttered a sound, but the howls and yells he let off as he came down the incline “ hell for leather,’’ abandoning that accursed drill for ever, would have done credit to an impi ; and the roar of laughter that went up from that mine two seconds later was heard in the centre of the town, four miles away. I have seen some funny things in my time, but that scene beat everything !

Page 304

SHORT STORIES. 207 “The Basuto got a shock that sent him flying.” Vol. xlix.— 21.

Page 305

298 THE WIDE MISTAKEN WORLD MAGAZINE, IDENTITY. By A. H. GARRETT. ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. What happened to an Englishman who went out to Chile to make a living, but narrowly escaped being hanged instead. HE story 1 have to tell may sound incredible to the ears of people who live safely under the protection of British law; but things happen differently in South America, as I know to my cost, and as you will understand when 1 have told you how, without the slightest shadow of evidence against me, 1 was arrested in South America and lay in a dreadful prison for three months, without even knowing why I had been arrested, or what was to be the outcome when I came up for trial. It happened like this :— I heard that there were good chances for a wideawake man in Chile, and I decided to try my luck in that country, because after the war things were not particularly bright in England for the British workman. Unfortunately, I did not possess the Necessary capital to enable me to pay my fare and, at the same time, provide for my wife while I was away. I decided, there- fore, to leave her in the care of some friends of mine, and then started to walk to Wales, where I thought I might be able to work my passage on some ship bound for Chile. 1 set out from London, and finally arrived at Port Talbot, in South Wales, a distance of about a hundred and ninety miles. The journey took me about a fortnight to do, and when I arrived I was very glad to hear that there was a French sailing-ship ready to leave for just the place I wanted to reach. I promptly went along, and thought I was very lucky when they said they wanted hands. I engaged myself on the spot as an able seaman, being told at the same time that we were due in Chile in about seven weeks’ time. Now I had never sailed before the mast at any time in my life, and on the way out I received a lesson I shall never forget. I had read of the life of a sailor in many books and magazines ; but I now had the opportunity of experiencing it, and all I can say is that it isn’t ' what it is cracked up to be.” Mr. A. H Garrett. Of course, I was green to the job, and naturally things did not go so well with me as they would have done with an experienced hand. The crew were a mixed lot, including French, Norwegians, Germans, and one Irishman, who was the ship’s carpenter. I have good reason to remember that Irishman. He was a big fellow with a bad temper, and when two of the Norwegians tried to “rag” him, Paddy ran amuck and killed one of them with a blow of his fist. On arrival at our port in Chile, Paddy was handed over to the police, and sentenced to five years’ imprisonment. 1 know this because I after- wards met him in the prison in which 1 was confined. As far as I was concerned, however, I had much more trouble when they sent me to furl sails and splice ropes. However, I got out of it quite neatly on the ground that 1 professed no knowledge of French, and when 1 was ordered to do any job which I thought 1 could not manage, I said, ‘‘ No comprend pas.’ When I tackled a job and made a mess of it, I said, “No comprend pas” again. As a matter of fact, I believe that those three blessed words saved me from being thrown overboard ! In due course, after many adventures and misadventures, we rounded Tierra del Fuego, and eventually arrived outside the port of Antofagasta, in Chile. Here the first mate, who was acting-captain, and knew that I wished to get a job in Chile, told me that I could quit, if 1 wished to do so. Knowing that this port was pretty near the nitrate fields, I decided to disembark. Of course, I was in a strange country, and “naturally my fisst job on setting foot on shore was to look around for a place where I could put up for the night. I met a sailor at the dock-side, and asked him if he knew of any likely spot. “Well, mate,’’ he said, ‘‘ you can go to the beach-combers’ quarters; or, if you

Page 306

have the price of a night's kip, try Big Bill Brady's show.” I decided that of the two propositions “ Big Bill Brady's show ” sounded the better place for me, and accordingly I made my way there. It was a typical South American sailors’ home, built on a single floor, and was what is known in England as a ‘‘ rough house.” This, however, I did not mind, because I found a comfortable bed and good food. I had a long talk with “ Big Bill” Brady, who was a genial Irishman nearly seven feet in height. He gave me a lot of very valuable information about the country in which I had landed, and told me where I was most likely to obtain work. ‘Two days later ‘‘ Big Bill’? had to go up country on business, and he left his wife in charge of his place. She was a young and_ beautiful Spanish girl, the daughter of the Chief of Police of Antofagasta. In the meantime I had decided to stay on at the boarding-house for a few days longer. I had arranged with Bill, before he left, that I was to act as a sort of secretary and handy- man during his absence, and I shall always regret the day that I came to that unfortunate decision. Going out one night to get a drink, I suddenly felt something like a snake coil itself round my shoulders, and found myself being drawn off my feet by the pull of a lasso. I realized in an instant what this meant. I had been arrested by a Vigilante, or, in other words, a Chilian mounted police- man. Of course, I stood no earthly chance. I was quickly hauled across the pommel of the policeman’s saddle and rushed before the Commissary of Police. There was some very excited conversation in Spanish between the policeman and the commissary, both of whom looked at me in evident fear and dis- gust. I-was, apparently, a dangerous cus- tomer. I asked in English that I might be allowed to communicate with the British Consul, because I did not know a word of Spanish, and hadn't the least idea what was going on, but neither the commissary nor the policeman paid any attention to me, and I was forthwith haled off to prison, known out there as the calaboose. Some people think that our prisons are bad; but they do not know what it is to be in one of those South American jails. They are simply terrible. They are so crowded with convicts that four and sometimes six are put in a single cell. They are crawling with vermin, have practically no facilities for washing, and no sanitary accommodation. This prison was a low-built stone affair, surrounding a square yard of about two and a half acres. My food consisted of a roll and a basin of beans twice a day. SHORT STORIES. 299 In the same cell were four other prisoners, who [ soon learned were “in” for murder. It was explained to me in very broken English that I was on the desperate side ”” of the establishment, and my companions, who could not speak English, used to draw their fingers across their throats, look at me, and make a strange gurgling sound. So [ found myself in this living hell, with no idea as to why I was there except that my fellow-prisoners conveyed to me the startling fact that I was accused of murder, and likely to pay for my supposed crime with my life. 1 had not murdered anybody, and did not know of anyone being murdered, so you can imagine my feelings when I say that I languished in this prison for three solid months ! In fact, what with worry and lack of food, I became more like a living skeleton than a man. Things were getting desperate with me when, as luck would have it, there was an inspection of prisons by the various foreign Consuls. I had always dreaded inspections, having been in the Army, but this one was an absolute godsend to me. One day, seeing a man pass by who looked like a Britisher, I shouted out, ‘' I am from England. For Heaven’s sake, can you speak English ?” As luck would have it, I struck oil, for the gentleman to whom I had spoken turned out to be the British Consul. 1 told him I had written to him five or six times, but he stated that this was the first time he had heard my name, and he promised he would make it his personal business to find out exactly what I had been charged with. Two days later he came back and told me, to my amazement, that I had been arrested for the attempted murder of Inez Brady, the wife of ‘’ Big Bill,’’ and that she was at the moment at the point of death because of the brutal assault 1 was supposed to have committed ! I learned afterwards that what had happened was this :— “Big Bill” Brady used to meet sailors coming off ships at Antofagasta. Usually, when a sailor is paid off he has some money, and Bill would tell these men that he would keep them at his place for a fortnight if they paid so much cash down. Of course, the sailors nearly always fell in with his plan, because they knew that if they went about town ‘‘on the loose” they would probably be penniless in a couple of days. Under Bill’s scheme they could, of course, always have tood and lodging, even if they had spent everything they possessed. Now it sometimes happened that these men were stranded in Antofagasta after the expiry of the period for which they had paid Bill. and Bill recouped himself by arranging

Page 307

300 THE WIDE to supply men to short-handed ships in return for an advance on the men's pay. I learned afterwards, when I was set at liberty, that, on the day Bill left, a skipper had gone to his place and asked for a number of men. The men chosen, not wanting to go, thought they could easily slip away, seeing that Bill was absent. His wife tried to prevent them, and one of the men picked up a bottle, which he threw at her. The bottle hit her, and in stepping forward to grapple with her assailant, she put her foot on the broken glass, which pierced her WORLD MAGAZINE. blood. She was just able to give a descrip- tion of the man before she fainted. She remained unconscious for many days; in fact, it was only by a transfusion of blood, for which “‘ Big Bill” himself volunteered, that in the end her life was saved. Now it so happened that the description of the sailor given by Mrs. Brady corre- sponded pretty much with my own, and the police, being in search of this man, picked on the first seaman they saw. Unfortunately, they hit on me. I did not know all this, of course, at the “TI suddenly felt something like a snake coil itself round my shoulders, and found myself being drawn off my feet by the pull of a lasso.” slipper and cut a main artery. It was some time before the police arrived or a doctor was called, and Bill's wife was in serious danger of losing her life through loss of time the Consul came back to see me, and I wondered why “ Big Bill ’’ did not come and clear me, but, as Bill afterwards ex- plained, he really thought I had done it,

Page 308

SHORT STORIES. 301 and, believing me to be a vindictive scoundrel, felt it was only right that he should leave me to my fate. {n fact, he was so kind as to say that he hoped I would be hanged. A few weeks later, owing to the inter- vention of the British Consul, I was brought before the Chilian Criminal Court. By this time Bill’s wife was able to come and give evidence. There was I, standing in the dock, expecting to be condemned to death, but when “ Big Bill’s ” wife looked across and smiled at me, I felt a bit better. A moment later she jumped up and cried excitedly: “Fools, that is not the man! It was another sailor that did it!” ~ Of course, after this, there was no alter- native for the police but to release me, after which “ Big Bill” took me home with him, and more than made up for the terrible ex- perience I had undergone. I stayed with him for several weeks before I went up country to Bolivia, where I met another Englishman named Lee. Together we got a job on the construction of a new railway, and things were going fine when, without the least warning, we were sacked —the contractor “‘ went broke.” We managed to work our way back to Old England, after many days of bad weather at sea, but to the day of my death I shall never forget the physical torture and mental anguish I endured in that Chilian prison.

Page 309

AD I been told six months before that my brother and I were to make a lengthy expe- dition in the East by aero- plane, I could have done little else but laugh: the idea would have seemed so utterly impos- sible. I had always yearned for such a trip, but I was never blessed with money, and my fondest dreams never seemed to materialize. In this case, how- ever, an excep- tion to the rule rose to view on my horizon, and the great journey became an accomplished fact. I will not deny that the idea of painting The Pyramids, as seen from an aeroplane. THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. After the termination of the war the Author and his brother, two young Air Force officers, and both well-known artists—were commissioned to paint scenes in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Mesopotamia, Kurdistan, and Persia for the National War Museum, depicting the countries and the cities from the air and the people and daily life from the ground. The expedition—entirely unique of its kind—lasted over ten months, and was full of incident and adven- ture. In this series, specally written for “The Wide World Magazine,” Mr. Richard Carline describes and illustrates the experiences of the two airmen- artists by land and air during their memorable journey. pictures from the air, as well as from the ground, of the historic places of the East was chiefly mine, though the Air Force Committee of the Imperial War Museum brought it into the realm of being. In order to preserve records of the world at this period, which was the raison détre of the Museum, it was realized that pictures form the best mate- tial, for they ex- press the point of view and feelings of the time, as well as the bald facts. It was for this reason that my brother and I had been installed during the war as

Page 310

official artists to paint in France and Italy ; and, having been officers in the Royal Flying Corps, what could be more fitting than thar we should paint in particular that aspect of the world which the airman had made his own ? My brother Sydney, whose photo appears below, had been a pilot since the early days of the war, was wounded while bombing over the Somme, and had been flying on the Italian front before he returned there to paint, while I painted in France, both of us being fully equipped as artists with can- vases, paints, and aeroplanes to flyin. My brother worked in the Art Gallery at Vicenza, which was protected by sand- bags during the war, and is seen in the photo complet- ing his picture of “‘ Twenty Thousand Feet Above the Alps,”” which is now in the War Museum collection at the Crystal Palace. I can call to mind many queer studios in which I have painted since the days when, as a schoolboy, I first went to Paris ;. but to have the cockpit of an aeroplane as a studio, painting with nothing but the glo- rious air enveloping you, free from the trammels of earth, surely reaches the acme of romance. One is skimming across the world, mountain-tops are on one’s level, and great cities lie thousands of feet below, with only the smoke from their countless chimneys and the tiny specks that hint of people dotting roads and roof-tops to suggest the hum of life beneath, temporarily left so far behind. One is detached, alone with one’s thoughts ; nothing hinders the flow of inspiration and imagination, unless— well, unless one’s paper blows away or one’s rubber drops THROUGH TIE Mr. Richard Carline, the Author. Mr. Sydney Carline, the Author’s brother, finishing one of his pictures. EAST BY AIR 303 through a hole in the cockpit into the fathomless distance. To paint our pictures we used to fly whenever possible with another pilot, for it is difficult for any- one, however gifted, to fly and paint at the same time. Sydney had to do this in Italy, however, as his Sopwith “Camel” had only room for one ; and sometimes we did it in the East. Inside this improvised studio your map-board served as an easel on which to fix your drawing, and a Scout bottle strapped around your waist supplied water for the brush, your palette being held in one hand and brushes in the other. The subject to be painted lay below—either the ground, a city, the mountains that rose tier above tier in front, or perchance the bank of clouds one might be rising above; or even the sunset, still visible to us though hidden to those hugging Mother Earth. Sometimes the cold is too intense for painting in the air, as Sydney found while painting one of his pictures many thou- sand feet above the Alps, when the paint actually froze on the paper. On the other hand, at Bagdad, later on, the heat proved so great that the paint dried up before it could be applied ! Of course, the speed of the aeroplane car- Ties one past the sub- ject too quickly to draw it, and to meet this difficulty a ready memory has to be cultivated to instantly visualize the scene. Our method was to fly in an ellipse back- wards and forwards over the subject, and so obtain’ a view obliquely from the machine. We gained experi- ence of these things in France and Italy,

Page 311

304 in painting Lens and Ypres from above, and aeroplanes among Alpine gorges or over the Dolomites. The war over, the Museum wanted pictures painted of the East, of those countries in which our troops had fought and lived, and for that purpose we were sent on the expedi- tion 1 am about to describe, travelling through Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Mesopotamia, Kur- distan, and Persia, and returning vid India. Our task was to paint pictures of these countries and their cities as seen from the air, and their peoples and daily scenes as seen on the ground. A vast store of painting material and camp equipment was needed, and with our supplies packed in two large wooden boxes fined with metal, we left England on January 4th, 1919, with Egypt as our first destination. Accustomed as I was to the green fields and hedgerows of Europe, with its grey and misty distances, you can imagine my impres- sions on my first flight over Egypt. Nothing but a vast un- y broken desert lay on all sides, as far as the eye could see, divided by the long straight line of the Suez Canal. We were flying from Port Said to Suez, and my gaze rested eagerly on the lakes of Ismailia, the only scrap of familiar greenery to recall the sur- roundings that I had left behind. “If this is the beauty of the East,” I thought, * | would readily exchange it for the humblest meadow at home.” To me the East that I now saw did not seem pre- possessing. Yet that was because I did not know it. I know now that there is a mystic charm that we but dimly realize in its deserts, in its prolific vegetation, in its strange beasts, weird places, and picturesque peoples. Crossing the desert on the way to Sakkara. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, One often reads of the changeless blue sky of Egypt. Imagine our surprise, therefore, on reaching Port Said, to find an Egypt lost in drenching rain. In any case, however, the traveller can know no more cheerless moment than his first arrival in a strange country; and in Egypt in particular it heeds a stoic to overcome those petty irritations that dog the footsteps of luxury and civilization. One must weather that first contact with the native porter—the poduct of the tourist—who, with pre- meditated malice and the artfulness of long experience, puts every imaginable impedi- ment in the way of the unsuspecting in order to extort the utmost money for the smallest service. It was not immediately that we were able to acquire the experience necessary to deal with native cunning. For instance, I remember our first day in Cairo, whither we had gone from Port Said to make preparations for our travels. We intended to go out to the Pyramids at Ghizeh for quict contem- plation of the country and a little painting. This was just before those ter- rible outbreaks of revolution and murder directed against all Euro- peans, and the atmosphere in Cairo seemed tense. We had to let a dragoman ac- company us to the Pyramids. We didn’t want to, but we found no one could withstand the im- portunities of the hungry crowd of human sharks that wait for the innocent visitor, and our brand- new sun helmets and painting ap- paratus rendered us easy prey. My expostula- tions that we were not going to the Pyramids —indeed, knew them well—fell like a pack of cards when the first dragoman we encountered blandly told us we were going in the wrong direction ! Diatized by GOORTe

Page 312

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. How could we escape his trap, for the doubt and perplexity written on our faces gave the lie to our deception. There was no way out of it but to let him guide us; though after all he was not even a par- tial protection against that end- less stream of others pestering us on the way. Even when we arrived, and the giant structure lay towering above us, those villainous men and white-shirted boys trying to sell faked relics of the past or bire us donkeys destroyed all train of ideas. We climbed up the outside of the Great Pyra- mid, stone by stone, thinking it an opportunity of escape. By this time we were both in the hands of separate guides, specialists in the Pyramids only, and mine soon began treat- ing me to the fol- lowing scraps of conversation :— “If I please you, you please me,” with a meaning look. This was said while a difficult part of the ascent was being manceuvred. * Inglezi rich ’"—a pause—"' Some give me t’ree poun’, some two.” I made no re- sponse. ‘Some give one poun’, what you like,” he went on. A mysterious silence ensued, leaving me to ponder anxiously whether “ one pound ” would suffice. The ascent over, we tackled the interior. This is reached by an opening in the side, from which a long dark passage leads steeply downwards. The cold, dank air struck chill after the warm brightness we were leaving behind, and, bent double, we stumbled down its slippery surface, which seemed, as we peered forward, to lead into eternal darkness. We both had to go separately, for the guides seemed to have a rooted objection to our having anything to do with each other, and when we reached a murky shaft rising upwards in the pitch blackness, my guide produced some magnesium wire, which he said The main street of Ghizeb. in the house on the right. , 305 he would light on my promising payment— an exorbitant sum—for each piece. I made the practical suggestion that by waiting for my brother before lighting them we should be saved the needless expense of doing it twice over. This, how- ever, he ignored, and promptly made the flare of his wire light the eerie darkness. There were Many tortuous passages before we reached the tomb of Pharaoh himself, a chamber low down in the very heart of the Pyramid. The air was thick and stifling, with a suspicion of mummy scent, and I found my mind _ oppressed by the appal- ling weight of masonry above, which seemed to press on one. In this un- pre possessing chamber my guide, with a Meaning gesture, began to urge me to pay him now in private for his services, on the grounds that outside the other dragoman might fight him for a division. His gleaming eyes, set in a pitch-black face, and the gloomy darkness, lit only by his guttering candle, gave an excellent scenic effect. I pictured the result of my refusal—perchance our coming to grips, the candle extinguished and lost in the confusion, and my shouts never penetrating the utter darkness and the mass of masonry. The rascal became really threatening, but when I firmly withstood his attempts at bluff, he immediately gave way and, true to his Oriental character, turned submissively to lead the way out. Next day we rode on camels across the desert to Sakkara and Memphis, ancient Egypt’s first capital. The Egyptian night had already enveloped us ere we commenced to return. Emerging from that maze of tombs buried in the sand, the silence of the scene impressed one immensely. The distant bark of village Notice the harem windows

Page 313

306 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, dogs alone broke the stillness, till the camel of a desert rider passed by, and the soft greeting ‘‘ Peace be upon ye ” reached our ears. I was greatly exhausted with the incessant jolting of my camel. The dragoman and Sydney were away ahead, as there was no time for delay and the track was not easy to find, and my ungainly mount threatened to throw me off at every stride. I glanced at the little camel boys, only faintly visible through the gloom. Their duty was to beat the camels to keep up the speed, and they must have already run forty miles! What people to produce such endurance after seven thousand years of history | Near midnight we rode wearily through the village street of Ghizch, silent and deserted save for a few sinister figures hugging the walls as we shuffled by. After that night the spell of the East seemed to have for me a new and personal meaning. The photograph of the main street of Ghizeh, reproduced on the previous page, shows characteristic village shops with the latticed windows above, through which the women of the harem can peer without being seen. A day or two later we were on our way to Palestine, crossing the Sinai Desert in the night train to Ludd. The following morning we would wake in the Holy Land! Amid the joltings of the train I fell asleep, and dreamt of that Palestine I had known from childhood ; of the magic names of places, around each of which I had learnt a story ; a country which I could then only picture as a map running north and south and divided up by different colours, red, yellow, and green. In the early dawn this map, converted into actuality, lay spread around us when, awaken- ing with a start, we found that the train was waiting for us to pack our baggage and clamber out. No helpful porters ran up the platform, for the excellent reason that there was no platform—only ground worn smooth by countless bare feet. A sombre and melancholy country, its green hills covered with prickly pear and olives, hobnobbing together over hill and dale, surrounded us. A pink glow in the sky faintly heralded the rising sun, converting the hills into a blue- green mystery. Near by, on a dusty track, an Australian was waiting for us, a tall, lean, thin-faced man in gaiters and broad-brimmed hat; somehow he singularly harmonized with the surroundings. As we had learnt that the only aeroplanes in Palestine belonged to an Australian squadron at Ramleh, a village a few miles away, we had arranged to go to them, armed with a letter of introduction, and our friend in the gaiters had come to Jaffa, as.seen from the air.

Page 314

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 307 Flying over the land of the Philistines at Gaza. fetch us in a motor-car. It was a peculiar- looking car, rough and shoddy, captured from the Turks during the retreat. This ramshackle machine and its driver were destined to be our companions for many weeks to come. Two days later we were making our first flight over the Holy Land, an occasion of memorable impressions. The whole history of the Jews seemed to pass in review as we rose from the aerodrome, shivering and cold, just as the first flickers of dawn appeared from above the Judean hills. We were ascending over the Plain of Sharon, where Abraham fed his flocks, which stretches from the Mediterranean to the west, the desert to the south, and the mountains of Judea to the east. Away to the north lay Samaria and Shechem. Suddenly banks of clouds blew over, damp and clinging, their moisture surrounding us like the densest fog, and my observations were rudely interrupted. **So close to the sea,” I reasoned, ‘‘ and enveloped in cloud, it is easy to drift to the west and get lost over the watery wastes.” I had yet to learn, however, that Palestine provides the airman with a_never-failing beacon. As we rose above the clouds into the eternal sunshine a spectacle lay before us such as only climbers who adventure up Mount Fujiyama in Japan may share with the airman. Away in the north the snow- capped peaks of Hermon and Sannin rode like ships in the snow-white sea of vapour surrounding them, with tiny clouds, ‘ like a man’s hand,” floating around their glisten- ing summits. From a sketch of this scene I afterwards painted the picture that follows, which is now in the Imperial War Museum collection at the Crystal Palace. Next day we rose from the Bay of Acre, where we had landed by the banks of the River Kishon, and flew over the summit of Mount Carmel. The waters of the blue Mediterranean were beneath us, lazily lapping a silver strand. As we flew south not a sign of habitation was in sight, and I was thinking of the land “overflowing with milk and honey,” until we arrived above Jaffa (shown on the previous page), with its red line of rocks washed by the surf which, according to the Phoenician story, is the dragon that guarded Andromeda, turned to stone by Perseus ; in the Crusaders’ version of the same story St. George kills the dragon. On the promontory seen in the photograph is the old city of Joppa, in which lies the house of Simon the Tanner, and from which Jonah set sail on the memorable

Page 315

308 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cruise that culminated in his adventure with the whale. Southwards from Jaffa lay the long sandy shores of the country of the Philistines, that race of giants who gave Palestine its name. We continued on over its ruined cities of Ascalon and Ashdod until the bleached buildings of Gaza passed below us on the fringe of the desert, with the sea beyond. Changing our course, we returned to Above the clouds in Palestine. The summits of Mounts Hermon and Sannin, the airman’s beacons, are seen in the distance. Ramleh, In the great plain beneath us no vestige of life appeared to dis- turb the stillness, or to vie with the monotonous roar of the engine and break that awful! loneliness that oppresses the airman. Yet, looking down, I could just descry groups of black specks below, and realized we were not entirely alone, for they denoted the tents of the wandering Bedouin. That night my dreams of the morrow and the commencement of our journeys were drowned in our first taste of an Asiatic thunderstorm. As the water poured into our tent in a continual stream, making a pond of our floor and converting beds, clothes, and everything else into ‘‘ washing,” we were left like two drowned rats to await the dawn and the promise of the morrow’s journey south to Ekron, Gaza, Hebron, and all the other magic places we had read about. (To ke continued.) i _ ot “The Long, Long Road.” HERE is a picture of a milestone bearing a very unusual inscription. It stands on the sea road in the island of Somerset, Bermuda, and was put up some thirty odd years ago. One wonders whether there is a regulation milestone anywhere else recording a greater distance from Lon- don. Does any WIDE Wortp_ reader know of one? If so, we shall be very pleased to hear of it and to publish and pay for a photograph. ee eee

Page 316

T was the curious advertisement re- produced above which put me on the track of one of the most romantic inci- dents -arising out of the great world-war. What is this two- million - pound trea- sure, and will it ever steel, who seems to know exactly what he is about. For reasons that will appear very clearly in the following narrative, he wishes his identity to remain BUSINESS 5 OPPORTUNITIES. Bon: per word).* 7 east tant a] ato Sppor un" polircin & come”, Gabriel Siroux WLLUSTRATED BY GFP CARRUTHERS tn gold eon was little disturbed by the terrible events taking place in Europe, the capital and inter- national ports like Shanghai felt the effects very keenly. Among those thrown out of work through the firm in which he had been employed fe GOLDEN CHEESES be recovered 211 HeCet as setae eres scenic closing down was a eb ee A STORV oF SUNKEN TREASURE ¥oUn8 American, and he is a resolute being anxious to return man, with nerves of home—at least, not at his own expense—and being unable to stay in Shanghai doing nothing, he was look- ing round for any sort of work that offered itself to tide him over absolutely inviolate until he has made his great attempt to re- cover the treasure, and therefore we shall call him by a pseudonym. An American marine engineer, a typical son of the sea of the in the Paris Daily forth. dition that hopes Aa mysterious advertisement appearing French correspondents on the track of a@ very remarkable story—a romantic echo of the war—which is here set It concerns a two-million-pound treasure, a torpedoed ship, and an expe- the bad time that was coming. But it was not easy to find what hewanted; employment was prac- tically impossible to obtain. One day, nearly at the end of his tether, Simons was Mail put one of our to recover the gold. roving, adventurous type, Mr. X might be a lineal descendant of one of those daring navigators who sailed the Spanish main and “ singed the beard of His Most Catholic Majesty.” One can imagine that to him life is merely an ad- venture, and danger something to laugh at. And here, much as he told it to me, is the story of the golden cheeses—a strange tale of sunken gold as fascinating as any fiction. It was at Shanghai, in the early part of 1915. Though the greater portion of China lounging on the wharf- side, watching the coolies loading a vessel bound for Australia, when a man touched him on the shoulder. He turned sharply round and looked at the stranger. He had seen him before, and recognized him as a frequenter of the Piccadilly bar, though he had never previously conversed with him. * Looking for a job? ” asked the man. “You bet,” answered Simons, laconically. * Particular ? ” The American scrutinized the stranger as

Page 317

310 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, if to divine his meaning, but the latter turned his question into another :— “ Yank, aren't you ?”’ “Yep.” “Well, I.can give you a good job if you're not afraid!” “ Afraid !"’ Simons nearly made an angry retort, for he felt he was not likely to be afraid of anything that did not scare a German, and he had not exchanged three words with the stranger before realizing that this was his nationality. He contented himself, however, by saying that he did not mind risks so long as he got a good job. An hour later, having fixed up an appoint- ment, the American met his new acquaintance in the bar, where, without further pre- liminaries, the German told him the nature of the ‘job ”’ he had to ofter. “ You are to take to America, and hand to a gentleman in New York, whose name I shall give you, a bundle of securities. They are worth several million dollars. When he has them safe in his possession, you will receive for your trouble two per cent. of the value of the securities.”’ It seemed good enough to an engineer out of a job, but, nevertheless, the cautious American demurred a little. ‘* Where are these securities ? '’ he asked. “ At Rotterdam. You risk nothing. I pay your fare from here to Rotterdam, where you will receive the packet from the person to whom I shall send you, as well as the fare from that port to New York.” The proposition, on its face value, appeared to Elbert Simons a good one. He had been several weeks at Shanghai without finding work. If he got his fare paid to Rotterdam, even supposing that when he arrived there the rest of the promised programme did not materialize, he would at any rate be in a part of the world where it would be easier for him to earn a livelihood or to make the further stages of the journey home. The German went on to explain that it was necessary for the bonds to be conveyed to America by a neutral, so as to avoid their being stopped and confiscated by British ships or agents. As Simons was a neutral, and his passport would show he was travelling from Shanghai to America vid Europe, he would run little risk of being interfered with even if he were found to be in possession of this large amount of securities. After some further conversation Simons accepted the commission, and two days later he left Shanghai with his passport all in order, his ticket for the Trans-Siberian Railway, and sufficient money to carry him on the first stage of his journey. Beside this, he carried a letter accrediting him to the agent at Rotterdam by whom he was to be handed the scrip. He was given little further information as to the actual owner of the securities or the reason for their removal, and was told that the fewer questions he asked the better pleased his employers would be. The long journey across Asiatic Russia and disturbed Europe to the famous port on the North Sea was made in circumstances that were far from normal or pleasant. The young American was frequently stopped and his papers examined, but as his passport showed him to be an American citizen, travelling from China on business, he was usually treated with courtesy and no objection was made to his proceeding on his way. The ordeal on the Dutch-German frontier was the most severe, but finally Simons arrived at Rotterdam one dismal, drizzly March evening, and took a room at the small hotel where his Shanghai employer had advised him to stay, intending in the morning to present the letter he carried for the agent in the Dutch port. The traveller, however, was saved any such trouble. Called at his own request early in the morning, he had hurriedly dressed and shaved and gone down to the coffee-room for his breakfast, when he was told that a gentleman was waiting to see him. He found a polite, elderly Dutchman, who shook him by the hand, “‘ You are Mr. Simons ? ”’ said the stranger. “‘T am very glad to see you. I have been expecting you, and have called here twice before, as I calculated you would reach this city two days ago. Yes; I am the person for whom you have a letter. All is well. You have not breakfasted yet ? Will you kindly have your breakfast at once and join me in an hour at this office ? ’—he wrote the address on a slip of paper—" or, stay, as you are a stranger here, I will send somebody round to fetch you. Then we will exchange credentials, so that you will have no further doubt as to whom you are dealing with, and I shall hand you your ticket to New York and sufficient cash for your expenses. I will see you off and bring you a valise containing the papers you are to take to our representative in New York. It is all very easy, is it not ? The boat sails to-night.” “‘So soon ? ”* “Yes; there is no time to lose.” The old gentleman smiled at him through his spec- tacles. ‘‘“We do not want your presence here to attract any attention,” he went on, “and the submarines and torpedoes are reported to be getting very active. Beside, you have no other business in Rotterdam, have you, and you are not here for sight- seeing 2?”

Page 318

The traveller could not help admiring the prompt, business-like methods of the Dutch- man, and had no objections to make to the proposed programme. Punctually at the time appointed, an hour later, a young clerk came to fetch him. They jumped into a cab, and in a few minutes stopped before a large building in the Utrechtdam, where they went to a small office on an upper floor. Simons read on the door, on a small brass plate, the name of his visitor of the morning, followed by the word “ Agentur ” and a list of two or three trading corporations, the exact meaning of which he did not understand except that they all ended with that common Dutch word “ Maatschappiij,” meaning ‘* Company.” The old gentleman was quite ready to receive him, and after examining his papers said :— “Very well, Mr. Simons, everything is in order. This evening, on the boat, I shall hand you all that is necessary. Mr. Wagner, of New York, is instructed to meet you on the arrival of the steamer, and he will pay you the amount agreed upon for your services. All you have to do is to take care of the luggage containing the securities and hand it to him. There your mission ends. To-day—it is the only other request I have to make of you— I shall be glad if you are scen as little as possible in the streets of Rotterdam or in public places. Stay in your hotel or remain here with me, just as you prefer. At any rate, I should like you to lunch with me ata restaurant at one o'clock.” Simons did as he was bid. At luncheon his new acquaintance talked to him about Holland and auestioned him with great interest concerning his travels in the Far East. Nothing at all was said concerning his mission. The young American, who had _ had romantic visions of acting as the responsible agent of a Government at war and running unnamed dangers, was a little taken aback at this very smooth and business-like settle- ment of the whole matter, but as his own part in the affair was so simple, and he was going back home, he could only congratulate himself on earning so large a sum of money with such little trouble. That evening his friend of a day took him in a cab to the docks, where he was to em- bark on a Dutch vessel, the Admivat van Tromp, conveying passengers and cargo (though there were very few of the former) to New York. With them was a large valise, or rather trunk, which he was informed contained the millions in securities. ‘ This is your ticket,” said the Dutchman. “and here is the letter stating that you are the owner of the trunk and all it contains. Of course, it is dated from Shanghai, as you THE GOLDEN CHEESES. 311 come from there. Office.”” . The precious trunk was got safely aboard and handed to the purser of the vessel, who locked it up in his safe and gave the traveller a receipt for it. Then, after the Dutchman had seen Simons comtortably installed in a private cabin, he took his leave. ‘‘ Tam told the boat may be later in sailing than was expected,” he said, shaking hands warmly, “ but, please, on no account go on shore again. Good-bye! Bon voyage. Don't fail to come and see me any time you are in Rotterdam.” Simons, left alone, lit a cigar and began to look around him. The gloom of evening had fallen upon the vessel, except where the work of loading coal and cargo was pro- ceerling by artificial light. He paced up and down for a few minutes, gazing at the lights on shore and the other vessels in the harbour. Everybody on board seemed very busy, and Simons saw neither crew nor passengers on deck, though he heard the creaking of the tackles in the hold and the shouts of the men at work. It was evident that the vessel would not sail for some hours yet, and he was sorely tempted to disobey the injunctions he had received and go ashore for a while, but finally decided to stay where he was. Strolling over to the spot whence the noise of loading was proceeding, he looked about him. Leaning over the railing round the open hatch was a stalwart man in an overcoat, smoking a cigar and watching operations with great interest. He was apparently counting some huge round pack- ages that were being lowered into the hold from trolleys drawn up beside the ship. “Two hundred and one—two—three o and so on, he called out, noting down his numbers every now and then on a slip of paper, as if anxious to avoid any mistake. The big lamp hanging overhead made observation of the work perfectly easy, and the packages, as they were lowered, were placed in rows and on top of each other at one end of the hold. Simons soon guessed that they were large cheeses, wrapped in coarse cloth, their shape and the strange subdued perfume that eman- ated from them making this perfectly clear. He stood and watched for some minutes and then came to a second conclusion—that the stranger who was so carefully counting the packages was a fellow-American. Pre- sently the man shouted a few directions to the men at work, though he seemed to have some difficulty in finding the right words, as was evidenced by his muttered ejacu- lation :— “Durn the language ! speak good American ? ” Yes; it is our Shanghai Why can’t they

Page 319

312 THE WIDE WORLD Simons laughed, and the man turned round. “You 'Murr’can ? ’’ he asked. Simons nodded. “It’s some job getting them all on board safe and sound,” the other went on. “Cheeses ?”’ “ Yep—good Dutch cheeses, going to the little country.” The stranger seemed a genial fellow, but Simons hesitated to interrupt him in his counting with further observations, Finally, the whole consignment was aboard—five hundred cheeses in all—and then the man went ashore, handed something to the chief of the gang of labourers, and shook hands deferentially with another man who had been watching the loading from the quayside. Finally he came back on board, evidently very well satisfied at the termination of the work. “You going over?” he asked Simons, lighting another cigar. They got into con- versation, and both were really pleased at the opportunity of passing the rest of the evening in congenial company. There was not much accommodation on board for passengers, but after a while they discovered that the vessel boasted a small bar and smoking-room, and to this they retired. During the evening they exchanged im- pressions about voyages and their respective home towns. The stranger knew Holland well, and told Simons a lot about it. He also informed him the ship they were on was a slow one, and would take at least ten days to do the voyage. The more Simons conversed with the stranger, the more curious it seemed to him that he should be travelling in charge of a consignment of cheese. Why on earth hadn't he shipped it in the ordinary way and let it go alone? Those were times, however, when it was often imprudent to ask questions or show suspicion, and so he said nothing. ‘T hear the submarines are very busy just now,” Simons remarked, in the course of conversation. ““Oh, there’s not much danger there,” replied the stranger, in an offhand way. A little later, however, he seemed to have thought the matter over, for he jerked out :— “There'd be the dickens to pay if they send my cheeses to the bottom. I’d be Tuined |” “ What’s their value?” “Their value?’ he repeated, sharply ; and then added, in quieter tones, ‘‘ Well, I ain’t got the invoice on me, but I guess each of them will fetch between five and ten dollars in the market.” Later in the evening they learned that the boat would not sail until daybreak, and so MAGAZINE. the two men said good night and turned in. Their cabins were next to each other. Simons, in his sleep, was vaguely aware of the unmooring of the ship and the shriek- ing of sirens as the grey dawn stole into his cabin porthole. When he awoke properly it was nearly eight o’clock and the open sea lay before them, while Rotterdam was only a blurred mist behind. The two Americans met again at breakfast, and as there were only about eight or ten other passengers—all having the appearance of Dutch commercial travellers—they natur- ally kept together most of the time. “ What are you travelling on this tub for,” the stranger asked Simons during the course of the morning, ‘instead of a decent American boat?” “Because my passage on her was taken by my employers,” replied Simons. “Oh, yes. Travelling for a firm?” “Yes, a Chinese firm.”” The stranger was silent for a moment, and then he asked :— “ Do you really think there’s any danger from submarines ? ” “I don’t know,” said Simons; “I only told you what I heard.” “ Durned if I sha’n’t be glad to feel the pavement of Broadway under my soles again,” growled the stranger. They went on talking of other things, and then, apparently yielding to a sudden im- pulse, his companion turned and said, in a low voice :— “You can keep a secret, I guess, Mr. Simons? In any case, now we are on our way to New York, it doesn’t matter much. Those are cheeses all right that you saw last night—five hundred of them—but their value is two million pounds sterling—beside the cheese!” he added, with a grin. Simons looked surprised. “ There’s gold coin neatly packed inside each cheese,” the stranger went on, ‘“ and two million sterling is the total amount. I'm taking it over for the Germans. D’ye wonder I was keen on counting them ?”’ Confidence led to confidence, and presently Simons told the ‘cheese merchant” con- cerning the trunkful of securities he was taking over. Martens—such, it appeared, was the stranger’s name—informed Simons that he was acting as an agent for the German Government. A large sum having to be sent over to the States in gold coin, this ingenious method of transporting it in charge of a confidential neutral agent had been thought of. A good-sized hole had been made in each cheese, he explained, a portion of the cheese taken out, the coins, suitably wrapped up, inserted, and the holes stopped up again,

Page 320

THE GOLDEN CHEESES. 313 “Leaning over the railing round the open hatch was a stalwart man in an overcoat, watching operations with great interest.” Vol, xlix.—22,

Page 321

314 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “T suppose it’s a dangcrous game, but I shall be fairly rich when I’ve done with it,” he concluded. Some two or three hours after this con- versation the two Americans were sitting playing poker in the smoking-room, a third player with them being a Dutch passenger who had entered into conversation with them. It was only about the middle of the afternoon, but a mist had come up, and the atmospheric conditions were chilly and dismal. Suddenly, above the dull throbbing of the engines, a strange shnll sound was heard ; then there came a loud report, the steamer shook violently, and seemed to stop dead. The sound of rushing water followed. “ Struck, by heavens!’ cried Martens, “ A torpedo !’’ shouted someone else. All three men immediately rushed on deck, where crew and passengers were hurrying about in wild disorder. “ Torpedoed !"" was heard on all sides, accompanied by various exclamations. “It's infamous!” cried someone. ‘ This is a neutral vessel.” “Not so neutral as you’d think,” said the Dutchman who had a moment before been playing cards with the two Americans, and was now eagerly watching the swinging out of the ship’s boats. ‘ There’s German treasure on this boat, sir. The English have spies, too, don’t forget!" Simons remembered these words after- wards, though he heard them amidst the confusion of the moment ; he remembered, too, the face of the placid-looking, be- spectacled Dutchman who uttered them. Afterwards he wondered how this man knew —and how much he knew. Hardly had the remark been made, however, than there came a second violent explosion, and Simons felt himself flung violently into the air, amidst a tremendous rending of timbers. He fell into the water, landing with a mighty splash, struck something hard—and for a time remembered nothing more. ‘Here's one, sir,” was the next thing Simons heard, as though through layers of cotton-wool, and at the same moment a huge hand—a hand that seemed to come out of space and nothingness—grabbed him some- where. When his eyes opened, something hot was being poured down his throat and strange faces were bending over him. He became aware that he was on board a British warship, and that British sailors had picked him up. A_ torpedo-boat destroyer had come along at just the right moment to save him and some others from a watery grave in the North Sea. Simons was young and vigorous, and he was soon almost himself again—save for his leg, which it was feared had been broken. An hour or two later he was well enough to make inquiries concerning his fellow-travel- lers. The Admiral van Tromp, he learnt, had been torpedoed amidships ; her boilers had exploded, and she had sunk almost immediately. Beside himself, the captain, twelve of the crew, and five passengers had been saved. A number had perished, either in the explosion or in the sea. Whether others had been rescued by any other vessel, those on the destroyer could not tell him, but they doubted it. Of the American “cheese merchant "” there was no sign, and Simons concluded he had gone down with his valuable merchandise. Early next morning the young engineer was put ashore at Deal and taken to a mili- tary hospital, where he lay for several weeks, excellently cared for. Every effort was made to save his leg, which had been badly crushed by wreckage in the explosion, but finally it had to be amputated. Some of the survivors got off at less cost, and either did not go into hospital at all or were able to leave in a few days. Two or three months later Simons, fitted out once more and with his passage paid— this time by representatives of his own Government—went back to New York. All his efforts to trace his American fellow- traveller had failed. Only the sea, ap- parently, knew his whereabouts, and to this day Simons has heard nothing more of him. The reader will have guessed, of course, that Elbert Simons is not the real name of the man who went through this extraordinary adventure, but that he and ‘* Mr. X——,” who is fitting out a vessel and an expedition to go in search of the ‘* golden cheeses,"’ are one and the same person. By the time these lines are in print he will be on his way. He claims to have located the exact spot where the treasure vessel sank—she was taking a more northerly course than she need have done, her captain evidently having some fear that he was suspected or watched and Mr, X states that he knows just where the precious cargo was stowed in the hold. He alone has this knowledge, he declares, since the man in charge of the cheeses has perished. If he can succeed in raising those five hundred cheeses from the ocean bed—and the North Sea is not very deep—their golden contents are his. As to the trunkful of securities, if he can recover it, and they are still of any value, he thinks of returning them to the business-like Dutch gentleman at Rotterdam.

Page 322

Ay, IRONS WaTe) THE LITTLE CAPTAIN be Timothy Ay Starner F,GILLETT:RI S t> PS .S l= D DS g E was a fair-haired, short, rather grubby-looking youth, and he went by the high-sounding name of Alfonso Cervantes Ponce de Leon. There was nothing consecutive about his helter-skelter life, and so the story of it, to be truthful, must be told in fits and starts. During the early period of the Constitu- tionalist revolution in Mexico General Ochata was doing his daily half-hour’s routine as military governor of Tamaulipas. One of the mules used as motive power in the street railway system balked in front of the official palace, and General Ochata left his desk and stepped out on to the sidewalk to watch. The driver-conductor and several of the passengers pushed and pulled at the mule, but the animai planted his feet firmly between the huge stones of the paving and refused to budge. “ Fools, give him food; he is balking because he has not been fed,’’ shouted a piping voice, and a youth rode up on a jaded horse. He wore the uniform of a captain in the revolutionary army. The uniform fitted much too loosely, and his age and small stature would have made his appearance ridiculous but for a commanding self- assurance. The driver-conductor reluctantly brought corn from the box under his seat, and the passengers waited placidly while the mule dined. Then the driver gave the command, Some joyous fragments from the chequered life-history of one of the most irresponsible dare-devils imagin- able—a young Mexican who loved adventure for its own sake and was indefatigable in getting into trouble and out of it again. “Alfonso” and his odd little ways will amuse you intensely. ‘The story is true,” writes the Author, “except that, for obvious reasons, I have used fictitious names. I met ‘Alfonso’ during my seven years as a newspaper correspondent in Mexico and on the border, and he is still rampant in Mexican affairs.” and off went the car, proceeding down the street with a rapidity that particular car had . not attained since it was in service in Jackson, Michigan, before horse-cars went out of fashion in the States. ‘‘ What a funny little captain,’’ observed General Ochata to his secretary. With that he returned to his office, poured out a glass of cognac, and resumed dictating his corres- pondence. Presently, however, the clatter of hoofs on the cobbles outside told him that the little captaip was still there. Then came a noisy argument at the door between the rider and the sentry. ‘‘ Hurry, you fool, and tell the General I have despatches,” cried the boy’s voice. “ Hurry, or I will see to it you are put in jail for impudence to your superior.” “ Alfonso Cervantes Ponce de Leon—at your orders, my General,’’ said the youth when he appeared before the governor. With that he laid a packet of papers on the desk. ** These are what I have been waiting for ! "” cried the General, with delight. ‘‘ How did you get through the Huertista lines with them, young man?” “‘I have a Federal uniform in my saddle- bags,” explained the messenger. General Ochata leaned back in his chair and laughed. Then he drained another glass without offering any to the little captain. Suddenly he pointed at the messenger’s

Page 323

316 shoulders. ‘ Who gave you those rank- bars ? ”’ he demanded. “ General Tesbueno.” “What! That disgraceful coward! That buffoon !’’ snapped General Ochata, with an oath. Tesbueno was his rival and enemy. He took another draught of cognac. “Take off those bars and give them to me,” he commanded, The little captain did not wince. Re- moving his coat, he unpinned the bars and silently handed them to the governor. General Ochata stepped to the centre of the room, rising on his toes as if to spring at the youth. Ochata was a handsome Mexican of the mestizo type, clear-eyed, clean-limbed, and his Indian hair glistened over aruddy face, with regular teeth, whose ivory contrasted with the jet-black of his ample moustache. He stood there as if in a rage, but the little captain, standing straight and still, returned his glance without a sign of fear. Then, with mock formality, the General handed the bars back. ‘““Take them back and wear them,” said Ochata. ‘ And remember, this time a man gives them to you. Will you have a cup of cognac?” Such was the fashion in which Alfonso Ponce de Leon won his spurs in the service of the revolution, But the reader will be dis- appointed if he expects Ponce to prove a hero of the battlefield, for, as a matter of fact, he was neither hero nor coward. His chief interest lay in adventure, it is true, but of another sort. His was the interest in life of a nanghty boy, as we shall soon see. Ponce had a frank liking for Americans— something rare in a Mexican who has foreign blood in his veins. Ponce’s father was prominent under the Diaz régime, and his mother was a Frenchwoman whom Dr. Ponce de Leon had married while on a diplomatic mission to Europe. From the mother, no doubt, young Ponce got his light- coloured eyes and hair and his quick wits. The family lived for many years in a citv in the United States, where Alfonso learned to box and drink whisky, and was finally expelled from school. Ponce’s language was extraordinary. It is common to hear of linguists who can speak several languages with equal ease, but it is tare to find one who can speak two tongues with the same fluency. Ponce spoke English with a Spanish accent, and Spanish with an English accent. In neither language, more- over, did he evidence any familiarity with grammar, but he spoke so rapidly that his errors were often unobserved. It was this young man’s custom to attach himself to some Mexican official or American newspaper correspondent in Mexico as a guide and handyman, but always with the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, title of ‘ secretary,’”’ which he relished even more than that of captain. He seldom remained with one patron more than a few wecks, usually for a journey. He always left with a good character, although he made a point of departing with several pairs of his employers’ socks, shoes—if they fitted—and other odds and ends of dress. He was never known to take money or jewellery, but he never paid back borrowed money. Yet everybody who knew Ponce well praised him as a companion and a perennial source of amusement, and liked him for his little faults. It is probable that this fair-haired little Mexican gained confidence by his honesty of word, if not of deed. This caused him to admit his pilferings, and when raising a loan he always forewarned one that it would not be repaid. To give you an idea of this side of Alfonso’s character I will describe what happened between him and an American correspondent whom we will call Carter. Carter was a Southerner, and very ignorant of the world. His long words and long sentences had cap- tivated a New York editor, and he was touring Mexico for what editors call “ local colour ” —a thing that tourists gather with great rapidity and greater inaccuracy. Ponce had seized on Carter, and since the young Georgian did not speak Spanish he was glad to have a guide and translator. Ponce’s last patron had been a well-known magazine correspondent whom he served during the American occupation of Vera Cruz. They fell out over a piece of soap. “You little scoundrel,” said the great man when he caught Ponce, whom he called his valet, using his soap. ‘‘ Why, I never even allow my wife to use the same cake of soap as Ido!” Ponce was discharged on the spot, but he took revenge by riding off into the Mexican lines with the famous writer’s horse and saddle and, as further booty, his whole toilet set, soap and all. Carter was not so fastidious, and he made a companion of his guide, as much greater men, Mexican and American, had done. Carter and Ponce started at Laredo, in a mixed freight and passenger train. The passenger cars were so packed that the atmosphere made Carter sick, and at the first stop Ponce bribed a brakeman to let them use an empty box-car. In revolution- ary times experienced travellers prefer box- cars. They sat on their baggage by the side-door and viewed the mountains, the first Carter had ever seen, ‘ At a station where the train stopped for several hours Carter and Ponce became separated for a time, and when Carter re- turned to the box-car he found that his kit

Page 324

had been opened, and for a moment he thought he had been robbed. In the dusk, however, in the corner of the car, he saw Ponce lying asleep. The youth was wrapped in Carter's bath- robe, and he re- clined on Carter's blanket. “That's gall for you!” Carter would have said, if he had put-his thought into words. He had not learned that travel in Mexico, expecially in revo- lutionary times, permits all kinds of liberties with other people’s pos- sessions. Blankets as well as food must be shared, and if they are not shared they are appropriated. Carter grew used to it, especially since Ponce had little of his own to make for com- fort on a journey. Ponce’s kit— clothes he had purloined here and there from his American friends —was_ carried, blanket. At Monterey the two travellers stopped in order that Carter might see the life of a northern Mexican city. The first night they attended a function arranged by the young people of the town in honour of some military leaders who had arrived with troops the day before. The American was enthralled with the picture the plaza presented—Japanese lan- terns thick in the trees, and the young men, in one direction, and the young women, in the other, parading about the square to the music of the municipal band. Everywhere were young women with barrel hoops fes- tooned with ribbons. These were thrown over a victim, who was then led before the judge of a mock court of justice, who fined the prisoners for the benefit of a new hospital. tolled in a_ red ““Take them back and wear this time, a man gives them to you.’ THE LITTLE CAPTAIN. — 317 Sta . And remember, Carter had the honour of being “arrested” and paying a fine such as a well-dressed American tourist might be expected to pay, and Ponce was also arrested, and Carter paid for him. The little Mexican seemed to know every- body, and Carter congratulated himself on his selection of a guide, forgetting that, as a matter of fact, Ponce had selected him as an employer. Finally, some army officers took them to a place where Carter found Bourbon whisky, and where Ponce began to drink cognac with a speed that promised a lively night. Growing tired of the company after a while, for the conversation was in Spanish, Carter went to the hotel, and Ponce promised to follow. The American went to sleep with placid thoughts of the scene he had witnessed in the plaza. He was awakened some time later by the

Page 325

318 THE WIDE WORLD piping voice of his companion, and the door of the room burst open and banged against the wall. In came Ponce, and at his heels a big policeman. The boy carried over his shoulder one of the beribboned hoops used by the mock-police, and in either hand he held a pistol. He snapped the hammers as rapidly as he could, but luckily there were no explosions. All the time he was shouting, ‘Where is he? Where is he? I’ve killed better men!” The policeman beckoned to the astonished Carter to follow, and once in Ponce’s room he picked up his little charge and tossed him bodily on the bed. Then he bent down and took off the boy’s shoes. In a moment Ponce dropped the pistols, closed his eyes, and fell asleep like a child. The policeman tiptoed out of the room and stalked off through the patio to the strect, and Carter was left with his sleeping companion to seek such explana- tions as he could. When Ponce awoke he told Carter he had had a“ little fuss ’ with one of the officers from Mexico City, disarming him and beating him over the head with his own pistol. An- other officer had then charged the policeman to take Ponce home and put him safely to bed. The policeman might have done it even without this command, for in Mexico the police, brutal enough to other malefac- tors, are usually patient and humane with a drunken man. At noon a court officer came to serve Ponce with asummons. It appeared that an army captain had made a charge against him of theft of a pistol, which unmanly proceeding caused Ponce to swear that next time he would shoot to kill. He avoided the court officer by stepping from the window into the street. This hastened the departure of the pair for Mexico City, which was effected without mishap. Established in the best hotel at the capital, Carter soon found Ponce too expensive for him. Carter was one of those who are made weak by pride, and he could not refuse an enlarged allowance to his guide, who was soon revelling in costly dissipations and fast company. Carter dispatched his articles by mail, and the telegrams from his editor in New York were flattering. The correspondent had brought from the States a library of books about Mexico, which he read diligently, vainly trying to reconcile what he read with what he saw. In his perplexity he took the opinion of Ponce, who, despite his harum- scarum ways, was a keen and accurate ob- server and truthful in his reports on things that did not affect him. The result was neither in accordance with what Carter read nor what he saw, but it came very near the heart of the subject. How easy it is for a MAGAZINE, new-comer to solve the problems of a country in a twinkling! And how hard it is for a sincere student, after years of inquiry, even to suggest a remedy ! Ponce, though blamed by his Mexican acquaintances for his friendships with Ameri- cans, was at heart a fiery patriot, delighting in the excesses of the revolution. “Sure, the revolution ain’t doin’ much good,” he told Carter one day. ‘No order: all rumpus. But look here now, it’s what’s comin’ to the cientificos and the padres. Look at these poor people, beaten down all their lives and made to slave for the upper classes. Look at ’em now. They’re wallowing in other people’s luxuries.”” “ But,” argued Carter, who knew some- thing of history, “how can they reach democracy in this fashion? It’s the French revolution over again, and that did no good until the people learned what democracy Teally meant.” “All right,”” said Ponce, “1 told you, didn’t I, that it would do no good? But it’s tight because it’s justice. The upper classes are gettin’ what’s comin’ to 'em.” ‘* Revenge, you mean.” ‘All right, call it that. natural ? I like it.” Carter wrote that interview, but in more elegant language and much embellished, and instead of Ponce he credited it to“a high official of the Government.” One night Carter and Alfonso sought an interview with a lieutenant-colonel who had arrived that day from Yucatan and was said to have much information about the peculiar situation there. The interview was held in a popular restaurant, where the lieutenant- colonel was dined and given all the wine he could drink. Unfortunately for him, he did not know Ponce, and he assumed that the boy was an American. Ponce at once engaged the Yucatecan in a lively argument in Spanish, of which Carter did not under- stand a word save one—" gringo ’'—which the lieutenant-colonel applied to Ponce at the end of a spirited harangue. To this insult, to which Ponce was especially sensi- tive, because of his fair hair and skin, he made a hot retort. Thereupon, the lieu- tenant-colonel, who by this time was very drunk, drew his pistol and held it before Ponce’s face until the muzzle touched the youth’s nose. Ponce smiled, murmuring something that Carter took to be an apology. The Yucate- can laid the pistol on the table in front of him, as if to say: ‘‘ Well, be good then.’ Carter was sighing his relief, when there was a muffled explosion, and the officer fell on the floor. Ponce had fired his own pistol through his coat-pocket | Isn't revenge

Page 326

When the police came Ponce had dis- appeared. However, he was soon arrested, and the horrified Carter was held as a witness, but released without bail. The lieutenant-colonel from Yucatan died that night. Carter thought of all the stories he had read about murders, and went to see his unfortunate guide in the jail. The little Mexican was more cheerful than ever, it seemed, “'Don’t worry about me, old man,’’ Ponce said, confidently. ‘ I’ve sent word to General Ochata, and he'll send somebody to tell the judge that if he convicts me or anybody else for killin’ a confounded Yucateco there'll be trouble. What did you think of that big scoundrel ? He should have learnt manners before he dined with gentlemen ! ”” Yucatan is the Texas of Mexico, and only es “The lieutenant-colonel drew his pistol and held it before Ponce’s face.” THE LITTLE CAPTAIN. 319 came into the union latterly. For that reason natives of the southern state often insist they are not Mexicans but Yucatecans, and for the same reason, no doubt, natives of the north consider them in the light of foreigners. Three days later Carter was summoned by a messenger, a young Mexican who spoke halting English, and who accompanied him toa saloon in a remote part of the city where, to his astonishment, he found Ponce drinking cognac. The youth calmly explained that he had escaped, and must have money enough to carry him to Vera Cruz and thence to New York by boat. “They'll get me if I try to cross the border,”” he explained. ‘‘ How did I do it? Easy. I got them to let me go out with a guard from the prison, sayin’ I wanted to get some money to make myself comfortable with. The chief of the prison knew that that would mean money for him, so he let me go. Well, the guard was a stupid Indian, so stupid that I couldn’t make him let me go. I stopped at the houses of three friends and got enough money to make him a nice present, but he wouldn't listen. ‘If the fellow’s so stupid he won't be bought off,’ I said to myself,‘ he must be stupid enough for me to escape from.’ So I told him I wanted to go into the Chamber of Deputies to see Thomas Smith, one of the deputies I know. That impressed him. “Wait right here for me,’ I said, and he did. Naturally I went out the back way. “Tf I can get away for a month they'll forget about it, for that Yucateco has no friends here. Then I can come back. Let me have a_ hundred, will you?” Ponce got the money. Carter considered it not only a charity, an aid to a faithful, if costly, com- panion, but also an economy. Ponce had almost exhausted Carter’s finances, Alfonso made his way to Vera Cruz without affecting any

Page 327

320 disguise at all, but managed to allay sus- picion by his bearing. By talking much and loudly with everyone he met, he made such an impression that those who had orders to look out for the fugitive could not conceive such a chatty, jolly, little fellow to be an escaping murderer. I warned you, gentle reader, that there would be jerks in the narrative. We will next look in at Ponce and Carter in New York. The American had been called north by his editor, and Ponce had been living in New York by grace of his American and Mexican friends. Carter had become greatly attached to his guide and companion of the Mexican trip. He did not understand him, and he could hardly forgive Alfonso for leaving Mexico with his best travelling bag, but he had decided to overlook the matter. One night they went to see what Carter called “ artist life’ in that part of the city known as Greenwich Village. Carter was new to New York, and he took Ponce to a club. An hour found them seated about a table with three or four men and women whose chatter amused Ponce, although he understood little of it. But when one young man with too long hair and a red necktie began talking about ‘ the revolution ’’ Ponce for the first time entered into the conversa- tion. He was interested in revolutions. “A revolution here in the States ?’’ he asked with frank surprise. The anarchist, for such he boasted himself to be, told the youth what he meant, after Carter had explained that ‘‘ Mr. Ponce ”’ was a foreigner. “Oh, I see,” said Alfonso, ‘‘ you’re an anarchist. Got any bombs about you?” With mock solemnity he rose and patted the fellow over the hips. “What a naive friend you have, Mr. Carter,” whispered one of the young women. “Oh, he’s naive, all right,’”’ said Carter. “So you're an anarchist,” repeated Ponce. “I never had the pleasure of meetin’ one before.”” With that the little Mexican stooped, as if to pick up something from the floor, and then brought up an arm, with an open palm, ina swing that would have felled better men than the long-haired one. The inner side of the wrist, which is known to boxers as ‘‘ the heel,’ landed on the anarchist’s chin. He crashed heavily off his chair on to the floor. Now, Ponce was of the school that forbids the use of fists, and it was his rule, although he was a skilled boxer, never to close the hand. This may seem strange to those unfamiliar with bar-room methods of fighting, but I believe it is a fact that a harder blow can be struck with " the heel ” than with the fist. Before the luckless anarchist could recover, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the little Mexican pushed him in the face, and sent him sprawling again. “Help!” spluttered the now-terrified anarchist, but his compatriots in radicalism did not come to his aid, and Carter alone succeeded in stopping Ponce’s onslaught. Then the anarchist expressed a_ terrible threat. ‘‘ ll have you arrested |” he cried. Such a threat from an avowed hater of the police and the established order of things is not so strange as it may seem. The anar- chist, I hope, will not be judged too severely for the slip. “What a little brute!” cried the young woman who a moment before had been preaching Nihilism. When Alfonso and Carter reached the street, the American said: ‘* You'll get me into trouble. Why did you attack that fellow? He gave you no offence!” “I knew that,” answered Ponce, *‘ but you know I just couldn’t help it. I never met an anarchist before. I’ve heard they're tough guys, and I wanted to see for myself.’ “ T shall be afraid to bring you up-town if you can’t behave,” Carter warned him, and Ponce promised to be a good boy. They then proceeded up Broadway to a cabaret where Carter had arranged for a table. It was a joint celebration for them—that of their first meeting after the Mexican trip and of the signing of the Armistice. The restaurants and streets were swarming with excited men and women. ‘There's no doubt about it: Americans is great people,’’ said Ponce, in all sincerity, as he regarded the riotous scene around him. In an interval, when the jazz band allowed voices to be heard, a man in the uniform of a Canadian soldier climbed on a table in one corner of the restaurant and attempted to make a speech. He was pulled from the table, and Carter and Ponce saw a woman strike him over the face with a mesh-handbag. Ponce laughed. “This is what I like! ’’ he said to his com- panion. Then, before Carter could interfere, the little Mexican himself leapt on to the table and shouted, ‘Viva Mejico! Viva Mejico!” “He's a German,” cried the woman with the mesh-bag, and she waved her bag at Ponce. Mexico, as pronounced by a Mexican, has a guttural in it not unlike a Teutonic sound, ‘* He’s a German spy ! ” cried other voices. Carter backed against the wall. He saw a flying-wedge of waiters advance, and he saw Ponce, in the centre of the mélée, fighting back to back with the Canadian soldier. The latter swung a broken chair, while Ponce had picked up a ketchup bottle, which he was bringing down squarely on the head of every

Page 328

waiter he encountered. Soon, however, the lady with the mesh-bag reached him, and dealt him a blow that caused blood to mix with the ketchup in Ponce's hair. At last the Mexican and the Canadian arrived at the door; the waiters and other combatants had fallen back, until they were pursued only by the amazon with the mesh-bag. “ He's a great guy, that Canadian, said Pp — ~ THE LITTLE CAPTAIN. 32r “Oh, that’s true,’’ said Ponce, mollified. “ I don't take things for a livin’, anyway, do I? I'd rather be given ‘em than take 'em.”” He grinned thoughtfully and, reaching into a pocket, threw something on to the bed. It was a woman's mesh-handbag ! One point of evidence that Ponce liked his friends, or rather, perhaps, liked his friends to like him, was that he often wrote them “The little Mexican pushed him in the face and sent him sprawling again.” Ponce when he joined Carter at his hotel next morning. ‘‘ He’s been all over the world. When we got up the alley—there wasn't a policeman in sight anywhere—he said to me, * That wasn’t so bad, kid,’ and he pulled out a gold watch, two men’s pocket-books, and a woman's pin. He'd picked ‘em up while we was comin’ out! Can you beat it? That never occurred to me at all.” Carter laughed. ‘‘ That was because he is a thief first of all, while you are only a thief incidentally,” he said. ‘“ Who's a thief ? ’’ retorted Ponce, hotly. “I said incidentgHy,” explained Carter. “ First of all you are in for fun—adventure. You would never take anything from a friend—that is, not anything much. about his experiences. His letters were marvels of grotesque ideas and still more grotesque English or Spanish spelling. Car- ter's sympathy with his erstwhile employé led Ponce to write him often and at length. Carter had not heard from him for many months when one day a letter came with a Danish stamp. I made a true copy of this letter, and here it is :— “COPENHAGEN aprl 29 “DEAR FRIEND Cart, “ Bet you'll be suprized to hear from me from Denmark. How I got over here I'll tell you first. When I left New York for Mexico at El Paso I ran into a fellow I used to know in Sonora. Colonel Agramonte is

Page 329

322 THE WIDE WORLD bis name, and he is a young nut who likes to make trouble all the time and hates all foriners. Especially gringos. Well, Agra- monte says to me, what language do they talk in Denmark, Alfonsito? And I says French. You never want to let them think you don’t know everything. Do you speak French, he says, and I said yes—and I do, a little. Well, the colonel had a job as in- spector of consulates for Scandinavian coun- tries, with headquarters in Copenhagen, and he took me along for his secretary. You know I am some secretary, Cart ! “Well, when we got over here we found the people spoke Danish. It is something like German, but everybody spoke good English, so I got along fine and the colonel needed me, for he doesn’t speak any English. But it made him mad to think they spoke English, which he thinks makes them like Americans, and he hates Americans like poison. ‘ The colonel is some sport and drinks like a drunken sailor, only he isn’t a sailor. We got on fine. He also likes to fight when he is drunk, and I take my hat off to him. ‘We ran round the city, and aside from a fight the colonel got into with a taxi-driver all went smooth until we were written up in the newspaper. A reporter from the Social Demokraten or something like that, the socialiste newspaper in Copenhagen, came to our hotel one night and the colonel and I gave him a long spiel. The Colonel was full of Danish wine and he got dignified and talked about world affairs while I translated in English. The fool said world democracy will follow the war and he said in a few years there wouldn't be a single king left in the world. The reporter took all that down and I, like a fool, translated it all to him. Then he asked me about Mexico and I told him about the coming elections and said I thought General Obregon was the strongest candidate. “ Well, Cart, next morning it was all over the first page of the Social Demokraten, and they got it all mixed up. ‘No More Kings, Says Mexican Ambassador,’ said the headlines, and they had Captain Ponce de Leon—that’s me—saying that Obregon was going to start a revolution and push out Carranza. Of course, we couldn’t read it, and didn’t know what it was all about until we had some callers, which was quick enough. The first was the Mexican consul, a Danish business man. He came in like a house afire, and raised h- , saying we had insulted the Danish people, and would get Mexico in non grata with the Government, and he would have to resign his job. Then the Mexican Minister came in, and he was more excited still. He didn’t say anything about the king business, but he blowed me up for saying MAGAZINE, there would be a revolution in Mexico, which 1 didn’t say. “The colonel just sat in bed and grinned at them both and said he didn’t care two- pence about kings ; that he was a democrat and that he'd leave Denmark and go to France, where they had a republic like Mexico. “Well, almost as soon as the minister and the consul left, in came another caller, a big Dane. He was the chief of the Staats Police, which is like the head of the Govern- ment Secret Service. He said he just wanted to know if what the socialiste paper said was correct, and he was such a big fellow, with a frock coat and silk hat, that the colonel got a little scared, especially when we saw he had brought some detectives who were waiting outside in the hall. Agramonte was too drunk to get out of bed, and he had me apologize to the Staats Police chief, who spoke good English. I said Colonel Agra- monte had poisoned himself eating oysters. The Colonel said he was sorry to see what the newspapers had printed and that he had told the reporter nothing of the kind. He was sorry, I added, because he had travelled in every European country and had never seen such refined and polite and civilized people as the Danish people. That was a lie, but I passed it all on. Then we asked the chief to have some wine, and he did, and we gave him so much that he got a little excited. Well, you would have died of laughing, Cart, but the chief sent one of his men to the socialiste newspaper to bring back the reporter, and he came in all scared. “** What do you mean by insulting these gentlemen ? ’ yelled the chief at the reporter. * Not one word you printed they said.’ The reporter stuck up for himself and said he had notes. All this was in English, so that I could understand and tell the colonel, who lay in bed and looked real dignified. ‘ Notes be hanged!’ said the chief; ‘these are fine honourable gentlemen, and not to be insulted by you villainous socialists trying to make trouble for good Governments.’ “The chief got awful mad—maybe madder than usual because of the wine we’d given him—and he went right up to the poor reporter and shook his fist in his face. ‘I'l push you in the nose, you rascal,’ he said. The colonel hadn’t understood anything the chief said to the reporter, because I couldn’t translate fast enough, but he understood the fist in the face, so he yelled out to me from the bed: ‘ Alfonsito, tell his excellency to hit him over the head with a bottle.’ Instead I told the chief that the Inspector-general of Consulates presented his compliments and begged he would not harm the reporter who probably was only telling the lies his boss had ordered him to tell. ‘ You go back and

Page 330

correct every word,’ yelled the chief, and the reporter, scared to death, promised that he would, “‘ Next day the paper took it all back, but we were in trouble just the same because more people saw the interview than the correction. I tell you this is a fine country, and if it is a monarchy the people are happy and everybody has money, so they don’t like bolshivike talk, especially from Mexicans. “ Everybody began to treat us coldly, and even the colonel saw it. So he says to me: “Come, on, Alfonsito, this is a disgrasiado country. Let’s go to Sweden,’ and next day we left to inspect the consulate at Stockholm. The colonel got in a fight with a big Swedish railroad conductor, and we both got arrested and had a dickens of a time getting out. Well, we will be back soon. On the trip we have spent $3,600 gold so far, just to collect $423 Mexican from the consulates—and we've spent that as well. See you soon, old timer ! “ Yours truly, “ Atronso C. Ponce DE LEon. ““P.S.—I just had a big row with Agra- monte, because he says I stole his diamond pin. He is a liar. The colonel owes me money. He never paid me the salary he promised at all, and I only got $40 gold for the pin. “ ALFONSITO.” Ponce returned from Europe afire with an amazing project he had concocted on the THE LITTLE CAPTAIN. 323 voyage. It was no less than a scheme to take the charmed life of the rebel Pancho Villa and thereby earn the handsome reward offered by the Carranza Government, He told Carter about it, and could not be dis- suaded. Villa had returned to his old methods— moving his small groups from plain to mountain and mountain to plain, with an occasional sally against a Chihuahua or Coahuila town. His second-in-command and provisional President—what is a revolution without one ?—Ielipe Angeles, Mexican soldier of repute, had been captured and executed by the Carranzistas. His southern colleague, Emiliano Zapata, had been slain by stealth and his armies scattered through the Morelos hills. But Don Pancho remained, almost a solitary remnant of the old order. His followers declared his life was charmed, like that of the enchanted Moor. It was far easier, they said, to shoot a coyote at mid- night than to bring down Francisco Villa, the crafty and brave. “TI believe I can do it,’’ Ponce told Carter. “It'll be some fun, anyway. Where can I find that crazy nut Seminoff—you know, the Russian anarchist I pasted that night down in the artists’ club? I want to see if he isn't better with bombs than in a rough- and-tumble.”’ Ponce found Seminoff easily enough and approached him with an apology for his

Page 331

324 conduct, for which he blamed drink. He said he had been worrying about it ever since, and the Russian took the explanation in good part. Ponce promised to pay damages. Promises are as cheap as air. For more than a week the little Mexican played with his subject. At last Seminoff reached a pitch where he swore he would give his life gladly if by so doing he might con- tribute to the good of society—the noble cause of humanitarianism. “I've got your man,” said Ponce, and he told the Russian of Pancho Villa, the arch- bandit and despoiler of holy liberty. Oh, the terrible stories he told of the terrible Villa! Seminoff became as fierce as any Nihilist that ever tossed a bomb at a Czar. Seminoff, laden with infernal machines, accompanied Ponce to the border. At El Paso the Russian fell in with some gentlemen of a practical joking turn of mind. He was stuffed with tales concerning the atrocities of the Villistas. Seminoff was shocked, de- claring that such things had never been heard of in darkest Russia. That night Ponce missed his companion, and soon after Seminoff appeared in his haunts in New York. “ Now I know this anarchist business is all bunk,”’ said the disgusted Ponce. ‘ We Mexicans are just as tough as they are.” He confided in no one, and left at once for Chihuahua City. Soon he had made his way to Parral, a town on a railroad spur in a mining district where the Villistas continued to operate. At the first pass leading into the moun- tains, Alfonso was dragged from his horse by three bandits. He told them he was an emissary to Don Pancho from Leon Trotsky. “And who is Don Leon?” asked one of the bandits. ‘He's head of the army of liberation in Russia.” -“ Russia,”’ mused the bandit, * let me see. Where is Russia, say, in relation to Chihuahua or Yucatan?” “It’s over the sea, in Europe,’’ explained Ponce, in all seriousness. “ Europe ? Oh yes—near Spain,” said the bandit, quite satisfied. Ponce was brought far into the mountains. They came to a camp and he expected to see Villa, but he was disappointed. To his sur- prise a tall man, evidently the leader of the group, spoke to him in English. Ponce professed not to understand. ““ Very well, then,” said the man, still in English. ‘We know who you are and why youcome. The officers will be here presently to try you by court-martial for conspiracy against the life of General Villa. You may be sure you will get justice.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Seminoff, it transpired, had blabbed. Villa agents had been watching Ponce since his arrival at the border | They searched him with great care. Strapped between his shoulder-blades, so that he could pull it on one side by means of a thong, they found a pistol—one of those German automatics that shoot as accurately, and almost as far, as a rifle. Alfonso had no more definite plan than to reach Villa, ingratiate himself into his confidence, shoot, and run for it. It was the cousin-german of suicide. Ponce did his best to give the bandits the slip, but he was watched too closely. Finally, he begged paper and pencil and wrote this letter to Carter :— “ DEAR FRIEND Cart, “They have got me dead to rights. In the morning they’ll shoot me. Luck is luck, and I'm unlucky. I can’t say I’m not sorry, but I’m not afraid. That is—yet. So, you see, Cart, you'll never get that money I borrowed from you. Tough luck, old man! Please advise my uncle in New York to write my mother how I died, and tell her I thought of her last thing. I’ve never been home or written for nearly ten years. I’m sorry about that money I owe you, but then you know I’d never have paid it any way. ‘* Embrasos, “ ALFONSITO.”” The Villistas promised to mail the letter. Alfonso slept soundly that night under the stars. It was the darkest hour—the “ little morning ’’—when they roused him. They asked if he would like breakfast and he answered: ‘‘ Of course, friends. It is just as important not to die on an empty stomach as not to live on one.” After much coffee and many tortillas he was taken to a rise, where his form might be visible against the skies. Six men were drawn up, and the officer gave the word to make ready. Ponce’s hands had been tied behind his back, and only loosed while he ate. He refused to be blindfolded. “It is so dark,” said the officer, with an oath, “that my men are blindfolded them- selves.”” They decided to strip Ponce of his coat so that the white of his shirt might be seen in the darkness—a procedure common in early morning executions. So Ponce’s hands were untied, and the thong affixed as a hobble to his ankles. The prisoner took off his coat, and, hopping a little way off, cried: ‘‘ How is this range, my captain ? Can your experts shoot this far ?’”” As the rifles were raised, the moon dis- appeared, and it became pitch dark.

Page 332

“ Forward—one, two, three: said a voice, and the trudge of three paces was heard in the stillness. “Captain, captain,” said another voice, clear and cool. ‘‘ Tell your men to mark well the heart, I do not want to die like a bull on Easter Sunday.” The legs, in their dark trousers, could not be seen, only the upper body and arms encased in the shirt. The marksmen ad- vanced until their weapons nearly touched the shirt, which remained immovable. The rifles exploded almost in unison. ‘‘ Thanks to God !"’ exclaimed the officer. “That is done. It is not good to kill the brave.” Yet the shirt did not move, and the officer leaped forward. He grasped at the shirt and withdrew with a cry of pain, his hand drip- ping blood. Then, of a sudden, a shaft of moonlight struck past a crag and touched a shirt draped over a tall stalk of cactus ! “It was this way,” Ponce told Carter in THE LITTLE CAPTAIN. 325 New York two weeks Jater. ‘' When they let my arms loose I saw the chance. In taking off my coat I took off the shirt with it —you know, one of those button-down-the- front shirts. So you see, my underwear looked like the shirt. And then I slipped the shirt over the cactus and sneaked into my coat. To slip away was easy enough after that. “But, Cart, old boy, I thought I was a goner! I was so scared I could hardly put up a good front to die brave, like a Mexican should. I had that big lump in the throat. I guess it’s easy to die fighting, but not that way.” “Do you know,” said Carter, in relating this interview to me, ‘ I've almost decided that Sefior Don Capitan Alfonso Cervantes - Ponce de Leon is the most honest man I’ve ever known in my life and ever hope to know?” I put that remark down as sarcasm at first, but since I’ve been thinking it over I’m not sure but that Carter meant just what he said. Ponce is still alive and well, I believe, and doing strange things down in Mexico, A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY. Tue odd-looking building here shown is the King’s 1s Hotel, at Combe Martin, North Devon, an ancient elry which is supposed to resemble in structure a -up pack of cards. According to the local story origin\lly contained fifty-two windows (the same ras there are cards in a pack), though many of them have since been blocked up. Until recently the hotel contained an immense oaken table which, when the top was lifted, revealed a space large enough to hold three men. This was a relic of the old pressgang days, when it was sometimes very convenient to disappear for a space without wasting any time in the process.

Page 333

TRAILING the ~ A VERY EXCITING INSTALMENT. GUN-RUNNERS The continuation of this thrilling story of adven- ture and peril in the turbulent Negro Republic of Dominica. The U.S. Government undertook the onerous task of keeping out arms and ammunition destined for revolu- tionists, but neverthe- less they were smuggled in somehow. The Author, who was on a scientific expedition in the country, was asked to try and elu- cidate the mystery—a quest in which he carried his life in his hands. The preceding instalments described how, with his Negro servant Joseph, he located a mysterious schooner in a creek and under cover of hut, saw Joseph, surrounded by a crowd of villagers, seated beneath a tree enjoying a hearty breakfast. At sight of me one of the men hurried off to another hut and ina few moments reappeared, accompanied by a young girl carrying a tray of food on her turbanned head. As I ate, the waitress and her escort squatted outside the doorway, and when I spoke to them in patois they were tremendously surprised and pleased. “Eh, eh!’’ they exclaimed, “ M’sieu speaks the patois, yes!’’ and immediately they commenced to talk and laugh like old friends. I had to smile when I thought how close I had been to a horrible death at the hands of these same people a few hours before. Joseph soon joined us, and although he could not speak patois he had no difficulty in joining in the conversation, as all the villagers spoke Spanish and many of them English as well. We soon learned that there were about a hundred people in the settlement and that most of them originally came from the French-English islands of Dominica, St. Lucia, and St. Vincent, but that many Haiticens had joined them and that a few were natives of the Dominican Republic, Their gardens were hidden here and there in the forests. and ori the lagoon they had half-a-dozen HE forenoon was well advanced when I awoke, and, going to the door of the ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L.WUOD wv night examined her, discovering that she carried a concealed cargo of arms. These arms were taken ashore and received by a Dutchman called Hirschfeldt, the care- taker of a derelict sugar estate. Losing their way in the swamps while avoiding the gun - runners, Mr. Verrill and his com- panion were seized by the half-caste inhabitants of a village The leader of these people turned out to be a man named Clisonne, who knew the Author well and undertook to take a message to the authorities that would ensure the schooner being seized. YOU CAN NOW READ ON. Il. dug-outs or cayucas in which they visited the towns on the northern side of the bay. The lagoon, they told us, was about two miles inland from the bay and about ten miles from Cafia Honda landing. The latter could not be reached overland, for the village was on a large island separated from the mainland by swamps and creeks, and hence they felt quite secure from further attacks by Hirschfeldt, especially as they were beyond the boundaries of the estate. They were all very bitter against the Dutchman, for which I could not blame them, and every man I spoke with swore to kiJl the red-bearded giant if ever he had the chance. Judging from our experience of the night before, I did not envy him if ever he fell into their hands. Fortunately for Hirschfeldt, only one or two of the men had firearms, and these were ancient single-barrelled, muzzle-loading shot-guns, only suitable for killing birds. The day dragged by very slowly and we amused ourselves as best we could—visiting the lagoon and securing several ibis and a few ducks for dinner, wandering about in the forest, visiting the people’s gardens, and chatting with the villagers. Night had fallen and the people had finished their evening meal and were squatted about their doorways when at last we heard a faint call from the direction of the lagoon. One of the men at once dashed into his hut and

Page 334

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. emerged a moment later with a flamboula—a mass of resinous gum rolled in a plantain leaf. This he thrust into the fire and instantly the torch flared up in a brilliant flame, emitting dense clouds of aromatic smoke. Others ap- peared on every side with similar torches and, holding the blazing flares above their heads, started towards the landing-place, accompanied by Joseph and myself. As we reached the shore of the lagoon and the torches cast their ruddy glare far over the water, we saw a boat approaching, and a few moments later Clisonne and his companion sprang from the cayuca as it was drawn by willing hands on to the shore. The people crowded about, chattering and laughing with pleasure over the goods from town, and Clisonne pushed his way through the crowd, handed me a packet, and, turning, gave ord:rs for transporting the cargo to the village. As they were thus busily engaged I opened the envelope and read the letter by the light from the flaring torches. It was from Le Croix and Tan as follows :— “Your messenger reached me, and I at once sent word to M. The Gaviota was in at the time and M. immediately had her seized and the men placed under arrest. One of the five escaped. He was a red-headed chap and swam like a fish across the harbour beyond the river. He was fired at, but got safely away, dodged into the bush, and has not yet been found. If you want help with Hirsch- feldt send word. He's a tough proposition, I hear. M. is tickled to death over success, and Branch could only keep repeating, ‘My word!’ and ‘ Extraordinary chap, Verrill!’ Hope we land the ringleaders. Have given your man goods as per request. Where on earth did you run across such a good-natured ‘ogre? He refuses to answer any questions and: all the blacks here seem. afraid of him.” AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. As I finished reading, I turned to speak to Joseph—and then I fairly gasped, in utter astonishment. Coming towards us from the boat, with a bag of beans on his shoulder, was the red-headed Negro I had seen on the schooner ! Joseph also had caught sight of him and stool gazing with open mouth, as surprised as if he had seen a ghost. The next instant the fellow had disappeared up the path, and stepping to Clisonne I drew him to one side. “‘ Who is that red-headed man ?’’ I demanded. “T don’t know, M’'sieu,’’ answered Clisoane, carelessly. ‘‘ I found him in a broken boat in the middle of the bay. He said he had lost his oars, the boat was full of water, and he begied me to take him along. He's from Montserrat, I think.” “Well,” I exclaimed, “I can’t blame you under those circumstances, but I know the man. 327 He's a friend of Hirschfeldt, and a-spy. We must seize him and take him back across the bay, He is wanted by the authorities."” I well knew that the fact that Red-head was a fugitive from justice would arouse sympathy, rather than enmity, among these maroons: but I trusted to my statement that he was Hirsch feldt’s friend to win my point, and in this I was not disappointed. Scarcely had I finished speaking before Clisonne had called to some of his men. “Carefully, Clisonne!’" I cautioned. ‘ Re- member, if that fellow gets away, he will bring Hirschfeldt down on you. Take him as neatly as you caught me la.t night and you'll be all right.” Clisonne and his men chuckled at this, and a moment later I saw a couple of them slink off into the bushes. The others continued at their work of unloading the cayuca as if nothing had happened, and presently we heard the rustle of the brush along the pathway, as the carriers returned from the village for another load. One, two, three men came into view and stepped towards the cayuca, all unaware that they had passed close to their comrades in ambush. A second more and we heard the thud of a falling body, followed by sounds of choking and gasping. Rushing up the path, we found our red-headea friend struggling fiercely but helplessly in the grasp of his two powerful captors. He was soon bound and wrapped about with long flexible dianas, and then, seizing him by heels and head, the men carried him to the village and threw him carelessly on the ground like a sack of meal. Instantly all was excitement in the village, and, like angry hornets, the people buzzed about, questioning ana chattering. Clisonne told them that the prisoner was a friend ot Hirschfeldt and a spy, and although the captive swore vociferously in Spanish, English, and broken patois, and declared he never knew the Dutchman and had never been to Cafia Honda, no one took his part. My word had carried weight, and the mere mention of Hirschfeldt’s name had been sufficient to arouse the suspicion and hatred of the people. Moreover, the man was a negrouge, a type cordially disliked by the French West Indians, and many ot those present clamoured loudly for his immediate death. I had no mind to have them murder the captive, for he had done nothing to deserve death, so far as I knew, and my only object in having him taken prisoner was to enable me to turn him over to Merritt, and at the same time prevent him from reaching Hirschfeldt to report the seizure of the schooner, which I felt convinced was his object in begging a passage with Clisonne. Moreover, he had been present when the latter stopped at the cave for my belongings, and it would not require a vast amount of reasoning on his part to put two

Page 335

328 and two together and to connect our presence with the seizure of the Gaviota, especially as he had seen us when the captain fired at me from the row-boat. I was certainly on the horns of a dilemma. Unless I could use some strong and convincing argument to save the man’s life, I knew he would not live until morning. On the other hand, I hesitated about divulging the true purpose of my visit to the locality. I was well aware that every man in the village would turn smuggler himself if the opportunity offered, and that if the Negroes learned that we were trying to capture gun-runners they would at once become suspicious and refuse to Taise a finger to help me. I finally decided to trust to Clisonne's influence and his friendship for me. Asking him to place a guard about the man to prevent violence, I led him to one side, away from the mob, and addressed him in English. Still dwelling on the fact that the captive was a friend of Hirschfeldt, and that he was an outlaw and wanted by the authorities, not only for his own misdeeds but also as a witness against others, I added that Hirschfeldt would soon be arrested for a serious crime, that the prisoner was an accomplice, and that, by following my advice, they would injure Hirschfeldt and at the same time win the favour of the authorities. As a further argument, I offered to use my influence to have the Government deed the land to the villagers, and in addition promised a liberal reward for delivering the negrouge to the police. Finally, to clinch the matter, I said :— “Your men are crazy for guns, Clisonne. You know you cannot buy arms on the island; but if you and your people do as I ask, I will give you and your men ten new guns and plenty of ammunition. The guns will be given to you when you deliver the negrouge, unharmed, into the hands of M’sieu Le Croix. I’ll give you the order now.” Thereupon I wrote a note to Le Croix: “ Upon receipt of the red-headed Negro, alive and unhurt, please deliver to the ‘ Good-natured Ogre’ ten shot-guns, a keg of powder, and fifty pounds of shot. I have promised this as a reward.” Signing the note, I handed it to Clisonne, saying, “ Tell your men that you have the order for the guns, and report to them all I have told you. The guns will do you far more good than the dead body of that rascal you have tied up.”” Clisonne then called for silence, and, standing over the prisoner, in the midst of the villagers, he addressed them. From the very first I had seen that Clisonne was recognized as the head-man of the com- munity, and that his status as Obeah man carried with it almost regal powers. I had my doubts, however, as to how far his authority could be depended upon in a case like the present. Whether it was the idea of getting even with Hirschfeldt, or the desire for guns and ammu- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, nition, or both, I do not know, but at the con- clusion of their leader’s speech the people applauded, and, without a dissenting voice, agreed to keep the negrouge prisoner until he could be carried across the bay. This matter being thus satisfactorily settled, the crowd broke up and the people drifted away to their huts, leaving the smuggler in charge of two men, who dragged him into an open shed. It was now past midnight, and telling Clisonne that we wished to start for Cafia Honda at day- break, we crept into our hammocks and were soon sleeping soundly. At dawn we were aroused by Clisonne, and after a hasty breakfast made our way to the landing-place and entered the canoe, while two of Clisonne’s men waited for us in a small cayuca. Clisonne himself was to remain behind to carry the prisoner across the bay, and bidding him farewell, and with parting salutations from the people, we started on our trip to Cafia Honda. The cayuca which was guiding us proceeded slowly, following the tortuous creeks, winding and turning through the mazes of the mangroves, until at last we reached the lagoon whcre we had first discovered we were lost. Paddling across this, our guides entered another channel, and an hour later we pushed through the screen- ing branches and found ourselves in the little backwater close to the landing-place at Cana Honda. THE HIDING-PLACE. Our guides now left us and disappeared among the mangroves, while we paddled to the landing and moored our canoe. From here a well- beaten path led off to the south through the grass; but before taking this and making our way towards the house occupied by Hirschfeldt, I left Joseph on watch, and hurried to the clump of trees that concealed the old machine-shop. Here I found a tumbledown building, so dilapi- dated that no one would ever dream of it being used as a hiding-place, and so thoroughly hidden by the vegetation that one could have passed within a dozen yards and never have suspected its existence. Stepping through the sagging doorway, I peered about curiously. The sun was now well above the horizon, and I could see the interior of the building plainly. Along the farther side were the remains of an old forge, the bellows still in place but rotten and riddled by wood- ants. The great stone chimney was in good condition, however, and as this seemed the only likely place to hide the arms, I moved towards it. Glancing at the forge, I noticed that the half- burned coals upon its top seemed very fresh and free from dust. Thrusting my hand into the ashes and feeling about, my fingers came in contact with a metal ring, and pulling gently on this, 1 lifted a sheet of iron from the stonework of the forge and disclosed a large cavity beneath.

