The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 50 1922-1923 November-April

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THE WIDE WORLD ' MAGAZINE AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE “TRUTH IS TRAVEL CUSTOMS STRANGER AND SPORT THAN FICTION” Voi NOVEMBER 1922 TO LONDON: RGE NE WNES, ye APRIL Lr iaeren Ane 1923 STRAND.

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ALBANIA, A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville, and from Peet AMAZON CANNIBALS, AMONG THE .. Illustrations by Cyril Holloway, and from’ Photographs. BEAR, IS THIS AMERICA’S BIGGEST? o on on Illustration from a Photograph. BOARS AND CATTLE THIEVES, WILD o on oe Illustrations from Photographs. BRIDE, A BID FOR A Illustrations by Howard Elcock, and from Photographs. BURMA, THE SOUL OF ‘Tilustrations by Warwick Rey: nolds, ‘and from Photographs. CAMERA UNDER THE SEA, WITH A MOTION-PICTURE Illustrations from Photographs. CAPE HORN WITH A DECKLOAD, ROUND . Illustrations by W. E. Wigfull, and from a “Photograph. CASTLE BUILT FOR A SHILLING, A .. ‘ ue a Illustrations from Photographs. CENTRAL AFRICA, FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN Illustrations from Photographs. CHINESE JUNK, ACROSS THE PACIFIC IN A Illustrations by Francis E. Hiley, and from Photographs. “ COPPERHEAD,” CAPTURING .. o. oe an o- Illustrations by J. R. Skelton. DARTMOOR, MY ESCAPE FROM oe os a os Illustrations by J. R. Skelton. DEAD TO LIFE! RESTORING THE. oe Illustrations by E. Prater, and from’ Photographs. DEATH TRAP, CAUGHT IN A .. Illustrations by W. C. Nicolson, and from Photographs. DEATH VALLEY, A RACE FOR LIFE IN é oe Illustrations by Fred Holmes, and from Photographs. ‘‘DEVIL’S POST-PILE,” THE Bo ose me . oe Illustrations from Photographs. DIAMOND SMUGGLER, THE E a = 25 a8 alllustrations by John Campbell. EAST BY AIR, THROUGH THE .. oe oe on on Illustrations from Photographs. ELEPHANT, ON THE SPOOR OF THE o . . Illustrations from Photographs. EXPLORERS, THE AMATEUR .. . on on on Illustrations from Photographs. FORGOTTEN!.. o on oe oe oe Illustrations by ‘G. Soper. i : Or “ a PAGE +» Rose Wilder Lane. . Elliot Bailey. oe «» J. E. Hogg. a ++ Oliver Read. «» H.W. Elliot. 317, he A. Hyatt Verrill. oe James Whealen. John L. Von Blon. Reginald Pound. 13, 144, o Archie Wills. +. H.M. Sutherland. o . ALPS Captain S. L. McLaglen. John Edwin Hogg. 267, +» John Edwin Hogg. «» John L. Von Blon. H. Campbell Buckley. Richard Carline. 38, 109, J. Morewood Dowsett. a +» Oscar Eve, . ++ “ Traverse.” 450 325 176 gr 22 380 360 300 106 197 490 255 230 308 157 505

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INDEX. iil GOWER AFFAIR, THE . oS ae -. Captain F. W. Butt-Thompson. Illustration by A. W. Sindall. GREEKS, THE VILLAGE OF THE ‘ Be as .. E. D. Ward. Illustrations by E. Prater, and from Photographs. GRIZZLY, MAGALLOWAY’S be a es ve ‘ec oo Will Barr. Illustration by Tom Peddie. “GROSVENOR ” TREASURE, THE SEARCH FOR THE .. a8 E. B. Dawson. Illustrations by Charles Pears, and from Photographs. HUMBERT RULLIERE, THE ODYSSEY OF .. G. Frederic Lees. 238, 305, Illustrations by Geo. Soper, and from Photographs. LUCK .. oe oe on on on oe. a or .. Abraham Herschin. Illustrations by H. M. Brock. LYNX, MY FIRST... o. .- .- .- o. George Shiels. Illustration by W. A. ‘Bowring. MADMAN, AFLOAT WITH A i : ae David Masters. Illustrations by T. H. Robinson, and from Photographs. MAGICIAN’S CURSE, THE a os ee +. rm Herbert Vivian. Tilustrations by T. H. Robinson’ MAN WHO TURNED THIEF, THE . oe we Eugene Darling. 73, 117, Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood. MICHEL THE SPY . a . . - .. C. Leonard Woolley. Illustrations by “Howard Elcock. MILESTONES, FOUR-FIGURE .. ts os o ae aS Illustrations from Photographs. “MISS MIAMI," THE TRAGEDY OF ..- .. oe . ee David Masters. Illustration by Dudley Tennant. MOTOR BOAT, ROUND THE WORLD IN A .. oe ee oe Dale Collins. Illustrations from Photographs. OIL, MILLIONS IN ' os B.C. Utecht. Illustrations by G. P. “Carruthers, and from Photographs. “OLD BILL,” THE TALE OF oe oe ake a ace fe Ashley Gibson. Illustrations by T. H. Robinson. PAPUA, SORCERY AND SPIRITUALISM IN .. Beatrice Grimshaw. Illustrations by W. Smithson Broadhead, and from Photographs. PYRENEES, THREE ASSES IN THE Leo Walmsley, M.C., F.R.G.S. 179, 277, 369, Illustrations by Reginald Cleaver, and from Photographs. RESCUING LITTLE RUTH. « Capt. W. Damon Archer. Illustrations by Fred Holmes, and from a “Photograph. ROBINSON CRUSOES, TWO re S. H.W. Richards. Illustrations by E. Prater, and from, Photographs. RODEO, THE ELECTION AT os ESS 23 a oe oe “ Gulbrandsen.” Illustrations by E. Prater. SHORT STORIES :— DiamMonp Cut Diamonp .. Illustrations by Dudley Tennant, and from a Photograph. ~ H. Trolle-Steenstrup. ADRIFT IN MID-AIR oe J. B. Brandreth. Illustrations by Dudley Tennant, and from a Photograph. On OaTH .. ao .- ee . o “ X, Sarawoff.”” Tilustration by WH. Holloway. THE RanGer’s Story... leis Si The Rev. Gunnar Bjorklund, Ph.D. Mlustration by T. HH. Robinson, 437 173

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iv SHORT STORIES—continued. Tue Littte Brass Gop Illustration by Francis E. Hiley. POACHING ON A KING'S PRESERVES Illustrations by R. B. M. Paxton. A Ficut witn a Butt Watrus air) Illustrations from Photographs. “ TAPKABAZI” Illustration by “Tom Peddie. My Boa-ConstRICTOR Illustrations by Fred Holmes, and from Photographs. Paper Money : Illustration by H. M. "Brock, RI. Tue Witcuinc or M’BuMsBo ... Illustration by John de Walton. Our Untucky Day Illustration by W. E. “Wigfull. SIX MILLION POUNDS, SEEKING Illustrations by E. S. Hodgson, and from P Photographs. : SOLDIER OF FORTUNE, A. Illustrations by Howard Elcock. “SUGAR” Illustrations by ‘G. P. Carruthers. TERAI, THE TERROR OF THE oe Illustrations by W. H. Holloway. TRAIN WRECK THAT FAILED, THE .. Illustrations from Photographs. WILD ANIMALS ALIVE, TRAPPING .. Illustrations from Photographs. WILLIAM McDAVID, THE ORDEAL OF Illustration by George Soper. INDEX. PAGE aS Ns Courtenay Denys. 224 oe «+ Thos. B. Donovan, 226 Captain Chas. Mudsen. 342 wee) Nicola.” 346 Sir Curtis Lampson, Bart., F.R.G.S. 404 oe “ Awudu.” 408 T.S. Miller, 512 a ae . FWA 515 oe David Masters. 32 fe ‘die se oe “BL 443 ae Hiram P. Bailey. 387 Lieut.-Col. Gordon Casserly. 479 oe on Warden Woolard. 168 on «» . Elliot Bailey. 131 meee EBD." 140 —_—— PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED.

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THE WiDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a What Would You Give to Become a Really Good Dancer? How much would it be worth to you to make yourself so popular through your ability to dance all of the very latest steps, that everyone would be anxious to have you attend their social affairs? OOD dancers always have the best time. G The best dancers and the prettiest girls always want a good partner. From the businers as well as the social standpoint, it is really t.me and money profitably spent to add dancing to your other accomplishments. Especially so, since it now costs so little— and a fine dancing ability can be mastered in only a few hours. Arthur Murray has perfected a method by which you can learn in the privacy of your own home, to dance any of the latest dances in a few minutes—and all of them in a short time. Instructions are so simple that even a child can quickly learn. In one evening, you can master the steps of any single dance. Partner or music are not necessary. After learning you can dance with the best dancer in your town and not make a single misstep. Learn Without Partner or Music You Will Learn Correct = Danring How to Gain Confidence able to enjoy yourself at the very next affair to which you are_ invited. Just fill in and mail the coupon—or a postcard or letter will do—and the special course will be promptly sent to you. When your own postman hands it to you, simply deposit with him only $1.00 plus the few cents postage, and the course is yours without any further payments of any kind. Keep the course for five full days. Practice all the steps—learn everything the lessons teach, because that is the only way you can prove to your full satisfaction that Arthur Murray’s method is the quickest, easiest, and most delightful way to learn how to dance correctly and expertly. Then, within five days, if you desire to do so, you may return the course and your deposit will be promptly refunded without any question. But should you decide to keep the course, as you surely will, it becomes your property without further pay- ments of any kind. Your Satisfaction Guaranteed Arthur Murray’s remarkable method is vo clearly ex- Te plained and haeidly on written that you don’t need anyone to explain the instruc- tions. The diagrams show every move- ment—just how to make each step of every dance, and the written instructions are concise artd easily remembered. After you have quickly learned the steps by yourself in your own room, you can dance perfectly with anyone. It will also be quite easy for you to dance in correct time on any floor to any orchestra or phono- graph music. Arthur Murray Dancing Instruc- tor the Vander- How to Follow Success- fully How to Avold Ember- rassing Mistakes The Art of Making Your Feet Look Attractive ‘The Correct Walk inthe Fox_Trot Principles in ‘The Basic Waltzing How to Waltz Backward Leading ‘Trot The Forward Waltz Step How to Leave One Part- mer to Dance With Another How to Learn and Also Teach Your Child to Dance ‘What =the = —_ Advance? Dancer Should Know How to Develop Your Sense of Rhythm Etiquette of the Ballroom Several times Arthur Murray has been asked how one can learn by mail to dance? The answer and the proof that you can learn is found in these special lessons. After reading them over and prac- ticing the steps as shown in the diagram, no one can help but feel fully convinced that Arthur Mur- ray’s course does teach everything promised. And so positive is Mr. Murray that he can teach you that he absolutely guarantees your com- plete satisfaction or your money will be fully refunded. You have ‘always wanted to learn to dance—you have always promised your- self that come day vou would learn. Here is your best opportunity. And remember, ycu now receive the . Send No Money—Not One Cent Private instruction in Mr. Murray’s studio would cost you $10 per lesson. But through his new method of teaching dancing at home, you get the same high class instruction at a ridiculously low price. And if you aren’t delighted, the instruction doesn’t cost you one cent. Satisfy yourself that the new course can quickly teach you all of the new danccs and latest steps. See for yourself how easily you can master all of the newest dances and be 16 LESSON COURSE ONLY $1.00 Arthur Murray, Suite 460, 100 Fifth Ave., N.Y. Arthur Murray. Studio 460, 100 Fifth Avenue, New York. To prove that you can teach me to dance in one evening at home Fou may send the sixteen lesson course in p'ain cover and when the postman hands it to mo T will depodt with him $1.00, plus ind ents postage In full payment.’ If. within five days, I le to return the course I may do ve ‘ money promptly and without question,” 5% Will refund ‘my Name.... Address. . is you may send One Dollar and we will pay postag (Price outside U. 3. $1.10 cash with! order)

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TO PLAY.” BEGAN a s a ic) < a CI i < Zz ° ; a rr Zz

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FANTBIAG Mr. Woolley is the scientist who, with Colonel Lawrence, excavated the ruins of the buried cities of Carchemish and Jerablus in Mesopotamia, as described in our issues for June, In this narrative he sets forth the adventures of a remarkable character whom he met while acting as an Intelligence Officer during the War. July, August, and September, 1921. ICHEL turned up one day in 1915 at my office in Port Said _ and offered hjs services as a spy. To look at, he was not the man one would have chosen for the job. Slight and undersized, hollow-chested and -puny, with a thin face whose sallowness was thrown into relief by a shock of black hair and a small black moustache, he was withal as nervous a creature as could be found. On the other hand, he had gifts to.recom- mend him. A native of Syria, he knew the country with which I was supposed to deal ; he ‘was undoubtedly intelligent and well- educated ;: he was an electrical engineer of considerable experience, and he spoke seven languages more or less fluently.° Above. all, he wanted ‘to go—and good spies were hard to find. aes One of his motives, at any rate, was genuine patriotism. A Christian, with a cordial hatred of the Turks, he.looked for- ward to an English or French occupation of Syria and was réady to do anything to further it. He had nm at Mersina when war. broke out, and, having escaped to Egypt; had applied for Army jobs—without success hitherto, seeing that he was an enemy subject—and at last had determined to offer himself as an “ Intelligence agent.” He did not want to be paid, he said; the reward he asked was to become a British subject after the War—and if, ah! if his services could only: win him a decoration, any. kind of decoration!’ The odd little creature looked simply beatified at the mere thought of such an honour. I talked it over with him, and tried to get his own idea of how he could be most useful, and soon found that he had come with a cut- Vol. Lt we 4 LEONARD WOOLLEY SLLUSTRATED BY HOWARD ELCOCK and-dried plan. It was a pretty mad one, but experience had shown me that the maddest plans sometimes worked where a simple and probable scheme would go hopelessly wrong, and since, after all, we stoed to lose very little by it in case of failure, I finally agreed, and engaged my volunteer on his own terms. Briefly, the idea was this: Michel was to be landed by night on the Syrian coast, provided. with ‘a complete portable set of * wireless.”” He was to establish in Beirut an Intelligence centre to which agents ap- pointed by himself in various military head- quarters—Jerusalem, Beersheba, and so on —would: regularly report. He himself was to rent one of the innumerable small villas that dot the coast of the Lebanon and serve as summer resorts for the Beirut people when the heat of the city grows unbearable. The vine-covered terrace of a roof-garden was to conceal the antennz of his wireless ;-.a cheap and noisy gramophone would drown the sound of it while advertising to all and sundry that Michel was enjoying his villeggiatuya in regular Beiruti fashion—and our patrol-ships off the Syrian coast would pick up the very latest news from the Turkish Army. The first thing to be done was to construct the wireless apparatus, and here Michel showed himself as clever as he had made himself out to be. He shut himself up with a naval wireless operator, and between them they turned out as neat a little machine as one could desire. The whole thing, receiver ‘and all, packed up into an ordinary biscuit- box. With eight small dry batteries, such as could be bought in irut for about a shilling apiece, it would work with

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. certainty up to five miles, and we even caught messages at twenty. Michel was delighted with his handiwork and_ con- fidently looked forward to its installation on the Lebanon. The next thing was the landing. We started off in a little sailing-boat—Michel and myself, five French sailors, and two Syrian boatmen who professed to know the Syrian coast like the palms of their hands, and barely recognized it when we bumped on it. Our craft was small enough, some fourteen tons, so that we were overcrowded ; the heavy swells of early summer had set in, and in the trough of them we rolled and danced until even my good Bretons were seasick. As for Michel—well, I doubted seriously whether he would live through the voyage, and he eamestly prayed that he wouldn't. For three days he lay on the floor of the tiny deck-cabin, generally only half conscious and sometimes in delirium, and if I had not had other business in hand I think I should have put back to Port Said as from a hopeless job. But the little man showed unexpected mettle. When he heard one evening that we were off the Syrian coast between Beirut and Tripoli, he dragged himself out on deck and demanded to be put ashore that night. I hesitated. ‘‘ You're not fit for it,” I told him. “‘ You can’t stand up, much less walk ; you'll simply be caught on the beach and shot, for once you’re ashore we can’t do anything more for you.” He smiled wanly: ‘‘ The Turks can’t be worse than this, M. le lieutenant,”’ he replied. “IT shall die if 1 stop on board, and if I land, perhaps—who knows ?—I may get away. At any rate I will try to-night.” About midnight, therefore, we put in close to shore, and, lowering our tiny dinghy, stowed init the helpless Michel, his precious biscuit-tin, a portmanteau, and a suitcase, and pulled off for where a line of white foam glimmered faintly through the darkness. A low ledge of rock, almost level with the water, skirts the shore hereabouts, and just inland of it the coast-road of the Lebanon was dimly visible in the starlight as a grey ribbon which we scanned anxiously enough, wondering whether we should stumble on one of the Turkish patrols. But luck held good for the moment. No challenge rang out, and no shot was fired. Michel was pushed and pulled ashore, and, grasping his biscuit-tin, he staggered feebly off, followed by a boatman with the other baggage. Then, suddenly, from the black murk into which they had vanished there came a splash, a wild yell of terror, and a no-less-wild yell of laughter. Michel, tin and all, had fallen headlong into a deep water-hole! Oblivious of Turkish soldiers and the awful silence which traditionally should envelop spy-work, we all scrambled ashore, laughing like hyenas, hauled the poor man out, stnpped him there on the roadside, and dressed him again in dry clothes taken from the suitcase. This was then hidden under a bush, the tin was buried in a dry hole beneath a pile of stones, and the dinghy pulled off into the darkness, leaving the spy alone in the enemy's country, squatted miserably by the road, trying to recover from his long sea- sickness and his sudden cold bath. Time passed, and there came no word of Michel. No wireless message was tapped out to sea from that vine-covered summer- house on the Lebanon, no returned spy brought tidings of him; our weekly news- letter from Beirut said nothing even of his arrest. Michel had disappeared. Whether it was his luck or his heart that had failed him—for I still believed in his honesty of purpose—he was lost to us, and I could but shrug my shoulders over one more plan gone wrong. Then, months afterwards—it was in January 1916—Alexandria rang me up to say that a suspicious character had attempted to land there, coming from Marseilles ; he called himself Michel, and when questioned by the police would only say that he must see me. Did I know anything of the fellow ? Yes ? All right, then, they’d send him along, of course, but he was a queer fish and his papers were rather “‘ dicky,”’ and would 1 responsible for him? The next day Michel was sitting in my office telling me his highly-improbable yarn. I can see him still, all hunched up in his chair, thinner and more nervous than ever, throwing away one half-smoked cigarette only to light another, and pouring out his story in a flood of words—now English, now French—with a world of gesticulation, and every now and again a quick backward glance over his shoulder, panic in his eyes, and a shudder all through him as he lived again the terrors which must have dodged him daily for six whole months. “ Highly improbable’ I have called his tale, and Michel himself seemed to feel it such, for his anxiety to be believed was painfully obvious ; yet, with all due allowance for his morbid imagination, I fancy it was no more than the truth. A good deal of the detailed information he gave me I could check from other sources, and other points were proved by later events. If he exaggerated, it was not in his military report, but where his personal adventures were concerned, and there I have no means of testing him; but the whole story hung together, and in Tepeating the adventure part of it I do not think I am guilty of a romance. Michel watched the dinghy pull away into the darkness, and then, lying down by the roadside, waited for the dawn. Then he got out his luggage and, taking out another suit of clothes, hid it in the bushes, re- fastened the portmanteau, rescued the biscuit-tin, and, piling everything together

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near the road, sat on luck. A few people passed—peasants going to their fields, or boys driving goats—and at last that for which he had been praying. Two miles to the north of where he had landed was-a little town, and from this there came a carriage, the ordinary open landau of the Levant, with a single passenger inside. Gladly Michel hailed it, and the driver pulled up. The spy had his story ready. He had started before dawn to drive to a village high up in the hills ; having come only thus far, the hired cab had broken down and the cabman had gone back to the town to get the necessary ‘ spares,’’ but hours and hours had passed without sign of him ; he had been paid in advance, and only too probably had seized the chance to ‘ bilk "his fare! Now where was this carriage going ? To X ? Ah! that wasn't quite his destination, but it was on the way. Would the gentleman be so kind as to take the luggage on board and drop it at the end of his journey? He, Michel, would go back to the village to look for his own cab and would either over- take them on the road, or if, as he feared, his driver had really bolted, would come on on foot and by short cuts would reach the rendezvous as soon as the carriage, or at the worst would find them halted there. The cabman was quite willing to earn a few extra piastres for no extra work, and his fare was agreeable, so the luggage was put safely on the carriage and Michel, after seeing it well round the first bend of the road, proceeded to make a fresh toilet, and, having hidden under a heap of stones the suit he had just been wearing, walked quickly off into the town. Here he had a breakfast and a much-needed shave, and having bought a new red tarboosh to replace his straw hat, turned his steps up into the hills. Early in the afternoon he reached the rendezvous—and found disaster. There was the carriage, the centre of an excited crowd, in the middle of which a lot of wildly-gesticulating gendaymes were en- gaged in an altercation with the driver and his fare. What had happened was simple enough. As the cab entered the village one of the military police, noticing the luggage, had insisted on examining it in search of contraband tobacco. He had opened the biscuit-tin only to discover what he at once took to be an infernal machine, and now every gendarme available had hurried up to arrest the anarchists and traitors. In vain the wretched cabman and his patron asserted their innocence; their perfectly truthful account of how the luggage came to be in their keeping was shouted down as a ludi- crous falsehood. They declared that the real owner was to have met them in this very village, and for the moment the police did look about for an accomplice, but so care- fully did they describe the moustached it and trusted to MICHEL, THE SPY. 5 stranger, with his check suit and straw hat, that Michel, farbooshed, clean-shaven, and in sober blue, passed muster with the doubt- ing searchers and the desperate accused alike. In the end he had the small satisfac - tion of seeing the two protesting victim~ cuffed and hustled off to the lock-up, while he himself was not even questioned. The precious wir , however, had been seized on the very first day of his adventures ashore and the whole scheme on which he had butt such hopes had ignominiously collapsed Anxious to get away from a neighbourhood which he felt to be none too safe, Michel left the village on foot and made his way down the mountains to Beirut. The failure of bis plan hit our friend very hard, but he resolved to make the best ot things and to get news through to us, if not by wireless, then in person. He had no difficulty in explaining his arrival at Beirut to the city authorities. His papers were in order (we had seen to that); he was known to have been in Mersina at the beginning of the war, and his story that he had re- mained: there ever since, that he was held up first by business and then by the diffi- culties of travel at a time when all transport was commandeered for the army, and had only at long last journeyed south as best he could by road, was probable enough, and excited nobody's suspicions. He settled down in his own house and began to collect military information; visited, under one pretext or another, Turkish head-quarters at Beersheba and Jerusalem, and after about a month felt that he had learnt enough to justify his return to Egypt. For a man like Michel to pass through the Turkish lines and to cross the desert of Sinai was clearly an impossibility ; only a Bedouin could do that. For him, the sole way of escape lay by sea, and that meant hiring a boat and a crew who would not, as soon as approached, denounce him to the authorities. No craft of any sort was allowed to put to sea without Government permis- sion, which was only given when military stores were carried and there was a guard of soldiers on board. The very first move, therefore, was suspect, and it was some time before Michel could find a boatman to whom he dared make overtures. At last he secured one, but the man, though willing to run the risk, absolutely refused to go to Egypt ; the winds, he said, were unfavourable, the dis- tance too great, and if he went anywhere it must be to Cyprus which, visible from the Lebanon mountains, is hardly more than a good day’s sail from Beirut. Michel was forced to agree—indeed, he was quite satis- fied, for he knew my Cyprus branch—and so terms were settled and the date of depar- ture fixed. On that night Michel embarked, the boat slipped unseen out of harbour, and the crew of three men congratulated one another on their success as they beat up

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. But their triumph was premature. With dawn a strong westerly wind got up which, taking them abeam, carried them closer and closer to the coast. Tacking did not help them, for the clumsy, square-sailed craft would not sail close to the wind, and before mid- day they were driven clean ashore just south of Batrun, at the very feet of a Turkish atrol drawn up to meet them on the beach ! Fre next evening saw Michel and his three sailors marched handcuffed through the streets of Beirut to the office of the Military Governor, and by that functionary he was cast into prison pending his trial by court- martial. Now a Turkish prison, a sorry place of residence at the best of times, is in the hot summer months a very fair foretaste of Hades, and if Beirut prison is in any way an exception, it is in being rather worse than . Most. Ina very short time Michel was down with a bad attack of dysentery, and as nothing had been heard of his trial (there is no Habeas Corpus Act in Turkey) the outlook was a poor one for him. Luckily he had influential friends in the town, and these undertook to press the military authorities to hurry on the hearing of the case, or, failing that, to release the prisoner on bail in consideration of his illness. The latter concession they could not obtain, but at least they effected one change for the better ; Michel was sent up to Aley, the hill station where the Turkish G.H.Q. had taken up its summer quarters, to await his trial in the north along the Syrian coast. more wholesome air of the mountains ; and as there was no proper prison, he was lodged under strict guard in a tiny native inn on the outskirts of the village. What follows I have never been able to verify. Such a fire as Michel described was reported to me independently, but his part in it is vouched for by no one but himself. Personally, I believe it, but if I am deceived I can only say that Michel was a better liar than even I gave him credit for being. He told the tale, as set forth below, with a dramatic vividness which I only wish I could reproduce, with a naive astonishment at his own unnatural daring, and at the same time with a simplicity that fairly disarmed one. ««T was ill, really ill, M. le lieutenant, and I expected to die in this miserable little inn. T lay all day long in bed, and always, night and day, there was a sentry in the room, and I had nothing to do but to think of the Department in Egypt, and how everyone there would believe that Michel was a traitor, and that thought made me more miserable than the dysentery itself. And oneday, when the sickness was very bad, I got up and crawled a little way towards a cane-brake by a stone building. It was an old barn of two storeys, with no windows; but, at the end along which I passed, a big barred door, with a great old-fashioned lock, and at the door there was a Turkish sentry. I stopped to rest for a moment, and as [ noticed a strong

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“There was the carriage, the centro of an excited crowd.” smell of paraffin I asked the sentry what it was, giving him a cigarette “*Oh!’ said he, ‘it’s paraffin—five thousand cases of it below here and seven hundred cases of petrol on the floor above. It's for the German submarines when they come to Beirut.’ “* But it smells very strongly,’ I said, ‘it must be leaking.’ “*QTeaking!’ exclaimed the guard. ‘ Mashallah! IY should think it was!) Why the floor’s flooded with it ; and my captain has reported that it isn’t safe and he won't be responsible for it, so they're going to send it all down to the town and store it somewhere on the quay, where it’ll be more handy. No, I daren’t smoke; the cursed stuff might go off.’ ““God forbid!’ I answered piously, and I went on, and then back to my room where my own guard was drinking the cognac for which I had to pay, and all the time I was thinking of nothing but the paraffin. I remembered that you had ordered me to collect all the news I could about the sub- marines and what provision was made for them, and here was the provision, and’ here was I, Michel, who you believed had be- trayed you. I lay there and thought and thought of what I must do. And at last God gave me an ‘dea, and I saw that my sickness MICHEL, THE SPY. was the one thing needful for the work that was before me. “So, after a while, I told the guard that I must go out again—and really it was true, for I was very ill—and that he had better get in another bottle of cognac and open it before I came back; so I left him quite pleased. Now you know, M. le lieutenant, that there are no matches in Syria and that everyone uses the cigarette-lighters with the long cords of tinder. I had plenty of this cord, and I took a piece nearly a metre long—that was the length I thought would be safest— and put it in my pocket when the guard was not looking, and went out. Then, as I passed the magazine, I again offered the sentry a cigarette, which he refused; and I asked him how much longer he was going to be on duty, and he answered, ‘More than two hours,’ cursing as he said it. I said that he must be tired of standing there, and that if he liked to go up to my room, where the other soldier was, he would find a bottle of cognac and my cigarettes, and he could stop there until he thought his officer would be coming round. The sentry was quite pleased and went off at once to the inn, and I crawled on to the cane-brake. “There, M. le lieutenant, I cut a piece of

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cane, a good thick piece, a tube big enough to take my tinder cord, but not quite so long, three-quarters of a metre between the knots ; and I slit a bit out of its whole length, very narrow and V-shaped, so as to let in air and keep the tinder alight. I pushed the cord through and lit one end and then pulled it back so that the smouldering end was well inside the tube and the other hung loose. As I went back, keeping close to the building and leaning my hand on the wall as I went to support myself, for indeed I was very weak, I pushed my bamboo through the big hole of the lock, and let it fall on the floor inside. Ah! how I prayed that it would lie with the slit upwards, so that the spark would not reach the oil until the whole cord had smouldered away to the end! For everything depended on time, on the half-hour on which I reckoned. If things caught fire at once, as well they might, then I was discovered. “I leant against the door for a moment, unable to move, and it was more fear than weakness that kept me there. But nothing happened, and I went on again, groping along the wall, and got back to my room, where the two soldiers were drinking and smoking together, and I lay down on my “The men asked me to drink with them, but I could not—I said I was too ill—but teally I was too fearful, too nervous, for now a new thought came to me: perhaps the fuse had gone out. How can I describe to you my emotions ? I lay there trembling all over and groaning as the minutes went by— oh! so slowly. Half an hour passed and nothing happened, and I thought that I had failed again, 1 who had already failed twice, and I covered my face with my hands and felt that it would be better for me if the sickness were to kill me after all. And then, all of a sudden, there was an explosion, a great rumbling noise, and a_ flash which showed even in the sunlight. The magazine was on fire ! “The sentry ran to the window, cursing the father of all oil, and I, from my bed, asked him what the noise was. He told me that the oil had blown up. ““*So your captain was right,’ I said. ‘But do you hurry back outside; they must not: know that you were inside here when it happened.’ And he ran out. I cannot tell you how happy I was, .M. le lieutenant ! “Nobody could suspect me. 1 had been in the room with my guard for half an hour before the fire began; and besides, the guard could say nothing, for he ought not to have let me out alone, and the sentry, of course, had to swear that he had never left his post, and that no one had been near the magazine. There was a great fuss and an inquiry, but I was never so much as ques- tioned. I was very happy, but I prayed, 1 prayed very often, that news of this might come to your ears and the Department know that Michel, though he had failed twice in what he was sent out to do, nevertheless remembered his duty when he got a chance, and did something for the cause. “About the court-martial ? Ah! but it was easy, that! You see, before we ran ashore I had told the boatmen what to say, and while I was in prison in Beirut I saw some of my friends and arranged it all with: them. “As you know, M. le lieutenant, there is a terrible scarcity of coal in Syria—the railways must all burn wood, such as they can get. And then the Electric Tramways Company of Beirut ran out of coal and gave notice that unless they could get fuel the trams would stop running. I told the court that I had heard, quite by chance, of a little coal being hidden at Batrun, so | took up a contract to supply some, just a few tons, to the company. Naturally, I had to secure the coal before anyone else heard of it, and the quickest way was to go by sea. Of course, L ought to have had permission, but I feared that if I applied to the Government they would seize the coal and I should lose my profits and Beirut its trams—so I broke the law and slipped away secretly. I saw now that it was very foolish and very wrong, but at the time it seemed the only way of fulfil- ling my contract. “ Of course, I hadn’t made any contract really, but I got one drawn up while I was in prison—antedated ; the Director was a friend of mine. There wasn’t any ‘coal at Batrun (they inquired about that), but then I merely said that I had been taken in by someone and had not waited to get the report confirmed. The boatmen swore that I had only engaged them to go to Batrun, otherwise they would never have started at all. The Turks quite believed it, and let me off with a reprimand. But they kept an eye on me all the same, and I had to report tegularly at headquarters, so that I did not- dare to make another attempt.” In Beirut, therefore, Michel stopped on. For the moment he was satisfied by the. thought that he had scored at least. one. success ; but his satisfaction soon wore off, particularly as he couldn't be sure that we in Egypt knew what he had done. . The longer he stopped the more he had to report, but he had no way of communicating with us; he felt that he must get to Egypt atall costs. . But the watch kept on the coast: was. stricter now than before, and he had had enough of the sea to discourage him from trying that route a second time. After turning over in his brain every conceivable plan, Michel determined on the bold course of going overland through Constantinople and across Central Europe to Switzerland. It took him some time to pave his way;

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letters had to be written to Germany and answers to them obtained, but at last all was teady and Michel prepared to move. He went to Army headquarters with a request. There was much sickness in Syria, particularly in Beirut and the Lebanon, where famine had been followed by dysentery and typhoid ; and all drugs were at a pre- mium. When war broke out the contents of most of the chemists’ shops had been com- mandeered for the Army; all means of transport were in Army hands, and the druggists had been unable to replenish their stores. Now, with illness rife everywhere, quinine was worth four times its weight in gold, and most other medicines were totally lacking. Michel, having a certain amount of money (he had raised it by the sale of his landed property near Beirut), proposed to go to Constantinople and to fetch thence a large stock of drugs which, being a patriot, he would sell at a very reasonable profit, with special terms for Army doctors. Whether the Army doctors: really sympathized with the sufferings of the public, or whether they saw a chance of making a good thing out of it, they readily countenanced the scheme, and Michel, armed with proper passports, permits and identity papers, started off in a military train, and, with only occasional let or hindrance, arrived safely at the capital. In Constantinople his character and his mission changed. He was still Michel, a respectable and well-to-do landowner of Beirut, but he said nothing about medicines. To the military authorities there he explained that, physically unfit for service himself, he had been anxiously considering what he could do for his country in this time of crisis. Now his own Lebanon was smitten with famine and throughout all Turkey there was a terrible shortage of food, since all the labourers had been enrolled in the Army and half the fields were left untilled. The soldiers could not fight on an empty stomach and there would soon be little enough for them to eat. This was where he, Michel, came in. Owning, as he did, large tracts of arable land, it was his obvious duty to supply corn, cheap corn and plenty of it ; so he had written to Germany for some of those thoroughly up- to-date agricultural machines which do the work of twenty men, and double the output of the fields. Unfortunately, whether it was that the Germans were unusually stupid or that he in his ignorance had not made his needs clear, the firm to which he had applied had completely failed to understand what was wanted; in fact, things had got hope- lessly muddled. Here Michel produced a sheaf of letters exchanged with a well-known Frankfort house. It was indeed quite clear that the Germans had been first puzzled, then irritated, and they had ended by Toundly declaring that they couldn’t in the least make out what their client was after, MICHEL, THE SPY. 9 and that if he wanted to do business he had better come to Frankfort and see what the machines were like before he talked about buying them. “It is most annoying,’’ cried Michel, plaintively. ‘‘ I didn’t want to go to Frank- fort, but what could I do? I came away from Beirut, and now that I've travelled thus far I’m told that the Government won't let people go to Germany! You see all this correspondence, you see what the Germans say. Couldn't you make an exception in my case and give me a permit for Frank- fort?” The officer was sympathetic, but decided. No; it was quite impossible. Michel had better get a representative of the firm to come to Constantinople, or meet him else- where ; but into Germany he should not go. Michel protested, but in vain; so, highly delighted, he wrote to Frankfort saying that he was not allowed to go and asking where he could see an agent of the firm and samples of the machines. He got the answer for which he had been working all along—that the company had a branch in Zurich and that he had best go there. Anmed with this, Michel went back to the military bureau and was more annoyed and more plaintive than before. He didn’t want to travel to Zurich, but it seemed the only way to get the machines which were to do so much for the Turkish forces in Syria. Would the officer give him a pass for neutral Switzer- land ? Now obstruction is the raison d'étre of the Turkish official, and his duty and his delight is to thwart any course of action that may be submitted to him; but if he can change something that you do want to do into some- thing that you do nof, he is generally satis- fied and, given the necessary baksheesh, will let the amended scheme go through. So it was in Michel’s case. He had asked leave to go to Frankfort ; therefore he pre- sumably wanted to go; therefore he must not. To his visiting Zurich, especially as the suggestion came not from himself but from the Germans, and did not seem to please him at all, there was no insuperable objec- tion; and, after the due formalities, the Syrian was supplied with return passports and sent off on his patriotic mission to secure steam-ploughs. Actually, he went first to Roumania, where he reported to the British authorities, and thence right across Central Europe via Vienna into Switzerland, and so, without trouble, to Egypt. Throughout the whole of his journey Michel had kept his eyes and ears open, and the amount of information he amassed was Teally astonishing. Some of it was important ; some of little value, but all so detailed that as he reeled off place-names, facts and figures, I began to suspect a too-ready invention. In the middle of a long list of minor garrisons and village posts I interrupted him.

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10 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* Look here, Michel,’ I said, “‘ how on earth do you know all this ? You could not ibly have kept it all in your head ?” At the breath of suspicion the little man winced and shrank together like a pricked bladder. “Indeed, no, M. le lieutenant,” he said, Pleadingly. “‘‘ I know it now, for I have repeated it to myself —ah! so many times —until I have it by heart; but, of course, I wrote everything down at the time, and I have always my notes.” “But you can’t carry notes of that sort about with you.” “ But, naturally, they are not in ‘clear’ —he became quite dignified in Darenaa a charge ‘against his finesse, and, tuming rapidly over the pages of a little diary note- book, he showed me a long list of commercial addresses, mostly of German firms, with occasional notes on specific drugs and-prices | ‘“ This,’”’ he said proudly, “is what I was telling you just now.’ Look, M: te-heutenant, it goes like this,” and, seizing a pencil and a scrap of paper, he proceeded to work ‘out before my eyes an ingenious cipher’; and there, instead of the foreign business houses, was a row of Syrian place-names' with details of men, rifles, guns and stores, just as he had repeated it to me a moment before. * Quite clever,’ I remarked reflectively ; “and did you do that all the way along?” He was reproachful. ‘‘ But, no; one had to vary one’s system ! I had many ways, and this was only for Syria, where my papers showed that I was going north to buy drugs and where the Turks were more suspicious than in Anatolia. In other places I had other methods—TI will show you. Perhaps the best of all was the music—yes, I was most pleased with that—and yet it was that which brought me more trouble than anything else.” “The music? What was the music?” I asked. “Well, that was for Constantinople. You see, there was so much to report, and of such different kinds, that a little cipher which worked for the few facts of a village would not do at all. So I invented a new plan. I wrote out all my reports in a sort of short- hand, and I bought a lot of paper ruled for MS. music, and each sign of the shorthand I represented by a different note, and so wrote the whole thing down as music. I Imow nothing about music, M. le heutenant, so froma properly-printed piece I copied the little signs at the beginnings and above the lines, and put in words like poco lente and pianissimo, and | joined up notes here and there until it looked quite professional ; and so I could carry it openly—for there was too Mmuch to hide when I had to go across frontiers. Ah! it was clever, very clever, but it nearly lost me my life.”’ “And how was that ?”’ “It was like this. customs easily, and then, on our way into I passed the Turkish Roumania, we came to the Bulgarian frontier. The train was to wait at the station for a long while, over an hour, and perhaps it was because they had no bettes way of filling up the time that the Bulgarian soldiers began to search the carriages more thoroughty than usual. Two men came to my compart- ment ; they saw my ticket and my passport, and then they started on’ my luggage. Almost the first thing they found on opening my bag was the roll of music. “* «What is this ?’ asked one. “T replied in a very off-hand way that it was music, but the other soldier was opening the roll, ‘and as soon as he looked insiae he gave a shout. “*Papers !' he cried. ‘ Written papers ! The fellow is a spy!’ -“In ‘a moment all was confusion. I was dragged out om to the platform, and more soldiers collected rdund'me, pulling me this way and that and calling out that they had catight a spy." I was in despair, when I-saw ati_officér’ coming along the platform’ and I cried out ‘to him, and then all the ‘soldiers torned his way, “What is ihe matter ?’ asked the officer. “The soldiers, all speaking: at once, said that they had found someone trying. to smuggle papers across into Roumania ; and they pushed me forward, and the man who had seized my precious roll held it up to the officer. He tookit, looked at it fora moment ; then, turning Very. savagely to me asked : ‘ What is all this ?’ “I tried to look indignant and not frightened, but in truth I was very frightened indeed. “* Mon capitaine,’ I replied, ‘it is music —my music. : “ That is a lie!’ said the Bulgarian. ‘Music is printed, and this stuff is written hand.’ ‘“* Pardon me, mon capitaine,’ I replied, ‘all music is written by hand first and only printed later. I am a composer, and these are my latest works. I am now going to Bucarest, where I am to play these pieces at a great concert, a royal concert, and after that they will be printed and Biver to the world.’ “The officer did not reply to this. I suppose he wanted to hide his 1 ignorance, but he said very shortly :— «© All written matter 4s forbidden, and this must be confiscated. You are under arrest.’ “IT became desperate. I protested. I wept. I told him that my whole career was at stake; that my future as a musician "tha upon the royal concert at Bucarest, and th: without my MS. I cculd do nothing. “ The officer was obstinate. He did‘ hoth- ing but repeat: ‘All written matter is forbidden.’ But the crowd began to grow sympathetic, and at last one or two ventured to suggest to him that music was not meant to be included in ‘ written matter.’

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MICHEL, THE SPY. “The sentry ran to the window.”

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12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* But how do I know that it is music ?’ he objected. ‘I’ve only this fellow’s word for it, and of course he’s a liar.’ ‘‘Then someone had a bright idea. ‘ The ‘ station-master knows about music and has a piano,’ he said, ‘ he could tell us what the stuff is.’ “ Thestation-master was on the outskirts of the crowd, and now pushed his way through, looking very important, and took the roll. “*Tt certainly is music,’ he said, and I began to breathe again. “ But the officer was still doubtful. ‘Can it be plaved ?’ he asked. ‘ You have a piano; you shall play it for us!’ “‘The bystanders broke into applausé at the brilliant suggestion, and with one accord turned round and moved up the platform towards the station-master’s house. The station-master and the officer led the way, and the two soldiers, seizing me by the shoulders, pushed me along in the rear. Ah! M, le lieutenant, what a moment!” The little spy’s voice rose shrilly. He was shaking all over with his remembered terror : his micotine-stained fingers twitched as though he were galvanized and could hardly hold the inevitable cigarette. After a minute he gulped and went on again :— ““* Michel!’ I said to myself, ‘ this is now the end ! ’—and if the two soldiers had not been holding me I should have fallen flat. I do not know how I reached the house, but I remember that when I sank down on a sofa in the crowded little salon I very nearly gave way and told the truth; it seemed better to confess and be killed on the spot than to have the torture of being found out slowly by that miserable music. But I kept silent, and then all of a sudden I pulled myself together and felt that I did not care ; there was no more to be feared, for 1 was as good as dead already ; and | found myself sitting quite calmly and looking on as if it were someone else that in a little while would be shot; and I felt rather sorry for the station-master. “Indeed he seemed more nervous than I did. He kept shifting his chair about and looking at the music, and then shifting his chair again, and then he turned round to the officer. ““*You must excuse me, Mon capitaine,’ he said apologetically, ‘ I am not a very good musician. I generally play only pieces I know well.’ “The officer did not answer, but the rest murmured encouragement, and the station- master began to play. “M. le heutenant, it was terrible! You see, it was the name of one of the barracks in Constantinople, and never, oh! never have I heard such discord! The station- master hesitated and looked at his notes again, but seeing that he had made no mistake he went on. Now the next thing was the number of men and guns, and figure to yourself my astonishment when I heard a proper musical phrase—quite a pleasant phrase! 1 said to myself: ‘Michel, this is the crown of your career! You, who understand nothing about harmonics, can compose good music without knowing it ! You are an unconscious genius !’ “ The station-master looked pleased and tried the next bars : it was another barracks, and again there came sounds that made one close one’s ears, but then—the number of troops, you see, was much the same—there was, as it were, a repetition of what had sounded well before—slightly changed, of course, but quite recognizable, as if it were a variation of the air. I leant back on my sofa and looked at the audience in triumph. “ But the next piece was impossible. The station-master plaved slowly a few dreadful notes, looked hard at the score and tried a second time; then he started once more right back at the beginning; but when he came to the same place he could make nothing of it. He got very red in the face. ““* Mon capitaine,’ he said nervously, ‘ this is music, there is no doubt of that, but it is very remarkable, and for me much too difficult. I cannot play it.’ “} looked at him with a pitying smile. “What did you expect ?’ I asked. ‘Come now, have you ever heard of Strauss ?’” “‘The station-master admitted that he knew the name of the great German com- poser, but had never heard any piece by him. “*But you know, surely, that he is the leader of the most advanced school ?’ “He hurriedly agreed with this. “* And would you expect to play Strauss at sight ?’ “Growing redder than ever, the poor railwayman disclaimed any such pretensions. ‘ Indeed,’ he said, ‘I am only the most humble amateur, and never before have ventured to play anything in public.’ “* Quite so,’ I said patronizingly. _‘ And I am ever so much more advanced than Strauss !’ : ‘The station-master was overcome. He apologized for his presumption in ever trying to play my music ; he dilated.on the beauty of the recurring motif, and he assured the officer that this was indeed music, but of the most up-to-date description. Everybody felt bound to agree with him, seeing that they certainly knew nothing about it at all, and when coffee and cognac had been duly handed round, the officer gave me back my precious roll, and was most apologetic over the trouble he had caused me; and when the train was due to start I went back to my carriage quite a popular person. Seldom, M. le lieutenant, have 1 been so frightened or so near death as I was that day; but at least it was a satisfaction to know that I was a musician all the time!”

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN Se eT SS Told by OSCAR GERSON Teds and set down by REGINALD POUND. Here is the second instalment of a fascinating narrative—written exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE—describing one of the most portant cinematograph expeditions that have ever visited the interior of Africa. Mr. Olsson’s object was to film wild animals 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, be eecated some of the moet remarkable phetosraphe.of wild animale 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. Il. truism is reflected not only in the area, known as the Masai Reserve, lying climate and scenery, but in such south of the Athi River, where the ple a relatively unimportant feature dwell in villages reminiscent of Kaffir Praais as the stature of the people. They live entirely by and on their cattle, for The dominant they neither sow nor reap, but cultivate physical charac- beef in enormous quantities. The Masai teristic of some show a more or tribes — notably less haughty the pygmiesofthe toleration of the Black Forest—is white man and diminutiveness, his methods. while in other The most un- parts of the imaginative of country there are mortals could men who may not hardly fail to be unreasonably be impressed by the spoken of as dignity with giants. which the Masai I am thinking carry themselves now more par- Very few of them, ticularly of the either men = or Masai, in whose women, are under country I spent six feet in height, several extremely while many stand interesting weeks six feet six, and during 1919. The the chief seen in Masai are a no- the photograph madic, round-_ on the next page headed, muscular, was six teet thin-lipped peo- seven. Their ple of predatory customary garb temperament and ‘is a_ grey pastoral habits. or brown They are the blanket owners of count- which, worn less herds of Greek fas- ANorth Kavirondo warrior Cattle, which ion, gives A Kavirondo “Guardsman” in in full dress. roam incessantly an added an impressive “busby.” As is a land of extremes. This in search of fresh pastures over an extensive

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. distinction to their appearance. After living among them for a while, it was not difficult to believe the many stories one heard of the warlike propensities and the prowess of the Masai in. the days—not so very long ago— when they constituted a serious menace to the lives and liberty of their neighbours, who constantly went in fear of being attacked and plundered. Even to-day the predatory instincts of the tribe are not entirely stilled. Rival families and clans frequently raid one another’s property, while disputes over grazing tights and the ownership of cattle are still occasionally settled by an exchange of assegais, in the use of which weapons the Masai are adept. 1 had some slight experience of the con- flicting elements in the Masai character while camping in the neighbourhood of Lake Magadi. We had pitched our tents just \ W 4 @ An impala, one of the fleetest of antelopes, a enjoying a sun-bath. outside one of the native villages, and were awakened late one night by the lowing of manyoxen. Very soon the darkness was filled, not only with the cries of frightened cattle, but of men—lean and lissom giants who rushed by with the fleetness of a herd of antelope, brandishing theirspearsand hurling unintelligible threats at the cattle raiders, who were endeavouring to drive off their herds. Fifty or more braves must have gone out on the chase, which lasted for two hours, at the end of which time they returned chanting lustily and evidently tnumphantly, for in the morn- ing they exhibited their spears, several of which had blood on them, with palpable satisfaction. If lions can hardly be said to abound in the Masai country, they are certainly to be found there in considerable numbers. Early one morning I went out to choose a site for a camera shelter, the spot 1 had in mind being a nullah, or small water-course, which 1 had noted on the previous day. As I did not intend being away from camp more than half an hour, I did not deem it necessary to Masai tribesmen. The chief shown in the centre stood six feet seven inches, take a gun—an omission which I was destined to regret very sorely. I imagine I must have been foolish enough to fall into a reverie as I walked, for I was absolutely unaware of danger until I halted A Masai milkmaid at work.