Page 336

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS, There was no need to search further; the entire interior of the stone forge had been re- moved, and in the recess were the cases of ammunition, the rifles, and the revolvers which I had seen landed from the Gaviota two nights previously! Carefuly replacing the false cover and scraping the coals together over it, I crept cautiously from the building and_ rejoined Joseph. Telling him of my discovery, we started up the trail towards the houses. The path was fairly good and suitable for horsemen, and for some distance ran nearly level, winding along the banks of the creek and through rich meadow- land overgrown with a jungle of weeds. Presently it left the course of the stream and led over low rounded hills and through a grove of trees. Emerging from these, we saw a little group of neglected buildings, which Joseph said were the old offices and men’s quarters ; but he cautioned me not to attempt an investigation, as the spot was within view of Hirschfeldt’s house. In front of the little cluster of buildings we crossed an open space, and Joseph remarked that the house was in sight upon the hill ahead. Glancing up, I saw it plainly—a large wooden structure on the summit of a high steep hill, with a long bamboo flagstaff on its roof. The house had a balcony on the side towards us, and on this I could see the figure of a man. No doubt it was Hirschfeldt himself, and I surmised that he was probably studying us through a pair of glasses. As we carried bundles and had our guns slung on our backs, we must have presented a peaceful appearance; while the confident and open manner in which we passed along the path in plain view would, I hoped, allay any suspicions that the Dutchman might have of unexpected visitors. We gave no sign of having seen him, and, crossing a little bridge, began a steep ascent up the side of a stony hill. Here the house was hidden from sight by a dense growth of bananas and bamboos, but as we reached the summit we emerged upon a cleared space, with the house about twenty yards distant on the farther side. The place was built upon posts which raised it some ten feet above the ground, and the space beneath served as a stable for horses, as poultry Yoosts, and for a piggery. The front and rear of the dwelling were wider than the central portion, and between the two projecting ends extended a wide veranda, which faced the valley and the path over which we had come. Seated in a chair on this veranda was Hirschfeldt him- self, and as we came into view and crossed the little yard he jumped up and came forward to the head of the stairs. “Hola!’’ he cried, in assumed surprise. ** Bienvenido, Seiiores!’’ adding, in Spanish : “Do you speak Dutch?” “No, sefior,”” I replied. English?” Vol. xlix.—23, “Do you speak 329 “Ach, yah!” he answered. “ Velcome, mine frendt! You iss English, eh?” “ American,”’ I replied. By this time we had reached the foot of the stairs, and setting down my luggage and gun beside Joseph, I stepped forward. “Vell, vel,’ continued =the Dutchman, “ Englishers or American, all de same I velgome you. Glat I am to see sdrangers. Mine name iss Hirschfeldt, yah. Vat gan I do for you, mine frendt, Mister Fre “Verrill,” I supplied, adding: “‘ Thanks for such a pleasant welcome, Mr. Hirschfeldt. It is certainly a pleasure to meet anyone who speaks English so far from civilization. I ama naturalist, and, learning that there were many rare specimens over here, I took the liberty of coming as an uninvited guest. I trust I am not intruding ? If so, I can easily take myself off and camp out.” Hirschfeldt slapped me heartily on the back. “So, so! "’ he cooed in his deep bass voice. “ A naduralist, eh? Yah, blenty of blants vill you vind, und blenty of birds und bugs. Make at home yourselluf, mine frendt. Camp out ? No, der house iss big und der grub iss blenty. Stob as long as you like. Haf a seat, mine frendt ; und dere you are! ”’ As I seated myself in the rude chair he pushed forward he clapped his hands and called loudly in Spanish for “ Rosa.’’ At his summons a lithe, dark-skinned native woman appeared, her hair arranged in the fashion of the southern provinces of the republic. She had a tired, frightened, cringing expression on her face. “ Rosa,” cried Hirschfeldt in Spanish, “ my friend, Mr. Verrill. He will stop with us. Get his breakfast, and have a room ready, and tell Carlos to take the black boy to a room and to bring up Mr. Verrill’s things.” Turning to me, he remarked, “ Dot iss mine vife, Meester Verrill. She cooks vell und iss cheaber as a servant.” And he chuckled at his own humour. Carlos, a snaky-looking native, now appeared, and, followed by Joseph, brought our dunnage and guns into a room opening off one end of the veranda. He then led Joseph to another room a few yards away, and I was glad to see that we were not to be far separated. Rosa now appeared with coffee, and we entered the big bare room at the front of the house. I glanced about as I entered. Through the front windows I could see out across the valley to the lagoon and the bay beyond, and I realized that from here Hirschfeldt could see a vessel lying in the creek, and that undoubtedly the signals we had seen on the Gaviota had been answered from the flagstaff over our heads. I wondered if by any chance the smugglers had signalled their discovery of our canoe before they departed; but there was no means of knowing, for, even if he suspected us, our host

Page 337

33° would not betray his feelings. He was a dis- sembling old rascal, [ could see, for I well knew that he had watched us approach, yet his assumption of surprise at our arrival was perfect. Seating ourselves at a bare table of magnificent native mahogany, the coffee and eggs were placed before us, and Hirschfeldt immediately fell to, gulping down his food like some animal and dribbling egg and coftee over his tangled beard. Ile was altogether a disgusting creature, and it was all I could do to assume an appearance of friendship and good fellowship. At last, wiping his beard on his sleeve, he commenced talking, at the same time filling his pipe with a huge forefinger. “ Ach, Mr. Verrill,”” he began, “ goot times you vill haf. . Carlos can show you vere iss blenty birds und orchids, und ven I return I vill take you vere iss a pigeon roost, yah! But to-day I moost go avay to vind a caddle dot haas strayed ; und dere you are!” I expressed great regret that he was obliged to leave us, thanked him for his offer of Carlos’s services, and, rising, sauntered over to the window. “It's a splendid view you have here, Mr. Hirschfeldt,”’ I remarked. ‘“‘ It seems a shame that such a fine estate should be abandoned. I suppose you have few visitors now ? ”’ “Ach, yah!" he replied as he joined me at the window. ‘‘ Somedimes nod for one month does anybody gome. Efen den dey iss niggars or nadifs. Ven der esdate vas running, boats game to der creek doo or tree times in der veek. Now, not vun effer comes. Py der vay, how gome you midout a boat ? ”” I had expected this question and was prepared for it. “Oh!” I answered, ‘'I have a little canoe. We hired passage on a native cayuca bound to Sabana la Mar, and dropped off outside the lagoon before daylight. My boy used to work on the estate, and knew the way here, so we came along without waiting for dawn. The canoe is down at the landing. If you had been looking out you might have seen us come up the creek."” “Um, um!” he muttered, and while I knew that he considered the story plausible enough, I had my doubts as to-his swallowing it without suspicion. In a few minutes I begged to be excused, stating that I could not afford to waste time and must start on my collecting work. Hirsch- feldt agreed at once, saying it was also time for him to leave, and, declining his offer of Carlos, on the plea that three people would be more liable to alarm the birds than two, I called Joseph, and we took our guns and left the house. As soon as we were well out of sight and sound of the place, and had plunged into the bush. I spoke to Joseph, asking him if he had THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. heard anything suspicious, and if he thought Hirschfcldt was doubtful of our mission, or had received word of our discovery of the smugglers. He told me that while eating he had over- heard Rosa and Carlos talking. The former had laughed at Carlos when he suggested that we might be there for some secret purpose, and that Carlos had then declared his intention of keeping watch on our movements as long as we remained on the estate. Then, without the least change in his tones, Joseph continued : “ He clost behin’ us now, sir; he's been follerin’ fo’ some time back.’ “In that case.” I replied, “I think we'll have to give triend Carlos alittle scare. It will never do to have him sneaking at our heels continually. If the rascal suspects that we know he is trailing us ne will keep well out of sight, but I have a plan that I think will effectu- ally discourage him in the future.” * SHAKING OFF THE SPY. Some distance before us, and beyond the little valley we were crossing, was a rather steep hill, covered with an open growth of wild plantains, dwarf palms, and trumpet-trees, but with no thick underbrush. Towards this we walked, occasionally collecting a bird, insect, or plant, and proceeding leisurely, as if absolutely unaware of the man behind us. Reaching the hill, we worked our way up its slopes for a few yards, and then turned at right angles and strolled along its side. Presently I sat down, as though to rest, and began to talk to Joseph in low tones, as if engaged in some very secret conversation. As a matter of fact, T was explaining my plan to him, and he was chuckling at the idea, and I felt sure that Carlos would approach quite closely in order to catch our words. In this I was not mistaken. It was not many minutes before slight rustlings among the dead plantain leaves told us that our eavesdropper was crawling nearer. and now and then we caught a glimpse of him through spaces between the foliage, for it was a poor place for hiding, and Carlos was by no means an expert. When he was within a few yards, and well up on the hillside. I pointed to a group of banana trees at the bottom of the slope below us and called Joseph's attention to an imaginary humming-bird in that direction. This was the prearranged signal, and, rising suddenly, we hurried downhill, leaving Carlos above us. Reaching the base of the hill, we turned about, looking here and there as if searching for the hird, and speaking purposely in Spanish in order that Carlos might understand us. He was obliged to remain where we had left him, for the least movement on the slope among the sparse vegetation would have exposed him as we gazed in his direction; and I knew exactly

Page 338

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. where he was hidden, behind a drooping bunch of plantain leaves. Presently I pointed to a flowering vine directly in range of Carlos, saying, ‘‘ There's the bird, Joseph! See, right by that flower! ’’ Then, without a moment's hesitation, I raised my gun and fired. At the report Carlos let out a shriek like a Comanche, and rolling and thrashing about, began to scream that he was shot and mortally wounded. Although I felt sure that the fine shot could not penetrate his skin at the distance, after passing through the intervening leaves, yet I had no doubt that as they rattled on the dried foliage they would sound like shrapnel to his ears. His cries were so agonized and Tealistic, however, that I began to think that possibly a stray shot might have injured him, and we hurried up the hill. As soon as he caugiit sight of us running towards him he instantly forgot his imaginary injuries and, springing to his feet, dashed off down the hill and through the brush towards the house as if Satan himself were at his heels. Joseph sank down, doubled up with merri- ment, and I burst into peals of laughter. Continuing on our way, without further fear of being followed, we ascended the hill. Much to my Satisfaction, I found that from its summit I could look across the valley and see the house in plain view. This would be a splendid place from which to maintain a watch on the move- ments of Hirschfeldt, for the house was not over a mile distant, and the trail from Cana Honda to the Seybo ran across an open glade within sight, and not half a mile from our position. There was nothing of interest to be seen, however, and after collecting a few more speci- mens, we turned towards the house, which we reached about noon. As we stepped from the brush at the edge of the clearing I caught sight of Carlos working under the house; but at our appearance he instantly ducked out of sight. Rosa served our lunch, after which we retired to my room and prepared our specimens; for I was determined to carry out the appearance of being engaged in bona-fide scientific work in every detail. Hirschfeldt did not return until late in the afternoon, and I was in some doubt as to how he would act when he heard of Carlos’s experience. I was seated on the veranda when the Dutchman arrived, and, deciding to have the first word, I approached him and remarked: ‘ Mr. Hirsch- feldt, I am sorry for a little accident that hap- pened this morning. We were hunting over on the hill yonder, and fired at a humming-bird. It seems that Carlos was on the hill, and he was badly frightened at the shot striking around him. I do not think he was hurt ; but, of course, had I suspected that he was there, I would have been more careful. I had no idea that anyone was in the vicinity.’’ 331 Hirschfeldt pulled at his beard, looked fixedly at me for a moment, and then growled: “ Vell, if der fool geds in der vay of der shots, let him ged hit! He had no pizness in der voods; and dere you are!’’ Calling Carlos to look after the horse, he stamped off to his room. I was immensely relieved at the manner in which he had treated the incident, but never- theless I had a suspicion that Hirschfeldt knew of Carlos’s actions, if indeed he had not ordered him to follow us, and only passed off the affair in this offhand manner because he could think of no other way. No further mention of Carlos’s adventure was made that night, and the next morning we started out again at dawn. I felt that there was now little danger of being followed, and we made our way directly towards the spot I had selected for my look-out. Crossing to the hill, we climbed the slope, passed along the ridge until we reached a clump of thick-growing trees, and seated ourselves com- fortably in the shade. Through my glasses I could see every detail of the house distinctly. Soon I saw Carlos appear and commence to open cacao-pods near the kitchen. A few minutes later, Hirschfeldt emerged from the dining- room, walked to the head of the stairs, and evidently spoke to Carlos, for the latter rose and turned towards his employer. A moment later he disappeared beneath the house, and presently returned leading a saddled horse, which he hitched to the steps. Then he resumed his labours at the cacao-pods. Hirschfeldt was now seated on the veranda, but every few moments he would rise, walk up and down a few times, and return to his chair, as if impatient or nervous. Finally, I saw Carlos start up from his work, and Hirschfeldt stepped to the edge of the veranda. A second later a horseman galloped up the trail and across the yard to the foot of the stairs. He was a small, lithe fellow on a wiry little horse, and I saw that he carried a rifle on his back and a heavy revolver at his hip. Evidently he had arrived from the interior by way of the trail, but we had been so absorbed in watching the house that we had failed to see him pass along the road. I at once told Joseph to watch the trail and to report anything he saw, while I focused my glasses on the new arrival at the house. Evidently he had been expected, for Hirsch- feldt at once ran down the steps to meet him, and after a moment's conversation, jumped on his horse and together the two wheeled about and disappeared down the path around the hill. I now turned my attention to the road, and in about fifteen minutes saw the stranger and Hirschfeldt gallop past the opening in the direc- tion of Seybo. Matters were now becoming interesting, and we watched eagerly for further developments.

Page 339

332 We had not long to wait, for a few minutes later Hirschfeldt reappeared, followed by four mounted men, each leading a pack-horse behind him. “ Joseph,” I exclaimed, “‘ those fellows have come to get the arms and carry them to the interior 1" There was nothing to do, however, but wait for the reappearance of the men on their return. In the meantime we amused ourselves by watch- ing the house and keeping our eyes on the little section of roadway over which the cavalcade had passed. It would, I thought. take at least half an hour for the men to reach the machine-shop ; another half-hour to pack the arms on the horses, and yet another half-hour to pass the opening, through which the road was visible, on the return trip. It was slow work waiting, and after an hour had passed I kept my glasses fixed on the road continually. Finally, when my eyes were aching with the constant strain, the first horseman came into view, followed by a loaded pack-horse. Behind him came the others, each with his pack- animal heavily laden; while, in the rear, was the active little fellow we had first seen, with Hirschfeldt riding by his side. There was nothing more to be seen; the contraband was on its way to the Seybo, and there was no telling when Hirschfeldt would return. So, with a glance at the house, where Carlos was still busy with the cacao, we rose and descended to the valley. As I did not wish to reach the house too early, and desired a reasonable number of specimens to account for the time we had been absent, we walked through the woods down the valley, collecting as we proceeded. It was an interesting country, and I found many forms of plant and animal life which I had not seen previously. We had been busily engaged for two or three hours, and had just reached a rather high, wooded hill, when Joseph uttered an exclamation of surprise, and looking in the direction -he indicated, I at once saw the cause of his astonish- ment. Through an opening among the trees we could look across the lower hills and valleys to the house, about two miles distant. From the flagstaff on the roof a tiny red flag was flying. “ Joseph!" I cried, excitedly, ‘ Hirschfeldt is signalling a boat! I wonder what's up? Is there any short cut to a spot from which we can get a view of the lagoon?” Joseph pondered for a moment, and glanced about as if getting his bearings. “ Yes, sir,”’ he replied at last. “ Ah knows a old banana road that runs down jus’ beyon’ here an’ crosses a hill above the ol’ quarters. If the bush ain't growed up too much, Ah think you can see the bay from there, sir.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE “* All right, come along; and let's get a move on.” Hurrying through the woods, we soon came upon the old road, originally of ‘ corduroy ’’ construction, but now full of holes and half hidden with brush and vines. Joseph led the way, and in a few minutes we had crossed the little ravine-like valley and were rapidly push- ing our way through the bush towards the top of a sharp, steep hill beyond. Reaching the summit of this hill, we were disgusted to find it covered with thick bush, higher than our heads, which shut us off effectually from a view of the surrounding country. Looking about, I saw a good-sized trumpet tree rising high above the thicket, and I at once told Joseph to climb the tree and call down to me if he saw anything. I realized that in the tree he might be visible from the house or the bay, but I trusted to the foliage to screen his body ;- and even if he were seen, Hirschfeldt would probably think he was after some plant or orchid. Presently my companion was above the bushes, and he had scarcely glanced towards the north when he called softly down: “ There's a boat on the lagoon, Mr. Verrill. Ah thinks he a fishin’ boat; anyway he a little boat, sir. Looks to be headin’ fo’ the creek, sir, an’ has a red flag at his mast.” “All right, Joseph; come on down. You may be seen at any minute, and we can't afford to take risks.”’ I had been thinking rapidly, and my mind was made up. The boat could not be a smuggler, and it would undoubtedly come up the creek to the landing. The signal flags proved that Hirschfeldt had sighted the craft, and in all probability he would go to the landing to meet it, rather than risk the visitors coming to the house, where we might be expected to appear at any time. I would make my way to the land- ing, watch the meeting, and see what occurred. Telling Joseph my plan, I asked him if we could make our way unseen to the landing. He replied that the road we had followed led through the old banana fields to the tramway near the machine-shop, and that he thought that, by using caution, we could gain the shelter of the little grove about the building without exposing ourselves to a possible watcher at the house. While he spoke we were hurrying forward through the brush towards the old road, and, teaching this, we pushed forward as rapidly as possible down the valley. As we went along Joseph explained that this road ran parallel with the tramway and was separated from it only by a ridge or hill. At the termination of the ridge the road and tracks joined at a point about three hundred feet from the old shop. There was no danger of being seen until we reached this spot, but he was not certain whether the tracks beyond were visible from the house. It was not long before we approached the

Page 340

TRAILING THE junction of the road and tramway, and, crouch- ing among the bushes, we crept cautiously for- ward, occasionally glancing back to see if the house were visible. Our fears were groundless, and in a few minutes we caught sight of the grove near the smugglers’ hiding-place. Leaving the road, we sneaked through the tangle of vegetation, worked our way slowly forward, and at last crawled into a dense mass “He made one end fast to the ankles of the luckless Carlos, and then, mounting his horse, took a turn of the rope round ‘the pommel and started along the road.” GUN - RUNNERS. 333 of undergrowth behind the shop and within a dozen paces of the landing-place. Although I felt sure we were invisible from the open, yet I took no chances, placing my gun within easy reach with a heavy charge in each barrel. The open space before us was deserted and silent, the canoe drawn up on the grassy bank, and not a sign of Hirschfeldt or the approaching Sten! ey weed ‘Se tne

Page 341

334 boat. In a short time, however, we heard the sound of someone on the path, and an instant later Hirschfeldt appeared on horseback, with a gun across the saddle before him. Dismounting, he hitched his horse to a tree and, stepping to the edge of the bank, stood wait- ing expectantly. Presently there came the splash of oars. A small sloop rounded the bend of the creek, and as it ran alongside the bank the single occupant dropped his oars, ran forward, and Icaped ashore, painter in hand. BAD NEWS FOR HIRSCHFELDT. He was a short, stout, dark man, with enormous black moustaches, and rings in his cars, and I at once recognized him as the proprietor of a little drinking place and gambling house not far from Le Croix's warchouse on the waterfront across the bay. “1 have news for you, amigo!"’ he cried, as he jumped ashore. “You don’t say so!"’ answered Hirschfeldt sarcastically. ‘‘ And what else snould I think would bring you here? Out with it, hombre. It's no good news, I swear."’ “ Por Dios!” exclaimed the other, angrily. “Of a truth the news I bring is not pleasant. The day before yesterday the Gaviota was seized !"’ Hirschfeldt started back as if struck and, purple with rage, grasped the other by the shoul- der and shook him violently. “Is that the truth ?’' he roared. ‘ By all your saints, if you are lying I'll tear out your heart!" “ Merced! Merced!"’ choked the gambler. “ For the love of Heaven, stop! Sefior Hirsch- feldt, I speak the truth. ‘Twas thus it happened, sefior: The schooner arrived, and when the Customs men boarded her three soldiers were in their boat. Without looking at the papers, without a word to El capitan, he and his men were arrested and their schooner seized. Hirschfeldt interrupted with an oath. “Manuel and his crew were arrested, you say ?'’ he cried. “ And none resisted ? ’’ “* Si, amigo,’ answered the other. ‘ But one man escaped. It was one of the crew, the fellow with the red hair, from the English islands. He jumped from the schooner when he saw the soldiers come aboard, and swam to the swamp. The soldiers fired at him, and he may have been killed or wounded, for no one has seen him since.” Hirschfeldt remained silent for a moment, and then, thrusting his face close to that of the other, he growled, “ And tell me, rat, how do you know all this? Were you on board the vessel when it was scized, or have the Customs men become your friends, to make you their confidant ? ’’ “No, no, no!" protested the little man, in fright. “'Tis but the talk of the town, my friend. All the world knows it, and the men are THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, in jail now, awaiting trial. I came to bring the news, so that you might be on your guard. They may come for you next. Quién sabe >?” “Let them come! "’ muttered Hirschfeldt. “ They can prove nothing. The goods have all gone in to-day, and if Manuel betrays me his word will be no proof.” At this moment his friend caught sight of my canoe for the first time. “ Carrajo!"’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘ From where did you get that boat, amigo? ‘Tis the canoe of a crazy Americano. Tell me, how came it here?” Hirschfeldt scarcely turned his head. ‘‘ Yes,”* he muttered, “ truly ‘tis the boat of an American —a harmless fool who searches through the bush for bugs and birds. Le is here now—I heard his popgun in the valley near my house even as I saw your boat.'’ Then, after a moment's pause, he added: ‘ Well, we have been well paid, you and I, and ‘tis the fortune of war. I own not the Gaviota, and I care not a snap of my fingers for the fate of her crew; but I hoped that another cargo might come in. How soon do you return, Pedro? ’” ‘Now, amigo Hirschfeldt,”” answered Pedro. “T saited for Sabana la Mar, and I must be on my way or sunset will find me at sea. I risked much to give you the news, and I receive only curses for my pains. But I forgive you!’ So saying, he stepped into his boat and pushed off with a few last words to Hirschfeldt, who stood. sullenly on the bank. The boat swung round with the current, and a moment later slipped behind the mangroves and out of sight. Hirschfeldt waited a moment, muttering to himself, and then turning, he mounted his horse and cantered off up the trai As the sounds of his horse's hoof-beats grew faint in the distance, Joseph and I crawled from our hiding-place and made our way through the brush to the deserted tramway. “Well, Joseph,”” I said, ‘ our Dutch friend doesn’t seem to have much of an opinion of me; but if I’m not mistaken, we’ll give him a jolt yet. Anyway, we know the arms have all gone, and there’s nothing to keep us here any longer. The next thing is to get to the Seybo. If old Hirschfeldt isn’t too angry to let us have horses, we'll leave to-morrow.” It was now nearly noon. We were several miles from the house, and in order to reach -it in such a way as to avoid suspicion we should be obliged to return in the same direction from which we had come. Accordingly, we retraced our steps to the hill from where we had first seen the red flag, and, crossing the valley beyond, reached the hill from which we had kept watch on the house. From this point there were two toutes hy which we could arrive at the house without following the trail that led to the landing. One way was to climb over the hill and cross the portrero; the other was to continue on half a mile farther, round the end of the hill, come into the road to the Seybo, walk down this for a

Page 342

TRAILING short distance, and then approach the house from the other end. We were tired, the morning was hot, and I did not feel like climbing the hill; moreover, it occurred to me that if I fired a shot now and then as we came within hearing of the house from the opposite direction, it would surely cause Hirschfeldt to think that we had been far from the landing all the forenoon. Having decided upon this course, we continued along the base of the hill towards the Seybo road. The walking was fairly good and the ground free from underbrush, and we soon reached the upper end of the hill and came in sight of the road. We had almost reached this when we heard the noise of a galloping horse, and, dodging back into the bushes, were scarcely out of sight when Carlos dashed up the road towards Seybo. “T wonder where on earth he's bound for ?” I exclaimed. “I shouldn’t wonder if Hirsch- feldt has sent word to old Fales about the schooner.”’ . Stepping into the roadway, we started forward, and had travelled perhaps a hundred yards when we caught sight of a white object lying in the road. As we reached it I saw that it was a folded paper. Picking it up, I found that it was badly torn and that a three-cornered piece ‘was missing from one edge. Spreading it on my knee, I saw that the address was: “ Don M——es, Seybo.’’ The central portion of the name was torn away, but it was easy to guess that it had originally been: ‘‘ Don Miguel Fales, Seybo.” Turning it over, I read the contents, which briefly set forth that word had just been received of the capture of the Gaviota and her crew, and that no more arms could be expected. The note was signed by Hirschfeldt. I was deeply gratified at our discovery, and had no doubt that the letter had been dropped by Carlos. I was very anxious to retain the note, but feared that if Carlos missed it he might feturn to search for it at any moment. While I was hesitating what course to pursue, I was startled by the sound of an approaching horse. Dropping the note, I sprang into the thick brush, followed by Joseph, and the next instant Carlos came in sight. He was bending low over his horse’s neck, peering to right and left and evidently searching for the lost letter. Presently he saw it, and with an exclamation jumped from his horse, ran forward, and stooped to pick it up. Before his fingers could grasp the paper, a gruff voice thundered at him from the road, and Hirschfeldt, his face livid with fury and his Ted beard fairly bristling, rode forward. Spring- ing from his horse, he strode towards Carlos, who cringed like a whipped cur in the roadway, his eyes fixed in mortal terror on his master, and the letter lying unheeded at his feet. “You dog!’ cried the Dutchman in Spanish. “So that is how you carry my messages, ch? ” THE GUN-RUNNERS. 335 MURDER ! Carlos shrank still lower, and muttered that his wallet had become unfastened and that the letter had dropped out. Hirschfeldt gave vent to an oath. ‘“ That for your carelessness, you nigger! '’ he roared, and launched a vicious kick at his trembling servant. The heavy riding-boot canght Carlos full in the body. There was a dull thud as it struck, a low, agonized groan, and the limp form turned half over and sank sprawling on the ground. Hirschfeldt was now crazy with rage, and ina berserk fury he jumped squarely on the face of his victim. Again and again he leaped, cursing furiously, and I grew faint and sick at the sight. Twice I raised my gun to fire, but desisted. It would not help Carlos now, and, after all, I had no right to appoint myself his avenger. At last Hirschfeldt exhausted his fury and, with a final contemptuous kick at the battered body, walked to his horse. Uncoiling the picket-rope from his saddle, he made one end fast to the ankles of the luckless Carlos, and then, mounting his horse, took a turn of the rope around the pommel and started along the road, dragging the poor fellow’s body behind him. . A short distance up the road there was a rude bridge across a small, dank swamp, and here Hirschfeldt halted and dismounted. Cutting the rope from his victim’s feet, he seized the ankles in his huge hands and pushed the body far out into the swamp. There was a loud splash, and, without once looking back, Hirsch- feldt coiled his rope, mounted his horse, and cantered off towards the Seybo. As he disappeared from sight I dropped back, exhausted and nauseated at the sight of the hideous crime we had just witnessed. “ Of all the low-down brutal, beastly mur- derers!’’ I muttered. Joseph spat contemptuously. ‘ Mr. Verrill,” he said, slowly, “‘ Ah'm a man of peace; but Ah'd be well pleased to kill that Dutchman. He surely is pure corruption.” As we stepped from our hiding-place I caught a glimpse of white in the trampled roadway, and, reaching down, I picked up the note. The cause of the murder had been forgotten in its accom- plishment. Hirschfeldt did not return until late in the afternoon of the following day, and when he arrived he seemed in wonderfully good humour. I could hardly prevent my disgust at his presence from being apparent, and I hated to sit at the table with him. I had made up my mind to leave for the Seybo the following morning; in fact, only Hirschfeldt’s absence had prevented me from departing before, for I now knew that Fales was really the prime mover in the gune Tunning game, and I was anxious to reach his headquarters as soon as possible. All through the evening meal Hirschfeldt was uproariously

Page 343

336 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. jolly, telling jokes and guffawing loudly at his own uncouth humour. He had evidently been drinking heavily, and was quite content to do all the talking, and I felt that I would do well to take advantage of his present mood to ask him for horses for my trip. 1 thought that very likely he would refuse, or that he might become suspicious of my motives ; but my mind was made up, and I decided to dis- arm his suspicions by my very frankness. ** By the way, Mr. Hirschfeldt,”’ I said, casually, as we sat smoking by the window, ‘1 have a friend over this way that I met on the steamer coming down. He asked me to visit him, and I want to ask if you can let me have a couple of horses for the trip?” “Umm,” he muttered, dubiously. ‘ Vat's der name of dis friendt, und vere does he lift ? "” “ He lives at a place called Seybo,’’ I answered, adding, “‘ Here’s his name—perhaps you know him.” As I spoke I handed him one of my cards, on which Fales had written his name, and beneath this address: “ La Antigua, Seybo.” Hirschfeldt studicd the card, pulled at his beard, and, after a moment's reflection, re- marked: “ No, I know der blace, bud not der chentlemans. Sure you can haff der horses. Ven did you vant dem ? ”’ “If it’s all the same to you, I'll start to- morrow morning. I've only a few more days left before I have to go back, and I'd like a day or two with Sefior Fales.”” “All right, mine friendt; I'll tell Carlos to haff der horses ready in der mornings.”” Rising, he lurched off towards the kitchen. The cool self-possession of the man was abso- lutely amazing, and it seemed almost uncanny to hear him thus speak of calling the murdered Carios. I was mightily thankful that Hirschfeldt had not offered to accompany us, but, on second thoughts, I realized that with Carlos gone, he would not care to leave the house alone for any length of time. For the same reason he was not likely to appear at Seybo during our visit. Presently he returned, grumbling. ‘ Der lazy nigger! "’ he complained. ‘I send him yester- day morning to El Valle for grub, und he hass not came back. Py gollys! if he gomes not pack I get der horses ready mineselluf.”’ “Thanks, Mr. Hirschfeldt,"". I answered. “ Well, if we're to start on that ride at dawn, I'd best be getting to bed.’? Bidding him good- night, I went to my room, bolted the door, and placed my automatic under my pillow. The sight of the preceding day was still fresh in my mind. I was aroused by Hirschfeldt to find the eastern sky growing bright with the coming dawn and Rosa serving coffee by candlelight. Hirschfeldt was still ina good humour.‘ Der horses iss ready,”’ he said. “ Dot trunken pig came in late, und he’s sleeping yet und gan’t do noddings, so I ged der horses mineselluf.”" I did not doubt the truth of the latter part of his statement, for 1 well knew that poor Carlos was sleeping far too soundly to do anything. As soon as I had finished my coffee I went out- side, and found Joseph waiting at the foot of the steps beside our mounts. One was a very good horse with a riding saddle, the other, a diminutive © beast with a pack-saddle, to which Joseph had already strapped our belongings. Turning, I bade Hirschfeldt good-bye, mounted my horse, and trotted off through the chill dawn on our ride to Seybo. é A short time after reaching the main road we passed the spot where Carlos was murdered, and as we clattered over the bridge I glanced with a shudder at the place where Hirschfeldt had thrown the body. The slimy black mud was smooth and unbroken, and revealed no sign of the gruesome secret hidden beneath its surface. For a few miles farther the road was very good, but it then became swampy, and the horses were often up to their bellies in mud. Several times Joseph's little beast became mired, and I was compelled to drag him to firm ground with my lariat. On one occasion he stumbled in the mud and plunged forward on his knees, throwing his rider from his seat, but Joseph's legs were so long and the horse was so small, that the rider merely stepped over his horse's head without falling. After a mile or two of this we once more reached firm ground, but the trail was rough and narrow, while hanging vines and stout branches projected over it so that we were con- stantly compelled to crouch low in our saddles to avoid being torn from our horses. After an hour's ride we decided to stop to rest and to breathe our winded horses. Selecting a little open spot, we seated our- selves beneath a wide-spreading tree at the roadside. Behind us was a low hill, covered with thick growth, and as we sat quietly resting I heard a strange bird-note. It was a low, tremulous whistle, and seemed to issue from the hillside at our backs. I touched Joseph’s arm, whispering, ‘“‘ What is that bird? I never heard - the note bejore.”’ 3 He listened attentively until the call was repeated, and then replied that it was also new tohim. I at once decided to secure the specimen, and stepping to my horse, unfastened my shot- gun, shoved in a couple of shells, and, with Joseph at my heels, moved noiselessly up the little rise. A few yards brought us to the summit, and peering through the brush, we saw a small glade in the forest, its surface overgrown with large ferns and great shiny-leaved “ elephants’-ears,”” and with a tiny brook bubbling through its centre. As we looked into this bowl-shaped depression the whistle sounded again, this time from the opposite side of the glade. I pecred intently

Page 344

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. bs —_ = _ “The musket roared over my head, and, with a gasping cry, Hirschfeldt crashed backward among the ferns.”

Page 345

338 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at the spot to discover the whistler, and saw something stir among the leaves. I raised my gun to shoot, and as I did so the foliage parted, and above the ferns rose a dark face with rolling, bloodshot eyes, crowned by a mop of red wool ! RED-HEAD AGAIN. I fairly gasped with astonishment; before us was the red-headed Negro whom we had left securely bound at Clisonne’s village four days previously ! Slowly the man rose to his feet. His clothing was in tatters and his dirty, chocolate-coloured skin was scratched, bruised, and_ bleeding. Wildly he peered about, and again he whistled. Then, as one of our horses whinnied, he called ina hoarse voice: ‘‘ Marster Hirschfeldt! Marster Hirschfeldt!_ Here am I.” Evidently the fugitive had heard our approach on the road and had mistaken us for his Dutch friend. For a moment he listened for an answer- ing call, and then started forward, and I saw that he limped badly and walked as if in pain, for, after proceeding a few feet, he again sank down before a mass of hanging saw-grass. Instantly there was a crash behind him, a dark body sprang like a panther through the grass, there was a flash of steel, and with a thud the weapon descended on the red-headed skull. Towering over the body, and wiping his machete on a leaf, stood Clisonne! I could scarcely believe my eyes, and for a moment remained motionless ; then, calling out in patois, I leaped up and hurried forward. “ Clisonne,”” I demanded, “ what does this mean? How is this man here, and why have you killed him?” Clisonne smiled grimly and related the story in a few words. It appeared that while the people of his village were down at the landing seeing us off, and while the attention of the prisoner’s guards had been attracted by our departure, the captive had suddenly sprung upon one of the men, seized his machete, struck him down, and dashed into the forest before the other guard could gather his wits together. The alarm was at once given, and a hasty examination showed that the prisoner had sawed through his bonds by rubbing them against a broken pot on the ground. He had doubtless been free for some time, only waiting for a favourable chance to make his escape. Clisonne had at once posted guards at the cayucas, and then, leading a party of his men, had started into the forest in pursuit of the red-head. Feeling certain that he could not escape from the island, they had expected to capture him readily. Upon tracing him to the limits of the island they were dumbfounded to discover that he had recklessly plunged into the morass and floundered across. None dared to follow through the alligator- infested slough save Clisonne, who, swearing he would follow to the death, had dashed into the swamp in pursuit. For the past four days he had doggedly followed the fugitive’s trail, often coming close to him, but never getting within reach, but pressing him so hard that the negrouge dared not attempt to break into the open and approach Hirschfeldt’s house. A few hours before our arrival on the scene the smuggler had injured his ankle by stepping between two logs, and had later betrayed his hiding- place by trying to signal Hirschfeldt when he mistook our horses for those of his friend. Realizing that if he captured the runaway he could not hope to carry him back with his injured leg, Clisonne had solved the problem with his machete. As he finished speaking we were startled by a gruff “ Hands up! ”’ from behind us, and turning, I looked full into the barrel of a musket in the hands of Hirschfeldt, who stood at the edge of the woods. “So-ho!’’ he growled, savagely. ‘“‘ Dot’s der sort of game you hundt, eh? Vell, you dam Yankee, I tink I do some collecting mine——"* The sentence was never finished. There was a spurt of flame and a sharp report from the brush, the musket roared over my head and fell clattering to the ground, and with a gasping cry Hirschfeldt swayed unsteadily and crashed backward among the ferns. Joseph, his still-smoking revolver in hand, stepped from the bushes. ‘Ah waste mah cartridges, Mr. Verrill,’’ he remarked, calmly. “But Ah’m well pleased for to kill that man. He surely is pure corruption |” ‘ Joseph! ’’ I cried, as I grasped his hand gtatefully, “I can’t thank you for saving my life, but I do thank God that I gave you that gun and that you can shoot straight. I‘ll never joke about your marksmanship again. How on earth did you do it, anyway? I thought you were standing beside me all the time.” Joseph grinned. ‘ No, sir. When yo’ went to talk to Clisonne, Ah stopped behin’ to have a drink at the brook. Jus’ as Ah put mah face down Ah saw Hirschfeldt sneakin’ among the trees. Ah couldn’t call out, sir, fo’ fear he shoot. Ah know as he don’ see me, so Ah jus’ crep’ up an’ shoot he, sir.’’ (To be concluded.)

Page 346

ODDS AND ENDS. oy Tiny ” ” towing a cartload of boys. Photo. Pathé Pictorial “TINY” THE TRACTOR, HE miniature steam tractor shown in the accom- panying photograph was made in Kent by three brothers named Eves. Although it measures only three One of the odd « keepsake museums” in an Indiana cemetery. feet from the ground at its highest point, it is capable of drawing with ease a cartload of twelve sturdy boys in addition to its driver. “Tiny,” as the tractor ectionately and appropriately named, took two years of spare-time work to build, and its owners are particularly proud of the (fact that the law regards it in the same light as its larger prototypes and de- mands that it shall bear a number-plate of regulation size. A “close-up” view of the baby tractor. “KEEPSAKE MUSEUMS" CEMETERY. It isn’t so very many years since, in America the popular song-hit of the day had to do with a man's wondering who'd smoke his meerschaum pipe when “ he had gone away.” Who will, eventually, be using this, that or the other treasured keepsake of ours when once we have departed from this mundane sphere? Who is there that can honestly say they haven't wondered ? Out at Batesville, in far Southern Indiana, they have done more than wonder: they have made sure that the most treasured keepsakes of the deceased shall accompany him or her to the grave. Here and there in the largest cemetery of the bustling little city there stand what seem like so ma:.,; enlarged bread-boxes, or bird-cages, of galvanized iron Usually these erec- tions have an ornamental cornicing, a steeple-top, or a little dome Three sides are plain, but on the fourth you will find, on close inspection, a door, held by a stout latch. Open the latch, and just inside you will find a pane of heavy plate-glass. Behind this glass, on shelves, or just in the base of the box, there are in- numerable little keepsakes. A floral tribute of con- firmation time, a little picture of the dead; _play- things, perhaps, of childhood’s time ; a Bible—all sorts of souvenirs of youth and old age. One of these odd boxes—in this case entirely of glass—is seen in our photograph. IN A

Page 347

BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN NORTHERN IN Ye. A vividly-written article which will enable stay-at-home folk to realize the dangers, difficulties, and manifold thrills of big-game hunting in the jungles of Northern India. The writer has been privileged to take part in several notable hunts, and tells some exciting stories concerning tigers and leopards. F any one part of the world can fairly be called a hunter’s paradise it is surely Northern India. There, in the vast tract of land which stretches along the base of the giant Himalayas, over a thousand miles in length and from twenty-five to fifty miles in width, lurk innumerable beasts of prey, wild animals of a dozen different species, that afford excellent sport for the hunter and excellent fare for the table, and a profusion of game and waterfowl the sight of which would pale with envy the cheek of a sports- man from almost any other clime. The purpose of this article is to illustrate the manner in which the big game of this huge domain are hunted down, to show some- thing of the difficulties and risks which attend this pursuit, and to depict, so far as one can on paper, the fascination of the open-air life of the big-game hunter in quest of his quarry. The territory to which the writer’s ex- periences are confined in the present narrative stretches some fifty miles or so along the frontier which separates the independent State of Nepal—the home of those gallant little soldiers who so freely enlist in the service of the British Army and fight so bravely therefor, the Gurkhas—from the British district of Kheri in the United Provinces. The small Mohman River is the boundary line between the United Provinces and Nepal, and it is in the belt of land between this and the Sarda River, some twenty miles or so in width on an average, that some of the best shooting in this part of the sub-Himalayan big-game region is to be found. The ground is very mixed in character. The « start, showing

Page 348

BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN NORTITERN INDIA. 341 Patches of dense jungle, where lofty trees mingle their branches with thick clumps of bamboo and festoons of trail- ing, spiked cane, which penetrate everything that comes in contact with them but the thick hide of an elephant, vary with tracts of almost open undu- lating plain, with here and there clumps of dwarf jungle grass and occasional groves of casuarina trees, where gorgeous-hued peacocks lazily wing their flight from one tree toanother, Then come vast stretches of swamp, covered with a dense forest of thick, coarse jungle grass, often rising to a height of twenty feet above the ground. In parts this gives place to a reed- the elephants advancing The Author, with the tiger that gave anxious moments. in a more or less regular line. covered expanse of mud and water, where water - fowl breed in enormous congregations, and which is impassable to all save swimming animals. Sich coun- try is suited, navvr- ally, to varying forme of animal and bird life, and it embraces the fierceand dreaded tiger, the hardly less fierce leopard, the Himalayan bear—an ugly customer when irritated—the hyena, the rhinoceros, the wild elephant, the tiger cat, the leopard cat, the wild boar, the nilgau (a large two - horned ante- lope), the black buck (a smaller species of antelope), the samb. hur and the bara- singha, or swamp deer, two magnificent specimens of large deer, the cheetal, or

Page 349

342 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. spotted deer, the barking deer, and the hog deer. These practically make up the bag of big game, but in addition to these a species of hare is to be found, and in the rivers and swamps adjoining them crocodiles of all sizes abound, whilst the feathered life com- prises the pea-fowl, hill pheasant, black and grey partridge, quail, jungle-fowl, snipe, florican (a rare and shy bird, and excellent eating), woodcock, the wild goose, and wild duck of many varieties, including mallard, teal, and widgeon. The king of the jungle is, naturally, the tiger, and here he reigns in undisputed sway— save for the hunter of big game, who alone stands between him and the prey he takes so often in the form of the cattle belonging to the people of the jungle villages, and sometimes the people themselves. The depredations caused by the tiger when he has once tasted human flesh and become a pronounced man-eater are scarcely credible, but it is on undeniable record that a single tiger is known to have killed no fewer than a hundred and eight people in the space of three years, whilst another killed an average of eighty persons per annum until he was tracked down and shot. In another instance a man-eating tiger so terrorized a certain district that for a time thirteen villages were abandoned and a tract of two hundred and fifty square miles of land was put out of cultivation, whilst yet another killed a hundred and twenty-seven people, and for a time stopped all traffic on a public road ! Incredible as this may sound, it is not so to those who, like the writer, have tracked the tiger in his native haunts, who realize his opportunities for devastation, and the difficulty of cornering him when he has gained experience in the art of eluding the sportsman eager for his skin. Tiger shooting in the jungles of Northern India is by no means all beer and skittles; it is a highly- exciting pastime, with many risks, needing a cool head and nerves of steel, together with keen presence of mind and extensive powers of endurance. It is, however, indeed the sport of sports, with a rich reward, in which the steady hand and the straight eye of the man are matched against the force, the strength, and the cunning of the animal, and the prize is to the winner. It is, above all things, an experience one can never forget. From the description I have given of the nature of the big-game shooting ground in Northern India, it will be understood that sport cannot be obtained on foot. There are two methods open to the sportsman—he must either pursue the chase on elephant-back, or he must be transported on the back of an elephant into the heart of the jungle, there to climb into the fork of a large tree, wherein a platform of boughs has been built, and await there in absolute silence the coming of the spoil, driven towards him from afar by beaters on elephants. This latter method is known as shooting from machan, the Indian name for the sportsman’s tree hiding-place. A variation of machan shooting is to tie up an animal in the jungle near by to attract a tiger or a leopard, and shoot one’s quarry as it is about to seize its victim. This is usually done at night. Shooting from machan is very interesting for the marvellous view it affords one of the life of the jungle, as the animals and birds of all kinds that find a home in the jungle, driven from their lair in the hunter’s direction, pass by him in silent procession, fear often compelling them to choose strange com- panions and master their dread of each other in the presence of the greater dread of the unknown. But this is not the method of big-game hunting which most appeals to the heart of a sportsman. Indeed, machan shooting too often lends itself to abuse, and many is the well-vouched story heard in one part or another of India of ‘‘ the man who must shoot a tiger ’’ whilst he is in India, and for whom, therefore, a sacrificial beast is prepared in the guise of a tiger, glutted beforehand with many bullocks, so that it is scarcely able to move, but is with much difficulty prodded into the range of fire of the “sportsman,” safe and secure in his machan, and duly falls a prey to his rifle—if he happens to aim at all straight ! I know personally of one globe-trotting British politician who shot a tiger from machan at his first attempt, and who is very proud of his performance; but what the Indian shikaree (hunter) who arranged it said about the matter is exceedingly entertaining ! The sportsman loves, naturally, to find his quarry, follow him, and despatch him if possible, and in this fashion the big-game hunter hunts in Northern India, where necessity compels the use of highly-trained elephants, some for the hunter’s personal use, to shoot from, others for the use of the beaters. The hunters use an ingeniously- made cane and wooden box-like contrivance, termed a “ howdah,”’ which is placed on the elephant’s back, with many quilts beneath to soften the jolting, and bound tightly with ropes passed underneath the animal’s stomach, like the girths of a horse. The howdah has two compartments, the front one being for the use of the “gun” and the rear for his ‘‘ loader,” or a non-shooting lady guest. It is furnished with special racks for guns and a pouch for cartridges, and it has padded seats and foot- rests and rails for one to grip when the elephant is in motion. When game is expected, the “ gun ’”’ usually stands in his howdah, that is to say, he wedges himself

Page 350

BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN in somehow, in a not very comfort- able position, but one which enables him, however, to hold his gun, or rifle (he has, usually, both beside him, and often two rifles), in such a position that he can fire directly he gets a chance, and often whilst his elephant is in motion. The beaters balance themselves on the elephants, seated either on woollen quilts, or on small Indian bedsteads, termed charpoys, which, inverted, are fastened on the animal’s back. Lest it be thought that the hunter in his howdah is quite immune from the charge of a tiger, let it be known that given a suitable “ take-off ”’ — and there are many such in the jungle—a tiger has been known to spring clean over a howdah and its occupants, whilst it often lands on the head or back of an elephant, when inveterate coolness and presence of mind are neces- sary to avoid a catastrophe. The writer has seen this happen like a bolt from the blue, as it were, and if it were not for the fact that elephants used for sporting purposes are all highly-trained beasts, thoroughly broken in to their work, and often veterans of many fierce encounters, accidents would be much more common than they are. The elephants are trained to hunt when they are young, and usually only females are selected for the purpose, being, remarkable to relate, much more reliable than the males, less likely to lose their heads when in a tight corner, and not so prone to get wild and break loose on their own account. They are really wonderful creatures, and the more one gets to know them the more one likes them. Affectionate to a degree, marvellously in- NORTHERN INDIA. 343 A typical group of sporting elephants. These animals are very carefully trained and are extremely valuable. telligent, with great powers of endurance, and extraordinary adaptability, they can beat a “tank,” in that they can swim as well as traverse any kind of ground, no matter how steep or rough. Moreover, they can and do uproot trees as they crash through the jungle in search of game, and they withstand the onslaught of a tiger or a leopard with Spartan-like courage, and keep their head to the foe when to flinch might well mean the death of the sportsman they carry. It is well said that they never forgive an injury or forget a kindness, and no ex- perienced big-game hunter neglects to reserve for his clephant during his midday meal in the jungle some choice tit-bit, such as a lump of sugar, a piece of sweet cake, or a banana, for the elephant, like a small child, has a sweet tooth ! It is an exceedingly costly business, big-

Page 351

344 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, game shooting in Northern India, for usually anything from a dozen to two dozen elephants are used—so many being required for a good beat, though, naturally, a good deal depends upon the number of ‘‘ guns,” and it is prac- tically impossible to secure the genuine article unless one happens to have a “ pull’ with a sporting maharajah, or one is a lieutenant- governor, a general, or something even higher up in the official world. To commence with, sporting elephants cost a mint of money apiece, and they are owned usually only by maharajahs and rajahs, whilst apart from Government-preserved tracts of lands most game-preserves also belong to maharajahs and rajahs, and apart from the impossibility of securing, in an ordinary way, sporting elephants and sporting jungles, there comes the cost of a shooting expedition, which is very heavy, when one bears in mind that each shoot lasts usually from a week or ten days to three weeks, and that every article of food (other than the game which falls to one’s gun), and all one’s camp equipment, has to be carried in bullock-carts, with scores of attendants, for many miles, over rough ground, from one camping-place to another. The writer is one of the few ‘‘ humble ones ” who happen to be in the good graces of one of the real ‘‘ lords of sport.””. He knows the shikaree of shikavees in Northern India, the hero of far more than a hundred shoots, who probably understands “the ways of the denizens of the jungle and the habits of the elephant better than any man living, and who, as the diwan of one of the most powerful and popular maharajahs of the United Provinces, is able to give wonderful shoots to his friends, who know him for what he is—one of the whitest men ever made and a prince of good fellows, a sure shot, with nerves of steel, marvellous personal strength, and withal a way with animals and men which both are unable to resist. His name is known to every sportsman of note in the United Provinces and beyond, and many are the distinguished English visitors on a “ cold-weather ”’ tour in India whom he has entertained in his inimitable and most hospitable manner in the jungle. When you are bidden, as his guest, to join him on a hunting expedition you are given the name of a tiny station on a small Narrow-gauge railway which runs to the back of beyond in the jungle which skirts the Himalayas. There you will find your host awaiting you with elephants ready for the first day’s shoot. You leave civilization in the shape of the aforesaid railway station, and after a day’s shoot you finish up some ten or a dozen miles away, find your tents put up all ready for you—and very com- fortable quarters too, though in the midst of the jungle—and then, day by day, you will march steadily away from civilization, on into the jungle, until the time comes when you must all unwillingly incline once more to the way that leads to the haunts of men and exchange the silence and grandeur of the forest for the hum of traffic and the raucous shouting of the city’s multitudes. Here is a typical day’s routine—if, indeed, one can speak of anything like routine on a big-game hunt. At 8.30 breakfast (if an early riser you will probably have had an hour in the marshes near by amongst the wild fowls, whilst the mists hover about the countryside and render your approach easier), and then elephants are mounted and a tract of land, somewhat swampy in character and covered with coarse jungle grass, is beaten for swamp deer. These creatures are very speedy, and he must be wary who would add them to his bag. After advancing in pro- cession until the hunting-field proper is reached—the elephants take their toll of whatever vegetation they fancy by the wayside—a regular line is formed, in the centre of which our host places himself, to direct operations by a wave of his handker- chief, one “gun” on the extreme right, another on the extreme left, and others, if others there be, between the centre and the right and left wings. We will say that eighteen elephants com- prise the line and that there are five ‘‘ guns,” including our host. On the thirteen other elephants are perched one, two, or perhaps three skilled beaters, who know just what to do to aid in securing a successful shoot, though, of course, they take their orders by signal from their master in the centre. At the start each elephant is twenty or thirty yards from the next, and the line, it will be seen, is a fairly lengthy one, but as circum- stances vary the distance between each elephant is altered and sometimes a few feet only separates them. The advance is made in as straight a line as possible, so as to give the widest range of fire, and soon the cavalcade is advancing with a swinging step through the tall jungle grass, which here, though it does not obstruct the hunter’s vision, never- theless shelters the quarry almost completely. A loud trumpeting on the part of an elephant, perhaps of two, proclaims the fact that a stag has been sighted, there is a rapid waving of the jungle grass some fifty yards ahead, and at once every “ gun” is on the alert. Then some perverse influence leads the stag to half-turn and rush head-on for the line. In a few seconds it has succeeded in getting too near for a shot to be fired with safety, and a second later, more trumpet- ing from the elephants, and perhaps a swerve on the part of one of them, shows that the stag has got through the line, and away, It may perhaps be observed that the male deer

Page 352

BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN NORTHERN INDIA. only may be shot, and excessive caution must be used to prevent the slaughter of a doe; one has to wait for a sight of the antlers and then fire low behind them. Sometimes an animal is hit as he is heading on to the line, or as he is clearing it on the other side, but, as a rule, this is looked upon as a risky procedure and the shooting is confined to shooting along the line, at animals either starting up and running from the line or parallel with it. Many oppor- tunities such as these occur, and some fine heads fall to the bag, varying in antler points from eleven up to fifteen or sixteen, and making excellent trophies of the chase. At noon a halt is made, and under the shade of some tall jungle tree, tiffin, or lunch, is served, whilst the elephants are given a rest, and then sport is resumed. Before lunch the objective was swamp deer only, the beat being specially undertaken for this; now general shooting is allowed. This means the use of either rifle or shot-gun, as opportunity occurs, and accordingly we now enter small woods, where good pea-fowl, jungle-fowl, and partridge shooting is obtained, with an occa- sional hare, certainly a wild boar or two, and —if we are exceptionally lucky—some deer of various kinds, possibly a bear or leopard, and even a tiger, if the Fates are very kind, whilst in swampy ground we get some shots at snipe and wild-fowl. Often it is quick change indeed from shot-gun to rifle, and vice versa, and one has to be exceedingly ‘ nippy ” ; moreover, it is none too easy to change one’s aim and get one’s eye in from a downward aim to an upward one in the air. Soon after five o’clock the sun begins to get low and the air, which has been quite hot since an hour or so after the start, grows perceptibly chilly. Accordingly we make tracks for camp, exchanging our elephants with howdahs for fast-running elephants, having quilts only on their backs, on which we seat ourselves as comfortably as possible, “‘and so,’ as Pepys would have put it, to our night’s lodging in the jungle, where now, in the distance, we descry camp-fires blazing. Then follows a bath, a change of clothes, a hearty meal, in part furnished by ourselves, and the sound sleep won by those who have had an arduous day in the open air. We are quite undisturbed by the howling of the jackals and pariah-dogs, the gambols of the monkeys on the tent-roofs, or the occasional deep roar of a tiger or leopard which has toamed into our “ sphere of influence.” Some days of a ‘shoot’ are devoted exclusively to leopard and tiger hunting, and for these occasions special arrangements are made and additional precautions are taken. It may be that overnight some jungle villagers have come in and announced that a tiger or leopard has made a “ kill” Vol, xlix.—24, 345 amongst their flocks and is lying up and feasting himself in a near-by jungle, to which, eager for vengeance on the spoiler of their herds, they have tracked him. In this case the most experienced member of the party, accompanied by villagers, goes as near to the spot as is convenient, notes the surrounding country, and then makes plans accordingly to beat up the beast. But should no khabar (news) of a “ kill” come to hand, either a certain tract of land which a tiger or leopard is said to frequent will be beaten, or a goat will be tied up in a con- venient spot in the jungle overnight to attract master tiger, or leopard, as the case may be. Should he pay the animal a visit and carry off his prey, he will be tracked by the blood, and other signs, to his hiding-place, and hunted therefrom. A tiger having been spotted, by one method or another, dispositions are made to force him to bolt from his lair. Some experienced beaters on elephants are told off specially to rouse him and get him on the run in a certain direction, where " guns”? have been posted so as to cover the line of flight, some- what after the manner in which “ guns” are posted in a game-shoot in this country. If a shot should take effect and wound the tiger slightly, the whole complexion of the business is altered. At once it becomes much more serious, for whereas before the tiger was only too anxious to get away from the huntsmen, possessed by that general dread of human beings attaching to wild animals, now he is angered, his blood is up, and he will show fight to the end. Very great care must be taken now in order that no member of the party is taken by surprise, and at a disadvantage, and the tension of one and all increases. Everyone feels that now he is in for the real thing, that anything may happen, and that it is up to him to see that the happening is to the tiger! A thrill pervades one’s frame which I can liken only to that which seizes one when in war one comes under the fire of the enemy for the first time. The spot where the wounded animal was last seen is approached very cautiously, in a fairly close, semi-circular formation, if such be possible from the nature of the ground, and then the elephants, urged on with cries from their attendants, commence to trample down the jungle with their feet, causing such a commotion that the tiger is forced either to charge at once or run on ahead in the jungle and choose a more convenient spot from which to attack his enemy. From now onwards until the animal is dispatched the moments are full of intense excitement, for danger lurks every- where. So silent and cat-like is the tiger, moving in the long grass, which often wholly

Page 353

316 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. conceals him, that none can tell when or at whom he will spring. Some- times the first in- dication will be a loud snarl directly below one, fol- lowed by the shrill trumpeting of Members of a shooting expe- dition lined up in a_ shallow river. one’s elephant, and the next thing one sees, perhaps, is the tiger coming dead on to one’s elephant’s head. Occasionally,. owing to the dis- position of the line, it is impos- sible to shoot at the charging animal and one has to avoid the onslaught, if pos- sible, by turning one’s elephant, which is done very dexterously by the mahout (driver). Atsuch a time everything depends on the elephant keeping its head, and it is really marvellous how these highly- trained and in- telligent animals behave in such disconcerting cir- cumstances. I have seen a tiger charge an ele- phant and land seemingly right up on his chest, . oniy to be fungott The line swinging round. Notice the height of the grass. the next second

Page 354

BIG-GAME SHOOTING IN NORTHERN like a ball: the elephant doing this with a sang- froid and ease alike astonish- ing, and reveal- ing a strength of muscle one could scarcely credit, It is not always thus however. I re- member one oc- casion when we had been out for many hours in pursuit of a huge leopard, news of which had been given to us overnight by some vil- lagers. Prior to the shoot, we tracked the leopard to its lair, a fairly easy thing to do, for a bullock is not dragged along the ground without very visible signs. The leopard had dragged its prey for a mile, such is the wonderful strength of jaw these brutes possess, and we knew from this that it was a full- grown one and probably a fine animal which would do full justice to-itself. And it did! Before long we had rounded it up, got it going, and wounded it slightly. Then it grew very angry and very wily. Four, times it charged different members of the party, receiving another slight wound only, so cunningly did it attack, and on one of these occa- sions it leaped right on to the back of an elephant on which was a howdah with my wife for one of its occupants! The elephant, affrighted, plunged madly forward, the sportsman in the . howdah stumbled, nearly causing a terrible accident, but my wife held on bravely. The elephant’s swerve, however, though it nearly caused a shooting accident, was of sufficient intensity to cause the leopard to lose its grip and slide off its back and, strange to tell, the elephant was little the worse for wear. For some considerable time after this, its last charge, we were hunting the leopard, and then it ran past me in a fairly open part of the jungle twenty yards ahead and gave me my opportunity. I had-a good side-on shot at its head and got INDIA. 347 it fairly through the brain, causing it to roll over dead on the spot. When measured the brute was found to go seven feet six inches, a very respectable size. I have him before me as I write, and a fine skin he makes! A huge leopard that dragged a bullock a mile and charged the hunters four times before he was laid low. The Author’s host mounting his favourite elephant. The most exciting personal encounter I have experienced was with a wounded tiger —a young, full-blooded animal and full of fight. It was my good fortune to sight it first, at a distance of about a hundred yards, as it was making off at a smart pace across a patch of scrub-covered jungle ahead of me.

Page 355

348 Taking a chance shot, I fired, and was fortunate enough to wound it slightly in the off hind-leg. With a snarl it stopped, seemed to raise the wounded limb, look at it, and then disappeared in a thick patch of jungle just by. I was exceedingly keen to follow it up, for according to the rule of big-game shooting it was mine now, whosoever killed it, since I had hit it, but I had to be guided by the director of the ceremonies, my host afore-mentioned, who gathered us about him in conference and then speedily made dis- positions which in a very short time bore good fruit. A wounded tiger will invariably lie up near the scene of the shooting, and it will always show fight. We soon discovered this, for, closing in on the spot where the tiger was last seen, we had scarcely commenced to beat the place in close-elephant formation before there was a loud growl, a shrill trumpeting from two of the elephants, the flash of a beautiful body in the strong sunlight, and the animal had charged the line. A rifle-shot rang out, followed by a very angry snarl, and from my distant post I concluded the business was over; but no, the tiger had only been wounded, and ‘the beat was resumed, now with great caution, and in crescent formation, the cordon being drawn very tightly about the wounded animal, to ensure that it should not remain hidden. This is always done, inspired as much by motives of mercy as those of sport, for a badly-wounded animal might otherwise be left to linger in agony for days. We had not to wait long before again there was a loud trumpeting from some of the elephants, a growl, two shots this time, and then silence. Again I was lamenting the fact that I had not been able to give the tiger the coup de gritce, when I observed the director making signals to me to close in nearer towards a spot indicated, which meant that the tiger had escaped a second time and might be calculated to be in a very ugly temper! Wheeling round, I took a hasty glance at the disposition of the party and saw that as the outside left wing ‘‘ gun ”’ it was essential that I should observe great caution in firing, should I get a chance to do so, as otherwise I might hit the outside right wing man or the beaters next to him. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, I think it was just as this was passing through my mind that I heard a deep growl right ahead of me, which caused my elephant to start and stop almost dead. In another second I saw a striped flaming body rise like an arrow from the dense jungle grass fifteen or twenty yards in front of me, and hurl itself at my elephant. As I wheeled my rifle round and raised it to my shoulder it seemed as if the brute was actually above me and descending upon me. I remember thinking, ‘“‘ Now it ts mine!” and, picking out a tawny spot in the tiger’s coat, just over the heart, I fired two bullets in quick succes- sion. Without a sound the animal fell dead almost at the feet of my elephant—so close to it, in fact, that I had scarcely to move it in order to take the ‘‘snap” of the tiger as it lay in the jungle grass which appears in this article. I was immensely elated, naturally, and soon the other members of the party were about me, congratulating me, but the director gave me occasion to think furiously when, taking me aside, he told me that I had done a very risky thing in facing the tiger, which would certainly have had me if I had not killed it, and I know he administered a severe rebuke to my mahout for rashly exposing his elephant, but I relied on the stopping power of my ‘401 Winchester, with a clip of five expanding bullets, and—it did the trick. All those who witnessed the charge and the fall, however, said it was an absolute toss-up as to who would come off best, myself or the.tiger! I may add that only after all was over did I learn that on the occasion of the second charge the tiger had succeeded in getting on to the side of the head of one of the elephants, badly lacerating its ear, and in addition clawing the bare leg of its driver, to whom we now applied first aid! Such is the foulness of a tiger’s claws, however, that although the man in question was quite cheerful and experienced little pain a day or two later, we heard that about a week afterwards swelling set in and for a time it was thought he would lose his life, though ultimately he recovered. As I said before, big-game shooting is a fascinating experience, which ene can never forget—particularly if it falls to one’s lot to have a personal encounter with a tiger of the nature I have just narrated !

Page 356

One reads occasionally of battles with sharks, but such a desperate, long-drawn-out encounter as that described im this narrative must be almost unique, and the two men concerned were very lucky to escape with their “The story is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Sabine. lives. HE adventure I am about to relate happened in May, 1917, near the little island of North Bimini, in the Bahamas, a place that was then almost unknown. In fact, though only about fifty miles from the American coast, it took about a month to get there by the regular passenger route. At the time of which I speak I was the fortunate possessor of a fourteen-ton yawl, the Etta May, and was living a happy-go- lucky sort of existence, gathering sea-shell, and occasionally running Negro passengers between the islands. - I had a good friend who acted as my mate—a young fellow from Miami, Florida, whom we will call George. On this particular morning George and myself, having nothing special in view, decided to take a flat skiff and pull out over the sand-bars looking for odd pieces of coral and anything in the shell-fish Jine that might be worth something as a curio. Besides our lunch, we took a small landing- net, a big gaff-hook, and our fish-knives, and at the last moment I threw in an old Winchester rifle that a native had brought to me to repair a couple of days before, as I thought it was a good chance to try it. The handful of cartridges that the fellow had given me to test it with, I should think, were the first ever put out by the makers, and the Tifle itself was surely the grandfather of all repeating Winchesters. It was one of those beautiful days that are seen only in the Southern seas. The small islands lay on the water looking like living gems, and the sea on the flats was as smooth as glass except between the islands to the west, where the tide was running out. It was just the right kind of morning, in fact, a LOUTS A. ILLUSTRATED BY T.H.ROBINSON for diving for micromoc shell and butterfly coral. We had pulled about two miles to the south over the flats before we came across any- thing worth picking up; then we discovered some rose coral. I dived several times, and got some very nice specimens. About half a mile farther on we found a couple of star- fish. Then we ran on to six ‘‘ queen conch ” —great big white beauties, without a solitary barnacle or blemish on them, and worth about five dollars apiece on the New York market. That was where we first met our friend the shark. He came drifting over the flats so jazily and languidly that we thought there was never a nicer or more gentlemanly shark in the sea. I had just brought up the third conch-shell when my partner pointed him out to me. As I stood in the stern of the skiff, filling my lungs with air for my next dive, I watched him for a few minutes to see if he would leave the vicinity, for some- how or other I have never hankered much for salt-water bathing with a shark for a playfellow. , “Well, I guess we don’t want that shell, do we ?” said George, with a smile “IT don’t know about not wanting it,” I answered. ‘‘ It’s worth a fiver, and you can bet I’m going to get it if our friend will only back off a couple of hundred miles or so.”” “‘ There’s not much chance of him getting that far away,” George continued, ‘and it doesn’t look to me as though we are going to get away from him either, unless we want to carry the boat over a couple of miles of dry land.” I noticed just then, for the first time, that

Page 357

350 THE WIDE WORLD the tide had dropped so low that we were now in a little lagoon about half a mile wide and three-quarters of a mile long, with dry sand-bars stretching about us in cvery direction, The shark had now come within about thirty feet of the boat and was tying head-on towards us, so that we could see that he must be all of twelve or fourteen feet long. I have seen lots of sharks in shallow water, but never one as large as he was. The water was about eighteen feet deep just where we were, but it was not more than four feet at any other place on the flats. Even at high tide it couldn’t have been much over five feet in depth, on an average, for miles and miles in every direction, and there were lots of places where at high water you could hardly float a keel boat. How the shark came to be in such a place I don’t know. “Say,” said my partner, suddenly, “I don’t like the looks of that bird! This boat’s too small altogether, and he looks as hungry as the devil.” “What's the matter with you ? ” I asked, smiling. ‘“ He’s only a grey shark, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Why, I'll bet you that if we splash a little water he will leave as though he had an appointment with a big joint of salt pork.” With that I picked up an oar and started splashing. Mr. Shark did just as I thought he would— he left at once, and he left in a hurry. He made one mistake, however ; he forgot about the sand-bars, and as a result ran himself half out of the water before he had gone a hundred yards. I turned to George. ‘‘ Here goes for those other shells ! ’’ I told him. Over I went, and brought up the shell all right. George called me several kinds of a fool, but I only laughed at him, and told him it was all right, for I knew sharks a great deal better than he did. “Well, you may know all about sharks, and everything else,” he retorted, ‘“ but some day you'll find out that you don’t know as much as you think.” It being now about dinner-time, we brought out our lunch and started in to feed. Also, as our friend had now got off the bank he had run into, we threw him a few scraps, and he certainly made short work of them, incidentally showing us that he had as fine a sct of teeth as any shark was ever blessed with. After lunch we let ourselves drift around, waiting for the tide to come up sufficiently to allow us to pull over the bar. Our friend drifted with us; in fact, he got on my partner’s nerves so badly that I kept scaring him off by splashing. At last he went, and stayed away so long that I was sure he MAGAZINE. must have found a way out of the lagoon, for we couldn't sce a fin cutting the water anywhere. About two hours later we judged the tide had risen sufficiently for us to return to the yacht. We wanted to get there badly, for the wind had dropped till you couldn't feel a breath stirring, and it was intolerably hot. The water and the islands that had looked so cool in the morning now appeared as one big blur in the heat-haze. Clouds started to pile up in the south-east, and it seemed as if a bad thunder-squall was going to hit us before we could get under cover. . We had got about a third of the way back when we found a bunch of micromoc shell. These are bright spotted shells about four inches long on the average and about two and a half inches wide. Everybody’s grand- mother used to have a couple of them on the mantelshelf, and as they were worth about fifty cents each in the tourist trade, we stopped to get them, storm or no storm. This, in fact, was the way we were making our living at that time—collecting sea-curios, taking them over to the Florida coast, and selling them direct to tourists from the North. As usual, my partner took the oars and I did the diving, and I think I went down about two or three times; anyway, I had brought up eight shells when the trouble started. I had just come up with a couple of shells and was shaking the water out of my eyes, when I heard George shout : ‘* Good heavens ! Look out—he’ll get you!” I dropped those shells in a hurry, took one look behind me, and started for the boat. I believe I made it in record time, for that big shark’s nose was only just about two feet away when I grabbed the stern of the skiff! I made such a splash when I tried to climb in that I must have surprised him a bit, for he turned slightly to one side. As it was he only missed me by inches; it was so - close a shave that his forward fin struck me on the thigh and sand-papered about six inches of skin off. When George had helped me into the boat all I could do was to lie and shake, with the cold sweat breaking out on me like beads. I have been in some close corners in my life, but none closer than that, I was lying at the bottom of the boat, feeling about as bad as a man can feel, and George was stooping over me with a bottle, when that shark, or devil, whichever you please to call him, charged the skiff. What made him do it I don’t know, for I have practically lived among sharks for years and never knew one to attempt such a thing before. That shark was fourteen feet long and the

Page 358

skiff was ten. He hit us broadside on, and it was a mighty good thing for us that the craft was flat-bottomed, for when he struck it he knocked my partner clean overboard. As the skiff was flat, however, the shark shot underneath, which left George on one side and him on the other. As a result, George was able to scramble back, with my help, before friend shark could get to him—and he Meant business, too, for he came back like an express train. ‘We recognized him then as the same shark that had been with us all the morning, but we didn’t have any opportunity to ask him questions, for he had apparently made up his mind that the two of us would make him a@ very nice meal, and he meant to waste no time in getting it. Again and again he charged us, and every time he hit us he took away about half an armful of splinters. A ten-foot skiff can’t stand that sort of thing Jong, no matter how solidly it may be built. All we could do was to sit in the bottom of the boat and hang on. You may ask why we didn’t use the rifle, but to tell you the truth we didn’t think of the old relic. At last, to our intense relief, the shark drew off, and I expect would have left us alone if not molested. But our fighting blood was up. “It was just jab and thrust, jab and thrust, at a grey-black devil who was all mouth and tail.” THE SEA- DEVIL. 35t “ I’m going to get that brute if it takes a week,” growled George, and for once I agreed with him. So, as I was considered the best shot, I took the rifle and started to fire at the shark. The ancient cartridges, how- ever, refused to explode until I got down to the last one. That went off all right, and the bullet took -him just below the dorsal fin. Back he came like a battering-ram ! He couldn't do much damage, however, for George had the oars out, and kept the boat stern-on to him all the time. Still, each time he hit us, he must have knocked us twenty feet or more. But now we knew he was coming, so he didn’t knock anybody over- board, and with the boat under control we could do some fighting on our own account. Presently I grabbed the gaff-hook and started to use it—and then somebody very nearly did go overboard again. For the hook got stuck in his gills, and the loop on the end of the handle caught my wrist, and over I went after him. Not quite, however, for George seized me by the legs and held that part of me in the boat while the rest was under water. Just as he thought he couldn’t hang on any longer, and J thought I was going to be drowned, the lashing that held the hook proper to the shaft gave way,

Page 359

352 THE WIDE WORLD and George succeeded in pulling me back again. Though the losing of the gaff appeared to be a calamity, it turned out a blessing in disguise, for it made us put our wits to work. George and I thought of the idea at the same moment. Why not lash our knives to the gaff-hook haft ? Still, it was a rather difficuit job. Imagine yourself inside a football that is the centre of a real lively scrimmage, and you will have some idea of how we were getting pushed about. That shark was certainly enjoying himself, if we weren't. The boat, too, was beginning to let in a lot of water, and a boat full of water is no place for a couple of men with a man-eating shark around. Well, after about fifteen minutes of hard labour on my part, trying to hang on to anything that was solid to keep me from going overboard, and at the same time hold- ing an eight-foot pole, a sharp knife, and a ball of twine, endeavouring to fasten the knife to the pole in such a manner as to make a lance, I fashioning a decidedly useful weapon. After we got the lance rigged up, I thought the fight would soon end; but our hopes were speedily dashed, for we found out that the knife-blade wasn’t long enough to reach a vital spot. I don’t remember much about the next thirty minutes. It was just jab and thrust, jab and thrust, at a grey-black devil who was all mouth and tail—a tail like a thousand- pound trip-hammer. Every time he hit us it was like being charged by an automobile. How I did curse those star-fish we had! T only had on a pair of cut-off overalls, and my legs up to the knees were just one mass of cuts and bruises from trampling and falling on them. Every time I tried to throw them overboard the shark would hit the boat just at that identical second and send me sprawl- ing. Then the knife broke ! Somehow or other we got the other knife lashed on. It was George's, and our hopes were mighty slim, for it had a long slender blade, only about half as stout as the one that had broken. I don’t know about George—I never asked him—but personally I thought that any little piece of land would have looked mighty good to me just then. But luck was with us, apparently. The shark made a charge, turning on his side so as to use his teeth better. That was the only mistake he made, but it lost him his dinner and his life. For George, who had the improvised lance now, as I was com- pletely done up, made a lucky thrust and caught him in the gills, driving the knife and about two fect of the haft right into him. That was the end, for it had struck eventually succeeded in’ MAGAZINE, a vital spot, though we didn’t know it at the moment. The lance was torn out of George’s hands, and he was knocked overboard by the force of the blow. Needless to say he wasn’t in the water any longer than was necessary; in fact, it looked to me as if he just stood up on the surface and stepped right back into the boat. The first thing we did, of course, was to prepare to repel boarders ; but we discovered that the fight was over. There was blood everywhere ; I never thought that one fish could dye so much water. The sea was absolutely red for fifty yards around us, and it was so thick that it took us over an hour to locate the shark. We eventually found him about fifty feet away, lying on the bottom in about eight feet of water. He was not dead, but so weak that all he could do was to snap his jaws feebly when we hitched a line around his tail and started to tow him to the yacht, nearly two miles away. It was almost dark when we got back with him to the yawl, and raining hard, but, tired as we were, we hooked on the spanker throat- halliards and hauled him clear of the water. Mr. George R. Sherman, who was the Acting Commissioner at North Bimini at the time, saw us bring in the shark, and commented on his size and the number of wounds we had inflicted upon him. Then we had a bite to eat, threw ourselves into our bunks, clothes and all, and slept the sleep of utter exhaustion till broad Bye light the next morning. Getting breakfast as soon as possible, we went on deck and took the shark’s: measure- ments. He was fourteen feet two inches long and seven feet eleven inches at his greatest girth. His jaws, spread open, measured thirty.seven inches, and he had thirteen rows of teeth. Some of the centre teeth were two and a quarter inches wide and two inches long. We wanted to save the hide, but it was worthless, for it had over six hundred cuts in it! You may judge how hard he was to kill when you figure that each cut was six inches deep, and the wound that killed him penetrated over two feet into his vitals. It took me more than three months to get rid of all my scars, and we had to put twelve feet of new planking and eight ribs into the battered skiff. We extracted thirty-two of the shark's teeth from the planking when we repaired it, so it will be seen that he spared no pains in the attack. After that fight I came to the conclusion that I did not know quite so much about sharks as I had thought I did, and I decided that in future I would treat them much more respectfully.

Page 360

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Easy to Learn Cartooning at Home Earn $60 to $200 a Week in This Fascinating Profession Sport, humorous, serious and ani- mated cartoons—never have they been in such big demand! Suc- cessful cartoonists now earn $3,000 to over $100,000 a year. You can learn to draw these car- toons that SELL. Many of our students earn big money even while learning. Easy Home- Study Method Prepared by one of America's foremost cartoonists, this course teaches you to originate and draw all kinds of cartoons. You learn at home in spare time, yet aii your work receives through the mail the individual help and criticism of prominent cartoon experts. Many suc- cessful cartoon‘sts taught by this method. Send for Free Book Learn more about this method and the amazing opportu- nities open to you in this attractive fast-growing field. Our newly prepared Free Book is crammed with valua- ble information about this work, and explains fully this sety, home-etudy: method. Mail post card or letter for it TOD. WASHINGTON SCHOOL OF CARTOONING - 1066 Marden Building Washingten, D. *5000Man In Every Town Only men with e n one of America’s larsest. woolen mill who is manufacturing ALL WOOL products, sold dt- rectly from the mill to the con sumer. ‘This is an unusual op portunity and one which should earn for you from $5,000 to \ $7,000 a year. What You Must Be and Do to Join This Organization. You must be sincere—honest—persevering! I don’t want every Tom, Dick or Harrv—but I do want the best men I can find. No selling experience is re- @ Those Who Join Now Will Reap the Biggest Harvest. Exclusive territory is now being cranted. In a short time District Managership will be open—and if you join us now you will be in line for one of these lucrative positions, But you must act quickly! Now! Write for the free full detatln that will con- vince you of this splendid opportunity. TAYLOR WELLS & CO., Dept. 269, 2740 Paulina St., Chicago, III. “From the Mills to the Millions.” $95 An Hour! “Every hour I spent on my I. C.S. Course has been worth to me! My position, my $5,000a year income, myhome, my fam- ily’s happiness—I owe it all to my spare time training with the International Corre- spondence Schools!” ifvery mail brings letters from some of the two million L C. S. students telling of romotions of spare mae in salary as the rew: What are you doing with the hours after su per? Can you afford to let them slip by unin proved when you can easily make them mean so much? One one a aay spent with the L ‘Ce repare for the n wan e work: you Tike best. Year it will 1 Put! it up to us to prove it. Mark and mail this coupon now/ INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOLS ae Box 3714-C, Scranton, Penna. it cost or obligation, please send me full inf tion pout Ge rubjoct Before which T have marked an a the aise lene ot BUSINESS TRAINING DEPARTMENT Business Management |Salesmanship Industrial Management Advertising 1 Organization Better Letters ‘Trafic Management Foreign Trade jusiness Law Btenography and Typing ‘ing and Banking Business English | Accountancy (ined c P.4.) FCivil Service Nicholson Cost Railway Mail Clerk ing \Common School Subjects Private High School Subjects Business Spanish O French jLlustrating I Cartooning TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL DEPARTMENT Electrical Engineering Architect Electric Lighting Contractor an: Builder Mi Architectural Draftsmnaa Mechanical Draftsman Conerete Builder Machine Shop Practice Railroad Positions St Engineer a Plumbing and Heating las Engine emistry Civil Engineer Pharm: Surveying and Mapping ‘Autom Work ine an or Enginesc Nevigation Stone Enginoert culture Airplane Engines frotteert eR RM Pst ore ee

Page 361

“HE WAS HISSED AND HOOTED AT BY SEVERAL WOMEN GOSSIPING IN THE PRINCIPAL STREET.” (-EE PAGE 358.)