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT: IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 15 in order to confirm my bearings. Then, with a start, I noticed the head of a lioness reared above the grass twenty yards in front of me, her narrowed eyes regarding me with interest and more than a hint of suspicion. I do not think I have ever felt quite so helpless in my life as I did at that moment. To turn and run would mean inviting trouble, while the old dodge of “ staring” an animal out of countenance struck me, now that there was a fine opportunity of testing its merits, as being singularly inadequate. Without wasting more time than it has taken to record the meeting, I straightened my arms by my sides—experience had shown me that this was a good plan when in the presence of wild creatures — and __ pro- ceeded to walk slowly backwards, away from the watching lioness. The wives of a Masai chief. AN AWKWARD DILEMMA. I confess now that my nerves were painfully tense as I backed clumsily, step by step, through the crackling jungle grass, but they were to be subjected to an even greater strain before the incident closed. I had increased ‘esa { , ‘ A typical Kavirondo kraal. the distance between the animal and myself by perhaps fifteen yards, when to my consternation I heard a rust- ling behind me, and, turning ap- prehensively, saw a lion regarding me no less intently from the rear! I was literally between the devil and the deep blue sea ! Never did I breathe less freely than on that occasion! I simply stood stock still, not - ee a dering to PINE 80: . : much as an eyelid, A “rhino” filmed at close quarters. The black objects on his wondering feverishly back are birds. how on earth I was

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. going to get out of the fix. A minute passed —of course, it seemed like an hour—and then, to my unspeakable relief, a shot rang out, quickly followed by another. The lioness in front of me promptly bounded away into the bush, heading straight for the nullah, while in the moment that succeeded her disappearance something hurtled heavily past me and landed with a thud thirty feet away. It was the lion, and he had fallen a victim to L——’s rifle, after making the death- leap that is characteristic of his kind when mortally wounded. I do not think I need emphasize the fact that I never afterwards yentured into the jungle unarmed ; life's lessons are perhaps better bought than taught. My friend the hunter, I should add, had fortunately decided to go out in search of breakfast-meat, and had _ killed the lion without realizing that 1 was in a dilemma or, for that matter, that I was in the vicinity at all. Lions, of course, are nocturnal animals, and do most, if not all, of their hunting at night. They sleep practically throughout the day and roam usually only when they have been disturbed. They sleep soundly, too, at least, that was my experience, for on two occasions I came on lionesses curled. up with their cubs, lying within a yard or two of me. But while I found that, as a rule, lions are not seen during the day, 1 had two or three excellent opportunities of observing and photographing them between sunrise and sunset. In this connection interest is added to the photograph of an eland which is reproduced. I had great difficulty in getting the animal to “ sit ’’ for me, as it had become separated from the herd, which it was inordi- nately anxious to rejoin. Finally, it obliged by lying down within a few yards of the camera shelter, from which vantage point I ‘registered’ it to my heart’s content. Meanwhile, a minor drama was being played out in the background, though I was un- aware of what had occurred until after it was over. It seems that the “‘ boy "’ seen in the back- ground of the picture—he had been helping to round up the eland—was_ suddenly attacked by a wounded lioness, which had been hit earlier that day. The lioness had been lying in hiding close to the scene, and when the “boy” passed by she sought vengeance by mauling him so badly that for a time his life was despaired of. Happily, however, he recovered, though he was crippled for several weeks. One of the most interesting of the many pictorial records which I managed to secure in the Masai country deals with the local custom of bleeding bullocks alive. It hap- pened that I was strolling through a kraal shortly after my arrival, when I saw a tribesman with a bow and arrow take up his stand within a few feet of a fine young bull, which was being held by the horns by two other men. The other then shot the arrow into the beast’s neck, after which he bent down and began to drink the warm, gushing blood ! THE BLOOD DRINKERS. The blood of bulls is one of the chief items in the dietary of the Masai, whose fine physique may quite well owe a good deal to this seemingly barbarous practice. The tribesmen referred to treated in this fashion half-a-dozen bulls in all, the blood of the other five being collected in calabashes, mixed with milk, and sent to the chiefs. The arrows are bound with cloth at the barb, so that they shall not penetrate too far into the wound which, when it does not close up by natural action, is plastered over with clay or dung. The animals are bled every six or eight weeks and, so far as I was able to ascertain, suffer no lasting ill-effects from the operation. My stay in the Masai country was some- what abruptly terminated by the loss of the remainder of my photographic supplies, the bearers responsible for their safe transport being swept off their feet while crossing a river. The accident resulted in a speedy return to Nairobi, where, after a few weeks’ rest, I fitted out another expedition and set oft for North Kavirondo, a populous district lying north-east of Lake Victoria. Big game is rather more plentiful in this district and offers greater variety, both to the hunter and the picture-seeker, than either Kikuyu or Masai. The character of the scenery changes also. Instead of plains and grassy plateaux, one sees well-wooded country, thickening in places to forests, and towering hills, while the people give one the impression of being nearer to Nature than their countrymen of the plains. Kisumu is the hub of a trading district embracing hundreds of miles on all sides. Lake steamers meet the trains from the distant coast, and it gives one a pleasurable shock to find that they are well-appointed modem boats, fitted with electric light, saloons and cabins complete, as well as other up-to-date conveniences. inland, however, and you find yourself nearing the Africa of your imagination. Tall warriors, with hide shields and great twelve-feet spears, crowd round you as you swing through the villages, while strange and none- too-friendly faces peer at you from the depths of the woods. Nevertheless, on the whole, the people are hospitable enough, although in some places it was apparent that the presence of the white man was regarded as a matter for regret rather than for congratulation, while the arrival in the neighbourhood of natives from other parts of the country was in some cases looked on as being an even more unwarrantable intru- ston. In one village, for example, friction

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 17 arose between our bearers and the native populace, who caus- tically referred to them as ‘ oxen —meat for lions,”’ an observation with an inner meaning that might easily have resulted in serious trouble, but happily did. not. It was while pushing north from Kisumu that I had my. first taste of rhinoceros ~ hunting, .a form of sport that provided me with almost as many thrills as it A “close-up” of a baboon. did feet of film. But Ido not find it by any_means easy to convey an adequate idea of these thrills through the medium of cold print, wherefore the reader, I think, may not unfairly be asked at this juncture to exercise his imagination in my favour, by way of savouring their real quality. Let him, to begin, glance at the photograph, on the last page, of the rhinoceros, and mentally ag himself in the position of the camera operator. This particular beast will live in my memory long after its bones have crumbled into African dust, for in addition to affording me a really thrilling moment, it gave me a chance of record- ing what I am assured is one of the most interesting episodes shown in the films of the expedi- tion. Sitting in the comfortable security of your red-plush seat at the kinema, reader, you will see a “rhino ” move sony, into picture, in the midst of “ ” the tall grasses of the jungle. AS Resh Patty: Every mow and then the great beast raises his head and sniffs the air, possibly scenting Skinning lions in the Masai country,

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18 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the presence of his arch-enemy, man. * A point that can hardly fail to hold your attention is the appearance of a number of fluttering birds, who assemble on the animal's back, to perform for him the same toilet as the starling does for the sheep in the meadows at home. Suddenly the amma! becomes suspicious ; then angry. He lurches forward, ‘us great head jerking with every cumbersome step, and swerves without warning in the direction of the camera, towards which he charges with tremendous force. Just as it seems that the animal must lumber clean off the screen into the auditorium—this is where you fidget uneasily in your seat !—the film blinks out, leaving you to breathe freely again and to speculate on the fate of the operator. CHARGED BY A “RHINO.” To get back to the personal aspect of the encounter, I had become so engrossed in the camera and in making the most of my opportunity that I had momentarily neg- lected the highly important consideration of saving my own skin. I can hardly claim that my sense of duty is so forceful that I would gladly let myself be gored by an infuriated rhinoceros in order to obtain a good film of the process, or at any rate, of the events immediately preceding it, but I can say that on this occasion my interest in the fob in hand temporarily transcended thoughts of safety, with the result that before the watchful hunter’s bullet stopped the animal’s mad career, I had the dubious satisfaction of secing one of my camera stands smashed to atoms, while I myself escaped a similar fate by a matter of some- thing less than sixty seconds. After which explanation I trust the reader will appreciate my inability to round off this particular episode by a full-face “close-up” of the “rhino” in question. Several times it happened that while I was lying in wait for a particular species of animal or bird a quite different species would put in an appearance. On one occasion I had trained my battery of cameras on a tree, in the branches of which were a number of honey-birds. Glancing into the view-finder of one of the cameras, I was surprised to see a strange-looking head rearing itself in front of the lens, followed by another, and another. The result was that I got an excellent picture of giraffes—ungainly-looking animals whose antics amused me for some time after I had ceased filming them. Railway engineers in Africa, by the way, should be careful to place their telegraph wires well out of the reach of these creatures. I have more than once seen them stretch upwards, nibble the wires, and then pull them bodily down. WHERE WOMEN WEAR TAILS. The student of folk-lore will find much to engross his attention in the Kavirondo country. One interesting local custom is that which ordains that the women of certain tribes must wear “ tails.’’ These “tails ” are made of grass, and vary in size according to the status of the wearer. A married woman, for instance, wears a big “ tail” ; an engaged girl a smaller one, while younger girls wear smaller ones still. The lady shown on the last page is the proud wearer of a tull-sized “ tail,”’ denoting that she boasts a Jord and master. Nearly all the tribesfolk of this district wear practically no clothes, a loin-cloth usually comprising the extent of their wardrobe. Some smear their bodies with coloured earth, a custom which gives them an almost frightful appearance, while others decorate themselves with self-inflicted scars and tattoo-marks. One day I received an invitation from a friendly chief to a “‘ beer party,’’ a function which he had arranged to celebrate the retum from a long journey of two of his kinsmen. The guests seated themselves round a large cauldron, in which was a whitish, frothy concoction—African home- brewed beer. Everyone present was given a long straw or length of pliant hollow cane, through which he or she—for there were several women among the guests—drank the beer. The proceedings were enlivened at frequent intervals by singing and dancing, which increased in volume and fervour as time wore on. Finally, the potent liquor had the effect of setting the whole party— excluding, let me hastily interpolate, myself and the missionary who accompanied me— dancing and shouting wildly, until it looked as if we had outstayed our welcome, for several of the natives showed quite clearly that they objected to being filmed. We therefore took advantage of a lull in the proceedings to slip quietly away, though not before I had managed to get some pictures of the scene. In spite of the steady penetration of civilizing influences into the more distant parts of Africa, one frequently comes across evidences of the survival of the primitive and even savage life which was the lot of the people until a few years ago. Walking through the forest one day, we fell in with an old man carrying a bundle on his head. Asked what he had i in the bundle, he replied: ire, master.’ Thinking that he was trying to deceive us, or having a quiet joke at our expense, we invited him to open the bundle. He thereupon did so, and showed us two or three sticks of glowing charcoal. This method of carrying a fire from one place to another is still quite common in the hinterland. We learnt in one village that a few days before our arrival a girl, who had been found unfaithful to the man to whom she was betrothed, had been driven with ignominy from her home and left to find a living for

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 19 herself in the forest, where she Again the practices of which we heard, conceming the lage rites of certain tribes, made one feel that although the searchlight of progress shines more __ brightly in Africa now than it did twenty or even ten years ago, it is still by no means inappro- Priate to refer to the country as the “ Dark Continent.’’ Old customs die hard. In Africa one sometimes finds oneself Teflecting that quite possibly those customs and practices that are fondly supposed to be dead are merely dormant; to be revived perhaps—as, indeed, they have been in some instances—when least expected. My experiences in the Kavi- rondo country taught me that on the whole it is harder to stalk game with a camera than with a rifle. Much more caution has to be exercised with the camera, and you cannot treat it so roughly as you can a gun. After crawling for two or three hours through the heat and prickly stubble in the tracks of game, with my camera held in readiness to take pictures, I know which of the two I would rather be armed with. A gun can be trailed more or less negligently alongside you as you go, whereas a camera must be kept clear of all obstacles, including twigs and thorns. ‘When, as was the case with me, you are armed with both camera and gun, your difficulties are naturally greater still. HUNTING ON ALL FOURS. And here I ought perhaps to explain that although most of my pictures were obtained by the use of the camera shelter, there were times when I found that instead of animals coming to me, as it were, I had to go to them. This usually entailed, as I have hinted, the bying business of crawling many hundreds of yards on all fours. In the jungle proper this is necessarily impossible, but most of the Kavirondo country is suited to this form of travel, as it consists largely of park-like | Kavirondo belles. spaces, with great stretches of thorn-bush- dotted land, fringed with woods. Here one can stalk the smaller animals, and occasion- ally some of the bigger ones, fairly success- fully. All the same, it is tryi work, especially when the sun is blazing down on your back, and I have returned from some of these outings aching in every limb and all but “done up.” The first time I went out on one of these little jaunts I came upon a small herd of buffalo, in a swampy depression between two hillocks. With a view to photographing them I made my advance under cover of one of the hillocks, and then cautiously crept round the base of it in order to get the “close-up ’’ I wanted. The ruse failed miserably, however. The buffalo had re- treated to the other end of the swamp, and were quite out of range, even of the tele- scopic lens. I therefore worked my way back round the hill, only to find that the animals had returned to their original posi- tion. This game of hide-and-seek went on

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20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for a couple of hours or more, at the end of which time I gave it up in disgust. On another of my crawling expeditions I very nearly fell foul of a mamba, a particu- larly deadly snake. It was lying on the sunny side of a rock, behind which I was just about to take cover preparatory to “snapping ’’ some adjutant birds. I saw the snake the moment 1 insinuated the camera round the side of the rock and, dropping the camera, I picked up my rifle and fired point-blank at it. Had I not noticed it in time I might easily have been bitten, as it could have struck at me while I was busy with the camera. As a matter of fact, 1 saw comparatively few snakes on my travels, although they are common all over the country. One variety I came across at a later stage is known as the ‘‘ spitting snake,’ because of its ability to squirt its venom some distance. Adders there are also in large numbers, as well as pythons, and many other equally noxious serpents. Yet it is very rarely that one hears of a human life being lost through snake- bite in Africa. As in other tropical countries, the natives have their own particular remedies for snake-bite, the antidote used in the case of the “spitting snake,’ for example, being human milk. ~ Apart from snakes, the creature that seemed the most repulsive to me was the common hyena, which apparently possesses no good qualities. It is a cowardly, morose animal, with a good deal of the slyness of the fox in its nature, yet with none of reynard’s gameness. The hyena lives chiefly on carrion, and in this connection it is interesting to note that it is the custom in some tribes, when a person dies suddenly, for his or her body to be placed near a specially-made hole in the wall of the hut, through which the hyanas can enter and devour the corpse, or drag it away. CATTLE AS MOURNERS. This reminds me that native funerals in the Kavirondo country, as in other parts of Africa, are often extremely weird sights. I met one such procession in which the corpse was carried on a brushwood bier and followed not only by mourning relatives and friends, but by the dead man’s cattle. There were, in fact, more oxen in the cortege than men and women, and, what was more, each animal looked appropriately sorrowful! The affection which some natives have for their cows is very striking. On the death of a favourite cow they will frequently exhibit all the signs of grief that usually accompany the passing of a wife or parent, added to which many will not touch food for days at a time. Certain tribes do not bury their dead, since to touch a corpse is taboo. For this reason the dying are laid’ out before the breath has finally left the body, after which they are either burned or left to the wild animals. 3 So tar, I have said comparatively little about the discomforts of travel in Central Africa, chie because it is not until one leaves the plains and approaches the interior that the hardships begin to impress them- selves on the mind of the traveller. Changes of climate have necessarily to be contended with at all stages of the journey, while the minor drawbacks of travel in an uncivilized country must be faced almost from the start. These, however, are hardly worth considera- tion when compared with the trials that await the traveller whose objective is the heart of the continent. Central Africa has its own special brand of deterrents to com- fortable travel. The common jungle grass is in itself a source of constant annoyance, as, apart from impeding progress, its seeds and pollen penetrate the eyes until one is half-blinded and wholly uncomfortable. Other kinds of grass have spikes and barbs capable of piercing the thickest garment, and, when little clothing is worn, as in the dry season, these natural weapons prick and scratch one’s skin unmercifully. The same can be said of the common thorn bush, or acacia. Pretty enough to look at, it is none the less a heartless deceiver, for once you get caught in its myriad twigs you may rely on leaving most of your clothing behind you in shreds. Then there is a tall plumed reed whose leaves are knife-edged and whose intimate acquaint- ance you will hesitate to make a second time. Creeping plants, as treacherous as rabbit wires, are everywhere, while other varieties cling to you as tenaciously as the ivy on the garden wall. Worse than these— worse, in fact, than most of the vegetable growths one meets—is the ‘‘ cow-itch,” a fearful pest, whose seed-pods are coated with fine hairs which, when released from the plant, pierce the skin, even through the clothing, like a multitude of small arrows, and set up an irritation so excruciatingly painful that the victim becomes, for the time being, almost demented. Still more to be dreaded are many insects. Africa is the home of thousands of varieties of insects, many of which have not yet been definitely classified. And, except for the butterflies, of which there are numerous beautiful kinds, and possibly the bees, all of them seem in one way or another to con- stitute a menace to the health or, at any rate, the comfort of man. During the hot and dry seasons life in Central Africa consists very largely of trying to combat noxious insects of all descriptions, from the parasitical jiggerworm, which bores into the soles of your feet, and, unless quickly removed, will increase in size until you are completely crippled, to moths which, flying round the inside of your tent at night, seem as big as birds and, indeed, are monsters of their kind.

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 21 The “rhino” that charged the | ° camera. EEE Ee = Mosquitoes, I think, I need not mention at greater length, while the dreaded tsetse fly, which abounds in some districts and yet is unknown in others adjoining them, has also to be reckoned with. Otherinsects which are more pleasant to meet in a specimen-box than in the open air are a little bug which, when squeezed, gives off an odour so strong as to be almost overpowering—it is like a poe concoction of Parma violets—a tle which smells strongly of prussic acid, and another, the Ponera, which has the power of giving off an extremely disgusting odour over a wide area. I might also go on to speak of ants—ants that fly, ants that crawl, afts that burrow under your floor and form regular warrens, ants that swarm over every- thing, particularly food, and spiders, cater- pillars, hornets, and spectre insects, together with others far too numerous to mention. A good | photo of a zebra—a very shy animal. A Kavirondo woman. Note | tail! the _——————— To the entomologist Africa offers what in many respects is still a virgin field for re- Search. (To be continued.)

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22 ot eeennetteaati aay Wy D OVERS of the [ variety show will always marvel at the magic of the “ Dis. appearing Lady ”’ act. Whenever I see this ny, oft-presented but ever Ny mystifying “turn,” I am reminded of the time when I was stationed at a lonely outpost on the shore of Mersa Matruh, a tiny anchorage some twelve hours by water westward from Alex- andria, Egypt. I see once more, in my mind's eye, the diminutive marquce that was my shelter for many months. Here I ate, slept, and OLIVER READ ILLUSTRATED BY HIOWARD ELCOCK sound sleep—for my part, at least—until sunrise; when we would row or sail out again to bring in a mixed haul of bream, RS rock cod, gar, and we other strange fish. w One night, after sharing a savoury stew with Ahmed, I. was unable to sleep. The camp bed was not at fault, as I had recently mended it with a bit of the marquee. Finally I got up, flung a blanket round me, and sought an opiate in the night alr. A walk along the shore presently brought me to the performed the varied ee duties falling to my ba A quaint story, illustrating once again coastguard station—- the single squat tent. solitary “ staff job,” the truth of the old axiom: “Love | During the camoutlage unfettered and happy will find a way.” “ The details of the craze Ahmed had as a savage or a narrative are strictly true,” writes Mr. painted the canvas sandboy. I see the | Read, “and the events occurred exactly | earth-colour. While squat tent by the | as described. I wondered whether landing-stage, where ! -' he slept or was burn- dwelt Ahmed the ing a midnight candle Egyptian coastguard. At my feet stretch the shallow waters of the bay, roughly crescent-shaped, taking a great bite out of the desert coast. The two rock- bound horns sweep round and appear to meet a mile or more out at sea, forming the outer entrance of the land-locked harbour of Mersa Matruh. And last, and most vividly of all, I see Musa, with her water-jar balanced. But we had_ better begin with the mysterious movements of Ahmed the coastguard—Ahmed the con- jurer ! Long before I first found cause to suspect him, Ahmed must have been sneaking out on midnight sailing trips. One of my delights, after the day's work, was to sail out over the bay with the coastguard and lay night-lines, cunningly baited. Then we would scud back to shore, sup together in my marquce or in Ahmed’s tent, in English or Oriental style, and so to our beds and over my English newspaper, the moon called my attention to the eerie beauty of the scene. Straight across the bay, where the jutting spur of land formed the eastern horn, I could distinguish the outline of the fort, a ruinous erection, lightly garrisoned and used (at that time) as a wireless station and for sea observation. To my right, the bay appeared to have no limit, its waters merging at this extremity into a chain of salt lagoons. Their margins glistened with ridges and mounds of dried salt, white in the moonlight like drifted snow. The utter silence was accentuated by a faint splash, which was presently repeated. There was not another sound of life anywhere. I turned abruptly to the tent at my back. Not a breath could I hear—and Ahmed always snored uproar- iously | My suspicions awakened, I stepped down to the water's edge. As I suspected —there was no sailing boat! Ahmed was

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away in her on a moonlight cruise. I felt annoyed. Why had he not invited me, ever eager for nocturnal fishing-trips or daring night-flights across the harbour and beyond the breakwater, braving the reef and the booming sea ? The tent flap was closed by a cord— plainly from the outside. I jerked this from the ground peg and peered in. A shaft of moonlight revealed the straw palliasse. The blankets lay as though hastily thrown off. On a rusted knife stuck in the tent-pole A BID FOR A BRIDE. 23 passengers of all shipping. The shipping consisted of two coasters, plying between Alexandria and Matruh. Each vessel cheered our solitude twice weekly, weather permitting. Occasionally an Egyptian gun- boat, patrollirig between ‘‘ Alex” and the Gulf of Sollum, honoured us with a call. Ahmed’s duties as coastguard I never discovered, but he made himself conspicuous in his uniform whenever the steamers put in. Ahmed was “attachel” to me for his rations, such as rice, drooped a candle end, the wax still warm and soft. A trifle earlier, thought I, and I should have found Ahmed preparing for some smuggling jaunt! That must be his little game, the long-nosed rascal! He was smuggling provisions—sugar and tea and such precious stores —to some spot along the coast. Yet who were the receivers ? I asked myself. The only humans—not counting the isolated garrison—within leagues of this forsaken spot were the Egyptian labourers, encamped a mile or so inshore. Few piastres or even milliemes they had to spend in luxuries! In fact, they were well able to steal for them- selves during their labour of unloading the vessels that put in at our port. I was about to acquit Ahmed on the smuggling charge, when I recollected the Arab refugees. Some- where on the coast west of the bay (so I had heard) was a camp of peaceable Bedouins, herded together in flight from the hostile Senussi. Had my honest coastguard any dealings with them ? The night breeze blew cold, and there was no sign of Ahmed’s return. I trotted back to my bed and turned in. Before I fell asleep 1 forgave Ahmed, whatever his misdeeds. He was a handy fellow—a sort of “Man Friday” to me. He had taught me to sail like a Maltese, to fish like a Greek, and to patter Arabic. So I threw a boot at the candle, pulled the blankets up over my ears and forgot everything until morning. My chief duty at Mersa Matroh was to record the arrival, departure, cargo, and Musa, Ahmed’s sweetheart. sugar, flour, oil, candles, and cooking grease. His very ugliness was an attraction; he was fiery- tempered yet amiable, crafty but reliable. Part of his coastguard estab- lishment was a_ flat- bottomed craft equipped with sculls, mast, sails, and a baling tin. Early next morning Ahmed brought me a fine rock cod. ‘‘ You like it fish for breakfuss, onbashi ?”’ he greeted me. “Catch him last night, Ahmed?” I asked, as I was shaving. “Last night we no go fish, eh?” he replied. Catching sight of his startled face in my glass, I said __ significantly : “Where did you go last night ?”* Ahmed pillowed his black head in his hands. “‘ Wegosleep, much sleep, effends.”” Now “ effendi,” to a mere corporal, was flat- tering. Sometimes Ahmed promoted me to bimbashi. But now I was not to be put off by his oily tongue. I had a plan to expose the rascal. “We go fishing to-night,” I said. «Tf no moon,” he amended. “ Plenty moon—no fish.’”” When I questioned this phenomenon, my instructor outspread his s. ‘‘ True, Allah knows!’ he asserted devoutly. ‘Plenty moon, no bite fish. Imshi (go away) moon—much fish.” There was “plenty moon” that night, but nevertheless I insisted on fishing. I kept Ahmed rowing round our fishing- ground until he pretended to ned with sleep. No doubt he was drowsy, after the previous night’s escapade. I determined to make him confess to this, so I proposed a

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24 cruise. Deaf to his objections about the rocks and the rising wind I bade him get busy with the sail. I took the helm, and away we went skimming over the ledges of rock that shelved up from the bed almost to our keel. Presently I bore round and headed for the narrow channel leading to the open sea. At once Ahmed grew restive and began to bawl that the night was “ plenty dark” and “too much plenty wind.”” He threw his arms about wildly to suggest waves running mountains high. ‘He wants to get back and be rid of me,” I thought, “so that he can start out on another smuggling trip, or whatever he’s up to.” For awhile I laughed silently at his crafty solicitude for my safety; then, feeling chilled, I yielded the tiller to his eager hands. With a skill that I envied, he put the boat about and set her careening homewards. An edge of moon spied through the clouds as we peered ahead for the jetty. Noting Ahmed’s obvious anxiety to set me ashore, I made him bear away to the buoy where we had made fast our fishing-lines. His mutterings—in Arabic—were not to be translated. At last we landed and tied up the skiff. Ahmed recovered his grin. He even invited me to share a mess of stew. “‘ No; [ll take a sharp walk along the beach to warm me up Ahmed (in foreground) and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the _ silent station. Nothing suspicious here, at first. sight. Here was the tent, dimly outlined ; there the boat, heard rather than seen, swinging at its painter, the wavelets softly lapping its sides. Suddenly it struck me that Ahmed had not taken in the sail. I ran down to the water's edge. Yes; the sail flapped at the mast, con- venient for a quick departure. And the boat was loaded—there was some cargo under that tarpaulin! I sprang aboard. Under ‘the waterproof I felt boxes—two. Petrol cases, with a capacity of two two- gallon cans apiece. Before I could grope further, Ahmed’s guttural voice struck on my ear. I started up. He stood over me, coolly grinning, one leg in the water, one bare foot on the gunwale. ““No sleep, onbashi?”’ he sands to the coastguard sympathized. ‘‘ Me same, no can sleep. Like it go sail wid me?” All I could say, foolishly, was “ Kwayiss ketiy/ (Very good).’’ I dropped down on the boxes and motioned Ahmed to cast off. Instantly he took me at my word. And my rifle was under the bed in the marquee! Wild thoughts assailed me as to the black rascal’s intentions. I had surprised him in an ugly situation ; in the dead of night, his boat laden with petrol, all ready to set sail. Did he plan before turning in,” I said. the boy Abdel. to fire or blow up the fort ? Passing my marquee, I Well, first of all, he would glanced back. Ahmed was just dis- certainly want to knife me and slip me tinguishable, standing where I had left him. ‘The beggar suspects I suspect,” was my thought. Determined to pursue my scheme to unmask the rascal, I continued to walk until he was lost to view. If his midnight cruising had an innocent object, why should he hide it from me? Neither duty nor zeal required him to go scouting about the bay in a leaky craft when he might be snug abed. I retraced my steps to the marquee. Clouds again obscured the moon ; the strip of beach bordering Ahmed’s tent showed faintly. Did my ears detect some movement there? Was it the scraping of the skiff against the landing-stage as it rocked rhythmically at the end of its painter ? In the marquce I mixed a mug of tinned milk with a tot of rum; then I put on my greatcoat and blew out the lantern. Out- side again I hesitated, thinking of my rifle, well-oiled and handy. With a laugh at my fears I proceeded carelessly over overboard. Next moment I dismissed all such mad conjectures and laughed outright at myself. It was so ridiculous! Ahmed had taken up an oar to propel us into deep water. At my mirth he stared; his own face resumed its grin. Reassured, I began to question him. “Ahmed, what's all this ? ’”’ I demanded. “Cases of petrol—what for ? A new dodge for fishing? What’s the game? Inta magnoon ! (Thou fool !) ”’ My blunt Arabic made Ahmed scowl. He dropped the oar and bent to open the boxes. “For de sheikh,” he exclaimed. “ For _My fren’ Ibrahim, Bedouin sheikh.” “* Bedouin sheikh ? ” I echoed, examining the contents. One case held a large biscuit tin, cut open. Inside I found a sack of what felt like sugar, and below this loose rice. But in the second case were two petrol ° tins. I sounded them. Full! “ Moyyah (water),”” protested Ahmed.

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Bedouin tents. The vengeful Saida is seen to the right. ““We shall see,” I retorted. ‘‘ Rice and sugar—well, you buy them from the ship or save them from the rations. But petrol, eh?” “ Moyyah, moyyah !"" insisted Ahmed, almost in tears at my exaggerated anger. “Take a drink, then,”’ I offered. As he gaped stupidly, I dragged forth one of the cans, unscrewed the stopper, and‘ Drink!” 1 commanded. “ It’s only water, you say. Drink!” He drank. I seized the other can, un- stoppered it, and smelt. I poured some out. Water it was, though the can was none too clean. To the sheikh, no doubt, it would taste sweet. “‘ Who is this sheikh ? ” Il asked. ‘‘ Where does he live ? ”’ ‘““We go see him,” replied Ahmed, as he replaced the tins. “Tell me,”’ I requested, taking an oar. The coastguard sat beside me and bent over the other. While we rowed easily he confided his secret. Sheikh Ibrahim was headman of the tribe of Bedouin refugees. In fact, he was about the only man among a horde of women and children. Now a Bedouin does not flee while he can fight, so I pictured the sheikh as grey bearded, _patri- archal, palsied with age. The refugee encampment or village was most accessible—to the coastguard at least—by water. . To sail far out- side the harbour, by night and A BID FOR A BRIDE. 25 alone, was venturesome enough in this crazy craft. Did Ahmed run such risks merely to make presents to a doddering old sheikh? No. I pressed him for the whole story. We were now well offshore ; had caught the wind, and could ship our oars and set sail. Ahmed prayed me to be patient till, by Allah’s aid, we reached our desti- nation, when I should ** behold and understand.” Despite the darkness and the contrary breeze, we crept safely from the harbour to be tossed on a tumbling sea. For nearly two hours my faith in Ahmed sustained me; yet I was thankful when the boat touched ground again at a snug sheltered spot—a_ sandy-beached cove. Like smugglers indeed we dumped our cargo and hauled the boat high and dry. I felt warmed and ready for the next act. My companion gave vent to a_ hissing, whistling sound—a signal. No immediate answer coming, he sat down by me on the rice and sugar and enlivened the interval with the closing instalment of his story. Sheikh Ibrahim, Ahmed recited, had a granddaughter, or maybe a great-grand- daughter—more likely she was not related at all—named Musa. She spoke English, which led Ahmed to suspect that she had been stolen from a “‘ mission "’ or¢‘ colony.” Anyway, she was Musa, and Ahmed wanted her for a wife—hence the gifts to grandpa Ibrahim. But, alas! Ibrahim had an old wife, Saida, who loved not Ahmed the Egyptian. Ahmed, however, had sworn that he would take Musa to wife—and to Alexandria. “T > want Musa,” concluded Ahmed, fiercely. ‘‘ One day—two day more, my The Author and Ahmed fishing at Mersa Matruh.

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26 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. work here fineesh. I go Iskendirieh (Alex- andria). I take it one nice shop. Musa help in shop. Musa speak it the Inglizi. Plenty Inglizi come buy at Ahmed’s shop. Soon Ahmed so reech——!” A long-drawn moaning pierced the sur- rounding silence, like a passing shriek of wind. Ahmed motioned me to wait and slipped away in the darkness. A minute’ passed. He reappeared. “Musa come!’ he whispered. him glided a Behind “: coffee. Guidei by Ahmed, I accepted one of the tiny crocks, again saluted the sheikh, and sipped delicately at the black fluid—cold The packet of papers passed round and with due solemnity we dipped our fingers into the tobacco jar. Ina warm haze of aromatic smoke, Ahmed began to restate his claim for the hand of Musa. His flowery protestations were received in placid silence ; the sheikh said nothing, and I had nothing to say. When the coastguard paused for approval, I shrouded figure. “Musa—on- bashi,’’ Ahmed murmured. Musa advanced and touched my hand. Her eyes shone. We were friends. With no time for further cere- mony, the two lovers loaded themselves with the stores and we set off to pay our respects to the sheikh. Musa laughed at my attempts to help. She .went dancing along in front as guide, the case of rice and sugar balanced on her draped head. What with the darkness and the broken ascent it taxed me to keep sight of her supple, swaying figure. On coming to level ground she quite out- stripped us. Ahmed soon stopped and set down his load. A few paces away I made out a rude shelter—the sheikh’s tent, I guessed. The eerie whistling sound I had heard in the cove signalled us once more. Ahmed bore.his precious case of water to the tent door, drew aside the hanging, urged me to pass, and followed me in. Sheikh Ibrahim was not altogether as I had ‘imagined him. White was his beard, as white as his flowing robes; yet in the fine lines of his face and in his powerful frame, the vigour of a nomadic life still lingered. I liked him. He was sitting cross- legged on a rich tapestry that served as a floor-covering and gave to the barbaric interior a touch of splendour. This effect was heightened by the illumination of shielded candles. ‘After many ceremonious salaams, our host, still seated in majestic calm, invited us to share the tapestry. No sooner had we squatted down than an old crone appeared, bearing a tray of trembling crocks,a jar, and a packet of cigarette papers. This having been set down in our midst, she withdrew. The old sheikh, Ibrahim. nodded __ wisely and managed to murmur in Arabic: ‘Ahmed good man, O great sheikh. Very good man!” The gaze of the sheikh wan- dered to the gifts of water, rice, and sugar deposited close by. Ahmed reached out and dragged the cases nearer to present their contents more effectively —and then the hag _ reappeared. One glance at her grim features, and I smelt trouble. Pointing scornfully at the boxes she fixed the sheikh with her compelling eyes and, ignoring Ahmed's presence, broke into a torrent of what I took to be abuse of him and all his race, for I could translate barely a dozen words of her violent harangue. Exhausted at last, she beat her hands upon her breast, favoured the poor suitor with one annihilating look, stepped from our circle, and vanished behind a hanging parti- tion. Her stormy eloquence had cast a spell over me. Yet the sheikh was gently smiling. Ahmed sighed with great relief. A little talk in an undertone followed, concluding with dark nods and more smiles. The sheikh raised his hand in combined blessing and fareweil, and we departed. There was no sign of Musa ; old Saida had seen to that! Ahmed was gay, however, as we groped our way back to thie.’ boat. Neither the enmity of Saida nor the apathy of the sheikh dismayed him. Musa would be his, he swore, before another moon. He would find a way to win her! Adready he had in mind a plan. Musa should reign in the shop of Ahmed—yes, by Allah! - Freshening wind, with a bite of rain, drove us home: to Matruh at top speed. Two hours later we were preparing piping hot coffee over my petrol stove. A spot of rum spilled into this sent me tingling

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A BID FOR A BRIDE. te 1 “She broke into a torrent of what I took to be abuse.”

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28 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to bed and off to sleep without a blink, to dream of the next act in Ahmed’s adventure. On the Sunday following Ahmed's relief arrived; a mere boy. He brought orders for Ahmed to instruct him in his duties and then to embark for Alexandria. Early on Monday I surprised Ahmed in his tent dressed in full coastguard rig and patching away at a worn uniform. He dropped this hurriedly and roused the new coastguard, who was sleeping in his sailor clothes, half-curled round the foot of the tent-pole. ‘Him good boy, onbashi,” Ahmed recommended. ‘‘ Abdel, go get the boat ready.” he added in Arabic. ‘ Please Allah, the onbashi would see how thou canst sail.” “There is no steamer due to-day,” I remarked, as the boy obeyed. “‘ We'll make a long day of it.” Ahmed agreed. Noting my surprise at his smart dress, which he seldom wore, he added : “Maybe the gunboat come. If she go Iskendirieh, I go wid her.” The gunboat carried an Egyptian crew, friendly with the coastguard. Suddenly the truth struck me—the reason for Ahmed’s smart dress and his orders to Abdel to get the boat ready. He was making one last trip to the refugee village—one last bid for Musa—before he went back to Alexandria. I looked at him straight and laughed. He gave a shamefaced grin. Eager as Ahmed to see the Bedouin camp again, and by daylight, I ran back to the marquee for my tunic, a tin of bully biscuit, and my camera. During our sail that morning, Abdel had small chance to show his sailoring skill, except with the oars. An occasional capful of wind encouraged us to proceed, but it was nearly noon, and the heat was sickening me, when suddenly the sail bellied out. Ahmed shipped his oars, seized the tiller. and away we bowled. The coastline—a minute since so terribly distant—took shape rapidly. Pretty soon, shouting like schoolboys in our relief, we scraped bottom in Ahmed’s cove. Along this stretch of coast the shore loses some of its dreary flatness. Low white sandhills are seen, and cliffs. Our cove, indeed, might have been a bit of Cornwall, with its breastwork of crags. Eager to get a sight of the refugee village I climbed the rocks that shut in the cove and found a track to the cliff top. Happening to glance down, I spied Ahmed clambering into a cave. Something stealthy in his movements caused me to risk my neck on an overhanging ledge to get a better sight of him. He had stopped by the cave wall to draw from the bosom of his loose blouse a bundle, which he thrust deep into a crevice. A moment later he had scrambled down out of view. ‘ What’s the villain up to?” I asked myself, amused. Had he really some last-moment scheme to carry off Musa ? The refugee settlement was like a strag- gling village, reaching almost to the cliff- edge. At sight of it I forgot all fatigue. Through lanes of Arab tents—goatskins strung up on sticks—I wandered. Voices guttural and shrill, and snatches of wild chants, filled the sunlit air, and the whole scene was lazily alive with working women, brown-bodied infants, and solemn-eyed children at play. Suddenly I came face to face with Sheikh Ibrahim, seated at his tent door in lordly state. Inside a young Arab was grinding maize with a round flat stone. A packet of tobacco left my pocket for the patriarch’s ready palm. He smiled, and shaded his shrewd eyes to gaze after me as I passed on. Emerging from the grassy gully where Ibrahim dwelt, I met a maid picking her way down the rocky slope, a waterjar on her head. As I turned to admire her grace, she swung round and posed for me in the friendliest manner. Was it Musa? At the name, repeated aloud, her teeth gleamed and her hand went up shyly to her bared throat. “ Ahmed—in the cove,” I said. Musa echoed the words in soft, pleasing English. She pointed a henna-tipped finger at the sun and down slowly to the western horizon. “T will be there at sunset,’”’ I took this to mean. Obviously there was an under- standing between her and Ahmed. It was not to be kiss and part, but kiss and— escape ! “At sunset, then,” I said, ‘‘ you will be in the cove to bid Ahmed—good-bye ? Very soon—this night, maybe—Ahmed goes to Iskendirieh.”” Musa made no reply; only smiling untroubled, serene. In that moment the truth was made plain to me that Love, in all its greatness, knows no creed, no colour. And Love had come to this poor Bedouin girl. A shadow fell between us. It was the watchful Saida! The old wife had no smile for me; I had no message for her. Musa glided away, and I continued my walk. . Smoke was curling from the cove when I returned. Abdel had built a fire just inside the cave and was boiling water for tea. After our trying trip of the forenoon it was decided to sail home at sundown, in coolness and comfort, with a prospect of strong wind. Ahmed was silent, gloomy, as if he foresaw the certain failure of any attempt to outwit the vigilant Saida and get Musa away. Remembering my recent encounter with

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hand went up shyly to her bared throat.” the old crone, I felt a sudden pity for the coastguard. I wanted to help him. I therefore told him of my meeting with Musa and her promise to keep the tryst. I added that he might count on me. Ahmed brightened up. “It is the gun- boat, effendi,” he explained. “ If she come Matruh this night, all is well, maybe. Yes’day I go up to fort for last time and one man tell me the gunboat is signalled. ‘She come to take you home,’ he say. He laugh at me, but I think—lIt is good! Gunboat come; the crew is my friend; I go in her Iskendirieh, And Musa— she go with me!” This was a splendid idea, I agreed ; but we had to reckon with Saida. And there had been no sign of the gunboat ; we should have sighted her. Scarcely had I spoken when Ahmed gave acry and pointed out to sea. For a minute I could make out only a_ suspicion of smoke. Gradually a vessel hove into my vision from the direction of Sollum, bound eastward, but drawing in as if for Mersa Matruh. . “It has pleased Allah to send the gun- boat, Ahmed,” I said. ‘‘ And then—— ?” - BID FOR A BRIDE. 29 He pointed to the setting sun. ‘‘ Musa come quickly,” he whispered; ‘‘ and then —Allah is good!” As he seemed content to rely on Provi- dence, I left him waiting for Musa at the cave—Abdel was on the beach below, busy with the boat—and climbed a rock to mark the gunboat’s course. Sea and sky were all a riot of blood-red and gold when Musa came. While I was sliding down the rock to rejoin Ahmed, she vanished into the recesses of the cave. The coastguard gripped my arm. “ Saida follows—like a shadow!” he hissed. Even as he spoke, her gaunt figure seemed to rise up out of the ground before the mouth of the cave, shutting out a last ray of sun- light. Just in time, Ahmed barred the way. So ferocious he looked, so commanding

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3° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in his trim uniform, that the hag retreated a step. “Woman!” cried Ahmed grandly, in Arabic, ‘‘ know that none may enter this cave until I and my men have finished their work.’” (His men? Abdel was one; did he count me for the other? I was soon to comprehend!) ‘‘ Thou knowest me, woman? I am Ahmed the coastguard. Under the orders of the bimbashi (this meant me!). I search here for—concealed arms!" I started. The ruse was so unexpected. And Saida ? She remained mockingly silent, her terrible eyes holding Ahmed, piercing through him and beyond into the cave he guarded so uselessly. She could afford to wait. She was merely prolonging her triumph. Musa was certainly in the cave. There was no outlet other than this, where Saida stood—impassable. My presence restrained Ahmed from violence. Musa, then, could never pass from the cave down to the waiting boat. She was as surely lost to her lover as if she lay bound in the sheikh’s tent, with Saida guarding the door. So the old woman must have reasoned. So I reasoned, too. Saida was one against three—not to mention the boat ; yet I would have put all my pay on the old witch to win. Musa would never serve in Ahmed’s shop. How little I fathomed the depths of cunning in an Egyptian! At the very moment when Ahmed was on the point of playing his trump card, I blundered in like a fool and nearly ruined his game. Mustering all my Arabic words, I stepped between the two antagon'sts and spoke something ridiculous, like this: ‘‘ Allah give you long life, madam ! Let the girl herself decide. If Musa will go with Ahmed to Alexandria who shall profit by preventing her?” I had a lot more to say, but I met the sphinxlike gaze of Saida, and somehow I forgot the rest of my speech. Ahmed laughed.. I turned on him impatiently. He clapped ,a hand to his mouth sailor- fashion and hailed Abdel with a mighty “ Yo-ho!’’ While the cave resounded with the echo, Abdel came scrambling up from the beach. “ Boy,” ordered Ahmed, “find your fellow Abdel! Launch the boat! Wego!” The young sailor replied with a quick look, slipped behind Ahmed, and was lost to view in the cave. .In a flash I foresaw, or thought I saw, Ahmed’s last desperate move ; to rush Musa from the cave, down to the boat and so away. Ina flash, also, Saida had drawn from her dress a murderous knife. Of course, she too had guessed. She was no fool ! Saida advanced. Ahmed eyed the knife —and gave way. For a tense moment we all three stood breathless, staring into the black cavern that had swallowed the sailor- boy's figure. Swiftly this now reappeared and scuttled past us down to the boat. Close after came a second figure, heard rather than seen, stumbling out of the tortuous throat of the cavern.: Saida clenched the knife, half raised. My heart stopped. Forth from the cave stepped—a second sailor! Saida looked, and lowered the knife. It was Abdel ! It was Abdel! 1 gaped like a bumpkin at a conjuring show. And the other sailor- clad figure that, a moment since, had darted from the cave? That ‘must be—Musa! Swift as thought Ahmed’s audacious plot and its execution was made plain to me. I had detected him hiding a bundle in the cave wall. Musa had found this, according to plan, and donned the contents—the worn uniform. Then, when Abdel had run into the cave, Musa had run out in his stead. How sublimely simple! And there, at the cave mouth, the old wife still watched, half crouched, clutching the knife, ready to spring like a cat at a mouse-hole, watching, watching—for the mouse that was not there! Abdel stood blinking, alarmed at Saida. A kick from Ahmed sent him scurrying down the slope to where the strange sailor was struggling to get the skiff afloat. Ahmed turned to the woman. “Peace be upon thee, old mother!” hi said. . So we left her, guarding the empty cave, and went down to the boat. A brisk nor-wester bore us back to Mersa Matruh. Late that night, Raiz Ahmed Baracat, of the Egyptian Coastguard Service, was rowed by boy Abdel out to the gunboat lying in the bay. I went with them. The siren had just sounded for departure. An_ officer glanced at Ahmed’s papers by the light of a cigarette, grunted, and allowed him to remain aboard for the brief voyage to Alexandria. Welcomed by the friendly crew, Ahmed hoisted his kit-bag up the ladder to the deck and bore it safely below. The bulkiness of Ahmed’s kit, even in the darkness, must have surprised the officer, for he dropped his cigarette over the side into our boat and growled: ‘ Aything more ?”” “‘ Nothing more, captain,” I cried, as we pushed off for the shore. ‘ That’s his baggage! Nothing more!”

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FOUR-FIGURE MILESTONES. situated exactly on the Equator and indicates accurately the distance to THE EQUATOR j London, it seems to “fill the bill” GOS maces r tolerably well. We regret we are unable 2 OW 2 g on its history SELFRIDGES ~ “! to thr w any light upon it bi tory, but ‘OXFORD 5+ f perhaps some enterprising gentle 1, not unconnected with a great emporium in Oxford Street, passed that way ! There can be no doubt that milestones of this kind, though they may serve no practical purpose, have a certain senti- mental value ; they remind the exile from “Home” that he is not gwite off the map so far as the old familiar haunts are concerned. We imagine that Over- seas readers will have some difficulty in beating the Zanzibar;record, but shall be delighted to see if Australia ew Zealand—the most likely cc ors—- can rise to the occasion : ee iy - Geen } nus P6064 HV KWAN 6 Powers a ie FEW months ago, it will be re- membered, we published a photo- graph of a West Indian milestone bearing the legend, ‘‘ London 3,076 miles,” and we asked if our readers knew of any similar landmarks record- ing greater mileages. The challenge did not long remain unanswered. and we Teproduce on this page two photo- graphs showing landmarks recording distances of 8,064 and 6,058 miles re- spectively, and hailing from Zanzibar and British East’Affica’’’ The upper example, of course, is not strictly a milestone, consisting as it does of a notice affixed to a tree, but as it is

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The Navy salvage vessel “Racer,” which is equipped with most powerful appliances. SEEKING SIX MILLION POUNDS The Greatest Ireasure Hunt of Modern limes OR months at a time during the st few years a little ship might have been seen floating around a certain spot just off the coast of Donegal. Barges lay in her vicinity, barges laden with incredi- ble tangles of pipes and cables. Boats pulled around from rge to ship, and fussy little launches came from the coast, 4r DAVID MASTERS Illustrated by E. S. HODGSON. In January, 1917, the White Star liner “Laurentic,” ing gold and silver ingots to the value of six million pounds, was sunk off the Irish coast by enemy action. Ever since then, in spite of German submarines, constant storms, and hosts of other difficulties, picked men of the Royal Navy have been patiently at work, year after year, endeavouring to salve the sunken millions from the sea-bed. It has been a task of incredible difficulty and danger, but the treasure-hunters have stuck to it with dogged pluck. Bullion worth three million pounds has already been recovered, and this season’s operations may see much of the remainder wrested from Davy Jones’s jealously- guarded locker. know, as you tread the deck, that an immense fortune lies only fo yards benea‘ your feet ! If the officers and divers en- gaged in the quest leel any exaspera- tion, however, they show no indi- cation of it what- soever. On the contrary, they go about their ardu- ous work with a dogged patience that is beyond Temained an hour or two, and then departed. Occasionally a slim, grey destroyer slid up, moored for a time, and then glided away. But the little ship remained, and people who were strangers in those parts wondered what she was doing there. That little ship was the salvage vessel Racer, and she was engaged in the greatest treasure-hunt of modem times. At the moment of writing she is back once more in the old spot, off the North of Ireland, and those aboard know that she is within a hundred and twenty feet of millions of pounds in gold. Imagine how exasperating it must be to - praise, and a quiet courage that must surely reap its reward in the end. The history of this hunt for sunken trea- sure is decidedly romantic. When the White Star liner Laurentic left the shores of England in January, 1917, she had in her strong- room gold and silver ingots to the value of £6,000,000. This vast amount of bullion was intended to settle some of Great Britain’s bills for the munitions that were uring out of the factories in the United tates, and the Treasury was anxious for it to reach its destination as quickly as possible in order to enable the firms

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SEEKING SIX MILLION POUNDS. 33 concerned to pay the wages of their work- people. Many a time the Laurentic had made the passage with saloons brilliantly lighted and crowded with wealthy passengers, but the advent of war had seen her converted into an armed liner, and she was now engaged upon her ‘lawful occasions,” while those aboard were fighting for the freedom of the seas and civilization. The German menace was very serious. No one aboard could tell when an attack might come, so a sharp look-out was kept. She steamed northward through the Irish Sea, and past the Isle of Man, which soon dropped below the horizon. Into the North Channel, which divides Scotland from England, she swung, leaving the Mull of Cantire on her starboard as she began to breast the open Atlantic and point west- wards towards distant New York. . Malin Head, on the north coast of Ireland, loomed up and began to fall astern, and then, just when it seemed that all would be well, misfortune befell the ship. There was a violent explosion; the liner heeled and shivered, and finally stopped dead as a mountain of water rose high in the air and fell with a crash on her decks. The force of the explosion was terrific, but whether it was caused by the torpedo of a lurking enemy submarine, or whether the ship hit a German mine, will probably never be known. Many gallant fellows were killed instantly, and many more were trapped and drowned when the water poured into the stricken ship with a mighty rush. The survivors sprang to their emergency quarters, while the wireless operator sent out the call for help, for the captain realized that the Laurentic was doomed. Nothing could save her. The watertight bulkheads could not hold back the water that surged in through the rent in her side, for they had been shattered by the explosion. The liner sank with startling rapidity. The boats that could be got away were quickly launched, and just before the ship took her last plunge, the captain gave the order: ‘‘ Every man for himself.” The Laurentic heeled more and more as the water gained in her holds. For a moment her bows lifted clear of the sea, then she disappeared in a swirl of foam, and the waves were strewn with wreckage and bobbing heads. It was a terrible disaster. Of the four hundred and seventy-five officers and men aboard, only a hundred and twenty-one were saved. The Laurentic was richer in treasure than any galleon of old, and plans were at once put forward for winning back this gold and silver from the clutches of the sea. In due time a salvage vessel steamed over the same course that the doomed Laurentic had taken, and: atter considerable labour the bottom ol. L— 3, of the channel was swept, an obstruction was met with, and the wreck finally located. Once the sunken Laurentic had been found, the salvage boat anchored, and divers went down to survey the scene of operations. Prospecting for gold in the lonely places of the earth has its difficulties and dis- appointments, but these are as nothing com- pared with the problems that confront the men who strive to wrest from the mighty ocean the gold it has swallowed up. Un- expected dangers often confront those who seek precious metals in the wild places of the earth, but the dangers of the diver are continuous. He trusts his life to a frail rubber pipe and a waterproof suit, and directly the metal helmet is screwed round his neck and he sinks into the depths, Death starts to stalk him, and does not give up the hunt until the diver is once more aboard the salvage ship. The divers shding into the depths of the sea to examine the sunken vessel did not bother their heads about these things. Their only concern was to see as much as they could during the short time they could safely remain on the bottom. The ship was down in twenty fathoms, or a hundred and twenty feet of water. Only crack divers can work at this depth, and the Admiralty table allows the diver to stop no more than fifteen minutes on the bottom at a time. At the end of this period a man’s blood is charged with such an excess of nitrogen that air bubbles might reach the heart and cause -his immediate death, or else, if he were drawn up quickly, ‘ diver’s palsy." To avoid this danger, he is com- pelled to rest for so many minutes at stated intervals on the way up the shot-rope. Thus the divers slid down to the Laurentic in a few seconds, but they took thirty minutes to come up again. Difficult as were the conditions, it was thought that the sunken millions would soon be recovered; but the salvors reckoned without the enemy. Somehow, in some “underground " way, the Germans managed to find out where the Laurentic was lying, and they quietly waited their opportunity and began to make things hot for those engaged in the treasure-hunt. One enemy submarine that was haunting the vicinity sheered off and disappeared when a British torpedo boat appeared on the scene. A day or two passed, and the torpedo boat was called for duty elsewhere. It looked as though the enemy was avoiding the spot, so a diver went down to continue operations. He had been at work barely ten minutes when he was dragged violentiy off his feet by a mighty pull on his air-pipe and lifeline. He struggled to right himself, but it was useless. An irresistible force dragged him upwards ; then he felt himself being drawn through

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the sea like a fish at the end of a line. Some- thing was running away with him! It was an awful experience. He wondered what had happened and how it would end. His senses bara to reel, and he found difficulty in breathing. However, he kept his head, and acted as the emergency demanded, closing the valve by which the air escaped from his helmet. A minute later he broke the surface. Now he was dragged at a smart pace along the surface of the sea. His heart pounded heavily, and there was a terrible humming in his ears, but he set his teeth and fought hard to retain his senses. “What's up?” he thought. earth’s gone wrong ?” This, of course, he had no means ~ of knowing, for he was imprisoned in his metal helmet and waterproof suit. He knew he “What on ne -

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SEEKING SIX MILLION POUNDS. 35 “He was dragged at a smart pace along the surface of the sea.” was at the surface, because rays of light kept filtering through the glass of his helmet, but that was all. As he was dragged along he had a tendency to spin at the end of his line, which gave him a dreadful feeling. In a dazed sort of way the diver was wondering how long the ordeal would last, when he suddenly felt himself swinging clear of the water. The next thing he re- members was something scorching his throat and a cool air playing about his head. He looked round and found he was lying on the deck of the salvage vessel, and he thanked his lucky star that all was well. While he was on the bottom, it appeared, a German submarine stealthily approached the salvage vessel. Suddenly it started to attack, and the salvage steamer had to cut and run for it, dragging the poor unfortunate diver in its wake. The attack was so sudden and unexpected = I 1 that there was no time to haul the diver up in accordance with the rules. There was no alternative but to tow iim along willy-nilly and gradually pull him aboard. Fortunately the diver was little the worse, but the experi- ence might easily have cost him his life. After that it was decided that operations to recover the sunken gold would have to be stponed until a more propitious occasion. he treasure-seekers had their hands full in fighting the stormy seas and_ strong currents, not to mention the great depth of water, without having to fight the enemy as well. Accordingly the salvors just bided their time, and when the war came to an end, they took up the hunt again in real earnest. The delay, however, increased their diffi- culties enormously. The Laurentic lay on a part of the coast that is exposed to the full force of the Atlantic gales. For fully half the year it is impossible for divers to work there at all, owing to the stormy seas. Mighty currents played about the wreck— currents so strong that they could take a rock the size of a man and roll it along the sea-bed as though it were only a tiny pebble. Once, after work had been stopped by a storm, the salvors waited until the sea had subsided toa gentle roll. The forces of Nature had apparently tired themselves out and it was considered safe to resume work.

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36 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. _ A diver got ready to descend. He looked at the sea. ‘It'll be all right,” he said. They fastened him into his helmet, and he went down the ladder, took the shot rope in his hands, and slid quickly to the deck of the sunken liner. He had no_ sooner Teleased his hold of the shot rope than the current picked him up as lightly as a feather and dropped him over the side of the ship to the sea-bed. The diver weighed roughly about a hundred and sixty pounds. Slung over his back was a forty-pound weight, and a similar weight was slung over his chest, while each boot was weighted with about twenty pounds of lead. Fully equipped he weighed not much less than three hundred pounds, vet the current just played with him. It was so strong that he could not fight against it, so he had to give up all ideas of work and get back to the surface. Two years at the bottom of the Atlantic, it was discovered, had worked a wonderful change in the once proud liner. Her plates were corroded with rust, and girders were collapsing everywhere. ‘The sheer weight of water above her was gradually pressing her flat—squeezing her into a_shapeless mass just as you might crush a lily in your hand. Moreover, she was full of silt and mud, and strange fishes glided about her inky depths. Her own weight—a mass of thousands of tons of twisted girders and plates—was slowly digging her own grave, while the currents were continually bring- ing more silt to cover her. In spite of the terrible condition of the wreck, the divers finally managed to locate the strong-room. They put their helmeted heads together, and the bubbles flowed upward as the exhausted air ascended to the surface. They waved their hands towards a case or two seen dimly in the recesses of the ship. They were in the treasure-room! The gold and silver lay around them, at their feet. Some of the cases had fallen to pieces and the precious ingots were exposed. They telephoned the glad news to the surface. ‘‘ We've found the treasure,” they said. As quickly as possible cables were lowered and the ingots began to disappear upwards. Then, all too quickly, the signal came down for the divers to ascend, and the treasure had to be left for another day. That season ingots valued at £500,000 were dragged out of the Laurentic after superhuman labour on the part of all con- cerned. A dozen of the finest divers in the Navy were engaged on the work, and the conditions were so arduous that they could only work for two spells of fifteen minutes’ duration each day. : The next season the wreck collapsed still more after the winter gales ; the treasure was buried under a perfect labyrinth of twisted plates and iron girders. Imagine a street with lofty houses on each side, then imagine all the houses pushed down into the middle of the roadw and you will get some idea of what the ship looked like. Great girders were twisted into all sorts of strange shapes ; iron bars as thick as a man’s wrist were bent into fantastic curves. The only way to get to the treasure now was to blast a passage with explosives. This proved a terribly difficult task, for every piece of metal blown off by the explosives had to be hoisted out of the wreck and towed some distance before being dumped in order to make sure that it would not obstruct the divers again. The placing of the charges in the most effective spots, and the with- drawal of the divers while the button was pressed and the charges exploded, took a long time and entailed a great deal of trouble. But the salvors kept at it doggedly, and bit by bit they cut away obstructing plates and girders weighing between two and_ three hundred tons. Thus they opened up the way to the treasure, and once more started to send the ingots to the surface. Things began to look rosy, and there seemed a prospect of making a clean sweep of the bullion. But a terrific storm arose, and when it was possible to work again, the divers found that more plates had folded down over the elusive gold and silver. It was a terrible disappointment, for soon afterwards the autumnal gales put a stop to the hunt for the season. The next year saw the Racer back again off the Donegal coast, eager to resume opera- tions, but it proved a terrible season. The weather seemed to mock the treasure-hunters, and for weeks together no work could be done. Directly one storm abated, another sprang up. Nevertheless, the treasure-hunters waited with all the patience they could muster until they got a chance of going down to the wreck. By this time the Laurentic bore little resemblance to a ship at all. She was just a great mound of twisted metal, partially buried in silt. The dangerous task of blasting away the obstructions v resumed. It was carried out as expeditiously as possible, yet it proved all too slow for those engaged on the work. When they managed, after pro- digious efforts, to open up a path, they found the treasure as far off as ever. It was buried many feet deep in sand and mud, and the only way to get at it was to dig it out—an utterly impossible task if the divers had been equipped with nothing but shovels, for as soon as one shovelful was dug out another would be washed in by the jealous sea ! The Racer, however, is more than a ship. She is a floating workshop, full of the most remarkable inventions that scientists and engineers can devise to assist submarine work. She had on board a mighty eighteen-

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SEEKING SIX MILLION POUNDS. 37 inch pump that was capable of sucking up eight hundred tons of sand and silt an hour. This monster was now called i and began to devour the silt. This pump _ has an extraordinary appetite, swal- lowing at a gulp tocks weighing fifty-six pounds an over, and only when it tries conclusions with bars of iron, masses of plate and girders, or deck planks, does it start to choke. Planks and such - like objects stick in | the bends of the pipe, and then, of ensues. The divers did remarkable work during their short spells on the sea-bed. They toiled like giants, but the results at the end of the season were desperately dis- appointing. They searched the sludge in vain time and again, but they found only seven bars of gold, worth about £10,000. The long fight with the elements in no wise discouraged the treasure-hunters, and last spring the Racer stole back to the old spot to try her luck again. The gales of the winter had torn great plates from the mound of wreckage and dropped them yards away; the decks that had once resounded to the laughter of beautiful women were folded down flat with the sea- bed. Twisted and rusted iron lay for hundreds of feet all round. Looking for a needle in a haystack would have been con- sidered child's play compared with the task of finding the treasure in this heap of tangled débris. However, the ruins of the strong-room were located once more after a long search. Great metal plates and girders were piled over it, and before anything could be done this wreckage had to be cleared away. Again explosives were called into play, and the obstructions hoisted clear of the wreck and dumped at a distance. It was a long and laborious business, but in the end it proved quite worth while. Next, the great sand- pump was put to work, and sucked away mountains of silt. The dogged divers worked hard during their short spells on the bottom, and from time to time the glad news was course, trouble The great eighteen-inch sand-pump of the “Racer,” which can suck up eight hundred tons of sand an hour. signalled to the surface that another golden ingot had been discovered. By the end of August gold worth {150,000 had_ been secured, and very early one morning H.M.S. Wrestler might have been seen slipping into Liverpool. Directly she moored ide the quay, case after case was landed from her and placed with some difficulty in a motor lorry. Those cases—a dozen in all—were full of gold which had been recovered from the Laurentic, and each case contained a small fortune. Now, at the moment of writing, the Racer is back again on her lonely beat, and the divers are once more fighting the forces of Nature for the gold of the Laurentic. It is probably the most patient hunt that ever took place, for it started in 1917 and it is still being carried on. The treasure-seekers, it should be ex- lained, are the servants of the nation. ey are not finding fortunes for themselves, but are risking their lives to bring gold to the British Treasury. Up to date they have recovered altogether nearly £3,000,000, so that half the bullion has still to be found. Iil-luck does not seem to depress the salvors, good luck does not elate them; whatever comes their way is ‘all in the day's work.’’ It is strange to watch them handling bars of gold as though they were merely bricks, stranger still to see how casually they step over the precious ingots lying on the deck. They are fine fellows, these treasure- hunters. May good luck attend them this season and enable them to lift the remainder of the Laurentic’s golden hoard !

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An aerial view of the wild “Land of Bashan,” which is full of unexplored Roman ruins. AMAS- cUS, which was our next objective, held in our imaginations all the glories of Eastern life and luxury ; and this naturally added zest to our journey to this ancient city by the latest means of locomotion. The aero- drome at Ram- leh was dimly lit by the first flickers of dawn as we prepared to leave on our flight, with our baggage stowed in the’ cockpit of the ’plane, which left THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. IV. 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 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, specially 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. mounted into the still dark sky, with Mount Hermon ahead to guide us. From the Sea of Galilee we followed the Jordan right up to the Waters of Merom ; and to our right, as we looked into the abyss below, we could see the crystal waters of the Yarmuk flowing in lofty cascades and rushing water- falls down into Jordan, while here and there the lonesome camps of the Mandhtir Bedo- uins were dis- tinguishable. mighty little room to spare. The engine Up and up rose our machine till at last quickly develo, raced across t a full-blooded roar as we we were over a great plain which extended, e level field and gradually barren and deserted, to the very horizon,

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“THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. and presently we skirted the snow-capped sides of Hermon, the mountain -venerated above all others; by the Arabs who name it “Es Sheikh,” in reference to its solitary aloofness. The sun was high in the heavens by the time we approached the Hauran, and were able to.secure the striking photograph first reproduced. This was the Romans’ “ Land of Bashan,"’ and its extraordinary moun- tainous characteristics, set in isolation in the midst of desert and plains, provide—like the Jordan valley itself—a veritable geological problem. This great volcanic plateau of black basalt rock broken into great cracks and fissures by the cooling of running lava, and bordered by the black peaks of Jebel Druse, is the wild home of the mystic Druses, a people who are believed to be the lineal descendants of the ancient + Phoenicians, cer- tain of whose 39 sayed him. By some means he got word to ++the Sheikh of the nearest village and signified to him, with a smattering of words and theatrical gestures, that if he, the Sheikh, did not send a party of his villagers for his pro- tection during the night, ‘the British, if he were killed, would avenge his death by the complete destruction of the village. This had the desired effect, and help eventually reached him; but the machine, I believe, Temains there to this day, as there was no ssible road or track along which to move it, and it could not rise from where it lay. As we flew on, the scene, as viewed from above, gradually changed until this panorama of inhospitable count was merged into the true Garden of the East. We had by this time risen to a height of ten thousand feet, and were approaching Damascus, the oldest known city in the Teligious _ rites, in the worship of Baal and Dagon, are still preserved in their faith of the Druses. Their name was given them by Hakim, the founder of their religion, in honour of his master Duruzi, whom they believe, never- theless, to be an incarnation of the Devil. The whole country is covered with the deserted ruins of Roman cities and temples in undisturbed confusion. The Druses—a group of whom, drawing water at a well, is shown here—hold their land in jealous seclusion against the stranger. ‘The door is shut ; none can enter in and none can pass out,”’ is their motto. An airman who was flying from Egypt, and happened to be following us, had an unforgettable experience at their hands. While we were over this volcanic district, we noticed he was having trouble with his engine. As he planed down he sought a level patch among the inhospitable rocks that would give him landing space; and even- tually we saw him reach the ground. Stranded there for the remainder of the day and night, until help could reach him, he defended himself with his machine-gun from the menacing nomads who, prowling round like beasts of prey, came to attack him and loot the machine. But a happy thought A group of Druses drawing water at a well. country jealously against strangers. These people guard their world. At this altitude dirt and squalor were invisible, and what we saw was like a fairy carpet spread below us, woven of rich emerald green—the belt of fertile gardens that surrounds Damascus—and centred by a patch of light and colour radiated by the sunlit roofs of the city, the whole beautiful scene being marked here and there by wisps of smoke and layers of bluish mist. To our left rose multi-coloured ridges of barren hills—orange and _ yellow, pink and purple, tier above ticr—till in misty blue they were crowned by the level summit of snow-capped Sannin. Facing to the east, their varied colours reflect across the city, across its fertile gardens, and over the immeasurable desert. Well may one term Damascus “‘ The Port of the Desert!’ A photograph of this never-to-be-forgotten scene is reproduced farther on, taken from a lower altitude, showing the Great Mosque, with its minarets. in the centre of the

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40 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. city, with the mountains of the Lebanon behind. Damascus was described by Arab writers as ‘‘ The Pearl of the East,’’ and Jeremiah sang of it, ‘‘ Hoy is the city of Praise not left, the city of Joy.” It throbs with the true life of the Orient. From far over the desert, from Persia or far Khorassan, its camels come, laden with varied riches. In its broad, roofed bazaars, whose dusky half-light is pierced here and there by shafts of fierce sunlight ; in its dark and narrow side streets, shaded from the fierce sun by the beams of overhanging houses and latticed windows—indeed, throughout the whole city, prevails that atmosphere of intrigue and cunning, of opulence and romance, that permeates the ‘‘ Arabian Nights.” One recalls the story of Agib, the son of Bedreddin Hassan; how he “arrived at the city of Damascus and beheld it with its trees and streams celebrated by the poets. . . the ser- vants entered the city to gratify their various desires; one to sell, another to buy, a third to enter the bath, and a fourth to visit the Mosque of the Benie Umiah, which hath not in the world its equal.’”’ This wondrous Mosque occupies a large square in the very heart of the city, as shown in the photograph. Its corridor surrounds a huge paved courtyard in which the faithful assemble to make their ablutions at the fountain before entering the interior to bow themselves in prayer towards Mecca. At the hour of prayer its rich and valuable carpets are seen covered with the devout, prostrating themselves in unison’ with the low voice of the Ulema ; and the variegated lights from its coloured windows mingle with the reds and blues, greens and yellows of the costumes to make up a wonderful colour- effect. In contrast, outside in the bazaars, a vast and jostling throng surges ceaselessly up and down. Close by the Mosque runs the Silk Bazaar, resplendent in rich colours and tex- tures, the din of the merchants bargaining being only excelled by the sound of cobbling in the shoe bazaar adjoining. In another part is the saddlemakers’ bazaar, and beyond it that of the swordmakers. Dividing the whole length of the city runs that ‘‘ Street which is called Straight ’ in which St. Paul stayed at the house of: Ananias. Imagine Sydney and I among this throng trying to paint our pictures—perhaps in a mosque, or a café, or standing in a packed bazaar, with a large and inquisitive crowd gathering around one! Sydney's picture of the Silk Bazaar, mentioned ‘above, is later reproduced ; it shows the lofty roof hung with lamps, and among the’ people a camel picks its way. 5 : Wherever one goes and whatever one does in this city, as in all true Moslem cities, one finds that every phase of life—etiquette, the arts, meals, even justice—are governed and ordered in accordance with the tenets of the Koran, which are often very difficult of interpretation ! Naturally, therefore, no one desires the responsibility of governing in such matters except in so far as it makes it possible to amass wealth and position. There is a story by Ibn Khallika Arab writer, about a dispute. appointment of a Judge at Bazra.? candidates were reluctant to serve, Al Kasim, the shrewder of the “tw “[ solemnly aver, by the only triie God, that Ibn Moawia (the other candidate) is an abler Judge than 1, and knows better the duties of a ‘Cadi.’ If what I say is falSe you cannot legally appoint me because I am a liar; and, if my declaration be true, it is incumbent upon you not to ignore it.” By the rules of the Koran, any woman whose features are seen by any man who is not a relative will suffer in Purgatory for her error. In this connection, Sydney and I committed on one occasion, in the great Mosque, a grave breach of etiquette. We were particularly anxious to draw the roofs of the city from one of the lofty minarets, and so, in order to gain admittance to the “Minaret of the Bride,” we watched the muezzin's method of working his primitive wooden key, and, after his departure, climbed up the stone steps to the summit. We had not been there long when we were attracted by a great crowd in the court below, gesticulating and threatening, with upturned faces looking in our direction. At first we gazed down on them rather amused, particularly at the older Sheikhs, who were finding it troublesome to crane their necks, and at the fat Ulema, the head of the Mosque, who was getting very purple in the face. Suddenly it dawned on us that we were the objects of all the excitement, owing to the fact that, as we were looking down upon the houses of the dignitaries living around the Mosque, their harems were quite unpro- tected from ‘our gaze. We noticed the muezzin and clerks being hurriedly dis- patched up the steps to deal with us, and we had some difficulty in making our apolo- gies and appeasing the popular annoyance. One afternoon, at the hour of prayer, I was painting in the Mosque, in the shadow of one of the pillars, when a tall Arab gentle- man, dressed in a frock coat and red fez, approached me. With a graceful bow he touched his forehead, lips, and head in suc- cession, meaning, “In thought and word and deed, I am your servant.’”” Then he addressed me :— g “I perceive, by Allah, you are an artist,” he said. “I, by God’s graée, am also an artist ; and I am an architect, sculptor, and engineer as well.”” When he handed me his card I saw that he was a Bey, and I gladly accepted his invitation to take coffee with him and see his pictures. The houses of even the wealthy citizens are often reached

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 41 through the dirtiest and narrowest of lanes and present from the outside a dingy appearance, but once inside a feast of Oriental beauty is revealed. Instead of gardens, as in Europe, their houses are built around beautiful courtyards in which marble fountains play amid oranges, palms, or mimosas. The Teception-room generally opens at one end of the court, and on a raised divan at the far end of the chamber the guests are invited to sit in order of rank. Black coffee is served to begin with—first a tiny portion of bitter coffee, then a large portion of sweet, in accordance with the ancient custom recorded in the Bible : ‘‘ May bitterness be little and sweetness abundant.’’ Then the narghilehs ©* ater-pipes are passed round. ‘ormalities over, our host spoke unre- a vedly of his experiences—how, as a major of artillery, he had with great hardship crossed the Sinai desert with the Turkish army to attack our troops on the Suez Canal. He Spoke Tegretfully of the leaden pontoons, which failed them in their attempt to cross the Canal; and described how he had been wounded in the retreat to Gaza. He described his mission to the holy cities of Mecca and Medina to strengthen the alle- giance of the Sherif and his Arabs to the Turkish cause, and his eventual capture by the British. While in the holy cities he had painted two pictures, which he showed us with much reverence; one being of the Kaaba at Mecca, and the other Mahomet's tomb at Medina. The penalty for a Christian who sets eyes on either of these places is death. The social entertainment of Damascus is of the truly Oriental kind. Sometimes we sat in the cafés chantants with Arab officers of King Hussein's army, who hospitably entertained us. Sometimes in the cool of the evenings we would join those assembled on the banks of the Baroda, listening to the * aes y Damascus from the air. The city stands in the centre of a very fertile oasis. gurgling water beneath swaying saplings and willows or the white blossom of cherry- trees. A favourite resort is the gardens around Sultan Selim's Mosque, shown in the centre of the above photograph. One evening the nephew of a prominent Pasha accompanied us to the theatre. It was an oblong hall built of wood, with a gallery above divided into square boxes for the superior classes. In the body of the hall, a motley crowd—entirely men—were seated anywhere and everywhere with their water- pipes, talking and gesticulating ; anda band, composed of a drum, cymbals, and one violin, attempted to drown the noise.

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ya THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The performance was carried out in dumb show, and was of the simplest blood-and- thunder kind; and the audience showed never such pleasure as when, in the final act, the stage was covered with five corpses —the entire cast ! For several miles in all directions the city is surrounded by gardens and_ orchards, which gradually merge into the plains or the descrt. Here, again, one meets the Bedouins —the wanderers of the wilds. There was a large camp of these nomads, at which we stopped, about fifty miles north, on the road to Palmyra. They were goatherds and had about a dozen tents, and a photograph on the next page shows one of their women—a typical Bedo- uin. While we were painting their camp we regretted that the menfolk were almost too friendly and interrupted us continually, but we found them very entertain- ing when we were sitting in white tent festooned with tassels, and gaily coloured; and outside were tethered a couple of Arab mares. The owner was a man of middle age, which his thick black beard denoted ; and the scars across his cheek disclosed his made of life. A whole roasted lamb was set before us in proof of Oriental hospitality ; and after the completion of this mighty meal, as we sat around the dying embers, one of the party recited—no doubt for the thousandth time— the glorious story of “ Abou Zeyd and his wonderful Mare.” In contrast to these Oriental charac- teristics, l remember on one occasion—it was when we were on our way across the Lebanon to Beyrout—a native of a very incongruousand not so welcome kind _ accosting us. He was an Arab with pale face, _ wearing with his native cloak and head- gear bright yellow Ameri- can boots and coloured socks. He addressed us thus :— “Ello, I can their coffee ‘elp you! What booth, as they you want? You are far from English! So’m lacking in in- I. Ibinin New telligence and York. Yes, I never at a loss bin all over for conversa- England — tion. Questions Michigan, poured in upon Buttalo, and us. Detroit. You “Why have from England ? the Inglezi so Dat’s my coun- much love of try! This speed ?’”’ asked country no one of the good. I got younger men. some properties “Allah has _ The Silk Bazaar, Damascus, from the painting igs here, for that - timed our day by the speed of the camel. Observe the sun—it does not try to move faster. Wherefore do they do so?” “Your women must be many,’’ added another, ‘‘that you can leave your herds with them and stay in the land of Esh Sham.” . ““Wherefore do the Inglezi desert their own booths ? ’’ was one of the few remarks of the old Sheikh, who welcomed us as guests, though not as foreigners in.the land. On the return route to Damascus we stayed awhile at an Arab’s tent beneath some poplars near the roadside. It was a Sydney W. Carline. I come back.’’, And so he went on, concluding with: ‘Well, so long, countrymen !' The mountains of Lebanon are barren on their eastern slopes, dried by the hot desert winds ; but as one crosses over the ‘last snowcapped ridge and looks down upon the Mediterranean on the other side one finds the steep sides covered with. vegetation. This-is the narrow coastland of Phoenicia, and as we journeyed north from Beyrout to Tripoli we reached the Dog River, .with its record of many..ancient civilizations. On the rock face here has been inscribed the story of conquests from Sennacherib the

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 43 Assyrian and Rameses of Egypt down to Allenby. A curious story is attached to the name of this river. A tock shaped like a hound used to over- hang the waters, and through its hollow mouth the wind caused a mournful howl to echo down the valleys. The ancient Pheenicians thought it must be a sacred dog turned to stone, and named the stream accordingly. Farther north is another river, the Adonis —a__ reference to the story of Venus wailing for Adonis, jored to death by the The red rocks on its banks tinge the water with purple during cer- tain summer months, and suggested to the Pheenicians that the blood of the murdered Adonis was flowing down the stream. It is the strip of coastland south of Beyrout, however, which is the heart of ancient Phoenicia. As we journeyed to Acre down this coast, Sidon was the first city we reached. All the way the hillsides were honeycombed with ancient sepulchres. A Bedouin woman. Weclimbed up and went into some of them, but found them all empty. Farther south we arrived at Tyre, and while we were there, sitting on the stone walls of the once greatest harbour of the world, a sailing ship negotiated the narrow entrance and cast anchor. It was a scene that took one back to the days of Tyre's palmy glory. Looking down through the still waters we could see great columns of red granite lying in the bed of the harbour, and were reminded of Ezekiel’s prophecy con- cerning the destruction of the city: ‘ Her stones shall lie in the midst of the waters.” It is a sad_ story, that of Tyre. In the days when she was mistress of the seas, the place was a rock island, half a mile from the mainland, and so defied attack. But Alexander the Great, after a seven months’ siege, doomed it for all time by building a mole out from the mainland. Crossing this, he was able to overthrow the defenders. The ancient city of Tyre, as seen from an aeroplane.

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44 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZD Since. those far-off days the waves have washed half a mile of sand against the causeway, converting the former island into a peninsula, and filling up one of the harbours. Well may one lament with Ezekiel : ‘‘ What city is like Tyrus, like the destroyed in the midst of the sea?" The photograph of Tyre, taken from the air, well illustrates her history. The shape of the original rocky island can be plainly seen, and the light-coloured patch of sand shows the causeway. Several weeks later found us at Aleppo. To make:the long journey. north we had boarded a cattle-truck at Baalbeck, on the — EK. We sat one evening in a crowded café- chantant sipping Carmel wine in porcelain cups. An Arab leant towards me: ‘‘ Welcome to thee, O stranger ! "’ he murmured. A band of musicians were performing with guitar and flutes, and beating of tom-toms—mournful melodies that have no endings. A dancer commenced to sing shrill notes and sway her body in rhythmic movement. Her eyes were painted black with koAl; the tips of her fingers and toes vermilion with henna. “Will the Inglezi or the Frankezi keep this country in place of the Osmanli ? ’ my Arab friend went on. “ Pray Allah it be not the Frankezi!"’ he added. ‘“‘ But may Set Ls SN S s - y Aleppo from the air, showing Saladin’s citadel on its artificial mound. If the photograph is inverted the mound looks like the crater of a volcano. old Turkish railway ; and, like our fellow- passengers, we slept on our baggage, though, unlike them, we did not try to talk and smoke right through the night. At places like Hamah and Homs we could purchase eggs and chuppatties for our day’s provender from the scores of children who produced eggs without number from the voluminous folds of their one and only garment. Aleppo is one of the great trading cities of the East, and surrounds Saladin’s citadel, of which the huge mound is clearly shown, sur- rounded by houses, in the next aerial photo. ‘The city gained its name, which means “ Milk,’ because Abraham is said to have halted there to milk his goats, and distribute it to the poor. not Allah grant El Arabi to rule Arabi land?” Later he continued again: “‘ Once I was set in charge of the construction of roads together with a Feringhee. He was good, bismillah, but this Feringhee, I overheard him speak to a friend. He spoke of me as a‘ nigger ’—I, a Hadji of El Islam!’ And he raised his hands in horror at the impious deed. His conversation was interrupted as the dancer came to us through the crowd, rattling her cymbal for us to offer baksheesh. “ Ailah will give you recompense,’’ she murmured as my coin dropped among the others. (To be continued.) Ca lea el ET Li ae ee |

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_Short: Stories DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. Told by AAGE TABEL and Set Down by H. TROLLE-STEENSTRUP. Illustrated by DUDLEY TENNANT. Showing how a young farmhand matched his wits against a rascally farmer who made a practice of cheating his men out of their wages. “The story is strictly true,” writes the Author. N the early spring of 1909 I found myself stranded in Butte, Mon- tana, where I _loafed around for a couple of weeks in enforced idleness. My funds were dwindling fast, and every morning I awoke with the clear idea that something had to be done. To remain in the city, even with the strictest economy, would have meant nothing but speedy bank- Tuptcy. When I saw other jobless men roaming round the streets, I became filled with dismal forebodings of impending starvation. “Let us go out in the country,” I said to myself; “‘ there, at least, one cannot easily perish from hunger.” I consulted my purse. It bespoke ebb- tide, but there was still enough left to carry me some hundred miles by railway. I have always hated stealing rides; even when pretty near bottom, I have preferred to pay my way. Actuated by this determination I strolled down to the railroad depot to consult the train schedule and the fares to dif- ferent points. Having no certain destination except getting as near the coast as possible, I addressed the clerk somehow to this effect :— “‘Give me mileage on a west-bound train for a dollar, please.” He looked suspiciously at me as he handed me a ticket stamped for some unknown place close to the border of Idaho, but he was considerate enough not to ask any questions. It had struck me as rather sensible to divide my funds into six rations of railroad tickets and food. I travelled mostly at nights to save expenses for lodging; the days I em- ployed in scouting for a job. Bad luck grinned at me at every stopping place ; there was no work to be had anywhere. The sixth Aage Tabel. day found me at the end of my tether in a town called E. , somewhere in Idaho, the most God-forsaken place it had ever fallen to my lot to visit. I strolled leisurely out on the platform looking for a sign of life, but there was none. All I saw was the name E. beneath the dim gleam of a lantern. I passed the empty railway-hall and came out into the streets of the town, which were practically empty. E. boasted no_ local newspaper, so I was barred from finding work through that channel, and had to act as town-crier on my own behalf. The first man I accosted gave me but little hope. He told me that jobs there were rarely open to strangers, as they were mostly handed down from father to son ; and after repeating the’ slogan about ‘‘ hard times,’’ he advised me to go out into the country, where I might be of use to somebody. As the next person I interviewed told me exactly the same thing I decided to heed the advice, and soon I was marching briskly along the dusty highway. The sun had now risen and the road began to be peopled with farmers driving to E to market their produce. I accosted the first farmer I met. Work was pretty scarce, he told me, but I could try a man by the name of Mike Donnelly. He was the only man who might engage me, he said, but he would not advise me to work for Mike if I could find some other employer. “And why not?” I asked. pay a decent wage?” The farmer shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” he drawled, at length, “it is up to yourself to find out about that. I’m not your guardian angel.” It was not long before I met another “Doesn’t he

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40 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. farmer. I approached him and asked if he happened to know Mike Donnelly. He stopped his horse and scrutinized me. ‘*Sure, I know Mike, though I don't sce him often,”’ he said. And could he tell me, I went on, if Mike needed a hand on his farm ? The farmer lifted his brows. ‘' Well,” he replied, ‘‘ I reckon Mike always wants some- body to work for him.” I theught this was fine, and asked him to tell me the shortest cut to the farm. He raised his whip and pointed out the direction : “ Follow the road until you come to the stone fence on your right. Then cross the field and you will find the Poplars, which is Mike's place.” He cracked his whip and the cart squeaked away on the sandy road. But, before he too far away to be heard, he turned and “He is not a man you should pick a quarrel with. Mark my words!” Some twenty minutes’ brisk walking brought me to the fence. I crossed the field as directed, and presently I saw the Poplars. It lay hidden among barren hills and was not visible from the road. Donnelly was just drawing water from the well when I came up to him. He did not impress me favourably—let that fact be stated at once. His ugly head was mounted upon a gigantic frame, and his bare, hairy arms bore witness to herculean strength. His eyes were small and almost reddish, shadowed by bushy brows, and with a gleam of evil lurking in their bloodshot depths. On telling him my errand he looked askance at me. “Can you work hard?” he de- manded, in a peevish snarl. I did not feel very much inclined to enter his service, but, being penniless, I had no choice, and hence I tried to keep cheerful. I told him I considered myself able to be useful, but as to the hard work, I would like to know what he intended to pay for my services. “To can pay a farm-hand thirty dollars and his board,” he said, ‘* provided he gives a good account of himsclf.” When I agreed to this he told me I could start at once. Donnelly then introduced me to his wife— a middle-aged, haggard woman, with a fur- tive look in her watery eyes—after which he took me to my room, a sparsely furnished chamber in a shed, outside which stood the well. I began working for Donnelly on the first of May, and laboured hard all the month without once going down to E a) when June arrived I approached him with a request for some money. He was evidently in a bad temper, for he looked morosely at me, as he growled :— “Wages ¢ Of course, you can have some money if you want it ; but look here, young. man, I should advise you to let me keep your wages till you are through. Young men like you are apt to go down to the town and squander what they've earned, and that I don't like. I know what I am talking about, for years ago I had a young fellow working for me, and he used to go down to E-— every pay-day, and gamble and drink up his last cent. So, when his time was over here, | had to buy him a railway ticket; and since then I have alw preferred not to pay my helps until the day they leave.” I had never heard Donnelly say so much before, for he was usually a man of very few words. But now it was only with great difficulty that I got in a diffident remark to the ettect that [ had not the slightest in- tention of gambling or drinking away my hard-earned wages, but I needed a few dollars just then. “Oh,” he said, “I see what you mean ; you want it in a bank! As for that, you may consider your money as safe as in the bank, and you'll have the interest, too, if I can manage it. Are you satisfied ?"’ Need I say I wasn't ? But he spoke with such authority, and so patronizingly, that I really could not object to his argument. Moreover, what he said about saving up the money till the day I left seemed quite sensible, for then I should find myself in possession of considerable funds. After that Donnelly became more taciturn than ever, and I noticed that he rarely missed an opportunity to impress me with his great bodily strength. I could not help thinking that he did this in order to frighten me into meek submission, I remember particularly one day when we were working out in the field and his atten- tion was drawn to a monstrous boulder which had slipped somewhat out of its position in the stone fence. Busying himself with a hoe, he requested me to put the rock back. I tried to do as he told me, but the stone proved far too heavy, and not even with the exertion of all my power could I move it. “‘ This is a two-man job, Donnelly,” I said. He stood bent over the hoe and smiled—a sneering, malicious smile. “What nonsense!" he snarled. ‘“ Look here, and see how easily it is done.” He went to the fence, and with one tremendous pull loosened the stone, which he then lifted in the air and placed on the top of the wall. Wiping his forehead, he turned to me and said, sneeringly : ‘‘ Ihave met some bantams

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that couldn’t do a full-grown man’s work, but who nevertheless expected his pay.” On another occasion, I saw him sitting in the yard polishing his rifle. While carrying water from the well into the kitchen I passed him closely and noticed that he watched me stealthily. Suddenly he rose, and, putting his middle finger in the muzzle, held the rifle straight out in front of him, his arms outstretched. I considered this feat a truly astounding proof of his enormous strength, but was careful not to divulge my amazement. Without any provocation he started to talk to me, and this is what he said, or rather mumbled to himself :— “It is dangerous for a bantam to play games with a full-grown man. I could tell you an interesting example drawn from my own experience. I will spare you the details and just let you know that the man was a “ square-head,’ like yourself. To cut a long story short, let me tell you that he allowed himself to entertain certain views much opposed to my own. We crashed—and who do you think got the upper hand ? :’ I listened tu nim with disgust, feeling that he was trying to force a quarrel upon me. His calling me a “ bantam ”’ and a “ square- head ”’ (a nickname for Scandinavians in America) made my blood boil. I stood five feet eleven inches, and tipped the scale at a hundred and seventy-five pounds, and my muscular power was so well developed that, without any boasting, I might have been a match for many professional pugilists. So, mustering all the self-confidence my penniless state would allow, I faced him squarely and burst out :— ““Look here, Donnelly! It may be you can lift greater weights than I, but let me tell you that men of greater bulk than you have found cause to regret having called me a ‘ bantam’ or a ‘square-head.’ Because I don’t brag with showy tricks, you shouldn’t judge too hastily about my ability to stand up in a fight. But if I am pressed too hard I become desperate, and in that case even a man like you may find it pretty bad that you have only your wife to help you.” To this outburst he returned not a word, but remained sitting, sneering in the most insolent manner. Some days after this Mrs. Donnelly requested me to dig up a certain strip in the back-yard for a flower-bed. I consented, without making any comment, though it appeared quite unreasonable to prepare a flower-bed at that time of the year, it being now the end of July. Donnelly was out in the field, and his wife was‘ milking the cows when I commenced the work. As I was busily turning the soil my spade hit some hard substance, which I at first took to be a SHORT STORIES. 47 stone, but on closer inspection I found it to be a human skull! 1 could not restrain a shudder at the thought of who had been buried there. That same night, when I had retired to my shed and was lying awake occupying my wandering thoughts with my gruesome find, 1 was startled by the sound of the creaky well and became aware that somebody was prowling around outside my room. The moon shone brightly, and on looking out I discerned the shadowy outline of Donnelly. His wife must have been close by, for I heard them talking together in,a whisper. Suddenly I distinctly heard these words : “ Dug up the skeleton A little while after they went away, and I heard them retire to their room. 1 remained awake for well nigh an hour, but as nothing further happened I let myself doze oft and was soon fast asleep. From that time, however, I resolved to be on my guard, for I did not doubt that Donnelly harboured evil designs against me. August came, and the corn-husking was in full swing. Whenever I found a moment of leisure—and they were certainly few, for both Donnelly and his haggard wife hustled me around from dawn to bedtime—I used to lie down on my back in the field and watch the sky with its fleecy clouds. At such times I felt utterly disgusted with my stay at the Poplars. I was beginning to suffer from an uncontrollable wanderlust, which could only be satisfied by a tremendously long walk in any direction, so long as it led to the ocean, the sight of which I had missed so long. And presently I made up my mind to get away at once. Imbued with this determination, I rose and started for the house. I entered the kitchen just as Mrs. Donnelly was setting the table for dinner. That day she had prepared a dish of coarse but very tasty corn pancakes, the name, smell, and taste of which will forever remain associated in my mind with that last day at the Donnelly farm. I had hardly started eating when, looking up, I perceived Donnelly, whose vast bulk almost filled the open doorway. I tackled him at once. “Well, Mr. Donnelly,” I said, cheerily ; ‘it’s about time for me to leave, I guess.” Donnelly cleared his throat noisily. “Hem! leave?’ he shouted. ‘* Did you say you are going to leave ?”” I was prepared for him to make trouble, and so I addressed him calmly but firmly. “Yes, I have made up my mind, and want you to settle my account. I have three and a half months’ wages coming to me, I calculate.”” The big farmer advanced into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

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48 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “You won't get a cent till the season is over,” he growled. Without interrupting my meal I looked him straight in the eyes and told him that I had not hired myself out to him for a fixed time, but had merely applied for work. “That doesn’t matter,”’ he answered. “ If you want your money you will have to wait till the season is over. Meanwhile it is perfectly safe.” “Maybe it is,” I said, ‘“ but I should consider it safer in my own pocket.” Donnelly began to pace the floor. Suddenly he stopped‘ short and, shaking his huge fist in front of my face, shouted :-— “You won't get a cent, unless on my conditions. And that settles it!” “ Well,”’ I retorted, quietly, ‘if that is the case I will not leave before I get my pay up to this.day. But I shall not work for you a minute longer.” The farmer was evidently beside himself with suppressed anger, and for a while he did not utter a single word. Snorting with rage, the seized two heavy oaken chairs and started to grate them against the floor with tremendous force, now and then casting a sideward glance at me, charged with malice. I was aware that he harboured murderous thoughts, but in spite of the danger 1 re- mained calmly sitting there, busying myself with the pancakes, as if I had no other thought in my mind but that of satisfying my hunger. At length Donnelly stopped the awful grating, and lifting a chair high in the air with his powerful fist, held it menacingly above my head. “Get out, you scamp!'” he roared. ‘“ Get out before something happens to you ! ”” It was wonderful how good those pancakes tasted! I think I had already eaten half-a- dozen at least, and I was still craving for more. Maybe the eating soothed my nerves, as tobacco does in similar circumstances, but whether that was so or not, I felt sure that it must come to a fight the moment I arose to face the enraged man. So I sat quietly, swallowing one huge pancake after another, and between mouthfuls firmly insisting upon being paid in full. Meanwhile his wife was watching me with an air of mixed surprise and impatience. “ Here,” she said to me, at length, “ you’d better hurry up and be off.” I took another pancake and assured her that I should not leave till I was paid, no matter what the consequences might be. Finally Donnelly, seeing that he could not scare me, placed the chair back on the floor and went out into the yard. He turned in the doorway, and, eyeing me aslant, burst out, malignantly :— “‘T give you five minutes to clear out. Do you hear? And if I find you here when I come back, you will never have use for money any more.” With that he slammed the door with such force that the entire house trembled. No sooner had he left the room than Mrs. Donnelly approached me. Her manner had changed entirely, and she spoke now in a honeyed voice. “T feel really sorry for you,” she said, “but you ought not to have provoked him. When he is in that temper he will make it hot for you, and it is of no use to argue with him. If I were you I would get away at once, for you have not the least chance in standing up against him.” “That may be,’ I replied, “ but it won't make me change my mind. If I leave now I shall never see a cent, for I can’t afford to engage a lawyer to look after my interests.” “Poor boy, you don’t know what you are up against,’”’ she sighed. At the end of this conversation Donnelly reappeared in the doorway. Sceing me still at the table, he went deliberately towards the open stairway that led from the kitchen to the attics. When he had mounted a few steps, he turned about and snarled: ‘‘ So you are still here!” As soon as he had disappeared and we heard him rumbling around overhead, his wife rushed at me in great excitement. “Now hurry, for Heaven’s sake!’ she whispered. “‘ Hurry, and get away before he comes down. Here is your hat ’—she pressed my cap on my head—“‘ and here are some sandwiches and a five-dollar -bill I have saved for you. That will carry you along, but hurry and get out of his reach.” I put my cap on the table and sat down again, telling the excited woman that all her arguments would avail nothing, since I was determined not to leave without my money, no matter how ferocious her husband became. Just then I heard the stairs squeak under Donnelly’s heavy steps, and, looking up, I saw Donnelly himself standing at the foot of the staircase, the muzzle of his gun aimed directly at me. “ Be off!’ he said, ‘or, by Heaven, I'll shoot ! ”” Was I frightened? I really cannot say whether I was or not. But if I was, I at least succeeded in disguising my terror under a mask of calm unconcern. Con- tinuing eating, I looked him straight in his bloodshot eyes, and replied :— “No, Mike, you won't, for you know as well as I do that that would bring you to the electric chair. You may think what you like about me, but do I really look so foolish as not to have taken some precautions ? Understand that I was down in the village

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iia Rc Ne Sa SHORT STORIES. 49 last night, and I told some friends that vanced toward me and said, as I thought, if I do not pass through © to-day rather more quietly :— I should Still be at the Poplars. If they cannot find me here they will suspect you of foul play, and, no matter how deep you dig my grave? they will search for my body and make you answer for the crime of murder.” That settled it! Either my words must have carried conviction, or he may have become sobered by the mention of the gallows. Be this as it may, the result was none the less marked. Dropping his gun, he ad- or 4 A podlay fewn os | S34 “Lifting a chair high in the air, he held it menacingly above my head.” Vol. L—4,

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5° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Well, you shall have your money. But I haven't got any cash here, so we must ride down to E- Go and harness the horse.” ‘* By no means, Donnelly,’ I said. ‘‘ My pay runs to this day, and I stopped working for you at noon. So, if you want to ride, you'll have to be your own teamster.”’ Donnelly had no choice, and he had now become quite meek. Without any further comment he went out into the yard to harness the horse. I heard him muttering and swearing to himself, but I paid no attention to what he was saying. When he had left, his wife approached me again. She had now definitely thrown off her mask, and spoke quite frankly. “I should say you are pretty tough, young man,”’ she laughed. ‘‘ You're by far the gamest hand we ever had here. Why, most of the other fellows ran away when the old man started shuffling the chairs, and the few who stuck fled for their life, leaving money, hat, and all, when he went up those stairs. Not one lasted till he came down with the gun—not one, upon my word! But you looked such a simpleton that we figured you'd steal away when you dug up the skull.” A moment later Donnelly and I were on our way to E Mike wanted me to drive, but I refused. Somehow, just then, I did not like to have him sitting behind me. Without any further incident we arrived at E , where Donnelly drove the wagon up in front of the bank. Throwing the reins to me he jumped out and went into the building. : After a short while he came out with a bundle of bills. ““Here is your money,” he said, as he handed me a heap of greenbacks. ‘ Count them and make sure it is right.” 1 did as he told me, and found the amount was right to a dollar. Seeing how it grieved him to part with the money, however, 1 could not help giving him a further dig. “ It is all nght, Mike,” I said, ‘' but seeing you were so considerate as to put my money in the Savings Bank, I ought to be entitled to some interest.” He gasped. “The principal being a hundred and five dollars, invested at the rate of thirty dollars a month,” I went on, “ will have accrued some seventy-four cents at the current rate. Pay me those pennies, Mike, and I'll be off.” With a strangled oath, Donnelly delved in his pockets, and soon the interest was forthcoming. “Here,"” he said, ‘that’s all I have. And now be off, you skinner, and never let me see you again ! ” I pocketed the money, and, unable to resist one last cut at the villain, I wished -him good-bye, and added :— “‘T know it was a bitter pill to swallow, Mike, but somebody had to prescribe it for you.” $ Donnelly made no reply, but, gathering up the reins, growled at his horse and dis- appeared down the road in a cloud of dust. ADRIFT IN MID-AIR. By J. B.) BRANDRETH. HE terrify- ing adven- ture here related occurred on March 17th last at the French military aerodrome at Angers, in the west of France, to a young French artillery bom- bardier belonging to the 4th Battalion of the 33rd Artillery Regiment. With several of his comrades he had been sent to the aerodrome at Angers to undergo a course of training in the handling of observation balloons. Clinck- maillé—such is his name—showed remarkable presence of mind in most terri- fying circumstances, and it is to this that he owes his life. As soon as possible after it was discovered what had happened to him, | What happened to a young French artilleryman ; who, hanging head downwards from a rope, \ was carried high in the air across country by a runaway observation balloon. M. Clinckmaillé. | Chief Pilot Ducher, in charge of the Aeroplane Training Squadron of Reserve Pilots at the mili- tary aerodrome, went up after Clinckmaillé in an aeroplane, but could do nothing to help him in his terrible posi- tion. Clinckmaillé, who is a quiet- mannered, dark-haired, slender young fellow of twenty-two, a native of St. Malo, here relates, in his own words, what happened to him. On the morning of March 17th, < at 7.55, I was told off with a squad of ten men to bring out from its “ shed a military observation balloon of the ‘Sausage’ type. There were two trailers or guide ropes, one on the left and

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7 , SHORT STORIES. 51 “TI was carried up into the air head downwards; with arms outstretched and my left leg . "ee.

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52 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the other on the right of the ‘ Sausage,” about twenty feet apart, and each rope was held by five men. As we moved forward to the motor windlass, so as to hitch on the cable from which the balloon would be released to rise into the air to whatever height was required, the right-hand guide rope suddenly snapped, leaving the end in the hands of the five men. Released from the restraint of five pairs of hands, the ‘‘ Sausage ”’ instantly lifted the five of us on the left-hand rope off our feet, carrying us far up into the air before we knew what had happened. The warrant officer in charge had ordered the right-hand section to rush to our assist- ance immediately the rope snapped; but they were too late, for we were already off the ground and the rope-end out of reach of those on the field. The three men nearest the end of the line immediately slid down and fell to the earth, receiving no greater injuries than sprained ankles, a few bruises, and severe burns to their hands from the friction. The fourth man, Maurice Hillerau, of Nantes, had, con- trary to regulations, or by accident, got the guide rope twisted once round his forearm, and by the time he got free and jumped the ‘‘ Sausage’ was ninety feet from the ground. In falling the poor fellow received fatal injuries to his spine, and died within twenty-four hours. No doubt I, too, should have attempted to jump but for the unfortunate—or, as it turned out, the fortunate—circumstance that when the rope suddenly drew taut I was thrown backwards, and my right leg just below the knee somehow got entangled in the guide rope, so that I was carried up into the air head downwards, with arms out- stretched and my left leg hanging free. Being the foremost man on the rope when the ‘‘ Sausage ”’ rose, I was, of course, the highest up. When I realized what had happened to me, and saw the other men drop off and fall to the ground, I felt pretty scared. The one thought that came into my head was: “If the rope breaks I am done for!” The ground seemed to be racing away from me at express speed, and the runaway balloon climbed higher and higher. Realizing that I must do something to save myself, I made my first effort to bend up and reach my leg. It was far from easy, and I suppose I must have made a dozen attempts in the course of the ensuing half- hour before I succeeded in doubling up so as to catch hold of my leg. This, hanging head downwards on a swaying rope at the end of a fugitive balloon, three thousand feet above the ground, was a feat I could never have performed but for continual daily gymnastic practice. Once I caught hold of my leg, I soon fastened my hands on the rope itself and hoisted myself up until I got tight hold of the line and succeeded in loosening my leg, which was by this time terribly be- numbed. I then allowed myself to slip gradually down to the end of the rope, which—as good luck would have it—was knotted with a package of cordage to give a good hand-hold. I got astride of this package and soon made myself compara- tively comfortable. From my perch I was able tu see the entire country around, which I knew well, having often been up in the “Sausage.”’ I observed that the wind was in the right direction for safety, for my great anxiety had been lest I should be carried out to sea, the coast being only sixty miles away. The next thing I noticed was that an aeroplane had come up after me. Nearer and nearer it swooped, and as it came close I made signals to the airman with my handkerchief. He could, however, do nothing to save me. He had risen to over . eight thousand feet, I afterwards learned, whereas I was at an altitude of just under eight thousand. I continued to rise higher and higher until, when over the town of Segré, I esti- mated I was at a height of about ten thousand feet. After that, to my great relief, the “Sausage "’ slowly began to descend. I knew that my escape with my life would be all a matter of chance; everything depended on how and where I landed. As I got closer to the earth I noticed a motor- car below, containing four men, following my course, and I wondered for a moment how’ far and for how long I should .take them after me. Lower and lower the balloon sank, like a tired bird, and eventually, at 10.30 a.m., it deposited me in a hedge of brambles, scratching me very considerably. Otherwise, however, I was not much the worse for my adventure. A few minutes later the motor-car, which contained four of my officers, came up, and carried me back to the camp, where I was made a great fuss of, the Camp Commandant giving me thirty days’ leave of absence. Next day I attended the funeral of poor Hillerau; then I went off to St. Malo to spend my month’s leave at home with my family. Of course, it was a very lucky thing for me that there was a big knot of cordage at the end of the rope, for otherwise I could never have held on with my hands alone for two and a half hours—the duration of my little trip—but should very speedily have plunged to my death like my unfortunate comrade.

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wi whl My RESTORING THE DEAD TO LIFE! A Secret Japanese Science explained for the fist time. By CAPTAIN S. L. McLAGLEN. Illustrated by E. PRATER. ule A very remarkable article, specially written for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, which is bound to arouse much interest and discussion, both among the general public and medical men. Captain McLaglen, who is the undefeated jiu-jitsu champion of the world and the inventor of the system of bayonet-fighting used in the British Army, here sets forth for the first time the secrets of “Katsu.” This is a method of resuscitation of the apparently dead that has been known to the elect in Japan for something like two thousand years, but jealously guarded from the outside world. “I say quite confidently,” writes the Author, “that a person who has ‘died’ from shock is not dead until decomposition sets in. The apparently dead can be restored to life.” Captain McLaglen, who takes full responsibility for his statements, tells some extraordinary stories of the efficacy of this secret Japanese science, and describes, with the aid of special photographs, how the methods should be employed. of THE Wipe Wortp MaGazine for April last I related some of my experi- ences as the undefeated jiu-jitsu champion of the world. In the course of my descriptions of jiu-jitsu—which is, of course, the well-known Japanese system of self- defence—I referred to what the Japanese call ‘‘ Katsu resuscitation ''—the restoring of the apparently dead to life. This remark- able method of resuscitation, as can be proved by authentic records, was known among the Japanese as far back as two hundred years B.C., but its secrets have always been jealously guarded. “The secret science of Katsu,’ I wrote, “is applied on certain nerve centres, and by pressure stimulates these nerves and causes a -eaction 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 pneumogastric 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 T will be remembered that in the ‘issue actually dead until decomposition sets in. Right up till that moment it should prove possible to restart the heart’s action, pro- vided the operator has a thorough know- ledge of anatomy, knows the science of jiu-jitsu, and something of this wonderful system of resuscitation. Thousands of men died in the war though thev 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 resuscitation 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 recognize the enormous advantage a know- ledge of this method of resuscitation would give them.’ When I stated these facts and opinions I little realized the immense interest they would arouse. From all over the world, following on the publication of my WIDE Wor -p article, letters poured in upon me, seeking further information concerning this secret science of Katsu and the methods of applying it. Many of my correspondents were medical men, who showed themselves keenly interested, and it is worthy of note

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54 THE WIQE WORLD MAGAZINE. that more than one of the doctors thought that Katsu would enable them to safeguard their patients, and be protected themselves, against that horror that lurks at the back of the minds of so many people—the dread of being buried alive. In view of the great public interest revealed by the number of letters received, it gives me the greatest pleasure to set down—for the first time on record, | believe—a full account of this secret science of Katsu, describing the methods employed in restoring the apparently dead to life, and illustrating my text with photographs that should enable those who desire to do so to apply the treat- ment for themselves. I make no claims for Katsu that cannot be fully substantiated ; and it should be borne in mind that this is no new and untried theory, but an exact science that has been known among the elect in Japan, though carefully guarded from general knowledge, for at least two thousand years. The cases I cite occurred within my own personal experience, just as described, and I vouch for them absolutely. First of all, let me explain that as | appear to be the only living white man who knows the technique of the science, and the first to reduce its teachings and movements to definite detail, I have taken the liberty of christening it the ‘‘ Mclaglen system of resuscitation,"’ which is rather more explana- tory.to white people than the mysterious- sounding “ Katsu.” And now just a few words as to how I came to be so fortunate as to gain an insight into this remarkable Japanese method of restoring the dead to life. So carefully have its secrets been preserved throughout the centuries that not many Japanese know anything about it, and for all practical purposes it is still entirely unknown outside the Land of the Rising Sun. In 1907, 1 happened to meet a Japanese in a jiu-jitsu combat for the championship of the world. 1 defeated him, but we became very friendly, and after a time my Japanese opponent told me about Katsu and taught me all he knew. My interest once aroused, I sought further information, and from various sources in the East I gradually picked up point after point, testing the theories and improving my knowledge of the move- ments by experimenting first on monkeys and later on African natives. As a result of what I have learnt, and my own experiences in various parts of the world, I am now in a position to say quite confidently that @ person who has died from shock is not actually dead until decom position sets in. The nerves remain alive for some considerable time after the heart has stopped beating, and by nerve stimulation a reaction of the heart can be induced that causes the organ to start beating again. In simple language, bluntly yet truthfully stated— the apparently dead can be restored to life. One does not need to be a medical man to appreciate the immense importance of this fact; and it ts a fact. Without the slightest doubt, during the Great War, thousands of soldiers were “killed "’ and buried who, if Katsu could have been promptly and efficiently employed, might have been alive to-day. Bullets struck them—not in a vital spot—and the shock of entry brought about a condition that caused the heart to stop beating. The stretcher-bearers who came up could dis- cover no heart-action, the doctors similarly failed to detect any signs of life, and as a Tesult the men were declared dead—wltich in one sense they were—and were duly buried. It is my firm belief that the time will come when this wonderful system of resuscitation, which I am now explaining for the first time for the benetit of mankind in general, will be generally accepted and taught throughout the world. It can be used in all stages and conditions of unconsciousness, includ- ing drowning, and should be of the greatest possikle value in thousands of cases familiar to medical men. My own first successful case occurred in Santiago, Chile, where a man was “ knocked out ’’ by a terrific blow in a boxing contest. The doctors who were hurriedly summoned, after all efforts to restore him had failed, were quite unable to do anything; to all appearances the poor fellow was quite dead. It looked like a case for a magisterial inquiry, but just when hope had been abandoned I happened to come on the scene. Rather nervous as to the results, I applied Katsu treatment, and in about thirty seconds the boxer was sitting up and talking! After this I dealt successfully with many cases of fainting and epileptic fits, but my most interesting “subject ’’ was a negro at Dar-es-Salaam, a port on the east coast of Africa. This man was felled to the ground by a heavy baulk of timber which caught him across the shoulders. He lay where he fell, like a log, and when the doctor came and examined him he could not trace the slightest pulsation in the heart. The “ corneal reflex was completely absent, all other tests yielded negative results, and after a lengthy examina- tion the medico declared the man to be dead. They were about to carry him away for burial—they don't waste much time over corpses in that part of the world—when I arrived and learnt what had happened. The doctor had no objection at all to my having a look at the man. There was no doubt at all that he was dead —but only in one sense of the word. I applied the Katsu system, and before many minutes, apart from a dislocated shoulder, the negro was ‘as. right .as rain.”” Had I not been there to stimulate the nerves he would have remained dead—and been buried as dead.

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DEAD TO LIFE! 35 RESTORING T HE

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56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Another case occurred in France during the War, when I was deputy-governor of No. 5 Military Prison, near Calais. Two doctors at the hospital, close by the prison, rang up and inquired for me; they wanted me to go over and see what I could do with a ‘case’ they had in one of the wards. I went over with Major Harding, the Governor of the prison, and saw a patient laid out on a stretcher, to all appearances stone-dead. The man, I was told, had been unconscious for a very long time, and the doctors had completely failed to rouse him. The heart’s action had become so feeble that he might die at any moment. They had heard of my system of resuscitation and were most anxious to see it put to the test. I must confess I was not very sanguine—the poor fellow looked so completely “all in ’— but I set about the task, and in, roughly, forty seconds I had the patient on his feet talking to the doctors, to their utter aston- ishment. I have in my possession many letters signed by well-known surgeons — bearing testimony to what they have actually seen of the wonderful efficacy of Katsu. Some of them suggest that it might be possible to use it on the operating table, in cases of syncope, when the action of the heart reaches such a low point that death frequently ensues. The method at present in use by surgeons, when a patient fails to recover from the effects of an anesthetic, is to cut an opening in the diaphragm and massage the heart. This is done to stimulate the organ and endeavour to restore pulsation. My con- tention is that this procedure is very crude, seeing that by means of Katsu exactly the same nerves and muscles can be powerfully stimulated by external pressure and blows without the risk entailed in opening the diaphragm. And now for the details of the system, which I have endeavoured to set down as plainly and simply as possible. With these instructions and the photographs to guide him, any reader of THE Wipe Wortp MaGazinE should be able, if necessary, to apply Katsu resuscitation for himself—a most valuable addition to a knowledge of “first aid.’’ I would suggest that those interested should practise and memorize the movements, and also keep this copy of the Magazine by them for reference. HOW TO APPLY THE McLAGLEN SYSTEM OF RESUSCITATION. Fic. I.—Place your subject in‘a sitting position, supported by your right or left knee. Place the thumbs at the pectoral arch (as shown) where the muscles leave the nerves most exposed. Apply pressure at this point, with the fingers resting firmly on the diaphragm (chest). The pressure should be given with both fingers and thumbs, upwards and downwards. ’ Con- tinue this as long as necessary. The effect of the pressure tends to stimulate the nerves of the heart and also to cause the diaphragm Fig. Il.

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RESTORING THE DEAD TO LIFE! 57 to slightly expand and contract, thereby making your subject inhale and exhale. Fic. II.—While the thumbs and fingers are applying the pressure in their up and down motion on the chest, a sharp blow is delivered with the knee on about the seventh dorsal vertebra (indicated by the finger). This tends to stimulate the pneumogastric centre and assists in causing the diaphragm to expand and contract. The increased inhalation and exhalation thus brought about brings the dilation of the heart to its fullest capacity, and the blood is circulated briskly through the body. Fic. I11.—Another point where a similar blow can be delivered is the third from the last vertebra, which tends to stimulate the nerves of the spine. Fic. IV.—Shows the knee in position ready to deliver the blow. Fic. V.—For use in cases of drowning. First of all, the most important point is to get the water out of the system, and the best means whereby this can be success- fully accomplished is by the McLaglen system, as shown in this photograph. Inter- lock the hands under the solar plexus— where, in cases of drowning, the muscles will be found relaxed—and at the same time stand astyide your subject. With alterna- tive lifting jerks in this region, the relaxed muscles will be forced violently against the spine, thus pumping the water from the The methods shown in HI, ILI, and 1V should then be applied in system. Figs. I, an endeavour to bring resuscitation. about complete 4 Fig. V.