Page 362

| The Sorcerer a. of Nérac bere See SIPOUX /LLUSTRATED BY HOWARD ELCOCK The story of a most remarkable affair, which has created a great sensation in France. The central character in the narrative is a strange and sinister figure—Pierre Faget, the stoop- shouldered old wizard of Nérac, practising bis uncanny arts to-day exactly like a necromancer of the Middle Ages, and feared throughout a wide countryside. The mysterious disappearance of a young farmer led to police investigations and the discovery of an amazing tragedy of superstition. The “sorcerer” and some of his dupes are now in prison, awaiting their trial Nérac, in the Lot-et-Garonne depart- ment, there is a strange old timbered house with a massive, iron-clamped door. Its dark, heavy eaves, like lowering eyebrows, brood over a world that has grown up since it was built, for the old house dates from the fourteenth century. It is the oldest building in Nérac, and strange stories and superstitions cling around it. Some people venerate it; others cross themselves as they pass under its shadow. The old courtyard is moss-grown, and the stone steps are worn and shiny. The low, black-raftered room on the first Vol. xlix. 25. I: the old-fashioned French town of floor strikes the visitor as strange and un- canny; one involuntarily shudders a little on entering. The heavy curtains on windows and doors and the rough drugget on the stone floor seem to exclude the air of the outer world. On the walls hang old-fashioned pictures of Christ, the Virgin, the saints, and some of the Popes. These are varied by what look like testimonials or certificates in black frames. Against one wall is a large glass case whose shelves are crowded with bottles containing strange objects, canisters of herbs, simples, and other odd things. In spite of the pictured saints this musty

Page 363

an THE WIDE old room has a disreputable, leering air. It knows all the weaknesses and follies of humanity, for it is the workshop and private office of a sorcerer ! The tenant of the room, as a matter of fact, was Pierre Faget, known far and wide in the Nérac district as a wizard. He was, in truth, the very personification of a medieval sorcerer. A little crook-backed, bow-legged man, he wears a long black coat, like the Jews of Eastern Europe, and .a slouched hat always pulled down over his eyes, as if the sun offended him. He is about seventy-seven years of age, but his hair is only grizzled, and his small black piercing eyes, glowing like coals under the dark overhanging eyebrows, seem to peer into the hearts of his fellow-creatures. Pierre Faget-—wizard, clairvoyant, and general counsellor—besides being a sort of Nostradamus and quack doctor, knew the characters and the business of all his fellow- townspeople and of many hundreds through- ont the countryside. All his life, ever since he was a child, this little crook-legged fellow had practised the arts of sorcery and divina- tion, and for very many years he had lived on the proceeds of his skill in foretelling the future, healing ailments of mind and body, and exercising his knowledge of the occult. Pierre Faget was both feared and loved in the country where he lived, his reputation as a necromancer extending over a very large district. His supernatural powers were the topic of gossip in many a farmhouse kitchen and town back-parlour. No busi- ness was too important, no affair of the heart too small, to carry to Faget, “the prophet,” and get his advice. He had advice to give in every trouble. Business men would go to ‘le pere Faget” for a consultation, and servant girls and farm labourers had implicit faith in his recommendations. Inquiries in his native town show that young Pierre Faget when quite a boy used frequently to visit an old woman who was known as the “ Witch of Auvillars,” and talk to her for hours. In time some of the superstitious horror that clung to her began to envelop him. What she taught the child in those far-away days it would be impossible to say, but at a very carly age young Pierre began to cast nativities, to read fortunes, practise clairvoyance, and talk to his com- panions of the “truths’’ of sorcery and magic. The schooling he received was very small, nor did he show much diligence in the various employments he took up as a young man. He soon began to make money secretly by reading the stars for those who believed in his powers—a number that increased astonishingly. Many years ago he moved to Nérac and took up his habitation in the ancient house, where to his other WORLD MAGAZINE. activities he added a practice as a quack doctor. In his strange parlour in the old house he would receive all sorts and conditions of men and women who came to ask his advice. His power was enormous, all the more so as, contrary to sorcerers of the old-fashioned type, he brought religion into his advice and operations. Scarcely a hamlet exists between the Garonne and the Tarn that did not know his name and what he could do. Soon his work and influence extended so greatly that | opened several “' ottices ’’ in various parts of the country, and travelled about between one and the other, so as to be close to his clients But the room at Nérac remained his headquarters, and as soon as it was known that he was in the town (and the news used to spread verv rapidly) his ante-room would be thronged with people coming to learn the future, to be cured of strange illnesses, of the influence - of the “ evil eye,”” of any ill that had fallen on them. The evil eye! Superstition in these parts of France is still very rife, and many a trouble that comes to the peasants is put down to the power of the evil eve or a spell that has been cast by an enemy. Simple love affairs were brought to the magician in scores. He was asked to bring back errant affections, to turn love into hate, and generally to correct the troubles of hundreds of rustic swains. All these things his clients found he could do—or else he worked up their uncultured imaginations to make them believe so. By every post he received stacks of letters from clients informing him of the progress of “cures ’’ or “spells,” and had to keep two or three assistants to aid him to decipher and reply to them when he thought it necessary. Pierre Faget was a clever reader of the human heart; and as he had studied the people he had to deal with and knew the history of almost every family in the country- side, it is not surprising that his success was phenomenal. He revelled in the depths of human stupidity and profited by it. Faget’s success was increased by the prudent advice he would often impart with a mystery that gave it the guise of sorcery. Though everyone in the three departments knew him, and his dark, Mephistophelean figure passing in the street would strike awe into every beholder, vet his operations were carried on with such stealth and secrecy that they rarely attracted the attention of the authorities. The clergy had begun to be afraid of his influence, but they found no valid cause to interfere with him, and their parishioners, when taxed with having been

Page 364

THE to see him, almost invariably told the priests that Faget encouraged them in their devo- tions and in obedience to the Church. The wizard'’s cue was not to raise difficulties for himself in that quarter, and the priests, though doubting, could only say that, after all, he did not seem to te SORCERER OF NERAC 357 course, cleverly stage-managed all this, and he had a remarkable way of making known his approaching arrival in any place. There was a famous lawsuit some years ago between two families of farming people in the Puymiral district who were distantly related and had quarrelled such a bad man ! So Faget, the wizard, continued, in this matter- of-fact twentieth century to ply his occult arts and play the rdle of father confessor, doctor, lawyer, and general adviser. In cases of illness and law- suits, the peasants from the surrounding moun- tainous districts often preferred to resort to him rather than to the legiti- mate practitioners. He had a remarkable collec- tion of panaceas for all sorts of ailments, the taking of which had to be accompanied by the re- cital of strange incanta- tions. These picturesque remedies are preferred by the country people to those of the doctors, and in the course of years Faget’s practice as a faith- healer and bonesetter be- came quite considerable. He was, indeed, a figure from the Middle Ages. Not only did he carefully encourage the superstition always latent in his clients, but he fostered the atmosphere of mystery that surrounded his own personality. He would disappear from Nérac for days together. Nobody would know whither he had gone, but the country people had not forgotten the legends of necromancers and sorcerers, their trysts with the Evil One, and the strange errands that called them away from home. Faget moved about mest mysteriously. Nobody knew where he was, but clients would wait patiently for his return, and the piles of letters would accumulate. The peasants were not familiar with the legend of Faustus -and his pact with the devil, but they imagined similar things concerning Faget. Reports went about that he had been seen in strange company on distant heaths or riding alone in the moun- tains. Others averred that they had seen him or his spirit standing at his own window, although he was known not to be in town. Then, suddenly, the news would spread from mouth to mouth all through the district : “ The magician has come back.” Faget, of The ancient fourteenth-century house in Nérac where Pierre Faget had his headquarters. over an inheritance—an estate left by an old peasant whose affairs were in confusion. The head of one of the families, named Marmande, after keeping up the quarrel for a long time, finally went to the lawyers about it. When Faget met him he up- braided him severely. “Why did you not come to me, pére Mar- mande ?”’ he demanded. ‘‘What do you want to go to stupid lawyers for?” Marmande, _ shrugging his shoulders, did his best to defend himself. “You will regret it, Jacques Marmande,”’ con- tinued the old = man, menacingly. “‘ You will be sorry.” The lawsuit continued its course, which was slow. Marmande saw no chance of winning, and his own affairs did not prosper, so he went to the magician. Faget had already been consulted by the opposite side—the Piat couple. “ T will have nothing to do with you now, Jacques Marmande,"’ he declared. ‘ Go and get out of your troubles the best way you can! You should have come to me long ago.” Marmande, however, begged and implored him to help him. Several times he returned. This was what Faget had been waiting for, and finally he consented to help the old farmer. Only a very few people knew that he was giving aid and advice to both sides, or that he kept the trouble going until the suit lasted for years, and became notorious in the countryside. In the end, as might have been expected, neither side gained anything to make the long quarrel worth while. There was a period when faith in the magician fell off. Whether it was the local clergy who had intervened, or some of the other interests he had been usurping, or whether it was that he had failed in some of his operations, is not known for certain, but word went round in the country that Faget was a false sorcerer and a wicked

Page 365

358 man, that he was not to be believed in, and should be punished like a witch. In a village near Agen, where he was seen walking, he w issed and hooted at by several women gossiping in the principal street, though some of them did it rather shamefacedly, egged on by the others. Aterrible retribution followed. The young baby of the woman who had started the hooting—as all the women declared—died that night. And there followed, for weeks after, an epidemic of infantile mortality that terrified the people and puzzled the authorities. Faget the sorcerer was blamed for it. Babies in widely-separated villages died suddenly in the night, from no cause that was apparent. There could be no doubt in the minds of the peasants that the wizard was having his revenge for the insult that had been offered him. One or two mothers whose babies had been taken ill went to the magician and asked him to remove the “ spell.” Faget knew they would come eventually, and his lips curled in a sarcastic smile.” “Was it the herbs he gave, the advice, or the incanta- tions he told’ these poor mothers to mutter over their babies ? No one could say, but in most cases the babies recovered. s When the epidemic among the children ceased the magician’s prestige went up again, and his cistom increased enormously. What greater proof could the peasants have of the wonderful power of the great wizard who lived among them ? During the war, which greatly increased superstition all over France, it may easily be imagined that Faget’s clients multiplied enormously, and his prestige became greater than ever. What woman would not do her best to preserve husband, son, brother, or sweetheart from the enemy's bullets’ if prayer or a little sorcery could help? There were some who believed in one, some in the other, and there were many who, to be on the safe side, mingled both. The “ futures ”’ Faget had to forecast during these years, and the comfort he had to give to women for small fees, rendered him one of the great “ profiteers '" from the-war, for it was a compzratively easy matter, in most cases, to assure a woman that her man would come back, and that he (Faget) would do his best to protect him by incantations and super- natural methods. If his prophecy proved untrue, and the man did not come back, the woman was a mourner, and a disillusioned mourner—that was all. Faget was not asked to ex; lain, or, if asked, his explanation was as casy as his first prognostication had been. This interesting Gascony—a little-known part of France—contains much wild, loncly country, mountainous or covered with wind- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, swept heaths. The little towns and hamlets, often widely separated, are very dull, and the scattered farms, situated amidst ‘sweeping pasture-lands or amidst rocky hills, are often several hours’ drive from one another. In these farmhouses, in big roomy kitchens or barns, the families and farm-hands sit on winter nights listening to the pattering rain or howling wind. A little to the south is Spain, the land of romance, whence gipsies wander up here, bringing strange tales and customs. Is it any wonder that weird legends and superstitions find a fruitful soil in the minds of the inhabitants of these isolated communities ? For a long time the police and local authorities had had their eyes on the furtive doings of Pierre Faget. Powerful as he was, the old man was careful, however, to avoid getting into the clutches of the law, nor did he,-as a rule, give his clients advice likely to get them into trouble. He had amassed a fortune, it was said, by his practice of sorcery and his knowledge of occult mysteries and human nature, but as long as he committed no actual crime he could not be touched. The law knew, too, that if one magician was suppressed, the country people would very soon find another who might be more mischievous, for there have always been sorcerers and witches among these unsophisticated people. Faget only dealt with the country people or the simplest of the townsfolk ; he mixed with no other society. The fatal error in Pierre Faget’s career as a twentieth-century sorcerer came when he gave advice to Soucaret, the farmer. Soucaret was well known in all the moun- tainous region that surrounds Nérac as being very wealthy, but no easy character to get on with, Everything had thrived with him, and since he had married his daughter to his neighbour Delias, who lived with them and was his chief assistant, their two farms being in a way amalgamated, he could look for- ward to an old age of ease and comfort and plenty. Delias was a different type of man from his father-in-law. Of easy-going character, though of strong physique, he was well known and greatly liked in all the country- side. His wife, Soucaret’s daughter, was like her father, a hard, clo. :-fisted nature, keen on gain above all things, and keeping a sharp eve on the labourcrs and_ their comings and goings. Since the death of her mother, when she was little more than a girl, she had been the mistress of her father’s establishment, and little escaped her lynx eve, while her sharp tongue had its com- ments for every incident and episode that displeased her. She was more feared on the farm than either of the two men.

Page 366

‘THE SORCERER OF NERAC. 359 “*I will have nothing to do with you, Jacques Marmande,’ he declared.” Old Soucaret had often complained to the young woman that her husband was an idle, good-for-nothing who much preferred gadding about and visiting the inns to working, and relations between the two men were not always of the best. By con- stantly insisting upon Delias’s weakness, Soucaret had at last got his daughter to share his vjews with regard to her husband. Suddenly a series of disasters fell upon Soucaret and his family. A diseas.—the dreaded foot-and-mouth disease—broke out among the cattle, and there was heavy mortality. Soucaret’s losses were consider- able. To add to these troubles, several unaccountable accidents had also taken place. First a valuable heifer had fallen and broken its legs and had to be killed. Other mishaps of a like nature had occurred, and the old farmer was at his wits’ ends, so extraordinary did all these events seem in their causes and their regular sequence. Soucaret shook his head sadly. ‘‘ There's a curse on this house lately,"’ he told his daughter. ‘“ Everything goes wrong with us. ““We must do something,” said Mme. Delias. “What can we do if it’s our fate ? ” asked the old man. But that was not the view held by the energetic Marie Delias, who began to watch the acts and movements of the farm-hands with even keener attention, worrying and harrying them until they became exas- perated. That was in the spring of 1921. Ina few weeks Soucaret lost many thousands of francs through disease and accidents among his cattle and sheep. At times he blamed his son-in-law for not exercising sufficient supervision, and heated scenes took place between the two men. Presently the great drought of that year came to make matters worse, not only causing the animals more suffering, but doing great damage to crops and fruit trees. With the pessimism born of his gloomy character, Soucaret went about saying he would be ruined. One day the old farmer met Faget, the magician, as he was walking near Nérac.

Page 367

360 He knew that bowed figure with the sharp nose and slouched hat, though he had not seen him for years. Old Soucaret started at the apparition, as if it answered to some as yet unavowed idea that had been running in his mind. He thought to himsclf at once that he would consult Faget, for he knew he had great powers and could turn natural events from their courses. Soucaret, like his neigh- bours, had a good deal of superstition in his composition ; but on the other hand he grudged giving the money which a consulta- tion with the magician would cost him. Faget knew that he was rich, and would » charge accordingly. Soucaret touched his hat as Faget approached. “ Good day, Monsieur Faget.”” “Ah! good day, Pére Soucaret. How goes it?" | The farmer shook his head. “ Badly, Monsieur Faget, badly.”’ “ T know,” said the magician. ‘* You have had accidents and discase with the cattle. Things have not gone very well lately. The crops, too, have not been satisfactory 3s “You know all that ?’’ said the farmer. “ How do you know that ?” “Of course I know it. I am not a pro- fessor of the occult arts for nothing, Pére Soucaret.”” “Come and join me in a bottle of wine, Monsieur Faget.” It was a Sunday afternoon, and dancing was going on in a village tavern close by, to the strains of a gramophone. But the wizard shook his head and excused himself, saving he was awaited at home. *““Come and see me, Soucaret,”” he said as he turned away. ‘I may be able to help you to find out what the trouble is.” During the days that followed these words continued to echo in the old man’s mind, though he hesitated at first to accept the invitation. He did not tell his daughter nor his son-in-law anything of the matter, nor of his meeting with the sorcerer. At last he started out one day for the old house at Nérac, muttering to himself as he went :— “T must find out the cause of all this trouble. I cannot be ruined. I must find out.” Faget, the old fox, was only too pleased to receive this visit from the wealthy, impor- tant farmer—all the more so as he knew Delias, the son-in-law, who had incurred the magician’s enmity by openly scofting at him. Delias did not believe in the sorcerer, and did not hesitate to say so. “ Things going any better, neighbour ? ” the magician asked, when he saw who his visitor was. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Soucaret related his troubles, though hesitatingly, and with the mistrust natural to the peasant. “You do well to come to me, farmer,” said Faget. ‘‘ Do you not see that all this is not natural ? You are wiser than to jeer at what you do not understand, and there are things in our lives, as a man like you must know, that can only be explained by supernatural influences. I read your horoscope after | met you the other day, and 1 could tell you things that would astonish you. “In the first place, you have an enemy who is wishing thjs evil to your animals. Such things as you tell me can only be the effect of the evil eye. ‘It is not the first time you have heard of the evil eye?’ continued the old man. “There are some in the country who say such things are not possible, and do not exist. They don't wish to believe—or they don’t wish others to believe. Your son-in- law Delias is one of them. If there were not such a thing as the evil eye, neighbour, how do you account for some of the things that happen to people? Farmer Mercier was a victim of the evil eve when, eighteen months ago, as you remember, he was struck down by apoplexy in his own field.” “Ts that so?’ Soucaret was becoming more and more impressed and fearful. “Ave, that he was—a healthy man whom nothing ailed, and who died suddenly before anybody could come to him, [ could tell you terrible things about the evil eve, neighbour. A man does not always wish to have the evil eye, but he has it, and what he casts his gaze on withers and_ perishes, and there is nothing for it but to get rid of the man, That's it, farmer; you must kill him—there’s nothing else. There's no spell that will destroy the evil ev In my experience I have seen awful things happen through it, but I cannot tell everything 1 know.” “And vou think I am suffering from it ? ” whispered the terrified farmer. Farmer Mercier, to whom the wizard had referred, was an old crony of Soucaret’s own age, and his sudden death had greatly shaken and impressed the old man at the time. “You have an enemy who wishes you no good, Soucaret. We must find out who it is.”” The farmer shook his head, greatly marvel- ling. He did not doubt there were those who, from envy or some other reason, wished him harm, but his mind was very vague on the matter. He had never been accustomed to the clear thinking required to face such a problem. All he understood was the care of animals and the managing of a farm; these subtle thoughts quite upset him. The magician allowed this first idea to

Page 368

‘HE SORCERER OF NERAC,. 361 “Such things as you tell me can only be the effect of the evil eye.”

Page 369

362 sink deep into the old man’s mind. He saw he was impressed, and he told him to come back and see him again in a day or two, when he would know more about the matter. Soucaret went home considerably perturbed. He told no one, not even his daughter, but pondered deeply. The evil eye was a phenomenon of which the peasants talked without pretending to know anything about it; it was one of the common superstitions of the country which, however, rarely touched one closely. Men and women had, maybe, heard of it; they even pretended to have seen its effects, but none ever ventured to describe its operations or the phenomena surrounding it. Now that he found it concerned him so closely, how- ever, Soucaret was considerably upset. When, on the second morning after his visit to the magician, one of the labourers came and told him that a young bull had turned savage and caused a panic among a number of sheep, one of which had been trampled on and killed, while another would need to be slaughtered on account of the injuries it had received, he became very angry, and said he would have his revenge on whoever was doing him all this harm. “ There’s an evil eye working on us,”’ he said to his daughter; “ nothing else could account for our misfortunes.”’ “I have thought so for some time past,” said Mme. Delias, to the old man’s surprise. This unexpected confirmation of the idea that had been put into his mind made the farmer's brain still more active, though neither he nor his daughter was prepared to discuss what the evil eye might be. The next day he returned to the magician. This time Faget did not bea‘ about the bush, “The man who is exercising the evil eye on you,” said Faget, “is your son-in-law Delias, and you will have no peace until you get rid of him.” “I thought it must be someone about the place,” said the farmer, slowly, ‘‘ and I have been wondering which of the men it could be, but I did not suspect my son-in-law. How do you know this ? ” “I know it by my art,” replied the sorcerer. ‘‘ Do you suppose I have studied all these years without being able to find out a simple thing like this? But you can confirm it yourself. Watch Delias and find out how he acts a . “ But as he has married my daughter he also has much to lose by the loss of the animals.” ‘‘ That is of little consequence to a wicked man who wishes harm to others. Is he diligent, and does he look after your inter- ests ? ’ continued the magician with a sneer. “Is he attentive to his wife? Does he THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, spend any the less money on the tavern since these misfortunes happened to you? Watch him, Soucaret! Tell his wife to watch him in his sleep. Speak to him about the evil eye, and see what he does and says. He will scoff and rail, but his own eye will become red and glowing like a dull fire. “ The evil eye is a terrible thing, neigh- bour, and must be stamped out. People who have it are not fit to associate with honest folk. And you can believe that what I tell you is true. I have tried the matter by the test known to us professors of magic. I have tried it in many ways, and there is no doubt it is Delias. I know the man and his character. Shall I tell you something, neighbour ?”” He lowered his voice again and looked round, though the pair were alone in his own room, ‘' He was heard bragging about it when in drink at the tavern the other night.” Soucaret asked, pathetically, what he was to do. “‘ That is not for me to tell you, my friend,” returned Faget. ‘I have only to point out to you where the trouble lies. You must rid yourself of this man in one way or another before your troubles will end.” The farmer went home that night a prey to the wildest superstitious terror. He feared to tell his daughter the outcome of his inquiries, though, since they were agreed as to Delias’s laziness and shifty ways, he believed she would sympathize with him. There had teen scenes between husband and wife of late. . Farmer Soucaret did not sleep that night. The more he thought the matter over, the stronger grew his hatred for his son-in-law. The next day, when his daughter and Delias were present, Soucaret could hold his tongue no longer. They were, for the hundredth time, discussing the troubles on the farm, and the farmer, thumping the table and uttering a great oath, exclaimed: “It is the evil eye! I swear it’s the evil eye working!” His daughter acquiesced, but Delias burst into loud laughter. “‘ Who has put these foolish ideas into your heads ? ” he jeered, though he knew that the farm labourers had already timidly whis- pered the same thoughts. “Mind what you say, mon ami,” cried the old man, but Delias only answered with a coarse laugh. “ Fools always laugh at what they do not understand,” cried his wife, angrily. “You shut up!” shouted Delias; “ you are only a woman, and know nothing. If the old man has gone soft in the head we shall have to shut him up.” Delias was not particular as to what he said when he was opposed or enraged, and this

Page 370

THE SORCERER OF NERAC. . persistence in an idea that revolted him made him furious. “Instead of laughing at our misfortunes,” said Marie Delias, “‘ you would do better to go and find a remedy. If you think you are so clever, go and hear what Pierre Faget, the magician, has to say about it.” Both men started, but Delias looked at his wife in a fury, and his brow clouded menacingly. “What ! you would have me go and ask for the interference of a low charlatan who lives on the superstitions of the peasants and old women?” he cried. ‘‘ Pierre Faget ought to be stoned to death—and he will be yet. Let me catch you going to that rascal and I'll thrash you soundly! As for the old fool there, he has not much longer to live, so let him be!” And with a mocking laugh, Delias strode out of the room. Soucaret was moaning to himself, and his daughter remained as if stunned by this sudden exhibition of passion. The old man took this scene as full confirmation of all that Faget had told him. The pair sat looking at each other for a moment, as if fearful of betraying their thoughts. “Go and see Faget,” the old man said. “I daren’t—I daren’t !” she murmured. “ T have seen him,” the old man burst out at last. “You have?” “He’s told me things,” he continued, “things you don't know of—things you would hardly believe.” “ Faget is a very wise man,”’ she said. “ It’s the evil eye right enough, daughter.” “I told you so,” cried Marie Delias. “ And it’s his /”’ continued the old man, indicating with his thumb the man who had just gone out. , “ That’s a lie,” said the woman. ‘‘ I don’t believe it. He isn’t as bad as all that.” “It isn’t badness,” said Soucaret. ‘The sorcerer says it’s an affliction.” And for an hour he went over the tale of their mis- fortunes, repeating all that Faget had told him, and so working upon his daughter’s superstitious mind, as the magician had worked on his, that the woman, half para- lyzed with fear and no longer knowing what to believe, began whimpering. “Go back to the wizard, father,” she said at last. ‘‘ Perhaps he has made a mistake ; perhaps he can save us from it.” The farmer shook his head, but he went back, as his daughter bade him, and the Magician received him with an angry sneer. “TI have told you, Soucaret,” he snarled, “that your misfortunes are all due to this man. You have heard how a whole family can be ruined and misfortunes and illness fall upon them, all through the evil eye of | 363 one person. That is what will happen to you. Ihave read your fortune, pére Soucaret, and I tell you terrible things will happen to you if you do not get rid of this man.” That night, when he got home, Soucaret called his daughter and one or two of the farm hands together—those whom he thought he could trust. There was a man called Laverny, who was known for his brutal nature, and a woman named Mélanie Gers. It was a strange scene as this group of ignorant peasants sat round the table listening to what the farmer had to tell them concerning the troubles that had befallen him and his family. It was a gloomy evening in November, and the rain beat drearily on the window-panes and splashed into puddles in the yard. The farmer told them of his visits to Faget, and the labourers’ glances grew first curious and then frightened as they heard of the havoc wrought by the evil eye, and that the man who possessed it was Delias. They were all convinced of the supernatural power of the magician, whose name was of strange portent all over the country, and the simple creatures nodded their heads approvingly as Soucaret went on :— “‘ What Faget says must be true. He can read the stars, and he has wonderful know- ledge that none of us have.” “ Aye, I never liked Delias,” said Laverny. ‘Perhaps he does not know he has got the evil eye,”’ said another of the men. “I have heard of such cases.” “We shall never have any peace or prosperity as long as he is here,’’ moaned the old man. ‘‘ He must be done away with. What are we to do?” A sudden chill fell upon the little assembly. Madame Delias, no longer doubting her husband's guilt, and with all the French country-woman’s almost fanatical attach- ment to her property, stared in front of her coldly. ‘* What my father says is true,” she said. “‘ We first suspected one of you, but we have found out the truth. Faget is a very wise man.” The others looked at each other sus- Piciously, timorously, wondering which one of them could have been suspected of this enormity. F ‘‘ What are we to do?” moaned the old man again, and as nobody replied, he went on in a whisper, “ It can be done accident- ally. Nobody need know. We cannot go on having ruin and disaster in the place like this.” “Something must be done,” repeated Madame Delias, aad then Laverny—the big, hulking Laverny—got up and, lurching heavily over to his master, whispered in his ear :—

Page 371

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Laverny got up and, lurching over to his master, whispered in his ear.”

Page 372

‘ T'll see to it, patron. You won’t go back on me?” The next day—it was the 25th of Novem- ber—the family were taking the evening meal together—Soucaret, Delias and his wife, and Laverny was invited. The minds of three of the party were terribly pre- occupied. Conversation turned on some work that was being carried out in a huge * wine-cellar some way from the house. Delias announced that he would go and inspect it. Soucaret said he and Laverny would accompany him, and together they would look into the work. “Go on, you two,” said the farmer, when supper was finished. ‘I will join you in a few minutes.” This arrangement suited Delias perfectly, and he and Laverny departed together. A quarter of an hour later Laverny came back to his master, his swarthy face white and haggard. “ I’ve done it, patron,” he said. care not to look at his eyes.” “ IT took A few days later the disappearance of Delias from the farm and from his accustomed haunts began to excite comment in the neighbourhood. Those of the family who were questioned said that he had gone on a journey. It seemed strange that the friendly Delias had not mentioned this journey to any of his companions, but gossip was quieted for some days. It broke out again, however, when nearly a fortnight passed, and no news was forthcoming of the missing man. Then Madame Delias—forced to it by what was being said—went to the local police and informed them that her husband had disappeared. On being closely questioned, she said that he had gone on a journey but had not come “back, and had not sent news of himself. It was her muddled description of the supposed journey that first aroused the suspicions of the police. ad For nearly two months the local authorities continued their investigations. Every possi- ble haunt of the missing man was visited, the farm was thoroughly searched, and the hue and cry was carried far and wide by the corps of ‘‘ mobile police.” Crops of superstition again blossomed and grew rank. The story of the evil eye began THE SORCERER OF NERAC. 365 to be whispered in the neighbourhood. Delias had been spirited away by evil demons, said the most ignorant of the peasants. He was nowhere to be found, and there could be no other explanation of his mysterious disappearance. But the authorities thought differently. Laverny and old Soucaret avoided the police and parried their questions clumsily. The police began to investigate the story of the evil eye, floundering deeper and deeper into a well of mystery. But there was no mystery in the gossip they culled as to the hatred that had existed between Delias and his father-in-law and their constant quarrels. At last the woman Mélanie Gers broke down under the constant questioning, and told the police to search the River Baise, under the bridge of Recaillau. Here the body of poor Delias, brutally done to death, was found tied in a sack that had contained phosphate. Mélanie Gers, Soucaret, and Laverny were arrested, and the terrible story of the fatal night in November was brought to light—how, after Delias had been killed in the cellar, the two men had put the body into the sack and taken it that night in a cart to the bridge. Here, while Gers held the horse, they had thrown it over into the mountain river. At last the three made a full confession. “It was Faget’s fault,” sobbed the old farmer. ‘ He told me I must kill him—he told me that his evil eye was killing the cattle and ruining the crops. It was all Faget’s fault. We killed him because he had the evil eye. Faget the magician said so, and he knows.” They could not shake the old man from this story, and at last the woman Delias herself confessed to the motive for the crime. She, too, was arrested, and at long last the old magician’s career has come to an end by his lodgment in the jail of the dis- trict where he caused so much trouble and terror. At the moment of writing these five people are awaiting trial. The wizard’s den—that strange fourteenth-century room at Nérac— has been ransacked and turned upside down, the stacks of letters the magician received have been read by unbelieving eyes, and Gascon superstition has received a most staggering blow. -

Page 373

settlement and trading station situated at the southern extremity of Lake Nyassa. It is famed for its mission- aries, its mosquitoes, and its crocodiles; also —I say it with an airman’s modesty—for the fact that during a certain period of its history it was the headquarters of a most distinguished “ flight ’’ of a most distin- guished squadron of the Royal Flying Corps —needless to say, our own. Our flight consisted of one aeroplane, one Flight Commander, myself, and Bill. I put Bill last because he was the most important item in the list, and because he is easily the most important actor in this yarn of mine, which concerns a fire, a crocodile hunt, and the Kaiser’s elephant gun. I have already introduced Bill to the long- suffering reader of my articles in THE WIDE Wortp; I will not repeat my libellous sketch of his character, therefore, but hasten to describe the Kaiser’s elephant gun. According to Bill, this famous weapon had been presented to him by a grateful German prisoner during the campaign in German Sou’-West Africa. Why any German should find gratitude in his heart for Bill I cannot say, for my friend had theories about Huns which were scarcely amicable. Nevertheless, - that’s how the story went, and a greater Fe JOHNSTONE is a small British interest was added to it by the German’s alleged statement that the gun once belonged to His All-Highest the Kaiser, and that the same super-monarch once shot a boar with it in the Black Forest, and got a right and left at a covey of partridges immediately after. Here it is necessary for me to explain that the gun had three barrels, two for ordinary shot, and one underneath, designed to take a high-powered rifle bullet’ It was, in fact, a splendid example of Teutonic in- ventive genius and constructive skill. With such a weapon, suitably loaded, one might kill an elephant, a lion, and a snipe in three successive shots, using ball in the cylinder barrel for the lion. It was only natural that this gun should make a strong appeal to Bill, who, like myself, was an enthusiastic if somewhat unsuccessful hunter of big game. The one drawback so far had been that he had no ammunition for it. The “rifle” took a cartridge that no respectable British sporting outfitter had even heard of, and the chambers of the shot-gun barrels, while, Pe Fe ad ee ee

Page 374

| Leo Walmsley M.C,FRG.S. and the Kaiser's elephant gun. The whole were crammed with sufficient excitement to a lifetime. nominally, twelve-bore, were of a special ‘design that precluded the use of ordinary ammunition. It was not until Bill arrived at Fort Johnstone that he was able to put his weapon to the test. He met there a political officer whose duty it had been to “take over” a German mission up-country. He had re- turned with a very large arsenal, among which was a sufficient number of rounds of ammunition to keep all three barrels of the Kaiser’s gun red-hot for weeks. Bill simply helped himself ; but even then he was not happy. Big game is not abundant near Fort Johnstone, and all efforts to secure from the Flight Commander a few days’ hunting leave miserably failed. Bill was officially informed that there was a war on, and that Huns must come before elephants. One day, however, the aeroplane was out of commission, and we were given leave till sundown. Beggars cannot choose, so we decided that the best way to spend it was to carry out a crocodile hunt, or as Bill aptly put it, ‘shooting crocs for the fun.’’ One could ILLUSTRATED BY WA. HOLLOWAY not, of course, shoot them “‘ for the sport,” as they are such ridiculously easy game. “* Just for the fun,” therefore, we set off on our expedition ; but as the “crocs ” are more lively in the evening, we settled that we would first explore the bush eastwards of the Shiré River and bag a few quail and perhaps a buck. In view of what happened I had better explain that it was then the height of the “dry” season, and that over the whole countryside there hung the brown haze that comes of bush fires. We were warned by the natives to beware of entering any wide, unburnt patch of grass before ascertaining that there was no fire busy in the vicinity, but as our experience was great, and our intelligence unlimited, we did not give the matter a second thought ; not’even when, about midday, we put up a buck, which, before we had time to get a shot, made for a patch of bush and rank elephant grass as thick and inflammable as a haystack. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread. We were the fools. We -forced our way through the jungle for nearly half an hour, when we came to a comparatively clear “island ’ under the shade of a clump of acacias. “ Phew!" said Bill, mopping his dewy brow. ‘“‘ Let’s sit!”

Page 375

could have reached out and touched them. 368 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, We sat. Five minutes later we rose— dynamically. A sudden breeze had sprung up, and it brought with it the unmistakable smell of burning, followed immediately by the even more unmistakable sound of crackling twigs. We were alarmed—considerably—and with- out delay we set off in the opposite direction. We had not gone a hundred yards, however, before the wind changed from south to north, and made us uncomfortably aware that the bush in the latter quarter also was on fire. ‘ Let’s get back to the trees | ’’ I suggested. For once Bill did not argue. As soon as we regained our resting place, I climbed the tallest acacia and took stock of the situation. As far as eye could see, to every point of the compass the jungle was a welter of flame ! The wind was no true wind, but was caused by the fire itself, and it veered from minute to minute. My heart went cold as I realized what a frightful predicament we were in. I saw no possibility of escape from that devastating wall of fire. Already the air was charged with the smoke and reek of it; to the north it was roaring not a hundred yards away. At my cry of alarm Bill climbed up the tree in turn. ‘Good heavens!’ he cried. ‘‘ We're for it! Get down—quick!” I followed him down. “Come on!” he bawled. ‘‘ Burn the bush—make a clearing!” He suited his action to the word, taking a box of matches from his pocket and setting light to the grass at the northern edge of the comparatively clear space which had its centre under the trees. I quickly grasped his plan. By making a margin of burnt jungle round the space, we should be mini- mizing considerably the momentum of the fire ‘‘ wave.” which, when it gets a good grip on a continuous stretch of jungle, simply explodes, creating a white-hot, leaping whirl that will scorch the top of the highest tree. I helped him, therefore, and in one minute the smoke and heat from our own fires were so terrible that we had to strip off our shirts, wrap them round our mouths, and then lie close to the ground. It was then that a wonderful thing hap- pened. From the burning fringe of the northern side of the space there burst out two big jackals. Their fur was all singed and smoking, and their eyes were bulging with terror. Quite oblivious to our presence, they made for the tree trunks, against which they rubbed themselves vigorously, striving to scrub off the still burning fur. Then they flung themselves on the ground, for all the world like a pair of tired setters, their tongues lolling piteously, and so close to us that we It seems to me now that this was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, seeing these two shy animals so absolutely heedless of our close proximity; yet at the time it caused us very little astonishment. Although our own fires had pretty well burnt out, and the area of safety consequently increased, we were well-nigh suffocated with the smoke, .and we knew by the roar and the fierce gusts of wind that the main waves of fire were very near at hand. In one place we saw a mass of flame leaping twenty feet or more into the air. Had it happened within another twenty yards of us we should have been scorched to death with the sheer heat of it; and it was with a shock that I suddenly noticed that there still remained to the east of the space a thick patch of elephant grass, which, with the wind and the force of the flame-wave behind it, might well produce a similar ‘* explosion.” I got up and staggered towards it, with the intention of setting it on fire, but Bill forestalled me. He came back absolutely exhausted, and fell to the ground in a paroxysm of coughing. I rolled him over and discovered that a large patch of his trouser’s leg was smouldering. Lucky for him he was wearing underpants, and I ex- tinguished the fire before it reached his flesh. But his unselfish act undoubtedly saved our lives; for I know that I was too ex- hausted myself to have set that grass on fire and get back again; and 1 know that had it not been burnt the unchecked fury of the wave would have certainly sent a mass of flame right across the space. As it was, the wave simply burnt itself out in the ashes, as it did on every other side, and although we suffered agonies with the smoke, and the heat was so intense that the topmost leaves of the acacias were shrivelled, we suffered no more hurt. It was an hour, however, before we dared get up from the ground and look around us. The jackals had gone. Climbing the tree, we saw that the whole veld was black; not a solitary patch of green being visible except at the swampy banks of the distant Shiré River. ** Let’s get to the river,” said Bill, hoarsely. “ I feel I could drink a lake!" I agreed ; but we had to wait another hour before the ground and the ashes of the bush were cool enough to permit us to proceed. Even then the walk was painful enough, for we were almost blinded with the fine alkaline dust that rose in clouds from our feet, and which settled in a greasy black film on our perspiring bodies. Seeing that we were both seasoned cam- paigners, it may be imagined that when we

Page 376

nORwFE S24 em Be. y y OUR CROCODILE HUNT. “*Bill! It’s alive!’ I cried.”

Page 377

37° finally reached the river we built a fire, boiled some water and waited until it cooled before we quenched our thirst. I’ve no doubt that, according to all authorities, such was the correct procedure, but it certainly wasn’t ours. We simply knelt down among the rushes, thrust our heads into the water and drank like oxen, long and voluminously. Then, oblivious to the mosquitoes, croco- diles, grass snakes, and everything else, we lay down and slept. I awoke with a great longing for home in my heart. I was hungry, thirsty, hot, tired, stiff, and generally in that condition which shneks for a bath, clean clothes, an easy- chair, iced beer, and a good audience to listen to one’s harrowing tale of adventure. Bill, however, would not hear of going back to camp. “We don’t get a chance like this every day,” he said. ‘3 I felt thankful that we didn’t. “T'll admit there's not much sport in shooting crocs,” he continued, “ but I simply must give this gun of mine a trial. Come on; let’s push on up the river. Something’s bound to turn up!” I think if Bill had known then what was to turn up, he’d have thought better of his proposition. As it was, I was aware that he had recently been instrumental in saving my life, and I did not argue. We pushed on therefore for a couple of miles or so, keeping a good look-out for crocs, hippopotamuses, and other animals of an ultra-sporting nature. We saw nothing, however. disappointed. I suggested that he might at any rate try his gun at an ant-heap. I fixed up a target for him, and then, loading the rifle barrel, he fired. The report was terrific, and the shock of discharge sufficient to put my friend’s shoulder nearly out of joint. This, however, seemed to please him more - than the fact that he’d nearly hit the target. “By Jove!” he cried. ‘It kicks like a howitzer. Just the thing for clephant ! Come and have a shot!” I declined. He fired a few more rounds, and then, satisfied with his marksmanship, and displaying a new-born enthusiasm which I did not share, he suggested that we should carry on the hunt. We went on for another mile, maybe, when the papyrus jungle that flanked the river became so thick that the water was entirely hidden. For the hundredth time I suggested turning back. But Bill would not hear of it. He still valiantly stuck to his theory that if we went far enough we were bound to find something. It is a fine principle, and I commend it as a motto to any hunter, whether he seeks big game or little. Bill was very THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It produced for us, a few minutes later, not a crocodile, but, at any rate, the means to find one. Drawn up near the bank, at the end of a small channel cut through the papyrus to the river, was a native canoe. It measured roughly twenty feet in length, and had evidently been hewn or burnt out of a single trunk of mahogany. I suppose its owner had left it there for the night, for although we shouted, and waited a consider- able time, no one came. ““Come on,” said Bill, “ let’s take it our- selves. You can paddle, can’t you?” I am familiar with the handling of boats, and I had sufficient confidence in myself to answer in the affirmative. Bill got in, there- fore, and crouched down in the bows (there were no seats, of course), and then I pushed the craft out into the channel and jumped in myself. At first she seemed to be a well- mannered little craft. That, however, was because the water in the channel was shallow, and the mud gave her bottom a certain amount of support. Clear of that, she. began to roll in a most nerve-racking manner with each stroke of the paddle, and threatened to capsize. ‘* Go easy, you fool ! ’ shouted Bill, as the starboard gunwale dipped to the water’s edge. ‘‘ Thought you knew how to paddle ? ” I was too busy striving to keep the port side from submerging to reply. The canoe was as delicately balanced as an aeroplane. Try as I might I could not get her to travel on a level keel. At the end of the channel I hove to. “It’s no good, Bill—she’s not safe,”’ I said. “Qh, all right,”” he answered, scornfully, “if you’ve got cold feet Hg I hadn't got cold feet, and to demonstrate the unfairness of his uncalled-for remark, I gave a mighty thrust with the paddle that sent the canoe clear out into the river, but with a list to port that made Bill gasp. “Up or down ? I demanded then. ‘‘ Can you swim ?”” “‘There’s no need to play the fool,” he retorted, angrily; and then, in more even tones, he added : “ Up, I think—don’t you ?” I replied that all directions were the same to me, as I was merely the boatman. The river at this point was about forty feet wide, and was hemmed in on both sides with a high wall of papyrus. It was an evil- looking place. There was no current, and the water was dirty and covered with an oily scum, which smelt vilely. Clouds of mosquitoes hung in the air, but they did not trouble us so much as the hippo-flies, enormous blue-bottle-like insects which, being provided by generous Nature with a boring apparatus that will puncture the hide of a hippopota- mus, find the human skin an easy proposition. My heart was not in the business. but,

Page 378

piqued by Bill's insult, I paddled on, until we saw at last a cul-de-sac where the river was choked with vegetation from bank to bank. I ceased to paddle; and it was just then that a small flight of geese wheeled overhead. Bill, whose mind had been concen- trated only on crocs, suddenly remembered the versatile nature of the Kaiser’s gun, and cursing that he had not done so before, loaded the two shot-barrels. There were now three cartridges in the gun. He had no sooner done so than, on a small mud island in the middle of the river and some twenty feet away from the “ bar- rier” of papyrus, we saw a very large crocodile, apparently asleep. “ Sssh!”? whis- pered Bill. ““ My, isn’titabeauty?”’ Frankly, the beast made no appeal to my wsthetic sense whatever, and another that suddenly poked his snout out of the water not ten yards away from the boat made less. My feet were cold. I had @ great longing for home. I yearned for the feel of dry earth beneath my feet again. Crocodile shooting, I told myself, was the rottenest sport imaginable. “ Shall I go nearer ? ’ I managed to whisper in a fairly steady voice. “Shut up!” was Bill’s reply. ‘‘ D’ye want to frighten him?’ Now I wouldn’t have done anything to disturb that croco- dile’s peace of mind for the world ; so far as I was concerned he might have gone on sleeping for ever. I only wished the other one was in the same condition, and that Bill had the same longing for the quiet life as I had. “ Shove the bow round a little,” he whis- pered. ‘‘ Whoa !—steady!” He was kneeling on the bottom, with his left elbow resting on the gumwale, and the One of the natives who rescued the two airmen. OUR CROCODILE HUNT. — 371 gun raised to his shoulder. The canoe, however, was still rolling a little. He waited. He seemed quite cool, quite confident. He told me later that he was aiming at the brute’s eyes when he fired. There can be no doubt that, like a good rifleman, he had his own eyes on the mark. Per- haps, if he hadn’t, he might have noticed that his finger was bent too far into the trigger guard— that, in fact, it was resting on three triggers in- stead of one. Anyway, whether he pressed three triggers or not, three barrels went off simul- taneously, and as any one of them was sufficient to give a fairly mighty kick the combined effect may be imagined. It seemed to me that we had struck a floating mine, and that Bill, the gun, the boat, and me were all being blown to pieces. But one’s im- pressions of a catastrophe such as that are apt to be a trifle mixed. I remember well, however, that when I tose to the surface, Bill was gripping me by the shoulder, and shouting and splashing for all he was worth. ‘“‘“Make a noise—splash—splash!” he spluttered. I did my best. “ The island—swim—— “ The croc. ?” T gasped. “ Dead!” shouted Bill. I felt that it ought to be dead, at any rate. We struck out for the island, therefore, shouting and splashing as loudly as we could. Bill landed first, and he helped me through the sticky, smelly mud on to “ dry land.” I sank down exhausted, but got up quickly when I found that my head was resting against one of the crocodile’s feet. “It’s all right—dead—quite dead,” Bill reassured me. ‘‘ The whole blessed gun went off—nearly broke my shoulder. Shout,

Page 379

372 for goodness’ sake—bound to be natives somewhere round here.” We were far too exhausted, however, to make much noise. Our only hope at present was that the roar of the explosion had attracted someone. The “island’’ measured about twelve feet across. Most of it was occupied by the dead crocodile, the tail of which fell away into the water. Awful though our position was, I wouldn’t have exchanged the island for that wretched canoe and a thousand pounds. “We're in a nice hole, aren’t we ?”’ said Bill after a while. “ It'll be dark in another hour.” I don’t suppose he was feeling very cheerful, but I do think that was a pretty tactless remark. The thought of having to spend the night in that ghastly spot brought such a fear to my heart that I positively screamed : “ Help—help—help ! — Bill !—Shout, for Heaven's sake!’ Bill, who had been in Australia, suddenly remembered that he could coo-ee. His first attempt was like the howl of a stage ghost, but with a little practice he struck the right pitch and made the welkin echo. I stopped, to reserve my voice, and at that very mo- ment I saw the crocodile move. “ Bill !—it’s alive |” I cried. Bill looked. The brute was slowly sliding back into the water | We fairly leapt to the other side of the island, both of us too terrified to speak. Slowly, slowly it went ; yet its eyes showed no sign of life—only its tail showed that. It was wriggling in a most peculiar way. Then we discovered the reason. The crocodile was dead, but it was being dragged into the water by several others, the shape of whose bodies we could now dimly distinguish. Bill found his voice again. “Good heavens! how awful!” he mut- tered. He went on with his coo-eeing, while I, fascinated, watched the gruesome process. But the thought that, after the cannabilistic Tepast was finished, the voracious brutes might then extend their menu set my vocal cords in operation once more. We howled THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, together again, pausing only to get our breath. For nearly half an hour we kept it up. By that time the sun had sunk and the swift tropical twilight was upon us. “ Look here ! ” said Bill, “‘ there’s nothing for it but to swim and try to get through the reeds. I'll push off. I'll get a boat.” It's jolly decent of you,” said I. “ But, of course, I couldn’t think of it. Let’s draw lots.”” Bill shook his head, and then eyed the opposite bank. The reeds were so tall and dense that to get through them, even if one safely negotiated the crocodile-infested water, seemed utterly impossible. “It’s no good,” I said. stand——”” I never finished the sentence, for Bill suddenly seized my arm. “Look, look!’ he shouted. ‘A boat coming!” We shouted, but there was no need. The boat—a large canoe, containing three natives, one of them in semi-European dress—was already within speaking distance. “‘ Allee right, masters! We come very quick!” cried one of them. A minute later the nose of the craft grounded on the soft mud, at the very spot where Bill’s crocodile had finally disappeared. We embarked very gingerly, but the canoe was a much more stable craft than the one that had led to our undoing. They landed us safely at a village some way down the river, from which, it seemed, our shouts had been heard. The man who spoke English guided us thence to Fort Johnstone. We recompensed him and his companions suitably, and offered an ad- ditional reward for the salving of our rifles and the borrowed canoe. To our very great surprise, this reward was claimed and paid a few days after. How “You wouldn’t the natives had carried out the salving I do not know. My rifle was an Army one and, apart from the rust, was little the worse. The Kaiser’s redoubtable gun, too, was unharmed, in spite of the volley-firing, but I doubt if Bill has ever used it again. A typical crocodile shot by the Author.

Page 380

“ Just as surely as there is a time in men’s lives when crooks go straight, so there is also a time when good men go crooked.” M— Junction, in a Western able story of an Fi a 17 State, laughingly honest man whe LUGCM e QIUNG Sh. e4 — afterwards Bader peril that le restitution it we easy in dramatic en Oop to rob the express the most mysterious one-man robberies that Cogitation of this idea “The story,” writes the Author, “is true in every particular, though I have changed all the names of persons and Tam eorvoney ac- my closest friend is the man who ‘ pulled’ off’ the robberies and afterwards, in all humility, told . oe the, details of haw: Be. worked. why he did it, and why he finally returned the loot. Only four persons living know the real facts.” The first instalment described how George Keene, the young express agent at ROCKY MOUNTAIN EXPRESS ROBBED OF LARGE AMOUNT ! $78,000 TAKEN FROM CASH-BOX. SCRAP-IRON FOUND IN PLACE OF CASH. LOOTED BOX IN LOCAL OFFICE LAST WEDNESDAY NIGHT. $5,000 REWARD FOR CAPTURE OF THIEF. |HUS ran the headlines in the local paper that George Keene was reading as he sat at the supper table two days after the cash-box had passed through his office. As he read he swallowed several times to relieve the contraction in his throat. His heart throbbed and the blood surged into his face as he glanced apprehensively at his mother. The reward offered, and the word “ thief,”’ often Tepeated in the account of the robbery, brought home forcibly the part he was plaving. “* Mother,” he said, “ listen to this.” Tead the story aloud. “Why, George,’ she cried, “isn’t that ter- rible? And the money passed through your office! Who could have done it? Where was it shipped from?” And he II. company and leave no trace. brought the desire for action, and at last Keene yielded to temptation. He broke open a cash-box that passed through his hands, replaced the lock with another, secreted the money in a hole in his cellar, filled up the rifled box with scrap-iron, and let it go on to its destina- tion. Other characters introduced were Don McFee, the express company’s head detective; Minnie Carlyle, Keene's sweet- heart Dan Dale, a cowboy friend, and Barney, the Irish night-watchman at the dept. YOU CAN NOW READ ON. “ One question at a time, mother, dear,” he smiled. ‘‘ It was shipped from Ophir, a moun tain town a hundred miles south of here, to a firm in Kansas City; and was, as stated, in our office from eight-thirty on Wednesday night until ‘No. 6’ passed here at two-thirty in the morning. It was turned over to Don McFee by the guards who came with it, and he had charge of it from here to the State line. The important thing is that somewhere between Ophir and Kansas City the money was taken out and scrap-iron put in its place. Who did it? That is the question.” George went on to read that the box was con- stantly under the eyes of the guards from the time it left Ophir until it was receipted for by the company’s detective in the local office, except, as had been learned, for a period of up- wards of an hour, when the guards left it in the care of the local agent, George Keene, while they went to a restaurant. The paper mentioned that the fact of the money being left with the local agent for something like an hour was printed as news, and with no desire to cast suspicion on Mr. Keene. “T should say they wouldn't cast suspicion on

Page 381

374 you!” cried his mother, indignantly, as he finished reading. “ Of course not, mother,” replied George. ‘“‘ It is just printed as news—and yet it is rather startling news. You see, every man who had the handling of the box will be under surveil- lance until the guilty person is captured, and I shall be suspected with the rest.” “ But surely, George,’’ she remonstrated, “ everyone knows that you would not do such a terrible thing! It makes me wild to think of it.” “T know, mother, but detectives and district attorneys don’t take such things into considera- tion when they are looking for Express robbers.”’ Don McFee was quoted by the newspaper as having nothing to say, and when a local reporter called upon George that evening he was equally non-committal. Asked whether he was actually left alone with the box, he replied :— “Yes, that is true. For an hour, more or less, I was in personal charge of it.’’ That fateful time, forty-eight hours before, when Keene had spent several long hours in a mental hell, had made him more adept at con- cealing his feelings and controlling his expression than a lifetime of ordinary practice. He had put himself into a position for which no one in the world was to blame but himself, and he was ready to face the consequences. So, when the reporter quizzed him, he smiled calmly into the man’s eyes as he answered. The interview con- cluded with his calm answer to the pressman’s question as to whether he thought he would be suspected :— g “You had better ask Don McFee; I'm sure I don’t know," he replied. After the reporter had gone George sat staring into space, his thoughts flying back to his sweet- heart, Minnie Carlyle. After a while he reached into his vest- pocket, brought forth a small Square box, and opened it. A lady’s ring, from which a tiny diamond sparkled, reposed in its velvet bed. He did not touch the ring, but just stared at it. His reflections were not of the most pleasant. “What a contemptible scoundrel I am!” he muttered. “ It is cowardly to give it to her now, and even more cowardly not to. What a fool I’ve been!” Thoughts of returning the money came to him, but as he studied that phase of the situa- tion he saw that it would be even harder to return it than it was to steal it. ‘‘ No,” he thought; “it is too early in the game for that. I shall have to let the stuff lie awhile and see what happens.”’ The next afternoon George called on Minnie, who met him at the door with an expectant look in her eyes and a smile on her lips. He strode into the sunny room and, seizing her in his strong arms, whirled her off her feet and kissed her. ““ See what I’ve brought you! ’’ he cried, and held the tiny box before her. Shyly she opened it, and an exclamation of pleased surprise THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. escaped her. Taking the ring from its resting- place, he slipped it on her finger. “ Minnie, girl,” he said, “I would like to talk about you and nothing else, but something has happened—perhaps you have heard of it—and that something may involve all kinds of trouble.”’ “T believe I have heard, dear,’’ she inter- tupted. “You mean the money that was stolen?” “Yes,” he answered, gravely. The girl smiled brightly into his troubled eyes. “* Surely you don’t think they will suspect you ? *” she asked. ‘‘ How could they ?” “They may not: we will hope they do not,” he told her ; ‘‘ but the fact that the box was in my care, absolutely alone with me for an hour, will have its weight against me. That is a phase of the situation that must be faced. Of course, they cannot hold me accountable unless they can prove that 1 took the money.” “And that is something they can’t do, isn’t it?” she said. George evaded a direct answer to the question. “‘ Minnie,”’ he said, earnestly, “ there is nothing in this wide world so heartening to a man as the implicit trust expressed in a good woman’s eyes. But let's talk of more pleasant things.” They did so. They planned for the future, building castles in the air that none but those with the love-light in their eyes could possibly live in. Time passed quickly for the lovers, and George had barely time to eat a hasty supper with his mother before going back to work. That night Don McFee stepped out of the Express car on to the truck as Keene pulled it alongside when “No. 3" pulled in. With a curt ‘ Howdy?” he sprang down and went into the office, where, a few minutes later, George found him leaning back against the wall in one of the office chairs. “‘ Well, I suppose you have heard the news ? ” said McFee, as Keene sat down at the desk, with a bundle of way-bills in his hands. “Yep,"’ answered George, flippantly; ‘I’ve been interviewed.” “So? interjected the detective. “Yes,” answered the agent, as he busied himself with his work. There was a soft ‘‘ Hist!’ and George glanced into the hand-mirror on his desk, which reflected the door, and saw Barney motioning with his finger for McFee to come outside. With a quick glance at the agent, the detective rose to his feet and walked quietly outside. As he passed through the door, George, with a peculiar intonation in his voice, said: ‘ Don’t slam the door when you pull it to, Don.” McFee closed the door and turned to the policeman. “ Darn him!’ he growled. he meant by that ? ”’ “T dunno,” answered the other, “ but come with me. I’ve got something to tell yuh.” “T wonder what

Page 382

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF BARNEY IMPARTS SOME INFORMATION. He led the way across the tracks to the sand- house, where they sat down on a bench. Barney was very mysterious as he glanced about to make sure that no one was within hearing. “ What do you think of that iron in that cash- box ? " he asked, at last. “TI don’t know yet what to think, except that it was a good substitute, so far as weight is concerned.”’ “Now listen,” said Barney, importantly. “ The other night I found that agent down here picking up some iron, and when I asked him what he wuz doin’ he said he wuz gittin’ it fer a balance fer a gate up tuh the ranch.” Don stared thoughtfully at the floor for some moments. Here was a clue that might develop something—or it might not. He admired George Keene, and he hesitated to do anything that might cast suspicion on any innocent man, and especially so where a man was so universally liked as in this case. “Q’ course,” added Barney, in a slightly apologetic tone, “ I ain't sayin’ he took ut; but bein’ there wuz iron in the box, I jest thought——”’ “IT get you, Barney,” said the detective, rousing up, “and you're right in calling my attention to it.“ But junk dealers all over the country are picking up old iron; they are even paying boys to gather it in sacks for them to fetch later. At the present moment I think that Keene’s explanation regarding the iron should be taken at its face value. I haven't time this trip, for I am going on to Ophir in the morning to put a man on the case there before the trail gets too cold; but I will look into this matter as soon as I get back. In the meantime, keep your eyes open—and say, Barney, keep your mouth closed. Get me?’ He grinned knowingly at the Irishman and winked mysteri- ously, thereby sealing Barney’s lips as tightly as though he had sewed them up with steel wire. Barney’s report had started a train of thought in McFee's mind, and he took it to bed with him that night at the hotel. Here was a man, he reflected, considered by everyone who knew him to be the soul of honour. It would not do to cast suspicion on such an individual without first making it practically certain that no one - else had taken the money. His own admiration for Keene strongly influenced him against doing anything hasty. He felt safe in this hesitation, for Keene, he knew, had several reasons—his mother for one; his ranch for another; and his sweetheart for a third—for not leaving the country hurriedly; and those reasons would hold him in his place even though he did not intend to do any more pilfering of the company’s money-boxes; though the detective did not believe he was guilty at all. If, however, he was the thief, and was successful in getting away with this first consignment, it was more than likely that, sooner or later, he would “‘ pull off ” another robbery. The thing to do in the circum- 375 stances, therefore, was to “ lie low,” investigate any other clues that might crop up, and in the meantime look Keene over carefully, keep track of his movements, and leave plenty of ‘ rope” for him to hang himself with, if he wanted to. Such were the detective’s thoughts as he fulfilled Keene’s light-hearted prophecy to Charley Crane concerning ‘‘ making Don McFee lie awake at nights ”’ in running him down. In the meantime, George had “ tumbled ”’ to Barney's mysterious ‘‘ Hist!'’ and the detec- tive’s non-appearance after a reasonable time had expired. The fact that Barney had some- thing to say to the detective that he did not want Keene to hear made the agent suspect at once that it was some action of his that was agitating the policeman’s mind. And imme- diately he remembered that the only occasion of his meeting the officer “ officially ’’ was when he was accumulating iron with which to “ balance ” gates. So, still imbued with the flippancy that had caused him to caution Don about making a noise when closing the door, he settled down in smug content. ‘I have covered my tracks so far as the iron is concerned,”’ he muttered. “‘ I'll just ‘sit tight’ and let Don make the next move.” McFEE GETS TO WORK. McFee spent the next two days in Ophir, in company with the town marshal, making a careful survey of the whole situation concerning the disappearance of the money. Though the detec- tive’s remarks to Barney about junk-dealers gathering old iron were more bluff than any- thing else, and made to keep the Irishman from unnecessarily talking about his suspicions, i¢ transpired that such was the case to a certain extent, for the officers actually found several sacks containing scrap-iron behind the black- smith’s shop, gathered by boys for a dealer. This made McFee rather satisfied with himself concerning the conclusion he had reached in regard to George. The detective discovered nothing of value pertaining to the case while in Ophir, except the sacks of iron, which were of interest in so far as they showed that the action of the Junction agent, in collecting iron for a gate-balance, might be merely coincident with the time of the robbery, and have no bearing upon it. The fact that it had rather an upsetting effect on his theory, nebulous as yet, concerning Keene, gave him considerable satisfaction, for at the back of his mind there lurked the thought that he did not want this particular agent to be the guilty man. It was with these conflicting thoughts in his head that he boarded the train at Ophir for D—, in response to a wire stating that Mr. Bain, the general manager of the R.M. Express Company, would like to see him before leaving for the east. McFee spent a bad two days with the president and some of the directors of the Express Com- pany. While they had the utmost confidence in

Page 383

376 McFee's ability, they pointed out that the haul was so large that extreme measures must be used, if necessary, to bring someone to justice. This was not only advisable to quiet murmuring stockholders, but to show other embryo thieves that such robberies were unprofitable. McFee fully and frankly stated the case as it presented itself against the agent at M—— Junction, but he pointed out that haste would be unwise, as it would let the man know he was under suspicion, and might cause him to quit his position and leave the country. This, in case he. was guilty, would render the recovery of the money unlikely, as Keene would realize he could not safely attempt to use it for some time. The conclusion of the conference was that the light of suspicion at present shone brightest on the Junction agent, and that in order to save time, in case he should prove to be the guilty man, an officer must be sent to the Junction to learn as much as possible concerning Keene’s past, present, and future. Faced with the criminal's disregard for the tights of others and his pernicious insistence on doing his work when no one is looking, detectives have had to adopt a few general rules for their guidance. One of them is: ‘‘ Any method short of murder for results.” Another is: ‘‘ Go to almost any lengths to make a suspected man expose himself.’” This is why, very frequently, innocent persons are made to suffer keenly, and lives have sometimes had to be readjusted after aclue has been found to lead to the wrong person. So, with the finger of suspicion pointing at George Keene, a detective named Mallard McCoy was selected to take a “ business "’ trip to M McCoy was a handsome liar of parts, something less than thirty years old. His dark brown hair was worn long, combed straight back over his head. Of medium height and well made, his appearance was, to say the least, pleasing. He was shrewd in a way, but worked to better advantage under orders than on his own in- itiative. ; He was absolutely unprincipled; the only reason he wasn’t considered ‘crooked’ was because he worked in the interests of law and order. Everything that came to his net was fish. This was the man who was sent to M—— Junction to endeavour to entrap George Keene. McCoy’s instructions were somewhat complex. He was to make the acquaintance of a certain element of society that spent money after dark, and also to become an associate, if possible, of the Carlyle household. This latter move was for the purpose of learning if the suspected man had, even in the slightest degree, made a con- fidant of his swectheart. If he had not, McCoy was to endeavour to become as friendly as possible with the family, so as to cause jealousy on Keene's part, if not open enmity. This might cause the agent, in a moment of anger, to say something that would lead to his undoing. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The detective selected the leading hotel as his stopping place and registered with a flourish. With a wink that spoke volumes, he told the clerk that he was in the market for a fruit farm. The gentleman behind the register, without turning a hair, leaned over and whispered the address of a certain “‘ smoke house ’’ where he could meet congenial gentlemen any evening after eleven o'clock. McCoy worked on the. theory that when a working man steals a lot of money, the first thing he does is to make the acquaintance of the night: element of the city’s population and proceed to dispose of some of it. He figured that “ poker- parties "’ might be Keene's favourite relaxation from the day’s fatigue, and with this idea in mind he at once made his way to the resort he had been directed to. Here he purchased a pocketful of expensive cigars and frankly told the proprietor that he played poker on occasion.- That gentleman smiled wisely and named an hour when he could meet “‘ the boys.”’ i McCoy next visited various real-estate firms and, after a considerable amount of roundabout questioning, learned that a Mrs. Carlyle, a widow, who lived in the city, had a farm a short distance out which she leased, but had not listed with: anyone for sale. The estate agent volunteered the information that he understood that the present lessee’s‘term expired during the present year. “‘ Just the thing!"’ thought McCoy as, with the lady’s address in his pocket, he made his way toher home. Minnie came to the door in answer to his ring, and her eyes widened as she noted that he was a stranger. “ Some girl, all right!" thought the detective, as he bowed politely and said :-— “Pardon me, miss, but I have been informed that there is a possibility of leasing or buying your mother’s farm. Could I see her?” : The girl hesitated for a moment, and then replied, “ If you will come in I will tell her."’ She asked him to take a seat and left the room, reappearing a moment later with her mother. - With his most pleasant smile ‘to the fore, McCoy said: “I ask your pardon for this + intrusion, but I am here to either buy or lease a farm. I have been unable to find one suitable among the real-estate firms, but was told that there was a possibility that you might sell yours, as the present lease would expire at the end of the year.’ “T shall no doubt lease the place again,” Mrs. Carlyle told him, ‘ but I hesitate about selling, as, since I lost my husband, it has been practically our only income. Of course, if the price was large enough ——”’ She stopped and smiled at the young man. “T like this valley,’ ’ lied the detective, glibly, “and my father is willing to pay for anything within reason that is satisfactory to me. So, if you have no objection, I should be pleased to

Page 384

a” fe = rs a Z i=) i] ° e = A a si Q x= a) “He grabbed the now frightened McCoy by the coat-collar, and with the other hand eae eae Dee

Page 385

378 THE WIDE WORLD drive you to the place any time you will permit me, to look it over.’ His reply left the im- pression, as it was meant to, that his father was wealthy and was desirous of getting the young man settled. The next ten days were spent by the detective in adroit manceuvring, the nights in prowling through the jungles of the local underworld, the forenoons in sleep, and the afternoons in juggling with Keene’s mental machinery by taking the Carlyles out in the handsomest taxi-cab in the place. To his disappointment, McCoy learned that the participants in the poker parties, and the night-prowling element gencrally, had never heard of George Keene, knew nothing about him, and cared less. Satisfied that the agent, if guilty, was something new in the criminal line, he devoted himself to the Carlyle family with an insistence that flirted with the ragged edge of hazard. THE QUARREL. George had seen the handsome stranger driving with the Carlyles on several occasions, and Minnie had frankly told him who the young man was, and why he was so attentive. Twice during the next few days he called, only to find the house empty. Each time he had turned away with a muttered imprecation. George was getting distinctly tired of McCoy, and, watching iis chance, he called when he was certain of finding the girl at home. When she met him with her usual sunny smile he frowned slightly and said :— “Minnie, girl, I am going to ask you to tell that McCoy person not to call here any more."’ She was startled for a moment, and stared questioningly into his troubled eyes. ‘‘ Why, surely, George, dear,”’ she replied, ‘‘ you don’t—"” “ No,” he interrupted, ‘‘ I don’t mistrust you, but I don’t trust him.” “ But surely, dear, you misunderstand,’’ she wenton. “His people are wealthy. It wouldn't do——" “ That’s just the trouble—his wealth,”’ growled Keene. He knew it was brutal to say such a thing, but his mind had been in a turmoil during the past fortnight, and to a certain extent he had lost control of himself. Clenching his hands he leaned toward her and continued harshly : “Minnie, you must tell this man not to call here any more. I insist upon it. The tears sprang to the girl's eves at the rough tone in which he spoke, but she faced him fear- lessly. ‘‘ Must! George, dear,” she repeated. “ Did you say must —to me?” Unreasoning fury blinded Keene to the appeal in the girl’s eyes, and without another word he turned on his heel and left the house. For several seconds the girl stared at the door as George slammed it behind him. Then, rousing herself, she went straight to her mother with her trouble. Shaking with sobs she told of the quarrel, and the look of fury in George's eyes as he left her. MAGAZINE. The mother was much disturbed as she tried to soothe the distressed girl. ‘‘ It may be that he thinks you have been too much in Mr. McCoy’s company of late,” she said. “I have noticed that he seemed upset—as if he had something worry- ing him beside this man’s presence ; I noticed it before Mr. McCoy came. We must make allowances for him, Minnie. Perhaps the robbery, and the possibility of his being under suspicion, is bothering him.” “ But, mother, he spoke so brutally to me,” sobbed the girl. “True, dear; but I think we will tell Mr. McCoy, when he calls again, that we have decided not to sell the place. Then he will stay away.” Meanwhile, in a fit of blind fury, George stumbled heedlessly along the street, turning corners here and there, his mind galloping, as it were, through a red mist. Where he was going he neither knew nor cared, but at last a door caught his eye and, pushing it open, he stepped inside. It was the “smoke house."’ Behind the counter stood Murphy, the day attendant, and in the middle of the room was McCoy, dressed in the height of fashion, and smiling serenely. At sight of him something at the back of Keene’s head went “ crack,” and he laughed —laughed like hyenas are supposed to. “Jove! but you're a pretty thing,” he said to the astonished McCoy ; then, to the attendant :— “Murphy, did you ever notice what a pretty creature this thing is ? "” Murphy grinned, but remained non-committal. George went on: “ He is pretty now, but just watch.’’ Then, with the single word : ‘‘ Presto!” he grabbed the now frightened McCoy by the coat-collar, and with the other hand slapped his jaw. McCoy would have fallen, but the in- furiated man jerked him to his fect, and slapped him hard on the other side. As the detective staggered from the blow, George slapped him back into position again. Without another word Keene slapped the man alternately on cither side of the jaw until he dropped to the floor, his face resembling a well- pounded beecfsteak. He made no attempt at resistance, and as he huddled there Keene bent down, grabbed him by the back of the coat- collar, and dragged him to the door, which he held open with his foot. Then he picked his victim up bodily and threw him out on to the side-walk. This done, he turned back into the room. Grinning faces peered through the door leading to the back room. George brushed some imaginary dust from his clothes, inspected his hands, which were tingling, and then, turning to the grinning Murphy—who instantly straight- ened his face—remarked curtly, “ Get me?” Murphy, not perfectly sure as to the man’s sanity, swallowed once or twice, shuffled his feet, and blurted out: “ I'm not perfectly sure, but I guess I do.”

Page 386

THE MAN “Well, Ill tell you,” said Keene, who was now strangely calm. “ That thing I just threw out is a detective, and he has been deliberately sent down here to try and ruin my life. From now on, I am going to slap him to sleep every time I get close enough to him. And, Murphy—and you fellows there in the door—take a tip from me, and forget this as soon as I step outside.”” With that he turned and left the place, without the slightest idea that he had done anything extraordinary. It is strange, but nevertheless perfectly true, that a man’s mind, when under a fearful strain, will sometimes leap to the solution of problems that are seemingly mysterious. When George stepped into the cigar store his mind was chaotic ; but the sight of the one man he felt like murdering brought about a reflex action—-a something un- explainable—-and at once the reason for the stranger's presence in M —— became clear to him. His actions, following this sudden “ hunch,”’ were more automatic than deliberate. His forbearance in not beating the fellow into insensibility was simply his chivalrous nature coming to the front, for he was a much bigger man than the detective. When George left the cigar store McCoy had disappeared. Turning homeward, the agent frowned at the pavement as he walked along. Forgetting for the moment that he was solely responsible for his troubles, he was a little inclined to self-pity. Feeling sure he was right as to the reason for McCoy's presence in the town, he blamed McFee for sending the detective on such a contemptible errand, and he felt aggrieved that Minnie had attempted to defend the stranger. At home he disregarded his mother's anxious glances, ate his supper almost in silence, gave her a gloomy kiss, and then drove down to the office, taking the truck for the purpose of driving to the ranch. THE SECOND BOX. It was now midsummer, and placards pro- claimed the coming of the Fourth of July cele- bration. Fate, dealing in futures, caused a high-minded mining company, whose head- quarters were located in a western city, to for- ward the monthly pay-roll to a small town south of M. Junction a few days ahead of the usual time in order that the men might have money to spend for the Fourth. It so happened that this money arrived on “No. 6" on the day of George’s mental and physical eruption. As the two men who always accompanied this particular shipment stepped out of the Express car with the box, Keene looked his surprise. ‘“‘ Little early this trip, boys, aren't you ?"’ he asked. “Yep.” answered one. “ A couple of days, I guess. The Fourth, you know.” George was in just the right mood to take chances. Reflectively he eyed the box as the men, one of them seated in the unoccupied chair WHO TURNED THIEF. 379 and the other leaning against the truck, smoked and talked of things in general. Absently Keene extracted the tinfoil from his package of tobacco, carelessly he smoothed it out; then he crushed it up in his hand and tossed it behind the inkwell on the desk. Then he turned his attention to his books, and for upwards of an hour bent closely over his work. Finally he got up and, reaching for his hat, remarked: “ I am going out for a few minutes, boys.” With a careless glance around he disappeared in the darkness. After ten minutes he returned and resumed his seat at the desk. But outside, in the motor-truck, there reposed a sack of scrap-1ron, True to their usual habit when on this trip, about midnight the guards arose and, with a word to the agent, departed for an all-night chop-house for a cup of coffee and a plate of “ sinkers.”’ Through the window George watched them till they passed from view around the corner. Then he sprang to action. Swiftly he darted out to the truck. A single wild glance told him the way was clear, and he raced back with the iron. As he worked, a single sentence raced through his teeming brain: “Curse them! I'll give them something to worry about!’ In a space of time that could actually be counted in seconds the lock clicked and he switched on the lights once more. Not daring now to bother with the tinfoil, he concealed the heavy sack of money under his coat as best he could and, with his throat constricted till it pained him and his heart fluttering madly, he stepped outside. Dame Fortune smiled, and he reached the truck unnoticed. Lifting the seat, he crowded the precious sack down beside the gasolene tank, dropped the seat back in place, and, with a long breath, returned to the office and heard the catch snap into place Now he felt safe, for no one could get inside until he unlocked the door. Still working swiftly, he sprang over the railing to the desk. A quick glance through the window showed that the street was clear. Taking the tinfoil from where he had so carelessly flung it, he went to the cash-box and carefully crowded it into the keyhole, making sure this time that none fell on the floor. Then he sat down at the desk, elevated his feet to its top, leaned back, and carefully filled and lit his pipe. ‘ Don, old boy,’’ he muttered, “I guess you and me are going to have some fun!” A few minutes later the guards returned and George let them in. He was in perfect control of himself now, and entered into a general conversation with the two men. Throughout the talk, however, it kept running in his mind that he ought to have some sort of alibi—some- thing that would work automatically—but he could think of nothing that seemed plausible. He cogitated the matter until ‘‘ No. 6” had

Page 387

380 passed, and he had opened the door to leave for the ranch, but entirely without result. Saying ‘‘ good night ”’ to the guards, who were to sleep as best they might in the office until the day man appeared, he stepped outside and slid the door to. Barney happened to be passing. Like a flash an idea for an alibi came to him. “ Hey! Barney,” he called, “ wait a minute.” Walking over to the policeman he said, “ Say, Barney, will you come down to the round-house with me? [ don’t like to monkey around much down there in the dark.” “ Sure, George, I'll go with ye,’ answered the Irishman. With the aid of the officer's spot-light they made their way up to where the agent had “planted ’’ the sacks of iron. Picking one up, Keene threw it across his shoulder, and they returned to the truck at the end of the station. Carelessly tossing the sack over into the back of the car, George cranked the motor, and, thanking Barncy for his trouble, drove away. “T guess that Irish cop will have something else to think of this time! ’’ thought Keene. He drove rapidly till he crossed the Powder- horn bridge, and even then he did not stop, but merely slowed down as he cast the broken lock over the side into the water. “ That's two of them! ’’ he muttered, as he drove on. He was now perfectly normal. The cool night air had brightened him up wonderfully, and he glowed with a fecling of satisfaction as he thought of the alibi he had “ put over ’’ on Barney. Though the night was quite dark, his lights illuminated the road plainly and he drove at a fair rate of speed. His thoughts naturally dwelt on the events of the day, and he smiled grimly as he recalled the encounter with McCoy. “Darn him!”’ hethought. “ He had no business to come down here. If he hadn’t come—but, there, he isn’t to blame. If McFee hadn't sent him—and that's wrong, too, for I’m to blame for the whole mess. Lord! what a fool I am— and I've got more of the wretched stuff right here with me! What on earth am I going to do now?” He eased off the throttle, with some idea of casting the sack of moncy into the brush by the roadside. ‘‘ But that wouldn’t do, either,” he argued, ‘‘ it would be found sooner or later. I'll just have to keep it till I see a chance to return the whole lot at once. Poor mother! Poor Minnie! What a beast I am! I acted like a brute to that poor girl. I wonder if she'll ever speak to me again ?’”’ His brain fairly boiled as he sought a solution for his manifold perplexities. They were still unsolved as he drove under the shed at the ranch. Repeating the precautionary measures of the Previous trip, Keene went into the house to make sure he was alone, but, as he lit the lamp, Dan Dale roused up and smiled a sleepy greeting. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Gee! You here?’ he said. “ What time is it?’ George held his watch down so that the light shone on its face, and Dale raised himself on one clbow. “ Fifteen minutes to four,” said Dan, answering his own question. “ Lots of time to sleep yet.” With that he rolled over to the far side of the bed. After undressing, George put out the light and lay down beside him. He was tired and soon fell asleep. The sun was shining when Dan awoke. He intended to go to town that day, so, rising care- fully, so as not to awaken Keene, he quietly prepared and ate his breakfast; then he went out in the pasture, caught and saddled his horse, and rode away, THE HOLD-UP. Very strange things happen at times, even in real life; Fate wags her bony finger and mice and men spring to do her bidding. A word whispered by a clerk in a city office, and a customer, casually leaning over the counter, turned, sauntered out of the building, and dis- appeared. By an “ underground” system of communication it became known to a coterie of lawless mountain men that a large sum of money was to be shipped to a certain place, by a certain route, on a certain date. Thus it was that, even as George Keene and Dan Dale were ascertaining the time by holding a watch close to a lighted lamp on a lonely ranch, two men, clothed in cowboy paraphernalia, drove up to the station at M—— Junction in a light spring wagon and. jumping out, made their way across the platform and rapped on the Express office door. One of the guards, awakening, called out: “Who's there ? "” A voice answered : “ I have a valuable package that I would like to leave with you till morning, when I can ship it.”’ The request seemed a natural one to the guard, who thereupon arose and opened the door—only to be instantly knocked unconscious by the butt of a revolver, held in the hand of one of the two masked men who confronted him ! As the other guard struggled to his feet, he also was felled to the floor. The bandits sprang over them and, each grasping a handle of the cash-box, ran out to the wagon and in a moment had dis- appeared in the darkness. It was perhaps a quarter of an hour before either of the battered guards recovered suffi- ciently to realize the situation, for they had received vicious blows, and somélittle more time elapsed before they could arouse anyone. One ran out on the platform and yelled for help; the other rattled the ‘phone as he held the receiver to his ear. At last a sleepy operator said: “ Number, please.”’ “Give me the sheriff's office!’ he bawled.