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The private cemetery of Furnace Creek Rasch, in, which lie bazied the Tockless epeapectors and other desert travellers who have ARACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY No stay-at-home reader, fortunately for himself, knows the horrors of death from thirst in a temperature where a man needs several quarts of water an hour to Bae keep himself alive and sane. Here is the thrilling story of two motor-cyclists who, to advertise a certain HIS adventure, which came within the scantiest margin of adding two more names to the long list of un- fortunates whosebones have bleached in the shimmering, heat-scorched wastes of Death Valley, really began in Chicago. A business trip had taken me to that city, where I was in conference with the adver- tising manager of a great motor-cycle factory with whom I had previously enjoyed pleasant business relations. The advertising manager appeared to be worried. ‘‘ We've got to do something,” he said, ‘‘ to counteract this competitive propa- * Concerning the photographs which show Loth the cyclists in the by f | JOHN | EDWIN HOGG LLUSTRATED By | FRED HOLMES : machine, undertook to ride through the terrible Death Valley of Cali- fornia during the hottest month of the year. They~ won through—but only ees ee just; and the account of their long - sustained ordeal in this desert inferno makes a most poignant narrative.* ganda about our motors overheating.” The factory was building motor-cycles of the conventional air-cooled iype, and, having had a great deal of experience with their product, I knew that the talk abou motors overheating was purely what the advertising manager termed it—competitive propaganda. “If you can suggest some plan to cffset this attack we are :eady to pay you well for it,” continued the advertising man, and in these words I saw my opportunity. “Why not send a couple of machines through Death Valley in August?” I suggested. ‘‘ Death Valley, you know, is icture, the Author explains that these were not taken by a third party, but by means of an automatic attachment made by the gis Company with which it is possible to take one’s own photograph. the automatic shutter-release. camera ' goes off” and the photographer is photographed.” ‘TAIL that is needed is to set up the camera on the tripod, face it in the proper After a given number of seconds (long enough to permit the subject to take his position) the direction, and then attach

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A RACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. 59 reputed to be the hottest place on earth, and if we can explore it by motor-cycle during the warmest month of the year it should supply the desired advertising proof that your motors do not overheat.” When I light-heartedly made this sugges- tion I was thinking more about the money the task might bring than the actual feasi- bility of carrying it out. Had I known then of the days of awful torture that were in store for myself and companion of the trip, and the scanty—almost Providential—mar- gin by which we were able to drag ourselves back to civilization from that blazing in- ferno, no amount of money would have taken me into Death Valley. The advertising manager, however, thought my idea an excel- lent, one, and he named an attractive figure for, the. work. I knew the trip would be fraught with certain hardships, but,. having had years of experience in the desert, I accepted the job with enthusiasm. 7 ;Upon my return to California the essential detail of finding a suitable companion for the midsummer dash through Death Valley was soon disposed of by getting in touch with Wells Bennett. Bennett is several years my senior, but I might have combed the world without finding a man better qualified for such a foolhardy venture. For many years he has been a professional motor-cycle racer, and is the holder of no less than a dozen of the most coveted road records. To understand the nature of our journey, a few words of description are necessary. Death Valley is shown on any good map of California. It lies in the east central portion of that State, close to the Nevada boundary. It is about a hundred miles long, and varies in width from ten to eighteen miles. Hemmed in by Titanic mountain ranges which tower to more than eleven thousand feet, every inch of the valley’s floor lies below sea-level. It is actually two hundred and eighty feet below the ocean level at its lowest point, and is one of the most complete deserts on the face of the earth. With the exception of a single oasis, appropriately known as Furnace Creek, Death Valley is decidedly hostile to human existence. Its average annual rain- fall is less than three-tenths of an inch, and in summer it swelters under temperatures up to a hundred and forty-five degrees (F.), with sun temperatures much higher. Added to this terrific heat there is the heavy atmo- spheric pressure of negative elevation to be reckoned with, for Death Valley is the lowest depression on the face of the Western hemisphere, and the lowest on earth with the exception of the Dead Sea region of Palestine. The valley acquired its name during the gold rush to California in 1849, when a party of immigrants lost their way while crossing the Great American Desert. They wandered down through the maze of canyons in the Funeral Mountains, which bound it on the eastern side, and failed to find the pass lead- ing out of the valley through the Panamint Mountains to the west. They ran out of water in the terrific heat, and of the original party of some sixty-three members all but three perished miserably from heat or thirst. Since that time, although the valley has long been considered unfit for human habita- tion, tales of great mineral wealth concealed there have lured countless prospectors to their doom. Never a year goes by that Death Valley does not claim its quota of victims. The lure of gold takes them in; then heat, thirst, blistering sands, bottom- less salt-bogs, shimmering mirages, and springs.of clear sparkling water charged with deadly mineral arsenic and cyanide affix the signatures to the death-warrants of these victims of the Valley of Horrors, who are swallowed up never to be heard from again. é: Our journey from Los Angeles to Barstow, the last outpost of civilization, a distance of a hundred and eighty miles, was merely an uneventful motor-cycle tour. At Barstow the real hardships of the desert began. Of our journey across the desert to the extreme southern end of Death Valley, around the east side into Nevada, and back again to the east side of the valley, I will speak but briefly ; for the adventures of that portion of the trip pale into insignificance compared with those that were to befall us later. To approach the valley from the east, in accord- ance with previously carefully-made plans, we had to journey three hundred miles through the desert around it. This was a trip of four days in a temperature around a hundred and twenty degrees, during which time we never set eyes upon a human being. For roads we had virtually nothing. We simply engineered our way across the desert, across dry lakes, up washes, over ranges of burned-out desert mountains, and down the other side to the next range. We made our way from one water-hole to the next, the supplies of drinkable liquid being anywhere from thirty to eighty miles apart. Our entire stock of water, food, and motor fuel had to be carried in the sidecar, which had been carefully equipped and attached to my machine for the purpose. Eventually we reached the borax mine at Ryan, which is located in the Funeral Mountains eighteen miles from the floor of Death Valley, and at the end of a narrow- gauge railway connecting the mine with the markets of the world. In our journey around the valley most of our travelling had been done through desert country well above three thousand feet elevation, so we had not suffered severely from such desert

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60 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. temperatures as are encountered at lower or negative elevations. It was noon when we arrived in the wash directly underneath the borax mines, where we stopped to take advantage of arrange- ments previously made to replenish our supplies of food, fuel, and water. There Mr. W. L. Faulkner, the superintendent, evidently sympathizing with us in what he termed ‘‘a most hazardous undertaking,” invited us to have lunch with him. Having lived on dried and tinned foods for four days, his hospitality was greatly appreciated. He showed us every possible courtesy, and by two o'clock we were on our way down Furnace Creek Wash. The trip from Ryan to Furnace Creek Oasis took us from an elevation of four thousand three hundred feet to one hundred and seventy-eight feet below sea-level. This descent was made in eighteen miles down a trackless wash, and with every foot we descended it seemed that the temperature came up to meet us. In going down the wash we knew that we were going into the blistering inferno of Death Valley, and literally destroying the bridge behind us ; for, with the steepness of the gradient and the depth of the sand, we realized that we could never drive the machines out by the route over which we had entered. Further- more, any thought of getting out of the valley without the machines would be the utmost folly, because in that heat it is impos- sible for one to carry sufficient water to make his way out on foot. Bennett, riding ‘‘ solo,”’ was able to travel faster than I could with the sidecar outfit, which demanded careful manoeuvring among the rocks of the canyon floor. He rode ahead until he went out of sight around a curve in the walls, and I did not see him again until I got down almost to the floor of the valley. When I found him he was stretched out under the base of a ledge, where he had taken refuge from the sun. By this time the sun was getting low over the western mountains, and we realized that some measure of relief from the heat was only a matter of a few more hours. A more vivid realization, however, was in my mind. If this was a sample of Death Valley heat, what could we expect the following day ? We didn't need a thermometer to tell us that the heat was terrible, bvt, thinking to determine the actual number of degrees, I got out our instrument-box, which included a Fahrenheit thermometer with a scale up to a hundred and thirty-five degrees. As I removed the instrument, the mercury was clear up at the top of the tube, and even before I had time to examine it, there was a sharp “ Ping!’ as the end of the tube and contents went off into space. The thermometer had simply blown up! We knew that the actual temperature was in excess of one hundred and thirty-five degrees from the fact that the thermometer had exploded, but with the shattering of the glass went our hopes of gathering accu- rate scientific data concerning Death Valley temperatures. From the point where Bennett had stopped to rest to Furnace Creek Ranch was a distance of about six miles. Furnace Creek Ranch is the only point of human habitation in the whole of Death Valley, and is, without exception, one of the most extraordinary irrigated farms on the face of the earth. It is a work of man under the pressure of necessity. Near Furnace Creek Ranch there are undeveloped deposits of borax which are believed to offer an inex- haustible supply. The Pacific Coast Borax Company laid claim to these deposits with the view to their future exploitation, but in order to comply with the law, and retain possession of the only supply of water for many miles, certain development work has been compulsory. Furnace Creek Ranch, comprising sixty-five acres of irrigated land under cultivation, is the result. It produces garden stuff, chickens, eggs, and meat, which are wagoned out of the valley up Furnace Creek Wash to the mine at Ryan. The personnel of the ranch consists of several Piute Indians, who are inured to the terrible conditions under which they live, and a white foreman, who enjoys the unique distinction of being the only white man who has been able to survive a second summer in the place. Mr. Oscar Denton, the present foreman, has occupied his position for the . past eight years. He succeeded three fore- men who died from the heat during their first summers in the valley, and two others who went insane. The Indians at Furnace Creek Ranch had never seen a motor-cycle before. They evinced little interest in my sidecar outfit, but Bennett’s ‘solo’ machine was some- thing clear beyond their powers of compre- hension. When they saw him approaching, waving from side to side as he plunged through the sand on two wheels, they scattered in every direction. They seemed to regard him and the machine as something supernatural, and after running for cover they refused to leave their hiding-places until Mr. Denton came out, shook hands with us, and called the Indians out by speaking to them in their own language. Denton was delighted to have two white men visit him, He told us we were the first white men he had seen for thirty-one wecks, and invited us to stay with him as long as we cared to, and to make ourselves at home, During our introductory conversation with

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A RACE FOR the ranch foreman, we had been standing under a cottonwood tree taking refuge from the sun. Suddenly Bennett held up his hand to indicate silence ‘‘ Listen,” he said, ‘‘ what are all those church bells I hear ?” “Church bells!’’ exclaimed Dentorf. ‘Why, my dear boy, there isn’t a church within two hundred miles! It’s the heat working on you, and if you don’t want to die, I suggest that you get in the water, lothes and all, immediately.” My own brain was buzzing with the heat, and I could feel the blood pounding in my temples until it felt as if someone were rappmg me on the head with a mallet. Thereupon, we both acted upon the foreman’s sug- gestion. We merely re- moved watches and other trinkets from our pockets, and then got bodily into .the nearest irrigation ditch. That stream of water looked wonderfully cool and refreshing, but as I splashed into it, I let out a yell, and my first impulse was to jump out as fast as I could, for the water nearly scalded me. As a matter of fact, the water which supplies Furnace Creek Ranch is brought down into Death Valley from two large springs in the Funeral Mountains. It comes through seven miles of open ditch and steel pipe, and in making this jour- ney it is heated by the sun until, when it runs into the irrigation ditches at the ranch, it is at a temperature of about a hundred and twelve degrees. The effect of getting into the water, however, was exactly what Mr. Denton said it would be, for the atmosphere of Death Valley is probably the driest on earth, con- taining less than one-hundredth of one per cent. moisture. It is dangerous to human life because the dry atmosphere is constantly drawing moisture out of the body at an almost greater rate than it is possible to restore it. Coming out of the water into the heat and dry air, we felt wonderfully cool, and thirty minutes later the heavy woollen clothing we wore was as dry as if we had never been in the water. Meanwhile the sun had set and the temperature de- scended to about a hundred and twenty-five degrees. We learned later from Mr. Denton that the temperature upon our arrival at the ranch had been a hundred and forty-two Furnace Creek Ranch. Mr. Oscar, Denton, the foreman of the aptly-named Mr. Denton is the only white man who has been able to survive a second summer at the ranch. LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. Gr degrees. He has a weather observation station at the ranch, from which he reports Death Valley weather conditions and tem- peratures to the United States Weather Bureau at Washington. The temperature that afternoon had been within three degrees. of the highest ever recorded. At the ranch foreman’s suggestion we decided to spend the night at the ranch. After supper that evening we sat out on the veranda in the comfort of an ingenious water-power fan which the ranch foreman built for himself. There was a moment of silence, and then Denton asked : ‘‘ What on earth ever brought you boys down here into this hell-hole?’’ Our mission was explained in a few words, which apparently satisfied his curiosity. For several minutes the ranch fore- man was thoughtful. Then he spoke again, saying : “IT don’t want to douse cold water upon your plans, but if you'll take a word of well-meaning advice you'll leave this valley to-morrow night by the route over which you came in. If you can’t get up the wash with your machines, I can send them out with one of my Indians on a wagon. I don’t believe you realize what a blazing inferno this valley is! You may not think it, but the heat nearly got both of you this afternoon. If you think it is hot here, just wait till you get out yonder in those salt marshes.” After listening to Mr. Denton’s argument we expressed our determination to go south through the valley, and to get out at the south end as we had originally planned. At this the ranch foreman shook his head. ‘* Boys,” he said, earnestly, “if you have anything to live for—and I suppose you have a great deal—you'll take my advice. If you really want to die, you'll save yourselves a lot of needless torture by stepping out there in the cemetery and finishing yourselves off with your pistols. I’m not trying to scare you, and I admit I admire your nerve ; but if you go south through the valley your bones are going to bleach out there. You'll never make it, I tell you—you'll never make it! I’ve seen too many men die down here already. I’ve pulled them in out of the salt marshes, and I’ve dug too many graves out back of this ranch. I’ve found them dead

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62 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE out here in the yard after they'd staggered in too late for water to save them. I've found ’em dead with canteens of water hangin’ round their necks. ‘They die of heat, I tell you—it isn’t thirst that kills!’ For the next hour Denton went on telling us tales of Death Valley. His ranch is to the valley about what St. Bernard’s Hospice is to the Alps of Switzerland. He told us stories of men he’d found along the very route we intended to travel, of nightmare mirages, the infernal heat, men bogged down in the salt marshes, and other stories sq gruesome and horrible as to literally turn one's hair. In the midst of this conversa- tion the lamp which illuminated the veranda spluttered and went out for lack of oil. Denton excused himself to go and fill it, and Bennett and I took advantage of the oppor- tunity to discuss the situation between ourselves. y ““ What do you think about it, Wells ?’’ I asked him. P “IT think he’s giving us good advice,” replied Bennett; ‘‘ but I’ve come down here to see this job through, and I’m for going ahead with it. How do you feel about it?” ; “For me,” I replied, ‘‘ there is no alterna- tive. Possibly I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, but I have the company and my reputation to consider, and there is no turn- ing back now.” “That suits me,’ said Bennett. “IN ride until my machine falls to pieces under me, or until I am baked by the sun. But I'd rather die fighting than to be a quitter, so suppose we shake on it.’ Thereupon we shook hands, and there was something about Bennett’s determined hand- shake that convinced me he meant it. A moment later Denton returned with the telighted lamp. ‘ Well, boys,’’ he said, as he approached us, “‘ have you decided to go back up Furnace Creek Wash?” ““No, Mr. Denton,” I told him; ‘ we’re going south through the valley to-morrow.” For a moment the ranch foreman was thoughtful. Then he said: ‘‘ Very well, then. I admire your pluck but deplore your judgment. Since you are determined to go I reckon you may succeed ; but I wouldn’t give a tinker’s curse for your chances. If you must go, I want to be of such service to you as I may. I know the valley thoroughly, and J’ll sketch you a map showing you the best route. I can guide you to the water- holes, and steer you clear of the ones that are poisonous.”” With that he produced a paper and pencil and began to draw. An hour later he gave us the map, with a lot of valu- able notes on it, and some verbal comment, without which, I am confident, I would not be alive to write these lines to-day, At Denton’s suggestion we deferred our start through the valley until after supper next evening. There was to be a full moon that night, and by travelling by moonlight we should escape the terrible heat of the day while getting over the worst portion of the journey. Fortune seemed to be favouring us, for the following day dawned slightly cooler. At four o'clock in the afternoon the tempera- ture stood at one hundred and thirty-eight degrees—four degrees cooler than it had been at that time the day before. By eight o'clock in the evening, when the moon rose over the [Funeral Mountains, illuminating the snow-white floor of the valley, the temperature had fallen to a hundred and twenty degrees. We shook hands with Denton and toured away into the death- like silence, with only the sharp barking of our motors to cheer us. ‘We knew only too well that we were gambling, with our lives, as the stakes, against the proper working of two internal-combustion motors. If one or both machines went out of business there wouldn’t be a burgiar’s chance of our getting out of the valley alive. During our sojourn at Furnace Creek Ranch we had made a careful study to ascer- tain our requirements of water in such terrific heat. We found that six quarts per man per hour was about a minimum for supporting life with any degree of comfort. Thus, with thirty-six quarts of water in the specially-built tank in the sidecar, we could expect to last about three hours while making the dash from one water-hole to the next. With the utmost conservation we might be able to extend our time to six hours, but obviously any serious delay due to mechanical difficulty would be at the peril of our lives. To persons living in a temperate climate and accustomed to drinking only a quart or so of liquid every twenty-four hours, six quarts of water per hour undoubtedly seems a physical impossibility. Subject yourself to a temperature of from a hundred and twenty to a hundred and sixty degrees, how- ever, and one’s life may be measured by the amount of drinking water obtainable. This may be accounted for by the fact that normal human blood temperature is under a hundred degrees. It stands to reason, therefore, that if one’s blood temperature were ever to approach that of the surrounding atmosphere a fatal fever would be the almost immediate result. Perspiration, and the reduction of temperature effected by its evaporation, is thus the only means which Nature has pro- vided to stave off death. Great quantities of water must be drunk to supply the per- spiration, and if the supply is curtailed death is obviously only a matter of minutes. That is why it would be utterly impossible to

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A RACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. 63 carry enough water to escape from Death Valley on foot. Six miles from Furnace Creek Ranch we came to the Frying Pan Salt Marsh at the point where Mr. Denton told us we were to cross it to the other side. The marsh at this point is three miles wide, and once across it 3 to work. We laboured from nine o'clock that evening until almost sunrise the next morning, chopping down the salt pinnacles and casting the fragments aside. Working against time, the heavy exertion in that awful heat compelled us to make serious inroads upon our precious water- The two cyclists studs ing Denton’s sketch-map on the floor of Death Valley. Without this map they would inevitably have perished. we would be within eighteen miles of Bennett’s Hole, which would be our next chance for water. If we could get to Bennett’s Hole by sunrise we could camp there in the shade of a mesquite thicket, near water, before journeying on to the next water at Owl Hole, twenty-nine miles farther south. That salt marsh, however, came very near adding our bones to the bleaching skeletons of Death Valley—just as Mr. Denton had warned us. The salt marshes of Death Valley are not marshes in the usual sense of the word. Salt mazes would be a better name for them. They are great areas where seepage water is drawn out of the ground by capillary attrac- tion. This water, evaporating at a terrific rate, leaves the salt and minerals in it form- ing a maze of salt pillars, resembling the stalagmites of a cavern. The marshes are perfect forests of these curious salt pillars, as hard as concrete, and projecting upward anywhere from ten to thirty-six inches. The only way in which we could get the machines across the marsh was by hewing a path— a job comparable with cutting a three-mile path through concrete posts. Mr. Denton had _ contributed an axe and a pick to our outfit, and with these implements we went supply. We worked stripped to the waist, and constantly fighting off clouds of blood- thirsty mosquitoes, which attacked us most unmercifully. Long before the first rays of daylight began streaming up over the Funeral Mountains both of us looked like raw beef, and felt as if we had been bathed in nitric acid. Our work was hampered by the neces- sity of making frequent trips to the water- tank, and to save as much time as possible we kept moving the machines forward as fast as the path was cut. By sunrise we had the path broken to the sand on the other side of the marsh, and as we pushed the machines ashore we drained the last drop of | water out of the thirty-six-quart tank. There was scarcely enough fluid to wet our tongues. We were eighteen miles from a fresh supply, with no telling how long it would take us to get there, and the grave possibility of finding the water-hole dry when we did arrive. Our only hope lay in being able to negotiate that eightcen miles in record time. Even as we mounted our machines to ride away from the salt marsh our mouths and throats had begun to dry to the point where it was only with difficulty that either of us

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64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was able to speak. There was no time to be lost. In a voice that sounded like the rattling of dried beans in a pod, I admonished Bennett to ride ahead to the water-hole and return with a canteen of water if I failed to show up within a reasonable length of time. In another second Bennett's motor was roaring and he was throwing sand high in the air with his rear wheel as he tore out across the desert with his machine zigzagging like a fancy skater on thin ice. Lefore he had gone a hundred yards the mirages began to play and the atmosphere around me had begun to waver with the heat. The great peaks of the Panamint Range to the west, and the purple-tinted Funeral Mountains to the east, were vibrating like mountains of rubber twisted by a hurricane. lor a moment Bennett appeared as a Colossus riding a miniature motor-cycle. Then, almost in- stantly, this apparition would be reversed, and he would appear as a Lilliputian astride a machine as big as a railway locomotive. * The salt marsh we had left behind had become a magnificent silvery lake. It appeared as a beautiful expanse of clear cool water, with trees, shrubbery, and tall majestic palms fringing its shore. By this time the sun was well up over the eastern mountain-tops, and its rays felt as if a million searchlights had been focused upon me. The rubber grips on the handle-bars of my machine were soon so hot it was agony to hold to them, even with the -heavy leather gloves that I wore; but knowing that my life depended upon driving the machine to water, I gritted my teeth and opened the throttle. The rear wheel of the machine was spinning so fast in the sand that the speed- ometer driven off it was utterly useless. At times the hand went around to indicate sixty miles per hour, but probably I wasn’t travelling more than twenty-five. The mile- age dial, of course, was running up false mileage—probably three for every one that I moved forward. There wasn't a trace of a trail to follow, other than the track Bennett had left in the sand ; and assuming that he was travelling in the right direction I plunged . ahead after him. There could be no sparing the machine now. It had to get me to that * water-hole or be smashed to pieces in the attempt. Its proper functioning meant life ; its failure spelt a swift and horrible death ! The floor of the valley along this route was none too smooth, and our course was broken by numerous washes, loose boulders, and thickets of stunted desert brush. Over this course I drove like a madman, with the agony of thirst and the fear of death upon me. I tore through the washes by sheer force of momentum, sliding sideways around obstructing boulders, and plunging through brush as high as my shoulders, with no more regard for it than if it had been so much grass. For mile after mile the machine stood up under the terrific abuse without ever a falter. The punishment I received from the saddle was almost unendurable. As I plunged through the washes it seemed at times as if the rear wheel would surely be driven through my spinal column. Would the machine and the tyres hold out? That was the question that stood between me and death. 1 was still following Bennett’s track at this wild pace when I drove into a sand-pit where it seemed as if the earth gave way under the machine. The sidecar outfit went from a speed of probably thirty miles per hour to an absolute standstill, almost as if ] had brought up against a concrete wall. I went straight off over the handle- bars, landed on one shoulder, and turned about three somersaults in the sand. My delight, on picking myself up, to find all my bones intact overshadowed for the moment my impending death from thirst. The wheels of the sidecar had “stalled” in the sand, but the motor was roaring with the throttle wide open. Running back and _ Shutting off the motor, I came to a sickening realization that something had failed about the transmission. My hopes revived some- what when I discovered it was nothing more serious than a broken drive-chain. It would take but a moment to make a repair, I thought: but upon getting out my tools I found there was not a tool in the roll that could be handled, even with my leather gloves.: They felt as if they had been taken out of a baking oven. By this time my tongue had swollen and dried until it felt like a bath towel rolled up and stuffed down my throat, and my upper lip was distended until it obstructed my nostrils. Even as I fumbled with the tools, trying to handle them with a cloth, I began to hear church bells and the music of a distant orchestra. Then everything around me commenced to whirl and the sunlight turned black. I felt dreadfully sleepy, vomited violently several times, and then went to sleep, still fumbling with the hot tools and the still hotter drive chain. It seemed that I had been asleep for hours when I awoke to find myself lying in the shade of a mesquite tree. Bennett was standing over me with a canteen. Every cell in my body was figuratively crying out for water. I tried to speak, but couldn’t utter a sound, After several desperate efforts I managed to gasp—‘ Water! For Heaven’s sake, Wells—water!” With that Bennett stooped over me, and poured a few drops from the canteen into my mouth. Never have I tasted anything that seemed so

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A RACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. 65 good as those few drops of liquid! With the moistening of my tongue and throat I could speak with less difficulty. ‘‘Give me a drink!’ I breathed. ‘‘ I’mon fire all over!” “There! There!’ he replied. ‘“ You're coming out of it all right. I'll give you more in a minute, but I don’t want to kill you with the first drink.” : Every minute or two after that he would press the canteen to my lips, and give me a few more drops of the life-giving fluid. Soon I had recovered my voice enough to be able to talk, and I got to my feet feeling somewhat sick and weak. It was then that I learned from Bennett that we were at the oasis at Bennett's Hole. Bennett had arrived there some twenty minutes ahead of me. He had fished a dead coyote out of the spring, cleaned it thoroughly, taken several drinks, filled a canteen, and then gone back to the edge of the mesquite thicket to look for me. He saw me approaching over the desert, and I was within a quarter of a mile of the oasis when he saw me go over the handlebars. Seeing me get to my feet, he expected me to mount the machine again and ride in. A few minutes later, however, he saw me sink down in the sand. Run- ning out to where I was, he found me un- conscious and Vol. 1.5. had carried me to the oasis, all but crumpling up himself before he got there. Even in the shade of the mesquite thicket which surrounds the spring at Bennett’s Hole, the heat was almost unendurable. In these circumstances the logical thing to do was to stop where we had shade and water and continue our journey by moonlight. Bennett cooked a little food, and after having breakfast I began to regain my usual strength. My thirst, however, was still inexorable, but after haunting the water-hole for several hours I obtained sufficient relief to be able to wet my clothing, spread my blanket in the shade, and go to sleep. When I finally woke up again it was to find Bennett cooking supper. We ate, and by that time the sun had gone down behind the Panamints, so that we were able to go out and bring in my machine. My experience of the morning, however, had made me almost useless. The terrific heat had seared my palms even “| went straight off over the bandle-bars, landed on one shoulder, and turned about three somersaults.”

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66 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. through the leather gloves, and the backs of my hands were so badly blistered that when the gloves were removed the skin came off with them. Leaving Bennett's Hole after the moon arose, the going was chiefly through heavy sand, Bennett, with his ‘‘solo’’ motor, and his extraordinary skill as a rider, got along well, but I was less fortunate. Two miles south of Bennett’s Hole we encountered sand through which the sidecar was unable to move, and in attempting to force the machine through, the drive-chain parted again. We repaired it as quickly as possible, but hadn’t gone half a mile before it snapped gnce more. This experience was repeated again, and again, and again. With the delays due to constantly breaking the drive-chain, we realized that sunrise was going to catch us less than half-way to Owl Hole, which was our next chance for water and shade. If we failed to get there in time we should again run out of water, with our chances ten to one for being roasted alive. After making about the tenth repair to the drive-chain, we had used up our last spare chain-link. If the chain broke again we were done! In a last desperate effort to save the chain, we got out the tow-rope and attached one end of it to the sidecar axle and the other to Bennett’s machine, with the view of giving the sidecar some assistance from the “ solo”’ motor. Roped together in this fashion, I used the Klaxon horn of my . machine to signal to Bennett, and with both with the heavily-loaded sidecar | motors roaring we tore off through the sand. The scheme of towing the sidecar wheel worked out even better than we had antici- pated, and for the next ten miles we plunged southward over the floor of Death Valley. When we stopped it was because the tow- rope broke. I shut off my motor instantly, and signalled Bennett to stop, for fear of again breaking the drive-chain. We were still fully fifteen miles from Owl Hole when the first rays of daylight began streaking up over the Funeral Mountains. If fortune favoured us, we should make that distance before the sun began to burn us up, but with the slightest delay we faced the identical predicament of the morning before. Realizing this, we lost little time in getting under way, but hadn't gone a mile before the tow-rope parted again. This time it was the stand of Bennett’s machine, to which the tope was tied, that pulled out. We repaired it with hay wire, but at the expense of sacrificing a whole precious hour. By this time our water supply was down to only about ten quarts, and the sun, with its scorching rays, was upon us. Getting under way once more, we drove like madmen, with the faint hope that if disaster overtook us, we might have a ghost of a chance of getting near enough to the water-hole to make the balance of the distance on foot. In this, however, our hopes were blasted, when Bennett’s machine, unable to stand the abuse it was receiving, stripped a locking-key on the motor drive- shaft. We had spare keys for making the Bennett and the Author near Ow! Hole, Death Valley. The picture was taken in a temperature of something like one hundred and fifty degrees!

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A RACE. FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY 67 Filling up with petrol from the reserve supply. necessary fepair, but the job could not be accomplished in less than an hour, and by that time we should be withered by the sun. We were still twelve miles from water and shade. We were not out of water yet, but our supply was altogether inadequate to entertain a hope of seeking our salvation afoot. The mirages had now begun to play again, and our doom appeared to be sealed when Bennett chanced to look toward the foothills of the Panamints, along the brow of which we were travelling. “‘ What is that spot on the hillside yonder ?” he asked, pointing in that direction. I could make out the spot too, but wasn’t sure whether it was real. or just mirage. I reached for my field-glasses, and with them made out that the spot on the hill was the entrance to a dugout—evidently built by some prospector during the winter months. It offered us shade, at least, and with what water we had léft we might be able to live through the day and make our way to Owl Hole after nightfall. With Bennett pushing the sidecar, I gave the motor as much power as I felt the drive- chain would safely stand, and we made our way to within a few hundred yards of the dugout. There we stuck in a sand-wash, and, unable to endure the heat another minute, both of us grabbed a canteen of water and ran toward the dugout. The sole occupant was a five-foot rattlesnake, which” foolishly announced himself by rattling as we entered. A single bullet from my pistol put an end to him, and we threw his still- Note the sow-rope with which Bennett assisted the side-car outht through the heavy sand, : squirming body outside as we moved in’ to take possession. The furniture of the q a out, which was fairly roomy, consisted of two soap boxes, a piece of burlap on =the floor, and an improvised stove made from an old oil tin. It remained for Bennett to make the discovery which unquestionably saved our lives. He lifted the burlap ftom the floor, thinking only to ascertain if it harboured another rattlesnake. Under the burlap was a trapdoor of rough boards, and in a pit beneath it a sixty-gallon barrel half- full of stale water. We trundled the barrel out of the hole, struck the bung, and sampled the water. It was as black as ink, and smelt nasty—but it was water! By disinfecting it with potassium permanganate, which we carried as a remedy for possible rattlesnake bites, we could drink it by holding our noses, and it wasn’t half bad when made into coffee. The temperature inside the dugout was like that of an oven, but, even then, it was pro- bably forty or fifty degrees cooler than in the sun outside. We spent the day in the dug- out, and managed to get in about six hours’ sleep in spite of the heat. After sundown we filled our canteens and then put the barrel back in the pit for some other poor wanderer who might need it. Then we returned to Ben- nett’s machine, and in about an hour had it repaired, ready to travel again. It should be mentioned here that the enamel on both machines had begun to blister and fall off in pieces as big as a man’s hand. Jt had been oven-baked at the factory, of course, but

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68 THE WIDE the Death Valley heat brought it off just as it had taken the skin off the back of my hands. Our faces by this time were literally cooked. Our lips were cracked and con- tinually bleeding, and both of us were showing the effects of the hardships we had endured by the loss of considerable weight. Of course, we had not shaved since leaving civilization, and the whiskers, with our sun- baked faces, protruding cheek-bones, and swollen lips, made us a hard-looking pair indeed. A few miles south of the point where Bennett’s machine had gone wrong we came upon firm, gravelly soil—a welcome relief from the heavy sand we had been fighting. We were able to discard the tow-line, and our speed began to improve. We got to Owl Hole about an hour after getting Bennett's machine in running order, loaded up all the water we could carry, and pushed on, Our next water-hole would be Cave Spring, at the extreme southern end of the valley. This was a journey of ninety miles from Owl Hole, and the longest stretch we had to cover between water-holes. By this time we were getting into the higher eleva- tions of Death Valley, our aneroid showing the floor of the valley just below Owl Hole as being only fifty feet below sea-level. This higher ground offered us some relief from the terrific heat, and we calculated that if we could make the next stage of the journey to Cave Spring that night, we should be able to get out of Death Valley through Cave Canyon Pass the next day. This plan was all very fine in theory, but in practice it went awry. Little did we realize then the horrors that were in store for us the following day ! We made fairly good progress until the first ravs of daylight began to show. As nearly as we could tell, we had covered about fifty miles of the distance from Owl Hole when we came to a place where a great shelf of rock protruded from the wall of a canyon that came down to the floor of the valley from the foot of the Owl Mountains, the range forming the southery rim of Death Valley. The shelf offered complete protec- tion from the sun, so we decided to make a dry camp there until after sunset. There was no water closer than Cave Spring, still forty miles away ; and since we could never hope to make that distance before the heat of the day overtook us, camping for the day where we had shelter from the sun seemed by far the best plan. under the sheltering ledge, and unloaded such of our equipment as we needed. We were walking about under the ledge, looking for a flat place to shake down our beds, when a huge rattlesnake popped his head up from behind a boulder, and began to rattle. In an instant both of us had jumped I drove the sidecar. WORLD MAGAZINE. back with our pistols drawn. ‘ Bang! Bang! Bang!’ went Bennett’s automatic, and with the third shot the snake crumpled down behind the rock where he had appeared. We fished him out stone dead. We went about making our camp, after throwing the dead snake aside, and thought nothing more of the incident. After breakfasting we crawled on to our blankets. By this time the heat was stifling, but both of us were soon asleep, and we never opened an eye until the long shadows of our ledge on the opposite canyon wall told us the sun had almost set again. We got up, and I set about preparing supper, thinking to eat before we began travelling again. I put coftee in the pot, and handed it to Bennett, requesting that he add the water to it. A moment later, as I was stirring corned beef in the frying-pan over the fire, I heard a volley of oaths emanating from Bennett's direction. He was standing beside the side- car stamping his feet on the ground and cursing. I ran towards him, calling out, “What's the matter, Wells?’’ For a moment he stood there with his lips tremb- ling; then he spoke in a most despondent voice, saying, “ Well, old man, we’re done! And it’s all my fault, too! We're going to die, and you ought to have the satisfaction of killing me, because I’m the cause of your death!” With that he pointed to a small round hole in the body of the sidecar, and a moist spot on the sand under the vehicle told the rest of the story. One of Bennett’s bullets, fired at the rattlesnake, had apparently glanced from the rocks. It had struck the sidecar and gone through our water-tank within a quarter of an inch of the bottom. The machine had been tilted slightly to that side, and every drop of our precious water- supply had run off into the sand ! 1 was staring blankly at the bullet-hole in the sidecar-body, endeavouring to think what possible action could save us from certain death, when I was interrupted by Bennett. .‘‘ Well, why don’t you shoot me?’”’ he demanded. “I'm not going to shoot you, Wells,” I told him. “ But for you, I should have been dead the day before yesterday ; and I certainly have no desire to kill you now. Come, don’t let us cry over lost water. It’s gone, and we can’t help it.” Without further ado we threw our outfit into the sidecar and were soon under way again. We still had a scant three quarts of water in the two canteens, but obviously that was not enough to offer any hope of * getting to the water-hole in Cave Canyon before death from thirst overtook us. Another desperate race to water might be essayed, but it scemed such a forlorn hope,

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A RACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. 69 “With the third shot the smake crumpled down behiad the rock.”

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ric) THE WIDE with the water forty miles away, on the other side of a range of mountains over which no road existed, that it was scarcely worth con- sidering. According to our reckoning we were then thirty-one miles from the mouth of Cave Canyon, with the prospect of a nine- mile climb upward through the canyon from fifty feet below sea-level to an elevation of five thousand eight hundred feet before we should be out of the valley and near water ! My chances* of making it with the sidecar were not even those of a snowball in a blast furnace. Turning these disheartening thoughts over in my mind, I signalled to Wells to stop. “Wells,” I told him, ‘‘ there is just one chance in a million for us to get ourselves out of this. You take the two canteens, with what water we've got, and beat it for Cave Spring. Ride as you have never ridden before, fill the canteens, and return to me as fast as you can. I may be dead before you get back, but it’s our only chance. I'll keep plugging along as best I can. The water in those canteens ought to take you to Cave Spring at the rate you can travel. I can probably last to the mouth of Cave Canyon before I dry out, and if you have any kind of luck at all you ought to be able to get back to me before I’m dead.” At first Bennett refused to listen to this plan ; it seemed so pitifully hopeless.“ I’m afraid yew go out with the heat and shoot yourself before I can make it,” he said. “ Very well,” I replied, “if that’s what’s worrying you, take my pistol with you.” Only on this condition would Bennett consider the proposal, and so I handed him the gun, holster, belt, and cartridges, which he strapped about him. I could even see a ray of humour about the incident as Bennett rode away looking like a “ two-gun bandit,” with a pistol slung on either hip. Little did we realize at that moment that his having two pistols would actually be the means of snatching us both from the very jaws of death. Giving his motor the full throttle, Bennett roared southward through the valley. For the first mile or two he bounded along through the sand like an enormous jack- rabbit. Then he went out of sight around a thicket of mesquite, and I was alone once more in Death Valley, apparently without a ghost of a chance of ever getting out alive. For a full hour I forced the machine south- ward, floundering through washes, clumps of desert brush, and around boulders. My tongue and throat were fast drying out, and I felt utterly hopeless and miserable. I tried to sing, thinking to keep up my spirits, but with the dryness of my throat the best I could do was a guttural croaking. I chewed a pebble in the hope of stimulating the flow WORLD MAGAZINE. of saliva, but my salivary glands seemed as dry as the sand of Death Valley itself. The moon came up over the eastern mountains, and by its silvery light I followed. the track that Bennett had made, praying hard that the motor would keep turning. I ceased attempting to estimate the distance and the length of time I had travelled, for that only kindled false hopes. My thirst was becoming more terrible every minute, and looking at my watch only made it worse. On, on, and on, into the night I rode, trying to think of all the pleasant incidents of my life, and endeavouring to forget that I was facing my doom in Death Valley. It was difficult work, for the fear of death and the torture of thirst were upon me. At last the motor stopped for lack of fuel, and as I began transferring petrol from the reservoir *in the sidecar, I ventured to look at my watch. It was ten o’clock. I had travelled for three hours without stopping. Surely, I thought, I must be getting close to the mouth of Cave Canyon! Almost fearing to look, I began to scan the mountains to the right, and there, almost at my side, and with Bennett's wheel tracks leading into it, was a black, yawning chasm. It must be Cave Canyon, I thought. When I remounted the machine, prepara- tory to driving into the canyon, my thirst had become almost unendurable. My ears were singing and my head was whirling until it was only by the most supreme effort of will power that I kept from tottering off the saddle. I was peering into the black depths of the canyon, wondering just how far I would get up it, when I was almost dumbfounded to see a tiny black object go scooting out between the walls, and start straight across the floor of the valley. I watched the thing intently, and had almost concluded that it was a delusion due to my troubled brain when it took the form of a «small automobile. I stopped my motor and listened. No; it was not a phantom, because I could hear the sharp cracking of its unmuffled exhaust. There was a lone man on the front seat, and he plunged out across the valley as if the Evil One himself was chasing him. In another moment the car was out of sight, and I sat there mentally cursing myself to think what a fool I had been not to catch up with the driver of the car and get water from him. I could not shout, and I had no pistol with which to attract attention. The chances were ten to one that the man had driven past me without even knowing I was there. I was about to press the starter of my motor again when another black object bolted out of the canyon. “ Certainly, I am seeing things,” I thought. In another minute, however, I realized that what I had

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A RACE FOR LIFE IN DEATH VALLEY. 71 Bennett towing the Author out of Death Valley through the Cave Canyon Pass after their nightmare journey. seen was real. The second black object appeared to be smaller than the first. Then it began to take form, and I came to a sudden realization that it was Bennett on his motor-cycle. How he could have got to Cave Spring and back again in the length of time he had been gone was simply in- comprehensible—but there he was, coming across the desert towards me. Two minutes later he was beside me, and was pressing a full canteen of water to my lips. He was smiling from ear to ear, and appeared to be in high spirits. ‘‘ Here’s the water,’ he cried. ‘‘ Drink all you want, for I’ve got thirty-six quarts more about a mile up the canyon.” Where he had secured the water was a mystery, and until I had regained my voice I was unable to ask him. At last, observing by my gesticulations that I was perplexed to know where he had obtained the water, Bennett told his story. He had been delayed by a clogged fuel-line while making his way up Cave Canyon, and was working on the machine trying to remedy the trouble when he heard an automobile coming down. At first he could hardly believe the evidence of his senses, but a moment later a Mexican driving a ‘‘ flivver ” came into view. From this point the story is best told in Bennett’s own words : ‘‘ When I saw the man, I thought, of course, that he would give me water if he had it. I have travelled a great deal in the desert, and until half an hour ago I never met a man who would not have given me the shirt off his back if I needed it. That’s the spirit of men when they meet each other in the desert. But this fellow was different. I suppose;it's because he was just a low-lived ‘ greager.’ When I hailed him he wasn’t going to stop— and he didn’t stop, either, until I pulled'my gun and sent a bullet singing past his ear. Then I made him stick his hands up -and get down out of the car. When I asked him for water, he pretended he didn’t understand English, so I started talking to him in Spanish—what little Spanish I know, I know that water in Spanish is ‘agua.” I kept saying ‘agua, agua, agua’ to him, but the scoundrel just kept shaking his head. 1 began looking through his car, and when I found that the dirty hound had a twenty- five gallon tank of water in the machine I came mighty near shooting him full of holes. I ought to have killed him, but I didn’t. Well, I was rummaging through his car, looking for a canteen or something to put the water in, when that brute of a greaser jumped on my back, and we rolled over and over fighting for the gun. I still had the gun in my hand when I saw that he had the advantage, and was about to wrest it from me. I beat him at his little game, however, by firing the five remaining cart- ridges out of it. Then he got the gun, but he had no shells. Apparently he realized the gun was empty, for he tried to club me over the head with it. Thank God! I had your gun. I fended him off with my arm as best I could until I could wriggle around and pull your gun on him. The greaser evidently didn’t know I had two guns. Well, I got the drop on him, and that settled it. I backed him over against the car, and made e

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72 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. him fill seven six-quart canteens out of the tank in the tonneau. Then I made him get back in the car, and beat it. I fired a few shots after him to speed him on his way, and the last I saw of him he was going down the canyon as if he were trying to establish a speed record. I cached the six cans of water up in the canyon, and came back down with this one can to find you.” From his limited conversation with the Mexican, Bennett had learned that he had come out from Barstow, and was heading for the Carbonate Mine, about forty miles to the east, on the other side of the.extreme southern end of Death Valley. With twenty- five gallons of water, the quantity Bennett had relieved him of would not inconvenience him in the least. By the time Bennett had finished telling his story, I had recovered my voice to the point of being able to laugh with him over the incident. My companion’s only regret over the affair was that he hadn’t killed the Mexican. ‘‘ I ought to have killed him! I ought to have killed him!" he kept muttering. ““ Never mind, Wells,”’ I said. ‘‘ It’s just as well you didn’t. But, mark my words— a skunk like that has no business on the desert, and sooner or later somebody will kill him!’ Bennett had been keen enough to memorize the Mexican’s car-licence number, which furnished us with some interesting informa- tion upon our return to civilization a few days later. From the State motor vehicle licence bureau we learned that the Mexican’s name was Felipe Algodones, and that he hailed from the Ibex Mine, just to the east of Death Valley in the Aramagossa Desert. After having secured water, the ‘ascent of Cave Canyon was by no means the ordeal we had anticipated. We arrived at Cave Spring about an hour after daylight, where the elevation ‘of nearly six thousand feet gave us welcome relief from the terrific heat we had been living in. Three days later, with faces that were so_ heat-cracked, blistered, and gaunt-looking that they re- sembled head-hunter trophies almost more than human countenances, we arrived home in Los Angeles. Bennett tipped the beam twenty-five pounds lighter than when we started into Death Valley, and I had gone down in weight an even twenty-two pounds. By the end of two weeks after our return to civilization, however, we had regained our lost strength, and were apparently none the worse for the ordeal we had been through. Meanwhile my report of the trip had gone to the factory, and in response I received their congratulations, as well as the cheque which the successful completion of the work entitled me to. Almost in the wake of the postman who brought the cheque came ° Bennett. He was greatly excited, and had a newspaper clipping in his hand, which he handed to me. It was the story of how a prospector by the name of John B. Reynolds had staggered into the sheriff's office at Barstow to give himself up for having killed a man at the extreme southern end of Death Valley. The prospector had run out of water, and his burros had died from thirst. He had wandered for more than a day, crazed from the heat and thirst, when he met a Mexican, with a small automobile, who had refused to give him water or aid him in any way. In desperation the pro- spector killed the Mexican, and took what water he necded from a twenty-five gallon tank in the Mexican’s car. He then made his way into Barstow, where he gave himself up to a deputy-sheriff. Papers which the prospector had removed from the dead Mexican, and which were turned over to the sheriff's office, established the identity of the slain man as Felipe Algodones—the very man who had refused Bennett water, and whom Bennett had robbed of sufficient to save our lives, at the point of my pistol! He had received the just deserts of the cur who fails to understand human nature in the desert, where the brotherhood of man is probably stronger than anywhere else on earth. According to the newspaper clipping, Reynolds, the prospector, was placed under arrest, and then taken before a Justice of the Peace for trial before a jury hastily sum- moned by the coroner. Ten minutes later the jury rendered a verdict of “‘ justifiable homicide.”” Two months later the manufacturers of a well-known air-cooled automobile, haying heard of our dash through Death Valley in August by motor-cycle, invited me to carry out a similar task with one of their machines the following August. “The offer was a most attractive one, b: no money on earth would again be the slig!’ s+ temptation for me to undergo the agony of heat, the torture of thirst, and to take chances on my life by the scanty margin that permitted Bennett and myself to escape. In rejecting their offer I said: ‘Now that I have been through Death Valley in August, it is a thrilling adventure to look back upon, but all the wealth of Wall Street would not induce me to attempt repeating it. That Mr. Bennett and I are living to-day I attribute only to some act of Divine providence, or to the fatalist theory that our time hadn’t come. We lived through the journey only by the fact that we had most extraordinary luck— luck with tyres, machines, water, and everything else. The same combination of good fortune could never be expected again, and without it our lives would have been forfeit.”

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“Just as surely as there 1s a time in men’s lives when crooks go straight, so there is also a time when good men go crooked.” TURNED THIE ILLUSTRATED BY Lugene Darling STAMLEY L.WOOD ' The previous instalments of this remarkable narrative described how George Keene, the ess agent at M—— Junction, in a Western State, told his friend Charley Crane, the Expr under-sheriff, that it would be easy to rob the Express Company and leave no clue. Later, yielding to temptation, he broke open three cash-boxes in succession, replacing the locks with others, burying the money in his cellar, and sending the boxes forward to their destina- tion with scrap-iron inside to make up the weight. One of the boxes, after he had rifled it, was stolen by bandits, who abandoned it on a mountain-side. Keene of being the thief, and got knocked down for his pains. the agent’s ranch, during Keene's absence, but was frightened off by Dan Dale and Rufe Stanford, two of Keene’s cowboy friends, who afterwards made arrangements to live at the ranch in order to guard it. Other characters introduced were Minnie Carlyle, Keene’s sweet- heart; Don McFee, the Express Company’s chief detective, who suspects Keene; Mr. Bain, manager of the bank that owned the stolen money, and Mr. Bailey, of the Express Company. They decide to watch the agent closely, and endeavour to set a trap for him.* NOW READ ON. The sheriff, as a bluff, accused A mysterious stranger explored YOU CAN . IV. FTER Keene’s friends had left to ’ make preparations for moving into his shack, George spent some time in a thorough search of the basement in order to ascertain just what the “ geologist "’ had been doing down there. He was horrified to think how careless he had been to leave that scrap of paper with the columns of figures on it—the significant little sum which totalled the amount of the first robbery! That paper, he could see, would be a valuable clue in the hands of a detective ; and the fact that this ‘‘ geolo- gist ’’ had shown a desire to retain it only made George more certain that the man was a detective, and had “ tumbled ” to its ‘worth as evidence, and also to the amateurishness of the man who had left it there. He thanked his lucky stars that Dan and Rufe had taken enough interest in his affairs to investigate the stranger's actions. Apparently the investigator had not dis- turbed the ground at all, and, leaving the basement, George ransacked the place to see if there were any other evidences of the man’s activities, but found none. He barely had time, after driving home, to eat his supper before going back to work. After putting himself in touch with the affairs of the office by sorting the waybills * «The story,” writes the Author, i concerned. returned the ‘loot. myself. I Nave set it all down in story ri true in every particular, but T have changed all the names of persons and places 1am 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 ine worked, why he did i There are only four persons living who know the real facts—my friend, his wife, hi {orm for the convenience of the reader, but it it absolutely authentic, constituting the and why he finally mother-in-law, an strangest experience T have ever met with—and I have lived for the best part of fifty years on the frontier, where huinan life has been the cheapest commodity on the market.”

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74 THE WIDE and other papers, he leaned back in his chair and lighted his pipe. As he smoked he re- viewed the events of the last twenty-four hours to see if he had left the slightest clue that would point to him as the man who * committed the last robbery. He mentally reviewed every action until he came to where he had snapped on the lights after putting the sack of iron in the box. There, for some reason, his mind stopped working.. Desperately he tried to study things out. He remembered that he had sat practically in a stupor for upwards of an hour, but at the back of his brain he had a disturbing feeling that he had overlooked some vital detail. “Evidently I have missed something,” he thought. With a sense of growing uneasi- ness he recollected that he had felt as though he was forgetting something when he took the money out of the box and started for the door with it.‘ What should have been the most natural thing for me to do after 1 had turned on the lights ?"’ he asked himself, but he could not find an answer to the question. He tried another tack. ‘‘ What did I do after 1 turned the lights off ?’’ he muttered. ‘Let me see, now—I'll retrace my actions. After I turned off the lights—I had the bar in my hand—I went to the box and broke the lock. Good heavens! that’s it! In my hurry I forgot the lock!” In a frenzy of consternation he sprang to his feet and vaulted over the railing. A second later he was feverishly groping in the dimly-lighted corner for the lock he most fervently hoped was still there. Fortune favoured him. The day-man had had no occasion to remove any of the parcels that nearly hid the iron box from view, and George’s fingers soon came in contact with thesthing that meant so much to him. -Clutching the precious lock to his breast, he hurried to the desk and there made a thorough examination, to make sure it was all there. ‘‘ Gud heavens |! What’a fool 1 am!" he thought. ‘‘ What a miracle it wasn’t found! 1 wonder if there is anything else I have overlooked ? ” It was being brought home very forcibly to George that a man might plan a general scheme ever so shrewdly, and yet be brought to grief by the little details that are over- looked in the hurry of ‘ covering-up” a crime. - There came the sound of footsteps outside, and George hurriedly dropped the lock into his pocket as Charley Crane and another man entered the door. “ Mr. Keene, shake hands with Abe Liver- more," said Charley, as the men came inside the railing. The greeting over, the new arrivals sat down, and Crane went on: “* George, Abe here is the man I was telling you about. Don through Moab to see if he could find out anything about those hold-ups.” McFee sent him round, WORLD MAGAZINE. Abe Livermore was a big, broad-shouldered fellow, rather handsome in a ‘’ Wild West ”’ sort of way. His wide-brimmed hat he had placed on the floor as soon as he sat down, and his ink-black hair, which was’ worn rather long, was combed straight back oVer his head. He had a long, flowing moustache and goatee, and he wore high-topped boots. Behind the smoke from his pipe Keene stared hard at the new-comer. “ Appear- ances are certainly deceiving,’ he thought. “To look at him one would think he was a successful horse-thief, but, as a matter of fact, 1 suppose he has ridden thousands of miles in pursuit of them—and express robbers. I wonder why on earth he gets himself up like that ? It must be his vanity.” The cloud of smoke was now getting too thick to see through, so he blew it away. ** Did you learn anything about the hold- ups on your trip?’ he asked pleasantly. “No, I didn’t. And, then again, I‘did,’’ answered Abe. “‘ That is not for sure, may- be,” he finished cryptically. “* How's that ? '’ asked the puzzled under- sheriff. ABE LIVERMORE’S STORY. “‘Well, I was pretty well done up after riding all night on the train and then getting on a horse at day.ight, and I was sung half asleep in the bar-rvom in the hotel in Moab when three men came in. They were nearly drunk, and one of th-m scemed mighty tickled about something. They sat down close to me, and the laughing fellow was asking if they were going to go and get the wagon back. One of the others said he wasn't, and that Huck had told him he had seen it in the jail yard when he passed a few days before. “Then the first man said it was too bad that somebody had beat them to it. He laughed again, and wanted to Rnow ‘ why they didn’t bring the iron--——' There he stopped, for one of the others clapped his hand over his mouth, and stared straight at me. I, like a darn fool, had come to life, and was sitting there with my mouth wide open, listening !"' George laughed. ‘‘ That was bad business, wasn't it?” he asked. “Well, I reckon it was ; I should have got into some real trouble if I'd had my gun with me, for all three of them came right over and started to pick a fuss with me.” “Why, didn’t you have your gun with you?” ‘‘ Nope—not on a trip of this kind. If I was going down there to arrest a man it would be different. But when I'm just peeking round to see what I can find out I never carry guns.” George was greatly interested. ‘‘ But how did you manage to get away from them, if they tried to kick up a row?” Livermore drew in a iong draught of smoke

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75 i 2 = 3 “Z & = al ° = = 4 “ z a = i) “*T just waded through them and went on up to my room.’”

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76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and allowed it to escape through his nostrils as he answered: ‘‘ Well, I ain't no infant, and, as I was saying, they were partly ‘lit up,’ so I just waded through them and went on up to my room.” a His listeners laughed at his way of ex- pressing what had probably been a good old-fashioned rough-and-tumble fight. Abe rolled and lit another cigarette, and then went on: “I figured that 1 had run across the right men. Of course, I wasn't really sure, for they might have been talking about some other iron that was to be brought in. But I thought I would tell Don about it, so 1 came straight over here.” George's visitors left quite early, on the plea of having had a hard day’s ride, and the agent lay back in his swivel chair, his eyes halt closed, a whimsical smile lurking on his ips. He was roused from his reverie by the whistle of ‘‘ No. 3,” and, rising to his feet, he gathered up his way-bills. tomed weight of the lock in his pocket caused a slight uneasiness. ‘‘I’ll throw that con- founded thing away as soon as the train has gone,”’ he muttered as he pulled the truck out on to the platform. After checking up, he took the lock out and rose to go to the door, but stopped suddenly, for it occurred to him that it would not do to throw it away anywhere near the station. He studied the question as he slowly walked back to his chair. Feeling that the lock was safe in his pocket for the time being, he went on with his duties. The time passed slowly as he waited for “No. 6."". The weight of the lock irritated him, and he took it out and laid it on the desk. ‘‘ That won't do,” he thought, “I shall go away and forget it.’ He put it in his hip pocket, but a sharp corner prodded him slightly as he sat down. “ Darn it! That won’t do either,’’ be growled, and changed it to the pocket in his shirt. ‘‘ There —that’s better,” hesaid. ‘ 1’ll throw it away on the way home.” The arrival and departure of ‘No. 6” passed into history, and George put on his coat and went home. As he undressed in his room the lock again claimed attention. He had forgotten its presence until it sagged down with the removal of his shirt! With an exclamation of annoyance, he started to put it under his pillow. ‘‘ No,’’ he thought; ‘‘T shall be sure to forget it.” The thing was becoming almosta menace. ‘‘ What on earth shall I do with the infernal thing?” He solved the problem for the moment by jamming it down into the toe of one of his shoes. “ I surely shan't forget it there!" he told himself. It was high noon when he awoke. After breakfast he left the house and started out to dispose of the lock, which was fast assum- ing the proportions of a white elephant. “ T'll go to the river,” he thought, but the The unaccus-. bridge across the Grand River was lined with people passing backwards and forwards; it seemed to him that he had never seen so many folk there before. It was a mile to the Powderhorn river bridge, but the more he thought about it the more he became con- vinced that it would not do to allow the slightest chance of the lock ever being found, for if it was found it could be identified as one of the Express Company’s locks, and his office connected with its disappearance. Apprehensively, he hurried on his way, hoping that he wouldn’t faint, or fall dead, or meet with some other mishap while that wretched thing was in his pocket. The bridge was untenanted, when George came to it, except for a lone fisherman. He walked to where he knew the water was deepest—a good twenty feet, with ibly three feet of good soft mud at the bottom. Carelessly he idled along the rail opposite the fisherman, furtively he reached into his pocket and drew forth the thing that had worried him. Turning his back to the man on the other side of the bridge, he dropped it, and as it disappeared in the depths he heaved a sigh of relief. “If I hadn't overlooked that the other night,”’ he muttered, ‘‘ I shouldn't have had all this trouble. It began to feel as if it was ted hot. Jove! it isn’t all honey, this stealing business | And what am I going to do with the money now I have got it? There’s no fool like a darn fool—and that’s me!” That night, when Keene trundled his truck to the door of the express car, Don McFee stepped out on to it, dragging a cash-box vith him. ‘‘ More money?” asked the agent carelessly, as he signed for it. The detective nodded affirmatively as he slid to the platform. George hailed the newsboy and bought a aper ; then he followed McFee to the office. he detective, he could see, was looking very much worried. He smiled to himself and thought : ‘I'll just give him a dig for luck.” DOUBLE MEANINGS. ““ How about your fish, Don ? ”’ he asked. “ Found his trail yet ? ’’ “Sure thing,”” answered the detective. “I’ve located him all right.” George grinned at himinnocently. ‘‘ What is he—a nice fat fish ?.” ““No; he’s a poor fish. And he is out in the shallow water now, among the reeds, and I can see him wriggling.” ““What kind of fish is he—trout ? “Nope; nothing like it. He’s just a common, everyday, garden variety of sucker.” “How are” you going to catch him? Going to use any bait ? ’” “T may try him out with.a little, but I don't think I'll need it.” “ Better watch him pretty close, Don, or

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. he may wriggle away and get headed for deep water again.” ““He’ll be watched all right, you can bet.” “And be careful you don’t get your feet wet while you are catching him.” The detective’s eyes narrowed to slits, and he stared straight at the agent for several seconds. ‘‘ I’ll look out for that,’’ he snapped grimly. Keene sorted his papers over for a minute ; then he looked up and said: ‘‘ Oh, by the way, Don, your man from the city has arrived. He and Crane were in here last night. He’s up town now.” “If that is the case, I had better hunt him up,” said McFee. As he arose to his feet, George said: “I see this box is billed for Ophir. I guess that means I have got to stay here all night ? ” “I expect it does ; but then, it won’t hurt you to earn some of your salary,’’ returned the detective, and he grinned at the agent as he passed through the door. On the way up the street he frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder what the beggar Meant by that remark about wet feet ? ” he mused. After posting his books, George picked up his paper and settled back in his chair. As he scanned the front page he said to himself; ‘‘ 1 wonder why Don didn’t say something about this last robbery?” . Carefully he looked through the paper, but nowhere could he find the robbery mentioned. ‘‘ That’s strange,” he muttered. “It should be in this edition.” He laid the paper down and stared thought- fully at the desk for several minutes. Then he sat up suddenly. “‘ By Jove! I'll bet that’s it!’’ he burst out. They've paid this loss, and are going to keep it dark!” He turned_and looked at the box on the truck. ‘'S6, Mr. Don, that’s it! This is the bait you're going to try on your fish, is it ? ”’ Though he seemed to freeze up inside as this thought came to him, he forced himself to face the situation. “Gee, this thing is getting close!” he thought. “I’ve certainly got to be careful. I was a fool to touch that last box. But they can’t do anything unless they find the money, and I don’t think they will do that with Dan and Rufe up there. Still, 1 must look out. I’m learning every day that I don’t know very much about this robbery business.” He tumed toward the truck ; ‘‘So you are the bait, eh, old box ?”’ he went on, ‘ Well, I'll just make it my personal business to see that you are not tampered with while you are stopping with me.” The first man McFee saw when he entered the hotel was Abe Livermore, with whom he shook hands cordially. After registering, he glanced carelessly about the room. With- out the slightest sign of recognition he saw Detective Ryan seated at one of the writing- a7 tables. Making a sign to Livermore, he followed the bell-boy to his room. “Well, what did you learn?’ he asked, after the boy had left. “Oh, nothing much, and again, it might be considerable," answered Abe in_ his peculiar way. Then he recounted very much the same story as he had told to Crane and George the night before. McFEE CONSULTS HIS ASSISTANTS. | “Evidently they were the hold-ups, and didn’t get the money,” said Mclee, with conviction, when the other finished. There was a tap on the door and Don calledout: ‘Come in, Ryan.” A tall, rather slender, dark-complexioned man_ stepped quickly into the room and closed the door. As his keen grey eyes took in the stranger in a single glance, Don motioned him to a chair. “ This is Abe Livermore,” he said. Ryan stepped quickly forward, shook the other’s hand, and then sat down. “What's new ? "he said. In a few words McFee acquainted him with what Livermore had learned, and then added: “Did you find out anything on the hill?” “Yes, I did,’’ he answered, and told of finding the scrap of paper in the basement of Keene’s shack, together with his experience with the two cowmen afterward. ‘ And now those two cow-punchers have moved on to the place,’’ he wound up. “That piece of paper may merely be a coincidence,” said Mckee thoughtfully, “ but I doubt it.” . “*So do I,” agreed Ryan. ‘I reckon he felt so good over his success that he counted the money to see how much there was of it. And right there he not only fell down, but he showed he is an amateur.” “Well, he isn’t an amateur any longer,” Yremarked McFee glumly. *‘ How’s that?” asked Ryan. Thereupon Don gave him the facts of the latest robbery, together with the deductions arrived at by himself and Bailey in D—— two days before. ‘‘ 1 have sent McCoy out on the case to keep in touch with the men who had the box in charge,’ he wound up, “so that we can lay our fingers on them at an hour's notice if we want them. There is the barest possibility that one of them is an accomplice of Keene’s in this last job.” Ryan’s keen mind rapidly reviewed the case from this last view-puint. “‘ It’s pos- sible,” he said, “but to my mind very improbable. If this agent has done the other robberies—and I don’t question now that he has—he is not a man who would clutter up his work like that. No, he pinched it in that two minutes.’ An amused expres- sion spread over his sharp features. ‘‘ Say,” he added, ‘‘ but he’s got a nerve! ‘m beginning to admire that man. Don't you?”

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78 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “‘ Well, Ishould say not!’ growled McFee sourly. : “Well, it may be somewhat misdirected in this case, but it is good old American nerve just the same,” persisted Ryan. ‘‘ Can't we lay a trap for him somehow ? ” ““T have,” McFee told him. ‘‘ There's a cash-box in the office this minute, with a marked lock on it. It’s billed to Ophir, and aman is going to examine it as soon as Keene leaves the office in the morning. If it hasn’t been tampered with, it will be shipped back and left in his charge again. We’ll keep doing this till he falls for it, or we become con- vinced that he has ‘ tumbled ’ to the dodge.”’ “ If he tumbles to it he may quit his job,” said Ryan thoughtfully. “YT don't think he dare do that,” said McFee grimly. ‘If he does, it will show practically conclusively that he’s guilty, and that we have got him on the run. Again, if he sticks to his job he is innocent, or else he realizes that the safest place in the world for him is in that office at work.” “In either case,”’ said Ryan, with a grin, “‘whether he quits or doesn't quit, he's facing a pretty difficult proposition.” “Well, he’s guilty all night; and if we have to we'll rout him with a frame-up,” said McFee. “ Sure thing,’’ said Ryan. ‘‘ But say, Don, we must be just a little careful. He may have reinforcements behind him that we know nothing about.” “‘T don't think so,” replied McFee. this last job he has just blundered into trouble. All we've got to do, if he doesn’t fall for the trap, is to go straight through with the frame-up business.”” “Fine!” said Ryan. He was ready for anything, short of actual murder, that would land a suspected man behind the bars. Once on the scent he left nothing undone, no matter how reprehensible it might be, to bring about the desired result. For the next week George certainly “earned his salary,” for the simple reason that there was a cash-box left for him to take care of every night. Every morning, too, the box was given a careful examination as soon as he had turned it over to the day- man, with the result that the frown on McFee’s face grew deeper and deeper as the days passed. Abe Livermore saddled up his horse and rode away, remarking to himself as he did so that: ‘‘ There might be harder things to track than a fish, but he couldn’t for the life of him imagine what they were,” and Detective Ryan prowled the streets during the hours the agent devoted to sleep, vainly hoping thereby that Keene would know nothing of his existence. Meanwhile, away in the big city, Messrs. Bain and Bailey kept their office staffs in a fever of unrest by giving a perfect imitation of a pair of sore- headed bears. “In - Don, in the hope that he was making things more tempting, had purposely left the empty box in the dimly-lighted comer of the office, thinking that sooner or later Keene would again fall from grace. The agent, however,’ was playing the game in ways peculiar to himself. On the first night that he had been left in care of the marked shipment, he had studied the situation over till he felt sure he had fathomed the plot. Pulling down the curtains to avoid possible prying eyes, he examined the lock carefully, and detected a small file-mark. He smiled grimly as he made the discovery. “If it is a trap,” he thought, “the lock won't come back—but the box might. I'll just mark it so that I shall know it if it does.” Vith his pocket-knife he made a zig-zag scratch across one end. ‘.There!” he muttered. ‘‘ If that comes by here again I shall know for certain that something is in the wind.” THE MARKED BOX. The days passed, and the marked box— each time with a new lock, marked in a different place—came through again and again, and George began to get angry. ““Shucks! That wretched box goes up the Toad one day and down the next!” he growled. “The idiots are using the same box all the time. They must think I am a fool! If it wasn’t so infernally serious it would be funny, but I'll smile if it breaks my neck.” As Keene’s smile widened McFee’s frown deepened, and he became all the more deter- mined to put the agent to the supreme test. Carefully he and Ryan reviewed the case from the time of the first robbery to the present hour. “That infernal fellow is either as innocent as a baby,” growled McFee, “ or else he has tumbled to our trap and is laughing up his sleeve at us.” “ Possibly,” said Ryan thoughtfully. “Or it may be that he has got enough, and is just waiting for the time when he can safely cash it.” “In any case,’’ continued the other, “‘ we can’t afford to lose any more time. I will take this afternoon's train to D—— to arrange to bring the plant down here. You keep out of sight, but if he should quit his job, pinch him. We have a good case against him over this last aftair.”’ “What have you learned ? ": asked Bailey, McFee’s chief, when Don presented himself at the city office the next afternoon. “ Nothing,”’ answered the detective sourly, “except that he sidesteps our trap as care- fully as a well-fed fox.” ‘Then there is only one thing to do,” said Bailey. Bain, though very much worried, was

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THE “So you are the bait, eh, old box?” inclined to doubt the feasibility ot the “* framing-up ’’ scheme.* “Isn't there some other way we can get at him without doing this thing ? " he asked. ““We may be doing him a fearful injustice. And besides, we shall have to take at least the amount of the second loss—fifty-eight thousand dollars—in spot cash down there for the plant.” There was a tap at the door, and the mail "A “frame-up MAN WHO is a method of fixing a crime upon a man by means of ‘arranged ” TURNED THIEF. 79 was handed in. Bain's question remained unanswered while McFee went over some letters. He was looking for certain informa- tion that he had written for soon after the first robbery. He tore open several letters, glanced at their contents, and cast them aside ; then his_eye lighted up and he smiled exultantly. ‘‘ 1 guess we've got him,” he exclaimed. ‘‘ This letter gives us the final link that makes the chain complete!” evidence.

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80 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. He spread out a sheet of paper. “' Read that,’’ he said. Mr. Bain read it over. “ This is a list of locks that have been sent out to purchasers,” he said in perplexity. ‘‘ What is the meaning of it?” “If you will look it over you will find George Keene’s name on that list,’”’ explained the detective, ‘‘ and the date shows that he sent for the locks a short time before this series of robberies was pulled off.” “WE'VE GOT HIM.” He looked at the others triumphantly. “We've got him ; he cannot get away from it!’’ he cried. ‘‘ Keene bought three locks, the fool! He ought to have known that we should trace out who had bought locks from anybody anywhere as soon as we found that ours had been disposed of.’’ “You have certainly run Don !”’ said Bailey admiringly. thin) him down, “ The next to do is to make him cough up.” “Well, then,”’ said Bain, smiling brightly at the others, “don't you think that we can go down there and, with this evidence against him, scare him into a confession by flatly accusing him of being the thief ? ”’ ‘Not likely !”’ said McFee. ‘‘ The sheriff tried that, and nearly got his head knocked off for it. Keene doesn’t scare worth a cent.” “Well, then, why not have him arrested at once ? We ought to be able to convict on this evidence, don't you think ? ” “No; I don’t think so,’’ answered the detective. ‘‘ That man’s reputation is such that we shall have to have something stronger than circumstantial evidence alone to get a conviction, and the amount of our losses is so large that it would be too risky to take the chance of a mistrial, to say nothing of a possible acquittal.”” He looked searchingly at his employer. ‘ What does your lawyer say about it ?’ he added. “He says the frame-up is a mighty risky piece of business,"’ returned Bailey, ‘* but that it would be better to try it rather than wait till this man concludes to make use of the stolen money, which might be several years ; and it is too big an amount to leave buried somewhere to await this infernal thief's pleasure. Confound him! I guess we shall have to go through with it.” There was an expression of relief on the faces of all men when the decision was reached. Bain, however, added as an after- thought : ‘‘ But suppose he defies us after we have arranged the frame-up ? We cannot compel him to testify. Would you send him to prison on our false testimony that we found the money on his ranch ?”’ ““No, I wouldn't,” replied McFee de- cisively. ‘‘ 1 could not do that, though it is our only real hope. We have got to take the cl i ““What do you mean by ‘real hope’ ?” asked Bailey. ‘‘ Have you thought of some other way of reaching him ? ” “Yes, I have; but I would rather not say anything about it just now, for I haven't thought it out fully. It is a last resort— practically a forlorn hope, I’m afraid.” “Well, then,’’ said Bain dejectedly, “I guess we had better get this money together and go down there and get the business over —the sooner the better.” “Yes, the sooner the better,” assented the detective; ‘‘and when Keene has had a few quiet days in jail to think things over, and we point out to him that he is positively the only man who was left alone with that money from the time it left the shipping point, I expect he will confess all right. Then if you want to, you can drop the case if he undertakes to return the money.” ““Do you think we all ought to go there together ? ”’ asked Bain. ‘‘ He doesn't know Sam Bailey and me, you know.” “No, I don't,” answered McFee. “I'll take the train to-night; that will land me there to-morrow night. You and Sam had better start to-morrow, arriving in daylight, when Keene won't be likely to see you. I'll see Ryan and make all arrangements to get horses to take him and Sam up to Keene's place the next night to plant the money. Then, the following day, with a couple of deputies from the sheriff's office for wit- nesses, they will go up there openly and dig it up—and then we will have Keene arrested |’ The sudden cessation of cash-boxes being left for him to guard caused Keene to speculate uneasily ; he feared it might mean direct action of some sort. With an idea of acquainting his friends on the hill with what had transpired during the past week he took his truck to the station so that, in case there was no reason for staying on duty all night, he could drive to the ranch. In his desire to present an innocent front to the enemy at all times, Kcene had given considerable thought to what would appear to be the actions of a man perfectly free from the haunting fear of detection. Realizing that it would be very easy to overdo the part, he had been in two minds as to the advisability of inviting McFee to drive to the ranch with him some night. Viewing the detective in the light of a friend, it would be a perfectly natural thing to do; but taking into consideration what had happened recently, it might be flying in the face of Providence to take the chance. It was a hard nut to crack, however he looked at it. Keene realized that the detective’s long years of experience gave him an im- mense intitial advantage over an amateur in crime. lt was useless for George to curse himself for a fool any longer ; it was being brought home to him more forcibly every day that

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THE MAN he would have to use all the cunning at his command to extricate himself from the pit he had dug for himself. “No. 3’ came along, stopped a few minutes, and rushed away into the darkness, and the agent trundled the express truck back to the office, where he checked the packages and made the necessary entries on the ledger. Then he lighted his pipe and leaned back in his chair to study once more the fearful situation he was facing. As he did so, the door slid back and McFee, the very man he was thinking about, came in. Advancing to the railing with hand extended he called out in a pleasant voice: ‘ Hello, George !”’ The warm greeting was nothing unusual, but the extended hand was, in view of the fact that he had seen Keene almost every day for the past week. The agent hesitated for a second ; then, giving McFee a firm clasp and a word of welcome, motioned him to a seat. The agent resumed his chair and viewed the detective speculatively through half- closed eyes. ‘‘ I wonder what has brought him back from D—— so soon ? ’’ he thought. He voiced the thought by saying: “ You didn’t stay long in the city this trip. What’s the news?” ‘“No, I didn’t,’”’ replied the detective, quietly, quick to notice that Keene was keeping close watch on his movements. “Are you going to the ranch? I see you have your truck outside.” “* Yes, if a cash-box doesn’t come in on ‘No. 6’ to prevent it,’’ answered George, wondering if Don was hinting for an invita- tion to go along. He studied the detective’s carelessly indifferent expression for several seconds, and then added: ‘‘ You'd better come along up with me.” McFEE ACCEPTS AN INVITATION. McFee hesitated before answering. ‘I wonder what the devil the fellow is driving at now?" he thought. He shifted his position slightly, and the pressure of the “automatic” he always carried in his hip pocket caused a feeling of assurance to creep over him. “ If he is guilty, and feels the coils tightening, he might be a dangerous man to be alone with. Still, it will give me an excuse for staying around another day, and I can be on my guard.” “‘T shall have to stay over another day if I do that,”” he lamely objected. “You idiot! You're not fooling me with that remark!” said the agent to himself ; then he replied aloud: ‘‘ Shucks! What is one day more or less in your Fours life ? Come along and let that poor fish you are tracking down have a day off; it will do you both good.” “* All right, I’ll do it,” answered McFee, grinning in spite of himself. ‘‘ What time do you get up there?” Vol. 1-6. WHO TURNED THIEF. 81 . ‘About four o'clock, usually,” said the agent—and wondered if he had made another blunder. ~ The drive to the ranch was without incident ; the driver was kept busy watching the rough road, and the detective, alert to the fact that he was to a considerable extent putting himself in the power of a man he was becoming convinced was a dangerous criminal, leaned back in the seat, grimly silent. After breakfast, which Rufe and Dan prepared while the newcomers were getting the sleep out of their eyes, Rufe nudged Keene and said in a low tone: ‘‘ Come outside a minute. I want to ask you some- thing.”” McFee saw the movement and frowned slightly. He had heard of the cattleman’s dubious reputation from Sheriff Beverly, and wondered if he had “ put his foot into it ’’ by becoming the agent's guest. “What is that guy doing up here?” Stanford asked George when the two men were out of earshot of the house. .. ‘Well, I'll tell you, Rufe. The fool has been shipping marked cash-boxes through my office down there for a week past, and I just thought I would show him I had nothing to fear from anything he might see up here. Another thing is that I thought it would have a tendency to keep him from starting anything in the way of a frame-up if he saw who was living on this place.”” “sFine!" cried Rufe. ‘‘ 1 thought it was something like that! 1 whispered as much to Dan last night when I saw who he was, but I just wanted to be sure you understood ; I didn’t know but that he had invited him- self up here. They're full of such tricks, you know.” “Sure, I get you!’ returned George, “but I wanted McFee to know just what to expect if he had a notion that he could pull off any sort of a skin game up here. Take it from me, Rufe, right here on this ranch is the only place in this world where they can pull off a frame-up with a possibility of success. By the way, Charley Crane told me that ‘ geologist ' fellow is hanging around town. His name is Ryan, and he is a detec- tive.” Stanford's eyebrows lifted till they almost disappeared under his wide-brimmed hat, and he drew in a long whistling breath. “Oh, he is, is he? And he has been hanging around there all this time? If that’s the case there is certainly something in the wind ! I'll tell Dan; we'll handle it if anything comes up.” ““ Now see here, Rufe, don’t you fellows get into any trouble over this thing,” began George. “Forget it!’ interrupted the cow- puncher. ‘This ain't going to be any trouble at all; it’s going to be fun /”’ Keene started to offer further objections, but was stopped by the other’s comical

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82 THE WIDE WORLD pleading. ‘‘ Why, Shucks, man,’’ he cried, “TY ain't had any real fun since I left Okla- homa, and 1 just can’t pass this up!” The conversation was stopped by the other two men coming outside, and Keene and his guest started on a tour of the ranch, while the two cowmen caught their horses and rode away. It was noon by the time Mcl’ee and Keene had given the place a thorough inspection. Keene even took the visitor into the base- ment, which was cluttered up with an assortment of boxes, nail-kegs, and other odds and ends. As they stood in this place the detective used all the arts of subterfuge at his command to appear only mildly interested, but his sharp eyes noted every- thing down to the smallest detail. The situation was dramatic in the extreme, for though each man sensed the other's painful interest, their features shywed not a sign of the surging crwations-Wrthin. After Keene had prepared a lunch, which was eaten in comparative silence, they got out the motor-truck and started for town. When George opened the gate leading from the ranch the extended “ balanced ” end, carrying the box of iron, sw ung round parallel with the truck, only an arm's length from the detective, who gave it a casual glance. The contents of the rude box nailed on the extension started a train of thought in which the agent's explanation to Barney for taking iron to the ranch was foremost. McF¢e's glance carelessly passed over the box and a short distance away encountered a stone, which, as it happened, was about the proper size and shape to fit in the box. A few feet farther on there was a small pile of stones which, it suddenly occurred to him, could have been used as a balance equally well and would have done away with the neces- sity of hauling the iron all those miles up the hill. A FALSE MOVE. By this time Keene had driven the truck through the opening, and Mclee noticed yet more stones on the outside of the fence. Suddenly it dawned on him that there might be some other reason for bringing that iron up there. Then it suddenly struck him why it was done, and in his exultation he slapped his knee before he realized where he was or who was present. Keene noted the action and caught the look on the other’s face, and it flashed across his mind that he Aad blundered in bringing the détective up to the ranch. For the rest of the way to town he drove in dogged silence, filled with a nameless apprehension. His mind raced hither and thither as he unconsciously stepped on the accelerator at the rough places in the road and slowed at the smooth ones, and out of the tail his eye he could see on the face of his passenger an expression of venomous com- MAGAZINE. placency—strangely intermingled at times with a fleeting fear of instant annihilation when the truck avoided turning turtle by a hair. The detective, on the other hand, when he wasn't hanging on to his seat for dear life, was mentally delving farther into the reasons for hauling iron uphill over such a terrible road, finally concluding, to his own satisfaction at least, that the agent’s reason for asking Bamey's protection when going to the round-house on a certain night was to arrange a home-made alibi. As they crossed the Powderhorn Bridge Keene was fairly frothing at the mouth; he itched to throw the man beside him into the river to keep company with the locks he had dropped there a few days before. Viciously he jammed on the brake as he Tan round to the hotel. Stiffly the detective separated himself from various hand and foot holds aad descended to the sidewalk. His tight- clenched jaws loosened as he turned to thank his host, the words being acknow- ledged by a smile that Keene hoped was not as wolfish as it felt. With scant courtesy, for he felt they were now declared enemies, he turned and drove home. It was nearing sundown when Dan Dale and Rufe Stanford rode up to the door of Keene's ranch. Dan dismounted, deftly unsaddled his horse, and handed the bridle- reins to Rufe, who turned toward | the pasture while Dan carried the saddle to the porch, dumped it on its side, covered it with the blanket, and went inside to start supper. Rufe turned Dan's tired mount loose in the pasture and, loosing his rope, started in search of the saddle-horses, which were : taking advantage of the last rays of the sun behind a knoll. He soon found them, and with a single flirt of his wrist, then noose settled round, “ Jim's ” neck. Jim .was a ‘“ broom-tail bronc,” in cow aeboy language. When the rope tightened he turned and trotted to his master, who trans- ferred to “ Jim" the saddle from the coal- black outlaw he had ridden all day. The outlaw, “‘ Kyratt ’’ by name, now free, gave a flirt of his narrow head and loped away, lithe as a panther. Jim was unsaddled and turned into the “stake pasture,” a small plot of fenced ground a short distance from the house, and convenient to the outside gate. Then, with a playful smack over the withers, Rufe left him and went indoors. Night had settled down, and half a moon was stealthily showing itself on the pine- fringed skyline when “ Jim,” alone in the pasture, was aroused from his equine dreams by the velvety thud of horses’ footsteps, and came to life in time to see two shadowy forms come to a stand at the gate. Knowing they were of his kind he raised his head and

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. “Dan reached for his gun, but Kufe restrained him.”

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pecred across the enclosure at them, whinny- ing loudly. For reasons that only horses know, but probably because they were tired and cross, they made no answer. “Over in the ranch-house, however, Rufe Stanford sat up in bed, automatically reached over to a bench, and fumbled for a tobacco-pouch and cigarette paper while he listened for an answer. Hearing none, and knowing that only horses accompanied by men would refuse a reply, he nudged Dan, who sat up sleepily and wanted to know what was the matter. “« Jim just whinnied out there, Rufe. “* Probably some horses outside the fence,’’ suggested Dan, brightly. ‘More’n likely,” growled Rufe, as he scratched a match on the top of the bench, and held the flame to the cigarette. After a putf or two, he added: ‘ And there is somebody with them, unless all signs fail. They didn’t answer.” “Maybe one of Dan. “Yes, it might be,’’ assented Rufe, “ again it might be the ‘ geologist.’ ”’ “ By cripes! I'll bet you're right,” cried Dan. With that he scrambled over on to the floor and began to feel round for his trousers. Hastily but quietly the men dressed and slipped silently out of the back door. With- out a sound they made their way to the corner of the basement room and peered toward the gate. The moon gave only a wan light, but enough to enable them to distin- gujsh between tree-shadows and moving objects. “It ain’t any of the Youngs,’’ whispered Rufe, ‘or they would have ridden to the house.” STRANGE DOINGS BY NIGHT. Dan nodded silently, and his eyes took on a steely glint. A nudge from his friend, and he saw two indistinct forms run across an open space and disappear in the shadow of a tree. It was several seconds before they again emerged, and then only to run a short dis- tance to another shelter. “They are cautious devils, ain t they?” whispered Dan as he dropped on all fours and began to creep toward a clump of willows. Reaching the shelter, they carefully Taised whispered the Youngs,” said and up and strained their eyes toward their quarry's last stop. Soon they saw them again. This time the skulking figures were on their hands and knees, trying to keep in the shadow of the sage brush which lined the road that led by the garden. Rufe saw them and pointed, and Dan grinned in the darkness. ‘ They ain't taking any chances of finding us awake, are they ? ” he growled. Taking advantage of the visitors’ move- ments, the two cowmen slipped along when the others were moving, stopping when they stopped, till they reached the garden fence, where they lay down to watch the trespassers. The strangers were now at the garden gate, which they opened, worming their way out into the plot till they were only a few yards from where the eager watchers lay hid. One of the men, whom Dan and Rufe recog- nized as the “ geologist,’’ was equipped with a short-handled shovel, the other—a stockily- built man of medium height—was carrying a sack, which, from the way he handled it, seemed quite"heavy. The place they had selected, as it happened, had been planted with potatoes, the tops of which were perhaps a foot high. The ‘ geologist "’ pulled up two of the plants and started digging, and soon had a hole deep enough for his purpose. The sack and its contents were dropped in, the hole filled up and made to appear as before, and the plants reset in place. Their work finished, they straightened their backs, and the “ geologist "’ said in a low tone, which was nevertheless distinctly audible in the silence of the night: ‘‘ Now to-morrow, early, we will get those deputies and come up here and get this. I guess those cowpuncher friends of Keene’s will be mighty surprised when they hear he has been caught with the goods ! ”’ The other man nodded and turned toward the gate, his companion following, carefully obliterating their footprints as best he could in the dim light. Dan reached for his gun, but Rufe re- strained him. ‘‘ Don’t do that,’ he barely breathed. ‘I’ve got a plan that will beat gun-play.”” And, while the two night-hawks were cautiously making their way back to their horses, Rufe hurriedly outlined a plan to circumvent the intended “ frame-up ”’ and at the same time put it for ever beyond the power of the detectives to again molest eene. What is going is happen now ? Don’t miss next month's instalment, in which the interest remarkable narrative becomes positively breathless.

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MAGALLOWAY’S GRIZZLY: . By WILL BARR Mlustrated by TOM PEDDIE. A Wyoming ranch foreman’s breezy account of a life-and-death encounter with an infuriated grizzly bear. E were hunting elk in the Wind River mountains, in Fremont County, Wyoming, and the date was 1896. My companion was Magalloway, a ranch foreman. When my story opens we were sitting at the door of our tent, kept in by the first rain we had seen in a month. We really had no cause to complain, even if we did get thirty-one days’ allowance of moisture condensed into twenty- four hours. Nevertheless, a pouring wet day is a trial to men cooped up under canvas, with nothing more exciting to do than to wait for the next meal. ‘* There's just five stunts I can do real well in a tent such weather as this,” said Magalloway, meditatively, when he had got his pipe fairly alight, ‘“‘and smoking is one of ’em. The others are—eat, dnnk, sleep, and swap stories.”’ Mention of stories reminded me that the foreman had met with an exciting experience with a female grizzly bear, and I asked him to tell me the yarn. Here it is, set down very much as he related it. How’d it happen? Why, it happened a good deal like being struck by lightning or kicked by a broncho, or anything of that sort that’s mighty sudden and plain-spoken. I was hunting white-tails in a patch of scrub, and feeling like little Willie in the jam cupboard, when all in a flash the scene changed, and I was huntee instead of hunter. One minute I was creeping round a thick clump of bushes, thinking to see Mr. Deer on the other side and hand him the surprise of his life, and the next minute it was “‘ over the hills and far away,” featuring me and a big old she-grizzly. I just had time to pop a bullet into her before she aimed a cuff at me that missed by inches and sent my Tifle flying a dozen yards off. Then I ran. Holy smoke! A man doesn’t know what a swift thing scenery can be till he’s looked at it whizzing past when a big, earnest silver- tip is after him! The exact second the bear jumped out at me I hit the landscape a dozen feet away. I didn’t stop to collect either my rifle or my breath, which the bear had surprised out of me, but just retreated in disorder, with. the enemy doing the eager pursuit stunt like an express train. My! but the gait of her was something astonishing ; it was the next gear between an antelope’s dream-scoot and a telegraph message. She just jumped up in the air, and all creation slid along under her feet. I hadn't more than got fairly going when she closed upon me, and I put out my hand and swung myself round a tree-trunk just in time to ence pe a swipe that ripped off a Piece of bark big enough for my winding sheet. I was a dozen yards away, doing a real kangaroo fade into the distance, before the bear had decided that I wasn’t rolled up somewhere in that old piece of bark. 1 gave a glance over my shoulder as I ran, and if I hadn't been scared ‘most to death I should have laughed to see her antics and the puzzled look of her. But my laugh was all froze up inside, and it didn't thaw out till I was safe back at the ranch that night. I was hoping, of course, that Mrs. Bear would keep on cuffing pulverized bark over the surface of the earth until I had put a few miles of Wyoming between us, but, by the same token, she didn't. She turned the bark over once or twite, standing around, artful-like, ready*to grab me when I started to run, and then she fetched it a lick with her paw that ripped it into such little bits that even a bear, blind crazy, could see that a man wouldn’t be able to hide under any of ‘em. Mebbe she knew all along that I wasn't there, and was only venting her spite on the bark because it wasn’t me. Anyhow, when she'd cuffed it to her satisfaction, she swept along after me again, coming with her head down and all four feet kicking the landscape behind her so fast that the scenery just seemed to evaporate. I guess I was making the pace of my life, but I felt as though 1 was having one of those dreams when you want to run as hard as ever you can, but the best you can do is to waddle along like a fly in a bowl of molasses. Funny sensation at night, ain't it? Well, it’s a whole lot funnier in broad daylight, with an able- bodied bear doing the elastic bounce behind you. However, I did my little best, and when instinct told me it was time to dodge, I picked out a sizeable tree and slid around it, just as Mrs. Bear, who had been too busy to notice more than one thing at a time, took most of the skin off her nose in making its acquaintance. Mad? Say, she was so mad there never was anything to match her. She was the

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86 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. limit and a new record. Probably you've heard folks talk about being as ‘‘ cross as a bear with a sore tail,’’ but that sort of bear ain't in it for crossness with one that has just had its nose peeled. And, worse luck, my old bear seemed to think that J was somehow responsible for the swipe she'd got, and yearned through the whole length of her to go me one better, and then some. So IT had to make hasty improvements in my escape, and the way 1 tore around would have made a lunatic auto-steerer think he'd hitched his smoke-wagon to a shooting star. Jumping Jacob, how I ran! For the next few minutes I was dodging around trees so swiftly that ’twas as much as ever I could do not to meet myself face to face and get all tangled up. Then, too, to com- plicate| matters, that contrary old bear wouldn't always take the side of a tree I expected, and I guess I don’t need to explain to you that there ain't anything in this world so disconcerting to a flustered man as to have a bear take the wrong side of a tree when he's waltzing round it at the rate of ninety-seven miles an hour. Pretty soon, to add to my other troubles, I began to feel as if I'd been running for a week ; I badly wanted to sit down and rest. But somehow the tired Tim act, when a grizzly is close behind you, ain’t just plain loating. I knew I should have to slacken up before long, though, no matter if I died for it, as I expected I would seso when I came to where five or six big trees had tumbled atop of each other, making a big brush- heap, I dived in under them and lay there all of a sweat, with just enough wind left in my lungs to keep them from going out of business. ‘ Jiminy, but that was all right and mighty restful for the time being. But, say, you ought to have seen the wood fly! Before I was half ready for more exercise that old bear had got me nearly uncovered, and was reaching in and fecling around with her paw much too close to my stomach for comfort. I landed her two spiteful jabs with my jack-knife that gave her something to think about for a minute, and while she was coddling her’ paw, I crawled out at the other side of the heap and managed to flutter up into a small tree before she could quite make etfective connections with the Jast part of me. Being “‘up a tree’’ is powerful satis- factory sometimes, and so I found it. If I'd had plenty of time I could have grown a treea whole lot better suited to my purpose, for the one I was in had planned to be a telegraph pole, and hadn’t sprouted enough branches for a dicky bird to roost in. But, bless you, I wasn’t in a complaining mood just then. And later, when 1 might have begun to get tired of being plastered to the trunk like a swallow’s nest on the side of a barn, I had other important matters to worry about. Vor what do you think that old bear did ? At first she tried to stretch herself up high enough to get a claw into me, and the way she lengthened herself would have made things mighty disagreeable for me if 1 had been a foot lower down. But I was sour grapes to her in that game, and pretty soon she stopped the reach-me-down-quick business, and began all over again the other way round. She started to dig—not in the crazy way an animal does when it's just too mad to hold in any longer and has got to tear up something, but in an industrious and deter- mined fashion, as though she was digging a grave, with the corpse already waiting. No doubt she didn’t really have a plan in her head to dig me down, but, all the same, it looked uncommonly like it. And every now and then she'd take a squint up at me to see that the angels hadn’t spirited me away while she was working. Very soon, believe me, I was unhappy enough for the whole State, for as luck would have it, I'd fluttered up into the very worst tree I could have found if I'd been looking for it. When I lit out from under the brush heap I naturally wasn't particular what sort of tree I climbed, provided it was big enough to let me get out of the way of the bear; so I took the first thing that came handy, which happened to be one of those thin-soil trees that stand upright by the grace of God and a clump of chin-whiskers. A crow or some other hefty bird had perched in it one night and tipped it out of plumb a few degrees, so that the roots on one side stuck up out of the ground a little, and I guess that was what gave the old bear the excavating fever. If I'd known what was going to happen, I’d have picked out a tree with roots that spread over the whole State of Wyoming and then clinched clean through to China. Honest, I would. Pretty soon, what with digging and chew- ing, the old bear had got things so loosened that every time she gave an extra savage pull on a root it made the whole tree wobble. And every time the tree wobbled it set my teeth chattering so loud that the old bear would stop work for a minute to see what was happening. Then she'd grin and set to work again, making the dirt and roots fly something awful. Mebbe my guardian angel was hovering near just then, but I didn’t hear her wings, and I guess that if she was fluttering around those parts she was just waiting to bury me decently after the bear had taken me apart to look at my works. Gee! but I had a pair of cold feet! I wasn’t too frightened to keep my wits about me, though, and when I noticed that the tree was beginning to have an extra cant | sidled round so as to be on top of the trunk

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MAGALLOWAY’S GRIZZLY. 87 fifteen feet from the bear.” when it fell. And I wasn’t too quick, either, for the next thing—crash ! down she went, with me sitting astraddle the trunk, about fifteen feet from where the bear had her head hidden behind the fan of upturned Toots. It was that fact that gave me my chance. If Mrs. Bear had been on the watch, as such an artful old brute ought to have been, she'd ~ have nabbed me before I’d fairly hit the ground ; but I managed to put some geology between us while she was getting her head out of the hole she’d dug, and then I gained some more before she could put six hundred- weight or so of live meat in motion. Once she got up momentum, however, she over-

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8s hauled me like a stone falling down a cliff after a feather, and I began to have those funny sensations in my back that a man gets when he is expecting every second to feel sudden death take him between the shoulder-blades for keeps. They talk about terror lending wings to the feet, and likely enough it does, but it doesn't seem that way to the fellow that's running. I was scared pretty nearly to death, and ought to have had wings like a flying machine, but I felt all the time as if each foot weighed a ton and that the pair of them just dragged over the ground. In reality, though, I guess I was moving too swiftly to pay any attention to where I was heading, for the first thing I knew I came slap-bang to the edge of the timber, with old Mrs. Bear close behind. « Honest, I thought my time had come! 1 gave a look over my shoulder as I ran, and that old bear was just three lengths behind. She wasn't near enough for me to double back into the timber, for you've got to let a bear get pretty close up before you can do that successfully ; if you're a foot too far ahead the bear will cut you off for certain, for even the big bears can turn almost as short as a man, although they're not educated up to the trick of hooking a paw around a tree and doing the right-about- face on a pivot. So there wasn’t anything for me to do but to jump into the open—and I jumped, for when I’m between the devil and the deep sea I take to the deep sea like a duck to water. But the minute I left the last tree behind I knew it was a case of good meat wasted on a bear that wouldn’t know the difference between nice fsesh man and old mountain goat. In the timber, where I could dodge, and go on dodging, I had managed to keep just out of her reach, but in the open she had all the tricks, and the game was hers. However, as the stakes were my skin, I wasn’t in any hurry to throw up the game, and if anybody had been there to see me scooting over the country I guess they’d have thought I was a little private cyclone all on my own. But it wasn’t the least bit of use. That old bear drew up on me like a fox on a lame rabbit, and before I had covered a dozen rods I could hear her claws scrape-scrape on the hard ground close up under my coat- tails. Powerful moving sort of sound it was, too! It made the spirit uncommon willing to run, but the flesh wanted to sit down and rest. There didn't appear to be any enter- - prise left in my legs, and I knew that unless something in the miracle business happened along in my favour mighty quick, there wouldn't be much of Magalloway left. I could imagine a heap of unpleasantness that was just about to happen behind my _ the earth. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. back, and I kept on shrivelling up like a scared owl. You know how an owl, when it’s frightened and doesn't want to be noticed, keeps getting smaller and smaller, till there doesn’t seem to be anything left of it? Well, that was Magalloway. Only I couldn't shrivel quite out of the scenery ; that bear could see me right enough, no matter how small I felt. So I said my prayers mighty earnest, like I did when I was a child afraid of the dark, and made up my mind that I was considerable sorry for a good many things I had done in my time. And I guess that was what saved me, for if I hadn't been saying my prayers so hard I should most likely have seen where I was going, and have dodged the very thing that gave me a brand-new copper cinch on life. Even when he knows certain death is just on the point of nabbing him behind, a man isn't going to run into certain death ahead, if he can help it, and I reckon that if 1 had noticed the mud-hole* in time I’d have steered round it—and been plastered all over the landscape before I’d gone another five yards. But I didn’t see it until I was, as you might say, hanging over it with both feet oft the ground, so I just did a couple of fairy steps on the thin crust and got across like a bird. But that old bear—she didn’t have any sort of luck. I guess she was too busy think- ing her wicked thoughts to see anything but me in the picture, -for she hit that mud- hole in the middle of a jump, and smashed through like a big meteor falling into a pot of hasty-pudding. She went right in over her back. I heard the noise and looked round ; and there she was, with nothing but her ugly head sticking out and her mouth full of dirt. Well, say, I nearly had a thankful fit then. I could see that Mrs. Bear was mired for keeps, so I just sat right down on the ground and let my tongue hang out of my mouth, while I oozed gratitude and sweat in pints. I was so nearly ‘‘all in” that, once I was flat on my haunches, I couldn't have got up again, until I was tested, if the bear had managed to claw her way out and had come for me, which fortun- ately she didn’t. The mud she was in wasn’t thin enough for swimming, nor thick enough to give her firm support, but was in that sticky state that holds fast to whatever has the misfortune to get fairly mired, giving it plenty of time for repentance, before bury- ing it for keeps somewhere in the bowels of I’ve lost many a fine steer in those mud-holes, and I pretty nearly got a cheap grave there myself, but, all the same, since that old bear came to a timely end in one, I haven’t seen a real proper mud-hole without wanting to take off my hat to it. * Large numbers of range cattle are lost annually in these closely pursued. —Tne AUTHOR. ‘soap-holes,”” and I have known elk to get mired in them when

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a THE VERY BEST THE ORIGINAL ISSUES OF THESE GRAND Chino TMASDOUBLE NUMBERS WILL BE PUBLISHED SIMULTANEOUSLY IN EUROPE AND AMERICA ON OR ABOUT THE 27th OF NOVEMBER: THE LONDON GRAPHIC will contain many Beautiful Pages in color by foremost Artists, including “SHIVERING SHOCKS; Or, THE HIDING PLACE,” an Original Play fully illustrated by Clemence Dane. “CUCKOO,” by Maurice Hewlett. The favorite Old English Song, “TWICKENHAM FERRY,” beautifully illustrated in color. Humorous stories of Cornish Life (Charles Inge), and of Yorkshire Life (Keighley Snowden). Four Beautiful Presentation Plates and Wonderful Cover in Colors will ac- company this issue. PRICE 75 CENTS. BY POST, 85 CENTS. ILLUTSRATED LONDON NEWS will maintain its uniform high standard of excellence. It will contain illustrations by many famous artists, also stories by well-known authors, with a handsome presentation plate in full colors, entitled: “THE CHRISTMAS COACH,” By Cecil Alden PRICE 75 CENTS. BY POST, 85 CENTS. SKETCH In addition to the usual features, which will include many pages in full color by leading artists and stories by Sketch writers, there will be a beautiful presentation plate in colors, entitled: “THE GREEN MASK,” By Oswald Birley RETAIL PRICE, 75 CENTS. BY POST, 85 CENTS. HOLLY LEAVES The Christmas Number of the ILLUSTRATED SPORTING AND DRAMATIC NEWS will offer as its chief attraction a Special Photogravure Plate from John R. Reid’s moving picture, “THE SALE OF OLD DOBBIN” PRICE 75 CENTS. BY POST, 85 CENTS. PEARS’ ANNUAL 1923 will be accompanied by Two Fine Plates in colors entitled “WONDERS OF THE SEA,” By Frank O. Salisbury, and “THE CONCERT,” By Terborch PRICE 75 CENTS. BY POST, 85 CENTS. LONDON OPINION Will be an extra number this year, and contain 56 pages of text matter and eight pages of three color work, making 64 pages in all. The whole will be bound up in a handsome cover printed in colors. PRICE, 25 CENTS. BY POST, 30 CENTS. Order of your newsdealer or direct from THE INTERNATIONAL NEWS COMPANY, 83-85 DUANE STREET,.NEW YORK

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“I HAD TO JUMP ASIDE TO AVOID BEING STRUCK DOWN.” (SEE PAGE 96.)

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RS CATTLE THIEVES OUR ADVENTURES ON SANTA CRUZ ISLAND Another most interesting article by our strenuous Californian contributor, who will be remembered as the author of “Hunting Wild Goats by Sea- plane.” on a lonely Pacific island. Still in quest of new sensations, Mr. Hogg went after wild boars Not only was the sport of a very exciting description, but at the end of their stay the hunters dropped in for a thrilling battle with cattle-thieves. HAT the sight of an ugly scar on the calf of a man’s leg should be the means of sending me, and two com- panions, off tor two weeks of wild adventures on a lonely island in the Pacitic Ocean, sounds more lke fiction than some- thing that actually happened. Yet that is precisely what sent us to Santa Cruz Island for what we planned to be a hunting trip in quest of wild boars, but which ended in a series of experiences far more thrilling than anything we had anticipated. The sight of the scar on the man’s limb occurred just outside New York City, in the men’s dressing room of a Pullman car which was Bearing me home to California, after having been mustered out of the American military service a few weeks subsequent to the signing of the Armistice. The train had not been under way many hours from the Atlantic seaport metropolis when I adjourned to the dressing-room, found a comfortable seat, and sat down to enjoy a smoke. My pipe was drawing nicely when a young man in the uniform of a Tank Corps heutenant came in, and began to busy himself making his toilet. We were alone in the little room, and with the prospect of ah ose and five nights on the train ol. LT. ahead of me, it was only natural that I should engage in conversation with the young officer. It transpired that his name was Gibson, and that he came from Los Angeles, my own home city to which, like myself, he was now returning. Meanwhile Mr. Gibson had gone on making his toilet. He had divested himself of most of his clothing with the exception of his underwear, which was of the abbreviated knee-length variety. As he removed his trousers a great white scar, that ranged up the calf of his left limb almost from his ankle to his knee, was exposed. ‘ It looks as if the Huns might have handed you a piece of high explosive shell,” [ said, as I noticed the scar. ‘' No,’’ replied the young man, “ that’s one I got about a year before Uncle Sam made a soldier of me. That is the result of a hunting trip on Santa Cruz Island. I was over there hunting wild boars about three years ago, and that place on my leg is where a boar got his tusk into me.” This was interesting indeed. I had often heard of the ferocious wild boars of Santa Cruz Island, and of the wonderful hunting they afford to daring sportsmen. I had often contemplated hunting there myself, but had never before met anyone who had

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y2 THE actually been on the island. Suffice it to say that, having met a man who possessed this information, wild boar hunting was the chief topic of our conversation during the remainder of the five long days that Mr. Gibson and I spent on the transcontinental train together. By the time the train pulled into the Arcade Station in Los Angeles, I had secured most of the information con- cerning Santa Cruz Island wild boar hunting that I desired. I had also obtained a letter of introduction from Mr. Gibson to Mr. Benito Ordofiez, of San Francisco, a brother of Mr. Carlos Ordofiez, who is the chief male inhabitant of the wilderness island, whose human population consists of the personnel of a single sheep and cattle ranch. It was nearly three years before I succeeded in getting to San Francisco and locating Mr. Ordofiez, when I presented the letter that Mr. Gibson had given me. I found Mr. Ordofiez to be a most pleasant and obliging gentleman. I told him of my desire to visit the island, and he replied that he would be pleased to assist me in any possible way. Thereupon we began the arrangement of details, which were concluded by his giving me a letter to his brother on the island, out- lining the request that I should be furnished with horses, dogs, guides, and anything else that I might need to contribute toward the success of my proposed hunting trip. Eventually the arrangements for the trip were completed to the point of my motoring up the seacoast to Santa Barbara in company with two companions, ready to put to sea in the Sea Wolf, a fifty-foot sea-going motor- boat that we had chartered for the vovage to Santa Cruz Island. There were stores, arms, and ammunition to be loaded aboard the boat, and the work was further increased by the difficulty of stowing three motor cycles, two of them with sidecars, which we were taking to the island to provide our- selves with speedy and dependable trans- portation inland once we had landed. Captain James Eaton, a picturesque sea- faring man, the master and owner of the Sea Wolf, had written to me in response to my inquiry concerning the chartering of his boat: ‘' The boars are large and fierce; but for sportsmen who really enjoy hunting dangerous game, you will find on Santa Cruz island all the thrills and adventure you are seeking.” Had we known then how the old captain’s words were to be veritied by the events that were to follow, it is probable that we should have abandoned the trip before we started. ven before we had weighed anchor from Santa Barbara Bay the truth of the excerpt from Captain Eaton's letter was brought home to us in a most forcible manner, With my companions, Johnston and Gav, I was on the deck of the Seca Wolf assisting with the loading of the stores, when Captain Eaton pointed to a man swathed in bandages from head to foot, who WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was limping painfully along the dock on a pair of crutches. “ There’s a fellow,’’ said the Captain, “ who was hunting boars on Santa Cruz Island about two months ago. He's only been out of the hospital about three cuse me, Captain,” I answered, “I want to talk with that man.” With that I hurried after the bandaged figure. THE HUNTER’S STORY. In conversation with the injured man, he told me that he and a companion had been hunting on the island when they cornered a large boar in a canyon. He fired three shots into the animal without doing him serious injury. With his fourth shot the gun jammed, and before he knew what was happening, the boar was on the top of him, ripping him to pieces with his six-inch tusks. But for the quick action of his companion in getting a death-dealing bullet into the boar, the hunter would undoubtedly have been killed. As it was, he had been rushed from the island to a Santa Barbara hospital almost dead from loss of blood. It had taken more than three hundred surgeon's stitches to close his wounds, and the man declared that he would wear the scars to his grave. When I told him that we were just leaving for a hunting trip on Santa Cruz, he shook his head.“ Unless you've got a rifle that'll shoot dynamite,” he told me, ‘‘ you had better stay off that island. But if you are really determined to hunt boars, don’t under any circumstances attempt to hunt alone. It’s not so dangerous if there are two or more in your party, but hunting alone is almost the same as suicide if you happen to get into a jam with one of ’em. You can imagine what would have happened to me if I'd been alone! My partner killed the boar: if he hadn't, the boar would have sure killed me.”’ By this time Captain Eaton was tooting the Sea Wolf's whistle tor me to come aboard, so I hurriedly thanked the injured man for the information he had given me, and swung down the rope ladder on to the deck of the boat again. Santa Cruz Island lies in latitude 34 degrees north, and longitude 118+ 45 west, one of the Santa Barbara group. The discovery of these islands dates back to the exploits of Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, the Spanish navigator, who landed on Santa Cruz Island in 1542. I donot wish to burden my readers with the early Spanish history of the American Pacific Coast, but a glimpse of the history of Santa Cruz Island is essential to the under- standing of the wild boar hunting that obtains there to-day. The boars are not natives of the island. They were introduced there by the Spaniards early in the sixteenth century. The story, as it was told to me in Spanish by Quate Espinosa, one of the oldest inhabitants of the island, as is follows:

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WILD BOARS AND CATTLE THIEVES. 93 After Cabrillo discovered the island, and partially explored it, he returned to Spain, and reported to the Crown that it was worth- less. ‘‘ The island is a mountainous semi- tropical jungle,” he said in his report to the Crown, ‘and it is useless for anything other than a penal colony.'’ Spain, however, was in need ofa penal After being abandoned gn the island the swine wandered off into the forests to shift for themselves as best they could, multiplyingand evolving through the centuries that have followed into a race of ferocious wild boars. Santa Cruz is now literally infested with them. They have lost practically every trace of their original domesticity, and colony at that time, and in 1547, some three hundred odd thieves, usurers, heretics, and diverse other culprits were loaded on board a frigate and transported _ to the island. The ship put into the little cove where we later landed with the Sea Wolf, which is known as Prisoners’ Har- bour. There the convicts were dumped ashore. They were sup- plied with a few tools, some chickens, and a few head of horses, cattle, and swine, and were told to work out their own salvation as best they could. They did. The frigate that landed them there was scarcely out of sight over the horizon _ before the men set to work hewing down timber on the forested mountain tops. From this green lumber they constructed the frames of some tude boats. They then killed the horses and cattle, and covered their boat frames with the skins, sealing the seams with pine resin to make them watertight. In these makeshift boats they put to sea, leaving the swine on the island. History isn’t clear as to just what became of them, but it is believed that they landed safely on the California mainland, where they settled down in Santa Barbara, Ventura, and San Luis Obispo Counties, to become the ancestors of some of the State's oldest and mest respected Spanish families. The “Sea Wolf,” which took the hunters and their motor-cycles to Santa Cruz. have become powerful = wild beasts, as fleet of hoof as deer They mature enormous tusks, long hoofs, and bristles that are like wire, and are the plague of the = ranch people who have sought to de- velop the island for sheep and cattle raising. The boars tear down fences faster than the ranchers can build them, they root up garden stuff as soon as it springs from the ground, and not infrequently they have been known to gore horses, — sheep, and cattle. Young lambs are one of their favourite foods. and in the kil- ling and eating of them they show skill and cunning, and carnivorous traits compar- able to the tac- tics of wolves. In consequence boar hunters are usually wel- comed by the ranch people. They have put a bounty on boar snouts, and there ts no closed season nor bag limit. The Sea Wolf set us ashore at Prisoners’ Harbour, and after our motor-cycles and supplies were ashore, Captain Eaton bade us good-bye and put to sea again. He was to come back in two weeks to pick us up. Until that time we would be entirely on our own resources, completely cut oft from the rest of the world, Accordingly we busied our- selves getting our outfit in shape tor trans- portation inland, packing up the two stle-

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94 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cars with the view of moving off to some suitable point where we could establish a permanent camp. There is no great mileage of roads on Santa Cruz Island, but there is a main road, built by the ranch people, extending across the island and to the west end of it—a distance of about twenty-one miles. By merely dropping the two sidecars, however, we were able to travel over sheep and cattle trails into the very heart of some of the best hunting country. Other sportsmen who have hunted on the island, lacking such trans- portation facilities, have had to seek most of their sport near the seashore or at no great distance from it. It was mid-afternoon when we landed at Prisoners’ Harbour, and the balance of the day was spent touring inland for a distance of about five miles, where we set up our camp on a grassy oak-thicketed mesa at the bottom of a high walled canyon. There was plenty of fallen oak for firewood, and only a few paces from our tents was a roaring torrent of pure cold water. A NOCTURNAL VISITANT. After supper that evening we enjoyed the incomparable pastime of smoking our pipes about the camp fire, and swapping yarns until we got sleepy enough to retire to our tents. We hadn't been asleep long, however, before we had an introduction to the wild life of the island. I was awakened by the sound of some animal walking stealthily among the leaves and twigs in the vicinity of the camp. I reached for my pistol and listened. Presently something went “ Sniff! sniff! ’’ from a point most start- lingly near, and almost simultaneously two gleaming eyes appeared before a hole in the tent that had been burned by a spark from the camp fire of a previous expedition, With far less ado than it takes to tell it, I drew a bead between the two eyes, and fired. With the flash and report of the weapon there was a blood-curdling snarl outside the tent, and the whole camp went tumbling out on the double-quick. A flashlight inspection outside the tent revealed that my bullet hadn’t been wasted. Beneath the hole in the tent wall lay the lithe and quivering body of a civet cat. He was stone dead, with his head shattered by the pistol ball, and his whiskers powder- burned. Next morning, after putting our camp in order, and caching our supplies out of the reach of possible marauders, we loaded our rifles and pistols and set out for the hunting ground with the motor-cycles. We stopped en route at the Ordojiez ranch to introduce ourselves to the ranch people, and to take advantage of the services that had been arranged for our hunting. We were welcomed by Sefior Carlos Ordotiez, whom we found to be as thorough a gentle- man as his brother, whom I had met in San Francisco. The hospitality that was extended us was even greater than we had anticipated, and very shortly we were on our way into the hunting grounds with four boar dogs and Quate Espinosa, an old Spanish cowpuncher, whom Sefior Ordofiez had assigned to us as a guide. Spanish is the language of Santa Cruz Island. Sefior Ordojiez could speak fairly good English, but it was rather difficult for him, and out of courtesy I conversed with him in Spanish, interpreting for Mr. Gay, who was the only member of our party unfamiliar with the language. Quate and the dogs understood no language other than Spanish. The dogs were lively little fellows of terrier breed, scarred from head to foot from previous encounters with wild boars. They The hunters’ camp on Santa Cruz. Johnston is seen to the right, Gay in the centre, and the Author on the left. answered to the names of Pistola, Thomasio, Jerito, and Miguel. Eng- lish words meant nothing to these dogs, but speak to them in Spanish and they were as alert as dogs could be. An expression such as “ Sicola, Pistola! — Coche ! coche! Mira la coche!” (‘ Sic’em Pistola ! Pigs! pigs! Lookat the pigs ! '’) would set them all jumping and barking in anticipation — of the chase. Armed with an

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WILD BOARS AND CATTLE ancient 45-70 black powder musket of almost prehistoric vint- age, we put Quate in one sidecar, muttering some- thing in Spanish about his prefer- ence for a horse. We put the four dogs in the other car, and with Mr. Gay, whom we know _ familiarly as “ Pinkey,” bringing up the rear on the solo motor - cycle, we set out for the hunting grounds. This was a place on the island known as the South Ranch, where the old Spaniard declared our chances for finding game were excellent. The trip to the South Ranch was one of about twelve miles, and the road leading there lacked much of being a boulevard. We made the trip, however, in about forty minutes, with no inconvenience greater than some additional Castilian mutterings from Quate about his preference for a horse. Finally we came to a gate across the road where Quate declared we had better abandon the machines, for to proceed farther with them would probably scare the game away. Setting out from the gate on foot, we soon encountered fresh boar tracks, and found numerous places where the ground had been newly uprooted in the animals’ quests for food. The country at this point was a lofty grassy headland with scattered thickets of heavy brush, broken by numerous deep canyons and ravines. Presently we came to the wall of a very deep canyon where the dogs picked up a fresh trail, and went baying off into the thicket at the bottom. Almost at the same instant five boars tore out of the thicket, and headed up the opposite canyon wall with the speed of a herd of deer. It was long-range shooting, but we all got into action with our guns. “ Ker-bung! Ker-bung!’’ roared Quate’s black powder blunderbuss ; ‘‘ Ping! Ping! Ping ! ” sang Johnston's high-powered smoke- less; while “ Bang! Bang!’’ went ‘ Pin- y’s ’’ deer gun. Johnston hit his porker with all three shots, but it took the third one to send him, hoofs up and squealing, crashing to the bottom of the canyon six hundred feet below, followed by an avalanche of loose dirt and rocks. ‘ Pinkey ” floored a fine- looking “ meat pig” with his second shot, and the animal, falling through the brush of the canyon wall, lodged in the bushes THIEVES. 95 half-way down. Quate had apparently missed with both his shots, for when the smoke cleared away from in front of his black powder cannon we could see no trace of anything he had put down. As for myself, I singled out a monstrous black boar that was travelling for his health up the canyon wall, and let drive four shots at him from my high-powered smokeless automatic rifle. The first shot was apparently a clean miss, but the last three evidently found their mark, for the boar turned and bit at himself where he was struck even as he ran. Further- more, I had actually seen the dust fly out of his bristles with each of the last three shots. While our rifles were cracking, the dogs had reached the top of the canyon, and were going pell mell across the headland in the distance in the wake of the two boars that had reached the summit of the canyon wall. Quate, * Pinkey,’’ and Johnston immediately began scrambling down the canyon ‘call crossed the thicket at the bottom, scaled the wall on the opposite side, and set off on the run after the boars and the dogs. Meanwhile I was hot foot on the trail of “my boar. Getting across the canyon and up the wall on the other side was a feat in itself, and by the time I arrived on the floor of the grassy headland where I had last seen the boar, | was pretty well winded. I was puffing like a porpoise, and with my heart beating like a compressed -air riveting lrammer, [ dropped in the grass, thinking to rest fora moment. As I sat down [ put my hand in something wet—fresh blood. I was on the trail of my boar all right ! Momentarily forgetting my fatigue I took up the trail again. There was a dis- tinct track leading oft into a near-by jungle thicket. The brush was so thick that progress was a matter of inches per minute, but my