Page 388

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 381 “As the other guard struggled to his feet, he also was felled to the floor.” ““ What's the number, please ? came the _ sheriff's office. We've been robbed down here yawning voice. yelled the guard, angrily. ~~ “YT don’t know the number; gimme the A few seconds later a masculine voice said :—

Page 389

382 “ Sheriff's office.” The guard, his head throbbing with pain, replied: “ This is the depot. We've been held up down here; come at once.” ‘All right,’’ said the voice. Then the jailer —who slept on a cot in the sheriff's office, which was an annexe to the county jail—placed three fingers on as many “ buzzer”? buttons, which were perhaps an inch apart, and above which the word “ Emergency’ was inscribed, and pushed inward. Simul- taneously three men, in their various homes, roused up, placed a re r to their ears, and spoke the password: “ All right.” Rapidly the jailer gave them the scanty information that had been imparted to him. Again came the words: “ All right,’’ and in an incredibly short space of time Chief of Police Webber, on a motor-cycle, and Sheriff Beverly and Under-Sheriff Charley Crane, on horses, dashed up to the station. They were instantly joined by the two cus- todians, Barney, and the ticket agent, who had responded to the guards’ call for help. The station people were all talking at once. but they stopped directly the cool-headed Beverly raised his hand. Pointing to one of the guards, he said : “ You tell it,” which the man did as rapidly as possible. Once in possession of the facts the Sheriff turned to the guard: “ Now call up my ofhce again,” he told him, ‘ and ask the jailer to send the deputies down here with their horses.” Then, turning to the others, he added, “ Let's see if we can find their tracks.” It was now broad daylight, and the men spread out to search the ground. A moment later Crane called out: ‘‘ Here they are! They had a light wagon and two horses.” As the others rushed over to him he spread out his arms: ‘ Be careful, now,” he cried, “and don’t obliterate the tracks, for there may be inguishing mark in the footprints or s’ tracks that may be worth noting.” “ See,” continued Crane, “ here is where they drove up to the platform, and here is where they landed when they jumped out of the wagon. They wore high-heeled boots, for the heel-marks are plain, They drove straight up to the platform ; you can see where they backed up to turn round. Look here, now. When they started on the run, they headed straight for Main Street.” Here Beverly interrupted him. ‘‘ Yes; that's plain enough,” he said. ‘‘ Get your horse and see which way they turned on the paved strect. Tl wait here for the deputies.” Then, to Barne “You get some rope and fence off this place where the team stood, and don’t let anyone tramp around on those footprints; we may want to take a picture of them. Webber "—to the chief of police— I wish you would send a wire to McFee in D—— and tell him to come at once, for it runs in my mind that information THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, about the money has leaked somewhere. Then you had better take these men to the doctor and get their heads fixed up.” Just then the deputies arrived on the run, and the sheriff mounted his horse. ‘“‘ This wa he said ; ‘ we can talk as we ride.” Crane was waiting for the party on the paved street. As they rode up he pointed to the wheel tracks, which were plainly marked in the light- coloured dust that streaked the asphalt. There were wider stripes as well, and Beverly noted them. “ I wonder who made those tracks,” he said. “They were made by Keene's truck, I think,” Crane told him. ‘I understand he went to the ranch last night, or rather early this morning.’’ The sheriff nodded, thoughtfully. ‘‘ Does he make regular trips ? "’ he asked. “No,” answered Crane, “he goes when he happens to feel like it.”’ The men rode at a swinging trot, watching the crossings to see if the tracks turned off on either side till they crossed the bridge. There the horses’ tracks showed that they were still going at a fast pace. As they neared the top, they had apparently slowed down, but once on top they increased their speed again. The posse now broke into a run, for the trail was plain, and they raced till they crossed to Powderhorn bridge. Here they had to go slow, for the way lay uphill. Keene awoke about noon, and, after dressing, went out into the pasture. ‘“ Dan's horse is gone, so I guess he is also,”’ he said. as he walked thoughtfully back to the house. He transferred the money-sack to the hole in the basement and then prepared and ate his breakfast. Thoughts of Minnie ran continually in his brain. “I'll hurry back to town and try to see her,” he thought. He went to the “ balanced ”’ gate, put the iron in the box on the extension, and then tried it. ‘* There, that's better,’”’ he muttered, as he pulled it open to drive through. As he went back to the motor-truck to drive through he saw a horseman coming toward him from the other side of the ranch. The man was some distance away, and he could not recognize him at first. ‘ Rides like Charley Crane,” he thought, as he reached the truck. The horseman waved his hand, and Keene heard a faint: “ Hold on a minute!” “ T wonder what he wants ? "’ said George under his breath. Ever since the agent had started his nefarious operations he had always feared that, sooner or later, some officer would say, ‘‘ Hold ona minute ” to him in his official capacity. Now that he had come to a definite conclusion concerning McCoy, he wondered that it had not happened before. He realized that he was outside the pale of the law, and he was becoming just a little fearful as to the final result. The fact was beginning to take root in his mind that it would be harder to

Page 390

THE MAN WHO TURNED return the loot than it would be to keep it, even though he never tried to use it. ASTONISHING NEWS, The horseman was now close enough for Keene to see that it was Charley Crane, the under- sheriff. He felt just a little bit creepy. ‘‘ Darn it!’ he muttered, ‘I shouldn't have pulled off that foolish stunt last night if I hadn't had that row with Minnie.” “‘ Halloa, George!’ said Crane, as he rode up. The officer's face looked very grave. “Morning,” answered Keene. ‘‘ You look mighty serious. What have you got on your mind?” “Express Company robbed again last night,” said the officer, shortly. George’s knees almost gave way under him. “The devil! ’’ he said, weakly. He had a feeling that his remark fell far short of what he should have said, but to save his life he could not utter another word. His eyes wavered under his friend’s gaze and he stared at the ground. “Yep,” continued Crane. ‘‘ Two men rapped on the door at four o’clock this morning, and when the guards opened it they hit them over the heads, grabbed the money-box, and lit out with it.” “ The devil, you say!’’ George almost yelled— he was so relieved. “ Tell me about it.” He sat down on the running board and, leaning back against the mudguard, mechanically produced his pipe and tobacco-sack. “Well, it’s just as I tell you,” said Crane, as he threw one leg over the saddle-horn and started making a cigarette. “It was half an hour before the guards recovered enough to call the office. We followed the robbers’ tracks up into Little Park, where we found the wagon and the box—with a sack of iron in it!” Keene felt he mu:t say something to that, but all he could do was to ejaculate, ‘‘ The h ee as he gazed into the other man’s eyes, which, it seemed to him, were searching his very soul. He felt that now, if ever in his life, he ought to show real interest. “Yep, the h——,"’ continued Crane. ‘ Evi- dently they left the wagon so they could make their get-away on the horses. They must have had saddles with them, and we could not find where they hid the harness, if they did hide it anywhere. I haven't found anyone who has seen two men—or one, for that matter—riding a horse with harness on it, and I have been ‘way over on Lobo Mesa. They must have kept off the trails, for I have crossed a dozen or more to see if they went that way.” George was quite himself again by this time. “‘ Dale stopped here last night,’’ he said. “ He was going to town this morning. Did you see him?” “Yes; he came to us as we were following the tracks away from the wagon. He told us he stopped here last night, and said that you THIEF. 383 got in about four o’clock. That’s a darned good alibi for you, George, for that was just the time the stunt was pulled off down town: Iam mighty glad of it, old man, for, to tell you the truth, Don has seemed a little inclined to suspect you about that other robbery that was pulled off awhile back. I didn’t tell him what you said about it being easy to do.” He grinned at his friend. “Gee! I'm glad you didn’t,” said Keene, laughing in turn. “ The old son-of-a-gun might have taken it for granted that I did it, and had me pinched. Well, what are you going to do now?” “ T thought I'd go over to your house and get a bite to eat, and then go down East Creek to the Unaweep Canyon, for they might have come up this way, though I don’t think they did. It was a Blue Mountain outfit, I’m thinking, and if it was we never’ll get ‘em. The deputies are out that way, over by Cross’s sheep-camp, and they may find out something over there.” “ Their leaving that sack of iron mixes things up a little, doesn’t it ? '’ asked the agent. “ Yes—if they left it. It was a smart thing to do, when you think of the other robbery. But did they do it? That's something for old Don McFee to worry about. ‘Take it from me, George, I don’t think they got the money. I believe the air was blue around there when they broke the lock of the box.”" When Keene arrived at the forks of the road, on the edge of Little Park, he found Sheriff Beverly sitting in the shadow of the wagon-box. “Say! but I’m glad you came.” he said, by way of greeting, as Keene stopped. “ I’ve been waiting here for an hour or more for someone to show up to take this wagon to town.” George grinned as the sheriff crawled out from under the wagon and untied his horse from one of the wheels. ‘‘ So you’ve been having some fun, hey ?"’ said he. “ Crane came by my place just as I was leaving, and told me about it.” “Yep,” retorted Beverly, rather sourly, we've had some fun all right. I sent the boys over to the west end, for they can cover that ground without me, and I want to be in town when McFee shows up. Where was Crane going from your place ? ’’ ‘He said he was going down East Creek to see if the robbers went out that way. During the operation of securing the wagon- tongue to the back of the truck with the sheriff’s saddle-rope Keene got a glance or two at the iron box. He saw that the lid was down, and that neither the hasp nor the staple appeared to be broken. He did not think it prudent to ask too many questions, as the sheriff was in just the right mood to add two and two together and make a sum-total of about twelve if his suspicions should be aroused. He felt, however, that the situation demanded some sort of a remark from him. “Tt rather puts things up in the air a bit,

Page 391

384 doesn’t it?’ he said, “ their leaving that iron ? Crane was telling me about it.” “Yes, it does, quite a bit. I don’t just know what to think about that,” answered Beverly, quietly. “Where shall I take this?" said George, as + he took his seat. “ Better take it to the station and leave the box there, and I will take the wagon to the jail-yard and give it a thorough look-over to see if there are any marks on it that can be identified,” replied the sheriff, as he fell in behind. Keene drove down the road at a good speed, and soon the sheriff was left out of sight. As he drove along he had a curious feeling of elation about the way the affair was turning out. “' It’s an alibi, cut and dried,”” he thought.“ Even if it isn’t, it will have a tendency to make suspicion glance off instead of permanently resting on me. Old Don will certainly be on his mettle now, and the things he doesn’t think about won't be worth the effort. The kindest thing Fate can do for me is to let those hold-up fellows get clear away.” He drove up to the station platform, and as he lifted the box the weight told him that the iron had not been left in the hills, but was still inside. He called to the day Express agent, who came out and helped to carry the box inside, where they put it in a corner out of the way. Keene noticed that no ‘“ Handle with Care”’ tag had been pasted on this box, as was the custom with those that were not in the constant custody of the same guards throughout the trip. After disposing of the box George drove down to the county jail, where he was to leave the wagon. As he was unfastening the rope which held it Dunbar, the jailer, came out and asked if the sheriff had found out anything. George told him what he had learned, and Dunbar grinned dclightedly when Keene told him about the substitution of the iron. “Don will have a whole flock of detectives down here now instead of one,”’ he said. George's eyes lit up at the casual remark. “So he has had one here all the time, has he ? ”” he inquired. “Oh, only for the past week,’ answered the man. “ Just peeking around a little, I guess. T haven't met him myself.” As Keene drove home he smiled to himself. “T thought I was right about that fellow!’ he muttered. The man of his thoughts was at that very moment going up the steps to the Carlyle home, where Mrs. Carlyle answered the door. Seeing who the visitor was, she said: ‘ Mr. McCoy, we have decided not to sell the farm,” and un- ceremoniously closed the door. The man stared for a moment; then, with a frown, he turned away. During the day he had made himself as familiar with the details of that morning’s hold-up as THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. possible, having called on the chief of police soon after the sheriff had left on the trail of the bandits. The interview had necessarily been short, as there was nothing much to be learned. Now, after his rebuff by Mrs. Carlyle, the detective decided to call again on Webber to learn if he had heard anything fresh concerning the case, and, if possible, to create a doubt in his mind as to Keene's honesty. As he sat down in Webber's office he opened his cigarette-case and, tapping one on his thumb- nail, asked: ‘ Anything new about the hold- ups?” “No; there isn't,” returned Webber. “ Beverly has not got in yet. But, say, McCoy, what part are you playing in this business ? McFee never told me he had a man here.” The detective grinned cheerfully as the chance to get a dig at his enemy presented itself. “ Well, I'l tell you,” he id. “ Keene, you know, has been under suspicion from the start ; in fact. it has developed that he is about the only man who had the slightest chance to do the job. I was sent down here to learn all I could about him—his manner of living, who his friends are, anything that I could.” “And have you found out anything against him?” “No, I haven't, except that he has a vile temper, and knows that he is under suspicion.” “ How did you learn that he has a vile temper, and knows he is under suspicion?’ The chief of police asked the question more from habit than from any real curiosity on the subject. McCoy had learned that when dealing with heads of departments the truth was something not to be handled carelessly, so he told of his encounter with the enraged agent, adding, rather lamely, that George was a much bigger man than himself. Webber grinned good-naturedly at the story. “ Ever since you were here this morning,” he said, thoughtfully, “I have been wondering if it wouldn’t be a good plan for you to take this afternoon's train, meet McFee up the road some- where, and give him facts of this new case. I wired him this morning to come here, but unless the sheriff finds out something tangible, Don will perhaps want to go to the city this money was shipped from.’ He glanced out of the window just as a horseman passed. ‘“‘ Say,” he cried, “there goes Dan Dale. He is from the hill maybe he will know something. Wait a minute ; T'll call him in.” At his hail Dan turned round and rode back to the chief, who said: ‘Come in a minute; I want to ask you something.” Dale sat down and immediately started rolling a cigarette. ‘‘ Just off the hill?’ asked the chief. “ Yes,’’ answered the cowboy, as he scratched a match on the sole of his boot. ‘Saw the sheriff; saw Keene; saw the whole bunch. Why?”

Page 392

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. “ You did see Keene? Where?” “ At the ranch—four o'clock this morning.” “ Well, that lets Keene out, then, for it was a few minutes to four when these men were held up. The cowboy nodded, and in response to further questions added that Beverly had not found out anything, but had discovered the abandoned wagon and a box of iron. ‘That being the case,’ said Webber, turning to McCoy, ‘‘ you had better meet Don and tell him all you know. If Beverly learns anything more he can tell him while the train is stopped here in the morning. It will save a lot of time.” McCOY RECEIVES A REBUFF. By making a slight détour on his way to the station McCoy was enabled to traverse the street in which the Carlyles lived, and he smiled at his luck when he saw Minnie coming his way. He leaned against a tree and waited for her. 385 “ Good afternoon, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, as she came up. ‘I waylaid you purposely to tell you how pleased I am that Mr. Keene can in no way be suspected of this latest robbery.” Minnie showed unmistakably that she was startled by his words. Her eyes widened and she said: ‘‘I don’t understand you. What robbery ? Is there another one?” “Why! Haven’t you heard ? ” he asked. “T haven't been away from the house till now,"’ she answered. ‘‘ What has happened ? "’ “The Express office here was robbed this morning,’’ said McCoy, smoothly. The girl shrank back a step. ‘‘ How terrible!” she said. ‘‘ Surely George—Mr. Keene-——"’ “No, my dear young lady, Mr. Keene cannot be suspected this time.” “This time, Mr. McCoy! Was he suspected the other time?" “*Express Company robbed again last night,’ said the officer, shortly.” Vol xlix.—27.

Page 393

385 It flashed through the detective’s mind that he was giving information instead of receiving it, and he frowned slightly as he answered : “Yes, he was, and perhaps would be this time, only Mr. Dale saw him at the ranch this morning at four o'clock.” She could almost see the ranch from where she stood, and as she looked across the slope of bright green hills, with occasional darker shades of pine forest, in imagination she could picture George as he drove through the night to the haven he was striving for, and wondered if he was not tempted at times, when thousands of dollars passed through his office. While the girl’s gaze rested on the hills, McCoy talked to unhearing ears, hoping to strike a keynote in her mind that would lead her to say something—anything—that he could twist into a tangible lead toward the man he now yearned to see behind prison bars. Minnie was brought back to consciousness by the word “ alibi,”” which McCoy had just uttered. She looked at him for a moment in perplexity ; then her feminine intuition grasped the fact that this man meant neither George nor herself any good. Without even the compliment of a disdainful look she turned her back on him and walked away. * Squelched’ is the right word to use to express McCoy’s feelings as, without a shred of his conceit left to him, he stepped out into the middle of the sidewalk .nd stared blankly after the girl’s retreating form. Then, with an expression on his face that denoted utter defeat, he turned toward thc station, where he caught the afternoon train going east. For sixty miles to Glenwood, where he detrained to await his chief, he stared out of the car window, secing nothing, but striving to frame excuses to himself for losing in a game of wits with a girl over a “ rough-neck ” like George Keene. Keene, just then, was trying to quiet his mother’s perturbation after he had told her of the day’s events. He had explained to her the alibi that could be proved by Dan Dale, which soothed her considerably. “‘ But, mother,” he continued, gravely, “ if the hold-ups are captured, they will say they did not get the money, and the iron being found in the cash-box only makes the case more mystifying to the sheriff and the Express Company's men.” Mrs. Keene stroked her son’s forehead fondly. “Tam only worried, dear boy,’’ she replied, ‘because they may suspect you, but that will make no difference to me. I am perfectly certain that you did not take it.” To save his life George could not meet her smiling eyes. To avoid them he got up and, taking her in his arms, kissed her affectionately. ** Mother, I hope I deserve your confidence,” he said. ‘‘ And now I want to go and see Minnie for a few minutes before supper.” He knew that his words were flat and meaning- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, less, but he felt he must get out of the house. Torn by thoughts of the undeserved devotion of his mother, together with the fear that he had nothing to hope for from Minnie, he strode rapidly through the streets, taking a roundabout way to avoid friends, who, he feared, might not wish to see him. His old-time confidence in himself seemed to have gone. He knew himself for a thief, and he wondered how long it would be before everybody else would know it. The only redeeming feature in George Keene at that moment was the shred of manhood that made him face the issue with the girl, whatever it might have in store for him. Utterly dejected, he stood for a moment before the door, reached out his hand to press the bell, and then drew it back and bared his head as though he were about to do homage before a shrine. The door opened, and Minnie stood before him. As she saw his dejection, her face flushed, and a yearning look came into her eyes. With eyes clouded with misery he looked at her. Never before had she looked so beautiful or so wonderful.: ‘‘ Minnie, girl,’ he stammered, “I didn’t understand—-I don’t know-—Oh, I guess I've gone crazy! Please, Minnie, won’t you forgive me?” If she had wanted it, every advantage was on her side, but she had not even been angry, only hurt. “ George, dear,”’ she said, ‘“ of course I forgive you! I couldn’t do otherwise, because I love you. But I was bitterly disappointed and hurt.” He stared at her in amazement as he followed her into the house. This girl, this most wonderful girl, was forgiving him and in the same breath saying “I love you!” Silently, fearfully, he held out his arms, and with smiling eyes and lips she allowed herself to be enfolded in his clasp. Mrs. Carlyle, entering the room a few minutes later, found them seated on a sofa in very close proximity to one another. George arose and bending over her hand said, soberly, ‘‘ Minnie has forgiven me. Will you?” “1 do, George, with all my heart.” George knew that he must say something more, but his overwrought brain had left him in the lurch and he couldn't think, but he managed to stammer: “I am rapidly learning, Mrs. Carlyle, that I don't know very much.” She smiled at him. “ Oh, well, George, what can you expect ? "’ she said, brightly ; ‘‘ you are only a man.” When he went back to work that night that remark still rattled aroundinhis mind. ‘ Gad!" he thought. ‘I guess she is right. Man is only a poor fool at best— when he isn’t a rogue!’ Two robberies now, and one of them complicated by the intrusion of the bandits! Don't miss next month's thrilling instalment, which describes the amazing developments thet followed.

Page 394

SOME EXPERIENCES IN REMOTE CHITRAL By W.A. KNYVETT (Superintendent Indian Police). ILLUSTRATED BY, STANLEY ROGERS, Away over the Indian border, hemmed in by mighty mountain ranges, lies a little country - that very few people know anything about. This is Chitral, where the Indian Government maintains a small garrison and a Political Agent to see that peace is kept. The Author spent a very interesting time among the stalwart Chitralis, Sod one daerise sad Ulpavecs some at sera and here descril and illustrates some of the Chitrali types. . things he saw. EW people could tell you F off-hand where to find Chitral on the map. “Somewhere in India” would be the general answer. As a matter of fact, it is not in India, but a hundred and forty odd miles over the Indian fron- tier, tucked away in the corner of the globe where three Empires meet,its northernmost point being only twelve miles from Russia, A Russian traders in Chitral. The “ Wishing Rock.” Inside a blockhouse.

Page 395

388 THE WIDE WORLD little country the size of Wales with a popu- lation of eighty thousand, surrounded on all sides by mountain ranges, and itself con- sisting of narrow valleys between crags and shale slides, Chitral is only accessible through difficult passes ranging from ten to fourteen thousand feet high. So inaccessible is it, in fact, that the Chitralis, though surrounded by Pushtu-speaking people, have remained distinct in language and in race to this day. In 1897, for certain political reasons, there was a British political officer in the country. The ruling Mehtar was suddenly murdered, and the claimant to his office demanded immediate recognition and support from the small British force. He was told that the succession was no business of the political mission. Things became complicated; a relation of the murdered man took refuge under the British flag, and finally the force was attacked and forced into the siege of Chitral. The refugee, who was in the fort right through the siege, was appointed Mehtar, and owes his existence as such to having extracted a promise of protection from the British. This is the reason for the presence of a small garrison and a political agent away up in Chitral. The route from India starts from the rail- head at Dargai, over the Malakand pass, through Swat and Dir, and over the ten- thousand-foot Lowari pass into Chitral. The Swatis and Diris are both fanatical independent Mohammedan tribes, all of whom believe that it is a sure passport to eternal bliss to kill an unbeliever, more especially a white man. As a result, it is necessary to send up two units to escort every unit that goes to relieve the garrison. In a similar manner individual officers are provided with an escort of local levies. Every fifteen miles or so there are small stone block- houses for the protection of British travellers at night. Strict orders confine travellers within these ‘‘ towers of refuge ’’ from sunset to sunrise. There is always a possibility of a ghazi attempting a pass to paradise, but the chief danger lies in the fact that the Swatis and Diris are constantly at war one with the other. It means severe trouble for either country for a British subject to be shot within its borders, and the game, therefore, is for a Swati to “bag” a Britisher in Dir, or vice versa. I have done the march several times each way. I was fired at once, but the culprit, when caught, spoilt it all by declaring he was firing at a dove for his dinner ! On one occasion I rode round a corner to find two rival factions fighting across the road. Both parties politely ceased fire till my escort and J had passed, continuing the scrap as soon as I was round the corner. The jemadar of the escort when asked what MAGAZINE. the probable cause of the trouble was, said : ‘Oh, these people will fight about an onion. Anything for a scrap !.” The Lowari pass is free of snow and easy to negotiate during the hot months, but during the winter, avalanches and wild hurricanes make it extremely dangerous. The jemadar of the fort at the foot of the pass decides whether crossing is possible or not, and it is often necessary to wait a week or ten days before he will allow the passage. Mules are out of the question; all baggage must go over on the backs of the local peasants. Four thousand feet, up a slope of one in three, with soft snow under foot, they go—and they fight for the heaviest packages, to earn the larger wage ! The European, warmly clad, with the upper part of his face blackened to mitigate the glare, finds it about his limit to reach the top. From the top it is quite simple. The boxes go down of themselves, with very little encouragement, while ‘‘ master ’”’ sits on the coat of one of the escort and is run to the foot of the hill by two men tugging at the sleeves. Once twenty miles into Chitral there is seldom any further necessity to carry arms. The ruling chief is known as the Mehtar, Sahib of Chitral. The present ruler, Sujar- ul-Mulk, C.I.E., has been in power since the date when British troops raised the siege of Chitral, Naturally Tommy promptly chris- tened him ‘‘ Sugar and Milk.” The history of the ruling house is one line of assassinations and murders. The Chitrali is very strong on the hereditary rights of the Royal family to rule. As the Chitrali is particularly treacherous and holds life very cheap, this peculiarity has been the direct cause of a heavy death-roll in the royal family. Before the British occupation there was only one known instance in which a Mehtar managed to die a natural death. In all other cases, as far back as can be traced, the Mehtar was either assassinated or had to fly the country. To be a member of the ruling family in those days was an extremely exciting and peril- ous game. The rules were fairly simple: If you became Mehtar : ou must immediately exterminate every male member of your family. As, however, these members were as well up in the rules as you, they seldom got caught; they had skipped over the frontier and into the neighbouring states within a few hours of your accession. Then commenced a great game of intrigue and counter-intrigue, in which the odds were all against you. It was only a matter of getting you dead, and the relative who managed it would be accepted at once as Mehtar without any fear of suffering for his Rules for Rulers.

Page 396

AT THE BACK OF BEYOND. 389 and pasture to be self-supporting, without any surplus to export. Up to date no valuable minerals have been found in the hills, but there is an unlimited quantity of A Kaffir village. crime. One old man in Chitral told me that for years before the British came he was never, night or day, many yards away from a ready- saddled pony on which to ride for the frontier, nor was he without signallers on the hills between him and Chitral to warn him if the Mehtar was assassinated. The reason for these pre- cautions was that, though safe while the Mehtar was alive, the moment he was dead he became a potential ‘‘ exterminee,”’ owing to his relationship to the successor. Of course, all this has been stopped by the British, but to this day it is considered bad manners in Chitral to walk directly behind a superior, The infer- ence is ob- vious. Typical Chitralis. tribesman. Except valuable timber that the peo- which would ple have en- bring in a very joyed in- rich harvest if only it could be delivered in India, a hundred miles away. Now, you cannot carry timber on mules over passes, but you can float it down a river, and such ariverexists, made great leading right into strides or . — - British India. developed All that was left of a village wiped out by a mud avalanche. Unfortunately its indus- ; the stream runs tries since the arrival of the British, chiefly first through Afghanistan and then through because there are no industries to develop, the independent territory of the Mohmands. and each village has only just sufficient land In passing through Afghanistan, even though ternal peace and have cultivated their fields and enjoyed their pro- duce, one cannot say that the country has

Page 397

399 arrangements were made with the Amir, the power of the law is so weak that half the timber would disappear en route. As to the Mohmand country—well, it simply would not pass. Each Mohmand is a law unto himself, besides which, he is constantly at war with the British, and would take care that no timber got through, even though it was of no value to himself. The result is that the Chitral pines drop from old age and rot where they lie. A certain amount of trade from Russia comes through to India via the Dora pass. The Russians bring the merchandise through as far as Chitral, where it is made over to the Indian traders. Apart from its inaccessibility, the country owes its isolation to the fact that it is of no value to anyone. It can barely support itself. The area is as big as Wales, but it must be understood that it is all steep: hill- sides, crags, and shale slopes, of no use whatever to humanity. It is merely in the narrow valleys that an occasional piece of comparative flat lends itself to human habitation and the production of crops. ‘Travelling is done on sturdy Where little sure-footed country Wheels are ponies, along precipitous Unknown. paths, very often built out of the cliffside on rickety timbers. So precipitous is the country that the wheel as a means of transport is so impossible that a word for it does not exist in the language. Landslides, or rather rockslides, make climbing in Chitral in the summer very dangerous. It is always advis- able to stick to the ridges and avoid the steep valleys leading up the hillside, down which enormous boulders often come bound- ing from the very tops of the mountains. When out after markhor or ibex, I have often heard a roar like distant thunder and seen tons of rock, broken from the mountain- top, come crashing down the opposite slope. The mountain-tips are of solid rock. Away up at sixteen thousand feet and over, the temperature at night is many degrees below freezing-point, but in the middle of a sum- mer’s day the rock gets almost warm. The effect of these two contrasts is to make the rock alternately contract and expand, and finally split. Sooner or later a piece cracks right away from its foundations, and down comes the mass in an awe-inspiring rush of smaller rocks and shale. In a normal country springs are usually trickles of water oozing out of the hillside. In Chitral, however, I have seen a young river, a foot deep and ten yards across, pouring out of the foot of the mountains. How the water gets there, and where it comes from, is hard to explain, and it is awful to think of what is going on inside. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, As a matter of fact, what does happen was well illustrated by an enormous mud slide which took place when I was in Chitral. Centuries of internal erosion by running water under the mountains had gradually worn away the base till the weight on top became too great, and the mountain literally “sat down "’ on the water under it. The result was a gigantic stream of liquid mud and boulders, four hundred yards across and any number of feet deep, which deliber- ately oozed out from the mountain and down the valley to the main river a mile away. I was able to obtain a photo of this mud-slide shortly after it took place. The slide went straight over a village, the remains of which can be seen in one of the illustra- tions. The Chitrali is very superstitious and believes implicitly in omens. At the side of one of the mule-tracks m Chitral there is a sloping rock on the far side of the river. The first thing that strikes one is that the top of the boulder is covered with small stones. Every Chitrali who passes will solemnly pick up a stone and try and throw it so as to lodge on the rock. The super- stition is that he who succeeds will obtain any wish expressed. Naturally every lodging place has long ago been occupied, and it is very seldom that anyone succeeds in bringing off the shot. The rock can be distinctly seen in the illustration. During the war the position in Chitral was critical, as it was definitely understood that no help could reach us from India if Afghani- stan came in against us and attacked Chitral. As a matter of fact Afghanistan remained neutral until the end, when she finally declared war on India. The Chitralis, under two or three British officers, did. not wait to be attacked, but had a glorious time raiding the big Afghan villages near her borders. The Chitrali is a fine specimen of humanity, well made and very often over six feet in height, much fairer than the average Asiatic, and with features which support the theory that Alexander the Great passed that way into India. be The Chitrali has the reputation of being the finest cragsman in the world, as indeed he should be. Not only has he been bred and sborn in a country which makes it necessary for him to climb every day of his life, but he has the instinct inherited from generations before him. He is a marvellous shot with a rifle, keen on all forms of sport, intensely hospitable, and very treacherous. He is a Mohammedan of the Shia sect, not very orthodox, and free from fanatical ideas. He plays a wild game of polo of his own, is very expert in the sport of falconry,” and is specially fond of dancing and singing. The Chitrali levies under me sang whenever they

Page 398

Interested in the white traveller. Local notables. were on the march. In camp in the evenings they would gather round a log fire and spend hours singing and dancing. They have some truly awful musical instruments, but as a rule they are accompanied solely by drums. The dancing is remarkable. There is not much A village dance. foot-work, but every muscle seems to twitch and the arms and body to jerk with a wonderful sense of rhythm. The melody of the songs, though too short and too often repeated, is very catching, and it is wonderful how much music a skilful manipulator can coax from a drum. The Chitrali is interesting, but he cannot compare in this way with the “ Kaffirs’’” who have been allowed to settle in some of his valleys. AT THE BACK OF BEYOND. 391 West of Chitral is a large A Mysterious tract of country known as Country. Kaffiristan, inhabited by a tribe known as Kaffirs. How and why they came there no one seems to know. Next door to fanatical Moham- medan Afghanistan, with a mysterious religion of their own, absolutely an- tagonistic to Mohammedan, they have managed to exist independent, till quite recently. About twenty-five years ago the Afghans conquered their country and forced the whole population to turn Mohammedan. At that time, sooner than change their religion a certain number of the Kaffirs obtained per- mission from the Mehtar Sahib of Chitral to emigrate into his country and inhabit certain valleys. To this Carved effigies to the dead in a Kaffir village.

Page 399

page gives a good idea of the effigies. An_extraordi- nary quality or 392 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, day these Kaffirs are there, with their religion, customs, and language intact. I was never able to fathom their religion ; as far as | could make out, they worshipped some traditional and indefinable deity. No one seems to know anything definite about these strange people. lor hundreds of miles all round them there are nothing but Mohammedan nations who are known to have been Moham- medans for centuries, and yet this small spot in the middle has existed with a distinct religion, distinct customs, and no- thing except mutual hatred in common with its neighbours. The Kaffirs are a fine big race with [& Greek features. | Their women are reputed to be the most beautiful in that part of the world, and seem to enjoy a position of something like equality with the men, On the other hand, like most tribes who live high up near the snow, I don’t think they spend much time in washing either their clothes or themselves. They have one very quaint custom in regard to the disposal of their dead. Somewhere near the larger villages they choose a steep rocky hillside; this is strictly preserved as the village burial ground, or rather disposal ground, for they do not inter their dead. On this hillside each family has its own particular vault, which consists of a massive pinewood chest about eight feet by four by four. The lid has no hinges and stays on by its own weight, aided sometimes by a heavy rock. As each member of a family dies he is solemnly deposited amongst the remains of his pre- decessors in the chest, the lid is replaced, and Nature takes its course. The chests are clearly visible from the valley; the photograph re- produced above shows them distinctly. What happens when the skulls and bones are too numerous in any one box to allow room for a fresh body I did not ascertain, nor did I think it proper to inquire too deeply into the matter or to climb up and examine the chests. The relatives of an important man erect an effigy to him after his death. These effigies are roughly hewn out of solid pine trunks, and generally represent a man on horseback. The illustration on the previous One of the blockhouses where travellers take refuge. vice — whichever way you like it— about ‘these peo- ple is their ability to live and thrive while breaking every rule of hy- giene. There are mo sanitary ar- “rangements what- ever in the vil- lages, nor are there the usual sanitary customs which exist in even the most backward com- munities. As long as it is freezing or thereabouts a vil- lage is bearable, but on a hot day it is almost im- possible for a European to walk through. And yet: these people are hardy and hale, and I have never heard of an epidemic amongst them ! A feature in the religion of the Kaffirs is their religious dances at certain festivals. These dances are extraordinarily interesting and weird to watch. The religious zeal, the obvious sin- cerity, and the deep emotion shown by the participants make a fitting background to the wonderful movements carried out. The costumes worn are rich A Kaffir ceme- tery. The dead are placed on hillsides in mas- sive chests. The and deeply interesting. The Man-Killer’s women wear long woollen Badge. cloaks and gaudy head- dresses ; the men carry short imitation axes in their hands and the regular Kaffir dagger in their waistbands. Some of the men's coats and pagris are of many- coloured silks, and personages of importance can be identified by their ‘‘ pabboos ”’ (soleless half-Wellington boots) made of markhor leather with the hair intact ; only those of a certain status are permitted to show the hair. Amongst the crowd are a few with the most valued badge of all—a manaul (pheasant) feather sticking straight up from the headgear, each feather proclaiming the wearer to have murdered a Mohammedan. In the old days, before Kaffiristan was con- quered, it suffered terribly from the neigh- bouring Afghans. The hatred against the Afghan was bitter, and the ambition of every young Kaffir was to killa Mohammedan. To encourage this desire, every man who could prove that he had accomplished a ‘ kill” single-handed was permitted to wear one

Page 400

AT THE BACK OF manaul feather in his hat for each “ kill.”’ It is an exact illustration of our English saying, “‘ A feather in his cap.” One old man had four of these significant feathers, and several had three. They told me stories of many fruitless expeditions, culminating in a favourable opportunity where a Mohammedan had been caught asleep and alone, or where the unfortunate and unsuspecting victim was suddenlystabbed from behind. They seemed to have no shame about taking a man un- awares or asleep ; it was all part of the game, and necessary in order to earn the cherished feather. It was weird to a European to see these men parading what we should consider et “I seized the nearest girl in my arms and fell face foremost into two feet of ice-cold water. BEYOND. 393 their crimes for the admiration of their womenfolk. The dances take place in the village square, round a stone altar. The dancers in their gaudy costumes mass about the altar, leaving a small clear space round it for the elders. At a given signal they start to dance to the tune of a solemn chant. Every muscle and limb twitches and sways, while the men twirl their axes. Each dancer applies his own individuality to his move-- ments, but the feet of all move in absolute unison. Like a solid human wheel, with the altar as the hub, the dancers stamp their way round—a few stamps forward, a sway, and a

Page 401

394 THE WIDE stamp backwards, then forward again, and so on, till the ground shakes. The chant consists of a few words sung by one of the elders, and responses by the dancers in unison, the whole forming an oft-repeated sing-song melody. The entire effect is awe-inspiring. The very earth quivers in time to the stamping feet as the human wheel sways and surges. Suddenly the tribal soothsayer is ‘' pos- “sessed,”’ the dancers cease gyrating and form in a circle, while the soothsayer, foaming at the mouth, rushes round. He seizes daggers from the waists of the onlookers and assumes threatening attitudes : very often, with one dagger in his mouth and one in each hand, he will rush at an elder as though to murder him. Finally, after about five minutes of frenzied activity, he sinks on to the altar. This is the moment when his prophetic powers are at their greatest, and question after question is shouted by the dancers— “How will the crops fare this year?” “Will there be sickness ?’’ ‘‘ How many sons will be born ?"’ and so on. To each he answers by a sign, or by holding up a certain number of fingers. It is hard to say whether this man is a colossal fraud or whether he really does work himself up into a state of semi-coma in which he does not know what he is doing. I have watched these men closely, but could form no opinion. The signs are very often ambiguous, but there is no doubt that the witch doctor is completely exhausted at the end of his séance. He generally staggered away and sat on a stone, holding his head in his hands and gasping for breath. The photograph reproduced on page 375 gives some idea of the dancing-ground and altar. At one of these festivals, after the dancing is over, it is customary for the women to duck everyone in the village stream. The fun starts by a few of the elders being dealt with. Matters gradually get livelier and livelier till all the males present have had their turn. Suddenly someone is missed, and the whole gang tear off to his house and drag him out to get an extra-special ducking. By this time everyone is carrying a utensil of some kind. wherewith to swill water over the victims. Within ten minutes there is not a dry inch of humanity anywhere in the village. On one occasion the Political My Agent and myself were watch- Ducking. ing this ceremony from the top of a hut in the village square. The presence of the Agent en- couraged the women to set about their task whole-heartedly. Finally all the villagers had been ducked, but the fun was too good to end there. A group of our servants and orderlies, looking very superior and import- ant, were standing in the square, thoroughly WORLD MAGAZINE, enjoying the discomfort of each new victim. The temptation was too great! With yells of laughter, the women sprang on them, and the next moment struggling groups were staggering towards the stream. I shall never forget the change of expression on the face of my immaculate servant. One second, confident in his position as the ‘ sahib’s ” servant, he was laughing merrily ; the next, he realized he was ‘for it,” inrmaculate white clothes and all. I was helpless with laughter over the incident, when the Politi- cal Agent suddenly shouted: ‘‘ Look out, Knyvett ; we are foritnext !’”’ True enough, the women were talking together in an excited bunch. They kept looking up to us, and one could see they were discussing whether they dared. If we had stood our ground and frowned, telling the headman to control the women, I doubt if anything would have happened, but the situation took us quite differently. With one accord we jumped from the roof and “ legged it ” for camp, followed by the laughing women, each armed with a utensil full of ice-cold snow- water. Both of us had played “ rugger,” and we easily managed to hand off and dodge the few unscientific and half-hearted at- tempts to collar us. Luckily the Political Agent drew the crowd up the valley, where he was ultimately caught and bought himself off with baksheesh. Meanwhile, I reached our camp and hid in a tree over the tents. Presently the whole crowd returned, in search of their next victim. They hunted the camp inside out, but never thought of looking up. I believe they would never have found me had it not been for my idiotic Chitrali orderly, who had helped me up the tree. He was thoroughly enjoying the joke, but persisted in looking up to see how I was getting on. Of course, one of the women promptly spotted what he was doing, and the next moment I was ignominiously hauled down and escorted to the river for my ducking. I was determined to do the thing in style, and just as we reached the bank, I seized the nearest girl in my arms and fell face foremost into two feet of rushing ice-cold water. Meanwhile the Assistant Political Agent managed to get up with his camera and he snapped me just in the act of being solemnly ducked. If I had realized that the water was straight from the snow-topped hills I should have bought myself off, for its coldness was beyond all description. As it was, I had to give baksheesh just the same, to show there was no ill-feeling, and I contracted a *‘ go’ of fever into the bargain. Except for the Political Agent and a few military officers no European, and, of course, no womenfolk, are allowed into Chitral. This is why so few people have seen the country and why so little is known about it.

Page 402

A very exciting story of the old whaling days in the Pacific. “The narrative is absolutely true,” writes the Author, “all the facts having HE whaling barque Athol, fifteen months out of New Bed- ford, rolled lazily to the long swells of the South m ito ne been obtained from the i served in the Whalers’ Museum at New Bed- ford, Massachusetts.” furtive fellow with lank pale hair, sharp features, and a rat-like face. “It’s a bloomin’ shame, I says,”’ muttered Comstock, the big man; Pacific, her dingy brown sails “here we be, workin’ like dogs, slatting against her smoke-grimed WitrataED ay chasin whales an’ Diilin’ ‘em spars at each leeward lurch. High TH ROBINSON down ; sleepin’ in a pig-sty of a up on her top-gallant crosstrees fo'c’sle an’ eatin’ wormy biscuit the look-outs perched, scanning an’ rotten horse—an’ fer what ? the vast rim of the ocean for tell-tale sprays of spouting whales, and swinging in wide arcs against the cloudless sky at every roll. In the shadow of the spare life- boats, on their cradle over the poop, the captain and two mates sat playing cards on the cabin skylight ; the Portuguese helms- man dozed at the wheel; and the crew, seated about the decks bare-legged and with hairy chests exposed by open shirts, whiled away the time by carving odd curios from bits of whales’ teeth and bone. In the doorway of the galley the negro cook crooned a plantation melody as he pared potatoes. Peace and calm brooded over the ship. There was no hint of trouble in the air; the men had been willing, content, and obedient ; the food was as good as usual; in the hold were tiers of filled oil casks ; the officers were neither brutal nor overbearing, and Christmas - was but five days off. Already, in anticipa- tion of the day, the ‘“‘ makings ” of plum duff, puddings, pies, and other delicacies had been broken out from the stores, and a keg of rum and a barrel of Madcira were stowed in the cabin ready to be broached. But among the riff-raff crew—drawn, as whalers often are, from slums and gutters— were all the elements of crime, all the fuel for tragedy which might flame up at the least provocation. And, as usual, there were malcontents, natural-born trouble-makers, men ever ready to break out against authority if they dared. In a secluded spot in the shade of the foresail sat two men earnestly engaged in subdued conversation. One was a huge, burly ruffan with beetling brows, low forehead, pig-like eyes, and brutal pro- truding jaw ; the other, a small, shifty-eyed, Fer a measly lay o’ one bar’! o’ ‘ile outer ev'ry hund’ed an’ fifty! What we got comin’ to us now, I asks ye, Slim ? Three bar'ls of ‘ile—sev’nty-five dollars—fer fifteen months o’ slavin’ an’ sweatin’. How'd they git the ‘ile if ‘twa’nt fer us, I'd like ter know ? An’ they orders us ‘round an’ makes us call ‘em ‘ Mister’ an’ gits ten times our lays of ’ile.”’ “Sure,” agreed Slim; ‘‘ but jes’ the same, if ‘twan't for the officers where’d we be ? Think ye could handle a boat an’ strike a whale an’ nav'gate, do you? ‘Course we couldn't! Not that I’m after sayin’ it’s fair play fer us ter get a rotten little lav like we does ; but we knowed that when we signed on. ‘Sides, what yer goin’ ter do ‘bout it 7’ “Aw, what ye givin’ on us?” growled Comstock. ‘’Course we knowed it, but did we know we was goin’ ter be robbed ev'ry time we drawed a chaw o’ baccy or a rotten dungaree out 0’ the slop-chest ? Did We know we was goin’ to be stripped clean of advance money and what's comin’ to us from the v’yage afore we come aboard ? "e bet we didn’t! What’s I goin’ fer to do ° *bout it ? Aw, ve're too cowardly fer- me ter tell ye. But there’s another thing I ain’t tol’ ye yet. Did ye know the old man had ten thousan’ dollars in gold in his locker ? ’Course ye didn’t! Nice crib to crack, eh ? I thought that ’ud make yer eyes pop open! Say, look here! Do ye think ye could jes’ kinder size the boys up, Slim? Jes’ hint ‘bout that there gold, an’ see how they talk!” “How'd you know ‘bout the coin?” asked Slim, suspiciously. “How'd I know?” replied Comstock.

Page 403

396 “Steward told me. He heard the old man tellin’ chief mate ‘bout it.”’ “ Ain’t aimin’ ter start a mutiny, are yer?’ inquired the other. ‘ I’m agin that. Murder ain’t in my line.” “‘Who said anythin’ ‘bout murder?” asked Comstock, angrily. ‘A feller kin git hold of a bit o’ cash without murderin’, can’t he? Listen, ol’ man, here’s my idee.” Bending close, the big fellow whispered earnestly into his companion’s ear. Sud- denly, however, a cry of ‘‘ Thar she blows ! ” floated down from the look-out, and instantly all the men were on their feet and there was bustle and life everywhere as the crew anxiously peered ahead and waited for the order to lower the boats. To the skipper’s shout of ‘' Where away ?” came the answering call: ‘‘ Two points on the lee bow, "bout two miles off!’ Then, as the whale spouted once more, the order was given to man and lower away, and a moment later two boats went tearing through the sea in the direction of the whale. For a time the two conspirators were separ- ated, Comstock being bow-oar in the chief mate’s boat, while Slim was after-oar in the boat steered by the second officer. Each crew striving its utmost to out- distance its rivals, the men bent to their long ash oars, fairly lifting the speedy whale- boats through the water, while in the sterns stood the mates, straining at the huge steering oars and urging their men to still greater efforts to win the honour of getting “first irons’”’ into the whale. Gradually the second mate’s crew drew ahead, until, when within a few hundred yards of the whale, his boat was half a length in advance. Then, as the men decreased their efforts and the boats crept cautiously towards the great creature lazily rolling on the surface, the harpooners silently drew in their oars, lifted their irons, or harpoons, from their places, braced their legs against the ‘‘ knee-cleats,”’ and, grasping the heavy weapons in both hands, stood ready to hurl them into the whale as soon as they came within striking distance. Nearer and nearer they crept. At last the second mate’s boat was within a score of feet of the huge mountain of black skin, and with set jaws and knotted muscles the har- pooner raised his iron and with all his strength darted it at the giant monster. Scarcely had the point buried itself in the whale’s side when the chief mate’s boat also struck. At the double twinge of pain the whale raised high his flukes—throwing a deluge of water into the boats—and dived from sight, while the officers dropped their steering oars and leaped forward, the harpooners hurrying aft to seize the big oars and become _boat- steerers. Like streams of light the lines THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. whirred from the boats, smoking through the chocks, and leaping like living, writhing serpents from the tubs, as fathom after fathom was drawn out by the sounding whale. Down, down he went, striving to rid him- self of those stinging barbs, seeking safety in the depths of the sea. One hundred, two hundred, two hundred and fifty fathoms of the stout hemp rope ran out. With lifted hatchets the mates crouched, ready to sever the lines and save their boats from being drawn under should the monster dive beyond the limits of the ropes. Then came the cry, “ Haul slack! "’ and frantically the men laboured, drawing in the line, which slackened. as the whale ceased diving. Long before the slack had been gathered and coiled, how- ever, the frenzied creature broke from the surface beside the boats. Throwing his stupendous head high in air and bringing it down in terrific, trip-hammer blows, with a noise like thunder, snapping and thrusting with his huge, many-toothed jaw, thrashing to right and left with his twenty-foot flukes, ” the monster sperm whale churned the sea into foam in his madness. Tossed on the heaving waves created by the creature’s struggles, half swamped by the water thrown into the boats from his lashing tail, the men alternately backed water, swung to left or right, drew closer, paid out line or hauled in slack, alert and ready for any unexpected move their quarry might make. Narrowly escaping death from the descending head, avoiding the shearing jaw by inches, saving themselves from the flailing flukes as by a miracle, they hung grimly on until, anxious to get another iron into the monster's side, the second mate’s boat approached too closely, and the next instant was tossed a dozen feet in air by a mighty blow of the whale’s flukes ! With their craft smashed into matchwood and one of their number instantly killed; the men of the stove-in boat struggled in . the churning waters, clinging to bits of wreckage and oars, until, at the risk of boat and lives, their comradés worked their craft near and rescued their half-drowned “shipmates. ? Hardly had this been done when, abandon- ing his tactics, the whale leaped into the air and with a mad, blind rush tore straight ahead, striving to escape from his tormentors. With line straight and taut as a bar of steel; the boat followed in his wake, a small moun- tain of foam about its bows, the boat-steerer straining every muscle to keep the craft on its course, the men crouching low and franti- cally bailing out the water that poured in torrents over the gunwales. Then, turning as on a pivot, the whale * milled ''—swim- ming with express-train speed in circles, careening the boat perilously, dragging it in

Page 404

THE MUTINY OF THE “ATHOL” 397 “With their craft smashed into matchwood, the men of the stove-in boat struggled in the churning waters until their comrades worked their craft near and rescued their half- drowned shipmates.”

Page 405

398 dizzy zigzags, spinning it like a teetotum ; but all to no avail. Filled with the excite- -ment of the chase, glorying in the deadly menace that beset them; thinking only of victory, the men waited, confident of the outcome of the struggle, knowing that if the iron held and did not ‘‘ draw,” if the line stood the strain and did not part, that in the end they would conquer. Gradually the whale’s struggles grew less, his dashes became shorter, he swam more slowly, and at last, exhausted, he rested motionless upon the surface of the sea. Instantly oars were placed noiselessly in rowlocks, with the utmost caution, and silently as ghosts the men worked their craft towards the tired whale. Now came the most dangerous part of the chase, the actual killing, the time for the death-stroke with the lance. Carefully slipping the sheath from the keen-bladed weapon, the mate braced himself in the bow, both hands firmly gripping the lance-haft, jaws set, teeth gritted, muscles tensed. Nearer and nearer drew the boat ; twenty, ten, six feet separated the mountain of flesh, bone, and blubber from the frail craft ; and then, just as the boat seemed about to bump into the whale’s side, the mate, gathering all his - strength for the effort, lurched forward and drove the lance deep into the creature’s vitals. The next moment the stricken monster was transformed into a writhing, leaping, plunging demon of titanic fury. Heaving and tossing in the maelstrom, facing sure and swift death every instant, fighting for their lives, the whalemen, by marvels of skill and superhuman efforts, held their place, knowing no fear, oblivious to danger. Their slogan was: ‘‘ A dead whale or a stove boat!" and presently a crimsoned spray rose from the creature’s nostrils, the immense body rolled upon its side, a flipper waved aimlessly in air, and from the trium- phant men rose the gladshout of “ Fin up!’ The battle was over ; the whale was dead ! But the whalers’ dangerous labours were not yet done. Watching a chance as the boat rose upon a wave, a man leaped on to the carcass and, knee-deep in water, cling- ing like a leech to the slippery black skin, he deftly passed a line around the “ small ” of the dead whale’s tail. By means of this the heavy fluke-chain was drawn into place, a tow-line was made fast, and, pulling and tugging at their oars, the men slowly dragged the huge body towards the Athol, which had sailed near, and now lay with backed topsails half a mile distant. With the prize safely alongside and secured beneath the cutting-stage and gangway on the ship’s starboard side, the tired men set to work at the greasy, dirty, back-breaking labour THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of “ cutting-in ” and boiling. With creaking tackles and straining muscles the great, dripping blanket-pieces and strips of blubber were hoisted in; the precious spermaceti was bailed from the huge head ; the massive ‘junk’ was lifted aboard. The crew laboured ceaselessly, day and night, but at last it was over. The final piece of blubber was stripped from the whale, minced and boiled ;_ the try-works fires died out; the carcass, with its attendant swarms of scream- ing sea-birds and scavenger sharks, was cast adrift ; the decks were swabbed and cleaned ; and the men threw themselves down to a well-earned rest. With eighty odd barrels of oil added to her cargo, the Afhol’s yards were squared, and before a fresh breeze she wallowed on her course. Well pleased with his luck, satisfied with the way his men had worked, and with visions of soon being homeward bound with a full ship, the captain decided to make a real holiday of Christmas, and accordingly headed for a nearby island offering a safe anchorage. By mid-forenoon on the day before Christmas the cry of “ Land ho!” rang out ‘from the look-out, and rapidly the faint smudge of haze upon the horizon developed into a green-clad island, its crescent beach rimmed with waving palms and with tur- quoise water breaking in snowy foam upon its coral sands. Half a mile from the beach the Athol’s anchor splashed into the crystal- clear water, and with brailed and clewed sails the barque swung to her mooring off the tropic isle. Upon the shore a crowd of naked savages watched curiously as the vessel came to anchor, and presently a fleet of swift canoes came speeding and bobbing towards the barque, their jabbering occu- pants holding up bunches of bananas, green coco-nuts, squealing pigs, and other island products. The natives of the place had always been friendly, and the captain had no fear of them. As they swarmed over the barque’s side and gathered about, the skipper welcomed them, accepted their gifts, and in return presented them with trinkets, cloth, tobacco, and biscuit. Soon they were ming- ling freely with the crew, and preparations were made for a jollification, to include tests of strength and skill, games, and general skylarking. With the natives as an audience the men boxed, ran, jumped, danced, and wrestled in the best of spirits. Watching the fun, good-naturedly chaffing the losers and applauding the winners, the officers stood near until the burly Comstock, having worsted all competitors, banteringly chal- lenged anyone to throw him in a wrestlirig match. “Come on, any o’ ye,” he shouted.

Page 406

THE MUTINY OF THE “There ain't no line drawed to-day; all’s equals now. Where’s that there husky mate?” *‘ All right, Comstock,’”’ cried the mate. “Vl take you on. Think you’re champion of the ship, do you?” Kicking off his shoes and stripping to the waist, the mate leaped to the deck and grappled with the man. With huge, knotted muscles straining, panting breath and heaving chests, the two men struggled and strained. Both giants in strength, hard as_ nails, accustomed for years to hard knocks, heavy toil, and a rough life, the pair were equally matched, but while the mate took it good- naturedly and as a mere test of strength and skill, Comstock—surly, resentful, and ugly— looked upon the struggle as a means of venting his hatred and injuring his opponent. His overpowering desire to play foul, however, defeated his own ends and made him careless, and presently, skilfully shifting his grip, the mate threw his opponent heavily to the deck. For an instant the sailor lay motion- less and partly stunned, while roars of Jaughter and applause rose from men and savages alike. Thinking the man might be injured, the mate stepped forward to aid his enemy, only to be met with an oath as Comstock leaped to his feet. “Dern ye!” he cried, “I'll git ye fer that! Think ye can do me an’ git away with it, do ye? Jes’ wait an’ see!” The mate flushed, and his fists clenched angrily. ‘ Lucky for you it’s a holiday,” he flashed back. ‘“ But let it go. I'm not holding any hard feelings. Forget it, Comstock. I threw you fair enough, and you know it.” Donning his shoes and clothes, the mate resumed his place beside the captain, while the fuming Comstock pushed his way among the crew and stood talking vehemently with his cronies. \ The incident was presently forgotten as, tired of their skylarking, the men lowered the boats and pulled ashore, where, until evening, they frolicked on the sand, bathed in the tepid water, and made merry as the natives pranced about in a weird dance to the music of their tom-toms. The captain, knowing the dire results which might follow, had given strict orders that no rum or liquor should be served to men or natives, but surreptitiously a keg of gin had been smuggled ashore, and though there was not enough to produce intoxica- tion among the crew or the natives, the taste of the liquor whetted their appetite for more, and soon trouble began to brew. The crew, excited by drink, took unwonted liberties with the natives and their belong- ings. The savages, naturally, resented this, and several were severely pommelled by the “ATHOL.” 399 whalemen. This, however, was not at all to Comstock’s liking. He had no mind to incur the enmity of the islanders ; it inter- fered with his plans, and being a recognized leader and feared by his fellows, he soon had matters smoothed out and peace once more established. “Cut it out!’ he commanded. “ The first thing you know, the bloomin’ niggers will be stickin’ you or shootin’ p‘izened arrows into ye. They’re ten to one. What are you aimin’ at ? Want to be sarved up for their Christmas dinner, do ye 7” Thus, with good common sense, aided by curses and a few blows, he restored order, and finally, approaching the chief, who spoke a queer “ pidgin’’ English, he drew him to one side and talked earnestly to him. His words evidently met with the chief's approval, for the savage grinned and nodded, showing his gleaming, sharp-pointed teeth, and soon after the men tumbled into their boats and rowed back to the barque. Knowing nothing of the trouble which had occurred ashore, the officers sat smoking on the poop, chatting about the people at home and Christmas cheer. But they were not to remain long in ignorance. From the dark shadows a figure stole towards them and, touching his cap, spoke to the captain in hushed tones. “The devil you say, Slim!” exclaimed the captain. ‘So the swabs iook gin ashore, did they ?. And you men know about the gold, eh? I reckon ’tis a pretty big temptation, but I guess they’re net such a bad lot. I'm sorry about that liquor and the natives, though. Thank ye, Slim.” As the informer slunk away the captain turned to the mates. ‘I guess we'd better stow that gold somewhere else,” he remarked. “You never can tell what might happen. And you fellows had better shove pistols in your pockets. I don’t think there's any danger, but it’s just as well to be ready. If ‘twasn’t Christmas to-morrow, I’d_ get out of here and not take any chances. I don’t trust the natives—they’re all right so long as they’re sober, but once get ’em started on drink and they’re fiends incarnate.” But all was quiet ashore; there were no sounds or signs to indicate that the natives were not peacefully inclined, and so, having secreted the gold coin where they were sure none of the crew could find it if they under- took to steal it, the other officers turned in, leaving the second mate on watch. Listening for any suspicious sound, glancing frequently ashore, and watching the deserted decks to detect any skulking figures or unusual movements, the second mate paced the deck, his thoughts on far-away New Bedford, but his senses all alert and watch- ful, for he was fully alive to the dangers

Page 407

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “The mate threw his opponent heavily to the deck.”

Page 408

THE MUTINY OF THE implied by Slim’s warning. Throughout the long hours of his lonely watch, however, nothing untoward happened, and waking the chief mate, he threw himself upon his bunk and was soon sleeping soundly. He was aroused by a piercing scream, the sound of running feet, the sharp reports of a pistol, and the thud of a falling body on the deck above the cabin. As he leaped from his bunk and seized his revolver he noticed that it was broad daylight ; then, springing to his door, he dashed out of the cabin and up the stairs. Upon the deck lay the bodies of two of the men. Gathered in a knot and armed with lances, belaying-pins, blubber- and axes was the crew, obviously in the captain and mate stood facing them with pistols in their hands. Cowed for the moment by the death of their fellows, the mutineers stood irresolute, for none wanted to be the next to fall. Then, his big bulk looming above his companions, Com- stock waved a boat-spade threateningly. “Throw them guns overboard!” he shouted, with an oath. “ ’Tain’t no use! We're five to one, an’ we'll git ye! We ain't aimin’ to kill ye, but we're goin’ to have that gold, if we have to murder ye to do it !” A shot from the mate's pistol was the only answer, and at the report Comstock’s weapon fell clattering to the deck, and with a curse of pain and rage he staggered against the mast, half blinded by the blood streaming from a deep furrow cut by the bullet in his forehead. Maddened at the sight and for- getting all fear, the men leaped forward, but at the ragged volley from the officers’ pistols that greeted them they again fell back, leaving three of their comrades sprawled upon the deck. Seizing a whale-spade from one of the fallen men, Comstock hurled it at the captain. Still dazed by his wound, however, his aim was not true, and the keen-edged weapon buried itself harmlessly in the woodwork. Even before it struck, the big mutineer fell lifeless, shot by the second mate, and, demoralized at the fall of their leader, the crew drew slowly back. At this instant, and without the least warning, wild yells arose on every side, and naked savages poured over the bulwarks. Rushing to the store of whale-spades, the natives seized the terrible weapons and, like fiends incarnate, dashed at the three officers, -who, amazed at this sudden and unexpected onslaught, were totally unprepared. Not until they saw the mutineers joining with their savage allies did the three men realize that their own crew were being aided by the natives, and that, thus outnumbered many times, their case was hopeless. Their only chance was to retreat and barricade them- selves in the cabin; but it was already too Vol. xlix.—28. ** ATHOL.” 401 late. Even as they turned, a hideously- painted savage leaped forward with a blood- curdling yell and with a single blow of his spade almost beheaded the unfortunate cap- tain. Wresting the weapon away, the second mate lunged at the native, burying the spade in his breast. Then, as the yelling, murder- ous mob stumbled over the bodies of the captain and their fallen fellow, the two surviving officers dashed down the companion- way. There was no time to shut and bolt doors, for close at their heels came the savages and the mutineers. Rushing through the cabin, the mates found the decks almost deserted, the crowd being now on the poop and in the cabin. Bounding across the deck, while lances and hurtling spades whizzed by them, the two men gained the open hatch and without hesitation plunged into it. Scarcely had they disappeared in the black depths when their enemies swarmed about the opening, and the mates, feeling that their end was near, cocked their pistols, deter- mined to sell their lives dearly. The mutineers and their savage allies, however, had no mind to descend into the darkness where an invisible foe lay waiting with firearms, and after a short conference the hatch cover was drawn across the open- ing and the imprisoned men heard the sounds of hammering as the hatch was battened down. Shut up in the black, foul hold; sur- rounded by cargo and stores, without food or water, and with a mob of blood-excited savages and murderous mutineers on deck, the officers’ case seemed hopeless indeed. But they were of Yankee whalemen stock— brave, resourceful, and indomitable—and instantly they set to work on rapidly-formed plans. Feeling their way among the stowed supplies and casks, the two slowly worked aft towards the door which they knew com- municated with the lazarette under the cabin. Here were food and drink, and from the lazarette they might be able to reach the decks unseen and escape under cover of darkness. The men, they felt sure, would soon drink themselves into a stupor, as would the natives, and there was a possibility that all would leave the ship and go ashore, when, if luck and fortune favoured the prisoners, it might be possible to swim to the boats and get safely away. To be sure, there was but one chance in a million of success ; but they had spent their lives taking chances, and one more or less was of no moment when life itself was at stake. Suddenly the chief mate uttered an exclamation and drew sharply back—his outstretched hand had touched a human face! Instantly he reached for his revolver, but before he could draw it a few hurried words reassured him.

Page 409

4o2 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “It's me, sir Slim!” said a whining voice. ‘' Don't be skeered; we ain't no mut’neers, There ’s jes’ me an’ Pete an’ Portugee Joe an’ Chips. We ain't takin’ part in no mut’ny. We jest sneaked in here soon as the trouble started out an’ are hidin’ 'till it’s all over.” Relieved and encouraged at discovering they had four faithful men they could count upon, the two officers rapidly outlined their scheme for escape. All agreed that it held a chance of success, and once more the men commenced creeping aft. Suddenly, from overhead, came the sounds of loud voices, the rush of feet, savage yells, and the noise and uproar of battle. Beneath the heavy decks the sounds were muffled and indistinct, but all knew what it meant. The mutineers and savages were fighting among themselves! A quarrel had arisen over something or other, and the imprisoned men had little doubt of the result. Greatly out- numbered and outclassed in fighting ability, the mutineers would be vanquished and cut down without mercy, while such of 7 them as were wounded or captured alive would in all probability be butchered to provide a cannibal feast. But this thought was of little consolation to the officers and men crawling through the dismal hold. Although their original enemies might be destroyed, there were still more dangerous foes to reckon with. Beyond a doubt the natives would fire the ship, when the fugitives wou'd either be smoked out to be killed, or would perish in the flames unless, by nothing short of a miracle, they managed to steal forth while the savages feasted and drank, and succeeded

Page 410

THE MUTINY OF THE ‘“ ATHOL.” 403 in reaching the boats and getting away un- Entering the lazarette, the mate cautiously seen. Gradually the sounds of fighting grew struck a match, and at the sight which met less, and by the time the men had reached his eyes a sudden wild idea flashed through the bulkhead at the end of the hold, only an his brain. Before him was a small, black occasional scream or a savage yell told of keg boldly marked : ‘“‘ Gunpowder.” some poor fellow being put to death There followed a hasty consultation, and a few moments later the hatch to the lazarette was cautiously opened, and the men set about carrying out their hazardous plan “Utterly thunderstruck at the sudden apparition, the natives threw down their weapons and plunged into the sea.”

Page 411

404 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Climbing to the cabin table, Slim and his three companions, armed with muskets and pistols from the lazarette, commenced firing at the savages, who were gathered in the ship’s waist about a broached cask of rum. Utterly taken by surprise at this unexpected attack—for they had completely forgotten the mates—the natives uttered yells of fright and hurriedly scattered, seeking hiding- places behind masts and hatches. Mean- while, as the four men thus kept them at bay, the two mates hurriedly dragged forth two kegs of powder, placed them midway up the companionway, and, laying a thick train of powder, called to the others. All of them then hurried into the mate’s cabin and awaited results. As they had foreseen, the cannibals, at the cessation of the firing, decided that the men’s ammunition was exhausted, and with savage screams dashed for the companionway. As the first pair of naked, brown legs appeared in the opening, the mate touched a match to the powder. There was a spiteful hiss, a flare, and then a tremendous, deafen- ing explosion. Stunned and shaken, the six men were thrown prone upon the cabin floor, the door was wrenched from its hinges, and the ship rocked at her moorings. Regaining their feet, and plunging through the reeking, choking fumes, the six men—yelling wildly, and firing as they ran—rushed at the terror- stricken cannibals. Utterly thunderstruck at the sudden apparition of the shouting men, and with their superstitious minds filled with deadly fear at the inexplicable explosion, the savages threw down their weapons and, leaping over the bulwarks, plunged into the sea and swam frantically for shore. Upon the deck and poop were strewn many mangled bodies—mute testimonials to the fatal toll of the exploding powder. But the six victorious men gave little heed to this or to the corpses of the mutineers lying atout the decks. At any moment the savages might rally and, overcoming their terror, return in force. There was no time to be lost. With two men to help him, the second mate rushed forward and slipped the cable, while Slim and the others busied themselves with unfurling the great sails. Tailing on to the braces, the men, with herculean efforts, swung the yards, and slowly the barque headed for the open sea. By sundown that ill-omened island was a mere cloud upon the horizon, the decks had been swabbed and cleaned, and under easy canvas the Athol swept steadily before the trade wind. Then, with nothing but the quiet surface of the vast Pacific in sight, and the sun sinking in glory in the west, the ship hove-to, and the six men, forgetting all differences in rank and station, seated them- selves at their long-deferred Christmas meal. THE BAT’S DEATH-TRAP. Herx is a very remarkabl- natural history photograph. Conceming it a correspondent writes: “Four of us were talking at the paddock gate of the Highlard Home Cct- tage. Sewardstone, Esse: when one called the atten ton of the others to an un- usual appearance in a large clump of burdocks close at hand. To our surprise, it tumed out to be a large dead bat with its wings anc breast hopelessly entangled in the ‘fish-hooks’ with which the burrs of the plant are armed. So unique an occurrence deserved to be recorded, so I borrowed a pair of scissors and cut away enough of the plant to enable me to take it home and use my camera. Unfortunately, I had to sacrifice the branch holding the wing on the left, as it obstructed the view. The wings were fully extended when found and_ measured nine inches Our explanation of the incident resolved itself into the theory that it was not an accidental collision between the bat and the plant, as it is well known that the nervous system of the creature pre- vents it from colliding with anything. but that it had followed one of the moths which frequent the blue florets at the tips of the burrs. Its fully outstretched wings, caught by a sort of ‘ jiu-jitsu’’ hold, added to its helplessness, and it must have died miserably of starvation.”

Page 412

TRAILING the ~ GUN-RUNNERS The conclusion of this thrilling story of adven- ture in the turbulent negro Republic of Dominica Arms and ammunition intended for revolutionists were being smuggled in in spite of the U.S. Government's vigilance, and the Author was asked to investigate. The preceding instalments described how, with his servant Joseph, he located a gun-running schooner and found that the arms were being received bya Dutchman ~~ IV. (Conc « ND now that I have killed the negrouge, M’sieu, we do not get the guns?’ said Clisonne, in dis- appointed tones. His half-questioning inflection showed that he still had hopes, and it instantly occurred to me that I could now send him on a message to Merritt and fulfil my promise of a reward at the same time. “Yes, Clisonne,”’ I answered; ‘‘it was not expected that the red-head would escape, and I cannot blame you or your people. If you will take another letter to M’sieu Le Croix, I will call it square. Have you my order with’ you ? " He drew a tiny wallet of rawhide from the folds of his belt and, opening it, handed me the order to Le Croix. Taking the paper, I crossed off the words “‘red-headed negro alive and unhurt,” and wrote instead: “this paper with the mes- sage on the other side.” Then, turning it over, I added the following : ‘‘ The red-head escaped. Was trailed to Cana Honda by bearer, and as he could not be delivered as expected, he was duly executed by the * ogre.’ Hirschfeldt butted in and was about to blow out my brains when Joseph took a hand and saved my life by dropping the Dutchman in his tracks with a splendid shot from his revolver. Am off to Seybo. Tell M. to send gunboat and help capture his * queen-bee.’ ”* 6 # Lt Verril Li . ILLUSTRATED BY * STANLEY LKVOD + named Hirschfeldt. A half-caste named Clisonne helped Mr. Verrill and took a message to the authorities which brought about the seizure of the schooner. Later, Hirsch- feldt, becoming suspicious, tried to kill Mr. Verrill, but was shot dead by Joseph. The Author and his companion were on their way to visit Don Miguel Fales, a landowner, att : who was supposed to be at the head of the gun. -running conspiracy, when Clisonne appeared. Tusion.) “ There, Clisonne,” I remarked, as I folded the note, “take that to M’sieu Le Croix as soon as you can, You'll find my canoe at the landing. Use it to reach your village, and then take the fastest cayuca you own and get the letter over. Allez vite!" Clisonne slipped the letter into his wallet, tucked it in his belt, and with a final hitch to his trousers and a murmured, “ Merci, M’sieu moin,”' slipped like a shadow into the forest and vanished from sight. Making our way from the scene of the double tragedy, Joseph and I mounted our horses and rode forward on the trail to Seybo. Wilder and wilder grew through which we travelled; up hill and down dale the trail led. Sometimes it skirted the edge of some sheer precipice, from which the stones, dislodged by our passage, dropped down to the shadowy depths of dim green chasms a thousand feet below ; sometimes it plunged into mountain gorges through wonderful forests of tree- ferns ; but always it climbed steadily upward, until at last we reached the summit of the divide, and with the sweeping trade wind in our faces, we looked from the mountain-top upon the Seybo, spread like a map beneath our feet. Then for several hours we rode downward, slipping, sliding, and doubling on our tracks as the narrow trail led around the mountain-sides and through ravines, the country

Page 413

406 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. until at last we reached a rushing mountain torrent, and, plunging in, swam our tired horses to the farther side. For some time we rode onwards through a brushy jungle, to emerge into the sunlight once more on the steep and sandy banks of a broad, quiet river. This, Joseph told me, was the Sabon, the main watercourse of the Seybo. It was the same stream we had seen when looking down from the mountain-top. It was getting late, and we still had many miles to cover before we reached El Valle, the first village of the Seybo, wherein we had planned to spend the night. So, with- out further delay, we descended the river- bank and entered the water. Although the river was broad, it was mainly shallow, with numerous sandbars; but in many places there were deep holes, and our horses were alternately swimming and walking ankle deep as we crossed to the farther side. The stream wound and curved in great sweeping semicircles, and soon the road again turned sharply -and led to the water’s edge. Again we half-swam, half-waded our horses to the other side, and once more resumed our way along the bank. Three times more the road led us to the water, and three times we splashed and swam across the river. I was getting impatient and dis- gusted, and as we came to the fourth ford I exclaimed : ‘‘ Of all the foolish roads, this is the worst !_ We’ve done nothing but swim this confounded river all the afternoon. We might just as well follow down the river itself and be done with it. How many more times will we have to cross it, Joseph ?” “ Ah tol’ yo’ it was a narsty road an’ on’y fit fo’ stoopid niggars,”” answered my com- panion. “ Ah think this the las’ ford, Mr. Verrill, an’ after that the road is good, sir.” “All right ; come along. I guess we can stand this after all we’ve passed, and I shall certainly be glad to see a‘ good ’ road again.” As I finished speaking I urged my horse down the bank and started across, with Joseph on his miniature mount a few yards behind me. A few hundred feet below the ford the river narrowed between steep stony banks and roared over a ledge into foaming rapids among masses of jagged rocks. From just above the rapids a long gravelly bar divided the stream into two channels, the one nearest us deep and quiet, the other rushing like a mill-race between the sandbar and the shore. Our horses swam the first easily, scrambled out on the bar, and, crossing it, plunged into the swift main channel. I was half-way across, using every effort to stem the torrent and keep my horse’s head above water, when I heard a cry of alarm from Joseph. Turning quickly, I saw his horse plunging madly as the rushing stream carried him swiftly towards the falls. The next instant Joseph slipped from his saddle and, swim- ming beside the animal's head, tried valiantly to turn the creature towards the sandbar. At the first glance I grasped Joseph's pre- dicament. His horse had become frightened at the current and was beyond control or reason, and Joseph was in imminent peril of being injured by the struggling animal, or drawn with him over the waterfall to be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Turning my horse in midstream, I urged him diagonally towards the sandbar, and as his feet touched the gravel I spurred at full speed down the bar towards the gorge, rapidly uncoiling my riaéa as I rode. Reaching the end of the sandbar, I shouted to Joseph to leave the horse,-and, forcing my mount into the stream until the water swirled about his breast, I whirled the rope around my head, and as Joseph obeyed my commands I threw the coil towards him. The rope splashed in the water beside him, and as he grasped it his abandoned horse gave a final snort of terror, a few convulsive kicks, and, spinning round and _ round, plunged over the falls and into the rapids below.

Page 414

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. Wheeling my horse, I dragged Joseph to safety on the bar, where he collapsed half- drowned and exhausted on the sand. After gasping and gulping for a moment, however, he grabbed at his holster to assure himself of the safety of his beloved revolver. In a few moments he had quite recovered, and rising to his feet exclaimed, gratefully : “Mr. Verrill, Ah can’t thank yo’ fo’ savin’ me, like as yo’ said when Ah shot Hirsch- feldt, but jus’ the same Ah thank the Lord “Forcing my mount into the stream, I whirled the rope around my head and threw the coil towards him.” yo’ had that rope an’ throwed it straight, sir.” “All right, Joseph,” I laughed, “ we’ll call the account squared ; but what’s the next thing to be done ?’ We were indeed in a fix. Joseph’s horse was gone, and with it our entire outfit with the exception of my gun, the cartridges I had with me, my field-glasses and automatic, and Joseph’s revolver. We were stranded on a sandbar in the middle of the Sabon River, miles from the nearest village and with darkness rapidly approaching. It was useless to attempt to swim the current with two of us on one horse, or even 407 holding to him and swimming ourselves, and even if we somehow managed to reach the shore safely, my companion would scarcely be able to walk to El Valle after the strenuous experience he had just under- gone. CROSSING THE RIVER. Suddenly Joseph interrupted my thoughts. “ Ah think Ah knows a way, Mr. Verrill,” “ Ah’ll tie yo’ he said. rope under mah Fagley LWood, arms an’ stan’ up to mab neck in the water. Then yo’ swim yo’ horse across, an’ when yo’ come to the en’ of the rope Ah’ll jump in an’ swim, an’ befo’ Ah'm carried far down, or drag on the rope, yo’ horse will be safe across an’ yo’ can haul me over. They’s, a cantina on the road ‘bout two miles ahead an’ Ah’ll walk there, sir, an’ we can get another horse.” “See here, Joseph,’’ I demanded, “ what sort of a fish do you think you are, any- way? Here you’ve just been yanked out of that confounded river, and yet you're crazy to get back into it again. Do you imagine you'll be able to walk two miles

Page 415

408 after I’ve pulled you ashore through that current ?”’ “Ah surely do, Mr. Verrill,” replied Joseph, with a broad grin. ‘“ When Ah was humbuggin’ with mah horse Ah got mah mouth full o’ water an’ near drowned. Ah confess, sir; but if Ah knows Ah’m goin’ under Ah’ll keep mah mouth shut an’ come out O.K. Don’ yo’ fear fo’ me, sir.” It seemed the only possible solution of the difficulty, but I insisted on Joseph getting a good rest before the attempt was made, although he was ready to start at once. Finally he declared he was ready and commenced stripping off his clothes. Hand- ing me his revolver, he asked me to strap it about my waist, which I did. Then, rolling his garments into a small bundle, he secured them to my saddle, and knotting the end of the riata under his arms, waded into the water up to his shoulders. Riding up the bar for a short distance above him, I urged my horse into the stream and a moment later the animal was swim- ming strongly and_ steadily across the current. When a little more than half-way across I turned my head just in time to see Joseph bend forward and, with long, over- hand strokes, swim boldly towards the centre of the channel. Rapidly I neared the bank, and as my horse felt the bottom beneath his hoofs and scrambled ashore I looked behind and saw Joseph still swimming and well past the centre of the channel. As yet, he had not required my help, but to save his strength I at once commenced hauling in on the rope, and a few moments later he rose to his feet and walked through the shallows to the shore—panting a little, but otherwise un- troubled by his passage. Gathering a pile of dry branches we soon had a fire going and dried Joseph’s clothing, and presently he was dressed and ready to guide me to the cantina. We travelled slowly, and darkness overtook us long before we came out upon a broad and level savanna and saw the twinkling lights of a little building beside the road ahead. - The cantina, or wayside drinking-place, was a little shack of two or three rooms surrounded by an ill-kept garden. Before the buildings was a row of posts to which several horses were hitched, and throwing my reins over one of the vacant posts I dismounted and entered the swinging cheese- cloth door. Across one end of the room was a rough bar of hewn boards with bottle-covered shelves behind it, and seated about the room, on rude chairs and benches, were half-a- dozen men, some drinking, others Jaughing and talking, while one was strumming at a cluded. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. battered guitar. They were a wild-looking lot, swarthy, black bearded, and unkempt, and dressed in cheap blue drill or white cotton, and each with a long machete and a revolver in his belt—typical natives of the countryside, and probably small landowners or cattle ranchers. They looked up as we entered, greeted us with pleasant ‘‘ Buenas noches, seitores,”” and then resumed their talk and laughter. Leaning against one end of the bar was a tall, brigandish-looking fellow, who straight- ened up at our approach and, slipping behind the bar, inquired in Spanish what he could do for us. Evidently he was the proprietor, and after purchasing cigars to put him in good humour and to win his confidence, I related our troubles and asked if he could give us a good meal and let me hire a horse to take us to EI Valle. “What a pity!” he exclaimed, as I con- “Of a truth I'am most sorry for the loss of your horse, sefior. The meal I can provide, but the horse—I have but one, amigo mio—and him I cannot spare. But pardon, sefior, while I. give orders for your food.” Stepping through another door in the rear, he loudly gave directions for the immediate preparation of our meal. While we had been speaking, several of the men had gathered near to listen to my story, and now, as the proprietor withdrew, one of them spoke. “Truly the sefor is most unfortunate in the loss of his horse, but so it is with those of the coast and mountains. Often are they seized with fear at the swift fords, while those of the Seybo cross the rivers so often that they swim like ducks, in very truth.” “No doubt,” I replied, dryly. “‘ Judging from the road I have just travelled one must indeed have webbed feet to travel in the Seybo.”” Then I added, as the proprietor appeared, “ But come, amigos, ‘tis a thirsty night; drink to the Seybo and its horses.” Tossing a handful of small coins on the bar, I ordered drinks for all. My invitation was accepted with alacrity and the men were at once on friendly terms, chuckling over my allusion to their road and applauding my toast to their beloved Seybo. One of their number, the big fellow who had first spoken to me, and who was called Ignacio, seemed a sort of leader, and turning to him I said; “ Tell me, amigo, is it not possible to hire a horse here to-night ? I am willing to pay well for it.” “Quien sabe?” he replied, shaking his head dubiously. ‘‘ At El Valle, yes, or per- chance even at Cienaga; but here, senor, horses we have of a truth, but to hire one— I know not where it could be found.” I was exasperated. Here, in a portion of the country famous for its horses, it was

Page 416

TRAILING THE GUN -RUNNERS. ridiculous to think that I could not find an animal to carry us on our journey, and I exclaimed, impatiently : ‘* What foolishness is this? Why cannot one hire a horse ? Do you mean to say that here, in the Seybo, one cannot beg, borrow, or buy a horse ? ” The fellow threw out his hands in ex- postulation and his eyes opened in surprise. “But!” he exclaimed. ‘“ Of a truth, senior, you can buy—not one horse, but a thousand if you wish.” Turning to his companions he called: “Here Jose; Pedro; Chico; the sefor desires to buy a horse! Have you one to sell?” Instantly there was a babel of voices as the men gathered around. “ Of a truth we have horses to sell,’’ cried one. “My roan is the best, senor!” screamed another. “No, no; my black with the white feet-— take him, sefior,’’ shouted still another; and thus, each striving to outdo his comrades in extolling the virtues of his own steed, they pressed about, until Ignacio, raising his voice above the tumult, silenced his friendsa nd, turning to me, remarked : ‘‘ You see, sefior, it is most easy to secure a horse in the Seybo; you have but to make your wishes known.” ““So I judge,” I answered. ‘‘ And what prices must one pay for these wonderful steeds ?” “That is a matter for argument,” he replied, evasively. ‘‘ Let the sefior see the horses and judge for himself. Vamonos!” Taking a lantern from the bar he led the way, followed by his comrades, Joseph, and myself. BUYING A HORSE. The horses were all good animals, and there was really little choice among them, the selection being mainly a matter of rice. ‘““What do you ask for this horse?" I inquired, as I examined the first animal. “ Fifty dollars, American,” was the prompt reply from the man called Jose. “ T'll sell you mine for forty,” interrupted Chico. “ Mine for thirty, with saddle and bridle,” cried Pedro. “ For thirty-five; mine is the better,” yelled Jose. “ Twenty-five for my horse as it stands,” exclaimed Pedro. For a few moments it looked as if I had only to wait in order to have one or more horses given to me, so rapidly did the prices drop.with the anxiety of the owners to sell. Presently, however, only Pedro and Jose continued to bargain, and I accepted Pedro's 409 roan for twenty-two dollars witn a fairly good saddle and bridle included. Returning to the bar-room a bill of sale was duly made out, Pedro made his mark upon the paper, and, to seal the bargain, I ordered another round of liquid refreshments for the men. “Well, Joseph,” I remarked, as we sat down to our meal, “I guess it’s cheaper to buy horses than to hire them in the Seybo, and they certainly don’t intend to let strangers starve.” The meal over, we entered the bar-room, paid the landlord, and then, bidding “* A dios” to the men, mounted our horses and cantered. off through the darkness across the broad, grass-covered savannas towards El Valle. For two hours we rode onward through the night, our faces fanned by a cool wind, and our horses cantering easily over the smooth firm road, until a few dim lights twinkled in the darkness ahead. “El Valle!’ exclaimed Joseph, and five minutes later we entered the first village of the Seybo. Even in the darkness I could see that the village consisted merely of a double row of huts and small buildings on each side of the road. With one or two exceptions, all were dark and silent. From one of the buildings lights shone through the open windows, and laughter, singing, and the sound of an accordion issued from within. It was evidently a dance-hall, and riding towards it we hitched our horses and entered. The interior was thick with tobacco smoke and redolent with the fumes of native rum, and the little room was packed with men and women. Black, white, yellow, and brown, they were dancing, smoking, and laughing, and although they did not cease their merrymaking at our entrance, yet I noticed that they glanced at us frequently and whispered to one another. I caught the words, ‘“‘ Americano,”’ “ Cafia Honda,” and ‘ Seybo,” and surmised that they were discussing the matter of our arrival and whence I had come. Pushing through the crowd, we approached the bar, and I inquired of the proprietor—a tall Armenian—if he could direct us to some place where we could find accommodation for the night. He replied that there was no posada in the village, that it was very late, but that he thought the Sefiora Shultz might put us up. “And who is this Setiora Shultz?” I asked. “God knows!’ he answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. ‘“ A foreigner of some sort, but she owns the paneria and bakes the bread of the village. It is the third house across the road; you will know it by the Ceiba tree by its side.”

Page 417

410 Thanking the fellow for his information, we led our horses down the road to a two- storey house beneath a huge silk-cotton tree. There were lights within, as could be seen through the chinks in the heavy wooden shutters on the windows, and leaving Joseph to hold the horses, [ approached and pounded on the door. A whining voice answered my _ knock, asking what was wanted and who was there, to which I replied that we were strangers— an American and his man—and wished a place in which to sleep for the night with breakfast in the morning and food for our horses. There was silence for several minutes ; then I heard shuttling feet approach the door, the bolts were drawn back, the door opened, and the sefiora stood before me. She was a stout, faded old woman, dressed in a single loose gown of gaudy purple and yellow calico, her yellowish-grey hair adorned with numerous curl-papers, and as she held a comb and brush and a bunch of papers in one hand, I had no doubt that we had interrupted her in the midst of her toilette. She spoke in a dreary, monotonous voice, in Spanish with a strong Teutonic accent, and after glancing me over assured me that she would be most happy to accommodate us, but, ‘“‘ Alas!’ she had no vacant room, her family was large, and she knew not what to do, unless— Ah! the very thing—the sefior and his man could sleep in the bakery!” Calling loudly for ‘‘ Maximilian,” she at once commenced to entertain me by chapters from her family history. She was Austrian, she said—‘' Did the senior know any of my countrymen? No? What a pity! Ihave heard there were many in America ’—and her husband had come to the republic to become a general in the native army, but he had only just begun to make money when he had been killed in a rebellion. At this moment her recital was interrupted by approaching footsteps, and her son Maximilian appeared. He was the most remarkable-looking person I have ever seen. His enormous head appeared almost bald, so thin and light- coloured was his hair; while his face was so pasty and white, so colourless and abso- lutely lacking in expression, that it appeared as if made of unbaked dough. He was short and podgy, and it was impossible to say whether he was fifteen or fifty years of age. He was clad in coarse blue drill, with sandals on his big flat feet, and he came towards us yawning, rubbing his eyes, and blinking like a fledgling ow) in the daylight. The widow beamed fondly at this odd creature, and exclaimed: ‘‘ Max, my dear, the American sefior will stop here to-night. Show him to the bakery, and put his horses THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in the corral.” Turning to me, she added : ‘‘ Senior, this is my dear son Maximilian, the very image of his brave father.” ‘‘In that case,’’ 1 thought to myself, “I do not wonder the natives shot him }”’ Taking a rude home-made lantern from the hallway, Maximilian led the way around the house to a long, low building of corrugated iron, and, pushing open the door, set the lantern inside, and in a queer squeaky voice bade us good night. AN ODD LODGING. Closing the door, we looked about. The bakery was a single room some forty feet in length by fifteen feet wide, of rough-hewn beams, roofed and walled with corrugated iron, Along one side were the kneading tables. Here and there were great wooden vats of dough, flour barrels stood every- where, and in one corner was a pile of saddles, bridles, harness, and old hides. Joseph looked about until he found a native broom, and sweeping the dough and flour from a spot in one corner, spread a cowhide for his bed, while I found and swung a hammock from one side of the room to the other. As I did so I heard a strange rustling sound above my head, and looking up at the rafters I saw that dozens of pigeons and chickens were roosting overhead. ‘* Of all the filthy places,” I exclaimed, dis- gustedly, ‘ this certainly is the limit!” “Pure corruption!’’ agreed Joseph, sleepily. Despite our unusual and uncomfortable quarters, we slept well, and were aroused the sounds of voices, to find half-a-dozen native girls pounding and rolling the dough on the tables near us. They seemed not in the least disturbed at our presence, and greeted us with “ Buenos dias”’ as unconcernedly as if the sight of strangers sleeping in the bakery was an every- day occurrence. The sun was just rising as we stepped outside, and the air was chilly with a strong wind sweeping across the plains from the north. Having fed and watered our horses, we strolled towards the house just in time to be summoned to breakfast by Maximilian. By daylight he was even more grotesque than he had appeared the night before, and I could think of nothing he so much re- sembled as the images 1 made from dough when I was a child. Entering the dining-room, we found the Senora Shultz seated at the table with three other members of her family—two boys and a girl—each the exact counterpart of the dough-faced Max. The coffee was excellent and the eggs

Page 418

4iL — eo mo w x | 4 a i=) E 4 =) 1c) & x oa ie] 4 f= < i} wa “There was a babel of voices as the men gathered around.”