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96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. only thought at the moment was to get that massive head and the javelin-like tusks that adorned it. Flattening out like a horned toad, I began to wriggle in. Later I learned the foolhardiness of this venture, for Quate told me that following wounded boar into a thicket is little short of attempted | suicide. A wounded boar, he said, will 7. _ charge like a streak j of lightning through a thicket where a man is_ scarcely able to move at all. 1 realized then that there had been many minutes while I was crawling through the brush when, if the boar had charged, he would have had me like a rat in a trap. MY FIRST WILD BOAR. I finally emerged into the sunlight again, and found myself on the edge of a large grassy area completely surrounded by a dense growth of jungle-like thicket. At the far end of this grassy stretch I could hear my boar grunting and squealing. He was badly wounded, and in a terrible rage. Sneakin, up behind the low brush of the clearing, finally caught sight of him. Blood was gushing frem a bullet-hole in his -eft shoulder, and he was venting his wrath by lunging his tusks into the ground or against anything he came in contact with. After each on- slaught he would back up for another rush, hurling great chunks of sod fifteen or twenty feet into the air. Several times as I was maneceuvring about to get a shot at him he charged the brush, and stout oak saplings were rooted skyward as if they had been stalks of corn. Finally he turned broadside toward me, and | let drive another bullet into his shoulder. Those +351 calibre soft- pointed missiles are like sticks of exploding dynamite when they hit, but that shot only further infuriated him ; he took it without so much as turning a hair. A second, and a third shot had no more effect, but the fourth revealed to him the source of those whizzing hornets that tortured his flesh. With bellow that set the whole landscape vibrating, and with the bristles of his back standing up like bundles of wire, he wheeled around and plunged sat me, with bis great knife-like tusks bared for action. There was just one more cartridge left in my rifle. With no time to reload, and having witnezsed his propensity for assimilating lead, I had little confi lence in my pistol. I knew that if the The Author with his first big boar. rifle wouldn’t finish him, the pistol would be like tickling him with a feather duster. Upon the work of that last remaining bullet, 1 realized, depended the question of which was to continue to live—the boar or me! = He was within twenty feet of me, and bearing down like something hurled from a catapult, when I drew a careful bead between his eyes and pulled trigger. That bullet, luckily for me, did its work! The boar collapsed as if every bone in his body had turned to water. With the momen- tum of his charge he turned a double somersault, land- ing in a heap at my feet—so close to me, in fact, that I had to jump aside to avoid being struck down by the hurtling carcass. He was stone dead, but to make assurance surer, I did not venture to touch him until I had reloaded my rifle and sent a bullet into his heart to be certain that he would not get to his hoofs and come at me again. The head of that old tusker will always be one of the most prized trophies in my col- lection, for if I live to be a hundred years old I can never forget that tense moment when his huge black bulk was bearing down upon me. It was nearly an hour before the other hunters returned and began shouting through the brush in an effort to locate me. Their surprise can be better imagined than de- scribed when they crawled through the tangled vegetation and found me calmly smoking my pipe beside the body of what Quate declared to be the biggest boar ever scen or killed in his forty years on the island. The hunters had returned empty handed. Tle two boars that had gone over the hill had been chased for nearly two miles. Several times the dogs had had them cornered, but before the hunters could get up for a shot they broke and ran again. Tinally the tuskers had made good their escape by plunging into an impenetrable thicket where neither dogs nor men could hope to follow. Our next problem was that of getting the big boar to camp. He weighed five hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce, and it was as much as the four of us could do to budge him. In order to lighten him as much as possible Quate gutted him. This reduced the ht by fully a hundred pounds ; and then, ragging, carrying, and rolling him, inch by inch, we at last got him across the canyon to the sidecars. The great beast was a load for the little machine that fluitesed the

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WILD BOARS AND CATTLE THIEVES. 97 springs down against the chassis. The carcass was too big to go into the car, making it necessary to hang-.the huge head and shoulders out over the cowl, after this had been braced with pieces of oak to prevent its collapsing under the weight. After getting the big boar loaded for transportation to camp, we went back and got the head of Johnston’s three hundred and fifty pound tusker. We also cut up “ Pinkey’s’’ meat pig’ for camp pork, and the dogs, still panting and exhausted from their hunting, made a meal of the liver. They were quite content to ride back to the ranch in the other sidecar with Quate, without being tied in, as had been necessary on the outward trip. The next morning we had fresh pork chops for breakfast. The wild pork is chiefly acorn- fed, and is a meat that would have the approval of the most critical epicure. It is only the flesh of the young boars, however, that is fit for human food. We tried to eat some of the chops of my huge tusker, but it was as tough asa boot-sole, and had such a “piggy ” flavour that we had to discard it. As a result of our strenuous efforts of the day before, we found ourselves somewhat stiff, and hence we were all in perfect accord when “ Pinkey ”’ suggested fishing down at Prisoners’ Harbour as the programme for the day, with boar hunting to be resumed the day following. This plan was carried out by our touring down to the sea with the sidecars, where we loaded a sidecar with fish before the middle of the afternoon. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t fishing at all. It was just a case of baiting a hook, throwing it into the water, and letting the fish leap at it. Every cast would bring out a two or four pound rock cod, sea , or white perch. If we put on two hooks we pulled out two fish, or, with three hooks, three fish—and so on up to the breaking strain of the line. With more fish than we knew what. to do with, we knocked off an hour or two be- fore sundown and toured up to the Ordofiez Ranch, where we donated the major portion of our catch to Peleg Vasquez, the ranch cook. The meat diet of the ranch people is chiefly mutton, hence “ Bringing home the bacon.” the fish were received with thorough appre- ciation. There was no dearth of human sustenance on Santa Cruz Island. We had brought over in the Sea Wolf enough food to last us a month, and on top of this we had more pork than we ceuld ever hope to eat before it would spoil. Then we had discovered an ocean full of fine fish that were ours for the taking; and to further augment our already bulging larder, John- ston, whiie on the fishing trip, discovered a cove where the rocks were literally festooned with oysters and abalones, a great meaty shell-fish of palatable delicacy. To put the climax on the food situation, Quate strode into our camp that evening and deposited a basketful of fresh eggs and a two gallon demijohn of sweet milk. These he handed to us with the compliments of Setior Ordoiiez. For the next day's boar hunting Quate outlined a trip into El Portrero del Norte (the north pasture), one of the wildest and most picturesque sections of the island, where, he declared, the boars were so numerous that they were literally eating the scenery off the landscape! Although this location was some ten miles from the ranch, we were able to go to within two miles of it with the sidecars. We spent just an hour bouncing the old Spaniard and the dogs over the rough trail with the machines before we came to the end of vehicular possibilities, and set out into the hunting country on foot. Progress through the Portrero country was slow and tedious owing to the heavy brush and rough’ topography of the region. We encountered fresh boar signs, but hunted consistently for several hours without catching sight of any game. At last the dogs found a promis- ing lead, and went off yelping and barking into a canyon _ thicket. In another mo- ‘ment our cam- paign of action was outlined. Johnston, who was the best rifleman of our party, was to work his way around the head of the canyon, and take up his posi- tion on the oppe- site wall to cut off the possible escape of the gam> in that direction. ‘inkey” was to guard the near - by wall, while Quate and l were to drop to the

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98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. going to bein for me. Of all the fish in the sea, I felt that I was about the nshiest at that moment. There I had been, right in the midst of a herd of boars, and had let those fool dogs pull me off on the trail of a fox! I heard Johnston's __ rifle crack again, and again, and again, the last shot being accompanied by the sound of a heavy body crash- Mr. Hogg with big boar shot in the bottom of the canyon, at widely separated points, to work down and up along the bottom of the gorge in the direction of the baying dogs. The fact that we heard no grunts or squeals to indicate boars led ‘us to believe that the dogs were on the trail of some other game, but nevertheless we proposed to investigate. Having somewhat of an advantage in years over the old Spaniard, I dropped to the bottom of the canyon with all possible speed, and reached the dogs some minutes ahead of Quate. Our conclusions as to the nature of the game were correct. Instead of boars, I found the dogs barking skyward at the foot of an oak tree, in the upper branches of which they had treed a fox. “ A nice skin for a fur for my wife,’”’ I thought, as I took a bead on Mr. Reynard, squeezed the trigger, and brought him tumbling out of the tree- top with a single bullet. The echo of my shot had scarcely died out between the walls of the canyon when Quate cut loose with his black powder artillery from some point down the canyon. Simultaneously it sounded as if Bedlam had broken loose. From down the canyon a little below the point to which I had descended there came a perfect pandemonium of squeals, snorts, and bellowings. At the same time I heard Johnston call out from his position on the canyon wall : ‘ There they go, ‘Pink’! Let ’em have it!’’ Then Johnston's rifle cracked, and the echo of his high-powered smokeless was still rolling between the canyon walls when “ Pinkey ” let drive from his side of the wall, and Quate’s blunderbuss roared again with its detonating ‘‘ Ker-bung! ker-bung ! Ker-bung!"’ that shook the whole canyon like a peal of thunder. Meanwhile, there I stood like a bump on a log, looking first up the canyon and then down, wondering from what direction, and when, the show was ing into the bottom of the canyon country. canyon. Then the hunter’s voice rang out: ‘I got that one, ‘ Pinkey,’”’ he cried. "Quick! cut off that big fellow! He’s going down the canyon!” This was interesting for me indeed, for if there was a boar heading down the canyon he must be travelling my way. The dogs, meanwhile, had posted off toward the scene of activity —1 knew not in what direction. Upon hearing Johnston’s voice, and the sharp stacatto ’ Bang!’ of ‘‘ Pinkey’s "' rifle, I spun round on my heel and started up the canyon. I had scarcely gone ten vards before I ran right into the source of all the rumpus. The canyon at this point was very rocky and narrow, and I was splashing along through the stream at the bottom in water up to my knees. As I rounded a right-angle bend between almost perpendicular clifts it seemed that all the combined noises of a circus menagerie had been let loose to echo and rumble between those narrow walls of tock. The atmesphere was a Bedlam of intermingled bellows, snorts, grunts, and squeals, accompanied by the barking of dogs and a crashing of rocks and boulders. 1 jumped upon a flat rock on the floor of the canyon, and stood with my rifle raised ready for action. About the same instant, just about fifty feet in front of me, I saw a huge boar coming down the canyon with Pistola and Jerito dangling on his ears. Thomasio was hanging on his tail, and Miguel was snapping at the beast’s hind legs. The boar lunged stubbornly ahead, taking all four dogs with him, and several times managed to shake his tormentors off. The dogs. how- ever, were as quick and nimble as cats, and they were no sooner rolled aside in the water and loose rock of the canyon floor before they were up and on to their quarry again. Several times I drew a bead upon the boar for a shot that I calculated would mean instant death for him, but in the free-

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WILD BOARS AND CATTLE THIEVES. yy for-all scrap between boar and dogs, I didn’t dare to shoot for fear of killing one of our faithful little comrades. After several fruitless attempts to get clear the boar made a clean break down the canyon. This was my chance, and I let him have it. The bullet caught him on the left shoulder and toppled him against the canyon wall. It didn’t floor him, by any means—the bullet only staggered him—but his hesitation was fatal, for at the same instant the dogs were atop of him again. Recovering somewhat from the shock of the bullet, the old tusker lunged forth again with what I conjectured to be his dying effort. He arose on his hind hoofs, stretching himself upright, with a dog dangling from each ear. There was just time enough for me to swing my rifle into position and blaze away. The bullet took him between the forelegs, and with a stifled grunt he collapsed like a wet rag, shot through the heart. He was a magnificent specimen, weighing about four hundred pounds, and with a beautiful pair of recurved ivory tusks nearly five inches long. I had hardly succeeded in pulling the dogs off the carcass when Johnston and “ Pinkey ” came running down the canyon. They had been trailing the boar I had killed, and had virtually chased him in front of my gun. Johnston had accounted for two big tuskers ; ee Punkey ” had disposed of two more. Presently Quate came trudging up the canyon carrying another fox, and proudly announcing that he had a fine mess of pork chops a couple of hundred yards below. CASUALTIES. By the time we had taken the heads of the five boars, quartered Quate’s hams and chops, skinned the two foxes, and lugged the whole outfit to the-sidecars, all of us were pretty well fati- gued. Pistola, the best of our hunting dogs, had teceived an ugly tusk-slash across the back of his neck. The dog, however, hadn't suffered the only casualty. I found myself in agony from several cuts and numerous scratches where I had snagged my- self in plunging over the rocks and through the brush. These minor injuries had gone unnoticed while the excitement was on, but after it was all over they became painfully evident. Two of the remaining dogs were also suffering from minor slashes, and the fourth dog was travelling on three legs as a result of mv big boar having fallen on him when shot down. Johnston had lost the seat of his breeches, and a generous laver of skin immediately beneath, through losing his footing and doing a toboggan act down the wall of the canyon, His left elbow was also badly gashed. ‘* Pin- kev was in agony as a result of having chased one of his boars through a thicket of cactus. Our old guide, Quate, was the only member of the party who had come ott without a scratch. Our “ first aid " outnt came in mighty handy that evening, and there was a healthy demand all round for iodine and banda On the second d . after our hunt in the Portrero Canyon, Sefior Ordofez came into our camp on horseback. He had not had his breakfast, so we prepared a meal for . him, and for an hour or two afterward he sat in camp with us drinking coffee and telling us interesting stories about the island. The most startling tale that he told con- cerned the heavy losses he had suffered from stock ‘‘ rustlers,”” who land on the island to steal cattle and sheep. He estimated that his losses for the previous year from this source had been in the neighbourhood of ten thousand dollars. The thieves, he said, were mostly Japanese, Austrian, and other aliens, unnaturalized in the United States, who pretended to be ‘ fishermen ’’ in order to escape the vagrancy courts, but who actually are professional _stock-thieves. Owing to the great size of the island, and the rugged nature of its topography, he declared, it was almost impossible to land any of these rogues in the hands of the law, but as a measure which seemed to offer some possi- bility of relief, they had recently obtained Typical wild boar country on Santa Cruz Island,

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100 the co-operation of the coastguard service in an effort to kill or capture the thieves. We told Sefior Ordofiez that if we could be of any assistance to him in the protection of his property, it would be a great pleasure tous. Little did we dream at that moment that our volunteering such aid was, a few days later, to lead us into an exciting duel with the bandits ! All too quickly our days on the island slipped away, and at last the time came for us to begin thinking about breaking camp and moving down to Prisoners’ Harbour to meet Captain Eaton and the Sea |Wolf. We had eighteen pairs of boar tusks, and several fine heads prepared for the taxider- mist. The trip had been a thorough success, and we were reluctant to face the prospect of going home. I was acting as camp cov’ and was tossing up griddle cakes for break- fast over the collapsible sheet-metal stove. “ Pinkey " and Johnston were busy over their tin plates, devouring the feathery cakes, when our breakfast was most un- ceremoniously interrupted. Into the camp at a gallop, his horse lathered with foam, came Sefior Ordojiez. He was obviously excited, and from the expression on his face it was evident that something serious was troubling him. As he sprang from the saddle he addressed Johnston and me in Spanish. “ IT came here to see if I could get you boys to help us,” he burst out. “ Quate has just telephoned from the South Ranch that he and Pablo Ybarra, Jose Bianca, and Jesus Devega, three of our vaqueros, are standing off a band of ten or fifteen Japanese cattle- thieves at the South Ranch Landing. The villains are loading our cattle aboard a schooner. Our men are hopelessty outnum- bered, and helpless without reinforcements. We have men at the ranch, but it would take them an hour to get to Quate’s aid on horse- back. You boys can get there in half the time with your motor-cycles. Will you go ? Will you help us?” “Will we go, Sefior Ordonez ?”’ I fairly shouted. ‘‘ We shall be on our way in two minutes!” The situation was hurriedly explained to ‘ Pinkey,’” and in another minute we were roaring toward the South Ranch on the motor-cycles, with all the firearms and ammunition we had in camp. A RIDE TO REMEMBER. Of all the wild motor-cycle riding that three human beings ever did, I believe that “Pinkey,’’ Johnston, and I established a world’s record for speed over the eighteen miles of tortuous, bumpy road between our camp and the South Ranch. With the motors roaring we tore over the trail, utterly dis- regarding ruts and bumps, streams to be forded, and everything else. We never even slackened speed for the curves, but simply skidded round them, leaving clouds of dust, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and the smell of burning tyre rubber behind us. Our sole prayer was that the machines would stand up under the punishment and hang together to get us to the South Ranch. Suffice it to say that the machines did hang together. We covered those eighteen miles of profanity-provoking roads in exactly twenty-six minutes from the time we left our camp. Arriving at the hill top just beyond the South Ranch landing, we espied a small schooner, with her mainsail set, in the act of drifting out into the cove. Quate, and the other three cowpunchers, were scattered about behind various rocks, banging away with their black-powder blunderbusses at the fleeing schooner. The pirates aboard the vessel were returning the fire. Hastily we grabbed our rifles and dropped for cover behind various rocks. Little puffs of smoke and fire were spurting out of the schooner’s deck-house, and the air around us was alive with the drone of bullets. Just as Johnston dropped behind a rock and poked hi» rifle out for a pot-shot at the pirate craft, a bullet chipped the rock, the flying fragment tearing his hat into shreads. This so enraged him that I could hear him cursing above the cracking of the guns. Utterly disregarding his own safety he sprang to his feet and centred his sights upon a man who was going up the schooner’s mainmast, apparently to make some adjustment to the sail. Almost at the same instant the sharp “ Ping!” of his rifle rang out, and the Japanese on the mainmast turned over, plunging like a drop- kicked football, and fell with a heavy thud upon the deck of the schooner, where he lay motionless. ‘' Got him!” I heard Johnston exclaim, as he pumped the bolt of his weapon to throw a fresh cartridge into the firing chamber. Meanwhile ‘‘ Pinkey” and 1 were putting a hail of lead into the schooner’s deck-house. A gun that had been persistently cracking from the starboard window suddenly dropped out on to the deck, and the face that a moment before had been behind the gun disappeared from view, announcing to us that one or more of our bullets had not been wasted. “ Pinkey ” continued to hurl his bullets into the deck-house, while I centred my activities upon a man at the tiller who had barricaded himself behind a mattress thrown over the after rail. [ emptied a whole magazine of shells into the mattress as fast as I could pull trigger, and as I reached into my pocket for a fresh magazine and clapped it into the weapon, the schooner swung around broadside to the wind. As it did so the mattress no longer obscured the after deck. The tiller was banging backwards and forwards with the wash of the s against the rudder, and the man who had been manipulating it lay sprawled out tat on the deck. It was evident that the mattress was not as bullet-proof as the helnisman thought it was.

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WILD BOARS AND CATTLE THIEVES. Another Japan- ese sprang out of the deck - house and got hold of the tiller handle. He pulled the mattress round so as to kcep‘himself behind it, all the while keeping up a steady fire over the top of it with an automatic pistol. ‘ Pinkey " and I again con- centrated our fire on the mattress, but by this time the schooner was getting well out to sea, so that it Tor is probable we only wasted our bullets. ¢ In the midst of all this firing a bullet struck the muzzle of Johnston's rifle and knocked the weapon into bits. The shock stung his hands until they became almost useless, and several small fragments of lead embedded themselves in his forehead. Without even stopping to take stock of his injuries, Johnston hurled the broken rifle aside, ran to one of the motor-cycles, under a hail of bullets from the schooner, and returned with another rifle and two boxes of ammunition. Then, with his benumbed fingers, he went on hurling a stream of lead as best he could at the pirate craft. We kept up the bombardment until the schooner got so far out to sea that our bullets began to fall short. Further shooting was merely a waste of ammunition, and so we ceased firing and came out from behind the cover of our sheltering rocks. With no boat with which to give chase nearer than Prisoners’ Harbour, the bandits had made good their getaway. Quate came out from behind his rock and shook his fist at the receding schooner, cursing with such a picturesque vocabulary of Castilian pro- fanity that it would be utterly impossible even to attempt translating his mutterings into English. ‘‘ At least forty head of the Sefior’s cattle are aboard the schooner of those infamous scoundrels!” the old Spaniard raged. ‘“‘ The cowardly sneak-thief devils! I'd gouge their eyes out with my fingers if I could but get my hands on them ! Forty head of the Sefior’s cattle,” he moaned, “and here we stand by and watch them put to sea to sell their ill-gotten gains on the mainland!” JUST IN TIME. The old Spaniard was still raving with anger when I chanced to glance out at sea to a point some sixty or seventy degrees to Santa Cruz scenery. The tracks were not of the best, but the motor-cycles contrived to negotiate them. the west of the pirate schooner, which by this time was almost out of sight. A tiny smudge of black smoke had appeared on the horizon. “ Quate,’’ I exclaimed, grasping him by the arm. ‘Look! There’s a steamer!’’ Thereupon the old Spaniard crossed himself, and called upon all the saints and the Holy Virgin to assist him. Then, without another word, he ran to the ranch house, and presently returned with an arm full of smoke-rockets. By this time the hull of the steamer had begun to loom above the horizon, and with my field-glasses I made out that the craft was a coastguard mboat. I imparted this information to uate, who was so delighted that he grabbed me in his arms and kissed me. hen a rocket was sent aloft as a signal to the gunboat. The first rocket, and a second. failed to elicit any response, but a third rocket brought the deep ‘“‘ Boom!” of a four-inch naval gun floating over the sea. 1 looked again with the glasses, and could see that the craft had changed its course and was heading toward the island. At that moment Sefior Ordojiez came galloping on to the scene on horseback, and as we saw the gunboat coming, all our hats were thrown in the air with shouts of rejoicing over this unexpected turn of affairs. Half an hour later the gunboat droppe«| anchor in the cove, a boat was lowered, and two officers came ashore. It took but a moment to explain what had happened, and at the officers’ suggestion our entire party went aboard the craft to see the chase and the subsequent capture of the outlaws. By this time the bandit schooner had gone completely out of sight over the horizon but we knew the general direction they had taken in their fight. Furthermore, when the twin screws of the gunboat began to revolve

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102 under a full head of steam, pushing the craft along at a speed of something like twenty knots, we knew that the cattle thieves were as good as captured already ! By the time we overhauled the outlaw vessel, the highest peaks of Santa Cruz Island had dipped below the horizon, and the scenery consisted solely of sky and water. As we came alongside the bandit craft the decks of the gunboat were cleared for action. Two four-inch guns were swung into position for a finishing shot if necessary, but the outlaws surrendered without a further blow being struck. With the array of naval artillery that stared them in the faces, they knew that the gunboat could send their old windjammer to Davy Jones's locker, with all hands aboard, with a single shot. Accordingly, the whole crew—or what was left of them—appeared on deck holding their hands aloft to indicate sur- render. The gunboat came alongside the schooner and made fast Then, one by one, nine of the most villainous-looking Japanese that I ever set eves upon were marched on to the deck of the coastguard craft, clapped in irons, and dumped unceremoniously below. There were six of the schooner’s crew, how- ever, who didn’t march aboard the gunboat. Three of them were dead, and three more were so badly wounded that they had to be carried aboard the naval craft and deposited in the vessel’s sick bay. It was only after we had had the oppor- tunity of going aboard the pirate craft that we realized the havoc that we had wrought with our rifles while firing upon the thieves from the shore. The deck-house of the schooner was a mass of splintered and bullet- riddled woodwork, while the deck itself was full of furrows. The mattress abaft the tiller was peppered full of holes, like a piece of Swiss cheese. Beneath the deck, taken into the craft through a specially built door in the hull, and with a gang-plank constructed for the purpose of loading livestock, were thirty- eight head of Sefior Ordoie c Ordofiez and his men had laboured by the sweat of their brows to produce these cattle, and here were those alien thieves, .mas- querading under the guise of law-abiding fishermen, preying upon the fruits of their efforts. After the officers of the gunboat had inspected the wreckage about the deck of the schooner, a seaman was detailed for duty at the tiller of the captured craft. A line was then made fast to her bow from the gunboat, and the whole outfit was towed back to Santa Cruz Island, Meanwhile Johnston had sought the services of the Medical Corps seaman aboard the gunboat, who picked the fragments of lead from his forehead, painted him with iodine, and sent him on deck with his head in bandages and smelling like a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. chemist’s shop. Quate was probably the happiest man on the boat, and Sefior Ordojiez could find na words, even in his remarkably expressive Castilian, sufficient to express his satisfaction. Before we reached the island, however, one of the three wounded Japanese breathed his last, and his body was added to the three covered with a sheet on the deck of the gunboat awaiting delivery to the coroner of Santa Barbara County. The injuries of the remaining two were not serious, and after being prisoners in the hospital ward of a jail in Santa Barbara, thev were turned over intact to the Federal authorities to face the law courts along with the other nine. In due course they received indeterminate sentences of from ten to fifty years each in Federal prison after a trial by jury in Los Angeles. After landing on the island the balance of the day was spent taking affidavits and depositions for use when the eleven cattle thieves should be brought before the courts. This work, which was carried on by Sefior Ordonez with the aid of the gunboat's officers, was made both difficult and tedious by the fact that none of the prisoners could speak either English or Spanish. Finally, with the pirate schooner in tow, and the prisoners in safe keeping, the gunboat steamed away toward Santa Barbara. Sefior Ordonez insisted that we should be his guests at dinner at his house that evening, and since we had become a bit weary of camp cookery, we cheerfully accepted his invita- tion. At the ranch house several hours later we sat down to a meal that was little short of a banquet. Before we left our host that evening he shook hands with us all around, and again assured us that he could find no words to express his “appreciation of what we had done for him. ‘If you ever want to hunt again on this island,’’ he said, “ or if there is anything else you want here, just let the fact be known, and if it is anything that we can supply, you shall receive it.’ His last act was to present Johnston with his personal cheque, to which he had appended }t gnature, but had not filled out for any stipulated sum. ‘‘ Take this, sefior,’’ he said, ‘‘ and when you get home, go to your gunsmith and select the rifle that suits you.”’ Next day we broke camp, and moved down to Prisoners’ Harbour, to find Captain Eaton with the Sea Wolf riding at anchor. Soon we had our motor-cycles and the rest of the outfit aboard, pulled up anchor, and put to sea. As we sailed out into that placid indigo ocean, with the highest peaks of Santa Cruz gradually sinking below the horizon, the island looked so peaceful and quiet that it took a long stretch of imagination to picture it as the abode of vicious wild boars and the scene of such deadly strife as we had recently witnessed.

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N January va bought an_ island— 4th, 1907, o>? one of the “ Ten left Miami Thousand "’—not far in my sloop and cruised around the southern coast of Florida, afterwards setting a course north by west. On January 8th we were off Pelican Key, in the Ten Thousand | Islands, and as we were running short of food, decided to go to Marco and re- plenish our stores. We got into Marco about ten o'clock on the morning of the ninth, went ashore, ! settled on a their prisoner, and a Capt Wlamon /ircher ILLUSTRATED BY FRED HOLMES A yachtsman’s story of a most unusual ex- perience— helping a father to rescue his little daughter from the clutches of a weird sect of religious fanatics, headed by a self-styled “Messiah” and his “apostles,” who had island off the coast of Florida. The “Brethren” were not followed. from Marco, This man claimed to be the Messiah, and he and his ‘‘apostles,”’ with nearly three hundred ‘ converts,’’ had taken up their resi- dence on the island. Th called them- selves ‘ The Breth- ren. The women ' lived on one side of the island, the men | on the other, with | the leader and his | “apostles ’’ on the lisposed to lose very exciting adventure stretch of land be- tween the two. did our shopping, and then returned to the sloop in our moter-boat. . After dinner I was having a smoke when I saw a small cat-rig boat approaching, but paid little attention to it until I heard some- one hail: ‘‘ Hullo, Bill!’ { looked up, and there was my old friend Leon Russell. He brought his boat alongside and came aboard, and we exchanged hearty greetings. I noticed that he kept looking at my motor- boat and that something appeared to be worrying him. I inquired what was the matter, whereupon he glanced up at me and asked if my motor-boat could travel. ‘‘ Yes,” I answered. ‘‘ She can move all right. But why do you ask?” “That's fine, Bill,’”’ he said. because I’m in trouble, and I need someone with a good boat to help me. There is a lot of danger in it. Are vou willing to risk ee i “If there is any- thing I can do, old- timer,”’ I told him, “count mein. What is vour trouble ? ”’ Thereupon he sat down and narrated the following remark- able story. — It appeared that a religious fanatic had “T ask The Author, Capt. Each “convert” was expected to make over all his or her worldly possessions to the ‘ Messiah,’’ and come and dwell on the island. The men fished, hunted, and gathered oysters, clams, and crabs, which the leader sold, and no one was allowed to leave the island except the ‘Messiah ” and his chosen ‘‘ apostles.” Leon Russell’s wife, he told me, had been attracted by this new “' religion,” and, taking with her their little daughter Ruth, a girl of about eleven or twelve, she had gone over to the island while Leon was on a business trip to Key West. After her departure Leon had received a pathetic letter from the child appealing to him to come and take her away, as she was very homesick and discontented among the “ Brethren." Russell was content to let his wife stay on the island, if she cared for him so little as to leave him and cast in her lot among these fanatics, but he was lonely with- out his little Ruth, and he wanted me to help him to rescue her. I told him that we would get the child if it was at all possible, and that afternoon 1 busied myself in getting mv engine tuned up — for the frav. | Then W. Damon Archer. 1 scaretidlv filled

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104 the tank, and just about sundown we started. Arriving within) two miles of the “Messiah's ” island, we stopped our engine and sculled the rest of the way, for a three- horse power two-cylinder engine doesn't sound exactly like a mosquito humming, and we didn’t wish to alarm the “ Brethren ” prematurely. About nine o'clock I wanted to land, but Leon advised me not to, as the day before, when he had tried to do so, two burly ‘apostles ’? had chased him off with a shot- gun. We therefore decided to tie our boat to a mangrove bush and wait until about ten o'clock, when they would probably be in bed and asleep. When the appointed hour at last arrived, we went ashore and crept along until we were opposite the women’s dwellings. I asked Leon which house Ruth was in, and he told me that it was the third one from the end. Moving noiselessly in our gum-shoes, we stole up to the front door, which was un- locked, and slipped in unannounced. The brilliant moon was shining in through the windows, so that we could see quite well, and our first impression was of the great size of the room. There were possibly fifteen women in it, asleep in beds ranged along either side. Moving as silently as possible, we tiptoed from bed to bed, looking for little Ruth. To our dismay we couldn't see her, and we had just about decided to try another house when Leon stumbled over a chair! This woke up one old woman, and when she saw us she let forth such a scream that she awakened all the others. Then, to use Leon's expression, ‘' Bedlam broke loose.’”’ Everything movable was soon coming our way—-chairs Pchoes: cooking-utensils, rolling- pins, anything they could get their hands on in their efforts to frighten us away. (The man who says that a woman can't throw straight was never on that island, or else he’d change his mind !) Meanwhile. they shriecked at the top of their voices, and very soon the whole village was aroused. It was no use stopping there to be captured, so we dashed outside, Leon shouting as he ran: “ Ruth! Ruth! Ruth!” With the infuriated women buzzing about us, we became separated, and presently 1 heard the so-called ‘' Messiah" and his ‘apostles ’’ hastening towards us from their abode. Just at that moment I caught sight of two women about fiftv yards away from me, dragging a child whom, from Leon's description, 1 recognized as Ruth, for the Florida moon was so bright, shining on the white sand, that one could easily have read a newspaper. : I called to Leon; then I ran to the screaming women, pushed them aside, grabbed the eager child in mv arms, and started for our boat. Leon disentangled himself from THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the furies who were attacking him and joined me, but by this time the ‘‘ Messiah ” and several of his companions were only about two hundred yards distant. There was a crowd of frenzied females all round us, end we literally had to run the gauntlet, nyhting our w s best we could. When we reached the boat the leader and his satellites were close on our heels, shouting threats. ] put Ruth into the boat, we tumbled in ourselves, and I quickly cut the rope that anchored us to the mangrove bush. Just then one of the ‘apostles ’’ grabbed the side of the boat. Raising an oar high in the air, I brought it down none too gently across his hand. (afterwards found out that I had cracked st. Paul's’ knuckles!) He let go with a vell, and I shoved the boat out into deeper water, dropped my oar, and started the engine, It ran beautifully, and we were soon leaving the island behind, but it seemed that our troubles had only begun, for presently we heard a“ chug-chug ’’ behind us, and, looking round, saw that the leader and two ot his band were chasing us in another motor- boat. Both craft were soon going at full speed, but theirs proved to be a fraction taster than ours. We had had about five hundred yards start of them when the race began, but they speedily began to overhaul TS. I had intended to run to Fort Myers, but when we neared the Schultz Hotel pier the pursuing ‘ Brethren ’’ were so close to us that I told Leon to take the child and run for the hotel, where he was to wake up the proprietor and his sons if they had retired. Meanwhile 1 would do my best to delay our enemies. When the bow of our boat nosed the pier, therefore, Leon sprang out with Ruth and hurried towards the hotel. I stopped the engine, tied up my boat, and waited for trouble. A few minutes later the pursuing boat. dashed up, and the leader leapt out and ran after Leon, who was half-way up the pier. This was where J came in, so I ran atter him and speedily overtook him. He turned savagely upon me, and we clinched and fell, rolling wildly round the pier as we struggled for the mastery. I was beginning to yet the better of him when the two i apostles "rushed to his assistance. I tripped one of them up and sent him flying, but the other sportsman kicked me violently in the ribs. This last act aroused every ounce of my fhghting blood, and, leaping to my feet, I went for the three of them fast and furiously. I grabbed the leader by the beard (it was a nervy red colour) and knocked his head ayainst a post, gave the second apostle a punch that put him out of business, and then tackled the third, who proved to be the best * scrapper” of the party. By this time I was rather out of breath, but presently 1

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heard Leon and the boys from the hotel coming. The three brethren had had enough of it, and decided not to wait for reinforce- ments. Limping and stumbling, they hurried down to their boat and were soon tearing back towards their island. To make a long story short, it is enough to say that Leon took Ruth to his mother’s home in Tampa, while I went back in my motor-boat to Marco ; and, believe me, I gave the ‘‘ Mes siah’s” island a wide berth on my journey. It may interest Wipe Wortp readers } RESCUING LITTLE RUTH 105 to know that this so-called ‘* Messiah " died in 1910, his body being kept unburied after his death until the health officers from Port Myers ordered it to be interred. ‘‘ St. Peter,” one of the “ apostles,’’ then became their leader, and not many months later the Governor started an investigation which ended in the breaking-up of the colony The Brethren "’ believed that their leader would come back to life, and, not being sure of the length of the Biblical day, they watched over his remains for three weeks. After they were forced to bury him, and even after the colony was dissolved, the apostles ’’ took it in turns to guard the he would return grave, still believing that The hurricane of October, 1921, swept over the island and washed away the sandy grave, but there are still one or two of the buildings left, standing like lonely sentinels. I shall always think of our raid on the island as one of the most unusual expe: of my life, and am very glad that I wa to help Ruth’s father to rescue her from the clutches of the fanatical ‘‘ Brethren “Raising an oar high in the air, 1 brought it down none too gently across his hand.” Vol. 1-8

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“Flotsam Castle,” the odd building here described. A Castle Bui Bull fora Shilling S25 JOHN JOHN LON BLON N BLON CE HE cost of building, high or low, has no, significance to — Louis Dart. He has conclusively demon- | strated that the housing problem can be overcome, even though building material magnates may send prices sky-high. At the edge of the Pacific Ocean, above Redondo Beach, near Los Angeles, California, he has reared for himself a tall ‘ castle,” thrice reconstructed and enlarged it—and laid out only a shilling in actual money! Because of the character of its composition he calls his odd residence ‘ Flotsam Castle,” and it ¢ es the title with dignity. As the name indicates, everything that entered into its make-up Dart culled from the booming affords The unique story of a invevex who, penni- | less and practically dying, recovered his health and built himself a remarkable home from the flotsam of the ocean at a total cost of a shilling. The narrative striking proof of the adage: “Everything comes to him who waits.” sea, and the same element obligingly cast up not only the ex- terior trimmings, but all the interior furnish- ings ! Not only has Mr. Dart acquired a strange but eminently comfortable driftwood domicile, but in the course of its construction he built himself up from what was practically adving man to astate of such vigorous health that he laughingly avers he ‘' couldn’t be killed with an axe."” With his health appar- ently hopelessly shattered and his savings in doctors’ pockets, he laid himself down to die in the very cove where his amphibious home now nestles among the rock-buttresses. He “came back ”’ in dramatic fashion, and he likes to relate his experiences to the

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A CASTLE BUILT FOR A SHILLING. pilgrims who seek his door. His life-story has been an inspiration to many; and his visitors’ book shows that sightseers have come to ‘ Flotsam Castle ’’ from almost every State in the Union, every great city in the world, and various remote countries, for, through wandering tourists, the fame of this bizarre “ castle ’’ and its philosophical laird was swiftly spread afar. Pie, too, had something to do with it, that being the hermit’s speciality. Louis Dart, a graduate of an Iowa law college, practised his profession in Nebraska and the Middle West until he fell ill, lost his voice through weakness, and was no longer able to plead. Then for years, he says, the doctors had their innings. They told him he had Bright's disease, and when his funds were exhausted they gave him up. He drifted farther West and cooked in min- ing and _ construction camps when his health permitted, even serv- ing the Army in this capacity at Camp Funston. Finally, he went to work on a great Southern Cali- fornia rancho. There, on the sands near Redondo Beach, when unable to toil any longer, came his crisis. Hopeless and ‘‘broke,”” barely able to stand, an old Spanish woman looking for clams found him sitting dis- consolately on the beach. Pointing to a little spring that gushes out of the rock, she told him to drink deep of its water and he would get well. Dart decided to try this simple treatment, found a shabby tent somewhere, pitched it near the spring, drank often, and ate nothing—because he had no food to eat and no money to buy it with. He lived for a month practically on spring water and sea air; his system got a thorough house-cleaning, and the sickness disappeared. Presently, goaded on by a fierce appetite, he mustered up sufficient strength to climb the bluff, came upon some ripe tomatoes growing wild in a grainfield—and, all unknowingly, found physical salvation! He ate his fill, then and many times afterward, and was soon perfectly sound from head to feet. That was three years ago, but Dart is still at the wonderful spring. He determined that there should be his home, and there he built it. The breakers brought in lumber for the Louis Dart, the cheery philosopher who built the “castle.” 107 taking, and with a few simple tools he set to work to erect a house. At first it was a rather tiny habitation, reminiscent of a Sicilian peasant’s precipice-hung hut, but since then it has expanded into a four-storey structure. Lithe, upstanding, muscular and powerful, Mr. Dart laboured with prodigious energy from dawn until night, placing even the heaviest timbers in position without assistance. Coastwise vessels pass in numbers about ten miles out, and many lumber-carriers dock at Redondo Beach, and the odds and ends from their cargoes furnished all the timber he required. When it came to furnish- ing his picturesque “ castle,’ however, there was a dearth of flotsam that would serve the purpose. Just about this time the forty- five-foot yacht Gene- vieve, of Los Angeles, a fine, well-equipped craft, was wrecked a few hundred yards off shore from JDart’s house, and a wealth of necessaries “was virtually tossed into his arms. Among the débris—and_ this ap- pealed to him par- ticularly — was the frame of a small steve from the galley. Piece by piece the various parts were washed ashore, but a patient wait of nearly two years ensued be- fore an extremely high tide rolled up the last lid, rusty but still serviceable. Neptune’s ‘‘white horses’ laid this little tribute at Dart’s very feet. Because _ beach- stroliers—of whom there are hundreds — pass the ‘‘castle”’ dailv it soon began to attract attention. The Boy Scouts, always climbing and signalling along the shore, made it their rendezvous, and artists came to sketch it. These visitors naturally wanted something to eat, and Mr. Dart, ° being a cook, began to make and serve pies —‘a fellow has to make a living,’ he re- marked. The pies “ took,’’ and since he started he has baked nearly eight thous nd, three at a time, in his little galley stove. Of these he admits he has himself consumed five hundred, and not only survived but thriven, hence they must be good. Dart serves his pies on huge circular tables, made of the four ends of two cable spools, still bearing the stamps of ports on all the oceans, which were washed up just when most

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ros THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. needed. So with everything, from paint to window-glass, stairs to stools, even canvas for awnings—the restless sea supplies all Dart’s requirements. The odd cents ex- pended on the ‘‘ castle "’in actual cash went for shingle nails, needed in a hurry to roof some The exposed portion when rain threatened. waves brought all the other spikes and nails requisite for solid construc- tion. “PT o ts acm Castle” boasts a comfortable liv- ing-room on the second floor, where the laird often sits in his window to enjoy the view, watch- ing the sun sink in a cauldron of molten gold, or the sails of a dis- tant -vessel flash silver in the moonlight. Under this window is 4 home-made sign that reads: ‘' This build- ing cost but little money, but much work, with- out which life affords no satisfactory kick” —a typical bit of Dart philosophy. His only companions are a large grey cat, ever ready to unsheath ugly claws, and a smart, friendly guinea-pig. A’ sign introduces these to visitors thus :— My family— Outside its appetite — Is not so very big. Just a brind’e Thomas-cat And a black-nosed guinea-pig. The legend which appears on the front of Dart’s so driftwood “ castle.” 5 Sam and Barbara, London Zoo, are perhaps the most popular inmates of the Mappin Terraces, their present dwelling place. in the old cages (in 1903 and 1904), from time to time many tiny snowy babies have been born to them. alway great jealousy and sometimes neglect. Attempts have been made to rear the little blind cubs by fostering them on to some good canine mother. more recent attempt to rear a cub with a bottle, under the care of a kind nurse ; but though this Some of the visitors, noting the exposed position of the building, perched among the sea-shore rocks, have often expressed their fear that “ Flotsam Castle’’ and its doughty master would some day be swept away ; that the mighty ocean would eventuaily take back, in one fell swoop, all its miscel- laneous contri- butions. Dart, however, is. un- afraid; and so far the place has withstood the severest — buffet- ings without a tremor. When storms come the water swirls about its foundations and the spray flies in sheets over the roof, but the “castle "’ is substantially wedged between the rocks that form its foundations and so strongly rein- forced at the base that the waves cannot easily damage it. ‘‘ The sea can’t hurt me, no matter how far it comes up,’’ says Dart. “The waves would simply push me harder up against the rocks; there would be no danger of drifting away.’ So, serene and snug, he dwells beside the Pacific in his odd wooden fortress, believing, like the crippled, but splendidly virile poet, Henley :— IT am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. A BABY POLAR BEAR. the Polar bears of the Having, in their youth, started unfortunately, did not Often she showed Barbara, take to the cubs. Our photograph represents a little fellow showed the greatest desire to thrive and get the better of his artificial surroundings, our climate proved to be too damp and muggy for him, as it did in the case of his elder brothers It is recorded that one litter of Barbara's eubs vived for seventeen days. sO C

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The roof-tops of Baghdad, showing the Mosque of Abdul Kadir. HE mid- summer sun rose majesti- cally above the horizon; its fierce rays flash- ing across the river stirred the sleeping city of Baghdad to life and, striking my head as I lay asleep on the roof-top, awoke me with a start. Soon the familiar sounds of awakened activity began to reach my ears from the bazaars below, and from amidst the babel I caught the words: ‘‘ Bar- lak! barlak ! out of the way! THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. Vv. 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, specially 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. = Oh! son of a dog, make mother-in-law ! in competition with another’s cry: ‘ Roast peas! roast peas! Mothers of two fires!” which meant that the peas had been twice Toasted. The harsh voice of a mer- chant sounded above the others: ‘‘ How much! how much! for this flower of Para- dise; ‘tis sweet as a_maiden’s eyes, like bees’ breath for frag- Trance.” He soon had a cus- tomer, for he continued: ““May my nose grow a beard, if it be not worth what I ask! way for the Sheikh!’ This was followed Thou miserable flea on a sick camel, may immediately by the call of a flower-vender : Buy these flowers and appease your I lose my right hand if——” The noise, together with the tyrannical and so on.

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110 THE WIDE - heat of the rising sun, allowed no further rest, and speedily drove us indoors. The photo first produced shows this early morning panorama of Baghdad roofs around the prin- cipal mosque. These sights and sounds were fami- liar to us in our WORLD MAGAZINE. The city is di- vided into halves by the Tigris, which thus forms its main thorough- fare. The lower photograph shows the busy scene on the arrival of the coracles laden with water-melons. The house in which we lived was situated right recollections of on the river bank. Cairo, Jerusalem, aR . It was built of Damascus, and Arab boys son the Tigris. Their boats are) bricks painted Al a ingeniously made from old tins. “ell li Aleppo. Some yellow, much like months had e e the first cities of elapsed since we left the latter city. We had travelled by boat round the coast of Arabia, past the flat-topped mountains of Sinai, past Jidda and the red sandy moun- tains of Hejaz, to the barren isle of Perim, and to Aden; past Muscat on the Gulf of Oman, and the low, palm-covered isles of Kishim, finally arriving at Basra. The ships, canoes, and river life of this city—the old Balsora—recalled the story of “Sindbad the Sailor,” and we thought of him again while we toiled by boat along the innumerable bends of the Tigris to the tune of the constant sing-song call: ‘ Plenty of water! plenty of water! ten feet of water,” which the outrigger boatmen sang as they fathomed the depth of the river with their long bamboos. As we reached Baghdad after five days on the Tigris, a sunset of emerald green merging into brilliant orange and crimson was gilding the city’s minarets and domes and colouring the broad expanse of the river. Our expecta- tions of the city of the Caliphs were more than fulfilled. this historic land, of whose building the Bible says, “ Brick had they, for stone and slime had they for mortar."’ The rooms, with their balconies, ranged around a square courtyard into which the midday sun poured relentlessly. Arab children, however, never seem to mind the sun; all day long there were groups of them, stark naked, splashing in the water below our house, playing in boats ingeniously made from tins, and generally having a high old time. The above photograph shows some of these water- sprites at their gambols. Behind, and bordering the river bank, were date groves, which towards evening became the rendezvous of Arab picnic arties. Some encamped all the summer, aying their beds around their camp-fire beneath a waving palm, and during the day retreating into the shade of their awning. Sometimes the men would fish, and though generally they caught nothing better than Tigris salmon, perhaps now and again they might have the good fortune of the Baghdad fisherman in the ‘Arabian Nights” story when he “ cast his net, drew the cords, and there came up in it a chest, locked and heavy.” For in Baghdad the un- expected is often the rule ; romance has not yet de- serted this great, mysterious city. Occasionally, in the evenings, we joined one of these parties and lis- tened to their singin, accom- pani by tom- toms, flutes, and cvmbals, or some- times to their story-telling ; and

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. when one of the damsels danced, the tinkling of her anklets echoed over the still water with the words of her song. One day our neighbour had the good fortune to contract a marriage for his daughter, and the resulting festival lasted for a day and two nights. On the second night all his guests, including our- selves, assembled in his yard—he was only a poor man and lived in a mud hut. From the trunk of a palm were _ suspended lanterns and __ torches, lighting up the whole scene of festivity, and revealing the counten- ances of the guests— brown bearded faces with dark flashing eyes. On all the surrounding rvofs were seated the women folk, who swayed backwards and forwards to a monotonous refrain, extolling the bride and bridegroom with praise to Allah most high. The’ performance of a professional danseuse was followed by that of two men who mimicked a contest of martial kind. After that a fakir swallowed his sword and produced chickens and eggs from his empty turban, while he pronounced the magic words: “Gilly, gilly, gilly”’; and so the festivity continued through the night. We gained a curious impression of this capital of Haroun al-Raschid when we first flew over it. As we rose upwards the brown colour of the houses tended to make the city The Author, Mr. Richard Carline. 1il we mounted for some minutes through a heat- belt of great intensity ; and when we eventually reached the dizzy height of fifteen thousand feet Baghdad had become a mere speck below, the desert spread solitary and awe-inspiring in all clirec- tions, and the great rivers Tigris and Euphrates were no more than streaks of light in a sea of misty brown. We bent our course along the Tigris, following the river like hounds on a scent, and passed over Ctesiphon, At Kut we decided to Jand and spend the day, as the heat later on was likely to be so great as to make landing both difficult and danger- ous. Nextday wecrossed the desert to Hilla; and the day after followed the course of the Euphrates, passing over Babylon and even- tually landing at Hit, the outpost city of the ancient Assyrian Empire. Leaving there we flew back across the desert to Baghdad. A picture which my brother painted in the air of our flight over Babylon is here reproduced. It shows the landscape of desert between the struts of the machine, with the winding course of the Euphrates to the left. Dotted over this ancient land lie the dust- heaps of buried cities of the past, but of all of them Babylon seemed the best preserved, and our journey there by boat from Hilla fade from view up the River into its brown Euphrates im- surroundings, its pressed me as flat house - tops even more ro- and winding mantic than our bazaar roofs previous flight forming a check- over it. It was work pattern. our intention to But the most stop the night at striking feature the khan at Baby- was the broad lon in order to expanse of the utilize the cool Tigris dividing hours of early Baghdad and morning, but our continuing its boatmen found course north and great = difficulty south in great in locating the loops and bends, place. For some marked all the hours during the way by the dark night they had green palm been poling and groves on its A paddling our craft Banks, At five ‘ppprosching Babylon seed ie ee ua by Mevayaney Over the black hundred feet above the city [Ay porinivsion of the Imprrial Wor Meo.) and silent river, its broad expanse

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112 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, shut in by the thick undergrowth that borders its banks. The call of fellow-boat- men had echoed over the stream from time to time after we had left Hilla, but soon everything tured in our imaginations in fanciful antici- pation ; and we plied our sleepy companions with questions about them. We learnt that these two cities gained their sanctity through the dropped _ into = utter silence, eerie in its in- tensity. For some hours the boatmen, with Achmed, — our Arab boy, waded in the marsh with a lantern held aloft trying to find a path. I had fallen asleep on the deck by the time the track was at last found, so that my dreamis were replaced by a vision of Ach- med’s. brown face and white teeth lit up by the lantern as he vigorously shook me to arouse me. A tramp in single file through the groves brought us to the khan, and after a few hours’ sleep on its roof-top a fire was lit, eggs boiled and eaten, and we were enjoying the novelty of an early morning stroll in the streets of Babylon, the Ishtar way, the Temple of Marduk and Nebuchadnezzar’s Palace, followed the next day by the still greater novelty of visiting the Tower of Babel, which, though lying in the desert fifteen miles south of Babylon, may have been enclosed within its outer wall. Transport over the desert is both primi- tive and romantic: the usual method is by camels or asses; but often an avabanah, or public coach, plies for passengers. This is really a wooden cart perched high on four springless wheels and drawn by four mules. As passengers we would sitin a rowon its hard wooden seats, protected by a flapping canvas awning, and listen to the babel of conver- sation with which our companions beguile the journey. We halt, as the day wears on, at a wayside khan, where someone lights a fire and prepares coffee while the water-pipes are unpacked to give solace to the weary travellers as they recline in the shade, until the driver stirs them up with his foot, cracks his whip, and we go jolting on again. Such was_ our journey from Hilla to Kerbela and Nejef, the far-famed Holy cities of the Arabian desert. Long before Kerbela’s walls were visible above our horizon, the cities had been pic- The Festival of Moharrem, showing youthful devotees beating and cutting themselves in honour of the martyred Hussein. feud that arose after Maho- met's death as to his successor. Those who believed that Mahomet'’s son- in-law, Ali, and his family in descent should be the prophet’s successors, as opposed to the then existing Caliph, sup- ported Ali's son, Hussein, in his attempt to gain the Cali- phate. A battle was fought near the present site of Kerbela, and Hussein was defeated and killed, with seventy-two of his followers. Around their tomb arose a shrine and city second only to Mecca and Medina in sanctity. Nejef, equally holy, has grown up around the tomb of Ali, eighty miles farther south. The photograph reproduced on the next page shows this latter city, with the great golden shrine in the centre, as it appears from the air, and shows the character of the surrounding desert.” In commemoration of Hussein’s tragic death his supporters, who are now known as the Shiah sect, hold an annual festival called Moharrem, at which a dummy body of Hussein is borne in state on the back of a chosen supporter. Among the concourse that follows in procession are many groups of fanatics and boys who, half naked, cut and gash themselves to make the blood of anguish flow freely ; and every year many der- vishes kill themselves in their ecstasy. Nowhere is the annual festival held with greater excitement than in Kerbela; the above photograph, showing youthful devotees cutting themselves, followed by Hussein’s banner, was taken on one of these occasions. From all over Eastern [slam large numbers of the faithful make the pilgrimage to Kerbela and Nejef, and, as in the pilgrimage to Mecca, they return with the hallowed title of Hajji. Often, when a rich Persian dies, there is a provision in his will for the transport of his body for burial outside Kerbela or Nejef ; and thus mournful funeral processions that have spent weeks on the road are a familiar sight as one approaches

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. either city. I inquired of .an Arab com- panion how many there were in these cemeteries? “ lah knows their names,” was his brief response. After our conveyance had branched off from the Euphrates a long succession of sand ridges bounded our horizon, and through the middle of the day the terrific heat was almost insupportable. Suddenly one of the dreaded sand-storms overtook us. For about half an hour it continued, during which we were completely blinded, scarcely able; to see even our neighbours. Wherever one’s skin was unprotected the driving sand beat upon it fiercely, cutting it like glass. Eventually the storm ‘abated, leaving for a while: the. appearance of fog over the bound- less expanse, in which no sign of greenery was visible. Towards evening I caught glimpses of the blue-tiled dome: of a wayside shrine, and presently we’clattered up to it as a night’s, resting-place. To most of our fellow- . travellers it was a moment to spread out their prayer mats and devote themselves to prayer. Tous it was an opportunity to stretch our cramped limbs and afterwards Meditate on the wonders of the scene. Many travellers were already assembled, all intend- ing to occupy the empty spaces available in the khan ; there were muleteers driving +113 their laden beasts into the courtyard ; there was a rich Persian strutting about among his servants and horses, awaiting the unpack- ing of his water-pipe ; and there were poor citizens, astride their asses, on their way home from Hilla. Our own needs were supplied by Achmed from our baggage and store of food and water. Like a jewel—alone in the vast space— lay, the Mosque, the tomb of Aun, Hussein’s -nephew, its blue tiles reflecting the glory of the sky. Already some sheikhs were sitting in the shelter of its portal, their Korans open on their knees. ae Next morning we made an early start, and as the day wore on a glim of greene coloured the view ahead and gradually developed into the palms and streams of Kerbela’s oasis. As we eventually clattered over the old brick bridge and into the city a crowd of children followed us, calling for ‘‘ baksheesh”; and that night, . after the dust of our journey, we truly enjoyed our rest on the roof of the rickety house which was lent us by the local Governor. Awakened next morning by the rising of the sun, we gazed with wonder at the pano- rama around us, at the blue and yellow painted houses, and at the people on every roof, who, like us, were awakening and Nejef, the holy city of the Shiahs, as seen from the air. Situated in the Arabian desert, the two greatest Persian shrines, containing the tomb of Ali, son-in-law of the Prophet.

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114 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. This remarkable aerial photograph gives a perpendicular view of the walled city of Samarrah. Not a single dwelling exists outside the walls, and approach must be made on foot, as there retreating to the shelter of their courtyards. But we chiefly feasted our eyes on the vast golden dome and minarets of Hussein's shrine, and on the blue dome of that of Abbas, his brother, shimmering in the light of dawn. The Governor deemed it necessary to lend us an armed native guard for the time we were staying in the city, to accompany us in the streets and while we painted. ‘“ The people are not as yet accustomed to the sight of Nazranis,” were his words; and, indeed, we were aware that few Europeans had hitherto been tolerated in the sacred city. Several times we had reason to be grateful for the presence of this guard. On one occasion, after emerging from the dusky light of the bazaars into the open space in front of Hussein’s shrine, I com- menced to paint the great portal of the Mosque with all its variegated colours, hanging lamps, and crowds of devotees. A crowd having quickly collected around me, I suddenly noticed that my guard and I had become separated in the throng. Further- more, some of the people were beginning to make fierce gesticulations and adopt a threat- ening attitude towards me, and I realized that as the situation might grow unpleasant it required prompt action on my part. As- suming, therefore, as best I could, a bearing of indignant authority, I was able to: force a passage through the crowd and—much-to my relief—presently caught sight of my guard searching for me not far away. Of course, for us to have entered the Mosque would have been to risk our lives ; nowhere is entrance to Shiah Mosques allowed

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. to non-Moslems even in less sacred and fanatical cities. The truth of this we had learnt when, on one occasion later on, we entered a mocdes in Khazimain, a third holy city north of ghdad. After crossing its courtyard, enclosed within high and frowning walls, and passing by the tank, we entered the dimly-lit interior, where groups of wor- shippers were assembled for midday prayers, standing or prostrating themselves on the gorgeous carpets. This was the first and last time that we—or, in fact, any person of my acquaintance—had beheld the interior splendours of a Shiah shrine. As we moved along, my brother called attention to the ‘evil glances of certain of the worshippers, and at that moment I noticed a tall man, with a sinister look in his eye, rise and follow “us abruptly. Suddenly, when close behind us, he put his hand to his waist and gripped the handle of his dagger. He was on the point of striking at Sydney’s back when another man rose behind him and, with a quick movement, restrained his arm. They engaged at once in a fierce altercation, and we took the opportunity to slip past and escape across the courtyard. It was some weeks after this that we pre- pared to go north from Baghdad, travelling through ancient Assyria up to Mosul and Kurdistan. Though we afterwards made this journey by air, we first went there on 115 the ground, and for this we obtained a Ford van in order to motor along the desert track. As the Baghdad railway runs for a portion of the way, however, we availed ourselves of it to within a few miles of Samarrah. These trains travel only at night, so of course, bedding as well as food supplies, kitchen utensils, lanterns, and a canvas chargle, which keeps the water cool by evaporation, had all to accompany usinto that cattle truck which seemed the least full in the train. Arrival at one’s destination might be any hour between midnight and sunrise, and in this case it was at 4 a.m. There was an hour of darkness before we could distin- guish, away over the sandhills, the domes and minarets of Samarrah. No roads of any kind approach this city, and we went there on foot. The place is entirely enclosed within a wall, and its gates are closed and guarded at nightfall, at which time no one having regard to his safety remains outside ; even the flocks are all driven within. Samarrah, as a matter of fact, presents an ideal and unique picture of a medieval walled city; and this aspect particularly appealed to me when we came later by air and beheld its isolated appearance, sur- rounded by stark desert. This can be realized from the striking photograph on the opposite page, taken from directly overhead. Until we flew over it on our flight from The Kurdish hills and the river Great Zab, as seen from an aeroplane.