Page 419

412 fresh, but I fought shy of the bread ; I was too intimately familiar with its preparation. Throughout the meal the sefiora kept up her incessant droning talk in execrable Spanish, relating details of family history, dwelling on the childhood, intelligence, and personal characteristics of her idiotic-looking brood, and lamenting the fate of the late general, until I found myself fervently wishing that the rebels had included the entire Shultz household in their operations and made a clean job of the matter. 1 was heartily glad when at last the meal was over, and, mounting our horses, we galloped off between the rows of huts and soon left El] Valle behind. The air was cool and fresh, the road smooth and level, and we made good time, pounding steadily along for mile after mile across the plains. On either side of the road stretched the broad savannas, the grass swaying and undulating in the wind. Now and then the road dipped sharply into a barrvanca, and our horses splashed through muddy brooks beneath the shadows of vine-draped trees, from which flocks of parrots flew noisily at our approach. We met but few people. Occasionally some horseman cantered by, or a swarthy native woman, mounted on a riding bull, would crowd her odd steed to one side of the road to let us pass; but on every hand cattle and horses grazed in great herds among the grass, while on their backs perched snow-white egrets, which eagerly devoured the flies and ticks that swarmed about. Gradually the way became narrower as the foothills converged on either side, while the ground grew moist and muddy and the rich grass of the plain gave way to low sedges and masses of coarse rushes. This, Joseph informed me, was the marsh, or ‘‘ctenaga,”’ adding that the village of the same name was but a short distance ahead, at the junction of the road we were following with that leading to Sabana la Mar. A few minutes later we ascended a little rise, cantered down the other side, and, pass- ing through a wooded barvanca, drew up before the little fonda at the entrance to the village. Telling Joscph to lead the horses into the shade and look after them, I dismounted and entered the inn. The room was neat and clean, the walls decorated with gaudy lithographs, while at the farther end swung a luxurious hammock, with a small table beside it. All this I took in at a glance, and instantly I uttered an exclamation of wonder and surprise. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. Seated in the hammock, a briar pipe between his lips, a paper-covered novel in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his hands, and a bottle of beer beside him, was Branch ! “ By Jove!” he cried, as he jumped up. “ Awfully glad to see you, old chap; really Iam!” “Great Scot! Branch,” I exclaimed, as we shook hands. ‘‘ Will wonders never cease ? Who in the world would have dreamed of finding you here? How did you get here, and what are you doing at Cienaga ? ” “My word! You Yankees are impetuous chaps, Verrill! I say, old top, have a seat and a glass of beer. The innkeeper's getting dinner ready.” As I seated myself beside him he called to the approaching landlord to hurry the food and to fetch another bottle of beer. ‘* Beastly dull place, this!’ he remarked, turning to me. ‘I’ve been waiting about since yesterday afternoon for you.” Ss iting for me?” I repeated, incred- ulously. “Rather!” he replied. ‘I asked the natives if you'd passed this way, and stopped for you to show up.” “But how the dickens did you know I was near here, and how did you get here, anyway ? Start. at the beginning, Branch, and spin me the whole yarn.” “ Right-o, old chap. Le Croix had a mes- sage, you know—brought by a rum-looking savage chap—saying you were off to the Seybo and all that sort of thing. Extra- ordinary chap, that boy Joseph; jolly well bowled over the Dutchman just in time, eh ! Let’s see, where was 1? Oh, to be sure— Merritt reading letter. He asked me to join him and be in at the finish, so I had my bags ready, and was just having tiffin when my clerk brought a letter from the Com- mandante-chap at Sabana la Mar. He said that a darkey—Jamaica boy—had been arrested ; British subject and all that rot. He required my presence. 1 was obliged to uphold His Majesty’s dignity, you know; but it knocked all my plans on the head. Merritt told me to ‘ get a move on,’ or some- thing to that effect. Said I was to take Le Croix’s launch and go ahead, and he'd jog along by gunboat. He told me to hurry through at Sabana la Mar, then ride over- land, and meet him at'Fales’s place to- night. I thought I might run across you on the road. Good job I turned up in time.” “ Branch,” I laughed, “ you’re all right, and for my part I’m mighty glad your precious Jamaica boy got pinched if it brought you here.” “Oh, but I say!" he exclaimed. ‘ That’s awfully funny, you know. The bounder wasn't a British subject after all; the Commandante-chap had made a mistake.” Food was now served and we fell to with

Page 420

TRAILING THE GUN-RUNNERS. a will, chatting and laughing and discussing what would happen when we reached Fales’s house. Branch was deeply interested in the story of my adventures, and kept repeating “My word!” and ‘ By Jove!” for Branch was as sincere, as staunch, and as true a friend as ever lived, despite his superficial mannerisms. “T hope Merritt doesn’t get ahead of us,” I remarked, during the course of our conversa- tion. ‘If old Fales sees the gunboat he may get scared and sneak off. I've plenty of proof against him, and for Merritt’s sake I hope he gets Fales and the arms, too. But do you know, Branch, I hated like blazes to go to visit Don Miguel and then spy on him. I'd about made up my mind to camp up in the bush and wait for Merritt to do the dirty work. Still, if he gets to the coast this afternoon it will save all that.” “Good for you, Verrill! ’’ cried Branch. “IT know how you feel—rotten kind of go, eating a chap’s bread and then getting him jugged. I’ve been there myself—part of a diplomat’s work, and all that sort of thing.” “Well,” I said, rising, “if we're going to get to the coast and mect Merritt before dark we've got to hustle. Come along, Branch, let’s get off.” As we stepped outside, Joseph appeared leading the horses, and Branch at once strode up to him and shook him vigorously by the hand. “Oh, I say, Joseph!’ he exclaimed. “ Perfectly rippin’, the way you saved Mr. Verrill, my boy. Can’t thank you enough, really I can’t. Any time you want a billet, come to me, laddie. I'll take you into His Majesty’s service.” Joseph was mightily embarrassed, but he stammered out his thanks and grinned, and a moment later we mounted our horses and were soon galloping down the valley towards the sea. Mile after mile we rode on, the valley ever narrowing, the hills on either side growing higher and higher until, early in the after- noon, we were riding through a league-wide valley hemmed in by towering mountains, their slopes covered with vast groves of cacao and orchards of lime trees. Ahead, the mountains swept in a wide semicircle, and as we swung around the curve and the base of the hills we reined in our horses and , gazed enraptured at the scene spread before us. From the little rise on which we stood the road led down between two rows of towering palms, rising high above waving fields of cane, which stretched like a broad golden river to a strip of coal-black beach, where the long blue rollers broke in a quivering, gleaming line of foam. 413 To the left, and almost hidden in a grove of palms and flaming poinciana trees, was a group of cream-white buildings, their deep red roofs contrasting sharply with the greenery about. Beyond—floating upon the bosom of the turquoise sea—rode a tiny lead-coloured gunboat, the flag of the republic flying from her stern, while from her masthead fluttered the Stars and Stripes. “ By Jove!” cried Branch, breaking the silence. “ Merritt beat us after all, old thing ! But there's no row going on, Extraordinary, don’t you think ?” As he spoke I unslung my glasses, and before his sentence was completed I had them focused on the gunboat. “Yes, it's queer there’s not more excite- ment,” I replied, puzzled. ‘‘ The boat seems peaceful, too. I can see a couple of men under the after awning—engineer and sailor, I should say—and an armed sentry is pacing the deck. The rest of the crew must be ashore. Yes; there’s the launch drawn up on the beach by the sea-grape trees. I'll be hanged if I know what to make of it!” I then turned my glasses on the buildings, but the trees were thick, the house faced the sea, and I could see nothing. I shoved the glasses back in their case with a bang. “There's nothing to do but ride along down,” I declared. ‘‘ We can't find out anything standing here.” s Five minutes later we were riding through the avenue of royal palms, their feathery leaves rustling softly in the sea breeze. No sound of strife or excitement broke the peaceful hush of the afternoon as we advanced, and turning to Branch I ex- claimed : ‘I don’t like this ; it’s too quiet. Look at that fellow yonder. Does he look as if his master was being arrested for smuggling?’ As I spoke, I pointed to a burly mulatto approaching through the field and contentedly gnawing at a piece of cane. At sound of my voice, he glanced up and, touching his hat, wished us ‘ Buenas tardes.”” “My word, no!” assented Branch. We were now close to the buildings and were soon passing beside a high stone wall which enclosed the kitchens and_ stables. Near the end of this wall the road turned sharply to the left, and as we rode under an arched opening in the wall and came into a large open courtyard two neatly-liveried grooms stepped forward to hold our horses’ heads. STUNG! Springing from our saddles, we walked briskly to the front of the house, where a broad veranda faced the sea. Along’ the outer edge of this ran a low stone balustrade, half-hidden in a mass of jasmine, and in its

Page 421

414 centre a little fountain tinkled sleepily. Here and there rich Oriental rugs hid the mosaic flagging, while luxurious bamboo lounges and easy chairs stood about. Seated in one of these, his feet resting on the balustrade, was a man in spotless white duck, We had approached quietly and so had not disturbed the reclining figure gazing thoughtfully out to sea, puffing contentedly meanwhie at a big black cigar. “The jolly beggar!’ ejaculated Branch, as he caught sight of him. “ Hands up, Merritt!” I cried. * Halloa, boys!” exclaimed Merritt, as he sprang from his chair, ‘‘ Welcome to La Antigua. Caught me napping, eh? Well, I didn’t expect you so early.” “How long have you been here—and where’s Fales ?” I demanded in one breath as we grasped hands. “* Been in ever since four bells,” he replied. “ Don Miguel went over to El Bano, across the hill, a couple of hours ago. Expected to be back before you turned up. Left word that you were to make yourselves at home. Said he’d be back by dark, anyway.” “ Merritt,”’ I exclaimed, “ you ave casy. You don’t for a moment expect that he’s coming back after seeing that tin gunboat of yours, do you?” “ Surest thing you know,” laughed Merritt. “Don Miguel's all right; but I'll quit jollying, old man, and talk sense. “* After Branch left,’’ he continued, “I had a wire from the Capital. Old Nufiez had died suddenly and the President appointed a new Secretary of War right off the bat, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and chose Fales for the job. That knocked all my plans to smash, for as Secretary of War, Don Miguel could bring in all the arms he wanted. It was too late to send word to you, and I knew Branch was knocking about here somewhere, so I decided to run over and meet you two and congratulate Don Miguel at the same time.” “Look here, Merritt,” I interrupted, im- patiently. ‘ Fales may be Secretary of War all right; but if you think he hasn’t been Tunning in guns, you’re entirely wrong. How do you account for this ? ”’ and I pulled out the note that had cost Carlos his life and handed it to Merritt. i He glanced at it casually and laughed. “TI was coming to that, Verrill,” he replied. “That’s not addressed to Don Miguel Fales at all. It’s for Manuel Gonzales—an old rascal who lived in the next valley. Fales told me all about him. He got wise to the Gaviota seizure and skipped off two days ago.” “My word!” exclaimed Branch. extraordinary how things happen!” “Well,” I said, thoughtfully, as I filled my pipe and leaned back in an easy chair. “Fales is too good a fellow to be run in, anyway. I told Branch to-day that it made me sick to be spying on him. JI can accept his invitation with a clear conscience now, and I’m .jolly glad it’s all turned out as it has.” “Same here,’’ agreed Merritt, heartily, and added: ‘‘ But we were all stung, just the same.” “Yes,” I replied, ‘‘ that generally happens if you try to catch a queen-bee |” “It’s OF RECENT YEARS, STARTING NEXT MONTH. Five Thousand Miles on Foot in Central Africa. AN ENTHRALLING ACCOUNT OF ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT EXPEDITIONS ILLUSTRATED WITH REMARKABLE GRAPHS OF WILD ANIMALS IN THEIR NATIVE HAUNTS. ‘CLOSE-UP’ PHOTO.

Page 422

; ETER MARTIN CLARKE'S appearance tempted the bully, but his mettle often tested the brave man. That is one of the reasons why he got so much adventure out of Mexico, and the wherefore of this sketch. I have no bone to pick with those who believe they can tell character from appearance, who pro- fess their ability to decide by a man’s face whether he is honest, and by the jaw—or is it the nose ?— whether he is brave or a ee PMCLARKE- Ue aD Ti eo Lepaep MLUSTRATED BY FOMLLETTRI. In town he wore the extreme of Broadway fashions—although he never saw Broadway —and he would ap- pear afield in a costume of breeches «+ and top-boots, the war -correspondent of fiction to a T. Small wonder strangers laughed, for with a Mexican back- ground Clarke made a silly picture. But a short acquaintance with him almost always made a friend. Clarke was not boastful of his exploits— bar-room fights, of which he was over-fond when in skulking coward. I am merely going to express the theory of some very wise acquaintances of mine. It is their experience in life—and they have cer- tainly lived it—that it is utter folly to form any preconception at all from appearances. Fighters, either of the prize-ring or The story of an odd character— a man who, behind a “ pretty- pretty” exterior, concealed plenty of pluck and an inexhaustible fund of energy. He had a short but extremely exciting career, and is to this day well remem- bered in his old haunts, “I have, of course, altered all the names of people concerned,” writes the Author, “but the story is absolutely true.” his cups, and those less noisy but more dangerous intrigues of diplomacy and society whose thrill de- lighted him. There are those who fol- low adventure in order that they may be talked about, and those, seemingly, who pursue it only that they may talk about them- selves. A few, however, the bar-room, who are often called on to determine the spirit and strength of an opponent, and gamblers (who, I believe, dig deepest into human nature), hold the view that “‘ you never can tell.”” They say it is all nonsense, this talk of strong jaws and high foreheads. They may be wrong. I merely cite what is a common belief among men whose whole lives are given over to the analysis of character. Now, Peter Martin Clarke was the very reverse of his appearance. To me he has become the greatest proof that character- reading by sight is impossible, but others may take him merely as the exception that proves their cherished rule. Whenever I say to myself, “‘ That fellow looks a cad,” or “That fellow must be a knave,” Peter Martin Clarke comes to my mind and I conclude, with my fighting and gambling friends, ‘‘ but you never can tell.” Clarke was daintily built, his face was too handsome, his voice soft, and his movements usually languid. With this handicap in manly appearance, he did his worst in dress. consider that adventure, like virtue, is its own reward—and Clarke was one of these. It was at Mexico City, during the first period of the Carranza occupation, at a time when the Mexicans were most sensitive, that Clarke was busily engaged in making them more sensitive. He was mailing out articles of a most alarming sort to the California newspaper that he served during the best years of his life. He even went so far as to declare that the Mexicans them- selves would welcome American interven- tion—an assertion certain to “raise the roof.” All this time Clarke was living in a tent, which we put down as a caprice of his. The canvas covered five trunks, two cots, and a desk, With him resided a youth who came of a prominent Mexican Creole family, and who went by the outlandish name of Alfonso Cervantes Ponce de Leon.* Ponce had lived much of his life in the States and spoke * See ‘The Little Captain” —Eoitor. in our issue for July, 1922.

Page 423

416 English quite as well as Spanish—which was not well. He was Clarke's valet and secre- tary, his confidant and constant companion. Society at the capital was beginning to ket out its formal clothes after many years of undress disorder—street fighting, looting, and alarming rumours, the latter, perhaps the worst feature of life in Mexico. At every party where foreigners could be found Clarke appeared with Ponce at his hecls. At these functions the correspondent wore braided evening clothes, with patent leather pumps and a glossy silk hat. Diagonally across his shirt front was a red ribbon, after the fashion of an order, and he sported some decorations so nondescript that they might be taken for any- thing. Ponce de Leon wore one of Clarke’s old evening suits and carried a portfolio of red leather —which, it was learned by stealth one day, was stuffed with news- papers. hus did Clarke impress the natives and amuse his fellow- countrymen. At first some of the foreign diplomats thought he was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. making fun of them, but diplomats are notoriously thick-skulled. Clarke's chief social accomplishment, apart from looking his prettiest, was dancing. He once made a living teaching the steps of those dances that made ancient history of the waltz and two-step. He told the women he loved dancing for their sake; but he informed the men that it was the best exer- cise to keep one in trim for a fight. There may have been something in the latter statement, for Clarke's fighting was of that variety called ‘ bar-room,’”’ in which the British and French schools of unarmed “He strutted to the centre of. the council room, slammed his hat and stick on the table, The Cabinet gaped.”

Page 424

P. M. CLARKE—CORRESPONDENT. defence are combined in the indiscriminate use of hands and feet, elbows and knees. Clarke, oddly enough, was both a lady’s man and a man’s man. One day Ponce arrived breathless at the tent. Clarke was brewing a cup of tea. He wore the lower half of silk pyjamas and his feet were cased in Chinese sandals. Ponce told him excitedly that he had been called before the Cabinet. A bunch of newspaper clippings had arrived from the States, and many of Clarke’s articles were included. and then turned and glared about him. Vol. xlix.—29, 417 ““When I left they were arguing about giving you the Thirty-three or the ley fuga,” warned Ponce. “I was accused of helping you get past the Censor. I got out of it. You'd better beat it, quick.” It is decreed by the Thirty-third article of the Mexican Constitution that the Govern- ment may expel from the country “ un- desirable foreigners.” This article, seldom employed during Diaz’ long reign of peace without democracy, became very worn at the edges in the subsequent régimes of democracy without . As to the ley de fuga—law of flight—it is an unwritten statute in Latin-America whereby a prisoner is tempted to escape and is then shot down while escaping—a political application of that worthy moral principle which tempts men to steal and then puts them in jail for the good of society. Ponce’s news, therefore, meant that the members of the Cabinet were discussing whether to expel Clarke or to kill him. The danger of ley fuga, perhaps, was Ponce’s exaggeration, for very seldom have Mexican authorities de- liberately sought the life of an American. Ponce was surprised to see that his story did not alarm Clarke. ** You go back,” said Clarke, “and tell them 1’ll call at four.” “ Mad as usual,’”’ commented the secretary-valet to himself. Ponce was a notable daredevil, but he seldom acknowledged the merit of folly in others. Soon after Ponce’s return to the Palace, a secret agent ar- rived at the tent. Clarke made him wait until he had dressed with unusual care. It was one of Clarke’s theories —in keeping with the fighter’s doctrine of the first blow—that one should always be rude to those who would be hostile in any event. So the correspon- dent deliberately passed the sentry at the Palace far ahead of his escort, the secret service man. The door of the room where the Cabinet was assembled burst open, and in strode Clarke, resplendent in his best frock-coat, shining silk hat, and fawn spats. He strutted to the centre of the council room, slammed his hat and stick on the table, and then turned and glared about him. The Cabinet gaped. “ Well, Ponce,” Mexican friend. me!” he said, turning to his “ Introduce me, introduce

Page 425

418 Thus the members of the Cabinet were forced to shake hands. Only in exceptional circumstances can a Mexican refuse that formality. Clarke went through the ceremony very brusquely. “Oh, yes; I believe I saw your name in the newspapers once,” he remarked to the sub-Secretary of Foreign Relations. At that time, I should explain, all mem- bers of the Carranza Cabinet were called “ sub-Secretaries,’’ the “ first chief himself being Secretary of everything—a measure for troubled times that has been employed elsewhere, but without altering Cabinet titles. “ Are you—are you the author of these articles ? "’ began the sub-Secretary of Com- munications, whose English was as good as a Massachusetts University could make it. “Of course. Isn't my name over them ?”’ “Did you write this ? ‘ The Mexicans are sick of revolution. ‘The hope of a Dictator is long past. Every decent element in the Republic would welcome intervention by the United States.’ And did you write this ? * Famine is in the capital. Every backyard is a graveyard.’ Did you write those lies ?” “IT wrote those facts.” “And how—how did you evade the Censor ? Did you mail out articles for the Press without visé, contrary to the regula- tions ?”” “Those articles,” replied Clarke, pom- pously, ‘‘ were not mailed out, nor sent out by wire or by my courier. They were sent out by wireless!” “ By wireless ?’’ exclaimed the sub-Secre- tary of Communications, who had such things in his charge. There was no wireless in Mexico. “What did he say?” asked the sub- Secretary of Industry, who could not under- stand English. “This young man says he sent out these articles by wireless,” explained the sub- Secretary of Communications, and the Cabinet—in unison, it seemed—exclaimed “Impossible ! ’’ “T have an appointment at six,” said Clarke. “If you please, I should like to close this business. Ponce, come here and translate as I speak.” ““Gentlemen—now every word, Ponce, every word—gentlemen, I am the corre- spondent of the most important newspapers in the United States and also the large dailies of London, Berlin, and Paris.”” Asa matter of fact Clarke represented only one newspaper, . “Gentlemen, I am sending out the news of developments in Mexico by wireless, from my own wireless plant in the mountains near this city. You complain of these THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, articles, but they tell only a little of the truth. I do not want to be forced to tell all the truth. You probably think you have me in your power.” Here Clarke stepped to the window, and held up his handkerchief. “ See, if I should drop this handkerchief, the word would be flashed by wireless to Washington within twenty minutes that 1 was in danger. Shall I drop the handkerchief ? It would be unfair to imply that the members of the Carranza Cabinet were utter fools. But the rapidity of Clarke’s attack and the skill of his acting upset them. They sat in amazement. The Secretary of War managed to shrug his shoulders, and that was all. Just then the door leading into an adjoin- ing chamber opened, and Carranza’s secre- tary stepped through, with a stenographer's note-book in his hand. In the distance, through the two rooms, could be seen the austere ‘first chief,” sitting at his desk reading. Clarke saw him first. Abruptly he strode through the rooms and into the office of the President. The sub-Secretaries gaped after him helplessly. They saw Clarke stretch out his arms in greeting, saw Carranza rise and come to meet him, and the two embraced after the Spanish fashion. Then Clarke turned and shut the door in the face of the Cabinet. Clarke did not know Carranza—had not seen him since the Madero Revolution, in fact, and then only once. Ponce was aware of this. ‘‘He’s mad,” he remarked to himself as he squirmed in his chair ; ‘‘ plumb mad.” The door opened after a matter of fifteen minutes. Carranza was smiling through his beard, and the American was chattering in his broken Spanish. Clarke entered the Council Chamber and picked up his stick and hat. Then he presented a sheet of paper for the inspection of the Cabinet. It was an order, signed by the “ first chief,” and duly stamped with a big, red seal. “Peter Martin Clarke,” it said, “‘ may pass any telegrams without visé. Constitution and Reform.—(Signed) V. Carranza.” The Cabinet gasped. The President had been told that an American newspaper corre- spondent had been sending out dangerous matter, and that the Cabinet would deal with him. “Gentlemen, I think that will be all,” said Clarke. ‘‘ At any time you wish to see me, kindly inform my secretary, Mr. Ponce,” and he stalked through the door. “Shall I follow ?” asked the secret agent of the Ministers. He got no answer. “ This young man,” said the sub-Secretary of War, ‘‘is he not a Latin?" “‘No, he’s an American—English blood, I think,” answered Ponce.

Page 426

P. M. CLARKE—CORRESPONDENT. “ I could have sworn he was a Latin,’’ said the sub-Secretary of Education. When they were re-united in the tent, Clarke said :— “ Alfonso, how did I do? no?” ‘Say, it was great,’”’ said Ponce, who by this time had thrown off his misgivings. “You knocked ’em cold with that London, Paris, and Berlin stuff.” “Ask me how I do it,” cried Clarke, laughing. ‘‘How do I do it—ask me, Alfonso. Well, my boy, it is nothing more than police reporter methods. I was a police reporter once, Alfonso. Bully the cops, and yet be like them—show your badge and bully the public. I worked it on ’em in the Nicaraguan Revolution, and Mexico is just as easy.” * But you will get killed if you keep on, I’m telling you,’’ objected Ponce. Well, Clarke is dead, but no bullet, knife, or rope did it. Mexico City was found to be very wicked and ungrateful by the armies of Carranza, the northerners from Coahuila and Sonora. Accordingly, the Carranzistas evacuated, which left the capital open for the first time to the hordes of Emiliano Zapata, the bandit chieftain of Morelos. They straggled in by the thousand, and word went. up to Pancho Villa in Chihuahua that the troops of the ultimate revolution held the capital. To the surprise of the Carranzistas and of the people of the metropolis, the Zapatistas did not do much plundering. The blanketed, sandalled Indians, descendants of the Aztecs, gaped into store windows with more wonder than avarice.. It is true they shot at the prize fire engines of the metropolis, killing and wounding a dozen firemen, but all the world knew that they thought the chemical wagon was some terrible war-machine. It is true, too, that some of the Zapatistas occupied the mansion of an exiled Mexican family, and, finding the walls covered with tapestries, exclaimed, ‘‘ What silly people to keep carpets on the walls!” and straight- way put them on the floors, where they belonged. Emiliano Zapata himself, who combined all titles in the word ‘‘ chief,” squatted in an adobe building, scorning a palace. He per- sisted in drinking his pulyue from the bottle, and in scooping up his beans with the tortillas. Then, the capital having been sufficiently punished, the Carranzistas returned, and the Zapatistas capitulated. Such a change is not for the best for industry and commerce. Railroads were torn up in all directions, and the many Americans and other foreigners remaining in the city suffered the disturbing sensation of being cut off from the world. Pretty well, 419 All sorts of devilment resulted, exhausting the patience of the foreign colony. So a Committee sought to send out a statement of conditions, which, after a fashion, was a call for help to the various diplomatic representatives at Washington. The out- tages for the most part had been against the Spaniards, hated for historical reasons, the Syrians, miscalled Turks in Mexico, who were looked upon as enemies of the Holy Cross, and the Chinese, who suffered the combination of prosperity and weakness. All nationalities alike suffered from looting. The record of all this was prepared on onion-skin paper, placed in a cloth envelope, and sealed. All that was needed was a messenger, some daring volunteer. Clarke went to his tent as soon as he heard of this project. “My riding things, Alfonso,” he com- manded, in that sharp tone he used when Ponce was valet. He spoke politely and formally when the little Mexican was secre- tary, and very softly and affectionately when. he was diplomatic confidant. ‘ A carriage,” ordered Clarke, when he had shed his afternoon clothes and had pulled on his breeches and boots. Then he rode to the foreign headquarters. “Tam ready,” he told the secretary. “ Ready for what, Mr. Clarke ? ” “Ready to start for the border with the affidavits.” “1 didn’t know it was decided who was to go.” “Oh, yes,” said Clarke, ‘ that was decided as soon as I heard of it.” That night Clarke left the capital, accom- panied by a young Spanish Californian named Charles N. Castillo. Clarke had fought his way into the hearts of the men and danced his way into the hearts of the women of the foreign Colony. When word went around that he had been selected, or rather had selected himself, to make the perilous journey, the complexion of things was somewhat altered. For the wives and sweethearts looked so sad and expressed such concern that the husbands and lovers began to be tormented with a most ignoble but natural passion. The fact that Clarke was going on a journey—doubt- less to his death—did not, strangely enough, allay their feelings. Clarke, however, never returned to the capital, and the fires of both jealousy and love have doubtless long since burned out. I gathered the story of the trip from Castillo ; Clarke was reticent about it. “We started out full of pep,” said the Californian. ‘‘ Pete nearly killed me. He wouldn’t stop for anything. “We rode on a freight train until we came to a burned bridge about thirty kilometres

Page 427

420 out of the capital, and then we walked for ten kilometres to a village where military trains were running north. When we were challenged .Clarke would answer: ‘ Diplo- maticos,’ and then explain in his bad Spanish that we were agents of the British Embassy going to the border to get some orders from the Foreign Office in London. His cheek amazed me. “ Below Jimenez there was nothing doing in the way of trains, but Pete spied a hand- car ditched by the road, and we pumped it for twenty-five kilometres—up, down, up, down—till I thought my backbone would wear out. Pete wouldn’t stop at a town longer than enough to eat a little, and altogether for ten days we didn’t have two whole nights’ sleep. “We had very little trouble with soldiers or police, and we put over a big bluff on the Zapatistas, whom we met just outside the capital, and the Villistas. When it comes to handing out papers, Clarke certainly beats the band. ““We went through Chihuahua City as quickly as possible, and got a train north without any trouble. We knew the Mexicans would be waiting for us at Juarez, so we got off at Villa Ahumada, got horses, and rode to Fabens, crossing the frontier in the Big Bend, where we knew they couldn’t catch us without hounds. “Pete hardly opened his mouth till we crossed the line, and then he began to chatter and sing like a lunatic. ‘ Pete,’ said I, ‘what on earth do you get out of this life?’ ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘I don’t know, I just like it.’ Between me and you, I think he’s mad.” Lodged in the Hotel Sheldon at El Paso— the home of all who make Mexico their business—Clarke began to utilize the material he had brought from the capital. He mailed the documents to the diplomats at Washing- ton, and telegraphed their contents to his newspaper. After such a fashion, very often, the public is informed of events long before Governments learn of them officially. Castillo and Clarke soon fell out, and nearly came to blows one night in the Swastika Club, a night-haunt patronized by correspondents, gun-runners, filibusters, and cattle-thieves. It seems that Clarke had made extravagant promises to Castillo con- cerning his reward for the trip, and later refused to fulfil them. Clarke was sincere in every promise he ever made, and he would go to great lengths to aid a friend in any way except by the outlay of money. This, perhaps, was ex- cusable, because he never had any, always contracting far in advance of his receipts. Clarke lived on excitement, and that costs nothing. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Clarke’s next campaign in the service of adventure was at Vera Cruz, when the American troops took the town and remained long enough to make sure that Huerta would not salute the flag. He arrived too late for the fight, which made him so peevish that he quarrelled with a great correspondent, famed for his fiction more than his fact, and threw some food at the great correspondent'’s head. This incident took place in the presence of many newspaper-men and marine officers. The great correspondent was so indignant that he threatened to have Clarke arrested for assault, although the soft-boiled egg—for such was the missile—had broken on a pillar of the hotel patio. It may seem strange to some readers, but this threat of arrest heightened Clarke’s popularity, and the great correspondent, by keeping his dignity, lost much of his prestige. Clarke was for holding a formal duel, but the matter fell through for want of serious support. All the world sooner or later returns to El Paso. A year later Clarke was making his headquarters at the little border city, sending out Mexican news dated from all points, and stretching his imagination and straining his vitality until something had to break. What broke was his health. The captain-doctor from Fort Bliss looked him over, and, although he did not shake his head, as all doctors are supposed to do on such occasions, said Clarke could not live another year. He had developed what is commonly called quick.consumption. The captain-doctor said there was little material to work with in the way of flesh and blood, and that one lung was far gone and the other well on the way. Clarke admitted he had known for a long time of the presence of the disease, and then we understood why he had lived in a tent at Mexico City. Sure enough, a year later Clarke died. He kept on his feet almost to the last. His friends—the correspondents, the gun-runners, and the cattle rustlers—did everything pos- sible to keep up his spirits and finances, but he answered with a snarl any offer to do his writing for him or to make him a loan. His pride rose as his strength fell. He kept himself in good spirits by the use of liquor, of which he had not drunk heavily before. Clarke was of that disposition which is set afire by one or two drinks, having in sober moments as much command of fancy as the normal man has when drunk. Every night Clarke sought a quarrel with some patron of the Swastika Club, and he was shunned by men who had murdered without fear of consequence. They loved him for his bravado. Then, one night, he appeared with his coat festooned with lengths of ribbon. “‘ These,” he explained with great gravity,

Page 428

P. M. CLARKE— CORRESPONDENT. 421 “He quarrelled with a great correspondent, and threw come feed at the greet cerrespendent’s head.” ‘are my service bars. This one is for the 1g1o revolution; this the second Zapata campaign ; this the Orozquista Revolution, Battle of Bachimba ; and this the Constitu- tionalist Revolution ; this ’—the only one he might have worn with any propriety— “for the Vera Cruz occupation.” Nobody laughed, for it was not mere vain- glory; it was the efforts of a daring spirit to prop up itself with show when the body had become unable to make the pace demanded by the mind. Clarke soon grew too weak to walk. A friend telegraphed to his mother, a well-to-do woman then resident in Southern California, and she came on the next train from Los Angeles. When Clarke heard of her arrival, he got up from his bed and tried to escape, cursing the friends who detained him. He fell down the stairs, breaking an arm, and was carried, snarling and fighting, back to his room. His mother hurried to him, and soon Peter Martin Clarke was weeping on her shoulder like a child who had lost his way. All the fellows saw the pair off the next day. Each of the correspondents and the filibusters and the cattle-thieves said some- thing awkwardly to the mother, who smiled all the time, as if she were quite happy. They told Clarke to take good care of himsclf and come back as soon as his health was mended. Clarke knew that they lied, but he smiled and lied too, assuring them he would return in good time. They brought magazines for him and flowers for his mother. So, Peter Martin Clarke, all smiles and com- pliance, went home. “You wouldn’t think to look at him that he’s going home to die,’”’ said one of the filibusters after the train had started across the New Mexico desert. “Could you ever tell by looking at him what he was up to, or what kind of chap he was ? ” remarked a correspondent. “That's right," said a_ cattle-rustler. “Poor old Pete Clarke! He’s sorry out- side, and don’t look like he is. Provin’ the puddin’ is eatin’ it, as the feller says.” That night the correspondents and _ fili- busters and cattle-thieves got very drunk. In their own peculiar way they were honour- ing the memory of Peter Clarke.

Page 429

Ee) & Thos. Me Mahon FR.G.S. Honeymoon Island f The picturesque home of the Earl of Limerick, a political prisoner of long ago. He had a most beautiful garden and employed several convict servants. If you are looking for a place where the people pay no taxes, where high cost of living and industrial unrest are unknown, where the scenery is of surpassing loveliness and the sun shines all day, you should betake yourself to Norfolk Island, far out in the lonely Pacific. Norfolk, which began its romantic history as a convict settlement—a terrible living tomb then known as the “Island of Despair”—became later the home of the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty. They have prospered exceedingly in this earthly paradise, and nowadays it has earned the happy nickname of “ Honeymoon Island.” The picture Mr. McMahon paints of life in this favoured epot is attractive in the extreme. Two direct descendants of Fletcher Christian, the ringleader of the Bounty mutineers, HE most beautiful spot on earth—certainly the most beautiful in the British Empire — jis probably ‘‘ Honeymoon Island,” otherwise known as Norfolk Island. This favoured island is located in one of the most lonely parts of the great Pacific Ocean, thirteen thousand miles from England, a thousand from Australia, and four hundred from New Zealand. Lying in latitude 29°4 South and longitude 167'59

Page 430

the terrible cells.” East, it is five miles long by three _ broad, is frequently passed by steamers from the Fiji Islands and San Fran- cisco to Aus- tralia, though never sighted, and is visited once every two months by a trading steamer from Sydney. Norfolk Island was discovered in 1774 by the famous Captain Cook, who termed it “An Earthly Paradise,” for its rare beauty of scene and won- derful fertility. The island, curi- ously enough, has never been peopled by any race pecu- liar to itself. Surrounded by grandly imposing cliffs, four to five hundred feet in height, with pic- turesque boulder-strewn shores, Norfolk is washed by the most turbulent waters of the Pacific. The general formation is a series of hills and valleys, clad in brilliant sward, sparkling in the bright sunshine under the bluest of unclouded skies. The island is dominated by Mount Pitt, a thousand feet The wonderful avenue of Norfolk Island pines, nearly It is two miles long, made by convicts a century ago. “HONEYMOON ISLAND.” = 423 - high, and from the edges of the cliffs to the summits of the hills, along every spur and through every gorge, the landscape is crowned by the majestic Norfolk Island pines—stately giants throwing long, imposing shadows. world like a well-kept park; there is not a weed Norfolk Island is for all the “Quali.y Row,” where the officers of the prison formerly lived. to be found in all its rich expanse, It has a_ perfect climate, warm yet most untropical. It has been de- scribed as a little bit of mid-England in the summer time, and is named after the county of Norfolk. As a holiday and health resort the island has not its equal in the whole wide world, popularly styled “ Honey- moon Island” from the fact that it has become the rendezvous for newly-married couples from Australia and the Pacific Islands, there being a belief extant that spending the first month of married life on Norfolk Island will assure long life, health, wealth, and happiness. Irrespective of this superstition, there could

Page 431

424 not be found a more delightful spot for a honeymoon, The island is full of charming walks and drives, fruits and flowers of all English varieties abound along the roadside, and the roads themselves—excellently con- structed by convicts over a hundred years ago—run like smooth red ribbons through unending green fields. The Norfolk Islanders are famed for their hospitality, and visitors are constantly reminded during their stay that they must consider themselves members of the community, entitled to every privilege. More cups of tea, lime squashes, and baskets of dainty fruit are offered to a stranger on Norfolk Island in one day than would be offered anywhere else in the world in a vear. Fortunately, the influx of visitors is but small, or perhaps the hospitality of the good folk might be taxed beyond endurance. And yet, only a hundred years ago, this land of kindness and plenty was a veritable hell on earth, one of the saddest places inhabited by man. A thousand of the worst types of British convicts lived on the island, and to them it was known as the “ Island of Despair’; the outer world was but a memory to which there was no hope of return. The British authorities of the year 1788, on reading Captain Cook’s report concerning the island, decided that its fertility and isolation were two essential factors in the formation of a convict settlement, and at once an establishment was set up, the most refractory convicts being sent over in several shiploads. Ruins of barracks, residences, churches, offices, stores, workshops, kitchens, and the walls and the cells of a great prison are still standing, though now rapidly crumbling to dust. The entrance to the prison is a gate- way of imposing architecture. Outside this gate, on a beautifully-kept green, stood the gibbet. The story goes that up to twenty vears ago this gibbet, in all its hideousness, confronted the inhabitants at every turn, giving great offence to visitors and tourists. Lord Carrington, when Governor of New South Wales and also of Norfolk Island, paid an official visit to the island. His Ex- cellency, a kindly-natured and tactful man, was informed of the displeasure of the people at the maintainence of the gibbet. They were too law-abiding to pull it down without official permission, though sorely tempted. Lord Carrington, with admirable tact, had no sooncr landed on the island jetty than he started back, exclaiming angrily: ‘‘ What is that awful-looking structure there ?’’ point- ing to the gibbet. The islanders explained, eagerly expressing their own disapproval of its presence. The Governor, after listening sympathetically to the complaints, exclaimed : THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “‘T will give five pounds to every man who will go at once and pull the wretched thing down.” This “ official’? request was hardly made before the offending gibbet was razed to the ground, and the Norfolk Island folk made happy. Returning to the Governor, the men who had taken part in the demolition expressed their thanks that they had been allowed to do so. ‘And now;” said the Governor, “‘ please give your names to my secretary, who will see that each of you gets five sovereigns.” “No, no, sir,” said the islanders, “it is we who are going to give you five golden sovereigns ’’—and this they did. It is said that Lord Carrington never parted with those sovereigns, and the islanders set equal store by a fine life-size painting of his lordship which adorns the walls of the Executive Council Chamber of the island. Prominent within the prison walls in a jumble of ruins are rows and rows of the old convict cells. In the centre, standing apart, are double rows of black, weather-stained walls of concrete—the once dreadful “ silent cells.” The sides, roofs, and floors of these terrible places are four feet thick, each cell being just large enough to allow a man to stand up or lie down at full length. To this day there may be read scratched upon the walls the prayers, hopes, and curses of the convicts. The ‘‘silent cells’ were known as “ the tomhs,” for they were as cold, dark, and silent as the grave. No form of punishment —even the grinding of cayenne pepper, a fearful task—hroke the spirit of a refractory convict quicker than a few hours in a “ silent cell,” and those confined for a week or ten days rarely came out sane. The history of the convict days of Norfolk is one of endless horrors and crimes too awful to recount. Hardly a day passed but there was murder of officers, soldiers, wardets, or convicts. The loneliness of the island, it is stated, brutalized the prisoners, driving them to deeds of the vilest nature in the hope that death by shooting or hanging would then come to end their miserable lives. Some became so depraved that cannibalism after murder was a common crime. In the convict cemetery close by the prison wall there is a forest of tiny head- stones, each indicating the last resting-place of some unfortunate convict. On many can be read the grim legend: ‘“ And he was hanged for a crime.” Time, the healer of all things, is slowly effacing these sad words, and the tiny stones are dropping or moulder- ing to dust, so that soon the world will know little of the unhappy fellows whose bones lie in this strange cemetery. At the back of the burying-ground, near

Page 432

the shore, is a great mound unmarked by any stone. This is the grave of convicts found guilty of the murder of a warder and ex-convict. The crime is known as that of “ Bloody Bridge,” the murder taking place on a bridge spanning a shallow stream in the midst of beautiful surroundings. A gang of convicts, sixteen in number, were engaged in repairing the road leading to the bridge, when, exasperated at the harshness of the warder in command of them, who had once, like themselves, been an ordinary convict, and wes all the greater tyrant for that, killed him with their picks and shovels. In order to hide their deed they sewed up the body in a sheepskin, which they threw into the long, dark culvert under the bridge. The warder was soon missed, and murder suspected. Days of searching, however, failed to bring to light any evidence, and it was thought at last the man must have been drowned and swept out to sea. Finally, something in the culvert attracted the attention of one of the officers, and a search revealed what was at first thought to be the swollen carcass of a sheep. The strange shape of the carcass excited suspicion and caused an examination, which disclosed the body of the warder. One of the convicts who had participated in the murder was present at this examination, and the sight of the body so unnerved him that he promptly confessed his share in the crime. In the course of a few hours all the others concerned confessed. The next day the whole sixteen were taken to the bridge and shot on the very spot where the murder _ took place, all being later huddled into a great ditch which they had been ordered to dig a few hours before, and which they realized was to be their grave. The capital of the convict settlement was called Kingston, and here the Commandant lived in a great rambling house which had no fewer than forty-seven rooms. Nearby was the street of officers’ residences, termed by the convicts “Quality Row.” In another street was the barracks of the garrison, with its high walls and observation-towers, over- looking the prisons and the convicts at their various occupations. Some three miles from Kingston is ‘a place in the hills called Longridge, famous to-day for its beautiful avenue of Norfolk pines, nearly two miles in length, every tree being over a hundred years old. In the middle of this avenue is a stately old English house built of stone, with a magnificent garden. This was once the prison of an Earl of Limerick, found guilty of a political offence. The Earl was allowed every freedom but that on leaving the island, and, being an enthusiastic gardener, devoted all his time to an orchard and garden which were then, as they are now, quite show-places of the **HONEYMOON ISLAND.” 425 island. Half a mile farther on, overlooking the ocean from the top of imposing cliffs, was the small prison in which were confined men of the most incorrigible nature, and among them one who has been made famous in story, and known as “‘ Rufus Dawes,” the much-tried hero of Marcus Clarke’s romance, “For the Term of His Natural Life.” “Dawes " was the fictitious name of a man convicted and transported from England for the murder of his father. After some years his innocence was proved, and a message was sent to Norfolk Island to release and send him back to England, where fortune and a title awaited him. He was one of six convicts sent out in a small boat in a very rough sea to meet the ship and bring back the mail to the capital. Later, the whole settlement knew of the freedom, fortune, and fate of the once unhappy “ Dawes.”” In the year 1855 a discussion took place in the House of Commons concerning the conditions prevailing on Norfolk Island. Report after report had been reaching England telling gruesome tales of the horrors of the convict prisons. Finally, a com- missioner was sent out to conduct an inquiry, and it was decided to abandon the settlement at once. Thus ended one of the saddest chapters in British colonial history. For a year the island was completely deserted save for a caretaker who was put in charge of the great stocks of agricultural implements stored on the island. When the convicts left, roads had been built all over the island, orchards were smiling in their plentitude, every house had a lovely garden, and the good-conduct convicts—very few in number, who had_ been allowed to marry— had built themselves pretty coral-concrete huts, with orchards and gardens attached, in lonely places of the hills. In the year of desertion Norfolk passed from its dark and awful past to a future of purer fame, for the island was about to become the homeland of a romantic and interesting people. In 1856 there arrived by the sailing-ship Morayshire, forty men, forty-seven women, fifty-four boys, and fifty-three girls from the island of Pitcairn, in the South Pacific. They were descendants of the mutineers of the British war sloop Bounty, a race of charming and handsome folk with English fathers and Tahitian mothers. To-day their descendants are known as Norfolk Islanders, showing little of the native blood in their veins, and leading the simplest of lives in ideal surroundings. They are in- tensely interesting, inasmuch as in manners, ways, customs, and language they are identically the same as were their fore- fathers of a hundred and fifty years ago. Indeed, a visit to Norfolk Island is like

Page 433

426 stepping into the past, away back to the time of the Georges. The people are happy and contented, there being but cight surnames on the island, but several families of each, the total population being eight Rundred. A brief account of the historic mutiny of the Bounty will serve to show how the Pitcairners came to settle on Norfolk Island. In the year 1787 the sloop Bounty, under the command of Licutenant Bligh, was dispatched from England to the South Pacific to obtain supplies of bread-fruit trees for the West Indies, to solve the then serious problem of feeding the native workers on the plantations of those islands. Bligh was a man of harsh temper, overbearing manner, and exceedingly strict in his discipline. He was, however, possessed of great courage, and one of the most remarkable navigators of his day. The officers and crew of the Bounty, starved and ill-treated as they were by Bligh—a ‘‘ means to keep them in sub- mission,’’ as he often stated—resolved at the very first opportunity to get rid of him, and the chance came sooner than they expected. The Bounty called at the island of Tahiti to take on a shipment of bread-fruit trees, and the beautiful women of the island, for which Tahiti is far famed, so fascinated the sailors that when the day of departure came round they were to a man reluctant to leave ; indeed, some few had already married and deserted the ship. To the last moment there was trouble, and Bligh behaved in a manner which plainly indicated that once be got to sea, the men would be made to pay heavily for their insubordination. His first act of discipline was to put both officers and men on limited food supplies, and as this continued for some three wecks the smoulder- ing fires of general discontent suddenly broke out into open mutiny. The ringleader was Bligh’s chief officer, a man of the name of Fletcher Christian. Only seventeen men out of the crew of fifty remained faithful to their commander, and had it not been for their influence Bligh would most certainly have been shot, so aggressive were the mutineers towards him. It was decided that he and the seventeen loyal sailors should be put in a whale-boat and set adrift with sufficient water and food to, last them a couple of weeks. It was then that Bligh proved his wonderful knowledge of naviga- tion, for in this small whale-boat he crossed three thousand miles of the Pacific, taking months to do it, and the party lived through it, though they endured the most dreadful privations. Bligh finally landed at the port of Koepang, on the Island of Timor. Here some of the castaways died, but most of them, including Bligh himself, were able to return to England. The mutiny was reported, and Bligh was made an admiral for his pluck and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. skill in navigation, eventually becoming Governor of New South Wales. Owing to his unfortunate manner and tactics, however, he came into conflict with the people and was obliged to return to England. The mutineers, fully recognizing the seriousness of their crime, the long arm of the British Navy, and the then severity of the laws, and feeling sure that if ever Bligh got to England he would get a new ship and himself come in search of them, hastened to get away to some lonely island of the South Pacific. They picked on the tiny and most remote of islands—Pitcairm—then, as now, quite out of the usual track of ships. The Bounty first called at Tahiti, where a large stock of provisions and water were taken on board, and where some Tahitian men and women were induced to accompany the mutineers to Pitcairn, twelve hundred miles away. Fair winds soon brought the captured sloop to Pitcairn, and here a settlement was formed, one of the first acts of the mutineers being to beach the Bounty and burn her, with the intention, as they thought, of blotting out all evidence of their crime. Secure and distant as was Pitcairn Island, the mutineers have left it on record that they never for one moment felt safe. Every day and every hour they scanned the horizon, always fearful of the approach of some British man-of-war on vengeance bent. They had not been long on the island when, by mischance, they discovered how to distil a frightfully intoxicating liquor from the juice extracted from the roots of a certain tree. All gave way to excess; the whites first quarrelled among themselves, and then with the Tahitian men. In the end, and in a very short time, death in some terrible form came to all of them but one, a man named Adams. This man proved to have a remarkable character. He gave up drinking, destroyed the still, opened a school for the children, and constituted himself their school- master. He also built a church and became pastor of it, and in a short time, by his wonderful energy and example, turned the Pitcairners into a God-fearing, peaceable, decent -living folk. The people thrived, the population increasing so fast that in a few years Pitcairn was found far too small, and famine and drought threatened the little community. By this time they had been visited by British and American ships, ail helping the lonely folk in various useful ways. At last the British man-of-war that the mutineers had so greatly dreaded came to the island. The mutineers dead, their crime long since forgotten and forgiven, the British admiral thought only what kindness he might do these lonely islanders. On his return to England the officer was instru- mental in directing the attention of Queen

Page 434

Wall and sentry tower of the old barracks occupied by the garrison in the convict days. Victoria to the islanders, who had declared themselves the most loyal of subjects. The Queen displayed, and main- tained, a keen interest in the Pitcairn people. She sent them an organ for their church, a large supply of clothing, and—what they valued most—a box of Cascade Landing, the only safe landing on the island’s rocky shores. “HONEYMOON ISLAND.” 427 books, all the islanders, thanks to the tuition of Adams, being able to read and write English. Her Majesty, in a second ship- ment of useful thing: nt a life-size paint- ing of herself, and lis was held in the greatest veneration. The chief holiday on the island was the 24th of May, the Queen's birthday, when the painting was carried in procession to the public square of the.settle- ment, and set up on a pedestal, men, women, and children filing past and saluting. On another occasion the Queen, to show her appreciation of kindness extended to the people by the captain of an American ship, presented him A general view of the ruins of the old convict prison. | In those times Norfolk was known as the “ Island of Despair.

Page 435

428 with a magnificent gold watch and a letter expressing her pleasure and thanks. The time came when with the ever-in- creasing population Pitcairn was found far too small and remote, and the people petitioned the Queen to allot them some bigger island in the South Pacific. Norfolk Island was chosen, and in the year 1856 the whole population was transplanted to Norfolk—a land fruitful, fertile, and healthy, with houses ready for them to occupy, and an abundance of farming implements, house- hold furniture, cattle, horses, pigs and poultry, gardens and orchards—everything being just as left after the abandonment of the convict settlement. Each family was allotted fifty acres of land, and in a very short time prosperity smiled upon them, until nowadays they are people of growing commercial importance. Every year the festival of the mutiny of ‘ the Bounty, or “ Bounty Day” as it is called, is a general holiday when, amidst much pageantry, the most striking incidents of the mutiny are enacted. Every character is portrayed but one, that of Bligh, no one being rash enough to dress up as the unpopular commander, .and so Bligh is displayed only in efigy. Direct descendants of the mutineers take all the prominent parts, and at the end of the day’s perform- ance the effigy is taken and, amid much Tejoicing, thrown into a great bonfire. The day’s jubilation is invariably enlivened by a challenge from Norfolk Islanders to the world to produce an eleven capable of beating them at cricket. Strangers on the island are expected to accept the challenge, and amatch is played, which invariably ends in favour of the islanders. The Norfolk folk are very proud of their mutineer forefathers, as the following in- cident will show. When, in 1914, the world was disturbed by the clash of war, all the able-bodied young men of the island promptly volunteered for service. Some two hundred in all were accepted and joined up with the Australian forces. Prior to their departure from the island the recruits were addressed by one of the elders, a member of the local government. ‘‘My boys,” he said, ‘‘ go forth and show the world you are possessed of the same blood and the same courage as your forefathers, who dared to do what few have done—seize a British man-of-war ! In 1914 Norfolk Island was brought under the control of the Commonwealth of Australia, which takes a very paternal interest in the welfare of the people. They pay no taxes, and are practically self- supporting. Money, however, is conspicuous by its scarcity, few of the inhabitants ever handling more than five pounds in a year ; THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. yet they have every comfort, and even many luxuries that help to satisfy the life of man. There is a local government and Executive Council, presided over by the Governor, appointed from Australia, and in his absence by a President, one of the leading imhabitants. This Council deals mostly with the -heajth of the community, the state of the soads, and the industries of the island. it is a sign of the times that the people are agitating for more power, and the right to govern them- selves entirely, without wishing to be cut off from the protection.of the Commonwealth. Crime of any sort is unknown, the police force consisting of one man, who is com- mandant, inspector, and constable all roiled into one. The island has a doctor, supported by the Commonwealth, also a schoolmaster and a banker, but it has no lawyer, and does not need one. The people are not troubled with the high cost of living, nor industrial unrest. Beef and mutton are but threepence a pound, poultry a shilling a pair, there is an abundance of fish for the :catchimg, fruit and vegetables are free for the mere col- lecting of them, and milk, :butter, and cream can be got for the-asking. Board and lodging can be obtaimed for thirty shillings a week, with comfort and liberal fare. There are no hotels xon the island, and liquor cannot be procured without the doctor's order, and then ‘from tthe : public chemist only. The most important industries of the island are the production of lemon-juice and peel-making. Thousands. of barrels of these commodities are now exported annually to Australia, whence they are distributed to England and America. Lemons grow wild and can be gathered all the year round. It is a most interesting sight to see troops of boys and gir!s roaming over the bright green fields, running from tree to tree collecting the golden fruit. At the factories where the lemons are peeled, squeezed, and barrelled, there is much animation, and all day long the splendid voices of the happy workers are heard in tuneful glees. The next industry of importance is whaling, hundreds of casks of oil being sent away each year. The islanders are expert boatmen, and whales are captured in the old-fashioned way, with open whale-boats and harpoons. The methods employed in the whaling industry are crude, but in the way of excite- ment nothing is lost. There is great feasting and fan at the commencement of the whaling season, the most imtense imterest being maintained in every catch, the return of the boats from a whale ‘chase bemg greeted by the entire population. Fruit-packr ostly oranges—is another industry, but this is in the development stage, though it is expected that another few

Page 436

‘**HONEYMOON ISLAND.” 429 looked upon as leaders in all public and social affairs, and command general respect. Norfolk Island is ready for a popula- tion of at least six thousand people. Its rich acres await yet more farmers, and once new blood is introduced this gem of the South Pacific, with its reputation for surpassing beauty of scene and _ its wonderful climate, will become a com- mercial asset of much importance to the whole British Empire. The Norfolk Island newspaper—a_ sheet of paper containing the day’s news received by cable. The scene of the “ Bloody Bridge ” crime. years will see Norfolk Island an im- portant fruit-exporting country. The canning of fruit may also ere long be one of the up-to-date enterprises of the island. As everyone men, women, and children alike—is a shareholder in all industries, strikes, of course, never occur in this favoured island. There are no class distinctions, though the elders are SIGNS An infant industry—barrels of lemon-juice and peel ready for export.

Page 437

Jerusalem as seen from the air, from the Author's picture now in the Imperial War Museum. greeted our ears. With an un- usual speed for us, we had dashed into a caravan of laden mules and camels. The leading muleteer hastily turned his attention to his scattered beasts. ‘Ek oosh, ek oosh!” he yelled. ‘‘May the curse of Allah be upon ye!” Then he turned a_ last admiring gaze THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. . ri by land end air during their memorable journey. laden plain of Sharon and aboard that curious motor - car left us by the Turks, with “Jonathon,” the Australian who met us at Ludd, to drive us. As raw travel- lers, we had scarcely realized what a morass the storm of the previous night had made of these lowlands, and remained in unsuspecting ignorance. Thus it happened that, Jonathon having a con- upon our queer,‘and to him novel, turn-out. stitutional inclination to “ go for’? every We were on our way to Gaza, in the far south of Palestine, embroiled in the mud- obstacle, we drove headtong into a gully filled with oozy mud and water which crossed

Page 438

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. our path. There we stuck—unable to move. The slimy banks sent us slithering back, like a crab in a basin, each time we commenced to climb out. Thus the morning sun-rays revealed us, as they revealed the whole plain, a veritable swamp, dotted here and there with a distant village or a string of camels, and away in the open barely visible above the ground— the black tents of the wandering nomads, the Bedoui. In these countries one soon learns the persuasive power of a shower of tinkling coins, and it was not long before we were on our way again, with half the village of Yebna, which lay hidden about a mile or two ahead, running behind us for more baksheesh in return for their help in dragging us out. After this we had to feel our way cauti- ously, and our 431 he asked speculatively, as he turned to depart :— “How much would this cost to buy?” On this fringe of the southern desert we approached at length a camp of the Bedouins. Their dark tents of goat-hair loomed up large in the gloaming, and twilight lent an air of mystery to the wisps of smoke from their camp fire, around which the men were drinking their coffee. The dogs barked without ceasing as we passed; the women fled, and the children hid themselves. They did not seem accustomed to the utter harmlessness of this surprising appa- rition. So we passed them by, to camp in solitude, the silence undisturbed save for the howls of wandering jackals and the song of the Bedoui, which lasted far into the night, harmonizing with the jingling bells of a distant camel-caravan. hearts were in our mouths to such an extent, in case we should again be stuck, that. little thought was left for a proper study of our surroundings— Makkadah, the village where Joshua hung the five kings, and Ekron, city of the Philistines. If one lost one’s way, it was of little help to ask a passing Arab, for he would reply, waving his hand forwards, that ‘‘ God willing, our path lay straight ahead!’ What tracks exist are ploughed up by the villagers with the rest of their property. ‘‘ Who is to say nay, if Allah grant that the highway also be made to yield abundance ? ”’ is their. un- answerable argument. Finally we got stranded in a field of wheat, and a shepherd undertook to show us part of the route. Yes, he certainly knew the way ; it was easy, he said, with an optimistic flourish of his hand. Either he had not understood us or we him, however, for we soon found ourselves appreciably nearer our starting-point, and came on to desert sand ! This descendant of patriarchal days haa naturally guided us to that time-honoured route throughout the ages—the soft sand of the camel caravan. He was disappointed that our motor needed a species of food which the desert route did not provide, but The roof of the Turkish barracks, showing Ali ; Muntar hill. This is probably the hill to which Samson carried the gates of Gaza. If it is true that we take our pleasures sadly, with the Arabs, be it Bedouin or Fella- heen, their every pain, as well as their pleasure, is wrapped up by the “will of Allah” in an assumption of indifference. Their hospitality is a religious rite, in the celebra- tion of which the guest is uncon- sciously the offer- ing — the sacri- ficial ewe-lamb. The traveller finds at every turn either the genial welcome of the host or the studied avoidance that bespeaks the enemy. For instance, at Gaza a sullen aloofness confronted us; perhaps it had something to do with our pitching our camp on the_ site of those gates of Gaza that Samson carried off ; or perhaps they still maintained some of the characteristics of Delilah and her Philistine brethren. The townsfolk had very little food and, unfortunately for our needs, they refused to sell us anything but Jaffa oranges and such- like. As we sat round a guttering candle on our second night in Gaza we finished our last tin of sardines, which had to provide us nourishment for two days at least. The photograph reproduced above, showing the roof of the Turkish barracks, was taken after I had been conducted there by the chief of the guard, with a great pretence of

Page 439

432 secrecy, in order to paint a view of this imhospitable city. The hill in the distance is called Ali Muntar, meaning Samson's Hill, to the sum- mit of which, in all probability, he carried the gates of Gaza. In contrast to our reception at Gaza, we were in no way surprised, on our road to Antipatras next day, when an old sheikh joined us while we were walking ahead, prospecting for the path, and freely offered us his cucumbers and chupattee, which he unfolded from the depths of his cloak. He was a veritable descendant of Abraham, with long flowing locks and white trailing beard framing a venerable face. We walked some way together in the utmost amiability, though our conversation was necessarily meagre. “You Ferenghi,’’ he said in Arabic, point- ing to each of us in turn, with a beaming smile at his great perception ; ‘I Arabi, by the grace of God,”’ with which he drew him- self up with dignity as much as his bent back would allow. “‘ We Inglezi, oh Sheikh,” we corrected him, “ Inglezi, by Allah!’’ he murmured, in seeming wonderment. Such simple conversation sufficed for some time. Arrived at the point where he had tethered his ass, he insisted that one of us should ride while he walked—such is their not only simple courtesy. But it was courtesy, it was also the rule of the Koran, and an habitual social custom since the days when Abraham first fed his flocks in these plains, Some Bedouin booths—the “' black tents of Kedar ’— appeared near our path, and we did not hesitate to approach them. The nomad owners gazed at us coldly till we drew near the first tent, and then the sheikh came forward and set his household in activity to entertain us. The camp consisted of three or four tents grouped together. In the one to which we were conducted a couple of asses were tethered, with fowls grubbing in the sand THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. group of naked children played at the threshold ; and from behind a curtain that formed the “ harem ”’ portion of the home there came a hum of voices as the womenfolk prepared a bow] of ‘‘Lebben”’ for us to drink. The men crowded round us, talking volubly and carefully examining our persons and property ; so that I was afraid they would ask us to give them such articles of value as we had about us. ‘““Not Muslimin, but Nazrani, are these poor Ferenghi,” I overheard one of them say; and then aloud to us: “ Inglezi are good ; yes, very good!” From these nomads we learnt that we were near the village of Jiljulieh, and night- fall saw us on the main caravan route to Jaffa, bumping slowly along behind a string of camels laden with produce for the south. It was just such a caravan as this which we were following that purchased Joseph from his brethren, I thought to myself, and per- haps on this self-same route. As we neared the straggling town the concourse of travellers increased. Here was a green-turbaned descendant of the Prophet ; there a veiled woman trudging meekly beside her lord and master, riding in comfort on his mule. Through the twilight came that eternal music of the East, the jingling bells of the animals, their high and low notes mingling with the music made by the tinkling anklets of the women and the mournful wailing song of the muleteers on the march; the dull thud of the camels’ tread beat an accompaniment. All this magic con- course dispersed as we entered the mar- kets of Jaffa. In this way, masters of our time and move- ments, we journeyed from town to town, from the plains to the hills, and from the mud _ villages of the agriculturists to the stone-built homes of the shep- herds of Judea. Our path took us on one occasion to two villages lying on either side of a hill. One was named Lat- run (meaning the Robber) and the other Emmaus—the village of Christ. I am not around their legs. A Types of Palestine Arabs. characteristically

Page 440

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 433 The terrible Wilderness of Judea, as seen from an aeroplane. This gives one a vivid idea of the desolate region in which St. John fed on locusts and wild honey. nervous, and there may be no meaning in names, but I certainly preferred the latter village to the former. The photograph on the previous page shows some men of Em- maus wearing their cloaks of goats’ hair, woven, like those of their ancestors, ‘ with- out seam.” Strange things can befall one even in a village of the ‘‘ Prince of Peace.” I was trying to extricate myself from a maze of prickly pear hedges, which bordered a steep bank above the village roofs, and with one last tug freed myself from their ferocious thorns. The next thing I knew was that a mob of bloodthirsty village dogs—half wolf, half dag—had me at their mercy and ‘were commencing to treat me as lawful prey. I had fallen off the prickly pear down the bank and on to the roof of a villager’s hut. My brother Sydney came to my rescue with a stick, and a fierce fight ensued, ending by our retreating to the very outskirts of the village. Between village dogs and native inquisi- tiveness it was sometimes difficult to keep that concentration of mind necessary for Vol xlix.—30, beggar, ragged and dirty, chose to favour me with his company, and sat down beside me, almost on my knees. He never ceased a running fire of questions, nor would he go. Worse still, he hailed everyone who passed to come and sit down likewise, and it was not long before, on looking round, I beheld a hundred or more people—in fact, the whole population of the village—jostling behind my back. The more emphatically I signified my desire for them to go, the more they took it as personal animosity, leaving me no alternative but to beat an undignified retreat. As one passes through these rugged hills of Judea to villages perched high on pre- cipitous summits, where shepherds feed their flocks amid and boulders, the fierce simplicity of the life of the shepherd kings comes vividly back tomind. The photograph reproduced on the next page shows some shep- herds of Hebron tending their flocks. They use the clubs they carry not for beating the sheep, but for their own protection. As in the words of the Psalmist: ‘‘ Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.”” When counting his sheep, the shepherd makes them pass in single file beneath this rod. This sombre country gives no facilities for

Page 441

434 that life of ease and luxury which the gardens and tinkling streams of Damascus offered to the Court of Benhadad. Verily might King David utter such stern words as: ‘‘ Judah was my sanctuary and Israel my dominion. This is my rest for ever. Here will I dwell ; for I have desired it.” It was with our thoughts turned to the patriarchal times that we approached some days later the remote sanctuary of Abraham —Hebron ‘in the fields of Ephron, in the land of Canaan.” There was no man in sight of whom to inquire the road, and therefore I had the effrontery to address a party of maidens filling their water-jars at Sarah’s well. “ The way to El-Khalil, pray tell me the path, ya Bint,” I said, in the best Arabic I knew. But not a word in reply could I obtain— nothing but the most reproachful looks, though I addressed my humble ques- tion to each in turn. On the ap- proach of an old sheikh, appar- ently the owner of the damsels, I realized my blun- der. I, a Naz- rani, had been endeavouring to hold speech with the members of a “true believer's” harem ! . But this exclusiveness and fanaticism is not surprising near Hebron, for it is said that no European has yet been able to build a house in this jealous city. Admittance to the ‘“ Haram’ (the for- bidden), the shrine that covers Abraham’s Cave of Macpelah, which he bought for four hundred shekels ‘‘ as a possession of a burial- place,” was jealously withheld from any dog of an infidel who did not reverence Mahomet as God’s apostle. Its gaunt walls frowned down upon us as we wandered round it, and a great crowd of “‘ true believers,” idling the day through on the steps of the entrance, gazed with jealousy upon our intrusion. Unsympathetic crowds followed us wherever we went, in bazaar or dark alley, and we were not sorry when we were once again on the highway to Jerusalem. Yet we were leaving behind us the old world of Israel; Jerusalem represents the new. The maze of convents and hospitals— Greek, Russian, French, or Jewish—that surround the Holy City had no interest for Shepherd boys Hebron. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. us, strangers wandering in a land of ancient memories. Jerusalem stands on the summit of the mountains of Judea, surrounded by miles of deep gorges and ravines which offer foot- hold only for goats. Once I nearly suffered dire disaster in these hills. It all came about through my being locked up in a monastery tower. This monastery lay outside the city walls, and its tower offered an excellent view over the city, which I wanted to paint. When, at sunset, I hastily wended my way back through its empty halls and passages, I found the great door at the end barred and bolted, and the whole place still as a grave ! The prospects of a night in this gloomy prison prompted the question of escape. The windows were much too high above the ground to be of any use to me, but I noticed that one window lay near a drain “pipe. Down this I climbed till it came to an end, and then I dropped to the ground, The faithful Jonathon had been waiting for me with the motor. We were staying at Kus- tul, a mountain village, and now it was dark. For a good part of the way back the road borders the side of a precipice. Feeling somewhat shaken by my fall, I sat silent and thoughtful, and it was not till we were well on our way that I realized that our zigzag course signified that Jonathon was not entirely sober. For some time I could not make up my mind what to do; somehow I feared the result of sudden interference. Then in an instant the difficulty settled itself, for I had the horrible realization that we were making straight for the edge! Just as we were almost over a big stone caught against one wheel, and instantly turning, we bumped back, smashing into the opposite bank. Leaving Jonathon with the broken wreck, and more relieved than otherwise, I continued the journey on foot. The impression of the Holy City which I like best is that from the air. We had some difficulties in reaching the city by aeroplane, which made my first view of its sacred places from above all the more memorable. A flight over the inhospitable mountains that sur- round the city, where a forced landing would

Page 442

r 2 THROUGH THE EAST BY AIK. = 435 mean an inevit- able crash to death, makes an aerial journey to Jerusalem an ad- venture ; and on our first attempt to fly there, while we were rising above the first range, our engine did indeed begin to ‘‘miss.” We turned about, with our eyes glued to the en- gine. It kept going with fitful gasps, and just scraped back to the aerodrome at Ramleh, and finally, with one last groan, side-slipped into it. This was the period of Easter festivals, and crowds of the devout were pouring into Jerusalem from all the country places— fierce fanatical Moslems to a man. There was reason to fear a massacre of Jews at the hands of this overwhelming and excited populace. Thus, while I painted my picture of the city from the air, we periodically performed “stunts” in order to disperse collecting The River Jordan to the south of the Sea of Galilee. crowds. I could see the people in the enclosure Temple gazing up at us, till, with a ‘‘zoom,” we swooped down upon them and left only scattered figures. In the very heart of the city lay the grey dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Around it white church towers 4 intermingled with the black and white minarets, from which we could sce—though we could not hear—the muezzins calling the people to prayer. With hands to mouth they would sing, to south, east, north, and to west: “Come to prayer, come to prayer, for Allah is great and Mahomet is his prophet.”” In the narrow cobbled streets, half-covered with arches and roofs, we could discern the black hats and yellow curls of the Jews, mixing with the green turbans of the sheikhs, the red fezzes of the Armenians, and the. of Solomon's .

Page 443

436 THE WIDE WORLD black abbas that enveloped the women, all jostling together up and down the narrow ways. I could descry, too, the Via Dolorosa, crossing the city from end to end, and David's Street, running from his citadel on Zion right down to the precincts of the Temple. The brilliant green spaces of the Temple area, mingled with its white slabs of stone, made it the most conspicuous and most beautiful portion of the city. On a great platform in its centre the Mosque of Omar rose solitary and imperious, overlooking the deep gorge of Jehoshophat on the far side of the city wall, and facing across to the Mount of Olives, with the little village of Bethany clinging to its side. We next turned to the east, and flew with some hesitation over the yellow wilderness, whose barren, waterless peaks, in endless repetition, led down to the cerulean blue of the Dead Sea. : It was indeed the most terrifying country I have ever flown over. What if our engine gave out again? We thought of St. John, for there was little else for food and drink but locusts and wild honey. The photo- graph reproduced on page 417, taken from the air, gives a good idea of this desolate wilderness. The reputed Tomb of Moses is seen in the lower right-hand corner, though according to the Bible his tomb is unknown. Far below we could descry that road to Jericho of the Good Samaritan parable, and farther on the way the khan which is called the Good Samaritan Inn. On this road the traveller guards to-day against the robbers MAGAZINE. who haunt its gorges and, caves just as in the days of the parable. Higher than the other peaks rises the Mount of Temptation, from which, it is written, the devil tempted Christ ; and below it in the valley lies the half-Bedouin village of Jericho. We could even discern the khan in which we had spent a night there. Beyond it lies the now unearthed walls of ancient Jericho, sheltered by the scattered palms that survive the city’s ancient glory. From those gloomy hills of Moab across the valley came the men of Joshua to the capture of Jericho, even as their men do now. This subject was painted by Sydney from the air, and the picture—of which a photo- graph is reproduced on page 414—is now at the Crystal Palace. Down the centre of the valley weird mud- hills, washed into all sorts of shapes, border the Jordan in its hurried course to the Dead Sea. This sea indeed merits its name of “dead”; for no fish can endure its salt, and its bare shingle shores are strewn with dead boughs and rotted skeletons. When we visited it we tested the assertion that a bather cannot sink in its waters, and found ourselves rolling about ‘like india-rubber balls. Deep gullies break up this desolate plain, which lies two thousand feet below sea level. : Turning from the wilderness, we directed our flight northwards with renewed interest. The Sea of Galilee, Damascus, the Lebanon— all lay ahead, with their promise of new experiences and adventures, (To be continued.) ae THE photograph _ here reproduced shows Elisha Gardner an eccentric old “character ” of Nantucket, Massachusetts. He is seen sitting on the front porch of his house, where he runs a pea-nut stall. His peculiar sense of humour is evidenced by the numerous quaintly - worded _ notices which decorate his “ office,” and which have made him widely known, and have, incidentally, helped to sell many tons of pea-nuts. we

Page 444

THE BANKER'’'S BET. y “WW. H. P.” ILLUSTRATED BY W. G. WHITAKER. The story of a cautious banker, an unwary Scandinavian, and two clever rogues. LE was a middle-aged Scandinavian who had retired from the saloon business in Northern Minnesota and had erected a_ comfortable house on his farm in the Red River Valley. He lived well at home and dressed well when he came to town. As he had to drive thirty miles to town to do his banking and other important business, his sealskin cap and mink-skin overcoat, with otter trimmings, were not only comfortable but gave evidence of his financial standing in the community. He was not a particularly well-educated man, neither was he entirely unsophisticated. Having had a prosperous year, Ole decided, early one January, to take a trip to Hot Springs, Arkansas, where, he understood, his rheumatism could be boiled out and, incidentally, some moncy expended in the pursuit of happiness. Before deciding defin- itely about the southern trip, he decided to talk it over with ‘‘ Banker Bill,’’ who was the friend and adviser of nearly everyone in the west end of the county, and also president of the First National Bank. “ Bill ” was too conscientious and careful to make money for himself, but was most fortunate in caring for the interests of his depositors, and he had assisted Ole in-many transactions which terminated profitably. Ole was properly appreciative, and many were the coveys of prairie chickens which he protected on his farm and grain fields for “ Banker Bill’ to shoot. . On this occasion he offered to buy tickets for his friend to accompany him to Hot Springs and to pay his hotel bills, but the banker smilingly declined. “As a matter of fact, Ole,” he said, ‘‘ you ought to engage me to take care of you on this trip, for 1 have been down there. I want to caution you particularly against the various gambling games which will be brought to your attention. You look very handsome in that new mink-skin coat, but if you are not careful you will come home with- out it, and without any money in the bank.” Ole laughed. ‘‘ Bill, you have given me good advice before,’’ he said. ‘‘ I am only taking three hundred dollars in cash and my cheque-book, so you will be able to see just what I am spending.” “ That is a good idea,” replied the banker, “and I will take the liberty of returning unpaid any of your cheques drawn for over five hundred dollars, unless you tell me beforehand what they are for. Furthermore, I will bet you a ten-dollar box of cigars that you will be ‘ buncoed’ out of at least five hundred dollars before you return.” Ole, with a grin, promptly accepted the bet, and they shook hands on it as he left the bank on his way to the Northern Pacific Depot. A few days later, Ole registered at the Eastman Hotel in Hot Springs, where, like other visitors, he spent most of his time in walking, bathing, eating, and loafing. On the second day a well-dressed, quiet- looking man happened to be taking a walk in the same direction as Ole, and presently they got into conversation. Finding that Ole came from Minnesota, the stranger asked if he happened to know Mr. Foote, of Crookston. “Why, yes,” said Ole, with a broad smile on his red face. ‘‘ He is the president of the Merchants’ National Bank there.” “Well, well,’”’ cried the stranger, ‘‘ we are in luck to run across one another, for Foote is my brother. It makes me feel good to talk to anyone who knows my brother. I am a stranger here, and have been told to be careful about associating with some of the people.” “The President of the First National Bank, where I keep my money, told me nearly the same thing the day I left,” replied Ole. ‘‘He doesn’t gamble, but will bet cigars on anything, and he bet me a box of ten-dollar cigars that I would be ‘ buncoed ’ by someone before I got home.” Foote remarked that it was lonesome when one did not know a soul, and he would be glad to have Ole for a companion, seeing that he was acquainted with his brother in Crookston. So,+during the next ten days, Foote and Ole practically lived together, and the confidence necessary for Foote’s ultimate purpose was properly established. Foote persuaded Ole to accompany him to church on the Sunday evening, and in other ways impressed him with his righteous and orderly manner of living. One day an announcement was made in the hotel that a dance would be given at Soda Springs, five miles away, on Friday evening, and Foote suggested that they should drive over and enjoy the entertain- ment. Ole agreed, and Friday afternoon

Page 445

438 THE WIDE WORLD found the two friends driving to Soda Springs in a two-seated phzton with one horse. About three miles out of Hot Springs a spring of fresh water is led to a watering- trough for horses, while another wooden trough in a small clearing near the road serves for campers and picnic purposes. Several crude tables and benches make the place convenient for tourists on foot. While the pair stopped to water their horse at the trough, they observed a man, with shabby clothes and dusty shoes, sitting at one of the tables, very intent on some cards which he was shufiling. He was evidently travelling on foot, for there was a worn black satchel and a cane lying at his feet. His hat was pushed back and disclosed a pale face and tired, suffering eyes. A frequent, hacking cough seemed to shake his whole frame. Foote suggested to Ole that, as the fellow appeared to be ill, they might ask him to ride if he were going their way. “ Halloa, stranger,”’ said Ole, ‘‘ do you want to ride to Soda Springs with us ? ”” The stranger had a severe spell of coughing before he replied : ‘‘ You are very kind and, as I am not well, I will take a lift.” With that he collected his cards, wrapped them in a soiled handkerchief, and, picking up his valise and cane, started for the con- veyance, As he placed his luggage in the back of the pheton, Ole asked: ‘‘ What were you doing with the cards—playing solitaire ? ’’ Another severe fit of coughing delayed the stranger’s reply; then, placing one foot on the step of the vehicle,. while he leaned his arm on the back seat, he said: ‘‘ No; I was practising a trick which was worked on me in Little Rock. You see, my uncle died and left me ten thousand dollars, and I came down from Michigan to sce if I could regain my health. I met two men in Little Rock and they worked this game on me and took all but twenty-five hundred dollars of my money. There is a considerable amount of gambling done at these resorts down here, “and as I cannot work it looks like an easy way to get my money back and make some more besides.” Now, Ole had conducted a saloon in a town in Northern Minnesota, and there was a gambling-room, for the convenience of the “jumber jacks,’ connected with the bar. Ole did not run the gambling-room, but he was thoroughly familiar with the various gambling devices and schemes—from a roulette wheel to ‘three card monte.” “You can’t fool anyone with old card: games,” he told the stranger. ‘‘ You will only lose the balance of your money “Well,”’ replied the stranger, “ I’ve got it down fine, and if you will come over here, I will show you that you don’t know any- thing about it.” MAGAZINE. “*Come on and see what it is like,’’said Foote in an undertone to Ole. ‘‘ We needn’t bet, and I never saw one of these games worked.”’ Thereupon they climbed out of the phzeton and followed the stranger to one of the tables, where they were introduced to that ancient game that is played with three cards. The consumptive stranger was certainly proficient enough in their manipulation. Foote became greatly interested, and offered to bet five dollars that he could locate the deuce of spades, but the invalid protested that he did not want to take his money. Foote, however, insisted. Ole held the stakes—and the stranger won. Foote was fascinated, increased the stakes, and lost repeatedly. Finally the stranger picked up his cards. ‘I don’t want to take any more of your money,” he said. ‘‘ For all I know, perhaps you can’t afford to lose it.” Thereupon, remembering all he had learnt in the gambling-room behind his bar, Ole spoke up. ‘I will show you that you don’t know anything about this game yourself,” he said. ‘' Fora start, I'll bet you a hundred dollars I can locate the deuce of spades.” The stranger was now coughing pretty badly, and was apparently weak and ner- vous. His hands, however, were steady, and his fingers moved rapidly as Foote took the stakes. A couple of passes, the cards dropped, and Ole placed his finger unerringly on the deuce of spades. Foote turned the card over, and Ole took the money. The stranger wiped his forehead with a soiled handkerchief and hesitatingly put his hand to his inside coat pocket. “Wait until I get my grip from the buggy,”’ he said, and soon brought over his cane and the black valise. The bag appeared to be full of currency as he drew out a package labelled ‘‘ $500.00,"’ and handed it to Foote. Addressing Ole, he continued: “I will bet that five hundred against the two hundred that you cannot locate the deuce of spades this time.” Ole promptly covered the bet, the cards changed places and fell—and Ole lost. Just then the stranger had a very severe attack of coughing, but, although apparently exhausted, he contrived to whisper: “I will bet you two thousand dollars to three thou- sand that you cannot locate the deuce of spades, and I will give you three chances.” As he finished speaking he threw down the three cards like a flash. ‘ There is your chance!’ he cried. Then he nearly had convulsions, and, trembling and coughing until it seemed that he would fall to the ground, he suddenty wheeled and caught hold of a small tree behind him, turning his head to the rear as he steadied himself. While his face was averted Foote quickly

Page 446

THE BANKER’S BET. 439 “ Addressing Ole, he continued: ‘I will bet that five hundred against the two hundred that you cannot locate the deuce of spades.’” lifted one edge of a card, exposing the deuce of spades, turning it down again when he saw that Ole had located it. Then the stranger returned to the table, mopping his pallid face, and asked Ole if he would bet. Ole replied that he would have to put upa cheque against the two thousand in currency, as he hadn't that amount with him in cash.