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116 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Baghdad to Mosul we did not realize that this surrounding -desert bore the traces of.a huge medieval city stretching for twenty miles. From the ground nothing but sand is visible, but from the air to our astonish- ment, there was revealed for the first time the plan of its broad, straight avenues and streets, its houses, even the public squares and parks, some of octagonal: shape: Jt appears that the Caliph Hutasim, Haroun’s successor, moved his capital here from Baghdad in 836, and built this huge city, which was deserted again within a genera- tion. A large portion of the present city is occupied by the twin mosques which sur- mount the tombs of the tenth and eleventh successors of Mahomet. One of them has a cleft in its wall through which, according to Shiah belief, the Imam Mahdi, the twelfth and last successor, disappeared and will eventually reappear again. The golden and turquoise domes of these mosques appeared to be the city’s most conspicuous feature as we flew over, and can be seen in the centre of the photograph. When we left Samarrah in our Ford van our route followed that of the retreat of Xenophon and his ten thousand, and it was most interesting to see for ourselves the very things that he observed and described. For the first couple of days a monotonous landscape of desert confronted us; but after leaving Baiji on our third day, we drew near a succession of ridges through which the Tigris cuts its way. These northern borders of the plain are most rugged and forbidding-looking. Our track branched away from the hills, and henceforth rolling plains formed the scenery, sometimes giving the illusion of prosperous ploughed land until the com» piste lack of greenery and. life broke the spell. As. the hot and dusty hours wore on, mirages of enticing lakes would: appear before our eyes, only to disappear again. Occasionally groups of fleet-footed: gazetles raced across our path, and flocks of white grouse, bustards, and quail rose at our approach. Once a giant iguana only just found time to rum into its hole before we passed over the spot; while white vultures circled for ever in the heavens above. Here and there hundreds of little jerboas emerged from their burrows, jump- ing like tiny kangaroos; and once on one occasion, nearer Mosul, a lone wolf loped by the side of our car for some miles till we eventually out-distanced him. During the afternoon we thought we were really stranded for good in this deserted land, for our engine temporarily broke down; and later again we missed our way. Day was converted into a starry night by the time we reached the site of Asshur and found ourselves passing beneath those walls which four thousand years ago enclosed the Assyrians’ first capital. From our camp we had a fine view of its mounds, forming a vast square overlooking the Tigris; the Ziggurat, or Temple Tower, rising con- spicuous among the walls of the Assyrian houses. A Lritish Army camp had at one time occupied the site, and we found ar Assyrian avenue of inscribed bricks which had been used for their horse-lines and thus smashed to pieces. After leaving Asshur, we passed by Calah, another Assyrian city, and reached about midday a lovely khan looking like a deserted castle. There we met a wandering: Arab who had some water melons; tor a few coins he shared some with us, and we sat together beneath the castle walls to enjoy the meal. “Allah witness! I would publish it in letters of gold if melons such as these grew in my village,” he told me. ‘“ These are from the village of the mother of my son.” Beyond the last ridge of hills Mosuli pre- sented. a glorious picture: of verdant pkawim, blue river, and white buildings ; and we felt in accord with the Jewish phy: i cian whe: says in the “ Arabian Nights”: ‘‘ We beheld it to be a city with trees and: rivers and fruits and birds as though it were a Paraclise.”” This view of Mosuli is: enhanced by: the glorious. panorama. of the snawy: higtlaads. of Kurdistan, which form. its. backgpowndi- (To: be: concluded.)

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“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.” one a ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L.WOOD The previous instalments of this thrilling story described how George Keene, the express agent afterwards arranged to live at the ranch to guard it. Don McFee, the Express Company’s chief detective, Mr. Bain, the manager of the bank that owned the stolen money, and Mr. Bailey, of the Express Company, strongly suspect Keene, and they try to trap him into tampering with a marked box, but fail. Later, almost in despair, they decide upon a “ frame- up,” sending two men at night to bury money on Keene’s ranch, which will afterwards be dug up in the presence of witnesses. Stanford and Dale, from a place of concealment, see the strangers at work, and suspecting the | plot, arrange to circumvent it.* YOU CAN Now Vv. weary horsemen tenderly disen- aged themselves from their saddles, handed the bridle-reins to the attendant who met them, and with much inward groaning made their way up to the hotel steps at M and went inside. With terse instruc- tions to the night clerk to ‘‘ Wake us at nine,” they made their way to their rooms. Some three hours later Mr. Bain and Don McFee met in the breakfast-room looking as though they had slept in their clothes. HE first grey streaks of dawn were lighting the east when two very dulled, but the look of dogged determination was still there. He realized the responsibility of the position he occupied in the present situation and the crisis that he and _ his employer, who sat opposite, were facing. He noted the look of inquiry on the other man’s face as he sat down, and said: “I ascertained at the desk that athe boys had returned all right.” “* How soon are you sending them back ? ” “They left word to be called at nine, but I think I shall make it eight; then they can leave here with the deputies at nine. They Bain’sheavyfeatures _ sagged in grey folds, and his eyes were © “The story,” writes the Author, ‘is true in every particular, but I have changed all the names of will be pretty sore and stiff, but half an rsons and places red and. swollen: | concerned. lam personally acquainted with every character | hour will put them McFee’s thin face | represented, and my closest friend is the man who ” pulled of | right. They ought the robberies, and afterwards, in all humility, told me the i resembled that of a | grief tow he worked, why he did it, andwhy he fnally | to get up there by fox who had unsuc- | returned the loot. There are only four person$living who know noon, and be back cessfully stalked a rabbit all night. He had slept poorly : his usually keen eyes were somewhat the teal 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 the best part of fifty years on the frontier, where human life has been the cheapest commodity on the market.” | by two-thirty. I have arranged for one of the delivery men here to take | Keene’s place in the have lived for

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118 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. office till we can get a new man from The older man sighed dejectedly. ‘ Well, I wish it were all over,” he said. : “So do I, Mr. Bain, but brace up; it will come out all right, you see if it doesn’t.” Rising to his feet he added: ‘IT will run over to the barn and order the horses. The deputies will be here pretty soon, and maybe we can have them on the road before nine.” Action only made the detective more anxious, and soon he was hammering at Ryan and Bailey’s bedroom doors. After an interminable time, it seemed to him, Bailey's door opened and he was allowed to enter. “Gee! but I’m sore and stiff,’”’” groaned Bailey. ‘‘ I’m not used to riding.” “ “T expect not, Sam,”’ said McKee, ‘ but you will: get used to it if you live long enough. Hurry up; the horses will be ready by the time you have had breakfast. Your soreness will leave you after you have been in the saddle a few minutes.” Meanwhile, at the ranch on the hill, two men whose tight-clenched jaws and steely eyes showed that they were ready for what- ever might befall lay on a slope that over- looked the garden and the outside gate beyond. Their horses were standing motion- less a few yards behind them. To Dale the situation was tense in the extreme, but to the man from Oklahoma it was only a part of everyday life, and though he was fully alive to what the next few hours might bring forth, he was calmer than his friend. Presently he eased his position, slid a few feet below the line of observation, and made a cigarette, which he oftered to his fellow- watcher. “Smoke ?”’ he said, but the other shook his head. Rufe applied a match, putted vigorously, and dispersed the cloud of smoke by waving his hat through it. Looking at his watch he said: ‘ Half- past eleven. They ought to be here pretty soon.’ “‘ Yes—and here they come! ’’ said Dan, in suppressed excitement. ‘‘ There are four of them.” ¢ Stanford slid back beside the other, and together they watched four men ride up to the gate. One dismounted and opened it, remounted, and all four rode through, leaving it open. “ Figuring on making a quick get-away, I reckon,” muttered Stanford. The four, however, stopped at the garden gate, and one of them, calling to the others, pointed to the summit of the ridge behind the house and then to the garden. The two watchers could not hear what was said, but the man—whom they recognized even at that distance as the ‘geologist '’"—was evidently trying to impress his hearers. “ Horse-play ! whispered Stanford. ‘ He is showing them where he claims he was , When he saw George bury the stuff, I reckon.” ’ The men dismounted and entered the garden, the “ geologist ’’ leading. Straight as an arrow they went to the spot where two of them had operated the night before. Ina very few minutes the sack was recovered and the four started for the gate. Rufe grinned pleasantly at his friend. “The fatal hour has arrived, old timer!” he said. ‘ Let’s go.” As the four men were mounting their horses the two cow-punchers appeared round the shoulder of the slope behind which they had been hiding, and loped’ swiftly. up to them. Bailey and Ryan stiffened in their saddles, but the two deputies leaned forward, with their hands on the pommels, and one of them said: “ Hello, boys, what's your hurry?” The cow-punchers quickly reined in. “Gee, but I’m glad we ran across you!” cried Rufe, excitedly. ‘' There’s the devil to pay over at the sheep camp! A Mexican has run amuck and killed two others.” The senior deputy cast a quick glance at his companions. ‘“ That's a nasty mess, isn’t it?’ he said to Bailey. “What had we better do?” Bailey, studied the situation silently. “What were you men going to do?” he asked Rufe. ‘‘ Notify the sheriff?” “We were thinking of it,’ answered the cow-puncher, “ but we are terribly pressed for time—going to ship beef in a day or two. Now that we have met you we can leave the job to you.” “How did you hear of it?” said one of the deputies, playing for time to think. “We saw Bob Young over beyond Monument about an hour ago. He came by there on his way over into Paradox. He said the Mex had hit the Cortes trail.’’ “What do you think of it, Mr. Bailey ? ’”’ asked the deputy again. Bailey scratched his head in perplexity, and Rufe frowned impatiently. ‘‘ Well,” he said decisively, ‘‘ it’s up to you fellows ; you are the sheriff’s officers. Do as you like —we've done our part. Come on, Dan; let’s go.” With that the two rode on out of the gate, which they shut after they had passed through, leaving the four men to discuss matters, The deputies were much worried as to their duty in the circumstances. ‘‘ It is just this way, Mr. Bailey,”’ said one of them. ‘‘ We were sent up here with you to be witnesses to your finding this money, and we have seen you dig it up. That isas far as our real business in the matter goes. On the other hand, here is a murderous Mexican on the Tampage with a gun; it is fourteen miles to the sheriff, and he would be perfectly right in giving us h— if we went back down there and told him we had let the Mexican go

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 119 “We have been waiting for you, gentlemen,’ said one of the masked men.”

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120 ~vhen we were closer to him than we are to the sheriif. Besides, looking after such cases is our proper business.” Turning to his brother officer he added: “IT think we ought to go after the Mexican.” “IT guess you are right,” returned Bailey, reluctantly. ‘‘ Perhaps you had better do it ; we'll manage alone.” Thetwo deputies itimediately turned their horses and started westward across the ranch, and Rufe, who was watching pro- ceedings from behind a huge boulder a short distance outside the fence, slapped his thigh. “Tl eat my shirt if they didn’t fall tor it!” he said grinning, as he came down to where Dan was holding his horse. ‘ The deputies are riding towards Cross’s place, and our friends are coming out through the gate now.” From a slight eminence they watched the pair till they saw them turn towards Ladder Canyon. Taking a short cut, the cow- punchers entered the head of the canyon and followed the tortuous trail till they came to where the road reached the bottom. Leaving their horses in hiding, they impro- vised masks for their faces from their hand- kerchiefs, and then, loosening their revolvers in their holsters, they slid silently down to the road. THE HOLD-UP. Scarcely ten minutes passed before they heard Bailey and his companion approach- ing. Utterly unconscious of danger, the two men rode into the cow-punchers’ line of vision. Automatically, and without the slightest hesitation, their hands flew upward as two masked fiends, it seemed to them, sprang out of the earth in front of them with levelled pistols. “We have been waiting for you, gentle- men,”’ said one of the masked men. ‘ We will relieve you of this package on the back of your saddle.’” He handed his gun to his companion and stepped quickly to the horse carrying the bundle, unfastened and removed the sack, and then said, quietly :— “This is all we want. You can go now.” Bailey was fairly bursting with rage. ‘ I'll fix you for this,’”’ he snarled. ““ Beat it quick,”’ snapped the bandit, “ or I won't let you go at all. Beat it before I feed you to the wolves.” “Here they come at last!” said Mr. Bain. For the fiftieth time he had nervously made the trip to the front of the hotel and stared anxiously down the street. Now he went to the door and motioned to Mcl*ee, who had concealed his anxiety much better than the older man. The two men were standing by the road- side when the two envoys rode up. As they dismounted McI‘ee noticed that the backs of the saddles were void of any incumbrance. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. He shot a quick glance of inquiry at Bailey, who said dejectedly, ‘‘ Come to the room.” “Now, then, what’s the trouble? ’”’ demanded Bain, as soon as the door closed. “We were held up and robbed,” groaned Ryan, as he dropped stiffly into a chair. “Held up!" echoed Mclee, in amaze- ment. ‘‘ Who held you up?” “TI don’t know for sure, but I think it was those two cow-punchers that live up there,” answered Ryan. As he spoke he noticed a look of suspicion appear in Bain’s eyes. The general manager had worried himself almost into ap illness during the past week, and—always of an irascible disposition— he now jumped to the conclusion that all was not as it should be. A look of deepening contempt spread over his features. ‘‘ What became of those two deputies?” he said, with asperity. Bailey was too tired and discouraged to answer. He glanced across at Ryan, who told the story of what had happened from the time the cowmen came up to them in the garden until they had been held up at the point of the pistol by the two masked men at the bottom of the canyon. He explained that nothing else had been taken but the money-sack, and wound up by saying the men had stated that the package on the back of the saddle was “ all that they wanted.” “‘ Well, that was quite enough,” observed McFee, grimly. As the three men talked, trying to decide what was the best course of action to pursue, Bain sat glowering at the floor. He was rapidly reviewing the events of the past few weeks, and the more he thought over them the worse they seemed, till at last he became certain that his suspicions were correct. Mclee was standing by a window, staring from time to time at the street below. Bailey and Ryan were sitting hunched pain- fully in their chairs. Without giving it really serious consideration the thought came to McFee that it was just possible that Bailey and Ryan had “ put one over on him” by making away with the money themselves, and were now telling the hold-up story to cover their tracks. Bain, curiously enough, was thinking along the same lines, and as Ryan finished a sentence he voiced his thoughts aloud. “Do you expect me to believe any such Tot as that ? ”’ he growled. Bailey looked his astonishment at the implied accusation. ‘‘ Whether you do or not, it’s the truth,” he replied gravely. McFee shot a glance at his employer, and then looked at Ryan, who said: ‘Do you mean to insinuate that we stole that money?” His voice was low and menacing. Instead of quailing before the detective's anger the old man became more infuriated. “ Yes, by heavens, I do,’ he snarled. ‘‘ And I'm not sure that all three of you are not

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. mixed up in it!’ His glance travelled over them swiftly. “ I’ve been against this frame- up from the first, but every possible argu- ment has been brought forward to make me believe it was the only way to get at this man—and I expect it ts the only one that could be used against an innocent man! And you have been cunning enough to get me involved so that I can’t hit back at you.” “ Be careful!” broke in Ryan. ‘‘ You've said pretty nearly enough.” “T haven't said as much as I’m going to——”’ - “Mr. Bain, you are all wrong,” inter- rupted McFee, anxious to make peace. *‘ I’ve explained. ne “Explained be hanged!"’ broke in the old man, beside himself at the word. “ All you’ve done is to ‘explain’! I can’t help saying it, McFee, but it looks as though I was surrounded by thieves!” Ryan got stiffly to his feet and advanced toward the manager, but Mcl’ee stepped between them and pushed the detective back. “Careful, Ryan,” he said, quietly. “I'm not going to strike the old idiot,” cried Ryan, “ but I won’t let him sit there and call me a thief.” At that Bain turned purple and sprang to his feet. Thrusting McKee aside he shook his fist in the younger man’s face and fairly shouted: ‘‘ You are a thief!’ he roared. “* You're a set of infernal thieves, all of you ! I see it now—you have worked me for a sucker, and. ie “* You'll regret that remark as long as you live,” retorted Ryan, hotly. ““Let me see you make me regret it!” shouted the enraged old man. “I'll do that very thing,” returned Ryan viciously, and he strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. When he had gone Bain sat down, panting, and glared at the others. McKee tried to pacify him, but all to no purpose. The manager had started out with the idea that he was the victim of a conspiracy, and now he would not acknowledge to himself that he might be wrong, but held doggedly to the notion. Feeling that he might have gone a little too far with his accusations, however, he said in a slightly modified voice : ‘“‘ Where has that infernal pup gone to?” “ You'll find out soon enough,” growled Bailey. Meanwhile the irate Ryan had rushed out into the street, intent on giving his angry feelings an outlet in some direction or other. Every bone and muscle in his body ached from the last twenty-four hours of forced action. This, with the depression he natur- ally felt at being robbed, had put a raw edge on his temper. When, to cap it all, this irascible old man took up the position that they were in league to rob him, and flatly accused them, it was more than his Irish blood could stand. Vol. L—8. 121 The first man he saw as he emerged from the hotel was Charley Crane. Ryan hailed him, and as he came up, said: ‘I wish you would go to Keene’s place with me; I want to see him.” The under-sheriff was somewhat surprised at the request, but refrained from making any comment. Keenes’ home was not very far away, and as they approached they saw their man in front of the house, working about the yard. He also saw them, and his face went white. For one wild second he felt like running away, but he put the thought aside as quickly as it came. Never- theless it was with a sinking heart that he saw the two men turn to speak to him as they came opposite. A SURPRISE FOR GEORGE KEENE. George came up to them when they reached the gate, and Crane introduced Ryan. “He has something to tell you,” he explained to George. “Yes, Mr. Keene, I have,” said Ryan, and proceeded to explain the situation as it then stood, even going into the details of “ planting’ the money and taking the deputies with them as witnesses. He de- scribed the ruse the cowmen used to get them out of the way, “ for I feel sure they are the men who held us up. And now,” he went on, ‘‘ the ‘ old man’ has gone crazy and accused us of putting up a job on him.” He stopped, spread out his hands expres- sively, and concluded: “So there it is. You know everything now, and you can go as far as you like. I’m not asking any favours at your hands: I’m in it as badly as the others. It’s up to you; you've got a splendid case.” eorge was now breathing freely again. The situation was so far from what he had any right to expect that he felt like shouting, but caught himself in time to avoid unseemly mirth when the proper thing to do was to show indignation, if not real anger. Even though he had become something of an adept, during the last few weeks, at con- cealing his real feelings, the change from cold fear to exultation was so complete that he had to turn his back for a second till he could call up a frown, and he was so inte- tested in the effort that he overlooked the main reason for the detective’s appearance before him—the hold-up, which was the direct cause of the row that had caused Ryan to turn traitor. Without taking into consideration any part of the detective’s statement except that he had ‘‘a splendid case,’” Keene decided to assume the ré/e of the victim of a vicious conspiracy. He shot a few rapid-fire ques- tions at the detective and the under-sheritt relative to the proper procedure to adopt, and was informed that he could have the guilty parties arrested at once.

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122 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. « All right; I'll do that,” he said fiercely. “Where do I have to go to get the warrants sworn out ?” he asked. Crane thought rapidly. He wanted to help his friend in this emergency, and, know- ing that the detective might deny his con- fession if given time for retlection, he decided on quick action. ‘‘ You don’t need warrants in a case of this kind for twenty-four hours after the arrests have been made,” he explained. ‘‘ You take Ryan with you; Vil go and arrest the others and meet you at the sheriff's office in half an hour.” This was duly done, and Sheriff Beverly was swept completely off his feet when the six men confronted him and George Keene— whom he had hoped sooner or later to have for a prisoner—appeared before him in the réle of prosecuting witness against the very people Beverly felt sure he had been robbing ! The situation unravelled itself with astonishing rapidity. When Crane and his prisoners confronted the others in the small office, Bain advanced threateningly toward Ryan. In a voice bordering on frenzy he shouted: “‘ So this is your game, is it—turning State’s evidence ? You hound, _ 1 ‘Get it off your chest, you poor fool,” interrupted Ryan, with a wicked smile; “I have no regrets.” ““Now, see here, cut out that kind of talk,” said McFee, quietly. Then he turned to Keene. ‘‘ Are you going to push this thing ? ”’ he demanded. The agent had been thinking seriously during the last half hour, and was very undecided how to proceed. He knew that for the present he held the winning card. He felt that he must take advantage of the situation and use it, at least to a certain extent; but deep in his heart he knew himself for the thief the others suspected him of being. In the circumstances, there- fore, the frame-up—from their point of view, at least—was permissible. On the other hand they, too, had broken the law, and very seriously, in conspiring against a man of whose guilt, as he believed, they had no direct evidence. On that point he would be justfied in going the limit. But there was still another phase to consider. In the final reckoning with himself that he realized was bound to come sooner or later, however he might excuse himself for deliberately steal- ing the money, he knew he could never forgive himself if he was the cause of sending this old man Bain, who had _ suffered such fearful losses at his hands, to jail. Moreover, Bain, by denouncing the men he suspected were conspiring against him, had shown that he secretly believed Keene to be innocent. As a matter of safety George decided to postpone his final decision, In answer to Fee’s question, therefore, he said: ‘* You would have pushed your case against me; a it stands I don’t see any other way out of it.” Bain had weakly dropped into a chair, mopping his bald head dejectedly. He looked at the others, scattered about in various attitudes—some sitting in the few seats; Ryan _half-leaning on the desk; Keene standing by the door. “I’m sure I don’t know what to do,” groaned the old man, miserably. Just then an idea came to Ryan. “ I'll tell you what we can do,” he said. “ The chances are that those hold-ups will never be heard of again, and a Bain leaned forward quickly. “You scoundrel,” he cried, ‘‘ you : Ryan raised his hand. ‘ Hold on, old man, till 1 get through talking,”’ he snapped. “Those men will never he heard from, and, such being the case, we can go ahead with this thing just as we had planned it. Keene is alone, he has no witnesses ; we can arrest him and go to court.” He looked defiantly at the agent, who had half turned toward him. ‘‘ All you will have to do,” he added, “is to get another sack of money to use as evidence——”” Bain glared balefully at the detective. “Say, you fool, this is too serious a matter to joke about,” he spluttered. ‘ Dig up more money ?_ What do you take me for I’ve dug up all the money I’m going to!” “You're still standing on the proposition that I’m the thief ?’’ said Keene, angrily to Ryan. “You are the thief—and you know it!” George made a quick movement, but the sheriff jumped between them. “ Careful, Ryan, whom you are calling a thief,” he said meaningly. . Further discussion was interrupted by a clatter of hoofs outside. Two men dis- mounted, ran up the steps, and rushed into the room. ‘‘ There is your dirty money!” cried Stanford, as he cast a sack on to the desk and glared around. ‘ You can’t hang no frame-up on any friend of ours!” The action had such an air of determina- tion and finality about it, and the words were snapped out in such ringing tones, that for a moment Keene stared in dumb amaze- ment at the two men. Then there flashed into his mind a realization of the fearful risk they had run in doing this thing. Believing him, their friend, to be an innocent man, they had jeopardized their liberty, even their lives, to safeguard him from the results of his own folly! For the first time in his life George realized what real friend- ship meant. “Good: heavens, boys!" he said. ‘ Do you know what you have done?” ‘Well, I reckon we do,” answered Stan- ford, smiling. ‘‘ We've kept a mighty good man from going to jail on a frame-up.”” “ But—but you might have been killed, man ! ”’ stammered George. He looked from

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 123 Stanley LWeo “*There is your dirty money !’ cried Stanford.”

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124 one to the other as though he did not quite understand, ‘‘ And you did this for me?” Overcome, he sagged down into a chair and stared at the floor. Ryan, of all the men in the room, was the only one who paid particular attention to the agent’s distress. He nodded his head understandingly and smiled sardonically to himself. The astonished sheriff turned from the desk and, pointing his finger at the cowmen, said : do you realize that this is a serious business ? ” “It isn’t half as serious as it would have been if this outfit had put it over,” retorted Stanford, defiantly. “‘ You don’t need to think you can scare me, sheriff. I know what it is to be behind the bars, staring helplessly outward : I know what it means to stand in the dock, innocent of any crime, and have the district attorney tear what little respect the community might have had for me to tatters.” He paused, overcome by _ his excitement, and the men at the desk turned to stare at him. “Tl stake my life on this man’s inno- cence,” he continued, waving his hand towards Keene, huddled in the chair, ‘ but, even if he was guilty, no contemptible hounds shall come down here to send a friend of mine to jail on a frame-up.”” He paused again, and the sheriff broke in :— “Nevertheless, you can be arrested for this,”” he said, “even if you have returned the money.” “WE'LL ALL GO TO JAIL TOGETHER!” “ Arrest us, and be d—— to you!” broke in Dale, who was beginning to enjoy the mix-up. ‘ While we are about it, we'll have everybody arrested, and all go to jail together. And we'll fight it out on these lines, take it from me.” Meanwhile dusk was gathering outside, and the two deputies who had gone to look for the supposed murderer arrived in town, after much hard riding, ‘‘ mad clear through.” They rode straight up to the jail, and as they were wearily dismounting one of them said : “There are their horses! They must be inside!” Quickly they went inside and, after staring for a moment at the crowd, one of them strode up to Rufe and demanded angrily : “What’s the big idea, sending us off on that wild goose chase?” “T did that to keep from having to kill you,” answered the cowman, = smiling pleasantly. . ‘1 don’t understand,” said the man, his eyes roving in puzzled fashion over the group in the office. “Well, you will,” Ryan told him, with a grin. ‘If yon keep still a few minutes and listen, you'll learn a lot.” “Crane,” broke in the sheriff, who was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. somewhat angered at his assistant’s action, “who told you to bring Mr. Bain and the others up here?” * Nobody,’”’ answered Crane. “I did it on my own hook. When Ryan hailed me on the street and asked me where Keene lived I knew something was in the wind, and then, when he confessed about the frame-up, I knew the time to grab it was when it was hot, for if Ryan had time to cool off he could deny it, and Keene would be helpless.” “Are you aware that, as an officer, you are expected to be neutral in matters of this kind ? " asked the sheriff, quietly. “Ordinarily, yes; but this man is a particular friend of mine, and you have known all along how I stood in this business. I didn’t intend him to be railroaded to the ‘pen’ on a trumped-up charge so long as it could be prevented by a little quick action on my part.” ‘‘ All the same,” contended the sheriff, “your action was unwarranted.” ’ snapped Crane, with some heat. ‘ssion, as you know, can be denied at any time, even after a trial has been called, and the law stands for it. I acted in the interests of simple justice by bringing these men here. I knew Ryan was confessing just because he was angry, and I didn’t propose to give him time to reconsider things. If I was going to keep George out of jail I had to stir up the mess at once.” “ And you have certainly madea very good job of it,” said Stanford, laughing, as he looked round the crowded room. “All this talk isn’t getting us anywhere,” growled Bailey. ‘‘ The thing now is to con- sider what is going to be done. You say something, Don.” 7 “I don’t know what in thunder to say,” confessed Mclee, ‘‘ unless, as that man says, all of us go to jail.” “I don’t want to go to jail,” said Bain, rousing up. He turned to Keene. “ Isn’t there some way we can fix this up, young man?” “‘] don’t know what to do,” answered Keene, miserably. “Buy him off,” suggested Ryan, mali- ciously ; ‘ he’ll make terms.” “That’s the stuff—buy him off,” said Stanford, winking at Keene. All this time the agent's lost nerve was slowly returning. As he looked up at Bain’s question, he caught Ryan’s expression, which was eloquent of danger. It electrified him to the knowledge that he was far from safe. He felt he was facing a crisis; that hatchet-faced detective might at any moment say something that would turn the scale against him. As this thought flashed over him he even regretted his answer to the older man, and he was relieved when Ryan merely suggested buying him off. At that moment he feared the detective more than

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. anyone else. His friends also: were there; they had to be considered, and it was up to him to protect them as well as himself. Once again his normal self, George gave the detective a defiant look and said: ‘“ All right ; buy me off. Make your offer!” McFee chimed in at this point. ‘“ Keene,”’ he said earnestly, ‘“‘I am a party to this thing, but I swear we had no intention of sending you to the ‘ pen.’ We suspected: you, and were using this means to try to scare you into some sort of admission, We have lost out. If money will buy you off, name your price, and I will go my full length to pay my part.” Feeling that this would stave off the immediate results of the disaster Mr. Bain brightened up somewhat. ‘' Yes, Keene, that’s a good idea,’”’ he put in. ‘‘ You area poor man; we will give you five thousand dollars to drop it.” ‘‘T want it understood that I don’t pay a cent,” broke in Ryan quickly. “‘And I want it understood,” retorted Keene, ‘‘ that there is ‘ nothing doing’ for five thousand dollars. I’m not taking myself into consideration in this matter; my friends here risked everything that man holds dear to keep you from jailing me on a frame-up. It’s all very well, now we have the advantage, to say you would not have pushed the case. Supposing I had had. no friends to take chances on their lives for my sake? How about my dear old mother —how long do you think she would live, with me in jail ? She wouldn't have known that you did not intend to send me to the ‘pen * unless I confessed; she would have sat at home eating her heart out in the maisery of uncertainty and disgrace.” George's tirade was bitter, for deep in his heart he was suffering torments. Every werd he uttered was.an arraignment of hin» self. He alone, he knew, was the sole cause of everything. The longer he talked, the more fearful he beeame that he- would make some vital mistake in handling this, the supreme crisis of his life. Though his face was distorted with passion, he was in almost a panic of fear as he strode to the desk, and grasping the sack of money, lifted it up. ‘I'll take this and call it off,” he concluded. “Or, by cripes, we'll push the case,” supplemented Stanford. Bain was in agony. “ But, good heavens, man!” he cried- in a frenzy, ‘‘ there are fifty-eight thousand dollars in that sack!’ ‘Fine!’ retorted Keene. “‘ That is. the amount of the last robbery, isn’t it?” Ryan’s eyes contracted to pin-points. “Your demands are exorbitant,” MeFee firmly. ‘ They can’t be met.” “And what were your demands?” growled Stanford. ‘‘ Nothing, but a man’s life and a mother’s disgrace. Give them.their money—”’ heturned to Keene—."' we'll said 125 push the case!’’ And he moved towards the door, “Hold on; don’t go!’’ exclaimed Bain, almost in tears. ‘‘ For Heaven's sake take it, and let us get out of this fearful mess, I’m sick of the whole thing: Take the money and get out of sight with it.” No one said a word as the three men left them. As he was passing through the doer Rufe turned and, lowering one eyelid, drawled: “I'll bet four bits that no one holds us up!” When they had gone the sheriff looked from one man to another for a full minute. Then he turned to Crane with just a trace of annoyance in his manner and _ said: “Charley, I guess you and the other boys had better go to supper, hadn't you ? ” Crane grinned understandingly and; fol- lowed by the deputies, left the office. ‘““ Now, then,” said Beverly, after they had gone, ‘‘are you going to let him get away with it?’ - Bain leaned. forward quickly. ‘‘ Why, Mr. Beverly, you don’t still think he is guilty, do you?” “More than ever, sherift decisively. “Say, Don,” said Bailey. ‘‘ Up in D—— the other day you said you had a last card to play if the frame-up failed.” Bain glanced from one to another about him. Instead of encountering resentment for his tirade of accusation against them he only saw patient consideration for his position—except in the case of Ryan, whose face was a mask of indifference. ‘‘ I’m soery, boys, for accusing you,” he stammered. “ Oh, forget that phase of the business, Mr. Bain.” interrupted Ryan. “‘ That’s ancient history. What is this card you have up your sleeve, Don? Let's hear it.” ” sir,” answered . the McFEE’S TRUMP CARD. “Well, my idea is to arrest that man who left the cash-box alone with Keene on the night the car was wrecked here in the yards. McCoy is with him, you know. We can have the trial in D——, where the robbery was disclosed, and get this man Keene -up there as a witness. We will bring all three men in, and use the other two for witnesses. The newspapers must be in a measure mis- informed as.to when the robbery took place, so. as to give the impression that it was. the second, instead of the third robbery, that is being brought to trial. This will give Keene an opportunity to entangle himself when he is testifying. You understand that he only saw the man during the half-hour the box was in the oftice, and may not recognize him. As I said once before, it isa forlorn hope, but if he does. remember the man he will be on his guard. We may be able to. have Keene so questioned’ by the attorney that he will show he knows there

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126 was a third robbery committed—and if he does then we can have him brought to trial on the charge of grand larceny, with a reasonable degree of certainty of conviction.” “ And if you get a conviction,” objected the sheriff, ‘ he can come back on you with a charge of conspiracy in this frame-up, which will still be hanging fire.” “And if he does,”” returned Ryan, “ we can get him for accepting a bribe in a criminal action—and he can come back on us again for offering a bribe in a criminal action. Then we can get his friends for robbing us, and then, on the face of it, this trial we are contemplating will show it to be another frame-up, and a more serious one, by the way, than the other, for we are monkeying with the dignity of the courts. Oh, h—, it’s the worst mess I ever got into!” “‘Mess!’’ broke in Bailey. “‘ It’s worse than that—it’s a tragedy!” “‘ Good heavens !’’ groaned Bain. ‘“ What on earth can we do? My company is out nearly two hundred and seventy-five thou- sand dollars, including this sack of money they just now took away. Isn’t there any way to get hold of him?” “It looks as if we shall have to take the district attorney into our confidence,’’ sug- gested Bailey. ‘‘ How about that, Don ? ” asked the old man hopefully. "We can do that through your attorney,” answered the detective thoughtfully. ‘‘ He can assist the district attorney, and cover the attorney’s action in the matter by making the examination of Keene himself. There can be no objection to the questioning except through the counsel for the defence, and as Keene will be supposed to be a witness for the prosecution counsel won't be likely to interfere with anything that is going to help his client. What do you think of it, Beverly ?” . ‘I think your idea is good, and I believe you can get away with it. But if Keene tumbles to it, and doesn’t fall into the trap, what then?” “In that case Mr. Bain’s attorney will have to ask for a dismissal of the case against this man for want of evidence. It will not do to let the case go to the jury, for one never. knows what a jury-will do, and we dare not take chances of sending a man we know is innocent to prison.” “ And then, after all this has been done, and the case is dismissed and Keene is free, and the prisoner is discharged, and the Com- pany is still out a quarter of a million dollars, and all this other stuff is hanging fire—what will you do?” asked Ryan, maliciously. “ Then I guess you will have the job of becoming a rancher on that hill till such time as that infernal thief concludes to dispose of his loot,’’ answered Don, grimly. Mrs. Keene was surprised to speechless- ness when, after she had waited supper an THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. interminable time, George and the two cow- men stalked into the house, and Keene, in an awe-struck voice, said: ‘‘ Look here, mother!” With that he untied the strap from around the sack and dumped the con- tents on the dining-room table. The explanations that followed bewildered the old lady even more than the sight of the money. Insisting on the cowmen staying for supper, she set plates for them while George stuffed the piles of bills back in the sack. During the meal the situation was discussed at length. As the affair began to take shape in her mind, Mrs. Keene lodged an objection. “‘ Is it right for you to keep the money, George ? ”’ she asked. ‘“‘ Isn’t it like accepting a bribe, or something ?” ‘‘ Yes, mother, it is; but it is the only thing that will make me safe from their per- secution, for some of them still think I robbed the Company, and as long as they think that way I'd better hold on to it.” “ But if they should find the real thief ? ’” She looked at them inquiringly. George hesitated, and Rufe answered for him. ‘‘ Then, Mrs. Keene,” he said, ‘‘ George will be safe in returning it.” “Tam glad you said that, Rufe,” said Keene, earnestly. ‘‘ You boys took fearful chances in doing this, and I have been won- dering what you would think was the best thing for me to do. Even though they are guilty of a crime in framing me up, I should never feel perfectly free in my mind if I kept it.” “1 know how you feel about it,” returned Rufe, ‘‘ and I said that so you could return it when this affair blows over. Until it does blow over, however, you hang on to it, for as long as the reward is offered that hatchet- faced ‘ geologist’ fellow is going to try to find someone to prosecute, take it from me.” In the general conversation that followed Keene learned that the cowmen were in- tending to ship some “ feeders ”’ during the next few days, and after bidding them good- night he became thoughtful. Ever since the happenings in the sheriff’s office that evening George had determined to return the stolen money, which was be- coming more hateful to him every hour. The information that his friends were going to ship made it necessary for him to advance his plans. With this idea in mind, George arranged with his mother to hand in his notice to quit his job, call on Minnie and acquaint her with all the facts that appeared on the surface, and then go to his ranch for a few days. At the uptown office, where he went next day to notify his retirement and get what money was due to him, he learned that the - Company’s officials had left for D—— on ‘No. 6.” Late in the afternoon he drove to the ranch, and during the next few days busied himself ostensibly in building fences

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. and gathering a load of new potatoes to take to the mountains, where he could get a better price for them than in the valley. Meanwhile his friends collected a few head of beef steers off the range to add to those they already had in Keene's pasture to make up a shipment. Then came the day when they were to “drive the beef to the valley, and with it arrived the time of the most intense personal interest to George Keene. The cowmen started in the early morning, leaving George a full day to make final preparations for the trip he feared, yet knew he must make. First he built a strong box of sufficient size to hold the three sacks of money that lay buried only a few feet from where he worked. Then he backed the truck out into the sunlight and went over it carefully from one end to the other, tightening a nut here, adjusting a wire there, till he felt there was nothing in the mechanical line to prevent a successful issue of the adventure before him. It was sundown, and the dusk was.gather- ing before he dared to exhume the sacks which, once brought to the light of day, would become a burden, the disposal of which was practically a life-or-death matter to him and those he loved. With the truck backed up to the basement door he busied himself in- side. As he placed the last parcel in the box, a whimsical smile crossed his face, and he picked up a square of pasteboard and, care- fully printing a few words on it in big letters, laid it on top of the valuable contents. Then he nailed on the lid. The box was now quite heavy, and it took all his strength to load it into the truck among the sacks and boxes of vegetables. A last glance round the base- ment to make sure that everything looked natural; then he closed the door and with a deep-drawn sigh and a prayer for luck, drove away. It was still early in the night when he crossed Powder River bridge, and, a short distance farther on, traversed the railroad that ran to the mountains. There he was hailed by Barney, who had been to the rail- road bridge on a casual inspection tour. With a muttered imprecation George slacked up just enough to greet him and say that he was taking a load of vegetables to the moun- tains, When the conference broke up in the sheriff's office, it was decided that McFee was to bring McCoy and the three men he was shadowing to D. , the lean man as a prisoner, and the other two guards as wit- nesses. At D.- he would meet Bain and Bailey. In the meantime Ryan was to watch the agent to make sure he did not attempt to get out of the country with his loot. Thus it came about that Ryan was idling around the town with Charley Crane when the two cowmen drove their beef steers into the stock-yards. ‘127 On the plea that he ‘‘ would rather not,” when Charley suggested that they should go and have a talk with them, Ryan turned toward his hotel, while the under-sheriff joined his friends as they ‘‘ hazed” the animals into the chutes. Tired of his enforced inactivity, but alive to the truth of the saying that ‘* Everything comes to him who waits,”” Ryan spent the afternoon as best he might, and late in the evening went to the station to go the rounds with Barney before turning in. As he was returning to the hotel he remembered that Barney had mentioned meeting Keene that evening over on the railroad, and that the former agent was on his way to Ophic with a load of vegetables. Ryan had paid no attention to the remark at the time, but now it suddenly occurred to him that there might be another reason for the trip. DETECTIVE RYAN GETS AN IDEA. From the detective’s point of view, it seemed strange that a man who had just received upwards of fifty-eight thousand dollars in cash should make a night trip of a hundred miles to sell “‘ spuds ” in the moun- tain market! The fact that, if his deduc- tions were correct, this same man had over two hundred thousand more dollars hidden somewhere that he was anxious to make available for future use, made it indeed singular if there was not some other reason. The more he thought of it the more certain Ryan became that this nocturnal journey was worth looking into. Hastening his steps, he passed the hotel and entered a garage, where he roused the night man, to whom he offered a tempting sum if he would drive him to Ophir that evening, starting at once. Grumbling from habit, but nevertheless accepting the lure eagerly, the young man, who was really a dare-devil driver, con- sented, and in an incredible short time they were on the road, racing against a handicap of several hours in favour of the pseudo vegetable-peddler. While this was transpiring McFee had arranged his programme so that everything was ready for the preliminary hearing of the case of the lean man, held on the charge of grand larceny, and he had that evening sent a wire to Sheriff Beverly to subpoena George Keene to appear in D—— within forty-eight hours as a witness for the prosecution. Shortly after Ryan had started on his wild ride to the mountains the sheriff handed Crane the summons, with the remark that it was a “ Forthwith ” order from the D Court, sent by McFee; and the under-sheriff had been under court orders long enough to know that ‘ Forthwith ”’ meant just that, and nothing else. So, diving into the basement of the jail, he dragged out the motor-cycle which was used for emer- gency riding and, having learned from the

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128 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cewmen that afternoon that his quarry was somewhere on the rough road to the north, he started manfully on his errand. Of the three widely- separated parties now journeying through the night, each participant eagerly and anxiously scanning the track be- fore him, George Keene, the leader, who had the most to lose and the most to gain, according as Fate willed it, was easing his truck over the rough places and speeding up when the going was smooth, all unconscious that Dame Fortune, perched on a certain heavy square box just behind him, was sting anxious glances to the rear. As the danger there crept closer and ever closer Dame Fortune became more agitated, and must in some subtle way have in- fluenced the lonely driver, for he began. to grow restless ‘and “in- creased his speed. “George v nodding —mentally as well as physically fatigued— but he drove doggedly on, determined not to close his eyes in sleep again till he had rid himself of the incubus now brought from its hiding place. Of late he had fallen into the habit of talk- ing to himself, and now his lips moved as he drove: - ‘‘ What has fate in.store for me ? ” he muttered. - ‘‘ Why to-night, of all nights, should I meet Barney ? It is probably the first time for months that he has been out to that bridge. ~That devil Ryan is sure to go to the station and will see Barney, who, in his ramblings, will say he saw me going tothe mountains. © Ryan, with his cunning, will-put-two and two together and make a sum total that may cause him to head me ‘off with a telephone’ call somewhere. But, thank Heaven, the towns'are far apart and small, and if I have to I will give them a rare run for their money.” Unlike the driver of the truck, who was conserving his power, the man behind the wheel of Ryan’s car drove furiously, heedless of anything but covering ground, with the result that by the time half the distance to the mountain town had been traversed the oa “*What in the world are you doing radiator was boiling over and the engine was “missing” badly. Ryan sat with his feet braced against the dash till his body became rigid, and the oftener the motor missed fire the harder he shoved, Finally the engine gave a despairing gasp

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. or two and gave up the ghost. The infuriated detective jumped out, ran to the road in front, and shook his fist at the faint red tail-light visible far ahead. “Curse you!”’ he shouted, “I'll get you yet!” The driver, with his head under the hood, here ?’ asked the surprised under-sheriff.” was feverishly examining the wiring, which was _ wellnigh red-hot, wondering mean- while if he would have to walk back to town. ‘* What is the matter with the thing?” growled the irate Ryan, as he came’ back 129 alongside, and thrusting his head inside the hood, glared at the motor. ‘‘] don’t know,” ‘answered the driver, “but they get this way, you know, after they have been bounced over this kind of road at top-speed for fifty miles or so.” “Can't you fix it?’’ demanded the detective. “I think so, after it has cooled off a bit. But what's your hurry ? We are half-way there; we'll make it if she hangs together.” “Why, confound it, man, the fellow I’m after was just ahead when we stopped; I could see the tail-light of his car !’” “Oh, it’s a man you're after, is it? I thought you just wanted to get to Ophir as soon as you could. You gave no reason for your hurry, you know. Why don’t you head him off with the telephone and then over- haul him at your leisure?” “IT want to avoid publicity if I can,” lied the detective. He did not care to divulge the fact that he was not anxious to divide the reward that was offered for the apprehension of the Express thief. In the mean- time, Charley Crane, on his motor-bicycle, was covering the miles in a more leisurely manner, knowing that his man would be available at the end of the night’s * run—or sooner if he should happen toovertake him— and that, if neces- sary, he could order him to store his truck and take the train for the city. And now let us return to George Keene, still pounding along ; the mountain road. Streaks of grey dawn appeared above the hill-tops on his right, and he looked at his watch. ‘' After five o'clock,” he muttered to himself. ‘‘ Ten miles yet to go and the train leaves at six. I'll make it all right!” He was breathing more easily now. The last

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130 THE WIDE WORLD town between him and his destination had been passed, and no one had attempted to interfere with him, and he feit that, perhaps, after all, his forebodings were the result of his mental and physical weariness. DISASTER. Away behind him the racer had again taken up the pursuit. Ryan, under the curt orders of his driver, had made trip after trip to a ditch and carried water in his hat to refill the radiator. After what seemed to the anxious detective an interminable time daylight came, and the driver, casting what little caution he had used heretofore to the winds, recklessly opened the throttle to the limit. The car, taking the bit in its teeth, literally sprang into the air. The right front wheel struck the side of the rutted road, and in the twinkling of an eye the car had sped its length up the hillside; then, with a sickening lurch, it turned completely over. The occupants scrambled out as best they could, luckily unhurt. “T can tell you what is the matter this time,” said the driver, quietly, as he brushed the dirt from his clothes. “No doubt,” answered Ryan savagely, as he stared at the wreck. “ Any fool could do that.” There was not a sign of a habitation in sight, nor did a dog bark anywhere to indi- cate that anybody lived near them. They were utterly alone among the mountains. The narrowness of their escape from death when the car turned over had taken some of the “ ginger ’’ out of the detective. “What in thunderation are we going to do now ?”’ he asked gravely. ‘‘ lé looks as if we might be a million miles from any- where.” “We are just about that far—that is, if we have to walk,’’ vouchsafed the driver, as he lighted a cigarette. ‘‘ It is ten miles to Ophir, and at least as many back to the last place we passed.” Dully, like a man facing defeat, Ryan looked at his watch. ‘ Five-thirty,’’ he said to himself. ‘“ And the train leaves at six,” he added, after consulting the time-table he always carried. Just then, in the distance, he heard the MAGAZINE. sputtering of a motor-cycle, and stepped out into the road as Crane came to a stop before him. , “What in the world are you doing here?” asked the surprised under-sheriff. “[’ve been chasing that man Keene all ight,”” answered Ryan. So? I’m after him myself. you want him for?” “Well, Barney told me last night that Keene had gone to the mountains with a load of vegetables. It seemed darned strange to me that a man who has just been handed a sack full of money should have to haul spuds round in ‘the night, so I got it into my head that he had dug up the money he has stolen from the Express Company and was shipping it from up here to himself somewhere else. I knew, if such was the case, that if 1 could overtake him 1 would have him dead to rights.” “You are still certain that he stole that money, are you?” “Sure he stole it; and I would have caught him, too, if we hadn’t got wrecked.” “Well, now, that’s too bad !’’ cried Crane satirically. ‘‘ I’m sorry you didn’t catch up with him, for if you had he would have given you the licking you deserve and then gone on about his business! If this machine would carry double I would take you along with me, just to see the fun.” With that he started the motor again and added: ‘‘ L'll send an outfit down here to pick you up.” Then he drove away. Half an hour later Crane stopped before a general store where Keene was_ busily engaged in unloading the truck. He duly served the subpoena, and George, after reading it, said : ‘‘ I’m dead tired now. It you will let me sleep till noon 1 can take you and your machine on the truck. We'll get back to the Junction in plenty of time tor me to catch ‘No. 6’ to-night, which will land me in D before ten to-morrow.” His heart leaped in aftright when Crane told him of the detective who had chased him all night, only to drop out when the car overturned, and he fervently thanked Providence for the fortunate combination of circumstances which had given him time to ship that awful load of responsibility back to its rightful owners. What do Keene is by no means safe yet. What will happen when McFee springs his carefully-laid trap? Don’t miss next month’s concluding instalment.

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Major Allen carrying a captured camp. leopard to Told by MAJOR JACK ALLEN, and set down by ELLIOT BAILEY. This remarkable article, with the unique photographs that accompany it, is calcu- lated to make the ordinary big-game hunter blink with amazement, for it de- scribes feats which seem well-nigh in- credible—the capture alive, in their native haunts, of such formidable beasts as jaguars, leopards, and tigers with no other equipment than lassoes, lengths of chain, and bare hands! “From first to last, except in the utmost ex- tremity of self-defence,” says Major Allen, “I never use a gun.” * YRE embarking upon this count of some of my big-game experiences, | wish to emphasize that from first to last, except in the utmost extremity of self-defence, I never use a gun. Bare hands and a rope, that is all, and the animal—whether wolf, tiger, or whatever it may be—consequently arrives at the Zoo, private collection, or menagerie for which it is designed entirely uninjured and very much alive. That point quite clear, I will begin my reminiscences by recalling a recent ex- pedition of mine after wolves in Canada. The wolf, although smaller than some of the other beasts I consistently tackle, is employed by Major Allen the Universal Film re now being shown

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132 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by no means to be despised as an an- tagonist; it has tremendous powers of endurance, and when cornered its ferocity is un- bounded. Its par- ticularly acute senses of hearing and smeli render it quick to detect its prey or take alarm at the presence of itsfoes. From birth the wolf is schooled to suffering by its Spartan parents, who maltreat their young, if they emit a scream of pain, by biting or dragging them by the tail. When food is plenti- ful the wolf is not particularly formid- able to mankind, but when goaded by } hunger it becomes one of the most dangerous of beasts. On the occasion which I am about to describe I had with me a com- panion, a bit of a greenhorn, whom I will call Frank, and who had, as will be seen, rather a penchant for getting into trouble. We were riding placidly along through the forest, - looking for a suitable place to camp for the night, when suddenly we caught sight of a young fawn tearing through the trees pursued by four wolves. It was obvious what the end of the chasé would be, for the little fawn was almost spent. The sight roused me to pity and to action. Springing from my horse, I landed among the wolves, who had been too intent upon their quarry to notice us, and hit out vigorously with a stout cudgel. They broke and fled, but not before I had had to shoot with my revolver one whose attentions became too persistent. However, I was not hunting them then, so the shot in question was not a blot upon my A trussed-up wolf. bloodless record. The fawn, which seemed to understand the danger from which we had saved him, we adopted as a pet, and he came with us willingly enough. . My companion, whose first encounter with wolves this was, was somewhat excited over the affair, and in front of our camp fire that night, before turning in, I am afraid I still further played upon his unaccustomed nerves by relating some tall stories of battles with these beasts. The result was that in the middle of the night 1 was awakened br the most appalling din I ever heard. started up, thinking that the dissolution of the world was the least that could be happen- ing. The fire had died down to a mere glimmer, and there was Master Frank sitting up in his blankets yelling at the top of his voice and emptying his six-shooter, shot after shot, into the last embers of the fire and some glowing points of light behind it. But these were not the shining eyes of wolves, as his nightmare-ridden mind had imagined, but merely sparks, which gave a pretty good imitation. How crestfallen he was when I explained things! But it was my fault for trying to score off a “new chum"; [ should have remembered that I myself was one once. Next day I set about laying my trap in real earnest for the wolf it was my purpose to capture alive. My method was as follows: Into the ground I drove a stout stake; then, lassoing a springy sapling, I bent this over until I was able to fasten the top of oe go Ne at Bringing home the prize.