Page 447

440 “ Well, you men look honest to me,” said the stranger, ‘‘ and I will take a chance.” He counted out two thousand dollars in currency, which was placed in Foote’s hands, while Ole took out his cheque-book and filled out a cheque for three thousand dollars on the First National Bank, payable to bearer. Ole was not a good penman at the best of times, and in the nervous excitement of the moment it was not surprising that he made rather a mess of the business. ‘‘ You had better write another cheque,’’ remarked Foote, laughingly. “I will tear this one up, for no one could read it.” Foote held the untidy cheque up for Ole’s inspection, and while Ole wrote another he saw Foote, apparently, tear up the first cheque and throw the pieces on the ground. The currency and cheque were then placed in Foote’s hands and Ole, of course, placed his finger on the card he had “ spotted,” which, on being turned up, duly proved to be the deuce of spades. The stranger appeared to be considerably discouraged, but said that he still had five hundred which he would bet. Foote, however, objected. “ Ole,”’ he said, “ I think we had better give this man back his money and you will take back your cheque. He is obviously very ill, and you and I cannot afford to mix up in a gambling game in this fashion. Our reputations would be ruined, and we might get into trouble, for we do not even know his name.” Ole remembered that he had seen the deuce when Foote turned it over, and his conscience rather pricked him. “ Yes,” he said, ‘‘ you give him back his money, and I will destroy the cheque.”’ The money was duly returned to the stranger, and Ole examined his cheque before he tore it into tiny pieces, which he dropped on the ground where the first one lay. Foote lectured the stranger very seriously about gambling as the three of then drove into Soda Springs. There Foote and Ole bade him farewell and went in to dinner. This ttle experience gave them something to talk about during the meal and while driving back to Hot Springs. Ole thought it was a great joke that he had won two thousand dollars and then given it back to the sick man. He little knew that ‘ Mr. Foote "’ had the first cheque he had written, for three thousand dollars, safely tucked away in his vest-pocket, and that the paper he had destroyed had been specially prepared for the purpose to which it had been put ! When the consumptive stranger met his partner ‘‘ Mr. Foote,’’ at the Arlington Hotel, late that evening, he was spruce- looking and well-dressed, and had com- Pletely recovered from the distressing cough THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. which had troubled him so much during the afternoon. Three days later the First National Bank received a letter from Little Rock, enclosing a: perfectly good cheque for three thousand dollars, drawn by Ole, with the request that a Chicago draft for the amount should be sent to a certain person in that city. Evi- dently, Ole was “out” three thousand dollars, and ‘‘ Banker Bill ’’ had won a box of cigars worth ten dollars. “ Bill” frequently spent .the cold winter mornings looking over his customers’ cl eques and amusing himself in figuring out .where his friends were holiday-making and what it was costing them. Ole’s cheque underwent a similar investigation; and then there came to the cautious banker’s mind the thought that the instructions were not written on a business letter-head, and that the request for the draft was not in favour of any business concern. Promptly ‘ Bill’ sent a wire to Ole, inquiring if he had drawn such a cheque and if it was in order to pay it. Inside three hours a reply came back from Hot Springs saying that the cheque was all right and that he was to pay it. The wire purported to be signed by Ole himself. “ Foote,” it should be explained (this was discovered later), had watched the telegraph office,to which he had obtained access by using diplomacy, and had seen the telegram for Ole when it arrived. Then he had answered it from another office, using Ole’s name. Meanwhile “ Banker Bill ’’ had a “' hunch ” that Ole had been furnishing fuel for some fire which might burn him. Moreover, Ole had agreed to let him know of any cheques drawn for over five hundred dollars. Con- sequently, Bill placed the letter, cheque, and telegram under a heavy paperweight and decided to think the matter over until the next morning. Later Ole duly received the telegram addressed to him from the bank, and the following morning “‘ Bill ” received his reply, which read: ‘‘ Pay no cheques on my ac- count. Have drawn none. Writing you letter.” Ole’s letter eventually reached the bank, and was the source of much amusement, both on account of the spelling and the artless explanation of the gambling transaction which it contained. ‘' Foote,’’ he added, had disappeared. The banker’s action, of course, saved Ole’s three thousand, and when the Scandinavian came back in the spring he placed a ten-dollar box of cigars on Bill’s desk, sheepishly remarking : “ I got‘ buncoed ' right enovgh.” No one knew how plentiful the prairie chickens were on Ole’s farm that fall except “ Banker Bill” |

Page 448

THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Are You Climbin To Bigger Pay? —Or Are You Watching Others Climb? Any number of routine men at the foot of the ascent—and all of them wondering how they can get up higher! Out of the crowd, now and then, a man makes a start—he begins to climb. “A mighty stiff grade’’—that's the way the first big step appears to the man who is standing still. He has no confidence. “‘Mighty good sport’’—that's the way the event strikes the man who is ciiméing. The thing that perplexes Aim is why in the world he didn’t get into action sooner. The power that carries him up the grade to a bigger job?—Confidence in his own ability. ‘And the thing that g¢ves him confi“ence—the only .thing that cam give a man real and dependable con- fidence? —Spectalized training! ‘ * x * = - During: the last fourteen years more than 350,000 ambitious men, enrolled with LaSalle Extension University, have broken away from the crowd and areontheirway to bigger obs and splendid incomes. When Charles S. Tones took up home- study train- ing in Higher Accountancy under the LaSalle Prob- lem Method, he was earning only $100 a month. Three years later, on the letterhead of Henry & Jones, .Certified Accountants, El Paso, Texas, he writes as follows: “My income is a trifle in excess of $8,000 and I am just beginning to gro Ihave recently enrolled for your full Law course and expect to complete my business education with LaSalle.” . James C. Pitton, of Tacoma, Washington, writes: “T have your course in Business Management to thank for the position I now hold. When I took up your work I was barely making a living. Today I sitin the manager's chair of one of the largest financial institutions in the United States and Canada. My earnings this year will be in the neighborhood of $10,000.and f have the greatest oppor: tunity that any man could wish for in the way of promotion to bigger things.” During only three months’ time as many as 1089 LaSalle members wrote to the University telling of the raises they had received as a result of home- study training under the Problem Method. The ma- jority of these men had not yet completed their Courses, ye/ he average increase per man was 56%. To the man unacquainted with the LaSalle Prob- lem Method, results so prompt and definite seem extraordinary. As a matter of fact, anything else would be extraordinary—for the Problem Method represents just the difference between reading how to do a thing and actually doing tt for oneself. In other words the LaSalle member masters the Srin- ciples of business by solving actual business problems—under the direction of some of the ablest men in their Tespective fields in America. Which do you see ahead of you in the next twelve months —the cliff. or the path that will take you to the top? If you are determined to climb. you should find out at once about the LaSalle Problem Method and how it can direct you toa bigger job. The coupon will bring you full information, together with particulars of our convenient-payment Pian: also your free copy of that inspiring book—“Ten Years’ motion in One.” ‘~ Break away {rom the men who are holding you back—the men who would make you think that“ you haven't a chance."* Find out today what YOU must do to command big money. = Mall the coaven NOW: 5 Se LaSalle Extension Unive ; The Largest Business Training Enstitution in the World Dept. 1073-B Chicago, ML Please send me catalog and full infor- mation regarding the course and service Ihave marked with an X below. Also a copy of your "Ten Years’ Promotion in One,” all without obli- gation to me, Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

Page 449

“SUDDENLY THE CHAUFFEUR SEEMED TO LEAP OUT AND DISAPPEAR INTO THE AIR.” SEE PAGE 444.)

Page 450

/ (HYPNOTIST } ‘DETECTIVE, j Dr. Leopold Thoma, of .Vienna, is a detective of a new kind. Just as Sherlock Holmes was the pioneer in solving mysteries by scientific deductions, so Thoma claims to’ be able, given favourable surroundings, Vivian ILLUSTRATED BY U.WHOSSACK Austrian police. Mr. Vivian has met Dr. tg detent the. pespetrators ie crime by means tism. He has ot Speck medium, and ‘on two occasions 1g2t: ‘A big, powerful car was roshing. - through the darkness on the high road from Vienna to Wiener Nevpstadt, - the neighbourhood of a village called st. Egyden. .On.either side were dense masses of pine trees, their gaunt stems and fantastic shadows suggesting all manner of lurking dangers. The chauffeur, Carl Pichl, lolled back comfortably in his seat, smoking his pipe and thinking of the supper which awaited him at the end of his journey. His master, Egon Breuer,-a mine-owner and prominent Conservative politician, sat curled up half-dozing in the tonneau, reflecting that he would feel more comfortable when he had passed Wiener Neustadt. For this town, which used to be known as “the ever- faithful city,”” is now more celebrated as a nest of.‘ Reds ” with very advanced views ; and Breuer had recently received a number of anonymous letters containing vague threats. Here, amid the dense woods, he told himself, would be the very place for a sudden rifle-shot in the darkness. The car was somewhat exceeding the speed limit, when suddenly there came a crash, and the glass of the wind screen shivered into a thousand pieces. Instinctively Pichl ducked his head, but his face was terribly cut by the flying splinters. He managed, however, to retain his seat, in spite of the pain, and called back over his shoulder to his master : Vol. xlix.—31. ie was half. past ten at night on May 25th, business, leaving it to our readers to decide for themselves how far the hypnotist's claims for the “new . ” *, - science” are * « We had better go to ihe police-station ‘and report this.” \ Receiving no answer, he supposed “that Breuer was still slumbering. He therefore put on full speed, and in ten minutes or so drew up in front of the police-station .at Wiener Neustadt. On his way he had become conscious of a weird, gurgling sound, and imagined that something was happening to the water in the radiator. It was only when he stumbled out of the car that he -dis- covered, to his horror and amazement, that he had been driving a headless corpse! Poor Breuer’s head had fallen on to the. floor of the car, and the seat and the cushions were deluged with blood. . In a very short space of time a police-car containing Pichl and a number of officials was proceeding cautiously back to the scene of the tragedy. Suddenly piteous yells attracted them from the side of the road, and they beheld three men frantically waving their arms. Stopping sharply, the. police scrambled out, and discovered a car lying on its side in a ditch. Close by a man and a woman were stretched on a bank, senseless. These were: Franz Morawetz, a veterinary surgeon, and Mrs. Hackl, the wife of a factory manager. Two of the police officers hastily attended to the sufferers while the others questioned Hackl, Whitmann, and Bendlin, the three men who had stopped them.

Page 451

444 They related how their car was proceeding fairly quickly along the road, when suddenly the chauffeur seemed to leap out and dis- appear into the air, while the car travelled on for a few yards without the driver, and then plunged headlong into the ditch and overturned. On hearing this story some of the police- men walked quickly up the road, where they found Schindler, the chauffeur, still alive, but huddled up in agony, with a ghastly wound in his throat. A few yards farther on they came upon a wire stretched tightly across the road from a telegraph-pole to one of the tall trees on the other side. This was obviously the instrument of murder, for it was tied at’such a height that it was bound to catch the necks of the occupants of any passing car. The second car was travelling much more slowly than Breuer’s, and to this fact the chauffeur undoubtedly owed his life. The most minute investigations on the spot revealed no clue whatever beside the wire death-trap and a military water-flask, . presumably an ex-soldier ; Dr. Thoma, the hypnotist, with his medium Megalis. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, war. There were no tell-tale footprints on the soil, no finger-prints on the trees or the telegraph-post. Apparently the only clue to the criminals and their motive was the fact that Breuer had recently received threatening letters. If the motive had been robbery, there would certainly have been some desperado lurking among the trees. One theory was that someone was lurking there, but found no opportunity for action. The first car went on, with its decapitated victim ; the second one was overturned, but a sufficient number of able-bodied men re- mained uninjured to be ready to put up a fight. f The water-flask had not belonged to any of the people in the cars, but it proved nothing beyond the presence of somebody, and somebody must have been there to fix the wire. The police theory was an act of spite or ven- geance against Breuer; but this was dis- counted by the fact that the mine-owner’s journey to Wiener Neustadt had been under- taken without premeditation at the last moment, and no enemy could have been expecting him there at 10.30 p-m. Moreover, another car had passed the same spot at 9.45 without molestation. The whole affair seemed to be merely one more of those utterly inexplicable crimes which are the despair of the police. Not only in Austria, but in many other countries, there has been considerable discussion for a long time about the possi- bility of utilizing mediums in hypnotic trances for the detec- tion of crime. Since the war a wave of credulity seems to have been spread over the public ; people have become more than ever interested in fortune-tell- ing, mental healing, spiritual- ism, and the vague borderlands of the future. One of the men who has been quick to take advantage of this trend of thought is Dr. Leopold Thoma, who occupies a magnificent flat near the Jewish ‘quarter of Vienna. Here, about a year ago, he set up as an hypnotic investigator of crime, and claims to be recognized by the author- ities. I discussed him with a police inspector, who was frankly sceptical. ‘It is all humbug,” he declared ; “ just vulgar char- latanism to extort money from credulous people. The mediums

Page 452

do and say whatever he tells them; so his won- derful revelations and sensational discoveries are merely guesswork of his own, and dan- gerous guesswork at that, for he might easily send us off on all sorts of wild-goose chases, and expose in- nocent people to endless worries and suspicions.” I talked the matter over with one of the heads of the Vienna police, an extremely in- telligent man. He said at once that he believed in the possible useful- ness of mediums. Tests with cards and the con- tents of sealed envel- opes had proved the reality of telepathy, and he did not see why it might not be developed to the ex- tent of reconstructing past events or even to projecting the mind or “astral body” so as to ascertain what was actually happening elsewhere. Obviously, if this sort of investigation ever became an exact science, he pointed out, no crime would remain undiscovered. Unfortunately, however, it was still in a very elementary stage, and extreme caution was necessary in attaching the slightest importance to the revelations of hypnotists. Certainly no alleged revelation, however circumstantial, would justify the arrest of anybody or even a search of his domicile. Following the advice of the high police official, I called on Dr. Thoma _ himself. My first impression was that I did not like the way he rolled his eyes and made cabalistic passes in the face of a perfect stranger, who visited him with me. “You are so sympathetic,” he said, in oily tones, ‘‘I am sure you have medium- istic gifts. I wish you would let me experi- ment on you.” My friend, the police inspector, had already been approached in the same way, and had replied, with a laugh: “I should not advise you to try. If I were hypnotized, I suppose I should have to answer all your questions truthfully, and you might be unwise enough to ask me what I thought of clairvoyance.” Having admitted prejudice, I now pro- ceed to give my impression with every desire to be impartial. HYPNOTIST DETECTIVE. 445 “ The whole thing is quite simple,” Thoma said to me. ‘“‘ Let me give you an example. When my medium is under control, I* just tell her the time and place I want her to explore. For instance, I say ‘ Transport yourself to room 31, first floor, No. 14, Kiirfurstendam, Berlin, at four o'clock on the afternoon of the 2nd of May of last year, and observe all the details of the place, the position of the furniture, the people present, what they say and do.’ In a: few minutes she begins to describe everything as though she were watching a cinemato- graph, nay, further, as though she could read every word on the lips of the actors." “Yes, but can she do this every time with the accuracy of wireless telegraphy ?’’ “People expect too much,” said *Thoma, with a shrug. ‘“‘ Clairvoyance is a young science with infinite possibilities, but not yet fully developed. I wish you would take me to England.” “ What on earth for ?” “Why, there’s money in it—piles of money,” and he swept his arm round his luxurious flat, with its wonderful view-over the river. ‘‘ Here is a letter from an English lord in Sussex wanting me to find a: missing will. I might not succeed in finding it, but I should be well paid for the expenses of my search. Then, there is a woman from the Danube reaches. She has promised me a million crowns if I can locate the treasure of the Knight of Kreuzenstein, which: she

Page 453

446 helieves to have been buried on her property. And only last week a man came here wanting me to use my telepathic gifts to prove the infidelity of his wife. Three days later, a lady came to ask me for similar evidence uyainst her husband, and after a few judicious inquiries I discovered that these two people were suing each other for divorce. Think what pickings there would be in a case like that!” “I dare say, but you must not expect me to help you to exploit my countrymen. Tell me about your work as a criminal investi- gator.” “That is my chief business at present, and the police always come to me when they are in difficulties. They recognize me as the first and only worker in a field with boundless possibilities. I have had many successes and can show you official testi- monials acknowledging the value of my assistance. All I ask is that critics shall refrain from impatience. | My researches depend on the most delicate psychical emanations, much more delicate than the waves of wireless telegraphy, and the least incredulity, ridicule, or lack of sympathy at an investigation may suffice to interrupt communication and spoil everything. Be- sides, my will-power is bound to develop with practice. My medium is an ideal subject. Her name is Megalis—at least, that is the profes- sional name I have given her. She is a poor girl of twenty, whom I picked up out of the lower middle class of Vienna, and_ have succeeded in train- ing until she can respond to my slightest command, With sufficient _per- severance, there is no reason why we should not accomplish many of the miracles which the public seem to expect from us.”’ The sensational story of the motor- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ever, he was more fortunate with the officials at Wiener Neustadt, and one day he set out along the road to the scene of the crime, accompanied by his medium Megalis, two policemen, and a woman attached to the police service. During the journey, Thoma hypnotized Megalis and bound her eyes, telling her to stop the car when it reached the spot where the murder-wire had been stretched. This she succeeded in doing within a few feet, but that was not very marvellous in view of the fact that both were aware that they were nearing their destination and Thoma’s eyes were not bound. Even if he had no precise know- ledge of the place, the policemen had searched there for days, could recognize almost every leaf, and might easily convey sub- conscious information. In any case no useful purpose was served by her identifying a point that was already well established. She was helped out and seated on a camp- stool with her back against the telegraph- ‘post. A sallow, sullen, heavy-looking girl, with coarse features and big eyes which suggested a hypnotist rather than a medium, there was nothing spiritual or mysterious about her expression. . The police gave Thoma the wire which had decapitated the victim, and then retired to the background to watch what he would do. He held the coil of wire aloft, made mysterious passes and murmured incanta- tions, and then laid the cable like a crown upon the _ medium’s head. The crime had now been ‘rung up” and she was “ through ”’! It only remained for her to deliver her mes- sage—but nothing happened. Presently Thoma tried another method. The coil was deposited like a fun- eral wreath at the foot of the tragic post, and the medium became more rigid. The policemen pulled out car tragedy exercised the public mind to an enormous degree, and Various suggestions appeared in the Press, urging that here was an opportunity for testing the claims of hypnotic investigators. Dr. Thoma was quite willing to try his powers, but the Vienna police did not encourage him. How- The medium Megalis—“a sallow, sullen, heavy-looking girl, with coarse features and big eyes.” their notebooks and pencils, and Thoma assumed his _profes- sional stare and con- centrated on revelations. Expectation rose to concert pitch and the policemen were almost moved to automatic writing during the long pause that ensued. Thoma’s basi- lisk eyes rolled about until one expected

Page 454

THE HYPNUYIST DETECTIVE. them to fall out ; but still nothing happened. At last Megalis muttered something unintel- ligible, and the hypnotist interpreted :— ““She says there were three men, and their names were Erwin and Johann and Alois.” “What were they like ? How were they clad? Where were they to be found ? The oracle re- mained dumb. Close inquiry was made in the neighbourhood, and many men named Erwin and Johann and Alois had their antece- dents searchingly investigated with- out justifying the faintest suspicion. No such trio was found in any bond of friendship, or even recent ac- quaintance. Of course, this did not prove that the culprits had not been correctly named, but the most fervent be- liever could not claim the experi- ment as a triumph for what Dr. Thoma calls the hypnotic department of criminal investiga- tion. The mystery, however, was finally solved quite unexpectedly. On June rst a stranger called at the central police-station of Vienna, refused his name or any particulars about himself, and made the following deposition :— “‘On Sunday, the 29th of May, at 12.45 p.m., I received a visit from Johann Hlobil, who was born at Kremsier on the 23rd of September, 1894, lived at 27, Klausenburger-. strasse, is unmarried, and a Roman Catholic. I had not seen him for seven years until he called on Monday and Wednesday of the previous week. He told me on Monday that he intended to emigrate to Mexico if he could obtain the price of his fare. He added that there would be no difficulty if he could only get some rich profiteer into his hands. On Wednesday he came with a knapsack on his back, and said he was going to Wiener Neustadt. I told him about the trains, and we went round to Stoeckl’s wineshop in Wienerfeldgasse, where he had 447 a military water-flask filled with new wine. He placed the flask in his coat-pocket, but I do not know what he had in his knapsack. “When he came on Sunday he seemed wild and distracted. For a long time he im being tested with the wire of the death-trap. She ainst the telegraph-pole to which it was attached. never said a word. Then, all of a sudden, he asked if I had heard about his brother. When I said ‘ No,’ he told me: ‘ The poor fellow has shot himself because of his sweet- heart.’ After a short pause, he added: ‘Have you seen that a price has been put on my head?’ I was utterly taken by surprise, but something suggested to me the crime which all the papers were talking about. ‘Do you mean about the car that was held up by a wire?’ I asked, and he nodded his head. I told him what a dreadful thing it was, and he remarked : ‘ Yes; I see what a fool I have been.’ I said the only thing was to give himself up to the police. Then he went off, promising to do so, and I have not seen him since.” Hlobil was later arrested, and confessed. Whether the fact that his name, Johann, was one of the three mentioned by the medium is any proof of her powers is a question which I must leave to the judgment of my readers. At least it is a favourable. coincidence.

Page 455

448 ‘The next sensational case which fired the imagination of the Austrians was_ less dramatic but even more mysterious. The extraordinary thing about it was the almost exact similarity of the circumstances attend- ing the disappearance of a number of entirely distinct young people, in no way related to one another. On three separate occasions— on May 28th and June 15th and 30th— a tourist left his hotel in one of the quietest and most frequented districts of Austria, and was never heard of again. Of course, the first idea was that there must have been some accident; but even so, it seemed . utterly inexplicable that none of them should have left the faintest trace behind him. The first affair to attract attention was the disappearance of Julius Roskoschny, aged twenty-two, a postal clerk from Linz, son of a retired railway inspector. Starting on his holiday, he spent a few days in Salzburg, and then, on May 27th, he went on to St. Wolfgang, arriving late in the afternoon, intending to stay the night there and continue his journey early next day. He seemed, the landlord told me, gloomy and morose, and gave the impression that he had been crossed in love. He rose early next morning, packed his knapsack, and went downstairs to have a cup of coffee before starting. There he met the landlord, who asked him where he intended to go that day. Rockoschny replied that he was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. narrow path which leads to the main road to Strobl. From this moment all trace of him was lost. It was not till a few days later that his friends and relatives became anxious. At first they merely imagined that he might have overstayed his leave. As day after day passed, however, and no news came, they communicated with the gendarmerie, who at once instituted inquiries. It seemed impossible that anyone should have dis- appeared on this particular road, for it is one of the smoothest, straightest highways imaginable, not in the least indicative of tragedy. For about two miles it runs by the side of the Abersee, one of the most tranquil and beautiful lakes in the Salz- kammergut, without even a forest to break the monotony of gently-rising pasture-lands. Then, as it nears the extreme end of the lake, it leaves the water and winds round the back of a high hill amid peaceful woods, which certainly suggest no ravenous wolves, lurking highwaymen, or tempestuous adven- tures of any kind. About'a mile farther on, having skirted the hill, it turns sharply to the right, crosses a narrow wooden bridge span- ning a small rushing river, and again meets the lake and enters Strobl. - There were abso- lutely no signs of a struggle or an accident anywhere near the bridge,’ and the peasants of this neighbourhood are notoriously the kindest and mildest characters imaginable. Indeed, crime is almost unknown : among them. The next case was that of Ernest Fisher. He was a prosperous young man, just recently engaged to be mar- ried, and about the beginning of June he closed down his desk in the Anglo- Austrian Bank in Vienna and started off on his annual holiday. He stayed at the Pension Wegscheider, at Gross Gmain, a little place near St. Wolfgang, where the tourist Roskoschny disappeared. going to walk round the lake to Strobl, and then on to Ischl. From Ischl-he was going to catch a train back to Linz, as he was due back in his office on the 30th. He stayed chatting with the landlord for a few minutes, and then left the hotel, waving his hand as he climbed the steep, Salzburg. He seemed perfectly happy and con- tented, rambling about the neighbouring hills, and was apparently without a care in the world. On June 15th he came in to lunch about 12.30, in great spirits and with an enor- mous appetite. After lunch, as usual, he left the hotel for a walk, saying that he would be back about four. Tea-time passed and

Page 456

THE HYPNOTIST DETECTIVE. he did not re- turn, but that excited no com- ment, as there were hundreds of things which might have detained him. Dinnertime also passed, with no sign of him, and the hotel people began to wonder what had hap- pened. When he did not turn up the next day Otto Alexander, one of the they became missing tourists. A reward Mlarmeds cand of a hundred thousand bara d th crowns was offered for reported the matter to the police, but in spite of all investigations no trace of him could be found.. After he left the hotel at two o'clock on the 15th, he seemed to have vanished. into thin air. The third man to disappear mysteriously was Otto Alexander, a Jaw student’ aged twenty-two, the son of,a Vienna dentist. Hearing of the’ beauties of ‘Aussee; he chose * this place for his holiday and went there about the end. of June. He seemed per- fectly happy amid the quietly beautiful scenery, and spent most of his time ram- bling about the hills in the neighbour- hood. On June 3oth he left his hotel about 2 p.m., saying he would soon return. He strolled off in the direction of the Café Loizl, and at about four or five o'clock in the afternoon some workmen saw him on a frequented stretch of road, going in the direction of the hotel. But he never reached it. Days passed, and there was no news of him, so at last the hotel proprietor com- municated with his family. Police were sent down, but all their researches were fruitless : there was absolutely no trace of him. When he left the hotel he had about thirty or forty thousand crowns on him— say about {1 at the current rate of exchange— but neither he nor the other two missing youths presented an appearance of special prosperity or would have been likely to attract the attention of footpads. There were no dangerous hills in the neighbourhood where he was likely to have climbed and met with an accident. He had simply vanished, in broad daylight, from a _ well-travelled high road. As one disappearance followed another, public excitement grew—not only in the Salzkammergut, but all over Austria. The papers took the -matter up, many of them 449 denouncing the insecurity. which . seemed to have arisen in one of the quietest and most popular holiday resorts in the country. The police and the many tourist cluls organized the most rigid and systematic search, so that it is almost - literally. true to say that not a stone was left unturned at any place which the young men’ were likely to have passed. The natives felt that their credit was at stake and started a regular hue-and-cry, assisted by anxious relatives and eager friends. The only possible conclusion was that the three young men must have been swallowed up into the bowels of the earth. Excitement was at fever heat when the drama returned to St. Wolfgang for _the enaction of the last scene. Towards the end of July Karl von Ribary, a Budapest student, stayed in St. Wolfgang for a few days’ holidays. On the 22nd he left, saying that he was going to make an excursion to Aussee or Hallstadt, he had not quite made up his mind which, _ And then he, too, disappeared. In his case there was some news, for another student, Martin Gessner, of Vienna, came to the police some days after his The Miublback torrent, near Hallstadt, where von Ribary’s body was found in accordance with the medium’s prediction.

Page 457

450 THE WIDE WORLD disappearance and related the following story :— “To owas staying in Hallstadt. and on July 22nd was walking through the square. Suddenly, at about 1 p.m., a young man came up to me and introduced himself as Karl von Ribary. He said that he wanted to make some excursions in the neighbour- hood and asked if I was disposed to accompany him. I told him I was sorry I could not manage it, as I had to be back at Aussee the same evening. He made some polite remark and walked off, and 1 saw him go into an inn on the square.” It seems, therefore, possible that he may have started on an excursion by himself and met with an accident. Another theory is that he fell into the hands of the same miscreant who was responsible for the dis- appearance of the other three. But if so, how were the bodies disposed of ? This is the question which has been puzzling the Viennese police. For weeks they searched and examined and _ cross- questioned, but no evidence of any des- cription regarding the missing men turned” up. The papers were growing more and more sarcastic, many of them remarking that disappearances such as these would have been absolutely impossible in the good old days of the Empire. - The idea of calling in-a hypnotist was suggested by a letter received by the inspector who was investigating the disappearance of Alexander at Aussee. The mother of the missing boy had heard from Dr. Thoma, offering the services of his medium in unravel- ling this mystery, but the previous attempt at a serious conquest of crime by harnessing the occult had not been sufficiently brilliant to encourage the authoritics in fathering a department for the hypnotic investigation of crime. The Austrian police, however, possess long traditions of receptiveness, and still pride themselves on their readiness to adopt new ideas. : Though Thoma does not seem to have been encouraged to pursue his inquiries at Aussee, he turned up at Hallstadt, shortly after the disappearance of von Kibary, with his medium and a number of men, including a gendarmerie officer. They came in three motor-cars, and for some time they rushed about the neighbourhood on the road to Marienriihe, Rudolfshéhe, and _ the salt- mines. Nothing was discovered, however, and Thoma attributed this to the disturbing influence of the journalists who were among the party. One morning, therefore, he rose early and managed to sneak away from the hotel with his medium before the others were about. The pair climbed one of the MAGAZINE. mountains behind Hallstadt (where it seemed possible that von Rikary might have gone), scrambling up steep and difficult paths, until they came to a dangerous spot over- hanging a stream called the Miuhlbach. Here Thoma hypnotized his medium, but for some time nothing happened. Then, according to him, she suddenly grew rigid and exclaimed: ‘ Murder!” There was a silence, and then she spoke again: ‘ He was pushed—a man—over the edge,” she cried, stretching out her hands before her as though seeing horrible sights. Then the vision seemed to pass away, and no amount of coaxing could persuade her to say anything more. Thoma reported this to the police, but they merely pooh-poohed the story, especially as weeks elapsed and no results rewarded their minute investigations. Then, on August 8th, there came a sudden surprise, for von Ribary’s body was actually found in the Mihlbach at a spot a little lower down than the one indicated by the medium. The police still assert that no crime was com- mitted, for although the body was in a terribly mutilated condition, all the marks, they claim, were the results of a fall and the consequent action of the water. They are also positive that the tragic disappearances of the other tourists are mere coincidences or merely due to misadventure. It seems very extraordinary, however, that three men should disappear from safe roads in broad daylight within such a short space of time, and all in the same neighbourhood. And, whatever we may think of hypnotism in general as a method of tracing crime, it is certainly a feather in Dr. Thoma’s cap that the one body which has been recovered should have borne out the clue which he provided. His medium might even claim that she has been instrumental in breaking the chain of tragic “‘ coincidences,’ for no other tourists have since disappeared in the Salzkammergut Taking all this into consideration, are we any nearer to an answer to the main question: Can hypnotists trace crime? When their mediums make plausible revelations, do they call spirits from the vasty deep; do they merely interpret the thoughts of the hypno- tist; or do they traverse some occult, un- explored path across time and space towards a fourth dimension? We have already realized many of the wild fancies of Jules Verne and Mr. H. G. Wells. Is a time- machine more incredible than a submarine or an aeroplane ? Frankly, I do not believe in Dr. Thoma; but that need not debar me from credulity as to the eventual possibility of success for the hypnotic detection of crime,

Page 458

Knocking at the Cannibals Door LMertin Moore laylor ILLUSTRATED BY ARCH WEBB SAARI IVINS Avery dramatic story of the “white man’s burden.” For what seemed ages the Author and his companion—powerless to interfere —watched a tribe of treacherous cannibals manceuvring to destroy a magistrate and his little escort, all unconscious of their peril. “It was like being at the ‘movies,’” writes Mr. Taylor. “ This, however, was no film show, but grim reality, with human lives, our own included, staked upon the outcome.” IKE most of the rivers of British New | Guinea, the Kunimaipa is the divid- ing line between fierce mountain tribes that have for generations main- tained an enmity, the cause for which has long since been forgotten. To the south rise the Kuefa heights, sloping back sharply to the foot of Mount Yule, and peopled by savages who know the power of the white man’s government, but respect it only while it is being demonstrated. To the north the spurs and ridges inhabited by the Amenofo tribe are the frontier of a country —grim, sullen, forbidding—whose valleys and peaks, stretching back as far as the boundary of the former German New Guinea, are still unexplored and uncharted. This is the story of how three white men, accompanied by a retinue of native police and black carriers, knocked at the door of Amenofo and prised it open for the entering wedge of civilization. To Mr. Richard Humphries, an acting resident magistrate of the Papuan Government, belongs all the credit ; Harry L. Downing, a Sydney photo- grapher, and myself, a journalist, played in this instance the part of mere spectators. In May, 1921, with the approval of the Papuan administration, we had invaded the land of the man-eaters to explore and photo- graph it and its peoples, and we were camped on the grass-covered slopes of Kuefa to recuperate from the hardships of our first two weeks of travel. WA NR Abaridi, the cannibal chief. Downing and myself were exhausted. The soft life of the cities had given us no training to meet the obstacles which are ever-present to the traveller in inland Papua. We were glad to stretch out on our cots and spend an additional day in camp. Hum- phries, veteran of the mountains and the jungle, grew nervous as the hours passed, and sitting down and gazing across the valley towards the villages of Amenofo was not to his liking. Once before, two years previously, three Government officers had sought to penetrate beyond the Kunimaipa, and had succeeded only in barring the door tighter than ever by firing a quite-necessarv

Page 459

452 volley into the midst of the savages who had attacked them as they built a bridge across the boulder-strewn waters of the Kuni- maipa. To open the door again and establish friendly relations with Chief Inawaia, the dignified head of the Amenofo, had long been one of Humphries’ ambitions. Now, with the opportunity at hand, he could not resist seizing it. In this desire he was backed by Abaridi, chief of Kuefa—but Abaridi wanted to see his enemies get the licking of their lives, and he figured that if any of our party tried to cross the river a fight with the Amenofo tribes was certain. Abaridi himself had occasion to know just how powerful were the rifles of the white men when matched against spears Mr. Taylor at the entrance to Inawaia’s village. and arrows, a score of his tribesmen having given their lives’ to’ demonstrate this only a few years before. *But, cunning as he was, Abaridi was too child-like to keep his thoughts to himself, and he was heard to boast that zow the Amenofo people would pay, and pay dearly, for having recently ambushed his two brothers at the river and making them the principal items on the bill* of fare at an Amenofo feast. As a result, when Abaridi appeared at dawn the next morning, with a hundred of his fellows, and calmly announced that they would accompany the party to Amenofo, Humphries set his foot down promptly and decisively. “ There will be no shooting and no killing,” he told Abaridi, by means of an interpreter. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ If you want_to go along and be decent and shake hands with Chief Inawaia, I shall be glad to have you. “But there must be no fighting. If they give battle we shall retire without firing a shot.” : . “And shame me and my people?” re- torted Abaridi, hotly. ‘' I will not go! ”’, Humphries shrugged his shoulders and departed in the wake of his police, who were on their way to the river. Abaridi gave him a vicious look ; then he did_a suspicious thing. He divided his warriors into two bands, sent one of them to sit down in rear of our camp, and himself led the other down the slope behind Humphries’ band. It was such a significant action that I hastily began to take stock of our means of defence, and soon discovered that our camp was in a serious position if Aba- ridi chose _ to attack us. Not only had the men Humphries _ se- lected gone down to the river, but all the other police, with the exception of two, had slipped away. They were spoiling for a fight, and they preferred the dan- gerous trip to Amenofo to re- maining on guard in camp. The two policemen who had_ stopped be- hind were virtually useless. One was a raw recruit sent along for training in patrol work; Nae od the other had for days been complaining of violent pains in his head and: had become so worn out from lack of sleep that he was on the verge of a col- lapse. But I routed them out of their fly and set them to doing sentry-go where they could keep an eye on both Abaridi’s bands. My own revolver was strapped to my waist, but Downing’s revolver and rifle had been lent to two village constables in Humphries’ party. We learned afterwards that Abaridi had planned to take us by surprise, and if he succeeded in capturing the camp hoped to ambush Humphries and the police when they returned. Our two sentries, however, were an indication to him that we were not to be surprised, and he reluctantly decided to ‘ be good.” From the time that Humphries left us

Page 460

KNOCKING AT THE CANNIBALS’ until he returned what occurred was to Downing and me very much like spending several hours at the “ movies.’’ Through our powerful field glasses we could see what was going on, but we could hear nothing. And this was not a film show but grim reality—and human lives, our own included, were staked upon the outcome. From our camp to the principal Amenofo village, across the jagged chasm through which the Kunimaipa runs, was probably a mile and a quarter as the crow flies. Our glasses revealed to us things that Humphries and his men, struggling down the Kuefa slope, swimming the river and clambering up the Amenofo spur, could not see. The hours that followed were tense ones for them, but I venture to think that we, watching all that transpired, and powerless to give warning or help to our comrades, suffered the most. Scarcely had our friends started down the slope before we noticed that from all direc- tions small bands of armed natives were coming into © the principal Ame- nofo village and joining the group already there. There must have been several hun- dreds of them, and from their inces- sant movement it was quite plain they were not gathering with A native armed constable demonstrates his handiness with the bayonct. DOOR. 453 friendly intent. Otherwise, true to mountain custom, they would have assembled about the most powerful chief and squatted upon the ground until the visitors arrived. Presently we saw some thirty or forty of them quit the village and set out ata tun down the trail along the top of the ridge that ends at the river. Then a larger group followed and spread _ itself in the high saw-edged grass beside the trail. From time to time single individuals were detached from the first party and sent back to the village. Evidently they were scouts returning to report. If Ina- waia had planned to ambush our party at the river he was foiled by the fact that Humphries decided against trying to bridge the stream and ordered his men to swim, because the first party of natives turned back almost immediately and joined the second band. At practically the same moment we saw Humphries and the police * climbing up from the river bed and following along the trail. For some reason Inawaia set his trap at the edge of the village and not where his advance party had concealed itself. A messenger sped from the village and recalled Drying the rain-soaked equipment of the expedition in a mountain ei village.

Page 461

454 “A few yards from the chief Humphries stopped THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. rd oi il intine ns yy the hidden warriors. Hastily they went back up the trail into the village. If we, with our eyes glued upon the scene, had any doubt of the intentions of the savages it was dispelled by the discovery that the children and the women, bearing upon their backs heavy loads of their belongings, were leaving the village and disappearing into the jungle. That is always a sign of trouble in Papua. When Humphries’ men were within a quarter of a mile of the village they stopped, and for the first time Downing and I saw eee

Page 462

KNOCKING AT and held out both his arms. that at that point a small trail left the principal one and wound its way into the village by a circuitous route. Humphries could not see that, nor could he know that while he and his police corporal were debating which trail to follow Inawaia was planting his savages on both sides of the main trail and only a few hundred yards away. For the moment I forgot that I could not be heard, and I waved my right arm wildly and screamed: ‘‘ Take the little trail, Dick, take the little trail!’’ Then I realized my THE CANNIBALS’ DOOR. 455 It was a tense moment.” own helplessness to influence the decision and sank down tothe ground. But I couldn't take the glasses from my eyes, and dimly I heard Downing mutter over and over again: ‘‘Oh, God, make them take the little trail! Oh, God, make them take the little trail!” That fervent prayer must have been heard, for when Humphries set out again it was up the little trail—and Inawaia’s ambuscade had failed. Before the old cannibal became aware of it our party had entered his village and were posted where

Page 463

456 their rifles commanded its entrances! We could see Humphries walking about from hut to hut, but all of them were empty and silent. It did not take Inawaia long to discover that he had been foiled, and he called his men from their hiding places and sent them through the grass to encircle the village. Not until he had ringed our men about with his warriors did he put in an appearance. Then, according to the story Humphries told us afterwards, the old man dramatically emerged and planted himself at the edge of his village, Surrounded by his own armed men, he demanded to know why he was being intruded upon. “We are friends,’ replied Humphries’ interpreter, and thereupon delivered a long harangue upon the power of the white man which eyidently impressed Inawaia in spite of himself. “If what you say is true, let the white man come to meet me alone,” said the chief. “ And let him leave his weapons behind,” he added, craftily. Humphries had only the briefest of moments in which to make up his mind, had he only known it. If he had refused, the savages encircling the village would probably have wiped him and his men out before they could fire a shot. Remember, none of them were aware they were surrounded. Humphries, fortunately, chose the right way. He dropped his rifle and started across the ground that separated him from Inawaia. Over his shoulder he called back a warning to his police, however, and had old Inawaia but known it he was as close to death then as he ever had been, for the two best shots arhong the police—men who could hit what they wanted to without raising their rifles from their hips—had the muzzles of their camp on the Kuefa heights. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. weapons pointed at his heart. Humphries’ revolver was stuck in his belt, too, but he rightly surmised that Inawaia did not know what it was. A few yards from the chief Humphries stopped and held out both his arms. It was a tense moment. If Inawaia accepted the invitation, opened his own arms, and came for- ward to be embraced, satisfied that the white man was indeed a friend, the danger would be past unless something occurred to anger the natives. If, on the other hand, the old chief held his ground and became suspicious, the village would become a shambles. “Tt seemed as if I stood there for-hours, watching the emotions that were revealed in Inawaia’s face,’’ said Humphries to us, later. “I could see doubt and disbelief struggling with the hope and desire to be friendly. Then, slowly, Inawaia came toward me, his eyes fixed upon mine, and wrapped his arms about my body. And I hugged him back like a brother!” And at that precise moment Downing and I dropped our glasses with a whoop and did a dance—to the vast amazement and amusement of Abaridi’s warriors. There is little more to tell about what happened in Amenofo. There was the usual feasting and exchange of food and presents, and a long talk at which Humphries told the savages about the Government and what it could and would do for those who yielded to it and abandoned such amiable practices as killing and eating their enemies. Inawaia was quite willing to join hands with the Govern- ment, but he was chary about promising to in- duce his people to quit cannibalism. Indeed, it seems quite certain that that very night some of his enemies graced the feast which he gave his people to celebrate the peace with the white man, for in our camp we heard the mountains echo- ing with the wild cries from Ame- nofo, and _ the Kuefa folk told us the cries were the songs their enemies sang when they had killed and were about to eat. But anyhow, the door to Ame- nofo now stands ajar. Whether it will swing wide open in the future will depend upon what the next white men who cross the Kuni- maipa do.

Page 464

MsADvENTURE ! i i i FINISTERE OSCOFF is a small seaport town in the Department of Finis- tére, on the northern coast of Brittany. Its chief trade is in onions and visitors, and it is famous for its Marine Biological Laboratory. At Roscoff, in the year 1548, landed Mary Queen of Scots, on her way to be be- trothed to the Dauphin of France. At Roscoff, in the year 1920, landed the writer and his wife, fleeing from the terrors of profiteering, house- less England. Frankly, we did not like ' ! i i] cit ed i ae eee an i | Lieut. “iw Walns| D Mc FRGS \\ LLusTRATED By / NS H: BROCK./ An amusing account of a holiday sojourn on a little off the northern island coast of Brittany. are. They are all misers, and all rich, but like all misers they tell you they are poor. Every year they have a Pardon. My wife, after she had paid ten shillings a pound for some damp milk biscuits at the local shop, said that they need it! They dress up in their finest clothes, the men in sober black, with large broad- brimmed hats, the women adorned with ornamental bodices, vari-coloured stock- ings, and white lace coifs, and march in procession to an old ruined church at the Roscoff; it smelt too power- fully of onions, fish, and harbour mud. At the first chance, there- fore, we took the ferry sailing ship to the Island of Batz, a fair-sized piece of land that lies some two and a half miles due north of the port. Here we found a comfortable and clean hotel, the Hotel Robinson. It was not too full, and what guests there were were entertaining. We decided to stay at the Hotel Robinson for the rest of the summer. The island is interesting. The majority of the male inhabitants are away at sea in big fishing craft or foreign-going steamers. The minority practise inshore fishing, work at the kelp industry, or—in the summer-time —deal in ‘“‘ mad English tourists,” and deal in them well. Let one of these stout Bretons but once hear your English accent, and you will pay four hundred per cent. more for your ferry boat, your sailing trip, the porterage of your luggage, yea, even for his opinion about the weather—that is if you are fool enough to do it, and all Englishmen Vel. xtix.—32. extreme east of the island. There is something almost pagan about the Pardon ceremony. The procession is headed by the choir and various ecclesiastic dignitaries in their robes. Behind them come banners gaudily decorated, wax effigies of saints borne on wooden platforms, and other Church regalia. And the people all sing a mourn- ful barbaric chant tuned in a minor key that takes one back to the Central African forests and the religious music of uncivilized men. The chant, we were told, has two hundred verses. I remember the tune well, and even now, when I wish to be alone in the house, I sing it. The village of Batz lies at the western end of the island, where the lighthouse is. The eastern end is bleak and practically un- inhabited. The sea surrounding the island, and for that matter the whole of this portion of the Breton coast, is thickly sown with rocks—great black weed-hung things that would tear the bottom out of the strongest

Page 465

458 ship afloat. It is a fine but fearful sight to see these rocks when a heavy swell is pounding in. The channel that lies between the Ile de Batz and Roscoff measures roughly two and a half miles across. It is deep, and when the tide is racing either in or out very turbulent, so that to cross it in anything other than the stout Breton fishing luggers is a dangerous matter. During spring tides the difference between high and low water marks is some- thing like forty feet. The tidal current, there- fore, fows with tremendous strength. I have already mentioned the Marine _ Bio- logical station at Roscoff. This is the property of the University of Paris and is used for the study of marine animals and various problems relating to the fishing industry. It is State sub- sidized, and during the summer months the Naval Department places at the disposal of its staff a small steamer, the Cachalot, which is employed for dredging. Now one of my chief objects in visiting the northern coast of Brittany was to secure certain photographs of marine animals, and the Director of the station very courteously granted me leave to use the laboratory for this purpose. It was my custom to cross over to Roscoff every morning, work until about twelve, and return to the Hotel Robinson for lunch. Several times I was invited to make a cruise in the Cachalot, but invariably I found that my private work occupied the whole of the available time. There were about twenty students working at the station then, all of them from Paris, and nearly all of them of the pronounced Quartier - Latin type—long-haired, baggy- trousered, velvet-coated, and, generally speak- ing, futuristic. They were very amusing, for all that, and there was hardly one who had not done his bit in the war. One morning I set out from the hotel with the usual intention of being back for lunch. T left my wife writing letters and working out on a calendar how many hours must elapse before she would see the lights of London again. We were both homesick, but she, poor girl, was particularly bad that morning. A group in the “ Pardon.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “You won't be a minute later than one, will you ? ” she said, pathetically, as I walked across the hotel courtyard. I promised that I would be back at twelve with the nicest box of chocolates Roscoff could supply. An hour later I was busy at my bench in the laboratory when the Director came in and told me that the Cachalot was leaving at once on a particularly interesting trip. Would I care to come ?_ He would esteem it an honour if I would. I blushed and said that I should be even more hon- oured, but what time did the good Cachalot return? “It will be but the shortest voyage,’’ said he. “We shall return at 11.30.” I packed up my things, and hav- ing a cheque for a thousand francs to cash I rushed tothe bank. Then I bought the pre- cious chocolates and made my way to the har- bour, where I found the Cacha- Jot awaiting the Director's signal to put to sea. To all outward appearance, she resembled an ordinary steam trawler, sturdily built and very broad in the beam. Judging by the mob on her decks, however, you might have imagined she was a Margate pleasure steamer. All the students were there, and, conscious of the thrilling and daring nature of the enterprise they were embarking on, they had brought their friends, who were crowding at the quayside. I have never seen so ludicrous a spectacle. One fellow with long tousled hair and velvet trousers and a big black bow on his low, blouse-like shirt, was strutting up and down the bridge with a telescope under his arm, while a girl on shore was using up yards of Kodak film upon him. Another, similarly attired, was posing in the bows with arms folded and a Columbus-discovering-America expression on his face as he stared out toward the open (and ominously heaving) sea. Several more were getting in the way of the man at the winch and earning his very qualified dis- approval. I noticed that they were all smoking cigars. Avoiding the battery of Kodaks, I slipped quietly aboard. The Director signified that all was ready, and the sailors started the process of sheering off. I should have explained that the Cachalot was lying right

Page 466

MY MISADVENTURES IN FINISTERE. 459 “ Another, similarly attired, was posing in the bows with arms folded.”

Page 467

460 THE WIDE WORLD up to the quayside, hemmed in by half-a- dozen fishing schooners. There was plenty of sea-room, however, for sailors who knew their job. Apparently ours did not, for it took them exactly an hour and a half to clear the last one and round the pier head. By that time I could at least congratulate myself on a sound working knowledge of French expletives. We steamed at half speed down the channel into the open sea. The Cachalot soon began to feel the ocean swell, and to roll a little. The students were still waving futurist handkerchiefs to the shore and still eating fruit and cakes from paper bags. Ten minutes later, however, I noticed that one or two of them were sitting on the deck and that their cigars had gone out. The Cachalot was settling down to her stride. Now, I have done a fair amount of voyaging in my time. I have made the Irish and the Channel winter crossing several times, I have had a fortnight’s trawling in the North Sea in early autumn, I have run before a monsoon gale in an Arab dhow, and sailed from end to end of stormy Lake Nyassa in a launch, but never have I encountered anything to compare with the good ship Cachalot's performance on that memorable day. The sea was anything but rough. There was no wind at all, only a long even swell rolling down from the north; but the Cachalot, as though resentful that her decks should be defiled by such a land-lubberly crowd, made the best of it. Although she was soon heading straight into the swell she did not pitch like an ordinary ship, but managed to get in a sort of corkscrew roll as well, which always had you guessing as to what she would do next. It really was a most disagreeable sensation. I disliked it intensely, and although I am more or less proof against acute mal de mer, I will admit that it gave me cause for anxiety. The students, at the end of half an hour, were utterly demoralized. They were like so many starched collars left out in the rain. Several were lving flat on the deck, rolling from side to side with every motion of the ship. Their faces were blue. Only two— the hairy youth who had posed on the bridge with the telescope and another with a face like Trotsky and a tie to match—remained unaffected, and they were moving among their stricken comrades preparing some sort of a list on a piece of paper. They seemed to be very amused about something—particu- larly Trotsky. They came up to one poor fellow who was lying in the scuppers and Trotsky shook him vigorously. “Martin, Jacques Martin, No. 15,” he shouted to Lenin, who scribbled the name on his list. Tasked them what they were doing. They MAGAZINE. replicd humorously that they were preparing a “roll of honour” to be preserved in the archives of the station. ““ You are experienced sailors ? ”’ I said. “We have voyaged,” they replied modestly, turning to their next victim. Personally, I can see nothing humorous in sea-sickness, and I felt very angry. I watched them move along towards the poop ; then I bent down over poor Jacques Martin, borrowed a cigar from him, and lit it. It was not a nice cigar. I then walked up to Trotsky and Co., who were leaning against the deck rails running over their list. Ap- parently it was a most satisfactory one. “You are feeling well, monsieur ? " Trotsky asked, with a hopeful look in his eyes. “Oh, splendid,” said I, edging near to him. “Could anyone feel otherwise with the smell of the keen salt air in one’s nostrils —and the heaving Atlantic beneath one’s feet?” I took a good draw at the cigar. Was I mistaken ? Was Trotsky’s face quite so pale before? That greenish tinge—I held my breath until a sudden pitching of the deck brought my face near to his; then [ breathed out the good blue smoke. He turned away coughing, but before he was out of range, a second pitch sent me flying into him—with my pointed elbow aimed straight into his midriff. He collapsed beautifully, and as though the Cachalot was also bent on vengeance, a sudden corkscrew upset Lenin as well and sent him staggering into the scuppers. His head banged on something hard, and when, a minute or two later, he sat up, there was a far-away look in his face that would have brought tremendous consolation to many of his poor comrades had they seen it. By this time we were nearly out of sight of land, and the sailors were getting ready the dredging apparatus. I had a sudden shock when I glanced at my watch and found that it was just on twelve o'clock. Poor little wife! Never mind; the choco- lates would smooth things over. The en- gine suddenly stopped. I learned from the Director, who was then the only member of the station who had any interest in the pro- ceedings, that it was not his intention to use a trawl, but a weird contraption consisting of two weighted wooden beams, fastened to which were several bunches of old herring net. The Cachalot, drifting in the current, would drag this through the sunken weed- banks and the strands of the net would trap any sea animals that it might encounter. The apparatus, secured to a thin wire hawser, was lowered until it struck the bottom, and then we waited—waited exactly forty-five minutes. It took another ten to

Page 468

MY MISADVENTURES IN FINISTERE. haul the apparatus up. I was surprised to find how well the old nets had done their work. They were alive with star fishes, crabs, sea urchins, brittle stars. The Di- rector and I set to work upon them, freeing them from the strands and placing them in jars. The students, for whose benefit the expedition had been planned, were quite oblivious to what was going on. I hardly blamed them. Half of them now seemed dead. Lenin and Trotsky were very ill indeed. I was not feeling exactly enthusi- astic myself, for the Cachalot under steam was a perfect angel compared with the Cachalot aimlessly drifting over that heaving sea. Well, we cleared the nets, and then flop ! went the apparatus into the water again. This time it stopped there for an hour. It came up with a much bigger haul, which took us another half-hour to clear. Then down it went again. Tactfully I inquired of the Director if he had the right time. He had. It was exactly a quarter to three. Should we be returning soon ? ‘* Ah, but yes, one more half-hour with the nets, then a little experiment with the trawl, a few minutes with the tow net, perhaps, a test or two for salinity and temperature— then we should return.” It did him good, he said, to find a companion so enthusiastic as myself. I was going to explain to him about my wife when an unexpected roll caused me to lose my balance and sent me sprawling among - the starfish. After that I’m afraid I sulked. At four o’clock we started trawl- ing. At half-past five the Director put out the tow- net... And it was nearly nine o’clock when the Cachalot came to anchor a mile from Roscoff harbour—and I was informed by my still enthusi- astic host that we should row ashore in the little boats, as the tide was now low and the ship daren’t venture in till half-past ten. “Could the boat take me direct to the Ile de Batz ?” I asked. “Ah, I fear not! My sailors are not natives of the place; the rocks are treach- erous.”’ Hauling up the dredge. 461 “‘ But the last ferry-boat will have gone,” I explained anxiously. “ Doubtless you will find a fisherman who would take you,” he replied. With that I had to be content. The little boat put out. We reached the harbour at ten o'clock. I jumped out and ran along the pier to a group of fishermen. Would any of them ferry me to the island? But no; the tide was now too low, the current strong. Besides, it was almost dark. No one could take me. I almost wept with despair. My wife would be terribly anxious; think I was drowned. Perhaps the Director would help. He had stayed behind in the Cachalot. I had better wait for him. I sat down on the wall, and then two sailors—one of them certainly the worse for drink—lurched up to me. “‘ Monsieur desires to go to the island ?”’ said one. I replied that such was my very urgent desire. “It will be hard work,” said he. sieur will pay us liberally ? ” I suggested twenty francs. They laughed, and we finally agreed on forty. They led me down to some steps and into a tiny rowing boat, hardly stouter than those you will find on the Serpentine. I was too worried to bother about that, however. We pushed out and threaded our way among the maze of rocks that lay between us and the narrow main channel. Soon we began to feel the forceof the ebbing current, which, flowing east, was contrary to our course. It splashed wildly against the weather side of the tiny craft, and_ threatened to swamp us unless we took a more oblique course, “We cannot make the vil- lage, monsieur,” said the man who had spoken first. ‘‘Monsieur will be content if we land him to the east of the island? It is but two kilo- “*Mon- metres then to walk.” I nodded my agreement, and the spokes- man muttered something to the other in Breton ; then with a sudden cunning in his voice he said aloud: ‘ Monsieur is rich. Forty francs is but little pay for such a task as this. See how we labour to fight the

Page 469

462, current! Monsieur will be more liberal. Would not eighty francs be a fairer price ? ” I hastened to assure them that monsieur was not rich—anything but. Moreover they had bargained to do the trip for forty francs— which in itself was an outrageous price— and I had always been led to believe that the Bretons were good Catholics and honest men. “We shall see when we arrive,” I said. “Then we shall discuss the matter of pourboire.”” “Ah, but no,”” the man replied. “ It is well to have the price agreed upon. Mon- sieur is rich. He has a big pile of notes—we saw that when he asked the fishermen at Roscoff if they would ferry him.” In my excitement to persuade the first men to take me, I had foolishly exposed the roll of notes I had obtained from the bank that morning. Undoubtedly it was the sight of this wealth which had persuaded these two to approach me privately. I began to feel very uncomfortable. Anyway, there was no drawing back now. “Very well,” I said, mastering my rage. “You will have eighty francs if you land me safely. If you ask for more—well—re- member there are the police——” “Ah, but monsieur is generous. That is enough. We shall land him safely.” They started rowing with renewed energy ; yet it was dark before we had gained the middle of the channel. Here the force of the current was tremendous. The water splashed dangerously over the weather side. To make matters worse, a stiff easterly breeze had sprung up, and made pro- gress doubly difficult. The sailors, however, showed no alarm, perhaps because of the wine they had drunk that evening. In spite of their efforts, however, there could be no doubt that we were drifting very quickly seawards. The lights of Batz village were now just a couple of points north of west. The eastern end of the island was still ahead, but by the time we had crossed the channel I was certain that we would be seawards of it. I spoke to the sailors of my fear. The drunken one laughed. “Fear not, monsieur,” he told me. ‘“ We shall land you sure. We will strike the island soon.” Once across the middle of the channel the tide certainly began to slacken—but the wind increased. I had to bale continuously. The east end was now on the port bow, and we began to dodge our way among sunken boulders, which, as I mentioned before, are scattered profuscly round the island coast. Several times we touched bottom, and, had not the rocks been thickly grown with weed, I sem sure we should have foundered, for the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. men rowed very powerfully. I reckoned that the shore was now a quarter of a mile away. My spirits began to rise. Drying my hands on my coat, I felt for my roll of money and, without removing it from my pocket, detached four twenty-franc notes. At that very moment the nose of the boat struck with considerable force and we came to a standstill. The sailor at the forward oars got up from his thwart,-and then, to my surprise, got out. ““We are aground, monsieur,’’ he said. “A large rock. The shore is still two hundred yards away. Monsieur will be content to get out here?” os I got out, and found that the rock, although very large, was entirely sur- rounded by what was apparently deep water. There were more rocks between it and the beach, but plenty of channels for the boat. “ Row me to the shore,” I replied. ‘‘ Make good your promises—and then I shall keep mine. What use is this for a landing-place ? Do you think I am a seagull ?” ‘“ Ah, monsieur, but the way is dangerous for our boat. There are many rocks. The tide will soon be down and monsieur can then walk. For the boat to go in to the beach we must have a thousand francs. Is it not so, Henri?” “Oui, certainement,” that villain replied, getting out of the boat in turn and standing aggressively beforeme. ‘‘ A thousand francs. We are poor men; monsieur is rich. Come, let us see how rich he is, Jean.” With that he put his hand on my shoulder, and then, my last doubt as to the character of these two men put at rest, 1 stuck my foot between his legs, gave him a push, and sent him flying into the arms of the astonished Jean. They swore, and struggled to seize me, but before-they had got a footing in the treacherous weed, I had given the now lightened boat a push that freed her from the rock, and jumped neatly into her. “Monsieur, monsieur!’’ shouted Jean. “Tt was a joke. We did not mean it. Listen, we cannot swim; we shall drown!” “The tide will soon turn,’’ I answered, picking up a pair of oars. ‘‘ Then, perhaps, you can walk. It will be a lesson to you. Good night, messieurs. The boat I shall leave on the beach.”’ Vastly pleased with myself, I rowed away for the shore, but had not gone more than twenty yards before the boat struck again. I felt the bottom with an oar and then got out, to find that I had reached the edge of a broad spit of sand, with scarcely a couple of inches of water covering it, which stretched continuously to the dry land. By this time

Page 470

MY MISADVENTURES IN FINISTERE. the men had discovered that the water surrounding the rock was not so deep as they had thought. I heard a splash. One of them was wading towards me ! Realizing that after all they had served me not too badly, I put a twenty-franc note on the thwart, and then walked as fast as I could to the dry land. I found a path that led to the old disused church, and after that I ran practically the whole way back to the hotel. What my wife said to me and what I said to my wife shall, as far as I am concerned, be unrecorded history. The chocolates, how- ever, were accepted. I heard no more of the two rascally sailors except that they returned to Roscoff next morning much more sober than when they set out.

Page 471

An aerial view of Shechem, -now called Nablus. UGGED, ad undulat- =X ing, hills ake lay be- low. us on. all sides ; we were flying” by” aero- - plane, and “this was the land of Ephraim. The hills, broken up . by ravines, trailed’ away to the” Jordan ; to the east and the sea to the west. ‘ - We were in- tently scanning the valleys’ for the city of our destination ; and Sydney, leaning back, shouted in my car :— THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR : Hil. By RICHARD CARLINE. After the termination of the war the Author and his brother, two young Air Force officers, and both well-known artists—were commissioned to paint scenes in Egypt, Palestine, Syria, Mesopotamia, Kurdistan, and Persia for the National War Museum, depicting the countries and the cities from the air and the people and daily life from the ground. The expedition—entirely unique of its kind—lasted over ten months, and was full of incident and adven- ture. In this series, specally written for “The Wide World Magazine,” Mr. Richard Carline describes and illustrates the experiences of the two airmen-artists by land and air during their memorable journey. In the hollow between before being car- ried past in the rush of wind. A moment later we recog- nized among the rounded hills the twin mountains Ebal and Geri- zim, which, like sentinels, hold Shechem — now known as Nab- lus—in the hol- low between them. Looking down upon it, as it appears in the photograph, we were struck by this novel view of the first home of the Israelites, where Jacob bought his “‘Shechem should be here below us; it parcel of ground and sank his well. must have shifted in the night.” The words Southwards we could see the track winding me through my helmet, towards Jerusalem, and could well remember faintly reached

Page 472

OORT FIAT as a OS, RNY eT | THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 465 travelling along it on the occasion when we visited Shechem some weeks before. We had on that occasion set out in our captured Turkish motor. It successfully capped each successive ridge and ploughed its way through the swampy valleys, with the aid of much pushing and manceuvring, but it had eventually broken down on the last ridge, like an exhausted pack-animal determined to die, leaving us with the re- maining ten miles to Shechem to finish on foot. We had to entrench the car with our luggage, ensuring its safety by leaving Jonathan both our revolvers.: Night had already fallen as we drew near the town, and a string of laden mules and camels overtook us on the road, reminding me of the race between the tortoise and the hare. On arriving at the town we trudged down its cobbled streets, now fast emptying. The last shopmen were closing the shutters, and piling their wares in heaps in their shop corners. A merchant taking a last glance round caught sight of us—unfamiliar shadows appearing from the darkness. A light—a_ flickering lantern—was hastily brought from the recesses of his inner room to reveal the strangers. The dim rays lit up the narrow way and revealed a gaunt figure approaching us—a Sudanese police- man. Sydney stopped and questioned him, with the gratifying result that he turned and led the way towards the Governor’s house, which also combined prison and law courts, and where we saw prospects of a night's rest. Down narrow passages leading into open spaces the Sudanese strode ahead of us. In a dark side alley a dog with his nose buried in a stolen joint had no time to heed our passing by. A sharp yelp, as the enraged butcher, awakening, drove him forth, echoed faintly after us, and was still echoing as the Sudanese opened a door leading into a court yard and lighted the way up some stone steps to the house. At the head of the Vale of Shechem lies Samaria, to which we walked a few days later. Its ruins lie on the brow of the hill around the Arab village of Sebastieh: and half-buried amid ancient olives are avenues of columns, gateways, and temples—remains of Herod's glory. We were sitting amid the stones of a temple, gazing down upon a chattering group of happy peasants in the valley, when suddenly a cloud of smoke rose from the ground, accompanied by a deafening roar. Alarmed, the peasants rushed to the spot ; their shrieking developed into wailing —the monotonous mourning-song of the women. It appeared that a woman had trodden on a half-buried shell, left from the war, and so The gorge of the Wadi Fara, where a retreating Turkish army was literally wiped out by British aeroplanes.

Page 473

466 THE WIDE WORLD added another to war's victims. The group of wailers increased ; they beat their heads, bowed in unison, and heaped sackcloth and ashes upon themselves. The head men assem bled—venerable sheikhs—and all formed in procession to file up the hillside towards us, one in their midst bearing the body on his back. Fearing that we might be held responsible for this work of the Evil One, we drew back amid the shadows of the temple ruins as the mourners passed ; and for the rest of the day and far into the night the wailing continued in the village. Shechem is surrounded by silent witnesses of the Great War, for it was from this place that the Turkish army made their last retreat. One of the Ottoman armies was literally wiped out by British aeroplanes in the gorge of the Wadi Fara—that stream in which St. John baptized—which lies on the other side of Mount Ebal. The track winds along the side of the hill at the edge of a precipitous gorge, and here a steady stream of aeroplanes bombed the head of the column, completely eA SS AS road alongside. The pass of the River Baroda, showing the Damascus-Beirut MAGAZINE. blocking the retreat. Amid a hail of bombs and machine-gun bullets the baggage animals and men, in hopeless confusion, fell down the slopes to be dashed to pieces below, or were shot as they attempted to scramble up the sides. A photograph of part of the road, still showing some of the wreckage, is reproduced on the previous page: it was taken from the air very soon after the event, and shows the gorge to the right of the road. To revisualize and paint this scene for the War Museum was one of Sydney’s tasks, and later on he flew up and down the gorge at a low elevation in order to sketch it. On landing after one such flight Sydney said that while at work he did not regard with pleasure the prospect of the wings of his machine catching either wall of the narrow gorge. Had he done so he would undoubt- edly have joined the skeletons which were plainly distinguishable amid the wreckage below. The sun was high on its daily round one morning soon after our arrival at Shechem, when we reached the sum- mit of Ebal and looked down into this sinister ravine, whither we had come on foot in order that Sydney might make detailed drawings. Everywhere there was a profusion of litter, but it was evident that all the arms—in fact, everything valuable — had been re- moved by the brigands who haunt these valleys. It was a gloomy spot, a very suit- able scene for the tragedies it had witnessed. While we were resting on the cliff edge for our mid- day meal, a succession of rifle shots disturbed the stillness, echoing from valley to valley. We could not tell if the firing was directed against us, for Arabs are the worst of shots, but sud- denly we became aware of a head visible behind a boulder. Watching us nar- rowly, it rose, and we were confronted by a handsome- looking man carrying a trifle. He salaamed as he approached us, saying, ‘In the name of Allah, the com- passionate and the merci- ful’; to which we made the usual reply : ‘‘ On you also may the peace of Allah rest.” As he sat down,

Page 474

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. Sydney broke some bread and offered him half, but this bond of hospitality —'The peace of bread and salt between us ’’—the stranger declined, exclaiming: ‘ Be it far from me.” Then, trustfully handing over his tifle, this curious individual re- quested Sydney to give proof of his skill and shoot a bird ‘across the valley. Accepting the challenge, Sydney took aim and fired, but missed, and_ the bird flew away! Another shot, how- ever, found its mark, and a bird fell to the ground. Then, leaning against a rock, the Arab assumed a friendly manner, inquiring whence we came and speaking about birds and _ beasts and many things. No sooner were our backs turned, how- ever, as we set off down the valley, than a rifle shot tang out. The fellow fired at us again ere we dis- appeared from sight ! The history of the war in Palestine is a romance of the character ever associated with the Orient. Not only in the Wadi Fara, but elsewhere also, bands of Turks were retreating and being bombed by aeroplanes in gloomy passes or in the midst of open plains. The retreat continued north up to Damas- cus, and from there a Turkish army corps attempted to escape up the pass of the River Baroda (of which a photograph is also reproduced), and so through the Lebanon. This stream is that which was known in the Bible as the ‘‘ River Abana,” of which Naaman the Syrian said: ‘' Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Irsael?’’ As the 467 Some of the abandoned ‘wagons left behind by the Turkish army corps that was caught in the Baroda Gorge by British aeroplanes and practically destroyed. column entered this pass, the hum of distant aeroplanes became audible; and gradually the death-dealing machines flew up the gorge, bombing and annihilating the panic- stricken troops before they could escape ; the accompanying photograph of abandoned baggage-wagons was taken immediately after the event. This was a subject that Sydney painted when we were at Damascus, but that is anticipating. A grim affair redolent of the Orient happened at Rayak, in the heart of the Lebanon, whose snowy peaks and wild places were as yet hidden from us beyond the northern horizons, and to tell it I must be allowed to anticipate again. Rayak was a great Turkish depot and

Page 475

468 aeroplane base, secure in a green plain between the two ranges of the Lebanon. On our arrival there we found a ring of burnt aeroplanes lying on a deserted acro- drome, their noses buried in the ground and bits of their camouflaged fabrics flap- ping in the wind. All around were burnt sheds, derailed trains, and vast ruined buildings. We learnt the story while staying in the neighbouring village of Zahle which was the home of the brigand chieftain who was the chief actor in the drama. He was known far and wide as “ Wilhelm,” though his real name, of course, was an Arab one. Together with his two sons he had a following of about a thousand men, hailing from the villages of the Lebanon, and in the confusion of war had obtained for his men a quantity of arms and field-pieces, with which he harried the region far and wide. When the great retreat of the Turks necessitated their evacuating Rayak, the force of about eight hundred Germans stationed there hastily left, leaving thirty of their number behind to destroy the machines at the last moment. When this retreating body had entered the Pass behind Zahle, ‘‘ Wilhelm” and his band attacked them unawares and massacred them to a man, throwing the corpses into the caves that dot the mountain sides. I learnt this gruesome fact to my cost one evening when I was compelled to take refuge from a pass- ing storm in one of these caverns, all unaware of their grim contents. After the remaining thirty men at Rayak had completed the work of destruction, “Wilhelm ” returned and destroyed them Mary’s well at Nazareth, showing women fetching water. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. also; so that all the British troops found on their arrival was a circle of destroyed machines and thirty headless men. Two weeks before we were there the small British garrison had withstood a siege from “ Wilhelm ’’—a trial of strength for posses- sion of Rayak. All that day and night the battle raged, but the morning sun revealed to the unvanquished garrison that ‘‘ Wilhelm” had retreated, leaving eight of his men lying dead in the long grass. I met “ Wilhelm’s " younger son by the river bank. His active figure and hard face bespoke his life and unbringing. He was handsomely dressed in a purple kaftan and broad sash; his loose turban, like that of the Kurds, revealed the native of the moun- tains. Two beautiful Damascene daggers and two revolvers added the right touch to his equipment. I spoke of his father, and mentioned his fickle attitude towards the English. “Ah, Ma'sh’ Allah! What would you ?” he replied, with a shrug, ‘the Inglezi by - strength have obtained for themselves more than we"; and he swept his arm across the fertile plains beneath. Arabs have a simple apprehension of things ; and particularly of Justice, and in this connection he narrated me this story :— Once upon a time a great king, having overcome his enemies in battle, caused the principal captives to be brought bound into his presence. On their arrival they com- menced to revile him. The monarch, being ignorant of their language, turned to his minister and requested him to explain their speech. The minister, instead of faithfully repeating their sentiments, said that, over- come with the magnifi- cence of the king, they were expressing their as- tonishment at his great- ness and imploring his clemency. The king, pleased, ordered their release. The moral is, “It is better to tell a lie that produces good, than to tell the truth which produces evil.” “* By the Peace between you and me,” added “ Wilhelm’s " son, ‘‘ as to who is right among us, Allah will be the Arbiter at the Resurrection and will apportion the awards. By the Beard of the Prophet, there is no jus- tice but that which is Allah’s |” After leaving Shechem we were frequently fired

Page 476

THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. at by men in concealment. A_ typical example occurred at Jezreel, for instance. Leaving Jenin, we had entered the wide Plain of Esdraelon, which.crosses Palestine from Jordan to the sea. Ahab's city of Jezreel is now replaced by the Bedouin village of Zerain, on the brow of the hill, and we walked up to it from the plain below. The mud-brick walls of the huts are closely huddled together, and from outside scarcely a window can be 469 such as only the tropics know came upon us, completely blinding us. Night fell before we could get much farther, and then, losing our way, we wrongly crossed the lines, which stand as much as six inches above the ground, and the slippery ground made it impossible to recross them. Speed was imperative to get out of the valley, but with every minute our wheels were sinking deeper in the mire. The camp-fire of a distant Bedouin tent, and seen. In the- centre of the vil- Jage a rude stone tower has replaced that one from which the watch- man of old, scan- ning the plain be- low, saw Jehu in his chariot, ‘ driv: ing furiously.” At the back of the village lie the rock winepresses of Naboth’s vineyard, and from this point the whole plain lay spread before us— Mount Gilboa to the’ right, Little Hermon to the left, and Mount Tabor beyond. Here we could reconstruct that last battle of Saul, when, on this very slope of Gil- boa, he said to his armour-bearer: ‘‘ Draw thy sword and thrust me through there- with.” As we returned across the refuse heaps, amid the fierce barking of the native dogs, the spirit of Jezebel seemed to survive and pervade the village. A woman crept past us, hugging the walls in suspicion; every- where there was an atmosphere of chilly sullenness. Suddenly a shot rang out and a bullet struck the earth ahead of us. We heard the sound of muttered words from somewhere near at hand, but when we looked round not a soul was to be seen! It was a decidedly nerve-trying experience, and made me recall the treacherous stoning of Naboth, and the casting of Jezebel from her palace window. It was in this Plain of Esdraelon that Sisera met defeat at the hands of Barak, because ‘the clouds dropped water” and the chariots could not turn in the mud, and of this we had a very real demonstration. We had been at Bethsan, and were on our way to Nazareth, following a track by the Turkish ‘railway line. Suddenly a storm A family meal in a village hut near the Sea of Galilee. the eyes of prowling creatures of the night, alone lightened the intense darkness. Presently the rain began to abate, and by good fortune a search revealed a place where we could get our left pair of wheels over one rail. Thereafter we bumped along the sleepers, trusting to reach Afule before the night train from Damascus to Haifa should overtake us. We reached Nazareth next day, where I was ill of fever for a week. Nazareth is almost the only Christian vil- lage in Palestine. It lies in a cradle in the hills and has grown up around Mary’s well, shown in the centre of the photograph on the preceding page. One evening I sat above the village, beneath a hedge of prickly pear, and could hear the songs and bells of festivity, for’a marriage ceremony was taking place, which Sydney was attending. Amid sounds of cymbals and beating of drums a procession was passing through the village street—the youthful bride and bridegroom gaily mounted. Onlookers from every roof and wall never ceased their insistent refrain, and in the

Page 477

470 open space below the young men were per- forming feats of horsemanship. Over the ridge behind me lay other historic places—Cana, where the water was turned into wine ; and beyond, deep in the hills, the Sea of Galilee itself like an azure pearl. The preceding photograph shows agl.mpse of the sea through the doorway of a typical mud- built village hut at Semack, on the southern shore of the lake, with the woman making chupatties for the family’s morning meal. Sydney and I flew over the lake on our way from the south to Damascus, and Sydney painted his picture—here repro- duced—which is now in the Imperial War Museum at the Crystal Palace. The clouds that had concealed the earth gradually drifted apartas we flew along, revealing the blue-green waters gleaming with resplendent colours. As we circled over the lake we could pick out the Gospel cities as though on a map. There, away on the northern shore, was Bethsaida ; and near by, in a clump of trees, Capernaum. There was Magdala, Mary Magdalene’s home, and—more to the left The Sea of Galilee as seen from an aeroplane. From the Painting by Sy.iney W. Carline. and plainer than the others—Tiberias, Herod's city, still a thriving town. To our right the green Gadarene hills, down which the swine ran to their death, lay in folds, while above all Mount Hermon towered in regal state. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, On the unruffied waters fishing boats could be seen crossing the lake. The fishermen tuck their long white skirts in their waist- bands, leaving their legs bare and their feet free to grip the deck as they step backwards and forwards, plying the oars when the wind drops. While we were stopping at Tiberias, after leaving Nazareth, we crossed the lake in one of these craft to Capernaum on the northern shore, grounding our boat on the stony beach at a point where a beautiful grove of willows overhung the gently-lapping waves. En- trance to the Capernaum of the Christ we found was guarded by a high stone wall ; and a huge hound barked at us insistently, only ceasing when an old, black-bearded monk appeared and let us in. The monk had himself excavated the ruins of the Synagogue. “‘T believe, though I do not know,” he said, in a shaking voice, ‘‘ that this is the very synagogue concerning which our Gospel said of the Centurion, ‘ He loveth our nation, for he has built us a synagogue ’—the very one in which our Lord the Messiah taught and preached. Holy ground, indeed!"’he added, in a whisper. The wind had died down as we pushed off the shore to return, and the men bent their backs to their oars. Witha mono- tonous pace back- wards and then forwards, they kept time to a weird chant. The full moon lit up the lake and illumined the Gadarene hills. Looking back, I gazed at Safed, bathed in moon- light on its hilltop, and the words of Christ came to mind: ‘A city set on a hill cannot be hid.” As my eyes followed the stream of silvery ripples in our wake, in fancy I seemed to be con- tinuing our flight over Safed, over Hermon, on to the gardens of the East and Damascus, the delight of the Orient. (To be continued.)

Page 478

NDER the feet of the humpbacked bullocks and the wheels of the heavy cart behind them the white dust rises in clouds, to settle on the green wall of vegetation bordering the lonely road through the Indian jungle. The scantily-clad driver twists the straining animals’ tails and beats their prominent ribs with his bamboo stick, shrieking abuse meanwhile. The sound of his own high- pitched voice brings com- fort and courage in the deadly silence of the jungle ; but nevertheless he glances nervously at the thick undergrowth walling in the road, hiding he knows not what menace of man-eating tiger or still more dan- gerous “ rogue” elephant. It is denser here by the wayside than farther in under the trees, for the — by, Lt G! GORDON CASSERLY (Indian Army, retired) ILLUSTRATED BY S.H.VBDDER. An account of the amazing ex- perience that befell two Indian | teaplanters in connection with a man-eating tiger which had levied a heavy toll upon their coolies. | The author vouches for the truth | of the story. awide veranda; and in it two or three Englishmen lead the lonely life of planters, cut off by miles of forest from others of their kind. A village of thatched mud huts shelters the hundreds of coolies brought from more populous parts of India to labour on the estate and fill the teapot on the British breakfast-table. Exiles they are, as much as the white men in the bungalow ; for many days of travel lie between them and their homes. But at least the coolies are not lonely: the family man brings with him his wife and offspring, the more of them the better, for in the gathering season they all work and bring in money. While the coolies can thus alleviate their exile by the companionship of their relatives and the society of their own kind, life-giving sun can reach it freely. Between the great trees the lonely road winds ; and only this solitary cart disturbs its dust, and no sounds but the creaking of the axle and the driver's voice break the silence of the forest. 5 The bravest man might well feel as nervous as this undersized Indian, and just as relieved when suddenly the narrow strip of sky above the road widens out into a broad space of sunlit blue over a wide clearing where orderly rows of trim, well-kept bushes— a typical tea-garden—replace the wild jungle that hems them in on all sides. In the centre of the clearing stand a few ugly brick or wooden buildings with tall, stove-pipe chimneys and corrugated iron roofs—the factory, consisting of the engine- house, storehouses, and withering-sheds, in which the leaves are dried, packed, and stored. Near byis a single-storeyed bungalow with red-tiled roof, whitewashed walls, and | the planters lead very soli- tary lives indeed. Few dare marry on their meagre salaries ; and the gardens in a tea-growing district are usually too far apart to permit of much social intercourse. Perhaps once a week the planters ride ten miles and more to meet their fellows at some central spot in the jungle where a wooden hut has_ been built to serve as a club and a stretch of ground cleared to make tennis courts or perhaps a rough polo-ground. There, for a few hours, these exiles foregather and then gallop back over wild-beast-haunted roads to another week’s loneliness. Such an existence, in a certain part of India, two Britishers led. We will call them Smith and Macdonald, as I have not their permission to use their correct names. In the mornings they rose early and, after the chota hazri, or ‘‘ little breakfast ” of tea, toast, and fruit, Smith, the manager, mounted his pony and rode off to inspect

Page 479

472 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, the garden and visit the nursery where the young plants were, while Macdonald, the engineer, walked over to the factory. About eleven they breakfasted or lunched. Then, in the hot hours of the day, they lounged in pyjamas under the punkah or lay down and endeavoured to sleep until afternoon sent them back to their work again. At sundown they sat on the veranda and tried to talk, but relapsed into frequent silences as they stared at the view that they had come to hate—the eternal, monotonous stretch of ranked bushes backed by the wall of trees of the distant forest. . Then the barefooted, softly-moving ‘‘ butler,” in clean white garments, brought out to them a tray with bottles and glasses, and they drank a-whisky and soda or two more from habit than desire. After that they rose listlessly from their long chairs and went to their rooms to tub and change, not into the black and white garments of civilization, but into cooler and more com- fortable garb. Without appetite they sat down to dinner, to the unvarying menu of tasteless, watery soup and “ roast chicken,” sardines on toast, and some strange concoction that their cook called a pudding. Night after night they were obliged to face the same bill of fare. “IT say, Smith, do you know what I'll have for dinner the first night I get back to London—if I ever do?” Macdonald would ask, on an average, three nights a week. “Oh, shut up, man, I can’t stand it. 1- know—juicy beefsteak, just underdone, straight from the grill,” replied the dis- gusted Smith. ‘ Don’t tantalize a fellow with the thought of it. Lord! to think that there are actually people who can have a luxury like that any day they want— and don’t!” And with his fork he would turn the tough fragment of old hen over contempt- uously. Then, when the unappetising meal was ended, they would go out on to the veranda again, throw themselves into long chairs and smoke—in silence, mostly, for each knew by heart, everything the other had to say. They had exhausted every available topic; and in the monotony of their days nothing new seemed to happen to give them fresh subjects of conversation. One of the curses of the planters’ isolated lives is the forced companionship between two or three men who have perhaps no tastes in common and, indeed, may be by nature antagonistic. This was luckily not the case with Smith and Macdonald ; but nevertheless they were often bored with each other. They had not seen their native land for years, and like most men out at the Back o’ Beyond any- where throughout our far-flung Empire, they were heart-hungry for Home. “Lord! I wish something would happen, somctimes,’’ Smith would exclaim to his equally discontented companion. The monsoon—the wet season—was the hardest to endure. For mind-deadening months the rain fell drearily, persistently, day and night, while the terrible tropic thunder shook the hills and the lightning bespattered the black sky. The grim devil of malaria, with its deadlier attendant, blackwater fever, flitted through the jungle country on the gossamer wings of the mosquitoes, which the planters tried to keep at bay by shutting themselves up in cages of wire gauze by day and curtains by night. In due course the rain ceased, but the heart-breaking monotony of much work and little play continued. “I wish something would happen!” ejaculated the soul-weary Macdonald again. It did—and he did not like it. One morn- ing at sunrise a crowd of terrified garden coolies besieged the bungalow. “Sahib! Sahib! Save us, O Protector of the Poor! Thou art our father and our mother. Therefore save us!’ they wailed, when the wondering Smith came out in his pyjamas on the veranda. “What's the matter?’ he asked testily, angry at being cheated of the precious last half-hour’s sleep. “A shaitan, a devil, has carried off Rama’s wife!” “A devil? What do you mean? What sort of devil?’ He was used to Oriental exaggeration. ‘A tiger, sahib. A devil in tiger shape. The women were standing around the well outside the village when the shaitan sprang out of the jungle close by and bore her “Whew! a man-eater!” exclaimed Macdonald, who had followed Smith on to the veranda. “ That’s unpleasant.” It was. No beast that the jungle breeds is more to be feared than a tiger that takes to supplementing its usual diet of venison and becf by human flesh. Certainly in the great forests all dangers fade before the awful menace of a “ rogue” elephant, than which none is more terrible; but it is only in the forests that he is to be met with. The man-eater, however, secks its prey in the haunts of men. It lurks around villages and roads and springs upon the unwary wayfarer. It prowls about a herd of cattle and rushes on the youth in charge instead of one of his cows, fells him with heavy paw, and bears him away in its strong jaws to be devoured at leisure in the jungle. More daring still, it sometimes slinks into a hamlet after dusk and strikes down its

Page 480

THE TIGER CALLS. = 473 Vol alix.-33.

Page 481

474 victim in the street. Indeed, one has been known to burst into a hut and carry off one of the sleepers. A man-eater may kill forty or fifty human beings before it pays the penalty of its crimes. It terrorizes a whole district. The peasants fear to till their fields, to drive out their cattle to graze, or even to venture on the Toads. Luckily these brutes are rare, for most tigers avoid men. I have walked unknowing along the bottom of a ravine and been startled by the deep ‘ wough!”’ of a tiger lying in cover twenty feet above me, as it burst out of the bushes and disappeared over the top of the bank. But where one is found a reign of terror exists. Before now a man-eater has stopped all work on a tea- garden, for the coolies, terrified by the knowledge that the beast was in the neigh- bourhood, refused to leave their huts. So, apart from the danger, it can easily be understood why the news brought by the coolies caused anxiety to these two planters. Neither of them could claim to be a sports- man ; and the only weapon in the bungalow was an old Martini rifle which had once belonged to a former manager who had been a private in a Volunteer corps. It stood in a corner in the sitting-room of the bungalow with its triangular bayonet fixed— immutably fixed—by rust. And in a drawer of the writing-table there had reposed for many years a few rounds of ammunition. Taking the old rifle and the cartridges (more to inspire confidence than to afford protection,” said Smith), the planters pro- ceeded to the scene of the tragedy, which had occurred the previous evening, the coolies being too frightened to bring the news of it in the dark. In the dust near the well could still be seen the marks of the tiger’s paws and the blur of the dragged body of the luckless woman. A fresh track through the under- growth and scraps of cotton clothing flutter- ing on thorns showed where the murderer and his victim had passed. Smith and Macdonald plunged boldly into the jungle, followed only by three or four of the bravest coolies, while the rest— among them the bereaved husband— retreated to their village, filling the air with lamentations. The trail was unmistakable. Bamboo-grass and bracken were smeared with dry blood and scraps of torn garments, and once or twice, in a patch of dust, they saw the clearly-defined pugs or footprints of the tiger. The signs led the pursuers to the edge of a shallow depression filled with water. Here the track ended, and by the pool were the ghastly evidences of the tiger’s dreadful meal. Of the poor woman's slayer, however, there was no sign. Cowardly THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and cunning, as all man-eaters are, it had probably sensed the coming of the avengers and silently stolen away. The coolies gathered up the poor remains for the funeral pyre ; and the party returned to the garden. So ended the first tragedy. For it was only the first, unfortunately. The tiger came to the neighbourhood again and again, at varying intervals, and seldom departed without a human victim. Smith and Macdonald in turn “sat up” for it, spending moonlight nights—it was useless on others—in machans, or platforms erected in trees, hoping to get a shot at the brute with their antique rifle. Keen sportsmen from other tea-gardens and the Forest and Police Officers of the district also came to try for it. Beats through the jungle were impossible, owing to the density of the undergrowth, but daring men tried to walk up the tiger on foot or waited by the remains of its victim. But none ever saw it. After a kill the man-eater used to disappear ‘for a time from the neighbourhood, but only to return again when least expected. As it never attacked by daylight the coolies con- tinued to work in the garden, but were careful to shut themselves up in their huts before dusk, and not for untold wealth would any of them open his door before sunrise. The tiger, however, was not to be baffled. The servants of the two planters, thinking themselves safe under the sahibs’ protection, were not as careful as the coolies. One night one of them was standing at the rear of the bungalow talking to Smith’s butler, who was on the back veranda. There was a new moon which gave little light. A sudden rush, a big bulk looming swiftly up out of the darkness, a scream—and the tiger bounded away with the wretched servant in his jaws ! The shouts of the horri- fied butler brought the white men out; and, one of them seizing the rifle and cart- ridges, they pluckily ran in the direction in which the beast had vanished. But by night it was a hopeless chase. They came back and got lighted lamps to track the tiger’s ‘‘ pugs,” but it was of no avail. In the morning the scanty remains of the wretched servant were found in the undergrowth a few yards beyond the edge of the garden. After that the man-eater took to haunting the bungalow. At dark the servants shut themselves in their quarters; but night after night Smith’s terrified pony, in its loose-box, gave the alarm and the planters rushed out, but always too late. ‘When the moon was nearing the full the two kept watch in turn on the veranda from dusk to dawn, rifle in hand. But they

Page 482

THE TIGER CALLS. 475 “He plunged the steel deep into the tiger’s side, at the same time involuntarily pulling the trigger.”

Page 483

476 saw nothing; although every morning the servants—in India a white man's domestics have each a little outhouse to live in in the compound, or garden, some distance behind the bungalow—swore that they had heard _ the brute sniffing at their doors during the night. 5 At the full of the moon Smith and Mac- donald were on guard as usual on the front veranda. A bed had been pulled out on it and the engineer lay down and slept, while the manager sat in the chair close to the veranda rail and kept watch. Three hours later he awakened Macdonald to relieve him and went to sleep on the bed himself. The engineer in his turn occupied the chair, nursing the rifle on his knees. The full moon shone with the electric brilliancy of the tropics, lighting up the tea- gardem stretching away from the bungalow almost as brightly as though it were day- light. Macdonald could count every one of the bushes ranked in orderly rows on either side of the white road that ran through them up to the steps of the veranda. In the distance he could even discern the ‘black wall of forest that bounded the estate. An hour or two passed. Worn out by the previous night’s watching, he nearly dozed in his chair. He longed for a smoke. ‘but dared not strike a match and light a pipe, lest it should betray him to the tiger if it were lurking near. The longing, however, grew unbearable. So did the drowsiness. At last he resolved to conquer the latter by yielding to the former and, rising from his chair, went on tiptoe into his bedroom, the window of which jc looked out on to the veranda and down the toad between the tea-bushes. He unloaded the rifle before putting it down, for a Martini cannot be put at ‘safe’? or half-cock. Then he groped about on his dressing-table for his pipe and pouch. In doing so he knocked down a hair-brush which clattered noisily to the floor, Fearing that he had awakened Smith, he looked out at him through the window. But his companion remained fast asleep. Macdonald then felt around in the darkness for a box of matches, for he dared not light a lamp. When he had found them and filled his pipe he glanced out of the window again. Before him stretched the tea-garden, clear in the brilliant moonlight, the shadows of the bushes as black as the road was white. Everything was still; there was no sound save the buzzing of a mosquito, and when’ it hummed near his head Macdonald aimed a blow at it. Satisfied that all was well, the engineer, in order not to show a light outside, went on his knees under the table to strike a match for his pipe. Then, sitting on the “moonlight as if the hour were noon ! THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, : floor, he drew a few luxurious whiffs and for the moment forgot that such things as man-eaters existed as the soothing smoke filled him with contented oblivion. Very soon, however, remembrance re- turned, and, creeping cautiously out from under the table, he stood up with his hand over the bowl of the pipe. Then he glanced carelessly out of the window again. He started and stared, scarcely believing his eyes. Walking calmly, with silent tread, up the white road to the bungalow was a large tiger, almost as clearly visible in the Mac- donald rubbed his eyes and pinched himself to make sure that he was really awake, for the animal advanced with no appearance of either haste or concealment. “ Just as if the place belonged to him and he was coming home to his own house, curse his cheek!’ said the engineer later. Hurriedly but silently Macdonald felt about for the rifle; for he forgot for the moment where he had laid it down. When he discovered it at last he could not find the cartridge that he had extracted from the breech. And the rest were lying under the chair on the veranda ! Confused and clumsy in his nervous excitement, he felt all ever the bed on which the rifle had been lying; then he stole to the table by the window to grope over it with shaking fingers. As he did so he looked out once more. The tiger had almost reached the foot of the steps leading up to the veranda from the grounds outside. Mac- donald could sce every detail of the beast clearly—the cruel mask of its face with bristling whiskers and a thick ruff of hair around it, the big yellow body strongly marked with black stripes, the powerful limbs with the great paws that moved noise- lessly over the earth. Smith lay peacefully sleeping on the bed, the foot of which was towards the garden. He had thrown himself down half-dressed and wearing light shoes. His right hand hung over the edge of the bed. To his horror Macdonald, still groping wildly about the table for that wretched cartridge, saw the tiger mount the steps to the veranda. Powerless to move, the engineer stared unbelieving as the brute silently approached the sleeping man and seized his outstretchéd hand in its mouth. Then the amazed watcher beheld his friend rise from the bed and, when the tiger turned, go unresistingly with it, as if in his sleep, down the steps and walk beside it along the road, his fingers between its jaws ! Stricken almost dumb—indeed, fearing to shout—Macdonald rushed out on the veranda and picked up a cartridge from the bag under the chair. With shaking fingers

Page 484

he thrust it into the open breech, still gazing astounded at the tiger walking away down the road as deliberately as it had come, while the dazed Smith accompanied it passively. It was an incredible sight. The engineer did not know what to do. He was afraid to fire, for he was a very poor shot, and at ten yards’ range was as likely to kill his friend as the tiger. If he called out he might awake Smith, who seemed to be sleep-walking, and cause him to struggle, in which case the brute might kill him on the spot. Torn by doubts, unable to decide what was the best thing to be done, Macdonald stole on tip-toe after the strange pair, dread- ing to make a noise lest he should scare the tiger and precipitate a tragedy. The strangely-assorted couple moved on quietly, deliberately, in front of him. The animal did not seem to hear him following, and Smith was still walking unresistingly beside it. Presently the overwrought engineer over- took them. Blindly, unthinkingly, — his forefinger round the trigger, he drew back the rifle and bayonct to the full extent of his long arms. Then he plunged the rusty steel deep into the tiger's side, at the same time involuntarily pressing the trigger. The cartridge exploded and the big lead bullet blew a hole through the beast’s heart. It opened its mouth to roar, and Smith’s hand was freed as the tiger bounded forward a few paces, tearing the rifle from Macdonald’s grip. Then the brute fell to the ground and rolled over and over, biting savagely at its paws. Even though shot through the heart it did not die at once. Soon, however, its struggles grew feebler, its moans fainter, the great head fell on the road, and with a last convulsive shudder the man-eater lay still. Absorbed, the engineer gazed at its death-agony ; then he remembered Smith and turned to him. THE TIGER CALLS. 477 The manager was standing in the middle of the read looking about him in astonish- ment. Suddenly seeming to realize what was happening, he staggered and almost fell, but Macdonald grasped him and _ held him up, hurriedly explaining the situation. Picking up the rifle and leaving the tiger where it lay, he led his dazed companion back into the bungalow, shut the doors and poured out two stiff whiskies. The strong spirit revived Smith. He said that he had been vaguely conscious, to a certain extent, of what was passing. He had felt himself being drawn painlessly off the bed—he paused to examine his hand. It was scarcely bruised and the skin was unbroken! He had only half-realized that the tiger was pulling him, but the force seemed so irresistible that he had no thought of struggling against it. On re-entering Macdonald reloaded the rifle and barricaded the door, which, like most Indian ones, was too warped by the heat to shut properly. Neither man went to bed all night ; they remained talking over the marvellous happen- ing. At daybreak the servants, who had heard the shot and lain trembling in their quarters, ventured timidly out. . “Sahib! Sahib! Bagh murgya!” (the tiger is dead !) cried Smith's butler, bursting at the head of the other domestics into the lamp-lit room in which the two planters sat smoking and chatting, unconscious that day had dawned. Then masters and servants went out together on to the front veranda. Forty or fifty yards away the tiger lay in the middle of the road as if asleep. With a sudden access of fury Smith seized the rifle and ran to the brute, almost hoping that there was still life in it to give him his revenge. But Macdonald's wild thrust and unaimed shot had done their work. The dreaded man-eater was dead. An Odd Foster-Parent. Brrps might almost be said to be heredi- tary enemies of the cat; he looks upon them, like mice, as his legitimate prey. The quaint little snapshot here repro- duced, therefore, is particularly remarkable. It shows a tomcat, the property of a gentle- man at Preston, Lancashire, which has con- stituted itself the foster-parent of a brood of twenty-four chicks, and stubbornly refuses to leave them. The cat goes everywhere with the chicks, and that they have taken kindly to their odd puardian the picture con- clusively proves. Hundreds of people have been to see the cat and chickens.

Page 485

7 WE Hendrickson WLUSTRATED BY G.SOPER, An exciting story from Alberta, Canada. ‘ The narrative is true in every detail,” writes the Author, “and many people to whom I am well known are still living in the district, including the brothers Smith.” T was in the fall of 1907, whilst I was working in one of P. Burns and Co.'s beef camps—located about fifteen miles south-east of the little town of Olds, Alberta—that a rancher whom I had known for many years drove a small bunch of mixed cattle up to the camp buildings, and, addressing the foreman, inquired, ‘‘ How are chances to stop all night ?”’ “ Best in the world! Put your horse in the stable; supper will be ready in a minute.” It was in answer to our ques- tions, while eating supper, that the rancher told us: ‘I am taking my cattle out to the Dowling Lake country, about a hundred miles due east of here, because the homesteaders are crowding me out. I have scarcely enough summer range left, and as for hay-land I’ve hardly got any.” Turning to me, he added: ‘ Why don’t some of you young fellows, who have a few cattle, club together and come out there with your stock, locate yourselves on good springs, and work together? A great many ranchers are moving out that way already, and if you want a choice location you had better get busy, for these springs are soon going to be taken up. I’ve got one of the best places out there I’ve ever seen, and if two or three of you will help me punch The Author, Mr. W. E. Hendrickson. these cattle out I will show you some choice locations.” That settled it. Then and there, with two brothers, Jack and Emie Smith, I asked for a couple of weeks off. We readily got the foreman's consent, as the winter feeding would not start until the first snowfall and heavy frosts, and we fully expected a month of good weather. Next morn- ing, therefore, we rolled our blankets, tied them on the back of our saddles, and started. On the second day, while passing through the Knee Hills, we were joined by Angus and Ernie Dart, two young ranchers who also began to feel crowded by the home- steaders and wanted to move out across the Red Deer river, where there was still unlimited range. The Dart brothers brought with them a wagon, two extra saddle horses, an extra set of harness, and a large tent. We threw our blanket rolls into the wagon, which made us feel much freer as we continued on our way. On the following day we were joined by a young “ tenderfoot ’’ named Lindsey, who had already located out near Dowling Lake. He had ridden to town—a distance of one hundred miles—for his mail and was now on his way home. He offered to help us drive the cattle if we would feed him on the

Page 486

way and give him a fresh horse to ride, as his pony was nearly played out. About noon on the fourth day we arrived at the big Red Deer river, which practically marked the eastern boundary of settlement. We would pass but one more ranch—McKce’s —between the river and Dowling Lake. We decided to drive the cattle across the river and then camp for the night, as the next watering-place was about ten miles farther on. We drove the cattle down to the ford, but—never having seen such a large body of water—they refused to cross. We crowded them in with much yelling and swinging of ropes, but as soon as the water reached the leaders’ bellies they persisted in turning back in spite of us. Lindsey was riding his own horse—a little roan cayuse, which he had named Grandpa, a knowing old veteran of many round-ups. Seeing the futility of our efforts to force the cattle across, Lindsey rode slowly through the bunch and out into the river in an attempt to coax them across by showing them that the ford was safe. He coaxed and beckoned; sang and chirped; cursed, threatened, and begged them to come, but without results until someone suggested that he should rope one of the calves and drag it across as quickly as possible, so as not to drown it. He immediately acted upon the suggestion, which was perfectly rational and often resorted to when other means were of no avail. All would have been well if Lindsey had known what would happen and what to do ; but he did not know, and for the moment we had forgotten that he was not a cow- puncher. Lindsey got his ‘‘ rope’ down and, un- seen by us, tied the tail-end of it fast to the horn of his saddle. Then he turned back toward the cattle, swinging the rope above his head to keep it out of the water. It happened that one of the largest calves in the bunch was standing a little way out in the water by the side of his mother—a scrawny, wild-eyed, ill-tempered old Hereford. Lindsey rode up to within about twenty feet of the calf and threw the rope over its head. Then, jerking up the slack like an expert, he whirled Grandpa around and started for the opposite bank. As soon as the calf felt the rope around his neck he began to buck and bellow—and then pandemonium broke loose! Every cow in the band stuck out her tongue, joined in the chorus, and rushed to the assistance of that calf ! Lindsey looked over his shoulder with a broad grin on his face; but when he saw what a commotion he had started, and that the whole bunch had plunged into the water —bellowing, struggling, splashing, crowding, OUR LITTLE OUTING. 479 and seemingly bent upon his immediate destruction and the rescue of that calf, his face went as white as chalk. He tried frantically to untie the rope from his saddle- horn, at the same time urging Grandpa on with voice and spur. The rope, however, was tied in a hard knot, old Grandpa was in a hurry, and the calf struggling so frantically that he found it impossible. Lindsey there- fore continued to lead the procession ! Owing to the tremendous uproar it was impossible for anyone to advise him, so we followed the charging herd as closely as possible, intending to rush to Lindsey’s rescue as soon as we should reach the opposite bank. We knew that he was in no danger if, upon reaching the flat on the other side, he would stand his ground, face his horse toward the calf, and merely avoid getting tangled in the rope. We knew that Grandpa was a seasoned old-timer and would not get excited, so we greatly enjoyed the tenderfoot’s pre- dicament. Grandpa had no sooner scrambled up the opposite bank than Lindsey, after another hasty look over his shoulder, began to apply quirt and spur with renewed vigour in an endeavour to run away from that murderous- looking maelstrom of clashing horns and frothing mouths. More terrifying than all, perhaps, was the thunderous chorus of their angry voices. Grandpa responded with all his strength, but the calf resisted—and suddenly the cinch broke! Grandpa leaped out from under the saddle and then stopped—as all good cow- ponies will in such circumstances, The shock of landing on the ground so unexpectedly seemed to daze Lindsey for an instant, but only for an instant. With a bound he was on his feet and headed for the timber at a terrific clip. He had covered about half the distance when from the very place for which he was headed about a dozen strange cows, having heard the din, broke cover, and in full chorus came galloping toward him. Poor Lindsey veered to the right with marvellous alacrity and circled back toward Grandpa with all haste. Grandpa saw him coming and, true to his training, gtood his ground while Lindsey made a flying leap for his bare back. True also to the habits of all cow-ponies, he crouched to meet the shock, and Lindsey sailed right over him without scarcely touch- ing a hair! He was on his feet again as quick as a flash, but by this time Jack Smith had spurred his horse into the herd, seized the rope, and liberated the calf. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the din ceased. Upon riding over to see if Lindsey was hurt, ‘ we found him sitting on the ground viewing the now peaceful scene. Looking up at us,

Page 487

480 THE WIDE WORLD he said, whimsically, * Did you ever see such a fuss over a little thing before ?” In due course we arrived at Dowling Lake without further adventure, and after looking around for a day or two decided to start for home the following morning. Some time during the night it began to snow, and when we rolled out of our bunks next morning the ground was covered with it, and the temperature falling rapidly. We decided to remain where we were until the storm should blow over; for a trip of forty miles across a bleak prairie in a snowstorm, without a single landmark or sign of habitation, was an experience to be dreaded. That evening it stopped snowing, but the wind freshened up considerably, whipping the snow into drifts in the more sheltered places and sweeping the ground bare on the exposed hillsides. On the third day the wind swung into the south-west, or ‘' Chinook corner,’”” and soon it began to thaw. The following day the “Chinook” was. still blowing, and before night there were large _ patches of bare ground to be seen in every direction, so we decided to start for home early the next morning. We awoke to find the weather still very mild, but the wind had veered into the north-west, while an occasional gust stronger than the rest would whirl around the corners of the shack with a moaning sound that made us feel vaguely uneasy and caused us to hurry our prepara- tions for-departure. We knew that such a wind coming from the north-west at that time of the year would most certainly bring snow. « . Our tent and blankets were hastily rolled up and thrown into the wagon, with enough grub to last us for one day, as we fully “expected to reach the settlement by noon the next day. No one thought of taking an axe along, as we did not intend to pitch the tent, for we planned to sleep in one of McKee’s haystacks that night, and there was not a stick growing between the ranch and the Red Deer river as thick as a man’s wrist. Had we taken an axe we should most certainly have missed the adventure which so nearly cost us our lives. The Dart brothers had brought with them an extra set of harness, a chain, and lead-bars, -as an extra precaution ; so we now hooked up four horses to the wagon, which would enable us to travel a little faster, for though -the vehicle was not loaded many of the snowdrifts which we’ would have to flounder through were over four feet deep. This left -us only two saddle-horses—‘ Ginger,’’ my own favourite, and a “ Pinto ’’ belonging to Ernie Smith. When afl was ready I mounted Ginger and rode ahead to break trail for the leaders ; the team, moreover, would step out much MAGAZINE, faster with a horse before them travelling in the direction of home. The Pinto was led by a long lariat rope from the wagon, where the rest of the boys made themselves quite comfortable seated on the rolls of bedding. The first thirty miles of country between Dowling Lake and the Red Deer river was for the most part a rolling prairie, with here and there an alkali slough ranging in size from an acre to three or four hundred acres, and even larger. Then we would have to pass through a region of sand-hills, about seven or eight miles wide. Next came an open level flat, about ten miles wide, fol- lowed by another strip of sand-hills about five miles wide, which continued to the Red Deer river. In the middle of the first strip of sand-hills lay McKee’s ranch, the only habitation between Dowling Lake and the tiver, a distance of slightly over fifty miles. The horses were extremely tired when we entered the first lot of sand-hills, where we struck one of McKee’s hay trails, and after following it for about a mile found ourselves at the haystack where we had planned to pass the night. Although it was not quite dark we were more than willing to camp, so we unhitched the animals, gave them a much-needed feed and rest, and, after eating a hearty supper, made up our beds on a pile of hay in the shelter of the stack. It began to snow during the night, and when daylight appeared the ground was covered with several inches of fresh snow and a forty-mile gale was blowing from the north-west. We took our horses around to the lee side of the stack and gave them some more hay, but they were too cold and miserable to eat; so we hurriedly ate the last of our grub and in a few minutes were on our way, with our shivering horses snort- ing at every step from the cold and the snow swirling up into their nostrils. We found it extremely hard going, as the wagon wheels and horses’ feet clogged up so badly with snow that before we had gone a mile we saw plainly that we should have all we could do to make the river that night. We therefore decided to stock up with grub at McKee’s ranch; but when we got there they were unable to sell us any- thing at any price, and we were compelled to drive on without food for ourselves or horses, with a twenty-five-mile trip before us of such heavy going that we could scarcely make three miles per hour.- To make matters worse a blinding snowstorm was now raging, and we were following a dim trail which we knew would be entirely obliterated once we got outside the comparative shelter of the sand-hills. % As ill luck would have it, I happened to be riding behind the wagon when we came

Page 488

OUR LITTLE OUTING. — 481 “The whole bunch plunged into the" water, seemingly bent upon his immediate destruction.”

Page 489

482 to a fork in the trail which we had not noticed when going over it with the cattle. Now, as all the sand-hills looked just alike, we did not know which branch, to take. I tried to get Ginger—who had a wonderful instinct for finding his way—to decide for me, but I could not tell which trail he favoured, so finally we took the right-hand branch. I at once took the lead again, but before we had gone half a mile I became so oppressed with a feeling that we were on the wrong trail, that I stopped and said: “I believe we took the wrong fork back there, fellows, and I am in favour of turning back. What do you say?” We talked the situation over for a few minutes and decided that as the trail we were on seemed to run in the general direction in which we wished to go we had better stay with it, as we would soon be out of the sand- hills and could then bear off to the left and endeavour to find the other branch, We travelled quite comfortably upon the winding trail among the sand-hills, which were about forty feet high on an average, with very steep sides and only room enough between them at the base to allow three or four horses to walk abreast. Each hill looked exactly like the others, and as they were not placed in rows, but dotted here, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. there, and everywhere, they afforded us considerable shelter from the wind. A few miles farther along we suddenly found ourselves upon the edge of a flat where the snow was whirling and drifting with almost unbelievable fury, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction, so we knew that we were at last out of the sand-hills. “Holy Mackinaw!" said Ernie Dart. “Did you ever see anything like it in all your life? Now we ave up against it; no man or beast in the world can keep a straight course across that ten-mile flat! It’s me for the sand-hills again!" “Don’t talk nonsense, you crazy loon!” cried Ernie Smith, with a laugh, ‘‘ What could you do in the sand-hills without grub, shelter, or horse-feed ? I'd sooner take a chance of making it across the flat and on to the river than wait among the sand-hills for the storm to blow over. That may not be for a week!” After a brief consultation we decided to make a dash for it across the flat—which we knew to be only about ten miles wide at that point—but we knew also that it was from sixty to seventy miles long, without a fence, building, food, or shelter of any kind. To make matters worse, the weather was so “I heard someone cry, in the most awful voice

Page 490

mild that the warmth trom our bodies thawed a little of the fine powdery snow which blew into our clothes, so that we were all becoming more or less wet, which made us shiver and shake as with an ague. Our steaming horses were already showing signs of weariness, for the snow was now fully a foot deep on the level and the drifts were becoming deeper and harder every hour. We realized that our chances of getting across the flat alive were slim, but we figured that it would be still more risky to remain where we were, so we rolled ourselves a cigarette apiece and started on our way. The wind was still blowing from the north- west, so I headed old Ginger out into what seemed a limitless expanse of whirling white- ness with neither top, bottom, nor sides. A of terror, ‘Good heavens! We are sinking !’” OUR LITTLE OUTING. 483 strange sensation of dizziness swept over me for, everything being perfectly white, I seemed to lose all sense of direction and equilibrium. I did not know whether I was riding up-hill, down-hill, or in a circle. At times I seemed to be whirling and the snow standing still; the next moment I would have the sensation of falling through endless space. I turned to look behind me, and the instant the dark outline of the leaders entered my line of vision everything righted itself and I was again riding upon the solid surface of a white world. To my vast relief I now became conscious of an intuitive sense of direction. I had felt this same sense of direction before in similar circumstances ; but upon this occasion it seemed abnormally acute !

Page 491

484 I made a pretence of giving my whole attention to keeping a straight course across that ten-mile stretch of level country, but in reality I followed this “sixth sense” alone. I rode quartering into the storm, with the wind on my right cheek, and I knew that if it did not change our course would be com- paratively straight. The sagacious Ginger also seemed perfectly satisfied with the direction we had chosen. We had travelled for about an hour when I realized by the smoothness of my horse’s gait that there was ice under foot, and I was pleased to find that the snow was only about three inches deep. I stopped, and when the wagon drew up beside me I suggested that we should chop a hole in the ice and give the horses a drink. It was then discovered that we had left our axe at Dowling Lake, so we drove on, blissfully ignorant of the thinness of the ice. I was beginning to feel quite cheerful, wishing that we might have several miles of that kind of going, for the horses had broken into a trot and the boys back in the wagon were singing lustily as we bowled along at a great rate, with the ice popping and roaring under- foot as though it were splitting and cracking for miles around. The song came to an end, and I was about to yell ‘“ Encore! ’’ when suddenly I stiffened with fear, for I heard someone cry, in the most awful voice of terror :— “ Good heavens! we are sinking!” I looked back and there they were, coming along at a trot with the horses frantically crowding each other. There was a swell in the ice in front of the leaders, rolling toward me like a wave that I believe was fully six inches high, while the horses and wagon were actually in a depression. Following in their wake was what looked like a river of water—black by contrast—over fifty feet wide ! Ernie Dart was driving, and when, secing me staring, he looked back and saw what was taking place, he became confused and tried to pull the team to a stop. Only for an instant, however, for as soon as I yelled to him ‘“ Keep them going!”’ he chirped and Ict them out as though nothing had happened. The rest of the boys were sitting tight, saying nothing, but looking around in a dazed manner. Ernie Smith was_ holding on to a fifty-foot lariat, with which he was leading his Pinto from the wagon. “Let go that rope! Turn the saddle- horse loose!” I yelled at the top of my voice. He obeyed at once, throwing the rope out of the wagon as I put spurs to my own mount to keep out of the way and so distribute the weight of the horses over a larger surface. The Pinto swerved off to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the right as soon as Emie threw the rope, making a perceptible change for the better. I do not know what was passing through the minds of the others; but for the next few moments I thought of many things. What were we on? Was it a lake, or only a slough? How deep and wide was it ? Had it a mud bottom or gravel? Had we passed the middle, and were we approaching the thicker ice near the shore, or had we not yet arrived at the centre, where the ice would certainly be thinner ? Damp clothes were bad enough, but a thorough drenching in such a storm would spell a quick finish ! The Pinto, upon being turned loose, had veered well out around the wagon and, passing the team, had joined Ginger, where she was now trotting along at my side. I deliberately held the pace down to a steady trot, for I feared that if I permitted the horses to break into a gallop the extra shock of their leaping in unison would prove too much for the heaving ice beneath their feet. I knew also that the boys in the wagon were depending upon me to set the correct pace and give them such advice as I could, for I was in a much better position to see what was going on than they. I kept a close watch on all that was transpiring, so as to prevent them from getting too close to me, telling them: ‘“‘ Keep a steady gait—the ice is getting stronger!” Once a large cake of ice, about four or five feet across, broke out behind the wagon and floated along when the black water welled up out of the hole, and I distinctly remember noting that it was only about four inches thick ! A few moments later, with heartfelt joy, 1 saw that we were leaving the water behind, and presently it was entirely lost to view and we were again closed in by a curtain of pure white. Upon reaching the shore we stopped for a few minutes to draw a breath of relief, crack a rather shaky joke or two, and then we were on our way again. As there was only one ford on the river for twenty miles, either up or down, it was very important that we should strike the stream at the right place, so we decided to head due south-west in the hope of striking the road somewhere between where we then were and ‘The Pile of Stones,” an old Indian landmark built of boulders, in the shape of a cairn, on a high ridge about three miles south-east of the ford. The snow was still beating against us and whirling along with unabated violence, while we were becoming wetter and the horses more exhausted each moment. It was impossible to see where we were going, and every few minutes we would flounder into snow-drifts so deep and firm that the horses could scarcely drag the wagon through.

Page 492

It was beginning to look as if we should have to camp out there for the night. I was going to suggest this course—I was getting so chilled that I could scarcely keep my seat in the saddle—when I became aware that we were again among hills. I knew that these could be none other than the second range of sand-hills, so it was evident that we had crossed the flat and were within four or five miles of the river. Just as I turned to tell the boys of this hopeful discovery they stopped the team and called me back. “It is just as I thought,” said Ernie Dart. “You led us in a circle while we were out on the ice, and now we are back in the sand- hills again where we were this morning. You are slowly circling all the time. I’ve been watching you for the last mile or two, and you are bearing more and more to the left.” “That’s the way it seems to me,” said someone else, and two or three of the others agreed with him. ‘* Not on your life!’ snapped Jack Smith. “ Follow Walter, and he'll take you home if anybody can!” I pointed out to them that while crossing the lake I had continued quartering into the wind, and since then I had kept it exactly over my right shoulder. Dart, however, declared that the wind had changed shortly after we left the sand-hills that morning ! Here was a predicament ! They were three against two, yet I felt dead certain that the wind had not changed and old Ginger seemed perfectly satisfied with the direction. I suggested that we should go on a little farther, in the hope of finding a few dry sticks at the foot of one of the hills where we could make a fire and camp for the night. This was finally agreed upon, and we had gone but a little way when we found a small clump of dead poplars an inch or so in diameter and about five feet long. Here we stopped, and as we were unhitching the horses I said :— “‘ Now, if my impression is right, the wagon is headed straight for ‘The Pile of Stones.’” We turned the horses loose, knowing they would not go far as they were too tired and hungry. They at once began to paw the snow from the dried and frozen grass, which they devoured greedily. We then pro- ceeded, as well as we were able, to kick the snow off from a space about ten feet square, where we raised the tent. As quickly as possible we spread our bedding upon one half of it and folded the other half over the top, but quick as we were we still had a lot of snow inside. I started a fire, but as there was nothing to cook and the heat only melted the snow in the wrinkles of our clothes and made us wetter than we already were, we let it die out and crawled into our blankets, where we lay OUR LITTLE OUTING. 485 shivering miserably, discussing our chances of getting through alive. We were too hungry and cold to sleep, so we spent the night huddled together as closely as possible. It stopped snowing about midnight, but continued blowing and drifting as violently as ever, and when morning came we found the air almost as thick with drifting snow as it had been the day before. We knew that it was not snowing, for during the latter part of the night we caught an occasional fleeting glimpse of a star, and after daylight there were momentary glimpses of the sky and scudding clouds overhead. 8 The problem of food was now becoming really serious, as we had eaten nothing since early the morning before. We were none too cheerful that morning as we sat huddled up on our blankets with the tent over our shoulders. We knew the storm would not last many days, but food we must have, and our supply of firewood was so limited that within a day or two at most we would have to subsist upon frozen, uncooked horse-meat ! Of course, we knew that we could live for a long time upon such a diet: but we were unable to dry our damp clothes, and we realized that we should freeze to death if the temperature fell ten degrees lower—and fall it would most certainly. Therefore, if we failed to find shelter that day, we felt sure that we should not need any the next ! After talking matters over it was decided that two of us should take a saddle-horse apiece and scout around a bit in the hope of finding a trail, a haystack, firewood, a fence— anything which would add either to our own comfort or that of our horses, This we accordingly did, after we had agreed that those remaining at the wagon should fire an occasional shot with the rifle if we did not return within twenty minutes, for it would be impossible to follow our own tracks back to the wagon. I saddled Ginger, and Ernie Dart took one of the team. We each went in the direction which we considered the most likely to bring results, Ernie going back the way we had come, while I rode towards where I thought the river lay. I started out at a brisk trot, and after going about five hundred yards stopped to listen for a moment. Looking back, I was startled to find that already my trail was almost obliterated, so I put spurs to my horse and decided that I would gallop him until he was winded. If I found nothing, then I would return to camp, and, after a tew minutes’ rest, try another direction. Ginger seemed to know just what was expected of him, for he started off with such a will that within five minutes I had covered something over half a mile. I had almost decided to turn back when I became conscious

Page 493

486 that my horse had been putting his head down a number of times in the last hundred yards or so, for all the world like a hound following a trail. I could not understand for a moment what had come over him, when I saw that I was riding parallel to, and within four feet of, a barbed wire fence! I felt like shouting from relief, and, leaning forward, I patted old Ginger on the neck and told him what a fine horse he was. I knew that this could mean only one thing. Where there was a fence there was a ranch, so all that was necessary was to follow the fence and we would eventually find a gate. Once inside, we would surely find the buildings ! I turned back toward the wagon, still patting Ginger’s neck and talking to him. He seemed to understand, for although the trail was entirely wiped out he never faltered, but, with his head down, followed his own trail like a hound. When I rode up to the wagon I found that Ernie Dart had not yet returned, but the rest of the boys looked out at me from under the canvas with such woeful faces that I laughed until they thought I had gone out of my mind. It was wonderful to see their expressions change when I told them of my discovery. We spread our blankets on the horses and buckled the harness on over all to keep them from blowing off. Then, throwing the tent over the wagon—which we had decided to abandon—we were ready to start just as Ernie Dart rode up. His woeful countenance at once started me laughing again, but this time I was joined by the others. We suc- ceeded in cheering Dart up, and then, mounting our horses, we went on our way. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Again Ginger led us straight to the fence. We soon found a gate, and a few minutes later we rode up to Tollman’s buildings on the bank of the Red Deer river. They treated us most hospitably—fed us well, stabled our horses, and even permitted us to dry our blankets around the stove in their parlour. The next day broke clear and still, so we all mounted our horses again and went in search of the wagon. We soon found it, and as we were hitching up the horses, Ernie Smith, who was in the wagon arranging the load, said, ‘When you leather-heads get through there I want te show you some- thing !”’ He was standing up in the wagon looking out over the horses and across the snow toward the south-west. Not knowing what he had discovered, we climbed up into the wagon. He pointed toward a little white mound on the top of a high ridge, and said, “What is that little white point up there on that ridge?” “Why, that’s ‘The Pile of Stones,’ you fool! "' cried Ernie Dart. q “Well, are you blind?” inning. “Blind ? No! What’s the matter with you?” “ Take a look out over that wagon tongue and tell me which way it is pointing,” was the reply. Dart looked puzzled for a moment; then a grin broke over his face. “Tl take it all back”’ he said. ‘I got so muddled up in my directions out on that awful lake that I didn’t know the ground from the sky!” Four days later we were back at the ranch and our trip was only a memory. said Smith, A Moslem Funeral Party. THE accompanying photograph taken in Cairo, shows a Mos- lem funeral party on the way to the ceme- tery. These funerals are invariably headed by old blind men carrying long stafis— professional mourners, who are paid for their services.

Page 494

“Just as surely as there is a time in men’s lives when crooks go straight, so there is also a time when a men go crooked.” TURNED THIEF Ripa’ Darling Another long instalment of this remarkable story, dealing with the most mysterious one-man robberies that ever took place in America writes the Author, “though I have changed the names of persons and places concerned. “The narrative is true in every penkrigg ta closest friend is the man who ‘ pulled off’ the robberies and afterwards, in all humility, told me the details of how he worked, why he did it, and why he finally returned the loot.” The earlier instalments described how George Keene, the young express agent at M. Junction, laughingly told his friend Crane, the local under-sheriff, that it would be easy to rob the express company and leave no trace. Yielding to temptation, he broke open a cash-box that passed through his hands, replaced the lock with another, secreted the money, filled up the rifled box with scrap-iron, and let it go on to its destination. He treated a second box similarly, but this box, after he had filled it with iron, was stolen from the express office by two bandits, who abandoned it on a mountain-side. Other characters introduced were Don McFee, the express company’s head detective; Minnie Carlyle, Keene's sweetheart ; Dan Dale, a cowboy friend, and Barney, the night watchman at the depot. YOU CAN NOW READ ON. - Wi. ‘ X J HEN “No. 3” stopped at the junc- tion that morning at 2.30, Don McFee stepped off alone and was met by the sheriff. After hearing all that McCoy could tell him relative to the robbery, now twenty-four hours old, together with the added information that Keene had “tumbled ’’ to McCoy, McFee had sent that worthy back to D—— to await another assign- ment. Keene made no effort to speak to the detective, who used the short time the train stopped in a rapid-fire conversation with the sheriff. “As the tail-light of the departing “‘ No. 3” was disappearing in the gloom, Beverly sauntered down the platform towards the express office. He stopped before the door and stared through at the agent, who was busy at his desk. A sudden thought had come to him, and his fingers worked nervously as he considered it. “Gad! Vil do it,’’ he muttered, and strode * inside. Beverly nodded as the agent motioned him to a seat. ‘I'll be through in a minute,”’ said George. G But the sheriff didn’t wait a minute or even a second. He strode across to the desk and scowled down at the young man. “ Keene!" he cried sternly, ‘‘ where have you got that money hidden? Don't try to deny it; we've got the goods on you!” For a single second the agent’s jaw dropped ; then his teeth came together with a snap as every drop of fighting blood he possessed seemed to surge to his brain. “ What do you mean, Beverly ?”’ he retorted, angrily, rising to his feet. ‘‘ I haven't got your da money !” The sheriff moved forward, his revolver half-drawn. “You lie, you thief ! '’ he shouted. ‘‘ You. He never finished the sentence, for five bony knuckles collided with his jaw with every ounce of force a hundred and eighty pounds of

Page 495

488 desperate manhood could apply, and the sheriff crashed to the floor unconscious. Springing forward, Keene disarmed the fallen man; then, fetching a cup of water, he poured it on the sheriff's upturned face. In a few seconds Beverly became conscious—conscious of a split- ting headache, a very sore jawbone, and that George Keene was standing over him saying something. As his brain cleared he realized ’ that the agent was pointing toward the open door and ordering him to ‘‘ Get out of here, and be quick about it.” The sheriff, still feeling very shaky, struggled to his feet and shambled to the door. As he stepped outside Keene threw the gun toward him. ‘ Don’t ever call me a thief again,’’ he growled. “ Even if I were guilty, if you had enough brains to fill a nutshell you would know that it would be a serious blunder to try to scare me into anything.”” Then he went back to his desk. Beverly left the place nursing a very tender jaw. He had acted entirely on impulse—and had failed miserably. The accusation was pure bluff on his part; it had occurred to him that if Keene was the guilty man, a sudden accusation might so'disconcert him that he might give himself away. He had no intention of shooting the agent, but had drawn his gun for effect— an effect which had been lost owing. to the lightning-like action of the other man. The whole affair brought home to him very forcibly the conclusion that if the agent was guilty he would be best handled through the “ under- ground’ methods of McFee, now speeding toward the big city to confer with the officers of the company who had sustained this latest loss. Growling at himself for a fool for divulging the fact that Keene was under suspicion, Beverly made his way homeward. Next evening, when George came to work, he found Charley Crane leaning back against the wall of the office, smoking. Through the haze of smoke Keene caught the glimmer of a smile on the officer's face. Slowly Crane got to his feet and approached the desk. Then, with a quick motion, he caught the agent’s right hand in both of his own and held it fast as he scowled into the other’s face. ‘‘ Where have you got that money hidden?” he cricd. George caught the idea and jumped up, while Crane sprang back and yelled: ‘‘ Hold on! I was only joking!" Then he sat down and roared with laughter. George eyed him askance for a minute. “ You think you are darned smart, don’t you?” he growled, “but you needn’t be afraid; my knuckles are too sore to land on anyone else for awhile.” “But on the level, George,” said Crane, seriously. ‘‘ I want to join in with you on this. A man with nerve enough to strike the Sheriff of the County is good enough for me. If you iy “Oh, cut it out; I don't need any help,” grinned the agent, secing he was joking. ‘‘ When THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I've finished robbing this company I'll put you wise how to do it. It’s easy, as 1 have told you before. And that fool Beverly went and let me know that I am under suspicion, which only makes it easier."’ He finished looking over the outgoing express parcels and then, lighting his pipe, he leaned back and looked whimsically at his friend. ‘‘ Did Beverly tell you ? ’’ he asked. “Yes,” replied Crane; “he said you nearly knocked his head off when he asked you where you had the money hid.” “He's wrong. I hit him because he said I was a thief. Is he sore about it?” “No; he says he asked for it. He is sore at himself for being such a fool, for he says it will let you know you are under suspicion.” “ Shucks!”’ cried George. ‘‘ Does he think I’m a perfect fool? I’ve known all the time I was bound to be suspected. How can they help but suspect me? I have had every chance in the world to steal from this company if I had wanted to: money passes through here every day or two. All it needs is nerve and planning.” “Well, you have the nerve,” said his friend, grinning, ‘‘and I presume you can plan,” he added, quietly. For a long minute George stared unwinkingly into Crane’s eyes. “‘ What the devil are you driving at ? ’’ he asked, finally. “ Not a thing in this world, old man,” returned Charley, earnestly, ‘‘ but I told Beverly that I would stake my life on your innocence, and I made that remark just to see what you would say and look like.” “And are you satisfied with what you've seen ?" “Tam.” “Well. for Heaven’s sake don’t put me to any more of your tests! 1am in a very peculiar situation. If the thigf is not found soon, I may have to go through the ‘third degree’ before Don McFee, and 1 sha’n’t be in a position to decide who my friends are; I shall have to be on the defensive with everybody. I believe you are my friend—but be careful, old man. If that money isn’t found—if the thief isn’t caught— somebody is liable to be ‘ framed.’* And it might be me. Such things have happened before now, and will happen again. What have you heard—anything ? “ Nothing,’’ answered Crane, “ except that Don has gone to the city the money came from, to start a man from that end on the back track. He will leave the railroad at Thompson’s Springs and go overland to Moab. From there he will work over through the West End country, and wind up here, to see if there is any trace of the hold-ups to be found. This man he is going to send knows that country as well as any other fellow knows the hole in the heel of his sock, and if there is anything to be learned he will * Made the victim of a charge backed by “arranged” evidence.

Page 496

THE MAN WHO TURNED 489 [Bats pa As “Five bony knuckles collided with his jaw with every ounce of force a hundred and eighty pounds of desperate manhood could apply.” Vol. xlix.—34,

Page 497

4yc learn it. He will report from here to Don as soon as he arrives. "T see you have got the truck out there,’ he concluded. ‘' Going to the ranch ?”’ “Yep,” replied George. “‘ Better come along —I get lonesome sometimes.” “Can't this trip-—I've got to ride to-morrow. Some other time I'll go.” With that Crane rose to his feet and passed outside the railing. Here he stopped and, leaning toward the other, said “T’'ve got to get some sleep now. Say, old, man, don't forget—no matter what happens I'm for you. Good night.” George whirled round in his chair.“ Thanks, old-timer,” he answered, huskily. “‘ I appreciate that. Good night.” Left to himself, George stared thoughtfully ahead through a haze of smoke. He pictured the events of the last seventy-two hours—his quarrel with Minnie; his blind rage, and its cansequences to McCoy ; and his utterly foolish act in taking the first lot of money three nights before. ‘ Gad! what a fool 1am!’ he thought for the dozenth time. ‘ And then I had to put a dent in the sheriff’s jaw—and yet he was only telling the truth! I am a thief! And I've still got another lock here under the safe. I'll just put that in my pocket before someone finds it, and throw it into the river when I go up to-night.” Swinging his chair around the safe, brought out the lock, and looked at it. a faint grin overspreading his face. “ What a difference a few days make!” he mused. “I used to be an honest man—now they're calling me a thief. Where will it all end?” He was startled from his reverie by the whistle of “No. 6.” Hastily he dropped the lock into his pocket and, gathering up his way-bills, tushed the truck out on to the platform. He heard the train rattling over the switches at the end of the yard, the headlight loomed hugely through the gloom, there was a grind of brakes, and the train came to a stop at the lower end of the platform. Lanterns flashed into view, and people awaiting the train rushed forward. Leaving his truck, Keene walked rapidly to the scene. “Journal burnt off and ditched the express car,’’ someone said. Keene pushed his way into the crowd. Sure enough, the car was drooping down at one corner, and smoke issued from the burning oil. The conductor was there giving orders. To his brakeman he said, “ Go to the yard-master and see if we can’t get another express car. We can use the switch engine to shove us on to the side-track.”” Turning to the passengers, he said, ‘‘ We shall get another car and be out of here in thirty minutes.” To Keene he said, ‘ Bring down your truck, so that these men with the cash-box can put it into your oftice while we are making the change.” Glancing up, George saw three men standing I may need you one of these days. he reached under THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, in the doorway of the express car. He ran to his truck, and a few minutes later, accompanied. by the men, the truck with its valuable burden was wheeled to the office. “ Gee! there's a lot of guards with this box !’” said the agent, as they stepped inside. “You bet!’ replied one of the strangers. “We're working three shifts on this bunch of money. Robberies have been too frequent lately, and we are playing for safety." “You've got the right idea,’ laughed Keene. Just then the door opened, and Don McFee came in. “ Halloa, Don!" said George. you come from?” “The big city,’ answered the detective. “I'm riding the Pullman this trip.” “Well, I guess they won’t need you in the express car, with three men guarding the cash- box.” “ That's right, and I’m glad of it,’’ returned McFce. “I'm sick of hunting express thieves.”’ “No clues yet, Don ? ’’ grinned the agent. “‘ Not a shadow,"’ replied the detective, glumly. George, secretly well pleased at the officer's obvious depression, went inside the railing and sat down. ‘‘ Make yourselves comfortable,’” he said. One of the guards, a tall lean individual, who looked more like the vice-president of a bank than anything else, climbed upon the truck and, carefully adjusting a cushion on the cash-box, took his seat and said to the others, ‘‘ Now you two can go and get some lunch. I am on shift till four o'clock.”* “T'll go with you, boys,’ said McFee, “I know where there is a good place that's open all night. The train will whistle before it pulls out.” So it came about that the lean man and the agent were left alone with whatever treasure that box might contain. George, with his hands on his knees, stared reflectively at the blotter on his desk. Out of the tail of his eye he located the cash-box that contained scrap- iron standing in the corner. It was partly covered by an assortment of uncalled-for articles, and a trunk standing on end concealed it from casual observation. He shifted his hands as he leaned back to get a long breath, and his fingers momentarily rested where the lock bulked in his pocket. Starting slightly, he shifted his gaze to the man sitting on the box. Even as the agent glanced at him the guafd began to fumble through his pockets. Fate wirclessed to Keene that the lean man wanted to smoke ; and George at once set about emphasizing that want by loading aid lighting his own briar. Very soon his head was clouded in a haze of tobacco smoke that nearly drove the lean man wild. He inhaled deep draughts of it, but it did not have the satisfying effect he wanted. In the distance, through the door, left ajar by the others, he could see a “ Where have

Page 498

THE MAN sign on a window which read: Tobacco.” He looked at his watch, rubbing his thumb nervously over its face. He knew it wouldn’t take him two minutes to go to that cigar-store and get the wherewithal to satisfy the craving that was becoming more acute every second. The haze in the room deepened as the agent puffed away cruelly. With never a thought of Keene—only of his desire—the lean man slid from his perch, and the agent's tecth came together with a snap. Without a backward glance the guard started for the door. “Cigars and TWO MINUTES! As the lean man passed outside Keene nimbly cleared the railing, his pipe falling to the floor at his first movement. Taking the heavy box in his arms, he rushed to the corner. As he passed the open door he sensed, rather than saw, the lean man half-way across the strect. With uncanny speed and precision he changed the address tags in the clips, dragged the con- cealed cash-box out in the open, put the new one in its place, replaced the parcels that occupied the corner, and rushed the scrap-iron box back to the truck. Placing it in exactly the same spot as the other had occupied, he snapped the lock through the staple, replaced the cushion, dented it with his hands to show recent occu- pancy, and then, lithe as a panther, sprang over the railing to the desk and sat down, mopping his forehead. He was puffing contentedly at his pipe again as the lean man, a lighted cigar in his lips and a look of satisfaction on his face, appeared and reoccupied his position on the box. A whistle shricked, and the call “ All aboard ! "" was heard. The lean man slid from the truck, George rose to his feet, and the two guards, headed by McFee, came rushing across the street. The truck clattered out across the main line to the side-track. George made his changes With the messenger, the cash-box was carried into the car by its guards, and McFee ran back along the train toward the Pullman. The bell’s warning, as the train moved, was sweet music to the agent, whose heart was fluttering madly. As the tail-lights grew dim in the distance Keene pulled his truck back to the office and closed the door. He wanted to sit down—oh ! how he wanted to sit down! The chair at the desk looked very inviting, and the thought came that he would like to sit there for a month without moving. But he knew he couldn’t— his work was only half done; he was still in danger. The lighted room made the outside, as seen through the window, seem inky black, but he knew that Barney was somewhere out there in that darkness. He knew, too, that he had to get that money to his motor-truck, and that he must have a sack of iron to put in its place in the box, ready for the investigation that was WHO TURNED THIEF. 491 bound to come. And Barney—the representa- tive of the law—was outside, watching, watching for just such things as this. With these thoughts racing through his brain Keene secured the steel bar and switched off the lights. Then he made his way to the box and broke the lock. Instinct told him that he was overlooking some little detail as, with the sack of moncy in his arms —it was quite bulky— he made his way to the door and stepped out- side. A furtive glance in all directions, and he walked rapidly to the motor-truck, lifted the seat-cover, and crowded the sack down beside the battery-box. Hastily replacing the cover, he turned toward the round-house, the lights of which he could see in the distance. With his throat constricted almost to suffoca- tion-point, feeling himself to be the thief that he was, he skulked toward the building. As he grasped the sack of iron someone inside the round-house dropped a heavy piece of metal with a clatter, and Keene almost shrieked as he ran out into the concealing darkness. It was a man haggard of face, and with shoulders drooped as though with age, who stealthily opened the office door and made his stumbling way to the box in the corner. Putting the iron inside, he carefully closed the lid, and then walked to the switch and turned on the lights. Reflex action of the mind, in some of its phases, is a fearful thing, and a man forced by circumstances to carry out a programme that has suddenly become abhorrent, mostly through fear, is balanced on the fine line of demarcation between sanity and insanity. Such was the case with George Keene as he sat hunched up in his chair for the next hour. He passed through a very bad time, but eventually suc- ceeded in pulling himself together. After a while there came the sound of foot- steps crossing the platform, a face was pressed against the window for a second, and then the steps went round to the door and there was a rap for admission. George roused himself and brushed his hand across his eyes. Again came the tapping, and the agent, his normal self once more, rose and admitted Barney. As George stepped back for him to enter, the police- man said, “I seen ye through the windy, an’ I thought ye was aslecp. 1 saw ye had that truck out to go to the ranch, so I thought —-’’ “Yes, Iam going to the ranch, Barney, and I'm glad you woke me up.” As Keene tidied up his desk preparatory to leaving, Barney talked. ‘‘I run across Don and them two guards over at the restaurant, an’ we got to talking about that last stealin’,” he said. “ Yes ?”’ said the agent, as he put on his coat. “T tole him about that sack o’ iron en George was closing the door, and did not quite catch his drift. ‘I don’t get you,” he said. “What sack of iron?” By this time they were walking towards the

Page 499

492 truck. “ Why, you know,” explained Barney, “thet night ye asked me to go wid ye to the roun’ house é “Oh, yes! I get you,” bent to crank the motor. “Well, as I wuz sayin’,” persisted the police- man, while Keene spun the motor without results, “1 told him I went wid ye to the roun’. “Curse this engine! ’’ growled the agent, as he began to get red in the face from his exertions. “Whut’s the matter—won’t she start?” asked Barney, very interested. ‘No. Must bea wire loose,’’ answered George, as he produced his spot-light from his coat- pocket and raised the hood. Barney peered in under the hood with the agent for a moment and then began again: “ As 1 was sayin’, I told him thet 1 knew ye didn’t steal . But George brushed him aside, changed the switch key from the battery to the magneto, and then stepped to the crank. >" Blank the blankety blank thing!’ cried Keene. said George, as he A TRYING ORDEAL. His brain was beginning to bubble. He pulled off his coat and threw it on the seat. He knew that if the motor didn’t start soon he would have to go under that seat-cover and do some fixing, and that was something he very much desired not to do with Barney present. Presently he straightened up from his labours and stepped to Barney's side. Then, putting his hand quickly to his ear, he said: ‘* What was that, Barney? Didn't I hear somebody yell down the track ?"” Barney cocked his ear for a second. ‘ Nope ; J don’t think so,’ he said. ‘ I’ve been all over the yards to-night, and there ain’t a hobo no- wheres. I ain’t got a thing to do but tell ye what Don said. An’ I tole him you couldn't have stole thet-——” But the agent’s interest was elsewhere. “ Say, Barney,”’ he interrupted, ‘‘ you stand right here, where you won't be in the way, and tell me just what Don said while I fix that battery.” He backed the policeman several feet away from the truck; then he raised his seat-cover and crammed his coat down over the sack of money. es “Well, as I wuz sayin’,” began Barney, “7 tole him you couldn’t steal 3 “ Ouch !’’ yelled George, “I got a shock!” “Eh, ye did?” said Barney, coming up close and peering into the car. “Look out!’ yelled Keene, in desperation, as he shoved the Irishman back, “ don’t touch the infernal thing; it’s red hot.’’ Turning, he slammed the seat-cover in place and, changing the key back to the battery, he sprang to the crank. A second later the motor purred smoothly. Stepping upon the platform he said: “ Now, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Barney, you can tell me just what it was that you told Don I couldn't steal. I’m very much interested.” “Well,” replied Barney, “I tole him that I went to the roun’ house that night an’ you got the iron an’ I see you put it in the truck an’ drive away with it, an’ that wuz before the box was broke open by the holdups up there in the hills where the iron wuz found.’ “Oh! that was it, eh ? Well, Barney, I am sure glad you did, and here’s half a dollar. You go and get yourself the biggest cigar in town— and remember I’m your friend for life."’ “Ye gods!’' he thought, as he drove away, “ that was the closest call I’ve ever had! Never again! I’m absolutely all through with stealing. I wouldn't take another bunch of their infernal money if they handed it to me on a silver platter!” He fairly shook as he thought of the fearful chances he had taken that night. ‘“ Heavens! and what will they say when they open that box ? I'd give six bits to have a seat at that exhibition of consternation.” Thoroughly relieved, he laughed boisterously as he sped into the night. It was high noon next day when the alarm clock told George it was time to get up. He stretched himself lazily and closed his eyes in the hope that he might get back to sleep for another hour. There came the sound of some- thing approaching the house, however, and he heard a voice say: ‘‘ He must be'there; there’s his truck under the shed.’ Stepping to the win- dow, George saw two of his cowboy friends dismounting at the door. He was just pulling on his trousers as they came in. “ Halloa, boys !’' he called from the bedroom, “Tl be dressed in a minute.’ A moment later he greeted them—Dan Dale and “ Rufe’”’ Stanford. ‘‘ What's the good word ?’ he asked as he started to build a fire in the kitchen stove. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. Rufe Stanford, a tall, big-framed man, who carried a gun on his hip, answered him: ‘“ We came down here to tell you something,” he began, gravely. ‘‘ Yesterday we saw a deer acting kind of funny—as if he knew he was close to something strange. It was over here back of Monument Springs. We finally located what was worrying it by using our field-glasses. It was a man sitting behind some buck-brush, and he was inspecting us through a glass.’”” George stopped in the operation of setting the table and stared at his friend. “So?” said he. “Yep; but that ain’t all of it,” Rufe went on: “We rode out o’ sight along the ridge, and when we got to where we could see him again, he was coming this way. As he had no horse, and it's

Page 500

493 THIEF. ” he began, gravely.’ THE MAN WHO TURNED £ i i | | 3 yi 5 if

Page 501

494 quite a way up here from town, we thought we would see where he was goin.’ From the top of the hill back of the house here we saw him go through the house, down into the basement, and prowl generally round the place.” Dale was busy at the stove, preparing the meal. George stared at Rufe for a moment ; then he said: ‘ Went into the basement, did he? Maybe he was looking for something to eat.” He was trying to make himself believe that the stranger meant nothing to him. “No,” continued Stanford, ‘1 don’t think he was. He wasn’t in the house long enough to eat anything, and when he left the basement he went out into the cellar and poked around awhile, and the fool even ran his arm down into the air-hole in the roof.”” “The deuce he did!”’ said the agent, with what he hoped was a grin. “Grub-pile, boys! ’’ cried Dale, “ Let’s eat while we talk.” As the men ate Stanford went on with his story. ‘‘ We met him over at the back gate. He said he was camped at the Springs, and as it isn’t far we went along with him. He said he was a geologist, just prospecting around a little on his vacation. I asked him if he had found any geological specimens in the air-hole in the roof of the cellar, or in the basement. He said he hadn't, and tried to laugh it off. He's camped in a tent over there. We searched the place, and then I stuck him up and Dan went through him. Didn't find anything worth having but this piece of paper. It don’t look like much, but he seemed to kind of want to keep it, so I took it away from him just for Juck.” With that Rufe passed over a scrap of paper on which were several columns of figures totalled at the bottom. The amounts made a grand total of seventy-eight thousand. George stared at the paper in silence, his mind in a riot. He felt the marrow in his bones was freezing, but with an effort he smiled, and said calmly, “I don't see anything in it. 1 can’t imagine what it means.’ He passed it back to the cowman. “Nor we can't, cither,”” said the other, and carelessly tore it up and threw it on the floor. “ But,” he continued, ‘“ we left a very strong impression on that feller’s mind, before we got through with him, that this was a right good place for him to keep away from. Didn't we, Dan?” “You're right,’’ grinned the cow-puncher, “he'll fight shy of this place, I think in future.” As they were washing the dishes a horseman rode up to the door and dismounted, Dropping the reins over the animal's head, he came inside. “ Halloa, Crane! ’"’ exclaimed George. “Howdy, boys?" said the man. “ Looks like I am just in time, eh?” “Sure,” said George, “sit up; I'll get you a plate. What's new—anything ?” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, “Nope, not yet,” said the under-sheriff. “I'm just riding over to the West End. There's going to be some fun over there some of these days.” “You said it,” grinned Stanford, who was rolling a smoke. Charley smiled genially up into Rufe’s face. “‘ How're you and the SX coming on, Rufus?" he asked, banteringly. It was generally conceded that Stanford was the cleverest calf ‘‘ rustler’’ in four States. He was the one particular thorn in the side of the SX Cattle Company, whose cattle holdings were numbered in thousands on the hill. Every fall the company had him indicted by the grand. jury, boasting that they would break him by making him defend himself in the lawsuits they brought against him. The fact that he met the expenses of these contests from the contents of a long dog-skin wallet, with smiling indifference, only made the management the more deter- mined to fight it out to a finish. To the under-sheriff’s question Rufe answered : “Oh! so-so, I reckon. I think I'll be ready for ‘em by fall.” ““ Who'll win out, Rufe, you or the SX?” asked Dale, who was leaning back against the wall in a chair, smoking contentedly. “Oh! I reckon I will, if the SX beef holds out,”’ answered Stanford. Crane grinned at him. ‘ The sheriff says you are the best little ‘ rustler ’ this side of the Texas line,”’ he laughed. “Say, Charley,’”’ returned Rufe, ‘ speaking of sheriffs, 1 reckon we've got a job right here for you.” “What is it ?’’ said the under-sheriff. “Well, there’s a man been prowling around over George’s place up here.”” And he recounted the story as he had told it to Keene an hour before. S Crane drummed his fingers on the table. “What do you think of it ?’’ he asked, turning to Keene. : “T hardly like to say,’ said the agent, soberly, “but I’m under the impression that he is a detective.” “ Detective ?’’ Stanford whirled round, with a snarl in his voice. ‘“ What makes you think so?” Rufe didn’t like detectives; they had been the cause of his leaving the South “ between two’suns.” “Well, you see,’’ said the agent, somewhat confused, ‘‘ Don McFee has sort of suspected me concerning the first of the two robberies of the Express Company that have been pulled off lately. He sent a detective down from D—— to look me up.” Crane grinned. ‘I heard something about it from the Chief of Police,” he put in. “ And,”’ continued Keene, ‘as he suspected me enough to send one there, he may have sent another one up here. As this man is acting ina

Page 502

THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. suspicious manner, it is very probable that he is one.”” “Sure, he’s one, if that’s the case!’’ said Stanford, with conviction. “ But cripes, man!"’ cried Dale, earnestly, “you didn’t take that money; any fool ought to know that! What do you think about it, Crane?” “1 told Beverly that I would stake my life he didn’t,”’ answered the under-sheriff, simply. It was with very much mixed feelings about himself and these very evident friends of his that Keene said, ‘‘ Boys, we may be only borrow- ing trouble. But, as I told Charley only last night, I am in a very difficult position. If they don’t catch the men who have done this stealing very soon, they will just have to make an example of someone, and as I come up here two or three times a week, in the night, I could very easily be used in a ‘ frame-up.’ ”’ “ Surely they wouldn't do that! ”’ said Dale. “Why in Sam Hill wouldn't they ? ”’ shouted Stanford. ‘“‘ The SX frames mre up every fall, don't they ? Of course, they'll frame him up!” A wide grin overspread Dan's face. “ But you have a reputation, you know,”’ he laughed. After the laugh had subsided Dan asked: “What became of that detective down town? Is he there yet?” “‘No; he’s gone now,”’ said Crane, and grinned at George. “ But now, on the level, boys,” said Dale. “ Do you think there is anything in this frame- up idea? You tell us, Charley; you ought to know.” “Tam sorry, boys, but I don’t know a thing about what is going on in this case, except that Beverly has been more or less active lately. He knows how I feel about George being mixed up in it, and he doesn’t tell me any more than he has to. To be frank, he accused George here point-blank the other night of being the thicf.”” Stanford took a step forward and looked the agent earnestly in the face. ‘‘ And what did you do, George, when he said that ?”’ “ T punched him," answered Keene, soberly. “Yes, I'll tetl the world, he did,"’ said Crane, laughing. ‘‘ He mighty near broke his neck.” “ Bully !”’ said Rufe. “I'd have liked to have seen that. Gee! this is getting interesting!" FRIENDS INDEED. The comradeship of that smoke-laden room was very soothing to George's troubled soul ; the attitude of these men gave him a fecling of security that he had lost in the tangle of recent events. He had fallen considerably of late in his own estimation, and now, as it suddenly occurred to him that he was at that moment standing within a. dozen feet of possibly two hundred thousand dollars—stolen by himself and no one else—he suddenly realized that he was undeserving of a place in that circle. of 495 trustful friends. With some idea of ending the discussion, he said :— “ Well, boys, let’s forget it. Perhaps this idiot over at Monument is a geologist.” “Sure he is,’ broke in Dale, “ them guys always go prowling round cellars, poking their arms down into air-holes, and exploring other people's basements."” “You're exactly right, Dan,” interrupted Stanford. ‘‘ They do it the same way down in Oklahoma—only they ain't all geologists. Take it from me, somebody ought to be camped on this ranch all the time from now on. If they don’t, there is liable to be some money dug up on this place.”’ “Shucks, boys,"’ said George, “ suppose this man is a detective ; it’s only a part of the game. Everybody who had anything to do with the handling of that money is bound to be investi- gated. As far as a ‘frame-up’ is concerned, 1 don’t believe Don McFee would send a man to the pen (prison) on a ‘ frame-up.’ ”’ “J don’t know anything about this Don McFee,”’ broke in Stanford, “ but the SX tries its hardest to send me there every fall on a‘ frame- up.’ Ain't that so, Charley?” , “Tt is,’ answered the under-sheriff. Dan brought the front legs of his chair to the floor with a bang. “ Well, I'll tell you what I’m going to do,”’ he said, ‘I’m going to move on to this place this afternoon. I can ride from here as well as from my place, and if there is any money dug up here I'm going to know all about it.”’ “ Bully!’ said Rufe, “and I'm going to move in with you.” George stared from one to the other in acute agony. He tried to hide his confusion behind a cloud of smoke. ‘“ Boys,’ he said, rather unsteadily, “ don't take chances of getting into trouble on my account. Besides, there may be nothing in it.” “Well,” said Stanford, as he rose to his feet, “if there ain't no trouble, it won't hurt nobody ; and if there #s it won't be trouble—it will be fun. And if there’s fun, I propose to be in it, take it from me.”” With that the discussion broke up, and that afternoon, when a certain “ geologist ’’ saw a string of saddle-horses, followed by a loaded buck-board, drive up to Keene's ranch, he turned toward the town in the valley. “TIT wonder what's the meaning of that ?"’ he mut- tered. While George and his friends discussed certain phases of their future conduct there was being enacted in the D—— office of an establishment that dealt only in coin of the realm a scene that Agent Keene had rightly considered would be one of consternation. The box, with its escort, now reinforced by the shrewd-eyed Don Mclce, arrived apparently in good order at the Union Station. Thence

Page 503

496 it travelled in the wire cage of the Express Company's wagon through the crowded streets until, reaching its destination, it was trundled across the concrete sidewalk into the tiled office of the president of the International Banking Company, where it came to an impressive stop. ‘The box was met by the president of the company, Mr. B. A. Olney, Mr. R. W. Bain, the general manager, and Sam Bailey, manager of the D.- branch of the Rocky Mountain Express Company. After a general greeting all round, an impres- sive silence settled on the group as Mr. Bain knelt beside the box. He had in his hand a slender stecl wire with a short right-angle bend at one end. As he took the padlock in his fingers and inserted the bent end of the wire in the key- hole he glanced confidently up into the faces above him. “I'll bet no thief got this bunch of money !”’ he said. No one answered. him as he proceeded to extract the tinfoil that certainly shoujd have been there-—-but wasn't. When the wire struck only solid metal, where it should have encoun- tered something movable, a look of perplexity gradually overspread Bain's florid countenance. “ How's this?’ he said, “ there’s no tinfoil in this lock." Don McFee’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. Dropping the wire, Bain produced a key that he had received that morning by parcel post, and inserted it in the lock. He gave a twist to the left, but the lock refused to function ; then he twisted the other way, but nothing happened. He humped his back and twisted both ways viciously, but the lock held grimly to its purpose. Bain assumed an, upright position and took off his hat. His neck was red, his face was still tedder. He glared at the group. ‘ Get a bar, somebody,” he growled, and Bailey vanished. A man stepped forward—the guard who had worked on the day-shift in the process of making sure that the contents of the box should not be stolen. ‘ This is very strange, Mr. Bain,” he said, “I put the tinfoil in that Jock myself.” “Why isn’t it there now, then ?’’ snapped Bain. “ And what about this key ? It doesn't fit.” *The man felt the rebuff and resented it. He growled something and stepped back. Mr. Olney smiled pleasantly: “ There’s no doubt a slight mistake somewhere, gentlemen,” he said. ‘' The wrong key has been sent. There's no harm done; we can break the lock.”’ A STARTLING DISCOVERY. Just then Bailey returned with a sharp- pointed bar, inserted it where it would do the most good, and gave a tw The lock snapped and fell to the floor. Bailey was a forceful sort of man, with no belief in half measures. Grabbing the hasp, he jerked the lid over on to the floor THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, with a bang, and seven heads clustered above the contents of the box. To their stupefaction, instead of a nice clean canvas money-bag coming into view, a dirty, greasy-looking gunny-sack sprawled unlovely before their eyes! “What the !"' exclaimed Bailey, as he grasped it by the corners. An assortment of rusty iron rattled from it as he lifted it out! “What the devil is the meaning of this ?’’ exploded Bain as he glared around.” The lean man dropped on his knees. ‘‘ Heavens ! how could it have happened?" he almost screamed, and he pawed over the stuff, sobbing like a child. McFee looked as though he were suffering srom a mortal malady; his eyes contracted to mere pin-points. “Well, why don’t you say something?’ roared Bailey at the three guards. ‘‘ Where did you men leave this box alone, even for a short time?” Silence ensued as suspicious eyes were directed toward the guards, who seemed ‘literally struck dumb. One gulped several times, wetting his parched lips with his tongue, but he did not speak. pine The bank president was much astonished, but he was very calm; he had nothing to lose by this very evident defection of someone. It was with just a trace of complacency in his voice, therefore, that he said: ‘It looks to me, gentlemen, as though there was something rotten in the state of Denmark.’’ And he smiled, as though he thought he had said something clever. Bailey looked at him pityingly. ** Denmark be hanged !”' he growled. ‘ There's something rotten right here!” McFee turned to the guards. “ Did you leave this box alone anywhere ?’’ he asked quietly. “No, we didn't,’”’ said one. ‘ One of us, at least, was with it all the time.”” “ How about it ?’’ said the detective to the lean man, as that individual arose shaking to his feet. “No; we didn't—er—-that is——'’ The man’s evident confusion caused Bailey to snarl into his face : ‘‘ Are you sure of that ?”’ The poor fellow was frightened at the other’s furious glance, and could not collect his wits sufficiently to give a clear answer. “Let me see,’’ he stammered, “I think— yes; it was back there. I didn't leave it over two minutes.” 15 “ Oh, you didn’t, eh ? ”’ grated Bailey. ‘‘ Where was it you left it two minutes?” The man was bewildered. His hesitancy only fanned a suspicion that was fast taking shape in the bull-headed manager’s mind. “T can’t remember the place,’ stammered the guard, turning to McFee. ‘ But you know where it was—there where we had the wreck.” “Wreck ! What wreck?" roared Bai coming violently to life.

Page 504

497 TURNED THIEF. as he lifted it out.’ ° = = Zz < = = ae !’ exclaimed Bailey. An ‘assortment, of rusty iron rattled from the sack “* What the

Page 505

493 “A journal burned off at M Junction,” answered McFee, “and we were delayed a half or three quarters of an hour.” “How did it come about that it was left alone even for two minutes ? '’ demanded Bain, and eyed Don steadily. McFee met the look evenly. he answered, pointing to the lean man, “ was on guard; the others and myself went across the strect to get something to eat.” “Where was the box during this time—in the express car ?”” “No; it was the express car that was disabled. We took the box to the express office in the station while the train was being made up with a new express car.” Bailey broke in here. ‘‘ Who was in charge of the office at that time? ’’ he asked. “ George Keene,’’ answered McFee, quictly. Bailey darted a keen glance at the lean man. Then, turning to Don, he said: ‘ Keene is the man you sus——" He stopped abruptly as McFee nodded and put his finger to his lips. Lightning glances darted about among the group; the atmosphere was rapidly becoming surcharged. Bailey revolved the situation over in his mind for a minute: ‘‘ Why was it,” he said at last, turning to the lean man, “ that you left the express office for two minutes ? "” The lean man felt relieved ; he could answer that question at least without stuttering. “I was out of cigars,’’ he said, “ and I just ran across the street to get some.” “Was the agent in the room all the time you were there with the box ? ”” “ Yes, all the time.” Bailey stared at the guard for a moment and then motioned to Bain and McFee to come with him. They moved to one side of the room, out of ear-shot of the others. Mr. Olney seated himself at his desk, while the lean man sat down on the corner of the fateful box, twisting his fingers in miserable apprehension. “ What do you think of it ?”’ asked Bailey. “Could Keene and this man have come to an agreement and got away with that money during the short time they were alone in that office?’ Ever since McFee had voiced his suspicions of the junction agent, Bailey had taken it for granted that Keene was the guilty man, and now he was merely trying to deter- mine if there was a chance that the two had suddenly struck up a nefarious partnership and made away with the moncy together. “TY don’t know anything about this man,” answered the detective emphatically, ‘ but Keene could do anything, given half a chance.” “ But see here,’’ said Bain, “ how could he have robbed that box and put the iron in it, all in two minutes ? And again, there is the lock. He would have had to have another one all Teady on hand.” “ That's easy enough, “ This fellow,” replied Bailey. “If THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. he is guilty of the other robberies, as Don thinks, he would have had a lock ready for the purpose.” “* But we don’t know for sure that he is guilty of the others,’’ argued the much-worried Bain. “No, we don’t know it for certain, but I feel sure that he is,"’ the detective told him. “ But even if he is,”’ said Bain, irritably, “’ how could he have been primed for this job? He didn’t wreck that car, did he?” | “No, I don't suppose that he did—but he would have, if he had had a chance," said McFee with conviction. “‘ But listen to me: When those men held up the guards the other morning, down there at the junction, the box they broke up in the hills was brought to town and placed in a corner of the office, and the iron was still in it. That agent has got enough nerve to have changed the boxes in any odd two minutes that he might have been left alone with them. When I go back down there to-morrow there will be a box in the corner, and it will have a sack of iron in it, and that darned agent will be sitting in his chair and his face will be distorted with his infernal smile.”’ Bailey grinned. ‘ He’s kind of getting your goat, isn’t he?” “No, he isn’t; but he makes me mad—he’s so infernally impertinent.” “ How about this man ?”’ said Bailey, jerking his head towards the lean man. “ He looks as though he was scared half to death.” “T don’t know anything about him unless he is an accomplice of Keene's,’’ returned McFee ; “put I don’t think he is. Keene, in my opinion, is too sharp to work in partnership with anybody.” “ Still,” broke in the general manager, “ we must not overlook anything. There were seventy- odd thousand dollars in that box. What do you think, Bailey ?”’ “I think we had better arrest this man,’”’ answered Bailey, in a low voice. ‘ If we have to, we can ‘put the screws’ on him, and if he knows anything he will tell us. He looks pretty well shaken already.” McFEE OUTLINES A PLAN. “TI don't like that idea, Sam,” said McFee. “ll tell you what we'd better do. We will explain to these men that we want to keep this affair dark in the hope of trapping Keene. They all live in the same neighbourhood; we will send them home and put McCoy on to shadow the whole bunch. Incidentally, McCoy will become acquainted with all of them, but they won't know he is an operative. If there is another shipment from that place we will have McCoy and this man to go with it.” “ Sure!’ cried Bailey, “I get you! And we will take care there shall be a shipment, and McCoy can throw out a feeler about getting away with it.” * That's the idea exactly,”’ said the detective.

Page 506

THE “That will avoid the publicity of an arraign- ment, and at the same time we have the man just as surely as though he was behind the bars. He can't run away if he is an accomplice of Keene's, and if he isn’t he won't want to. But Mr. Bain will have to cover this last loss to the banking company, so that we may be sure the robbery does not become public.” “One thing more,” said Bailey, “ have you heard anything from Ryan lately?" “No; not since I sent him up to Keene's ranch. But I'll meet him as soon as I get back to the Junction. He may know something.” The low-toned conference broke up, and McFee walked over to the three guards, who eyed him anxiously. The lean man glanced up over his shoulder in apprehension ; he sighed with relief when McFee smiled reassuringly. In quiet tones the detective explained the necessity of saying nothing about the missing money, and assured them that they were not in any way suspected of having anything to do with its disappearance. He finished by saving :— “Come to the office this afternoon, get your transportation, and take the train for home this evening.” Thereupon McFee and the three men left the office, and Bain and Bailey went into conference with the complacent Mr. Olney. The talk lasted upwards of an hour, during which time Mr. Bain, still very much worried, made satisfactory arrangements for covering the loss to the bank- ing company. McFee was aroused from frowning meditation, in which George Keene and his smile figured prominently, by the entrance of Bain and Bailey into his private den in the Express Company's office. “Well, Don, what do you think of it by this time ?"’ asked Bain. His face was haggard, and his eyes looked tired as he drummed nervously on the arms of his chair. “There is a lot to think about,’’ replied the detective. ‘‘I have looked at every aspect of this series of robberies, and as far as I have been able to trace them they all stop abruptly at the office at the Junction. I will take the train for that place to-night, and will meet Ryan and Abe Livermore there. Livermore, you know, is the man I sent out through Moab to sce if he could learn anything about those men who held up the guards at the Junction on the morn- ing of the second of this month. If Abe hasn't MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 499 learned anything, then I shall be convinced that Keene is the guilty man ; everything points to him. He had the only chance there was to do this thing. Ill admit that this last chance was a very slim one, but if that guard was gone two minutes -and it may have been more — Keene's sporting blood wouldn't have allowed him to lose the opportunity, You have heard of men becoming suddenly lucky in mining, when everything they touch seems to turn to gold. It's the same way in stealing : some men make big hauls and are never caught. Here we are with three big losses within a few days. Everything points to Keene. He laid his plans possibly months ahead ; he was shrewd enough to see that all our cash-boxes were made on the same plan. They look enough alike to be cast in the same mould; our locks are all of a pattern. And that night, with two minutes at his disposal—ye gods! he couldn't let it go! And right there he ‘completed the, chain of evidence against him. If this last box had not been robbed, and we had learnt that it had been left alone with him for a short time, I should be willing to grant that it was possible he didn't rob the others. But now he has over-reached himself, and we'll get him!” “But how will you do anxiously. “ By heavens! we will frame him up, if we have to,’’ answered the detective grimly. “That's the talk!’ said Bailey, with decision ; “we have just got to do something.” There was a tap at the door. ‘ Come in!" said McFee, and McCoy opened the door and stepped inside. “ The girl called me up and said you wanted to see me "’ he said, as he took a seat. McFee nodded, and then proceeded to explain the situation in regard to the last robbery. “ There will be three men here soon,’’ he wound up, “ they were the guards with this last ship- ment. It will be your business to travel on the train with them and become acquainted. Make your own excuses for going to the town where they live. Don't let them know your business, but make it seem perfectly natural for this company to hire you as a guard if we conclude to make a shipment from that place. Get me?" “ Absolutely,” said McCoy, confidently. He stared for a moment and then added: “ The lean individual is to be my speciality ? "” “Yes, love him like a brother,’’ said McFee, a trifle sourly. it?” asked Bain Don’t miss next month’s thrilling instalment.

Page 507

finn The Canadian Importer as she appeared shortly after being found by the Observer. The photograph was taken after the ship’s terrible list had been reduced. THE SHIP THAT DISAPPEARED THE PERILOUS ADVENTURE OF THE “CANADIAN IMPORTER.” ILLUSTRATED BY £:farwood Steele wemermen ausconvannennevanamneagnettnnsesseccssesctcessveusnntanesssenseveassvatvenaseessayessecceuegeanecesnsatsaveusatecseunssnonsuicets cee Liv ceeareaeasaneyeuepenMesMuneantsavenoasessortat One of the most remarkable experiences in the history of the Pacific befell the Canadian Government Merchant Marine steamer Canadian Importer in August last year. The shi; became totally disabled while on a voyage to Australia, drifting helplessly, practically awash, for nearly a month. Then, when rescue ships went in quest of her, she mysteriously dis- appeared. The protracted ocean search which followed attracted the attention of the whole continent, and the. ultimate finding of the vanished vessel caused widespread rejoicing. HE Canadian Importer was helpless. fiercest gales. While the list remains slight, With decks awash, a list of forty-one degrees to starboard— forty-five degrees is the dead-line of safety—all pumps out of action, twenty- six feet of water in the engine-room and No. 2 hold, and her wireless incapable of summoning assistance, the eight-thousand- ton freighter, numbered among the finest ships of the Canadian Government Merchant Marine, was drifting like a log in the Pacific. Captain Carl R. Bissett and the thirty- four members of his crew, when they cast off at Vancouver on August 5th, 1921, headed for Australia, had no premonition of the desperate predicament in which they now found themselves. True, the Canadian Importer, even then, had a list of seven degrees to starboard, but in this the:e was no cause for alarm. Deep-sca freighters often develop such lists soon after leaving port and yet remain quite capable of weathering the the ship is safe. In most cases, as the cargo settles down, she gradually rights herself and returns to an even keel. The Canadian Importer, it was thought, would soon adjust herself in this manner, run smoothly down the American Pacific coast, and in due course arrive safely at her destination, there to discharge her cargo—a valuable consignment of two and a half million feet of lumber, nine hundred tons of paper, nine car loads of pianos, and some smaller shipments of general freight. But Captain Bissett and his crew, for once, were wrong. The ship did mot adjust herself, for, after coming temporarily to an even keel, she not only returned to but actually increased her former list, and was soon at an angle of thirty degrees. Thereafter stark disaster fell suddenly on the Canadian Importer from a clear sky. A vast flood of water entered the ship, either through the

Page 508

THE starting of rivets in the engine-room or No. 2 hold—it afterwards transpired that the labouring of the vessel had sprung the plates in the hold—or through the opening of a sea-cock ; noone knew which. The water rose so rapidly that there was time neither to stop the leak nor to call by wireless for assistance. The pumps proved useless, the fires were drowned, and all electrical power was extinguished. The engineers and stokers were driven to the open deck. The ship’s list increased to forty-one degrees, and in a short time the Canadian Importer became a mere waterlogged hulk, utterly at the mercy of wind and wave. This was Friday, August 19th. The position of the ship was now terrible. The strain on the bulkheads was enormous, and it was doubtful if they could hold out. If they gave way, all hands knew, the vessel would go down instantly, perhaps turning turtle as she went, and they would be drowned without even the opportunity of making a fight for life. The ship, in fact, would almost certainly have sunk before now had it not been for her cargo of lumber. The suspense of waiting and listening for the apparently inevitable collapse of the bulkheads was a strain upon the stoutest nerves, and the vesscl’s complete helpless- ness added the last touch of misery to the crew’s predicament. To be unable to do a hand’s turn to put matters to rights was bad enough; to be unable to drive the vessel one foot nearer the safety of the far-off shore was worse. To be unable to send out the feeblest call for help was, to men accustomed to wireless, worst of all. But neither captain nor crew gave way to anything remotely resembling despair. Though hundreds of miles from land, they were in the track of ships; and they knew something of the staunch seaworthiness of the Canadian Importer. So they waited, like men bound and gagged and left in the path of an_ indefinitely delayed but inevitable express train. Mean- while the crippled ship drifted slowly south- ward, alone in a waste of waters. Captain Bissett considered the situation carefully. No help was in sight. The water was rising in the engine-room and hold at the rate of two feet in twenty-four hours. Many a man, in his dilemma, would have abandoned ship then and there. But he felt there was still a chance to save her, and while such a chance existed, it was his duty to remain. Meanwhile, was there anything he could do to summon aid ? THE WHALEBOAT LEAVES. Second Officer passed along the steeply- During the afternoon, Alfred Laird SHIP TIIAT DISAPPEARED. 501 sloping deck, calling for volunteers to man the whaleboat. Captain Bissett had decided to dispatch this boat for help. Nine men quickly responded. At 4 p.m., with Second Otticer Laird in command, Third Officer J. W. Watt accompanying him, the whale- boat pushed oft. The little craft on which depended the Canadian Importer’s hope of succour was thirty-seven feet long, with an eight-foot beam. She was equipped with a lug-sail and oars, and the officers, of course, took navi- gating instruments with them. A course was shaped for San Francisco, six hundred and eighty-four miles away. The weather was at that time fine and calm, with a fair wind, and it was estimated that, if these conditions continued, the boat would reach the Californian port in fourteen days. The plan was to ask assistance from the first vessel encountered. If no ships were sighted, the boat was to hold its course and send aid to the waterlogged freighter on arriving at San Francisco. A fuller realization of the desperate gamble wherein they were about to partici- pate, a deeper conception of the magnitude of the journey before them, and of their own weakness, came on the men in the boat as the Canadian Inrportery fell behind them and thev set sail. And those left aboard the ship, watching the boat, a mere speck in the immensity of sea, until the distance swallowed it, saw, more clearly if possible than ever, how very slender was their chance of rescue and how greatly they depended on the fickleness of fortune. The boat gone, they could do nothing but wait. Their fate was in the hands of a higher power. Some there were—the optimists among the crew—who thought their troubles would not last much longer. The whaleboat, they told themselves, was sure to sight a vessel soon and might be reasonably expected to return in triumph at any moment, bringing assistance with it. Or a ship, they were confident, was certain to cross the line on which the freighter was drifting, in a day or two at most. But the optimistic element did not prevail. Day after day dragged on, the whaleboat did not come back, and no ship was sighted. Meanwhile the water in the flooded compartments of the Canadian Importer rose steadily, washing and gurgling to and fro with a threatening, ominous sound, and the wind and the ocean currents pushed her slowly and remorsclessly onward) farther and farther into the wastes of the vast Pacific. Nevertheless, Captain Bissett held on, determined to stick to the ship to the last.

Page 509

502 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE “CORDOVA” ARRIVES. In the early morning of Thursday, August 25th, the American steamship Cordova, homeward bound from Honolulu to Portland, Oregon, arrived at a spot some five hundred miles due west of Eureka, California. On arrival at this point, the men aboard sighted a dark mass which at first they could not identify, but which, to their astonishment, they soon made out to be a large freighter, heeling over at a perilous angle and quite obviously unman- ageable. The commander of the Cordova, Captain Westerlund, was quick to establish communication with the helpless vessel. Soon afterwards a boat left the stranger's side and brought to under the Cordova's rail. Out of this boat stepped a bronzed, keen-faced officer—Captain Bissett, of the Canadian Importer. To the wondering Captain Westerlund he explained the accident that had_ befallen his ship. He told of the dispatch of the small boat, which—as the Cordova thereupon informed him—had not since been heard of, and finally he added that his ship had been drifting for nearly a week in her present condition. But now her trials were over; the Cordova would tow her into port. So, at least, it seemed to all but Captain Bissett, and for a time even he almost resolved to accept the Cordova’s assistance and thus put an end to the adventures of the Canadian Importer. It was the logical thing to. do. CAPTAIN BISSETT’S DECISION. To Captain Bissett, however, one big obstacle stood in the way of his natural inclination—the amount of money which would have to be paid to the Cordova by his owners, the Canadian Government Merchant Marine, in consideration of her services in salvaging the vessel. He felt that the Canadian Importer was still capable of remaining afloat almost indefinitely. The C.G.M.M. had ships of their own which could be employed in the work of rescue, without costing them a cent in the way of fees. The Cordova could, and would gladly, send a wireless message to Captain Bissett’s owners. The latter, responding to the summons, could have their own ships on the spot within forty-eight hours. It was tempting Providence, perhaps, to take any further chances ; the bulkheads might burst before the Government vessels could arrive, or a storm might suddenly come up and overwhelm the steamer with all hands. Nevertheless, Captain Bissett was deter- Mined to save his owners’ money if it was at all possible to do so. A man who had faced such hazards without flinching could face them again. And so he declined: the tow. With this decision began the second phase of tho perilous experience of the Canadian Importer. Captain Bissett spent only a few minutes in consultation with Captain Westerlund of the Cordova, During the conference, he arranged for Captain Westerlund to send out calls for help and to inform the Canadian Government Merchant Marine offices in Vancouver, British Columbia, of the Impor- ter's plight. In these messages, he notified all con- cemed that the present position of Captain Bissett’s ship was “ Lat. 39.49 N., long. 136.25 W.” Then Captain Bissett, confident that only a short time would elapse before the rescne- ships picked him up, returned to the Cana- dian Importer ; and, after standing by for two hours, the Cordova resumed her voyage. The crippled vessel was once more alone. Thenceforward she was lost to view. Ship and crew vanished as completely as if. the spirits of wind and water had carried them away. The Cordova’s wireless call was the first intimation received by the C.G.M.M. authori- ties in Vancouver, the people of that city and the country generally, and the ships in the Pacific, of the disaster that had befallen the Canadian Importer. Its receipt was the signal for instant action, and from that time onwards all eyes were centred on the lonely tract of sea which held the mystery of the disabled freighter. . First to respond to the Cordova’s message was the s.s. Manukai, of the Matson Line, outward bound from San Francisco. The Manukai reached the spot at which the Cordova had parted company with the Canadian Importey on Friday afternoon, but there was no sign of the crippled steamer to be seen. Only twenty-four hours had elapsed since Captain Westerlund had left her. Yet, ina two-hour cruise of the vicinity, the Manukas was unable to discover a trace of her. Not even a boat was sighted. All the evidence pointed to her total loss with all hands. Convinced that she was gone for ever, the Manukai went on her way. THE “WINNER” TO THE RESCUE. Meanwhile, a rescuer of stouter calibre was fast speeding to the scene. The Canadian Winner, a sister of the unfortunate ship, with Captain Walter Wingate in com- mand, homeward bound from Australia with

Page 510

THE SHIP THAT DISAPPEARED. 503 a light cargo of wool, had picked up the Cordova's message on Thursday afternoon, when nearing Cape Flattery, on the north- west coast of the State of Washington. She was then on the point of concluding what would have been a record run for the ships of the C.G.M.M. plying between Vancouver City and the Antipodes. But neither the natural desire to es- tablish that record nor his anxiety to get into port for one moment affected Captain Wingate. Without even wait- ing for orders from the authorities in Vancouver, he wire- lessed them of his intentions and then raced south - west- ward to pick up the Canadian Importer. With Captain Win- gate’s entry into the arena, the fight to save the helpless freighter really began. Shortly after nine o’clock on the morn- ing of Saturday, August 27th, the Canadian Winner reached the all- important point whereat the Cordova had left the Canadian Importer and which the Manukai had searched the after- noon before. Like the Manukai, she found no trace whatever. It was not to be merely a matter of towing the disabled ship to port, then; first of all her whereabouts must be located, if she was still afloat. The infinitely difficult task of finding that drifting speck in the vast spaces of the Pacific was before Captain Wingate—and not simply of finding her ; but of finding her before it was too late. It was to be a race against time, against the combined forces of strong currents, heavy weather, mists, and rain, with the fate of a fine ship and the lives of her crew “dependent on the issue. Captain Wingate commenced it. THE SEARCH BEGINS. All through Saturday the Winner quar- tered the seas, systematically searching for the Canadian Importer. But the hours passed without result. The sea was growing Some of the cables employed in towing the Canadian Importer. rougher, and, as evening approached, the weather became thick, with heavy, drenching rain. By 10 a.m. on Sunday morning the wind, shifting to the south-east, became a gale. It seemed as if the sea, fearful of being cheated of its prey, was deliberately doing its utmost to handicap the Canadian Winner, Still, however, the rescue-ship shouldered her lonely way through the waters, continuing her apparently hope- less quest. Throughout the daylight hours no further assistance arrived. This was not because of the neglect of those directing the opera- tions from _— shore. The Pacific Salvage Company’s steamer Algerine, Captain W. H. Logan, with pumps and towing outfit, had already been dispatched from Esquimault, in Van- couver Island, where the Government re- pair plant and dry- docks are situated. The Canadian Ob- server, Captain A.O, Cooper, which "had been hastily fitted out with special salvage apparatus, was also approaching from San Francisco, and the United States cutter, Snohomish, Captain Waesche, which for years past had assisted in every notable wreck-search along the Pacific coast, was at the same time combing the sea just outside the fifty-mile-wide ‘‘ lane ’’ commonly em- ployed by coasting vessels. Captain Cooper of the Canadian Observer had a more-than casual interest in the impending search, for he had _ formerly commanded the Canadian Importer. Late on Sunday afternoon the weather cleared, and hope of finding the vanished freighter was revived when the reinforcing ships came together round the Canadian Winner. A plan for the morrow’s hunt was arranged that evening, and at 8 p.m. Captain Wingate was able to wireless Vancouver to that eftect, adding the cheerful sentences: ‘‘No wreckage sighted. Pre- sume ‘ Importer’ is still afloat.” To many seafaring men ashore, however, the message, conveying, as it did, the

Page 511

504 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. implication that none of the four vesscls had as yet encountered the missing ship, sounded the Canadian Importer’'s death- knell. Here was a quartette of searchers which, in converging on a rendezvous pre- viously arranged, had crossed over the scene of action from four distinct directions, and yet had seen nothing of the disabled steamer ! This, they thought, was surely proof enough that she had foundered. On Monday morning the combined hunt started. The weather had changed again for the worse, the sky was overcast, dismal rain was falling, a strong gale was blowing, the sea was rough, and nothing but a real storm, which at times seemed on the point of materializing, was required to render the loss of the Canadian Importer certain. But the rescuers left nothing undone. In line abreast, several miles apart, they steamed - slowly eastward. THE FIRST CLUE. A sinister light now penetrated the pre- vailing darkness. Masses of floating lumber were sighted—the first sign of the Canadian Importer seen by mortal eyes since the Cordova had left her five days before. This lumber was part of the deck-load of the unfortunate vessel. Of boats or wreckage, however, no trace was discovered. Captain Wingate, of the Canadian Winner, stoutly clung to the quite reasonable theory that the lumber had been jettisoned by the crew in an attempt to lighten the ship, which he thought was still afloat. Captain Waesche, of the Snohomish, was not so optimistic, and during the day he notified the authori- ties ashore of his opinion as follows :— ““ Am confident ‘ Canadian Importer’ has foundered. Lots of lumber has been sighted. * Snohomish,’ ‘ Canadian Winner,’ ‘ Canadian Observer,’ and ‘ Algerine’ now searching for crew.” Late that day Captain Cooper, of the Canadian Observer, added his report, which was to the effect that nothing had been seen of the ship or crew. ‘The sea was still rough, with a northerly wind. He concluded his message with the indomitable words: “Will continue search as long as possible.” Thus the third day of the hunt came to a close. Meanwhile, those ashore were watching, _ with tense interest and spirits that hovered restlessly between hope and despair, the persevering operations of the four search- vessels. Men of all classes greeted each other day and night with the anxious query: “Have they found the Importer yet?” and dwelt pityingly on the plight of the helpless men aboard the vessel or in the vanished whaleboat. Some condemned Captain Bissett for what they considered his foolhardy refusal of the Cordova’s tow; all admired his courage ; and, while fearing the worst, still hoped for the best. The city of Vancouver, whence hailed the missing ship and most of the men aboard her, had a special concern in her fate, which was not confined simply to the relatives. The newspapers printed every shred of informa- tion they could obtain. The extraordinary mystery surrounding the second disappear- ance of the freighter and the gallant attempt of the crew of the whaleboat had by this time attracted the attention of the Press and people of the whole continent. HOPE ABANDONED. Tuesday brought a wireless from the Canadian Winner which sent a wave of grief through all these watchers :— ‘“‘ Geneval opinion ‘ Importer’ foundered.” The four experienced captains had at last been reluctantly compelled to give up hope. Nevertheless, the search was still con- tinued. The Canadian Winner, Snohomish, and Algerine, repeating the tactics of the previous day, steamed eastward from day- light onwards, ten miles apart. Captain Cooper, in the Canadian Observer, by general consent, parted company with them and began a lone hunt to the south and west. The Snohomish, by this time, was running short of coal, and she was forced to return to San Francisco before dark, there to replenish her depleted bunkers. Meanwhile the Algerine put fresh provisions aboard the Canadian Winner, which had begun the search with a stock much reduced by her long voyage from Australia. With this situation, night came down on the fourth day of the long vigil. Throughout the whole of Wednesday, August 31st, the people ashore waited desperately, praying that, at the eleventh hour, something might yet be seen of the crew of the missing freighter. But when the Algerine wirelessed a report to Vancouver, this was all she had to say :— “ Held conference with captain of ‘ Winner’ and decided to return to position of wreck and make further search with ‘ Winner.’ Anticipate completing search on Saturday and will then return to Victoria.” That was in the early evening. The day's programme, duplicating that of the previous day, had brought forth nothing. If the men of the Canadian Importer were ever to be rescued, everything now depended on the happenings of the next seventy-two hours, ABOARD THE “IMPORTER.” And the men of the Canadian Importer— where were they all this time? Had the

Page 512

THE SHIP THAT DISAPPEARED. © 505 ship gone down, taking all hands with her, as the searchers feared ? Or, if there were any survivors, were they still afloat ? The Canadian Importer, at that moment, marvellously enough, was steadily holding her drifting course in a generally southern direction. All hands were still with her and she had not yet lost one member of her crew. The Chief Engineer, Mr. F. C. Brown, had been badly burned when attempting to repair the refrigerating plant, but his life was not in danger. Otherwise, there had not been a single casualty. Since the Cordova parted company, a weck before, the ship, miraculously surviving the buttet- ing of the gales, had drifted one hundred miles and was now nine hundred and seventy miles from Esquimault. The crew, in enduring that agony of suspense, had lived a Irfetime. Captain Bissett, soon after the Cordova left him, had rid the ship of a great quantity of the lumber on her decks. This was the timber which the searchers had sighted. The task had kept the minds of the crew, for a time, at least, from dwelling on the horror of their position. A beacon was also built on the steel ‘‘ fidd- ley ’ top and kept alive by wood sawn from the deck-load. By this means alone was the helpless freighter able to indicate her location, and in feeding the fire, the crew devoted themselves to the only action tending towards the salvation of the vessel which was in their power to undertake. Captain Bissett, of course, could have ordered the ship to be abandoned at any time and gambled on reaching safety in the boats. But he was resolved as determinedly as ever to stick to her to the end. The ship could not be saved if they deserted her, and he meant to save her. The fact that he had full knowledge of the search in progress justified him in this reso- lution. The wireless instrument, though incapable of sending messages, was able to receive them. The wireless operator, G. C. Foote, constantly overheard the com- munications passing between the search- vessels. His duties were, to him, a long- drawn-out torture. He picked up messages which told him that the ships were on the point of finding the drifting freighter, yet could bring them no nearer. He discovered them in the act of leaving the vicinity, yet could not call them back. To be at death’s door and yet unable to call for the assist- ance which awaited her so near at hand— such was the agonizing position of the Canadian Importer. The ship was still at an angle of over forty degrees. At night the water gurgled in the flooded engine-room as though she might sink at any moment, the beacon flung its red and awful glare fruitlessly over the sea, Vol, xlix.—35. and the wireless of the searchers whispered its mocking messages. FOUND ! So Wednesday evening came. eight o’clock, suddenly—the end ! The wireless operator, greatly excited, Then, at hurried up to the bridge with the message :— “Have seen your flare. Wail a few minutes.” It was a communication from the Canadian Observer, twenty miles away ! Captain Cooper had found his old ship. At 10.30 p.m. he was alongside, ready to draw the Canadian Importer and her crew back from the very edge of destruction. A wireless message for a powerful tug was then dispatched, and the Algerine and Canadian Winner summoned. * The lost ship was found, but she had still to be towed over nine hundred miles before she could reach Esquimault. Of the whaleboat nothing had as yet been seen, and the estimated period of fourteen days for her voyage to the coast was almost up. At daybreak on Thursday, September 1st," the Canadian Observer took her consort in tow and the last stage of this remarkable affair began. THE LAST STAGE. Thenceforward, until September 3rd, these three vessels, the Canadian Observer, Cana- dian Winner, and Algerine, worked tirelessly and doggedly to save the Canadian Importer. The Algerine put pumps aboard in an effort to control the leak. None of the trio had proper towing facilities, and all their lines were too short for towing in the heavy seas. As a last resort, all the steel cables and anchor chains available were joined together, making a tow-line half a mile long. The weight of this immense chain was tremendous. Once it broke, and two days went by before the break could be mended. Despite these difficulties, the rescue- ships succeeded in towing the Canadian Importer at a speed of from three to five knots. On September 13th, if all went well, the disabled ship would be safely in port. So the captains estimated. Ashore, there was great rejoicing, marred only by the disappearance of the lifeboat. On the afternoon of Friday, September and, the owners of the Red Stack tug Sea Lion, learning that tugs were required for the work of salvaging the Canadian Importer, sent their vessel out from San Francisco with orders to proceed to the scene. At the same time, they wirelessed the Canadian

Page 513

506 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The wireless operator, greatly excited, hurried up to the bridge with the message.”

Page 514

THE Government Merchant Marine in Vancouver, tendering their services. The tender was immediately accepted and the Sea Lion was ordered to push on. THE WHALEBOAT PICKED UP. At one o’clock the following morning, when a hundred and five miles from San Francisco, Captain Gove, of the Sea Lion, sighted a flare at some distance. Altering course, he picked up the missing lifeboat. its crew none the worse for their long voyage. They had covered nine hundred and fifty miles in their attempt to reach the coast and had been afloat fifteen days. Nothing to equal this record has occurred on the Pacific coast for over half a century. Within twenty-four hours, had the wind continued favourable, the boat would have reached San Francisco. Second Officer Laird, in anticipation of their arrival, had already prepared the Canadian ‘‘ red duster ”’ and Vancouver pennant for hoisting, and most of the men regretted that Fate had decided against their reaching land unaided. Their duty, however, was with their ship, and they willingly assisted in getting the whaleboat out of the water to the deck of the Sea Lion, which at once resumed _ her voyage. While the tug steamed on, the crew of the lifeboat told their rescuers of their wonderful experience. They had only sighted one ship throughout their voyage. Two nights after leaving the Canadian Importer, a_ vessel had been seen on the horizon. They burned flares and torches, but she passed on, Heavy gales came on some days later, but, though they were driven far out of their course, skilful seamanship pulled them through. Mr. Laird doled out the rations carefully, they had suffered no severe shortage, and good spirits and harmony had at all times prevailed. When the news of the rescue of the life- boat crew was received ashore, it was looked upon as almost incredible. That both ship and boat had survived their terrible ordeal seemed almost too good to be true. THE LONG TOW. With the arrival of the Sea Lion, the task of towing the waterlogged vessel SHIP THAT DISAPPEARED. 507 became easier, but it was still very formid- able: and her fate still trembled in the balance. On Monday, September 5th, the day after the tug’s appearance, the last of the deckload was jettisoned. This put the Canadian Importer back on a compara- tively even keel once more. She was even then awash, however, and little more than four knots could be made. Further aid being considered necessary—it was essential to dock the freighter as speedily as possible, lest the approaching equinoctial gales should swoop down and overwhelm her—the tug Sea Monarch was dispatched from San Francisco on the following day. The Canadian Winner and Canadian Observer were still standing by, but the Algerine had retired to Eureka, to replenish her provisions. On the 7th, the Sea Monarch put a line aboard and better progress was _ made. The Canadian Winner, leaving the convoy, preceded it into Vancouver. Thus, at the rate of a hundred miles a day, the rescue-ships battled their way towards Esquimault. A ROYAL HOMECOMING. Soon after daybreak on September 13th, the Canadian Importer was sighted by the watchers at Esquimault, the A/gerine lashed alongside, the tugs busy ahead, and the gallant Canadian Observer, to which the disabled vessel owed so much, close by. A great fleet of boats, with an aeroplane hovering above, put out to meet the convoy. A tumult of cheering and whistling greeted the vessels as they steamed slowly into the Royal Roads and docked at Ogden Point. It was a Royal homecoming. The long tow, it was later discovered, was almost a world’s record. It was also ascertained that it was proportionately one of the cheapest ever carried out on the Pacific coast. Captain Bissett was gloriously justified. He had saved his ship; he had saved his men ; he had saved his owners an enormous expense. After drifting for thirteen days, being disabled twenty-seven days, and facing such perils as few modern navi- gators are called upon to endure, he had achieved his purpose. He had dared a des- perate gamble ; brave ! but Fortune favours the

Page 515

Short Stories THE “ HUMAN LEOPARDS.” By BARON DE BELABRE. ILLUSTRATED BY W. H. HOLLOWAY. say that what the “ Ku-Nlux-Klan" is to America the society of the * Human Leopards” is to the natives of the West Coast of Africa. The analogy is not, per- haps, a good one, as the ostensible purpose of the famous " K.K.K.”' is to stamp out crime, while the Human Leopards are an organization I AM almost tempted to Out in Sierra Leone, West Africa, there is a terrible secret society known as the “Human Leopards” which has given the autho- rities endless trouble. Ad- dicted to cannibalism and other ghastly practices, its members have been re- sponsible for hundreds of murders, and its evil influ- ence among the supersti- tious natives is immense. to become a member of a dread society whose rules will be given later. The leopard, the only fierce animal of any size still existing in that part of the country, suggested to the witch-doctor the idea of exploiting, for the benefit of the society, the terror this beast inspired. The fetish of the Human Teopards is a manioc root about the size of an ostrich of criminals whose influence among the superstitious African blacks can- not be gauged by the white man. Yet nothing, I think, fired my imagination more during my official stay as French Consul at Freetown, Sierra Leone, than this dread secret society of cannibals, with the fringe of whose operations I came into personal touch, The origin of the Human Leopards, so-called from their habit of disguising themselves in the skins of this animal in order to commit their crimes, is lost in obscurity. It was first found, apparently, in the territory of the Imperi, and legend states that the people of Taiama, having sent a band of warriors to surprise and destroy some enemies, these men were captured and put to death by the inhabitants of a supposed friendly village of the Imperi. Taiama, not having sufficient men left to take revenge, sent her chiefs to consult a celebrated wizard of the country who, in return for considerable gifts, promised his help in the extermination of the enemy village. It was then that he imagined the creation of a fetish called Boffina, which would bring to its possessor the realization of all his desires, ‘Yo obtain the fetish it was necessary egg, hollowed out and filled with a mixture of plants and some sticky material of which I do not know the com- position, and which is kept very secret. This root is then covered in pieces of cloth and tied up with thongs made of leopard skin, the ends being allowed to hang down. So that it might retain its efficacy, the happy possessor of this fetish had to moisten or rub it with the fat of a goat. Later, when the society became firmly established among the Imperi, the wizard substituted human fat for that of goats. In due course the village was attacked and its population exterminated—entirely, of course, as the witch-doctor carefully explained, through the wonderful power of his fetish. From that day the power of the Human Leopards increased by leaps and bounds, and numberless blacks were enrolled in its membership. The society is compesed of three distinct classes, the chiefs or kings, the executioners, and the ordinary members. The candidate who seeks election must find one of the chiefs and, by means of presents, wring from him the promise of election with the hope of obtaining the lucky Bottina. He is then summoned to appear at the society’s assem- bly place—generally in the middle of a wood or in the bush—and, after having made

Page 516

I an offering, swears fidelity to the fetish, which is presented to him in an oblong box covered in red flannel. He has at the same time to hold in his hand one of the sacrificial knives—of which more anon, although they have never been seen by any white man. From this mqment he must be pre- pared to pay the toll demanded for his election. Directly he receives a certain notice the candidate must choose among the members of his family, his near relatives, his servants, or those who are attached to him by some interest, a victim—man or woman—whom he SHORT STORIES. 9 to relate. There is no doubt, however, that’ part of the flesh is cut up and eaten. All the members of the society do not possess the coveted fetish, in many cases not having enough wealth to pay for it. Some have bought it several times over, others have to wait years before obtaining it, but that is no bar to an assassination. It is estimated that many hundreds of natives have fallen victims to the fanaticism of the ‘‘ Leopards’ and the cupidity of their sorcerers. A good many years ago the chiefs of the undertakes to bring or send at a stated day and hour to an agreed spot. He himself, however, must not appear on _ this occasion. The victim, who has no doubt con- cerning his un- happy fate, is im- mediately sur- rounded by the conspirators. The man who is ful- filling the duties of executioner for the day, disguised in a leopard skin, laced in front, and covering his head and his body to below the knees, approaches him, holding in his hand a kind of three-pronged knife with an oval handle and three very sharp blades called ‘the leo- pard’s claw.” With one blow he thrusts this weapon into the victim’s neck, severing the caro- tid artery. The executioner then divests himself of his clothing and, assisted by his associates, drags the body to the spot where the chiefs are gathered together. a _ What happens next is too horrible “I was quick enough to seize one by the leg, but it was greased, and he slipped through my hands like an eel.”

Page 517

510 district, alarmed by the number of people who vanished as a result of this terrible society, which was increasing to a dis- quieting degree, determined to put an end to the series of murders which was desolating the countryside, and they set up what they called the “ tongo.”” All those who were suspected of belonging to the Human Leopards were tracked down and burnt ed and hatred soon alive in their huts. G took a hand in the business, however, and it was sufficient for a man’s goods to excite the envy of his neighbour, or for him to incur the wrath of a native more powerful than himself, to ensure him being denounced asa‘ Leopard” and burnt alive. The remedy appeared to be rather worse than the disease. It was then that the Government of Sierra Leone, becoming aware of these monstrous facts, forbade the ‘ tongo "’ under pain of severe penalties. Immediately there was a resumption of murders by the Human Leopards. Serious measures were then taken for the arrest of the terrible ‘* Leopards,” reputed to be unseizable. A man was sent among the Imperi who acted as a spy, and it was during two cases at the assize court that the above facts came out, to the horror of the whole colony. Of six accused persons, one died in prison and five were hung in the Imperi country, the scene of their crimes. One of the men died with the cry on his lips: * The Leopards still live!” One day I was visited in my office by a villainous-looking old Negro, who declared that he had a fetish to sell me, asking me the sum of torty pounds. The story is too gruesome to recount in detail, but the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. parcel, when unpacked, disclosed the com- plete skin of a young Negress—probably the victim of some ghastly “ Leopard "’ rite. The belief of the less civilized native in the power of the fetish is pathetic. I remem- ber one night, when ill with fever, lying listening to the rain coming down in torrents on my corrugated iron roof. Suddenly there was a lull in the storm and I distinctly heard in the next room, which was only separated from mine by a thin partition, and the connecting door to which was open, the patter of naked feet on the wood floor. I thought at first that it was my boy, although the hour was late, and I called out to him. There was no answer, but the noise stopped. At once I felt sure that thieves were at work and, shaking as I was, I jumped out of bed and rushed into the next room just in time to see two blacks, stark naked, tumb- ling out of the window. I was quick enough to seize one by the leg, but, like the rest of his body, it was greased, and he slipped through my hands like an eel. 5 My boy, awakened by my shouts, soon arrived on the scene and we searched the compound, but found nothing except some small stones which had been laid at my door in a certain fashion. My boy pointed them out to me, smiled, and spoke the one word “ Fetish.” The stones were set out in this way, apparently, to ensure that I did not awaken, but the thieves must henceforth have lost a certain amount of faith in the efficacy of their charm. THE BLUE SPOT THEORY. By K. H. HARVEY. ILLUSTRATED BY H. M. BROCK, R.I. of Burma issued an in- teresting communication to certain Civil Servants stationed at various places throughout the country. The gist of it was as follows :— A certain distinguished concerning I 1911 the Government A very amusing story a Government order and a bachelor Political Officer who suddenly found him- self called upon to take a more than paternal in- terest in Burmese babies. added that it gradually dis- appeared until, at the age of a few months, not a trace remained. This theory greatly inter- ested the Government, and they requested that Political Officers and other officials, whose duties carried them to curious ethnologist had propounded the startling theory that all peoples of Mongolian origin are born with a blue patch where their tails would grow had they been cursed with this adjunct. This odd birthmark, he claimed, is, without exception, a Mongolian monopoly, and he little-known villages in their districts, would kindly note and report the results of their investigations. In due course one of these documents arrived at Kaw Nee, the headquarters of the Assistant Political Officer of the Red Karen

Page 518

SHORT STORIES. 5x1 “His confusion was completed by the old lady, who boldly demanded to know what he was driving at.” country. Great was his astonishment at (1) the marvels of modern cthnological re- search ; and (2) the extraordinary compre- hensiveness of his own duties. Kaw Nee, I should explain, is the head- quarters of two British officials; the Assist- ant Political Officer and the O.C. Military Police detachment. The duties of the latter were light ; he therefore constituted himself Assistant Assistant Political—an unofficial appointment which consisted chiefly in criti- cizing the A.P.O., drinking his bottled beer, and offering advice on any and every matter in connection with his job. On the morning on which the ethnological bombshell already described arrived, the two Politicals had inspected the new market under construction ; had discussed with the local Chief, unofficially, the advantages of legitimate matrimony, as applied to himself ; the A.P.O. had passed some scathing remarks on a boat which the A.A.P.O. was trying to

Page 519

512 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, build ; and so they passed to their respective breakfasts and the mail, which arrived once a week. During the meal the O.C. Military Police received a note from his colleague: ‘ Do you know anything about Burmese babies ? Come over, anyhow.” He went over, and was immediately shown the Mongolian Blue Spot Theory circular, Then the A.P.O. read it again. Bachelors both. and entirely ignorant of the subject, they naturally took opposite sides and argued warmly and thirstily. Neither could refute the other’s arguments ; neither could sub- stantiate his gwn. What.they really wanted to know was whether the villagers would respond to the appeal of science ? The country of Karenni is inhabited by a mixed population of Red Karens, Shans, various hill tribes, harmless but shy, and a few Burmese. It Kes on the borders of Eastern Burma and Siam, a wild and moun- tainous region of great natural beauty, with an interesting history. After its occupation by the British and the subsequent with- drawal of troops, the various chiefs were allowed to rule their own States, under the guidance and advice of our Political Officers. Would such unsophisticated people assist the cause of ethnology, or would the mothers suspect some hidden design on the part of the Government through the agency of the Political, Officer? Vinally, the Political’s head clerk was summoned, and ordered to request the village midwife to call on the A.P.O., which she subsequently did. Approaching the subject by the Oriental method of the longest way round, the A.P.O. discussed the prospects of the paddy crop, the merits of China brick tea, where the best cheroots came from, the climate of Maulmein, and, passing by some subtle process from climate to children, and from children to mothers, and from the general to the particular, he artlessly inquired if she had been professionally busy lately. He would like, he confessed, to give a party to meet her more recent clients, with their offspring. There would be a gramophone, he added, betelnut and pickled tea, China tea, cheeroots, lemonade, cakes, and swerts. Would she very kindly issue the invitations, fix her own date, and let him know the time and the numbers ? The lady very cheerfully ex- pressed her willingness to do so. In due course the date of the function came round. Shans and Burmese are not unusually curious, but the antics of the host at that memorable party were decidedly queer, The interest he displayed in newborn babies and their dimples, his questions as to their pedigree (mixed marriages with Indians are common, and their children were not qualified), gradually gave rise to comment among the assembled mothers, and a feeling of uneasiness slowly crept over the audience: This was not allayed by a sketchy speech on evolution delivered by the nervous A.P.O.; in which monkeys, babies, and budding tails seemed mysteriously mixed, and uneasiness detinitely gave place to indignation. Distress mildly describes the state of the host, who became conscious that things were not going well, and his confusion was com- pleted by the old professional lady, who boldly demanded to know exactly what he was driving at. At this the unhappy man, abandoning all deception, stammered out the Blue Spot Theory. . At all costs he must remove the bad impressian made by his unfortunate speech, and as he spoke a bright idea came to him. “Now my idea is this,’’ he continued, rather hurriedly, but in fluent and colloquial Burmese, ‘ when babies are born they are attended by good Nats (spirits) and bad Nats. The bad Nats want to give them tails, but the good Nats defeat them by pressing hard on the spot where that tail would grow. Well, it is a difficult job to defeat a deter- mined bad Nat, and so good, lucky Burmese babies bear the mark of the bruise caused by the pinching of the good Nat—and there’s your blue smudge!” Mingled laughter and giggles greeted this inspired explanation. Mothers, much amused and relieved, exhibited their babies. ‘ Blue smudges " were frequent, and the party was voted a great success. 2 A report was duly forwarded to the Government as requested, but the A.P.O. has not taken up the study of ethnology ; that bad five minutes with the suspicious ladies was quite enough for him. _ This story is true. I hasten to add the writer, both on this occasion and ftequently since, has seen the irregular blue smudges described, looking not unlike a faded blot on an old piece of blotting-paper. Their cause or: significance will probably remain wrapped in mystery, the ethnologists not- withstanding. i

Page 520

Porters of the expedition crossing a river in the Kikuyu country. FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA Az D SS “SHOOTING” BIG GAME N WITH A FILM CAMERA. Told by OSCAR OLSSON, ana set down by REGINALD POUND. Here is the first instalment of a fascinating narrative—written exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE—describing one of the most important cinematograph expeditions that have ever visited the interior of Africa. Mr. Olsson’s object was to film wild anjmals in their natural haunts and to secure a pictorial record of native life and customs in remote regions, and these articles, with the unique pictures that accompany them, will show how successfully he accomplished his mission. Concealed—sometimes for days on end—in cunningly-constructed “ hide-ups” in the jungle, he secured some of the most remarkable photographs of wild animals that have ever been taken, and the story of his adventures will be found extremely interest- ing. The films of this expedition will be-shown by the Swedish Biograph Company. L LTHOUGH I am a fairly hardened traveller, I must admit that when, at the beginning of 1919, it was decided that I should organize and take out an expedition to Central Africa for the purpose of ‘shooting’ big game with a camera, I was more than a little thrilled at the prospect. Your blasé globe-trotter, of course, would never make such a confession. In the course of my wanderings in four continents J have met many such men. They would rather die than admit that a journey into a little- known country reproduced in their minds the slightest suspicion of the glamour that travel and exploration held for them in their youthful days. For my part I am glad to be able to say that I have retained all the zest I ever had for travel and adventure. May Heaven

Page 521

THE WIDE WORLD 514 MAGAZINE, preserve me from becoming that unhappiest and possibly dullest of mortals, the blasé traveller ! It was with a good deal of joyful antici- pation, therefore, that I started out—in February, 1919. My chief object, let me reiterate, was to film wild animals in their native haunts, and to obtain a pié@torial record of life in general in the more remote parts of Central Africa. For this purpose I took with me something like eighty thousand feet of film, tour film cameras, and two ordinary hand cameras. With this battery of photographic weapons I contrived to secure well over fifty thousand feet of film of wild life, and several hundred ‘still’ pictures, some of them of scenes never previously photographed. This ‘‘bag”’ was substantially supplemented when, early in 1921, I joined forces with the expedition organized and led by his Royal Highness Prince William of Sweden. Practically throughout the War I was away in Lapland and the far north, unaware A Kikuyu Court of Justice. The chief acted as judge, and scored “ points” for the opposing fi by means of sticks.

Page 522

' FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA, 515 that the great struggle was raging; indeed, I was one of the few people who, on coming back to civilization in the later stages of the conflict, were astounded to find that the world * had for four years been shaken by a tre- mendous up- heaval, and that there was com- paratively little civilization left to which to via Aden and Bombay! How- ever, Mombasa was reached at length, and then Nairobi, the administrative capital of British East Africa, or Kenya Colony, as it is now styled. On the rail journey up from Mombasa I got permission to plant myself anda film camera on the front of A “close-up” of baboons. apo SL] Baboons digging in the bed of a dried-up river to get water. return. I mention this because my astonish- ment was not lessened when, within three months of the Armistice, I started on my trip only to find that, as a result of the world-wide dislocation of travelling facilities, the journey to Mombasa now occupied no less than five and a half months, where formerly it was a matter of a few weeks. I had to wait five weary weeks at Marseilles, and then, when at last I did get a ship, I found myself carried to Africa the engine, and took several thousand fect of film by way of a preliminary canter. The scenery for the first few hundred miles struck me as being not at all unlike that of southern England, except that hedges were conspicuous by their absence. Rich pasture-lands spread out on either side, rising in the far background to verdant uplands and hills that stretched away into infinity. The colours, however, are more intense than in England; the greens more

Page 523

516 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, One of the Author’s camera shelters erected near a water-hele. deep, the blues and greys of the distances more striking to the eye. Yet even in the More remote parts of the great continent one sometimes comes across bits of scenery that are almost typically English. For ex- ample, the picture of zebras drinking at a water-hole, reproduced on page 524, might quite easily have been “faked” in an A typical Kikuyu village.

Page 524

FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. LE Sm Rey English park. The scene, I may add, is the more indelibly imprinted on my mind by reason of the fact that I had to wait twenty- one long and weary days in my camera shelter to get it. Like Prince William of Sweden, who has already given voice to his admiration for the British administration of the game preserves in Kenya Colony, I was greatly struck by the way in which this supervision is rendered effective. The big-game country men ss, re > Ew, to The wounded lioness that gave Mr. Olsson some exciting moments. Vultures at work. They completely “cleaned up” a dead zebra in twenty minutes | St] is managed like a vast estate, or rather, a series of estates. If one wishes to hunt one must first obtain a licence, which is valid for a year. It costs {50 and permits the shooting of four lions and, of course, other game. The king of animals, however, is diminishing in numbers, and_ ruthless killing on any except a modified scale would, I believe, result in his almost complete extinction in a few years. As I had not previously visited Africa

Page 525

518 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I had no means of comparing the conditions that existed in the big-game country before the war and those obtaining at the time of my visit, but I was told, by those who were competent to judge, that very considerable changes had taken place. Nairobi, only a few years ago a sort of ‘‘ mushroom ” settlement, has developed greatly both in size and importance. Less than ten years ago, I believe, the big-game country fringed the town, and one could sally forth from one’s bungalow and, almost in a few minutes, find oneself enjoying excellent sport. This is no longer possible. The plains surrounding the district have been tilled and converted into fertile plantations; the big -creatures of the wild have retired up country; and now one must march for days before sighting the spoor of a lion or hearing the familiar sounds of the jungle. I made Nairobi my headquarters on four successive trips into the hinterland. The first of these occupied twenty-nine days and took me and my hunter companion, The Author filming near Nairobi. The natives were keenly interested together with our bearer column of a hundred natives, northward into the Kikuyu country. The Kikuyus are a pastoral people, who now lead peaceful lives in one of the healthiest and most fertile regions in Africa. Kikuyu village itself is less than twenty miles from the capita] town of the colony, but the people are scattered, in thirteen loosely- organized clans, over a much wider area. Though they are more nearly in touch with civilizing influences than most native tribes, they still manage to retain many primitive characteristics and customs. They adhere to the bow and arrow as weapons, for instance, both for defence and for hunting, and pro- duce fire by means of wood-friction. Most of the tribesmen wear at the knee what may be best described as a kind of bell, which, fitting round the limb, contains stones, so that every step is accompanied by a not unmusical rattle. More curious still is the method of acquiring a wife in the Kikuyu community. The headmen A_ “Corner” in Wives.

Page 526

FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 519 of the clans possess a monopoly of women ; one might say almost that they have a “ corner’ in wives. Consequently the tribes- men have to buy their better-halves from the chief, who fixes his own scale of prices. Before the war the cost of a good Kikuyu wife was only four shillings, but the cost of living has gone up in Central Africa, like everywhere else, and with it the price of wives. The market figure to-day is approxi- mately twenty-five shillings, and I was more than mildly amused to learn that in the camera. one enlightened chief, realizing the difficulties of the times, had introduced the instalment system, by which a tribesman could secure a wife by making a small advance payment, and promising to pay the remainder in weekly sums ! By a stroke of good luck I managed to secure a picture of a Kikuyu law-case being conducted by a chief, who presided in the capacity of local Lord Chief Justice. The case involved a charge of wife-stealing, brought by one tribesman against a neighbour, and a big crowd of tribesfolk had assembled to see it settled. The judge's methods of sum- ming up *and arriving at his verdict were both novel and interesting. Before him lay a little pile of sticks. ‘Taking cach point in the prosecution's case he would sift it thoroughly. If a point held good, he would place one stick aside to the right, in token that the prosecution had scored that point, so to speak. If it failed, he would place the stick on his left hand, to count for the defence. Totalling the sticks in the two piles at the end of the proceedings and thus deciding which side had-won was a simple matter, and everyone went away satisfied. One of my first animal pictures taken in this part of the country shows baboons gambolling in the dried-up bed of a river It was these river beds that I usually sought, tor one may be perfectly certain that in the dry season the thirsty animals will come thither to scratch for the last remaining drops of water. The two baboons shown in the foreground. of the picture on page 515 had been busy for some hours excava- ting the hole in which they are seen drinking, Unfortunately I was not able to register the perfectly obvious delight ex- pressed on their faces when at last they found welcome refresh- ment. And here I may perhaps pause to mention that I cannot look at A fine picture of a golden eagle. this particular photograph without chuckling at the amusing little incident that attended

Page 527

520 its taking. For the purpose of photographing this group of baboons I had secreted myself in the branches of a withered uprooted tree. I had been there ten minutes, waiting for the animals, which were running about all over the place, to compose themselves into a picture, when, just as I was on the point of releasing the shutter, I became aware of a rustling in the branches above me. The next moment a weight that seemed as if it were a matter of at least a ton des- cended on my head. As it happened, the sudden shock caused me to operate the shutter, with the result that I got a quite good picture. Then, having hastily evacuated my position in the tree, I discovered that my head had been utilized as an observaticn platform by an “ outsize ” in baboons, who was now quizzi- cally gazing at me from the banches. I have never quite forgiven that daring animal for so flagrantly outraging my dignity. Before I proceed further to describe the various animals I photographed and my experi- ences with some of them, let me very briefly refer to the modus operandi adopted in securing What I believe are in many respects unique pictures. It will be clear even to the most casual of readers that one cannot persuade big game— or, for that matter, any other variety of game—to “sit” for their portraits. Special measures have to be resorted to, and special precautions taken, in order to ensure success. My earliest at- The Annoyed tempts at big- Elephants. game por- traiture were perhaps a little crude when compared with my later efforts. At first I contented myself by hiding my camera in bushes, trees, undergrowth—any sort of natural cover, but an alarming adventure with three infuriated cow elephants resulted in a change of tactics on my part. These three ladies espied me insinuating myself behind a clump of bushes, L——, my hunter com- panion, having previously fired at one of them without effect. As the sound of the shot went echoing through the jungle, the A Kikuyu warrior. the rhino - tusk worn as ornaments. THE WIDE* WORLD MAGAZINE. elephants unexpectedly broke cover and charged down in my direction, trampling wildly and waving their trunks as if they intended uprooting everything in their path. Snatching up my camera and _ tripod, I slipped out from behind the bushes and doubled back into the arms of my bearers, while the elephants tore madly over the spot I had just vacated. I did not even have time to get a decent film “‘ pot” at them, they were so impetuous. After that I resolved to im- prove my methods of getting the pictures I wanted. Instead of taking advantage of natural cover only, and thus exposing myself to unnecessary risks, I built elaborate shelters, one of which is shown in the photograph on page 516, There was room in these shelters for me to sit down and take things more or less comfortably, with a convenient back exit for use in case of emergency. My sites were nearly always chosen in close proximity to rivers, river-beds, or water-holes, where animals were most likely to assemble. In addition to the water, I often provided an additional inducement for game to pose for me in the form of juicy zebra steaks and other meat. The bait invariably attracted, first of all, hordes of vultures, and with them, or hot on their trail, came other creatures whcse presence was more welcome. Not the least important item in my equipment—which, in passing, I may mention included a ten-inch telephoto lens, by which I was enabled to take “‘ close-ups "’ of even the most timid animals — was a large though not inexhaustible stock of patience. I can claim to possess but little more of this virtue than the average man, but what I lacked in this con- nection was, I think, amply compensated for in interest. I fancy that interest and the thrills of expectancy which I constantly experienced carried me over some periods of waiting in which patience alone would not have sufficed. “ It is a little thing to set down on paper that one had to wait, say, four days in a shelter, or hide-up, in order to get a picture. Looking back, I sometimes wonder: how Note « hor ns ig

Page 528

FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 521 I contrived to sit through some of those blazing days and terribly chilly dawns. Africa is a land of many moods. One moment the sun may be shining down with terrific intensity ; the next, one may be donning all one’s warmest garments in an endeavour to keep out the cold. Such extremes natur- ally bring many discomforts and hardships, and not infrequently sickness and disease. The fact that I set out prim- A Brush with arily to ‘‘shoot’’ with a a Lioness. camera did not deter me from occasionally taking a chance with a more deadly weapon. The picture of a wounded lioness, on page 517, was a sequel to one of my little lonesome forays. I had gone out early one morning to kill fresh meat for the bearers’ break- fasts, taking with me a rifle and a pocket camera. With an unexpectedness that was startling, I came upon a lioness and a cub —the first I had seen in the wild state—in a sort of small ravine or gully. The moment the lioness saw me she growled and bounded towards me. Fifteen yards—no more— separated us, and immediate action was of course vital. So I raised my gun, fired, and was alarmed rather than relieved to find that my shot had not told with full effect. I had hit her where her right foreleg joined the body. The lioness immediately leapt forward again, growling with pain, and A group of Kikuyu dancers. I wondered what would happen if my next shot missed its mark. Then, as_ unex- pectedly as she had at first appeared, the animal turned and bounded back to the gully, evidently in search of her cub, and there she lay, still ferocious but weak from Vol. alix.— 36. A marabou stork. loss of blood, when I “snapped” her and then ended her life. Although we pushed northward to the farthest limits of the Kikuyu country, we did not do more than touch the fringe of the big-game country. Much of my time was spent in photographing bird life, in the trees as well as on the ground; and very fascinating I found it. One of my best bird “' sitters’ was the golden eagle. The marabou stork, too, was always only too willing to pose—for all the world like an old gentle- man with his hands under his coat-tails. A jackal who was coaxed in front of the camera-shelter by the zebra joint cost me eight good plates before I was able to get the picture I wanted. He was unduly shy for his kind, and fled at the slightest hint of an alien sound, only to return again and again to the bait. y Some of the outlying Kikuyu families were at first extremely superstitious Tegarding my camera. For the life of them they could not begin to understand the use of turning the handle of a box that made no music, and although I made various attempts at an explanation they were as perplexed as ever when I left them. There is evidence of this perplexity in the photograph of myself surrounded by Kikuyu Natives (page 518). What they would have done had I been in a position to show them

Page 529

522 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the films of themselves lies almost beyond the bounds of imagination. For two days I was hospitably enter- tained by one of their oldest and most famous headmen, the gentleman shown on the right in the picture i of the two chiefs. He lived in right royal fashion, his great pride and joy being to sit enthroned on a badly battered arm-chair, for which he had given goodness _alone knows how many head of cattle to an Indian trader. He had, and I have no doubt still has, forty wives, and children far too numerous to count. Most of his time was spent in the wonderful chair, from which he would direct, in the grandest of grand manners, the _ affairs of his clan. It was, in fact, only as a great favour that he consented to stand up and pose for his photo- graph, for which he condescendinglyagreed to attire himselfin war- like accoutrements. * The same chief arranged for my edification a special assembly of warriors. Seen in the early morning advancing on the village in tactical formations, these warriors made an unforgettable impression. The front-line men bore beautifully decorated shields of hide, the workmanship in many of which was extremely fine. Later on I had an opportunity of seeing some of the shields in the making, and I was much impressed ~ NSE ae ee ere. A Kikuyu war party. They are very proud are skilfully weven in wonderful by the deft way in which the decorative work was done with the rudest of implements. One night, on the return journey to Nairobi, I had an experience which gave me Kikuyu warriors taking about the biggest scare of my life. We had pitched camp not far from Kiambu, which we expected to reach the next morning. The previous night my hunter com- panion had found a small snake in his “ flea- bag.” He mentioned the incident to me and, after remarking that it was a lucky thing that he had examined the bed before turning in, I thought no more of the matter. On the night of which I am speaking, how- ever, the subject was brought back to my mind in a very startling fashion. Thad just fallen into a_ pleasant doze, after turning in fairly early, when I was sud- denly galvanized into alertness by teeling something smooth and clammy slowly working its way up my leg, just above the ankle ! With the realization that I was in danger there came a powerful impulse to spring out of of their shields, which patterns.

Page 530

FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 523 bed. In a flash, however, I reasoned that hypnotically into the glare, an insignificant to move so much as a muscle might be little beast of a green frog! Which of us suicidal. So, instead of yielding to the felt the smaller I leave the reader to guess. impulse, I lay as still as possible, every Naturally, when I afterwards related the incident, it caused a good dcal of amusement, but I discovered that the probability of one’s getting into bed with a puff-adder was by no means discounted among my auditors. A hunter whom I met in Nairobi told me that he had twice found these deadly creatures lying between his f blankets in the wilds. During the concluding stages of | this first trip up country a slight epidemic of fever broke out among our bearers. Two of them died, where- upon the rest refused to goon. Aftera great deal of parleying, I had to resort to bribery, and we were thus enabled to pro- ceed, though without tents, these and one or two other items of equip- ment having to be left behind, owing to the a cover behind their shields. desertion of several of the more discontented and muscle taut, every nerve on edge, and daring only to breathe as lightly as a babe. How long J lay like that I do not know. But the strain was well-nigh intolerable, whether it lasted hours or seconds. The Thing in the bed almost made me cry out with horror when , once or twice its head, or what . I judged was its head, pressed gi against my calf, and by the és time the feel of it had reached the underside of my knee I was perspiring as freely as if I had ; been [playing football under a is tropical sun. To tell the truth, aS my apprehension, at its acutest stages, was based on the fact that I had. an overwhelming dread of that terror among snakes, the puff-adder, which, I had often heard, has a pre- dilection for making itself at : home in camp beds. j Then I suddenly became Fi aware that the Thing, what- ever it might be, was creeping ®*==™=ssss= upwards across my body. And Two leading Kikuyu chiefs. , The one on the right has } —terrific relief !—it did. not forty wives ! f glide, but crawled on four legs. 1 The next instant I leapt out of bed, snatched superstitious of the bearers. Trekking “ up my electric torch, and focused its white without shelters for night use is at its ray on the blankets, on which there sat, gazing best a sorry business. I spent several

Page 531

524 nights completely in the open, with’a fire burning close by, both for the sake of warmth and to scare off wild beasts, but I got very little sleep, being half frozen by the time dawn began to show up im the sky. All this time we were following the course of a river, which was too deep to ford and too wide to cross except by canoes, which we did not possess, and a bridge which, however, was over thirty miles farther on. One day we built a raft, and got a bearer to swim with a rope to the opposite bank. He was joined by two others, who were to help him to tow the raft across as soon as it was ready. In this fashion I and seven bearers, with several of our smaller animal specimens and a considerable portion of our stores, including the bulk of my photo- graphic apparatus, were dispatched as a first instalment, so to speak, to the other side. As luck would have it, however, when we got half-way over the rope broke, and before I appreciated what was happening we were being swept at a great rate down stream. The bearers were too panic- The Runaway stricken to do more than Raft. shout wildly for help, while I was reduced to almost as great a state of impotence when, after fishing up the broken piece of rope, I found that it was too short to be of the slightest use. ‘That joy-ride down the river was about as thrilling as being in a runaway motor-bus in the Strand. We were quickly swirled round a bend out of sight of the rest of the expedi- tion, who were prevented from making faster progress by the tangled growth of the river side. Thereafter for an hour and a half there was nothing to do but sit and watch the scenery. The banks swept by in an endless procession of luxuriantly foliaged trees and tall reeds, the ranks of the latter broken here and there where some tributary stream joined the parent THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. river. Every little while the trees would seem to roll back to disclose a background of hills, between which and the river lay verdant pasture lands, dotted with bushes and clumps of marsh grass. Once or twice, where the river was shallower, we bumped on what I imagine were sandbanks or similar obstructions, and each time it looked as if we must be pitched headlong into the muddy water. But beyond experiencing several close shaves in this way, the rest of the trip was comparatively uneventful, although even then our misfortunes were not at an end. Eight or nine miles from the scene of our hurried and unwilling embarkation on this hazardous voyage the river narrowed to two hundred yards or so in width at a point at which it was choked by a vast quantity of weed. Here the raft came to a sudden full stop. So sudden was it, indeed, that one bearer fell overboard, to be as quickly retrieved by his fellows. Then came the problem of getting ashore. If I were a narrator of fiction instead of plain, unvarnished fact, I think I could introduce a crocodile or two at this juncture with good effect. Happily, the fates did not include this form of adventure in the experiences which they conspired that we should pass through. But it is possible that they changed their minds only at the last moment, for by means of my glasses I could discern, some distance ahead, two of these rather terrifying beasts sunning themselves on the jutting portion of the bank. Our rescue was deferred until quite late in the afternoon, by which time we were nearly ready to drop as a result of the heat. The rest of the expedition were mightily surprised at finding us safe and sound, but none was more relieved than I when at last we were towed ashore. Thereafter we set our faces toward the still distant bridge, without further attempts to cross by any other means. (To be continued.j BEPEARING NEXT _MONTH— Restoring the Dead to Life An amazing article describing a secret Japanese science, now revealed for the first time. ORDER YOUR COPY NOW!

Page 532

MY FISHING TRIP. By “BALU.” ILLUSTRATED BY G. SOPER. A British officer's story of a touch-and-go experience in Kashmir. Life is cheap. enough nowadays, but he subeequently discovered that a mere two annas was the cause of all the trouble. _ N July, 1920, I had just returned from a bear-shooting expedition in the Walla Lake district of Kashmir, and was amusing myself by fishing in the neigh- bourhood of the small riverside village of Sopor, situated between Barramulla and Srinagar. Sopor is a typical example of the or- dinary straggling Kashmir village, and is built on both sides of the Jhelum River, the two portions being connected by a rough bridge composed of wooden trestles with stone foundations. On the left bank of the river stand the post-office and a few small shops, while on the opposite or right bank are the bazaar, dwelling-houses, and police-station. On this particular day—July 1st, 1920— I had left my houseboat moored alongside the right bank close to the village, and had crossed tbe river in my shikava, or small boat. My intention was to moor my boat close to the left-hand archway of the bridge and fish there. I suppose I had been fishing for an hour or more when, happening to look up, I saw my bearer in a shikara being paddled over to me by my head boatman. At the same time I became aware of the sound of con- fused shouting, which seemed to come from the direction of my houseboat. Looking across, I saw all my remaining servants, followed by my dog, dashing off towards the native bazaar. Not knowing the cause of the excitement, but concluding that some village tamasha, or festival, was going on, I took no further Notice of the noise beyond questioning my bearer, who seemed to be equally in the dark as to what was happening. We were not, however, left long in doubt. The shouting from the direction of the bazaar appeared to be getting louder and more vio- lent, and, looking up once again, I was astounded to see my cook, his face covered with blood and his pugaree gone, running for his life across the bridge towards me, calling out to me to protect him. He was closely fol- lowed by my other servants, while pursuing them, and gesticulating wildly with sticks, was a mob of approximately six hundred infuriated Kashmiris ! I had not the slightest idea of what had happened, but, realizing that I was in a small boat about fourteen feet below the bridge, and consequently not in a very advantageous position to interfere, I went ashore, clambered up the bank, and walked on to the bridge footway. As soon as I got there the cook and the other servants flung themselves at my feet, all talking at once and evidently frightened to death. Close on their heels came the enraged villagers, shouting their loudest, brandishing formidable khud sticks, and pressing up as close to me as they dared. Taking advantage of a comparative lull in the babel of sound, I endeavoured to get them to tell me the cause of the trouble, but as I could only speak Hindustani—and that not very fluently—and they only knew Kashmini, I got nothing out of them except renewed bursts of anger, followed by threatening gestures with their sticks. Being totally unarmed—I hadnt even a stick with which to defend myself—I thought that the best thing to do, before matters got worse, was to send for the Native police. Seizing my opportunity, therefore, I dashed into the post-office hard by and wrote a note to the superintendent of police, sending it off by one of the clerks in the post-office. I then went out again and, taking up my position with my back against the wall of an old ruined house, awaited developments. My terrified ser- vants lay around my feet or cowered against the wall at my side. The crowd, still shout- ing and gesticulating, slowly began to close in on me. Now, the Kashmiri is, as a rule, a pretty good coward, and though I had nothing but my hands to defend myself with, and the odds were one against about six hundred, I found that when I sprang at the nearest man to hit him the whole crowd turned and ran. Then, when I went back to my old position they collected round me again for all the world like a pack of baying curs.

Page 533

526 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, This went on for some time, until one Kashmiri, braver than the rest, waited until my attention was engaged elsewhere, and then crept up as close as he could on my left- hand side. Suddenly my bearer, who was gechind me, gave a warning shout, and I swung round just in time to avoid a blow on the head from a heavy khud stick, receiving it on my shoulder instead. The owner of the stick was not quite quick enough in getting away, and I succeeded in hitting him with all my strensth on the jaw, knocking him flat on the ground, where he remained until he was pulled away by some of his friends This incident, how- ever, merely had the effect of increasing the anger of the mob, but before any more damage was done there was a stir in the crowd and a single policeman pushed _ his way forward and waved the crowd back with a stick. He pressed them back for a few yards, and then, turning to me, saluted very smartly. In my best Hindustani I told him that I had no idea what the trouble was about, but that I proposed he should keep the crowd in check while I and my servants returned to the house- boat. Once there, I said, we would await the superintendent of police and go thoroughly into the matter. There was only this one policeman to con- trol the enormous crowd, but he said he could do it, and so, collecting my party, I took them down the bank to my shikara, in- tending that half the party should go in my boat and the other half in the one which had come over with my bearer. My “The crowd began to pelt us with stones—not little ones, but heavy blocks which went te build. part of the bridge.”

Page 534

servants, however, would not leave me, thinking, for some reason, that they would be safer from the mob if they were close to their sahib. The result of this was that, instead of having three people in my boat— which was all it was made for—I had seven, and at the identical moment we embarked the crowd rushed past the policeman! The native women sprang down the bank and held on to the boat to prevent it from leaving, and my servants were too frightened to give them a rap over the knuckles with a paddle, as I shouted to them to do. I found myself standing up in the middle of the boat, unable to reach either end, and in the midst of tangled fish- ing lines, tea-things, and = other oddments. Then the = crowd began to pelt us from above with stones— not little ones, but’ heavy, rough-hewn blocks which went to build part of the bridge, and of which there were a number of loose ones lying about. I have been through some nasty times in France during the Great War, but dodging these lumps of rock took a lot of beating, for I knew that, if one hit me in the right place, it would “settle my hash” effectually. I got one on my elbow and one on my topee— both, luckily, of the ‘* whiz-bang ’”’ type— and then a really heavy stone came down, missing my shikari’s head by about an inch and crashing into the boat, which by this time was half-full of water. The rock had the effect I feared: it knocked a hole in the bottom of the boat, which quickly sank under our feet, so that in a few seconds the whole boatload of us were struggling in the water. I do not know what happened to the rest of the servants, but my cook, who could MY FISHING TRIP. 527 not swim, clung to me, crying piteously. Stones were splashing into the water all around me; there was a very fast current, and something seemed to have got tangled up with my legs that handicapped my swimming. I kept wondering how long it would be before a rock got me on the head, because I knew if one did hit me my number would be up! I succeeded in calming the frantic cook and, taking a grip of his hair with one hand; swam as hard as I could up-stream, away from the bank and the bridge. As I had only one available hand, and did not seem to have the full use of my legs, I could not make much headway against the powerful current. Stones were still falling about me, but at last, to my great relief, I drew out of range. I was getting dreadfully tired, and felt as if I had been in the water about half an hour instead of only a few minutes. I knew that unless something happened very soon I should have to let go the cook, and then. ? However, just at that moment I saw one of my boatmen, who had in some way kept clear of the row, rowing as hard as he could towards me. I managed to reach him, grabbed the side of the boat, and, with his help, pushed the cook in. Then I clam- bered in myself, utterly exhausted, and lay on the bottom of the boat breathless, while the boatman paddled up-stream, away from that horrible village. Having recovered somewhat, I looked down at my legs, and speedily discovered the cause of my handicap in the water. My fishing line, tangled inconceivably, was

Page 535

528 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, wound round both legs, and attached to it insmall pieces were the remains of my fishing- trod! As for the rest of my property, it was with the sunken shikara at the bottom of the river, whence, unfortunately, it was never aecovered, although several attempts were subsequently made. Looking about me on our way up-stream, I saw that the rest of my servants had been pulled into another boat and that no one was missing, though sume of them had received several nasty cuts with stones, ef After going a few hundred yards I en- countered another safib, a major in the Gloucestershire Regiment. He was on his way to fish, but on hearing what had oc- cured he took me back with him to his house- boat and, after giving me a change of clothes and some tea and whisky, advised me to wire to the Resident in Kashmir and report the occurrence. I therefore drafted a wire, stating briefly what had happened to me and my servants, and adding that I had been lucky to escape with my life. After having dispatched this telegram, I gave orders for my houseboat to be brought up close to the one I was in, so as not to remain longer near the hostile village. One of the police- men—by this time they had arrived in force —went down with some of my servants to fetch it while I interviewed the superin- tendent of police and the doctor. I gave a written account of what had occurred to the superintendent, together with a list of the articles lost and their value. After this the doctor, a Kittle Eurasian, tied up my damaged arm and attended to the hurts which my servants had received. He was most obliging, and did all he could to help. By this time my houseboat had arrived, and my dog, which I had been very anxious about, greeted me vociferously from the top deck. - It was now getting late, and the superin- tendent of police, having graciously given me permission to shoot anyone who tried to molest me or my servants during the night, and leaving police sentries on the boat for night duty, bade me good night and de- parted. The night passed without further incident. The next morning all the male inhabitants of Sopor were fetched to a large field ad- joining the police-station and marched in single file past me and I was asked to identify those who took part in the previous day’s affair. Anyone who knows the Kashmiri will agree that there is so much similarity between one face and another that it was practically impossible for me to identify my assailants with any certainty. I succeeded in recognizing one or two, and so did my servants, but only fifteen in all were com- mitted for trial, although quite six hundred were connected with the row. A native magistrate was deputed to try the case, which was commenced at Sopor and finally transferred to the court at Gulmarg. An inquiry into the cause of the riot elicited the following curious facts. Se Before I started in my shikara to fish from the opposite bank I had ordered my bearer to send me over tea in the afternoon and to tell my chief boatman to hire a shikava for the purpose. A dispute as to the amount of hire arose between my boatman and the owner of the shikara, who demanded four annas for the use of the boat for fifteen minutes, while my man refused to give more than two. The boat-owner appealed to my other servants, and when they refused to give him what he asked he picked up a stone and threw it at them. One of them re- taliated, but the stone he threw missed its legitimate mark and hit another man on the back of the head. This man, although not scriously hurt, collapsed an the ground and was at once nearly killed by his wives and fond relatives, who crowded round him wailing, wringing their hands, and saying he was dead and that “the sahib’s servants had killed him.” Later on the word “‘ servants ’’ was omitted, and thé cry went up that the ‘“-sahib had killed a man.” That was quite enough to raise the standard of a “ holy war” in the village, and was the cause of the murderous attack which I have described. The whole affair, therefore, was caused by a mere two annas ! After an exhaustive trial all the fifteen accused were convicted and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. I was officially informed that the village would be placed under fine and that I would be paid four thousand rupees as compen- sation for the assault, and four hundred rupees in addition for the loss of my Property. It may interest my readers to know that, at the moment of writing, I have not re- ceived one penny of the compensation on either’ account. From my point of view, therefore, justice remains unsatisfied.

Page 536

Page 537

Tobacco Habit Banished Let Us Help You Quick Results Trying to quit the tobacco habit unaided is often a losing fight against heavy odds, and may mean a serious shock to your nervous system. So don’ try it! Make the tobacco habit quit you. It will quit you if you will just t Tobacco Redeemer according to directions. It doesn’t make a particle of difference whether you’ve been a user tobacco for a single month or 50 years, or how much you use, or in what you use it. Whether you smoke cigars, cigarettes, pipe, chew plug or cut or use snuff—Tobacco Redeemer will positively remove all craving tobacco in any form in a few days. Your tobacco craving will en: be to decrease after the very first dose—there’s no long waiting for its. Tobacco Redeemer contains no habit-forming drugs of any kind and marvelously quick, scientific and thoroughly reliable. Not a Substitute Tobacco Redeemer is in no sense a substitute for tobacco, but isa radical, efficient treatment. After finishing the treatment you have absolutely no desire. to use tobacco again or to continue the use of the remedy. It helps to quiet tne nerves, and will make you feel better in every — way. Tf you really want to quit the tobacco habit —get rid of it so completely that when you see thers using it, it will not awaken the slightest desire in you—you should at once begin a course of Tobacco Redeemer treatment for the habit. Results Absolutely Guaranteed A single trial will convince the most skep- tical. Our legal, binding, money-back guar- antee goes with each full treatment. If Tobacco Redeemer fails to banish the tobacco habit when taken according to the plain and easy directions, your money will cheerfully refunded upon demand. A aN Free Book Coupon Let Us Send You Convincing Proof NEWELL PHARMACAL CO., If you are a slave of the tobacco Dept.343 : ____St-Louis, May habit and want to findasure, quick way Please send, without obligating me in any way, of quitting “‘for keeps’ you owe it to your free booklet regarding the tobacco habit and yourself and to your family to mail the proof that Tobacco Redeemer will positively free coupon below or send your name and me from the tobacco habit or my money will be address on a postal and receive ourfree refunded. booklet on the deadly effect of tobacco on the humansystem, and positive proof that Tobacco Redeemer will quickly free you from the habit. Newell Pharmacal Company Dept. 343 St.Louis, Mo. Bo Town. casccsssssces-sssssonnny NAME,,,..0000scseossasoven Street and No.

Page 538

‘Roy GARDNER _ THE SMILING BANDIT

Page 539

Amaze Your Friends— Learn Music Quickly at Home Through This Wonderful New Method You Can Now Learn to Play Your Favorite Instrument in a Few Short Months. Entire Cost Averages a Few Cents a Lesson “H OW did you ever do it? Where in the wide world did you ever learn to play so quickly? This is the question that thousands of my students have been asked and are being asked With my wonderful easy print and ‘or beginners, their progress has been nothing short of astonishing. Not daily. picture lessons only their friends, but they themselves, were amazed at their sudden ability to play or sing. With this accom- plishment they have been able to achieve greater pop- ularity than they — ever thought possible. And you can do the same. Even if you don’t know the first thing about music, don’t know one note from another—with this new method you can easily and quickly learn to sing or to play your favorite musical instrument. And all in your spare time at home —without a teacher! To those not acquainted with my system this may sound like a_pretty strong statement. Yet I stand ready to back up every word of it. LEARN TO PLAY Piano ’Cello Organ Guitar Violin Ukulele Drums and Hawaiian Traps Steel Banjo Guitar Tenor Banjo Harp Cornet Piccolo Trombone Harmony faxophone and Composition Voice and Speech Culture Automatic Finger Control THE VERDICT Since I’ve been taking your lessons I've made over $200 with my violin. Your les- sons surely are fine.—Mel- vin Freeland, Macopin, N.J. I am more than satisfied with the lessons. They are much better than a private teacher. I certainly ad- mire the way you take pai to explain everything in them. I wouldn't go back to my private teacher if I were paid to.—Julian L. Piccat, Stepney, Conn. You take lessons in the privacy of your own home with no strangers around to embarrass you. Practice when- ever it is most convenient for you. So easy is my method that children only 10 to 12 years old have quickly become accomplished singers or play- ers as well as men and women 50 to 60 years old—in- cluding many who have never before taken a lesson. And my lessons are just as thorough as they are easy —no “trick” music, no “numbers, no make-shifts of any kind 1 teach you the only right way—teach you to play or sing by note. Think of the pleasure and happiness you can add to your own daily life once you know how to play! Think of the popularity you can gain—for players and singers are always in de- mand at social gatherings of _every kind. Thousands of our stu- dents now play in orches- tras, at dances, etc. Many have orchestras of their own. Why can’t you do the same? Special Offer When learning to play or sing is so easy, why continue to confineyour enjoyment of music to mere listening? Why not at least let me send you my free book that tells you all about my method, It shows you how easy it 1s to turn ad I have taught mu- sic to over 250,000 men, women and children in your wish to play or sing into an actual fact. ee parm of Just now I am making a special short-time offer Just think! that cuts the cost per lesson in two—send your name now before this special offer is withdrawn. over’ 8 Instruments supplied when needed cash or credit, No quarter of a million obligation—simply use the coupon or send your name graduates. and address in a letter or on a post-card. ‘Their thou- U. 8. SCHOOL OF MUSIC sands of 1863 Brunswick Bldg., New York City grateful let- ters to me are more con- —-—————W— mc ee a ee vinel: hi thing I Tae the toe Mr, David F. Kemp, U. 8. School of Music, could say of the true merit of my system. 1863 Brunswick Bldg., New York City My. method removes all " the discouraging drawbacks Please send me your free book, “Music Les- and. entangling hindrances sons in Your Own Home,” and particu!ars of | ! | | of the old way of learning | your special offer. I am interested in the fol- | | | | | | | music, There is no need lowing course. of joining a class, pinning yourself down to certain hours of practice, paying » dollar or more per lesson to a private teacher. All these obstacles have been eliminated entirely. In their place are delightfully clear, easy and interesting lessons, which make every step as simple as A, B, C. (Name of Instrument or course) r

Page 540

v¢ ¢ f tea ey =?

Page 541

REE RAILROAD FAR ELEC- 4 TRICITY IN 3% MONTHS Make tk the most profitable and enjoys resort city in the country on beautiful Lake Michigan, and the fare from any place in the United States. expert in the great shops of Coyne. Our Employment penne La 01 pees while studying. No charge he catalog explains fully. Learn in 3% Months No books or useless theory. You are trained on $100,000 worth of electrical equipment. Everything from door bells to power plants. You work on motors, generators, house- wiring, autos, batteries, radio, switchboards, power plants— everything to make you an expert ready to step right into a position paying from $45 to $100 a week. Learn electricity in the electrical center of the world. Here you see the mighty power plants, the great electrical manufacturers and maryelous electrical sign displays. You truly live with electricity in Chicago. Coyne Training is Complete The whole world of electricity is open to the Coyne trained man. He {8 trained completely. He can make big money as Power Plant Operator, Superintendent, Teleyhone man, Construction worker, auto, truck or tractor electrician, battery man, radio expert or he can go into business for himself as electrical contractor, dealer, auto ignition or battery expert and make from $3,000 to .000 a year. Hundreds of our graduates today are making money and you can do the same if you grasp this opportunity —act now. Send for full particulars today. Great Summer Resort City Chicago, situated on beautiful Lake Michigan, is the Nation's summer’ playground. Marvelous boulevards, "beautiful parks, bathing beaches, zoos, lake trips, amusement parks. Coyne 1s pear the lake and bathing beach. ‘Chicago's daylight saving time gives you a chance to enjoy these things by daylight. Chicago's Many Big Pleasure Boats See the country at our expense. place students in jobs to earn sree or all of their ex- ir this service. *150 °°400 A MONTH Come to Chicago, the greatest electrical center in the world. We will And at the same time become a Hundreds have worked their way through, Radio Course FREE Besides paying your railroad fare we include with your course A complete course in auto, truck and tractor and storage batteric Greatest Ne, of auto n the countr; Complete aed in Business } thoroughl. long as he likes an Greatest Offer Ever ‘Made the greatest offer ever made by a soho Cen it is ed t Our departments may soon be filled and offer eishira yp Don't delay a SEND COUPON NOW Don't, delay a min mew for our big free catalog and full particulars of offer, B. W. COOKE, President COYNE a & ENGINEERING SCHOOL Dept. 196 39-51 E. IIlinols Street — CHICAGO, ILL. £OUPON___ B. W. COOKE, Pros. COYNE TRADE ENGINEERING SC! | Dept. 156 39-51 E. tltinols jicago, IM. Dear 8: aes Paes — me ise big catalog and full rs of Your apeelal offer at

Page 542

Page 543

Free Proof That [Gan Raise Your Pay | No matter how much you are earning now, I can show you how to incr. I have even taken failures and shown them how to make, each week, $100, $200, and in many cases even more. I am willing to prove this entirely at my risk and expense, More Proof Made $509 In Five Days "In five days’ time it has made And I have other profit- G. C. Ben- Worth $15,000 and More “The book has been, worth more yan $15,000 to me.""—Oscar B. eppard. Would Be Worth $100,000 “If had only had it when I was twenty years uld, | would be worth 100,000 today. “It ig worth a hun- red’ times the price.""— 8. W. Taylor, The Santa Fe ty., Milano, Salary Jumped from $150 to $800 Sal a Pare Ye aa jamped from $159 (0 ‘moath."’=J.¥. Gibson, San Diego, Bhltg for fhe beat, salesmanship, in 10 State.""—Private Leslie A. Still, ACE. F., France. Worth $3,000 to $30,000 s whs profit, $897.00." — Yearly profi would jeHel- Stand, 916 Tribune Bidg., Chicago, Hlinote. Another 50% Increase “More than = year ago I pur- ghased ‘Power of Will’ and I firmly Believe that jt—and it aa en abled me to increase m: Pag, Boger coat, in that time. . G, Hudgens, Boswell, Okla, Among over 500,000 users of “Power of Will” are such men as Judge Ben. B. Lindsey; Su- preme Court Justice Park Wu Ting Fang, Ex-U. 8. Chi- nese Ambassador: Assistant Postmaster-Gen. Britt; Gov. McKelvie of Nebraska; Gen- eral Manager Christeson of Wells-Fargo Express Co.; E. St. Elmo Lewis, Former Vice- Pres. Art Metal Construction Co.; Ex-Gov. Ferris of Micht- gan, and many others of equal prominence. ET'S have a little chat about*getting ahead —you and I.. My name ts Pelton. Lots of people call me “The Man Who Makes Men Rich.” I don't deny it. I've done It for thousands of people—iifted them up from poverty to riches. I'm no genius—far from it. Im just a plainy everyday, unassuming sort of man. I've looked biack despair in the eye—had failure stalk me around and hoodoo everything I did. But today all is different. Ihave money and all of the things that money will buy. I am rich also In the things that money won't buy —health, happiness and friendship. It was a simple thing that jumped mé up from poverty to riches. As I've said, I'm no genlus. But I had the good fortune to know a enius. One-day this man told me a “secret.” le said that every wealthy man knew this “secret’’—that Is why he was rich. | I used the “secret.” It surely had a good test. At that time I wa; flat broke. I had about given up hope when I put the “'secret’” towork. At first I couldn't believe my sudden change in fortune. Money actually flowed in on me. Things I cotldn’t do before became easy for me. My business boomed ahead. Prosperity became my partner. Since that ‘day I've never known what it ls to want for money, friendship, happiness, health or any of the good things of life. That “secret” surely made me rich in every sense of the word. My sudden rise to riches naturally surprised others. People asked me how I did it. | I told them. And it worked for them as well as it did for me. Some of the things this “secret” has done for people are astounding. I would hardly be- lieve them If T hadn't seen them with my own eyes. Adding ten, twenty, thirty or forty dollars a week to a man’s Income fs a mere noth- ing. That's merely playing at It. Listen to this: ‘A young man In the East had an article for. which there was a nation-wide demand. For twelve years he “puttered around” with It, barely eking out a living. Today this young man is worth $200,000. He has built a $25,000 home—and paid cash for it. He has three auto- mobiles. His children go to private schools. He goes hunting, fishing, traveling whenever the mood strikes him. His income is over & thousand dollars a week. I could tell you, hundreds of similar In= stances. But there's no need to do this, I'm willing to tell you the “secret” it Then you can put it to work and see what {t will do for you. I don't claim I. can make you rich over night Maybe I can—maybe I can’t. times I have failures—everyone haz. But I do claim that I can help 90 out of every 100 people if they will let me. ‘The point of it all, my friend, is are using only about one-tenth of that won derful brain of yours. ‘That's why you haven't won greater success. ‘Throw the unused nine tenths of your braininto action and you'll be amazed at the almost instantaneous The Will {s the motive power of the Drain. Without a highly trained, inflecdble will, a man has little chance. of attaining succes. Yet the will, altho heretofore almost entirely If you held your arm in a sling years. tt would become powerless feather. from lack of use. The same the Will—it becomes useless from our will; need Is practice. * Develop your will-power and flow in of you. Rich opportunities will up for you. Driving energy you had will manifest itself. with a new power—a power that nothing can resist. You'll have an influence over people that you never thought possible. And those are only a few of the things the “secret” will do for you. The “secret”. is fully explained ta the wonderful book “Power of Will.” I know you'll think that I've claimed & Perhaps you think there must be @ somewhere. But here is my offer, Send No Money Send no money—no, notacent. Merely eli the coupon and mail it to me. By return mall you'll recelve not a pamphiet, but the whole “secret” told in this wonderful book, “POWER OF WILL.” Keep It five days. Apply som: of its simple teachings. If it doesn't show you how you can increase your income many times over, mall the book back. You will be out nothing. ~ But if you do feel that “POWER OF WILL" will do for you what it has done for over five hundred thousand others—send me only_$3.00 and you and I'll be square. If you pass this offer by I'll be ou only the smali profit on a $3.00 sale. But you—you may easily be out the difference between’ what you're making now and an income several times as great. So you see you've a lot—a whole lot—more to lose than I. Mail the coupon or write a letter now—you may never read this offer again. A. L. PELTON. PELTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 19-M Wilcox Block, Meriden, Comme —— SS A. L. PELTON PELTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 19-M Wilcox Block, Meriden, Conn: You d me “Power of Will” at risk. “Tagree to remit $3.00, of remall ¢he ot to you In five days. lo yeeeee

Page 544

WiDEWo

Page 545

$1,000 Reward In a dirty, forlorn shack by the river’s edge they found the mutilated body of Genevieve Martin. Her pretty face was swollen and distorted. Marks on the clender throat showed that the girl had been brutally choked to death. Who had committed this ghastly crime? No one had seen the girl and her assailant enter the cottage. No one had seen the murderer depart. How could he be brought to justice? Crimes like this have been solved—are being solved every day—by Finger Print Experts. Every day we read in the papers of their exploits, hear of the mys- teries they solve, the criminals they identify, the rewards they win. Finger Print Experts are always in the thick of the excitement, the heroes of the hour. Not Experienced Detectives Just Ordinary Men Within the past few years, scores of men, men with no police experience, men with just ordinary grade school educations, have become Finger Print Experts. You can become a Finger Print Expert, too. Can you imagine a more fascinating line of work than this? More trained men ate needed. Here is a real oppor- tunity for you. Learn the Secrets of Identification More and more the detection of crime resolves itself into a problem of identification, You can learn the methods of famous identification experts. You can learn the science of finger print identification—right at home in your spare time. Send for the free book which tells how famous Finger Print Experts got their start in this fascinati work. Tells the stories of thirteen actual cases sol by Finger Print Experts. Tells how you can become a Finger Print Expert in an amazingly short time. Course in Secret Service FREE For a limited time, we are making a special offer of a PROFESSIONAL FINGER PRINT OUTFIT absolutely free and FREE Course in Secret Service Intelligence. Mastery of these two kindred professions will open a brilliant career for you. This coupon will bring you FREE BOOK and de- tails of this great offer. Don’t wait until the offer hap expired. Fill in the coupon now. Mail it today. University of Applied Science, Dept. 1516 1920 Sunnyside Avenue, Chicago, Illinois seeenevaneety eexuuneeeeeeveeeneenentes ersity of Applied Science, Dept. 1516 1920 Sunnyside Avenue, Chicago, Illinois Please send me full information on your course in Print Identification and about Free Course in Secret Service Intelligence. I understand that there is no obligation of any sort. Name -____ Street Address City and State = se ny Ais

Page 546

Wittig Worm Ys 440 4 j . / Pi) een 2 t a ae c 6 ‘A ‘ ( ye # b f \. ’ f h 4 J i } : ] » : ] ; \ . a» . ar {nehe Bee EX. yj he / ema eaee- iy. he FIVE THOUSAND MILEN: ic _/. ON FOOT pe CU OIMUCONTR AL ATDICA,

Page 547

$80 Drafting Course Free for best copy of sketch 25 Drawing Outfit Free for next best copy of sketch A Special Ivory Pocket Rule FREE! for sending any copy of drawing shown at left hand side ‘OU may enter this Free Prize Drawing Contest if you give your age when writing or sending your sketch. There are no condi- tions requiring you to buy anything. So, if you are interested in drawing, send in your sketch right away. Whether you obtain one of the big prizes or not, you are sure to be given free a 6-inch Ivory Pocket rule and a 6x9 book on “Successful Draftsmanship.” Chief Draftsman Dobe, of the Engineers’ Equipment Company, offers these prizes to interest ambitious men who would like to better themselves at bigger salaries, doing work which brings big pay and at the same time leading more to advancement. There will be 72,000 open positions this year paying from $3,000 to $3,600 a year. The great. building boom all over the country is causing this great demand, and industrial activity in the mechanical line makes it worth your while to give this opportunity your immediate attention. $250 to*300 a Month Positions paying $250 to $300 per month, which o ego to be filled by skilled draftsmen are vacant everywhere. There are in every part of this country ambitious men, who with practical training and personal assistance, will be qualified to fill these positions. Copy this sketch Mr. Dobe is very much interested in finding these men and calling to their attention the great future in draftsmanship—how when a man enters into this pro- fession, he is in an uncrowded field and how with surprisingly little eflort he may rise to the salary of from $3,000 to $3,600 a year. Ambitious boys and men, between the ages of 16 and 50, are wanted by great business concerns, and the man who is ready when opportunity calls him, gets the high grade positions ana the highest pay. Nomancan hope toshare a part in the great coming prosperity in mannfacturing and puilding, unless he is properly trained and able to do first class, practical work and is ready when he is called. ZE of OUTFIT 20X25 INCH. FREE — — this $25 Draftsman’s Working Outfit These are regular working instruments, the kind I use myself. I give them free to ue if you enroll at once. Don't delay. Send for full information TODAY! Mr. Dobe knows now is the time to get ready and he knows that few men realize this so well ashe. So in order to interest men everywhere he is offering special prizes mentioned above. If you send in what the judges decide to be the best drawing of the sketch above, you will be awarded a complete $80 Practical Drafting Room Course, being trained by Mr. Dobe personally. This training is given by mail and he guarantees to train a limited number students under this b groement to give practical drafting room training IL placed in a permanent position at a salary of $250 to $300 per mont To any student that Mr. Dobe accepts for his per- sonal training, he will furnish a complete $25 drafts- man’s working outfit absolutely free. This outfit con- sists of all instruments and tools required by any first class draftsman. Considering that Mr. Dobe selects and limits the number of students for training, it is very important that you act promptly and send in your reply either with your sketch or without a sketch at once, asking for full particulars. He will also send you a free book entitled “‘Success- ful Draftsmanship" in addition to all other informa- tion, telling you how you may learn drafting at home. Mail Your Draw- ing At Once— and Get Ivory Pocket Ruler Absolutely FREE! Ambitious men, interested in drafting, hurry! Don’t wait! This is your opportunity in this great profes- sion. Accept this offer which Mr. Dobe makes. Send in your sketch or request for FREE Book and Ivory Pocket Rule. Address: Chief Draftsman, Engineers’ Equipment Co., 4001 Broadway, Div.1517 Chicago, Ill.

Page 548

Ris Sica Patera ane ky

Page 549