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TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS ALIVE. it to the stake. Baiting this cunningly with a dainty morsel that I knew no wolf could resist, I ed a noose through which he must thrust his head and shoulders before he could take the bait. The result of taking this off its hook would be to release the sapling, much in the way that a mouse-tray spring is released when the cheese is remov 133 heaving flanks and red, hate-filled eyes. So securely tied was he that I slung him over my shoulder by the rope which bound him, and set off for the camp, as shown in the preceding photograph. So engrossed had I been in the capture that I had given little thought to my friend Frank. Now I wondered why he had not Hauling a lassoed jaguar out of a tree. Then I took cover and waited. Patience, . unlimited patience, is not only a virtue but a necessity in work of this kind. Possessing it, you will get your quarry at last. y In: this case Mr. Wolf duly appeared. Trotting out of the undergrowth, he smelt the bait and gingerly approached. Not moving a muscle and holding my breath, I watched him until, gaining confidence, he launched himself with a sudden dart upon his fate. There was a sort of click, the sapling sprang back to its normal position— and, snarling and struggling, dangling head- downward in mid-air, was the most amazed wolf in all America. Instantly I dashed from my place of concealment and flung another Tasto round him. With a few twists and turns, I had him trussed so securely that he could not move a limb. Then I lowered him to the ground where he lay motionless, with come up to witness the wolf's defeat. I was soon to find out the reason ; once more he had added an unintentional touch of comedy to affairs. Before rigging up the wolf's booby-trap, I had laid a more con- ventional one amongst the grass for an wandering bear who might be about. x plaintive cry now informed me that it had not been set in vain. But somehow as— still carrying my wolf—I hastened in its direction, the voice did not strike me as being much like a bear’s. At all events, it was a bear with a remarkable flow of lan- guage, which had just reached its zenith when I came upon the scene, and found the unlucky Frank securely tethered by the leg. Hearing the wolf's yelps and snarls he had rushed out of camp and promptly put his foot in the trap. Consequently he had seen nothing of the entertainment. Fortunately he was more scared than hurt—but he said that

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134 now: he had. some wolf ! It was a jaguar which provided me with a very lucrative as well as exciting episode in my career, for over his capture I won a nice Tittle bet of five thousand dollars. A certain friend of mine named Harraby, a member of the Jaguar Club of Lower Cali- fornia, wagered that I would never capture one of these ferocious and formidable animals alive, basing his contention mainly upon a personal experience of his own when travelling with a companion through the great forests of Brazil. It appears that Harraby had just shot a poisonous snake which had crossed their path. Talking over this incident they became less careful of the lurking dangers of the wild than they would sympathy for the otherwise have been. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, a jaguar sprang from the branches ofa tree, amidst the foliage of which his speckled coat had been quite invisible, straight on to the back of Harraby’s com- panion, _ bearing him to the ground and mauling him badly before Har- raby could get in the shot which saved his friend's life. Such was the impression left upon Harraby’s mind by this in- cident that he honestly believed that the task I A striking example of protective colouring. THE WIDE .WORLD MAGAZINE... After him we pelted, dogs and-men,-and to add to the din and further scare our quarry, I fired my rifle in the air. Then, all at once, he did what 1 wanted, dashing with inconceivable rapidity up a_ tree, where he crouched growling amongst the branches. I lost no time, but immediately sent a lasso soaring up towards him. It settled truly over his head, and immediately I pulled it tight and fastened my end to a convenient tree. Then, while the jaguar bit and tore at the strange thing that en- compassed him, I lassoed him again, once more making my end fast to a tree. Now came the crucial moment! Yet a third noosed rope went hurtling over him, and on this | pulled with every ounce of my strength. By this time the jaguar was a wicked, frenzied fout-footed devil of rage incarnate, lashing about in the tree in a wild endeavour to free himself from his bonds. His very fury proved his undoing, for, catching him at a favourable moment, with a mighty heave i lugged him bodily out of the tree and on to the ground. His fury was now royal, ber- serk, awe-inspir- ing. He rolled and sprang” and heaved until: I wondered whether, strong Aj in the tree-tops. as they were, the had set myself a tea = ropes: would hold. . was impossible, Watching my and he did not hesitate to back his opinion in the manner referred to abeve. Yet I got my jaguar, and, incidentally, the five thousand dollars. In the initial stages I set to work to hunt the jaguar down with dogs; knowing that once I could tree him I had some chance of using my rope to effect. I did not under-estimate the risk I ran, for the strength and agility of this great member of the cat tribe are proverbial, and I knew how well-founded Harraby’s opinion was. For some time we pushed on without success, and then the eager dogs gave tongue and ahead of us we saw a lithe, sinuous shape slinking among the trees. = After | him!” I yelled to my. com- panions. ‘ Make as much noise as you can,” opportunity, I: rushed in and. thrust a stake between his jaws,.on which he bit as if he woukl crunch-it to atoms. Then, white his attention was distracted by. the stick,..L seized him by the tail and turned-him over and over among the entangling ropes. That. was the beginning. of the end. He was defiant to the last, but finally I had him trussed. up ad beaten—a magnificent beast, one of the finest I have ever seen. He gave me one of the hardest fights I have ever had. Poor chap! Trussed as you see him in the photograph, he made the journey from. his: native . jungle lying covered with <a. tarpaulin. in the bottom of a Ford carn. It was. an inglorious. progress, and -I felt- genuinely sorry for him, for he was a worthy, antagonist. |

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TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS ALIVE. From Brazil to India seems a bit of a jump, but we must now take it if I am to givea typical instance of my _ leopard- hunting—always, of course, with a view to capturing the leopard alive. Although less powerful than the t iger—concern- ing which I shall have something to say later—the leopard is more agile and is par- ticularly difficult to capture, as, like the jaguar, it climbs trees with amazing speed and makes its escape through the branches. Like both the tiger and the jaguar it will put up a big fight for liberty, and in some ways its 2xtraordinary agility makes it more dan- gerous than either of the others. Being a carnivorous or flesh-eating animal, the leopard is a source of great annoyance to the villagers, and will watch for hours on the chance of getting hold of some wandering goat or kid. The particular animal with which I am about to deal had long made himself a nuisance in this way to the in- habitants of a certain village whose headman, just before my arrival, had at the risk of his own life snatched one of his kids— the four-legged variety, not the two-legged— almost from the jaws of the leo- pard. Therefore, hearing I was in the _neighbour- hood, they sent to me and prayed me to deliver them from the marauder. On my agreeing to do my best, the whole village turned out to meet me with The tiger trap, showing the chain-encircled opening. Majer Allen with a captured jaguar. 135 acclamations and many salaams. Shortly after- wards a wildly excited native rushed in and announced that he had _ located the leopard in a tree in the jungle not faraway. My companion — he is a modest man, so I will call him Bradley, which is not his real name —and I at once mounted our ele- phant and, with the native as guide, pushed off into the jungle. You may be sure that we kept a sharp look - out among the tree- tops as we went along, for we did not mean to give that leopard the chance of taking the offensive with one of his lightning springs. Presently the native stopped and pointed, and, sure enough, there was Mr. Leopard high up between two forked branches, ears well back and mouth open, snarling a warning to all intruders. Rapid action was the essence of success, so I did not stay to look at him long, but ordered the mahout to drive the elephant right up under the tree. Then, standing up in the howdah, I reached for the leopard with a stiff rope made of wire and cotton, with a wire noose on the end—a rope proof against anything he could do with teeth orclaws. I got it over his head and hauled, and then the fun began. Whether I pulled him bodily out of the tree, or whether he sprang, the next thing I knew was that he had landed full on top of the howdah, knocking Bradley

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136 clear off the elephant on one side, while the leopard and 1 rolled off on the other. I landed with a bump which almost - knocked the breath out of my body, but still, fortunately, retained the end of the rope. More by instinct than anything else 1 was on my feet in an instant and found the leopard still firmly attached to the noose. Luckily for me he was terrified out of his wits, and, dragging me behind him, at once set off through the jungle at full speed, like a runaway dog on a lead. I knew that this could not go on, or I should lose him, so I made a sudden dart round a tree and, using it as a snubbing- post, brought him up short in his tracks. Next moment I had tied my end of the rope to the tree, and the first round of the fight was won. The leopard was now a prisoner. After that things were easier. It was the story of the jaguar over again. A second lasso, another tree, and in a comparatively short time I had him trussed in the usual manner. Then, leaving the leopard leg- tied and muzzled on the ground, I went back to see what had happened to Bradley. I found him very dishevelled, very wet, and very bad-tempered. He had fallen off the elephant straight into a noisome jungle THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. EB , all mud and slime. Here he had stuck in spite of his own frantic efforts and the attempt of our native guide to pull him out. It was not until the mahout urged the elephant forward and let down one of my spare ropes that he was hauled out by the elephant itself. When I came up he was cursing leopards in general and the fools who went after them. We took our captive back with us to the village to show the natives, and there was great rejoicing and a disposition to look with considerable awe upon the white man who caught these fierce beasts alive. Their flocks and herds would now be safe for the time being—until another leopard arrived, or, perhaps, the still more formidable tiger. But natives are simple folk. They do not worry about the future. It was sufficient for them that their present pest had been disposed of, and they were not backward in expressing their gratitude to us. "he mention of tiger brings me to the last beast I have space to deal with in this article. It is impossible to gauge the enormous strength of the tiger—almost equal to that of the lion—by studying the animal in captivity. A tiger, the reader should realize, can kifl a buffalo and then carry the body Inside the tiger trap. A native is holding the kid that was used as a bait.

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TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS ALIVE. 137 A flashlight picture eaaus the completed tiger trap. Major Allen and his companion are donning black cloaks prior to beginning their night vigil. away to its lair. It has the reputation of being far more courageous than the lion, and will sometimes even attack the alligator —a creature for which most animals have a wholesome respect. The process of capturing a tiger alive involves a considerable degree of risk, not only on account of the strength of the beast, but also because of its indomit- able courage. babe! ond I had heard many accounts of a particularly fine specimen, which we deter- mined to get hold of at all costs. It was not a ‘‘ man-eater,” which, contrary to general opinion, is by no means a desirable captive, being usually old and mangy, with limbs too stiff and teeth too weak to enable it to bring down and devour its normal prey— a circumstance which compels it to fall back on the more easily-caught human as a means of sustenance. The tiger we had in view was a magnificent beast in the prime of life, the by-no-means-appreciated neighbour of a similar village to that at which we had captured our leopard. 3 On explaining our plans to the villagers, we received many offers of assistance, and at once set them to. work upon the construc- tion of a kind of wooden cage. This we built Vol. 110. with an opening in one side sufficiently large for a full-grown tiger to enter. Once in, it was our business to see that he did not get out again. Round the opening we “ festooned” a stout steel chain—clearly shown in the photo- gtaphs—the ends of which were attached to two trees just outside the cage, one on each side of the entrance. The idea was that Bradley and I should each occupy one of these trees and, directly the tiger had pushed his inquisitive head through the entrance, draw the chain taut. The loops in it were so designed that in his struggles he would only become more and more entangled, and the chains would wrap themselves even tighter about his body. The trap completed to our satisfaction, it only remained to wait until darkness set in and our tiger commenced his nocturnal prowl, which sooner or later, we hoped, would bring him to our cunningly-prepared cage. The natives were full of excitement, and we knew that none of them would sleep that night until the success or failure of the project was announced. Just before nightfall we baited the trap with a kid, tying the little animal to a stake

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138 in the middle of the cage. It was quite certain that the prospect of an_ easily- obtained meal would attract the tiger if he came anywhere near, as, in fact, he was very likely to do, as the spot was one of his nightly haunts, Having tied up the kid, Bradley and I took o> A ui THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. At length, however, our long vigil reaped its reward. The kid rose to its feet bleating: pitifully and straining at the cord which tethered it. Something was abroad, and instinctively we knew what that something was. We were wide enough awake now,: straining our eyes towards the opening. up our positions in our respective trees, first of all putting black cloak-like garments over our white drill suits to prevent these being spotted by the tiger. Then the natives withdrew and left us to our lonely vigil. Lonely indeed it was—and_infernally uncomfortable. The trees on which we sat seemed to get harder and harder as the hours of the hot Indian night crawled by. Ali around us in the darkness we heard the eerie + sounds of the jungle, the rustling of leaves, and stealthy movements in the impenetrable undergrowth. More than once I thought I saw the dark form of the expected tiger filling the opening in the cage, only to find that my eyes had deceived me, or that imagination had imbued with apparent substance something that was not there. The kid, which had moved about uneasily at first, finally settled down to sleep, and only the lack of comfort on our perches Prevented us from doing likewise. Even so, more than once I caught myself nodding fitfully, and Bradley afterwards confessed that he had found it a hard job to keep awake. Except for the frightened cries of the little animal below we could hear nothing, the padded feet of the tiger moving sound- lessly over the ground. Suddenly, however, we both saw it—a dim shape outlined in the entrance of the cage, with twin points of light which were the great beast’s glaring eyes. The bleating of the kid rose to a crescendo of terror—and then, simultane- ously, we hauled upon the chain. Pandemonium followed. With a leap which made our stout trees tremble under us, the tiger endeavoured to burst through the enveloping links which closed so myste- riously about him. Failing in this, he hurled himself about in a frenzy past description. The chain swung and swayed until it swept Bradley right out of his tree and he hung dangling by his hands, in imminent danger of being reached by the tiger in its insensate struggles. I myself clung on like grim death, wondering whether we had not at last, as the saying goes, ‘ bitten off more than we could chew.” How long the tiger roared and struggled

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TRAPPING WILD ANIMALS ALIVE. 139° A ticklish position. The final trussing-up of the captured tiger. I cannot say. Part of the wooden stockade came down with a crash, and for a moment I thought that he was free. But the chains held. There is a limit even to a tiger’s endurance, and presently I slipped from my tree and threw my lasso over him. This, of course, roused him to a fresh fury of effort, but I knew that he had shot his bolt. Presently he lay helpless; as you see him in the photograph reproduced above. I mopped my brow, and felt glad that it was over. Then came the natives who, slinging him on a pole, carried him exultantly into the village. Picking up the kid, almost scared to death, poor little thing, but otherwise’ unhurt, for I had been careful to tether it just beyond the range of the tiger’s most furious struggles, I followed them, and by the light of a camp fire smoked a well-earned pipe, contemplating the while the recumbent form of perhaps the most magnificent denizen of the wild it has ever been my good fortune to capture alive. @ne photograph here reproduced shows a form of garden decoration which must surely: be ‘unique. The picture was taken in the garden of a Survey official in Ceylon, and the ter Shiects shown—they look at first glance like some type of arm-chair—are the skulls of many . killing wild elephants shot in the island: jungles! aha,

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HE man who : earns his live- lihood on the high seas of Portuguese, some seafaring Spaniards, and several women. With drink flowing generally gets his fair freely it was not share of hard knocks remarkable that and adventures, but there should have been a good deal of it is doubtful if many modern. sailormen have had to undergo such unpleasant ex- periences as those which recently befell a young American : citizen named : William Angus McDavid. McDavid : had the misfortune to become involved in a brawl] in a wine- shop in Loanda, < Portuguese West 5 Africa, where, it was alleged, he fatally stabbed a foreigner. %, The story of his sub- oe sequent trial and isan imprisonment, and Mc DAVID Se ee eee EBD”: . ILLUSTRATED BY \, GEORGE SOPER argument in the bar, but had the young American and_ his friends kept clear all might have been well. 2 One of McDavid’s z companions, _ how- ever, was drawn into a heated altercation, and before long a general row was brewing. When the ea exchange of words f became _ threatening . McDavid attempted to intervene, request- ing the parties con- ° cerned to leave the att, shop, but a_ curt “Mind your own — business "" was _ his how he escaped from Ee his jail, was related by him two years | later in Durban, in which town he was finally released asthe ! result of an appeal to | the High Court of the Province. | In January, 1919, McDavid signed on | as a seaman on board | the steamship Albyn, |_ Sailors get into nasty scrapes occasionally during their excursions ashore, but few men have undergone such a trying experience as befell William McDavid through a brawl in a West African wine-shop. “The story was related to me by McDavid himself,” writes the Author, “and is practically identical with the sworn affidavit made for the American authorities. The proceedings in the local court were reported in the newspapers at the time.” reward, He _per- sisted in his efforts, nevertheless, until one of the Portuguese threatened to “ lay him out.” Leaving the quar- relsome group and returning to his drink, McDavid was hit across the face with a sjambok by a bound from Durban (Port Natal) to Loanda, and it was on arrival at the latter port that his troubles began. Apparently there had been some friction between ‘certain Portuguese at Loanda and members of the crews of ships that had previously visited the port—not an uncommon occurrence. There had been free fights on shore, in which the inhabitants had come off badly, and some of the Portu- guese were awaiting an opportunity for revenge. McDavid and two other men belonging to the Albyn were warned that there was likely to be a row if they ran into these individuals and, being of a peaceful turn of mind, they carefully kept out of the way for a fortnight. However, life got a little dull, and one night in March McDavid and two of his friends walked into a wine-shop for a drink. The place was occupied by a lot man named Pinto. This was the signal for a general attack on McDavid and his friends. The crowd was in an ugly mood, and McDavid found himself assailed from all sides with sjamboks and sticks. aihe Picking up a piece of wood, he did his best to defend himself, speedily clearing a space around him. Knives were then drawn, and one of the Spaniards struck at him viciously with a dagger, but McDavid managed to grab his attacker’s hand and wrest the knife from him. Meanwhile Pinto, who had been prominent in the attack, managed to slip behind McDavid and grabbed him with one hand, while with the other he tried to pick up his knife, which had dropped to the floor in the m/¢lée. The American, seeing that he was in grave danger, turned and struck at Pinto with the captured knife he held in

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THE ORDEAL OF WILLIAM McDAVID. 141 “McDavid managed to grab his attacker’s hand and wrest the knife from him.” his hand. Pinto dropped to the floor, out of the shop shouting: “ Murder!" and yelling that he had been stabbed. The “ Police!” whole crowd of men and women then ran McDavid had by this time lost sight of his

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142 friends, and he deemed it wise to slip into the street, where he made towards his ship, with an angry crowd at his heels. Reaching the vessel, he tried to get on board, but was turned away by one of the mates. Eluding his pursuers, he wandered about the beach all night and in the morning gave himself up to the police, who clapped him into a cell. After he had been in prison for three days McDavid was told that the man Pinto had died in hospital, and that consequently he would now be charged with murder. There- after McDavid was locked up with natives in the prison at Loanda and kept waiting sixteen months for his trial. Besides the delay in giving him a chance to answer the charge, McDavid complains that he was the only one detained in connection with the brawt in the wine-shop, while no witnesses whatever were secured. “The conditions in that prison were awful,” said McDavid, ‘and when I went down with blackwater fever I was only given the poorest medical attention.” In July, 1y20, the young American was brought before the Court of First Instance of the District of Loanda, and tried on a charge of murder. He was found not guilty on the murder charge, as the evidence showed that Pinto had been stabbed in self- defence. The Court, however, convicted McDavid of manslaughter, and sentenced him to two years’ correction, with credit for the months during which he had awaited trial. This meant that the sentence would expire in March, 1921, and the prisoner, living under. awful conditions far from his home country, existed only for his release, knowing that when he stepped out of prison a free man he would have made retribution for his unfortunate action in the wine-shop brawl. But he little knew what was in store for him! Some months before his sentence expired an official came down to his cell and informed him that a higher Court had reviewed his case and ordered that he should be deported to the East Coast of Africa for a further twenty-five years! McDavid was not aware that he had been re-tried on an appeal from an outside source, or even that his case had been reviewed by a_ higher Court; the only intimation he had of the procedure was this terrible item of news, given him after the sentence had been passed ! Faced with the prospect of life-long imprisonment, McDavid naturally became very despondent, especially as he was now subjected to closer confinement day and night until February, 1921, when he was put on a ship and taken round under escort to Mozambique, Portuguese East Africa. McDavid had already been thinking of escaping, but no favourable opportunity offered during the days he was at sea. On arrival at Mozambique McDavid was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. taken to the island fort, where he remained closely guarded until March, 1921. He was then informed that, his two years’ correction having expired, he would be permitted to go out and work on the island. The system at the fort was that deportees undergoing sentence were sent out to work during the daytime, returning to the fort to be locked up for the night. For their labour they were paid a small sum and provided with food, distinctive clothing also being supplied by the prison authorities. It was practically impossible to escape from the island, as it was surrounded by shark-infested waters and the prisoners were compelled to wear distinguishing clothes and numbers and had to answer roll-call shortly after dark. During the night they were confined to their cells. When he had served his original sentence of two vears McDavid told the authorities that if they did not release him he would do his best to escape, but they merely shrugged their shoulders and replied that ‘‘he would soon get to like the country.” McDavid was otfered a job by a British company, but this he was not allowed to accept, and eventually he had to work for the Government. “ It was only a form of slavery,’’ declared McDavid subsequently. ‘' We were paid a very small monthly wage, and our food was the ordinary prison fare. The island was notorious for fever, and I often had attacks.” One of the ordeals the young man had to undergo in the fort was solitary confinement for ninety-two da in an old powder Magazine. This pu ment was meted out to him because it was believed that he was concerned in an attempt to break prison. McDavid did not admit his guilt; on the contrary, he claimed that the attempt was made by some of the prison guards, who desired to break away from their irksome duty. Another severe trial was a sjambok whipping, which he received for refusing, with other prisoners, to eat the atrocious food provided. By this time McDavid was absolutely worn out with the rigours of life in the prison, and he made up his mind that he would take any risk if he could only get away from it. He had been making cautious inquiries, and finally ascertained that a British steamer, which he had been helping to coal, would leave the island on the 25th or 26th of that month. On the night of the 25th he got his chance. Dodging the evening roll-call, he managed to make his way to the prison ramparts without being observed. Scaling the wall, he lowered himself quietly into the water _and struck out for the beach, a hundred yards away. In doing this he was running a great risk, as man-eating sharks often claimed victims ; but fortunately none of these tigers of the deep interfered with his progress, and he successfully reached the beach side of the island. Here he took possession of a small

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THE ORDEAL OF WILLIAM McDAVID. boat and rowed out to the Sunland, a British steamer which was due to sail that evening or the following day. Once at the side of the ship it was the work of a moment to reach the deck by means of a hanging rope ladder. Luckily the fugitive was not seen as he crept aboard, and he immediately began to look for a place in which he could hide himself. Thorough concealment was essential, as he knew he would soon be missed at the fort and that the prison authorities would carefully search all the vessels in the harbour before they were permitted to sail. In fact, it transpired later that the very vessel on which McDavid was concealed was over- hauled three times, and the captain was only allowed to depart on giving an undertaking that he would hand the missing man over to the authorities at the first port of call should he be found on the Sunland. McDavid’'s first thought was for the fore- hatch, but after some scouting he found that it was fastened down and covered with sand ballast. Returning aft, he carefully lowered imself into a hold—only to find that there s six feet of water in it! This water, however, was to prove a good friend to him. Groping forward, he found that there was a spare propeller stowed between the bulkhead and the engine-room. With all but his head submerged in the water, he worked himself into a position behind one of the blades of this propeller, hoping that the ship would sail before cold and hunger compelled him to emerge. Ere long the prison guards discovered that McDavid had disappeared at roll-call and sent out search parties, the Sunland coming in for early attention in view of her impending departure. Hidden away as he was, McDavid had some merve-racking moments, for he could hear his former guardians making a very thorough search of the ship. The very hold in which he was concealed was opened and curious eyes peered down into the water, at times appearing to look straight into McDavid’s face. Fortune was with him, however, and later in the evening the decks of the ship again became peaceful. The Sunland duly proceeded to sea, and McDavid, chilled to the bone by the water and entirely without food, remained in his awkward position behind the propeller for thirty-six hours. While in that water-logged hold the minutes seemed hours to him, but in spite of the tortures of cramp, which per- sistently assailed him, he resolutely refrained from putting in a premature appearance on deck. When he eventually did crawl out he was so stiff and numb from his long immersion in the water that he could hardly move. After questioning him the captain put him to work on deck for the remainder of the journey. 143 One can imagine McDavid’s chagrin, after all he had been through, when two detectives boarded the Sunland directly she berthed at Durban, on August 6th, and made inquiries for him. However, it was some consolation that he had reached British territory, and that there was an American Consul he could appeal to. He was arrested by the detectives on a warrant from the Portuguese authorities and taken to Durban Jail. Then began a dreary farce. McDavid appeared before the local magistrate every week for several months, formally charged with escaping from custody, but his case had to be continually adjourned owing to the time taken to comply with the formalities in connection with his extradition under inter- national law. Meanwhile McDavid had got into touch with the American Consul in Durban and had sworn to an affidavit which was forwarded to Washington. The result was that when he was finally brought up for trial he was represented by counsel, and the American Consul was in attendance to watch the interests of one of his country’s subjects. However, the magis- trate held that th plication from the Portuguese authorities was in order, and he decided that McDavid must be extradited to Mozambique. Luckily for the young sailor, the extra- dition order was not put into immediate effect, and counsel for McDavid, instructed by the American Consul, appealed to the Supreme Court of the Province, on the grounds that: (1) No warrant authorizing the arrest of the prisoner had been issued by the Governor-General, as required by the Extradition Act of 1870; (2) that the charge of escaping from prison was not a crime for which extradition might be granted; and (3) that there was no evidence to identify the prisoner as the man named by the Portuguese authorities. (McDavid, while admitting to the detectives that he had come from Mozambique, did not admit that he had broken prison.) The appeal was heard on December 15th, and the Court ordered the prisoner to be liberated without prejudice to any further steps that the authorities might think fit to take. It is interesting to observe that in the course of the proceedings it was explained that the practice of a superior tribunal increasing the sentence of an_ inferior Court was a Continental custom and must be taken as the law of Portugal. This, apparently, explains the increase of sentence from two to twenty-five years in McDavid’s case. A free man again, McDavid lost no time in taking ship for America, and he will probably be very careful how he approaches Portuguese territory again. a

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT Told by OSCAR OLSSON, and set down by REGINALD POUND. T the begin- ning of January, 1921, after Thad made another trip into the wilds, covering some of the ground I have already described as well as a good deal that was new to me, my expedi- tion joined forces with that organized and led by Prince William, the King Ill. The third instalment of this fascinating narrative, written exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mr. Olsson went into the interior of Africa to film i animals 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, 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 photo- graphs of wild animals that have ever been taken, and the story of his adventures will be found extremely interesting. The films of this Ruddle, an English taxidermist, and. myself, whose task it was to\“make a film record’ of the journey ; together with the. necessary bearers, numbering close on three hun- dred and fifty.men. The Prince’ had promised to collect specimens for the Swedish National Museum, he him- self having already of Sweden's younger son, who had lately arrived in Nairobi. The expedition will be shown by the Swedish Biograph Company. an extensive collec- tion of trophies; and that. institu- tion, I should like combined expedi- tions then set off for Lake Kivu, the ‘‘ heart of Africa,” over which there stand on guard the far-famed and still mysterious Mountains of the Moon. Kivu lies in the Belgian Congo, a little over a hundred and fifty miles west of the lower end of Lake Victoria Nyanza, between Lakes Tanganyika and Edward. It is approached from the west and north through a vast volcanic region, consisting of lava plains and mountains, some of them extinct volcanoes, others still in full activity. In 1912 this district was the scene of a terrible upheaval. in which many lives were lost, several villages being engulfed by the lava avalanche. To-day the traveller in this region can walk for miles through nothing but lava, with sullen, smoking mountains frown- ing defiance at him on all sides. The expedition comprised the Prince, who had previously sampled the thrills of big-game hunting in East Africa, Count Nils Gyldenstolpe, first assistant in the vertebrates department of the Swedish National Museum, Mr. Carr, an English hunter, who joined us at Masaka, Mr. ‘ to say here, ulti- mately benefited to the tune of something like a thousand animals, two thousand birds, twenty-five to thirty thousand insects, and a considerable number of other speci- mens, nearly all of which are now Housed in the National Museum at Stockholm. In the second week of January wé reached Entebbe, on the northern shore ‘of Lake Victoria, that inland sea which, in‘ spite of its great size—it is the second biggest lake in the world—was quite unknown to ex- plorers until Speke discovered it in the middle of last century; Stanley having a short time before skirted its coast’ without suspecting its existence. Here I had an opportunity of studying for. a few days some of the native tribes which make their homes on the lakeside, and also of making a brief trip down to the Sesse islands, the population of which has been practically wiped out by the dreaded sleeping sickness. The boats used by the lake natives..are conspicuous chiefly for their simplicity, being nothing more elaborate than hollowed- out tree trunks, closed at the ends. Although at first sight one hesitates to commit one- self to the mercy of the deep in these

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should want a lot of persuading FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 145 rimitive craft, they are really Eeoaiere lake boats, and aie f a => seldom known to capsize, even when ‘“ tossed’ by a_ hippo- { potamus—a not infrequent occur- | rence. ‘The other craft most often seen on the lake is a sort of light. canoe, constructed of strips of barksewn together with grass, a combination in which I The Author’s camp amidst the Mountains of the Moon. An enormous gorilla shot by Prince William of Sweden, who is seen on the right. to put my trust, although numbers of natives do so habitually, with- out apparently ever coming to grief. i ~ A peculiarity of Lake Victoria is the unusual rapidity with which ; storms arise and sweep over its spacious f r waters. <A blue sky is Pften changed into a Dead gorillas in camp. threatening grey one, to the accompaniment of swishing rain and sharp claps of thunder, in a few minutes, during which time you may see dozens of native canoes racing full tilt for the shore in an endeavour to beat the elements. On one short fishing trip in which I indulged, while we were waiting to pro- ceed on our journey, storm clouds appeared overhead as if by magic, almost before we were aware of any change in the weather. Shipping our lines hurriedly, we Lake Kivu, the “Heart of ‘A Congo belle. Her made with all speed to- Africa.” hair is plastered with wards a small, sheltered ud and castor-oil. creek, whore we were

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146 just about to land when we spotted an enormous crocodile lying half-concealed in the reeds. As soon as we got ashore in a neighbouring creek, one of the natives ran round to where the crocodile was lying and, with extraordinary dexterity, slashed the creature’s tail with his knife, after which, having disabled the monster, it was a fairly easy matter to polish him off. Crocodiles can be said with some truth to swarm all over Africa in lakes and rivers of any considerable size, and in many parts they constitute a serious menace to human life, a menace which is enhanced rather than Tessened by the carelessness of the natives, who can seldom, if ever, be induced to protect their drinking and washing pools from these creatures, while another factor contributing to the danger is their lack of regard for their women-folk, who do all the water drawing (not to mention the wood hewing), and so frequently fall victims to the crocodiles. It is a fairly common experience to find feminine ornaments in the stomach of a dead crocodile. One that was cut open im a village through which we passed con- tained more than half-a-dozen bangles and anklets, while another, for the post-mortem examination of which I was_ personally responsible, contained the claws of a cheetah, the hoofs of an antelope, the shell plates of a river turtle, and the bones of an eland. As IT reflected at the time, the animal was bound to die of dyspepsia ultimately, so perhaps my shot saved him from a lingering and miserable end. Our baggage was dispatched from Entebbe to Masaka, on the western shore of the lake, where, after completing our supplies and recruiting our bearers, we began our march into the interior, setting our faces in a southerly direction. A fortnight later we reached Kabale, a delightful frontier post lying amid the mountains of south-western Uganda, where we rested for a few days before pushing on into what to us was the unknown and _ fascinating beyond. The country in this region assumed a character that was entirely different from that with which we had been familiar up till now. Steep and verdant slopes ran down on either side of our path, covered in places with dense woods and intersected here and there by streams, which in the valleys broadened into swiftly-flowing rivers, or emptied themselves into lakes, whose sky-mirroring waters were dotted with islets and stirred by countless waterfowl. At intervals the hills would retreat into the background, to reveal fresh scenes of beauty. Pasture lands, strongly reminiscent of English parks, dissolved into well-wooded country and the latter into great stretches of marshland, their rushes and reeds alive with birds and their pools teeming with fish and aquatic animals. Returning one afternoon from a photo- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. graphic foray in this district, I chanced to see a mother otter gambolling with her baby. Unslinging my camera, I set out to take some pictures of what was quite a charming sight. Unluckily, I did not anticipate the swampy nature of the ground on which I ventured, with the result that I had no sooner reached the spot than I felt myself sinking into the spongy bed of the marsh. 1 shouted immediately to the two bearers who had accompanied me, but to my surprise and indignation I got no response. I very quickly sank to my knees, but with a mighty effort, which nearly wrenched the limb from its socket, I[ managed to extricate my right leg, the left refusing to budge. For ten minutes or more I stood on one leg, afraid to put the other down lest it should get stuck again. Feeling ridiculous, rather more than slightly anxious, and very angry, I halloaed again with all the breath | could summon into my lungs, following which tolerably successful imita- tion of a steam siren in full blast, the bearers hurried on the scene, after having in- dulged, as I was quick to discover, in a surreptitious siesta in the woods. The sensation of being stuck in a swamp, I would add, is not a pleasant one by any means. There is something sinister and menacing to one’s peace of mind behind the feeling that one is being irresistibly drawn into the depths of a bog. A LAND OF SILENCE. Contrary to our expectations, or at any rate to mine, we met very little game in this region, which, before the advent of the rinderpest, was the haunt of many different species of animals. To-day one can go long distances without hearing any sound except that made by the smaller creatures, mostly birds, while in some dis- tricts even the cries of birds and the sound of most insects are hushed, the whole of one’s surroundings being plunged in a most uncanny silence. It is no exaggeration to say that there are in Central Africa thousands of square miles of country in which the stillness during the daytime is so profound as to be almost unbearable, while the absence of life and colour and movement is no less oppressive to the senses. At night the con- trast in these seemingly desolate areas is extraordinary. With the sinking of the sun all the creatures of the wild seem to join in a chorus of howling, roaring, bellow- ing, and barking, until the darkness is filled with an unbelievable medley of noises, from the vibrating, sob-like call of the great cats to the shrill barking of the jackal and the mournful howling of the hyena, mingling with the hooting of owls and the humming of myriads of insects. Although the history of most of the tribes with which we came in contact in

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 147 A wounded lioness. al a A typical Central African village. A lava plain in the Mountains of the Moon. The volcanic eruption of 1912 overwhelmed many villages. Mr. Olsson (left) and Prince William of Sweden Back view of a gorilla and a native, a with a bag of lions. showing relative sizes.

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148 these regions is a forbidding one, steeped as it has been in bloodshed, appalling ignorance, and fearful orgies, the traveller of to-day seldom has cause for complaint at the manner in which he is received by the natives. Here and there, of course, as I have hinted in a previous article, evidence is forth- coming to show that the presence of the white man is, to put it mildly, displeasing to the people, but these signs are happily few and far between. It was my experience that the natives are usually desirous of showing hospitality to the traveller, their invariable method of demonstrating their pleasure at receiving him as a guest being to present him with bananas, plantains, sweet potatoes, fowls, eggs, and the like. The same motive induces them to place their best hut at your disposal for the duration of your stay, which the tactful traveller always regulates according to the state of the village larder. It would be bad policy, for example, to inflict your presence on a native community which, through some natural cause or other, was in a state of semi-starvation, a by no means unheard of contingency when crops fail or when hunt- ing has been bad. Leaving Bunyonyi behind us, we came next to Behungi, at the boundary of the mighty African Rift Valley, where we experienced, at an altitude of 7,000 to 8,000 feet, a spell of intense cold. But we were far from being daunted by this, for in the distance lay our immediate goal, the moun- tains which for centuries have kept in- violate the secrets of Africa’s heart, secrets which have been laid bare to the prying eyes of explorers only within the last decade or two. Below us was spread the great Mfumbiro Plain, looking from a distance not unlike a deserted battlefield, with craters breaking up the contours almost as far as the eye could see. Above it towered Muhavura, Sabinio, and Mgahinga, whose cloud-wreathed summits are haunted, ac- cording to local tradition, by evil spirits, and on whose slopes roam what to us were far more formidable enemies, namely, gorillas, Hunting and specimen collecting now began in real earnest, for it was the Prince’s ambition to return to Europe with as repre- sentative a collection as possible of the fauna of these regions. Elephants, buffaloes, leopards, bush buck, and gorillas were frequently met, although in numbers rather smaller than we had expected. Stalking be- came increasingly difficult as we progressed, owing to the roughness and steepness of the mountain sides. Precipices yawned below us in many places, while deep ravines frequently intersected our path. The vegeta- tion made travelling all the harder, for almost everywhere it grew in a well-nigh impassable tangle, through which we could only make our way by dint of vigorous THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hacking with an axe or stout knife. The flora of the district is in some parts in- describably _ beautiful. Chimbing plants wreath trunks and boughs in a perfect riot of colour, while the ground is starred and splashed with flowers of many hues. In the swampy parts irises grow as thickly as anemones in a wood, while marguerites, mostly of a lemon or pale yellow colour, hibiscuses, gentians, and ground orchids flourish in profusion. But danger lurks unceasingly in the midst of all this loveliness. In the depths of the woods live beasts which are capable of striking something closely akin to fear into the heart of the most hardened hunter —great apes whose strength is as the strength of ten or a dozen men, and whose ferocity is often terrible to behold. The expedition bagged its first gorilla specimens on Mount Sabinio, where I saw these animals for the first time in their native state. Of all forms of big-game hunting stalking the gorilla is perhaps the most strenuous and, at the same time, the most dangerous, although many hunters will no doubt be inclined to question this impression of mine. But when it is considered that the " going ” in the forest where the gorilla lives is usually so difficult as to occupy as much of the hunter’s atten- tion as the hunting itself, and that your quarry has the advantage of you in strength and agility, I do not think that my impres- sion errs on the side of exaggeration. Not many animals give the hunter more ex- hausting work. He may have to push his way through the forest for miles before getting so much as a glimpse of his quarry, guided only by sound, and then he may have the indifferent satisfaction of bagging only a poor specimen. How strenuous gorilla hunting is may be judged by the fact that the skilful hunter invariably finds it necessary to imitate his quarry’s movements, by swinging himself from bough to bough in true gorilla fashion. I shall not soon forget my first meeting with these animals. We had been pursuing a small group of them all one morning, when we at length found ourselves within rifle-shot range. Peering through the under- growth behind which we had concealed our- selves, I saw a huge, tough-chested male surrounded by three or four females. A shot rang out; the females rushed off out of sight, while the male, giving a roar of pain, charged straight towards us. I did not stop to take any pictures of the incident. The spectacle of that enraged beast, at once so human and inhuman, crashing through the thickets, was one which I did not feel at all anxious to stay and record. Instead, I retreated some yards down the slope, until a second shot brought the animal to a full stop. On another occasion a big white-headed gorilla, weighing four hundred pounds,

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. charged the Prince before the latter had time to get away. It was not a matter of yards, but of feet—the roaring monster appeared unexpectedly out of the bush, taking us by surprise. When it looked as if he must be embraced by the animal, the Prince, always cool in an emergency, raised his gun and fired, killing the gorilla with a single well-placed shot. Our licence, These women are wearing the extraordinary “ornament” known as the “ pelele.” granted by the Belgian Government, per- mitted us to kill fourteen of these animals, the result being that the Swedish National Museum’s gorilla exhibits are now the finest in the world. The tribesfolk in the district are extremely superstitious regarding the mountains I have mentioned. They will tell you that heaven lies at the top of Muhavura, while hell is to be found in the bowels of Namlagira, one of the active volcanoes in this wonderful range. Their explanation of the slight earth- quake shocks which are frequently felt in the neighbourhood is that an evil spirit is passing underground on some dreadful errand. The medicine-man, too, holds sway in some of the villages, just as he did in the darker days of the past, and while his power is nothing like so great as it was then, he nevertheless still contrives to make his influence felt in many ways. These tribal “‘ wizards "' carry horns in which the blood of the sacrifice is caught, while a little skin bag concealed under their garments con- tains pebbles which are rattled in order to represent the speech of fhe spirits on whose behalf the medicine-man claims to act. Even more feared than the lion in these parts is the leopard, which often raids the villages, carrying off its victims with aston- ishing audacity. The natives told us that lions can frequently be scared. off by the 14g slightest noise—I have heard it said that the ticking of a clock in a tent is sufficient to deter the king of beasts from entering, though I should not care to trust the noisiest timepiece in these circumstances—while the leopard is not perturbed by anything short of a rifle shot. However this may be, leopards continue to take a fairly big toll of human life every year. | heard of a woman A lioness at close quarters. who was carried off while hoeing in the fields in broad daylight, while in one village in which we stayed the same leopard had entered huts three times in one night, its last visitation resulting in the disappearance of a baby, which was snatched literally from its mother’s arms. The biggest denizens of the rivers and lakes hereabouts are the hippopotami. I counted and photographed forty of these animals at one point in the Rutshuru river. The killing of a “ hippo” arouses in some tribes the keenest competition for its flesh, which is held to be a great delicacy. One which we killed in Lake Mutanda was “cleaned up” by a local tribe almost as soon as it was brought ashore. I succeeded in getting an excellent pictorial record of a “hippo”? hunt, showing the animal, after being hit, giving itself a last copious shower bath in its death struggles, and the natives swimming in great haste across the crocodile- infested river prior to fastening a line to the dead monster and towing it in. Lake Kivu, round whose shores we spent several delightful days, is set like a gem- framed mirror amidst the mountains, its broad expanse unbroken by either islets or reeds. No more beautiful spot is to be found in all Africa, in spite of its awe- inspiring approach. The slopes that enclose it range in colour from a deep verdant green to dark blue. Soft-scented flowers clothe its banks; shady trees overhang its pools

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150 which, since the lake is free from crocodiles and other pests, make idyHic bathing resorts. Hf this is the heart of Africa; we decided, then it is well worth marching hundreds of miles to see, and to leave its peacefulness and sylvan beauty and plunge once more into the dark places of the continent caused us the keenest regret. This, with the little devastated frontier A wart-hog. station of Ngomi, was the most southerly point of our travels. We now turned back towards the volcanic district, where we spent a further two months in hunting and collecting specimens. Then, setting our course northward, we slowly made our way up to the Ruindi Plain, south of Lake Edward, a district which is held by some authorities ‘to provide the finest hunting in Africa. Our own experiences, however, hardly confirmed this claim, although the amount of game that we came across was certainly considerable. The fact that there has been a diminution in the number of animals found here is due to the war, the effects of which were felt even in this remote tegion. Supplies being held up, the black THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE: troops employed iri this area lived chiefly on game, which was slaughtered unsparingly. Hence, ‘to-day, the number of species seen is comparatively small, being confined chiefly to lions, leopards, buffaloes, Uganda cobb, reed-buck, wart-hog, hippepotami, topi, which swarm in herds, and elephants, the latter not very numerous. Of these the lions kept us busier than most, nearly thirty fine specimens falling to the expedition’s guns in the course of a few weeks. One night we saw no fewer than fifteen lions, or rather, fourteen lionesses and one lion, gathered round ‘the ‘bait. The Prince, secreted in a shelter, opened fire A “close-up” of a water-buck. ff . i A typical water-hole in Uganda. and killed the lion, while the lionesses rushed forward in a body towards our shelter. One dashed open=jawed at the barrel of the Prince’s rifle, almost knock- ing the weapon from his grasp, while those that did not fallin the charge tore past us into the jungle. The next morning eight of the fifteen lay dead in front of the “ hide-up,” the remaining seven being accounted for the following night when, being hungry, they returned to the fresh bait provided for them. It was here, by the way, that I managed to get a series of ‘‘close-ups’”’ of a lioness after several days of waiting, during which time my stock of patience was all but exhausted. In the end, however, the lure of a succulent antelope joint proved irresistible, and I got my picture. Approaching a village in the Lake Edward “district, we were met by a number of anxious tribesmen, who besought our help in or- ganizing a lion hunt, lions having caused them a great deal of treuble during the previous week or two. Only a few hours before our arrival a lioness had attacked and severely mauled a girl of fifteen, who was lying in dreadful agony in her parents’ hut. We did all that we could for her, but

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. our efforts were unavailing, and she died be- fore the day was out. That night the ground in front of a specially constructed shelter was baited with antelope and other meat, after which the Prince, Count Gyldenstolpe, and Mr. Carr lay in wait for the raiders. As a result several fine ‘‘ heads’’ were added to our collection, while the natives were embarrassingly profuse in their thanks. The tribes which live and move and have their being in the country that lies between E rd and Albert, in the shadow of the ty-nine-miles-long Ruwenzori range, which now lay on our right, could not adequately be dealt with in a book, far less in a single article. We must have visited dozens of villages in our travels, each having some characteristic distinguish- ing it from the rest. In one village the women complete their toilet by plastering their heads with mud and castor-oil, which causes their scalps to be covered in what at first glance look like a number of thick shiny leaves. And in another we spent some days among a people, the Bambuba, whose old 151 women wear a dreadful lip ornament known as a pelele. The disfiguring nature of this ornament, if such it can be called, must be seen to be believed, although my photographs give a pretty good idea of it. The custom appears to have originated many years ago, when slavery was rampant, the object of the women of those days being to make themselves look as ugly as possible, in order that their oppressors should not be captivated by their charms and take them for wives. The method of inserting the lip ornament was to cut a piece of skin in the upper lip and insert horizontally a small wooden disc. After a time a larger disc is used, followed by a larger one still, until finally some of them measure as much as three and a half inches in diameter. Some- times it happens that the weight of the disc breaks the skin encircling it, in which event the loose, ends of skin are fastened back to the ears, a form of decoration which to the civilized eye is even more revolting than the pelele itself. (To be concluded.) “SERENADING THE MADONNA.” Tuts photograph shows a curious old Christmas custom that till religiously observed in Sicily—serenading the Madonna with the bagpipes. The wayside shrines, one of which is seen in the picture, are visited in turn and appropriate airs played.

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Short Stories ALAYS, as a rule, are truth- ful, but like to exaggerate just for effect. Dyaks do the same, though it is always obvious that they are telling lies—but the Melanau of Sarawak ! One day, when I was holding a Debtors’ Court, a certain case was called, ‘‘ Ah Sian versus Tekok,” the claim being for $100, value of goods supplied. Ah Sian made his statement, giving dates and the correspond- ing goods taken thereon. His books were ex- amined and found to be correct. Tekok’s state- ment was then heard, the lady’s statement being to the effect that sheowed nothing to the plaintiff, had never had any dealings with him, and, in fact, had never set eyes on him before. Here was a pretty kettle of fish! The old lady absolutely denied having ever had any transactions with Ah Sian, whilst the ON OATH. By “X. SARAWOFF.” Mustrated by W. H. HOLLOWAY. A magistrate’s tragic little tale from far-off Sarawak, showing what happened to a native lady who swore a false oath. || i Chinese declared she had taken the goods herself from his own hands, and also certain sums in cash. Further- more, he said, she was a sago-worker, and sold her sago to him. Latoh, the old Tuan Kampong, or village “ She was seized about the middle and, amidst a

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headman, was in court, and he was asked if he could throw any light on the subject, but he was quite unable to do so. Ah Sian was most vehement in his pro- testations that he was telling the truth and that defendant was a liar and a bad woman ; so, seeing no way of getting any for’arder with the case, as there were no witnesses, I suggested to the native chiefs that Ah Sian should be made to swear to the accuracy of his books. Ah Sian then asked permission to speak, and requested that Tekok might be made to swear to her innocence. He would abide, he said, by the outcome of her oath. The native chiefs thought this a good idea, so the defendant was told that on the fol- lowing Saturday she was to come to court and swear that she owed nothing to Ah Sian. On the following Saturday morning, about nine o'clock, Tekok duly presented herself, supported by old Latoh, and accompanied by the Corporal of Police, the Chinese magistrate, Ah Sian, the plaintiff, and numerous other worthies, and proceeded to tremendous swirling, lifted right out of the water.” Vol. L—. SHORT STORIES. 153 the river bank, where all was in readiness for her swearing. The poor dog which was to be sacrificed was lying on the bank with its legs tied tegether. The Melanau way of swearing an oath, I should explain, is by cutting a dog in two with a parang (native sword.) Tekok was a little old woman of seventy or more, but she rolled up her sleeves in a most business-like manner and looked very serious. The headman administered Tekok repeating it. She then stepped up to the dog and, raising her pavang with both hands, aimed a tremendous blow at the poor beast, at the same time saying: ‘If I have sworn falsely, may I be treated as I now treat this dog.” Although she rather bungled the business, the oath was duly accepted, and Ah Sian— seemingly quite happy over it all—paid Tekok the price of the dog (another curious custom) and went off smiling, remarking that it was nasib (Fate). the oath, Tekok com- pleted the cere- mony by bathing in the river and throwing away the sarong (nether garment) which she had - worn whilst swearing. Then she came up to the court, where headman Latoh officially reported that Tekok had sworn to her innocence, and the case against her was dismissed. The old lady left the court and, entering her boat, proceeded to paddle up river to her house in Kam- pong Jebongan. Later I heard what happened on the journey. About forty minutes’ paddling brought her to the village of Tutus Laut. Here she went ashore to gossip about her case with other old cronies, and I can well imagine them all squat- ting on a bumban mat, talking away

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154 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. nineteen to the dozen, and laughing over Tekok’s cleverness in outwitting the un- suspecting Ah Sian. After a little the old lady tore herself away from this congenial company and started off again. Soon she reached the mouth of the Jebongan River. On the up-river side of this stream stands a very tall fapang tree, a landmark for miles around. These trees are remarkable for their very straight trunks, often over a hundred feet in length, which at the ground throw out huge buttresses. The wild bee builds its nest on the boughs of these trees, and as many as a dozen nests are often to be seen hanging on one tree. As Tekok was paddling her boat towards the entrance of the Jebongan River she saw a lang utan (species of eagle) attacking one of the nests to get the honey. The bird flew at the nest and hovered on a level with it, flapping his wings against the comb and then flying away again. This naturally disturbed the bees, and the noise of their angry buzzing was distinctly audible to Tekok in her boat below. The eagle attacked the comb several times, each time beating a retreat, until he succecded in driving oft the bees, when he settled himself on the branch and started to eat the honey. Tekok sat and watched this performance, and only awoke to her danger too late. The enraged bees came down on her in a cloud, settling thickly on her and the boat. They viciously attacked every exposed part of her body, causing her to shrick in agony and terror. Not knowing how to avoid the terrible death that menaced her, she finally jumped out of the boat into the river. The cold water momentarily eased her pain, but directly she rose to the surface the infuriated insects attacked her again. To avoid them she ducked again and again, and started swimming towards the bank, but the bees dogged her movements the whole time, stinging any part of her body which showed. Being an old woman, she soon grew tired and her shrieks for help more and more feeble. Just then a ripple appeared on the water about fifty yards distant. Tekok saw it— and knew that her end was near. b ‘The ripple, arrow-shaped, came slowly on towards her and then, only a few yards distant, she saw the snout of a large crocodile just) showing above the water. About eighteen inches behind it were a pair of cold, remorseless eyes. The next moment the ripple stopped, and then she was seized about the middle, and, amidst a tremendous swirling, lifted mght out of the water and borne rushing along the surface. Then suddenly she disappeared, and all was quiet. About a minute after the crocodile came to the surface holding the half-dead woman in his jaws, and again bore her along on the surface of the water. Then the brute dived once more and so, alternately bringing her to the surface and submerging at intervals, he took her away to his lair. Thus Tekok met her fate and—may be—her just reward for swearing a false oath. THE RANGER'S STORY. Set down by the REVD. GUNNAR BJORKLUND, Ph.D., NLY a few years ago Haldo Hansson was the most pro- minent long dis- tance ski-runner in of Helsingborg, Sweden. Illustrated by T. H. ROBINSON. A poignant human document. While on a lonely patrol a Swedish Government ranger met with an accident that rendered him com- pletely helpless. Here is his account of the ensuing days and nights, as told in hospital after his rescue. in the woods. The story was taken down in the hospi- tal to which he was removed after his rescue, and. affords striking proof of the endu- Sweden. By pro- fession he was a Government ranger in Jaémtland, one of the northern provinces of Sweden. In Novem- ber, 1921, he met with a very unusual accident while performing his duties, and in the following narrative he gives an unpretentious account of what he had to undergo during two long days and nights rance and presence of mind of which a well-trained man is capable. On the morning of the 19th November, 1921, I left the Dodre village with two dogs. My orders were to look for some poachers who had been ravaging the Crown forests a ce oe i

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SHORT STORIES. “I perceived some lanterns glimmering through the darkness and realized that help ‘was approaching.”

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156 of my district during the autumn, On my right arm I carried a double-barrelled gun, and over my shoulder I had slung a game- bag containing a scanty supply of food. I was following a cattle-path, which was some- what slippery after the thaw of the day before. I had proceeded about seven kilo- metres when I happened to slip and fall. Unfortunately I got the gun under my body, with the hammers against the ground. The cartridges in both barrels exploded. One was loaded with buck-shot and the other with a bullet, and both charges hit me, with the result that my right ankle was completely smashed. The short barrels of the gun accounted to some extent for this disaster. The first thing I had to do, when I recovered from the shock, was to try to stanch the flow of blood, and to this end I tore my spare shirt into strips and used them as bandages. The next thing in order, to get as was to attract attention, ance. I fired one shot my ammunition lasted, but though (as I afterwards learnt) six of the reports were heard in the village, nobody took them as signals of distress. A few hours later I heard the barking of a dog not far off, and then the report of a gun —no doubt a poacher’s. I began shouting for help with all my might, but nobody came. Perhaps the poacher thought that I was try- ing to entrap him by feigned cries for assist- ance, for I will not believe that in cold blood anyone could have forsaken a fellow-creature in danger of his life. My gun and my voice having failed, I had to try some other means to make my plight known. I accordingly wrote down a few lines on two scraps of paper, stating my situation and asking for prompt assistance. These scraps I put into empty cartridge cases, which I wrapped up in handkerchiefs and tied to the collars of my dogs, one of which was my own, and the other, a harrier, my brother’s. I then tried to drive the animals away, but without success. My own dog, faithful beast, crept whimpering close up to my body, and, in spite of my growls and blows, which made my heart ache, L could make neither of them move off. The cold now began to make itself felt, and it became essential for me to keep up the temperature of my body. I accordingly took off my coat, made a hole for my head ina map | had brought with me, and thrust the rest of it down inside my clothes. By this means I got a cover of paper, a good non-conductor of heat, over my shoulders, back and breast, under my coat. I then crawled a few hundred yards farther on, made a bed of spruce brush, and lay down, with one of the dogs crouching on my breast. Like a drowning man catching at a straw I tried to convince myself that my signals of distress had been heard or that somebody THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by chance would come that way. As the day wore on, however, and darkness began to spread over the scene, I grew less hopeful, and by the time morning dawned I was fully convinced that I was destined to die out there in the great solitude. My hopes somewhat revived when, during that second day, my brother’s dog stole quietly away. I felt sure he would take my message to some house. My disappointment was all the greater, therefore, when he returned after a couple of hours, still carrying my note. During the hopeless waiting [ had plenty of time to write in| my note-book the thoughts which the images of my wife and children called forth. There they were at home, in peace and quietude, without a notion of my plight, little suspecting that any accident had happened to me, for they were well accustomed to my staying away for a week or sometimes more. The day passed ever so slowly and another night followed, as long as a lifetime. My greatest trouble was to fight against the cold. Every now and then I had to take off my shoes and beat my feet with a spruce bough to keep the blood circulating. The pain of my wound was next to unendurable, and I was very faint from loss of blood. About noon I made a last attempt to drive away the harrier. Though it grieved me intensely, I whipped the poor creature as hard as [ could with a whisk of spruce-twigs, and at last it seemed to realize what I meant. With a scared and reproachful look it turned and ran away along the path. Once more a feeble spark of hope was kindled in my heart. With luck, I told myself, I might before nightfall be under kind people’s care and in a doctor's hands. This thought inspired me with new courage. The time of waiting I spent in picking frozen whortle- berries—my only food for many hours. About seven o'clock at night I perceived some lanterns glimmering through the dark- ness and realized that help was approaching. Guided by my calls, the rescuers easily found me, and I was soon surrounded by willing helpers. At about five o'clock, it appeared, the dog had reached the village of Sandnaset. and the message had been read. A rescue party was immediately sent out with a stretcher. Directly they found me a courier on ski was sent off to my home village with the news. I received first aid, had a glass of milk and some light food, and soon felt comparatively happy. A motor then took me the sixty kilometres to the hospital in Ostersund, and here [ am now—awaiting my destiny. Thus ends the plucky Haldo Hansson’s story—the more eloquent for what it does not say. Readers of THe Wine Worip MaGAZINE will regret to learn that after a few days he succumbed as a result of his injuries and the subsequent long exposure.

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The Author and a Peon. Imateup Explor PS a oe ~.0S' CAR EVE _. Bae J BD coals wi A chatty description of a visit to Colombie, the most backward of the South American republics, where casual visitors are unknown and the conditions of life primitive to a degree. “With the hardships and discomforts left behind,” says Mr. Eve, “it was a memorable experience.” HERE is no difficulty nowadays, provided you have the funds, about becoming a “‘ professional explorer.” You merely buy a large outfit, follow up some uncharted river in Brazil, or meander about Africa until you get well away from civilization. To discover a white and Christian state, however, where the casual visitor is unknown, is rather less The Republic of Colombia, South America, fills the bill. Classed by courtesy ameng civilized countries, and here and there actually living up to the reputation, it is far and away the most backward of all the Seuth American republics, and strangers with ne business there never penetrate beyond the coast. 1 do not remember where and when my wife and I first decided that a visit to Bogota was essential to our happiness. I think it must have been one day when we stipped across the Mexican border from San Diego to have'a drink in the open. Shedding the cloak of secrecy, undoubtedly, directed our thoughts towards other enterprises than the national American sport of evading pro- hibition. That was early in 1920, but not until the first days of the November following did we sail from Southampton in the And+s. To obtain a proper outlook on Colombia we decided to go round by way of the other republics, for purposes of comparison. A short summary of our route may not be without interest. Brief calls at Vigo, Lisbon, Madeira, Pernambuco, and Bahia brought us to Rio de Janeiro. Here is fairyland, and I am not going to join the multitude of scribbling failures who have tried to picture what cannot be described. We waited here for the Avon and passed on vid Santos and Montevideo to Buenos Ayres. “ B. A.” is as familiar to most of us as Paris, New York, or London, and is absolutely one of the world’s greatest cities. Having exhausted the Argentine and

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158 Chile, we turned northwards and visited the nitrate ports and Callao, which is the harbour for Lima, the City of Kings. And so to Panama. The Panama Canal, I think, cannot be written about or described too often, but I have no space for it here. Curious and Getting fuel for the steamer. comical in its effect, however, is the neigh- bourhood of the Republic of Panama to the United States controlled canal zone. The two ports, Cristobal (Atlantic) and Ancon (Pacific) are under American jurisdiction, while the corresponding cities of Colon and Panama remain Panamanian. Port and town are so closely dovetailed that you might easily make yourself liable to a five hundred dollar fine by carrying a bottle of whisky on one side of the street, while across the road you may indulge to excess. From Colon, twenty-four hours’ steaming lands you at Cartagena, and here we were in Colombia at last. Cartagena is probably the only Colombian town generally known or frequently visited, as almost all West Indies circular-tourists are given a day here. Cartagena has a wonderful natural harbour and should be a much greater port and commercial centre than it is. There are five fathoms of water right up to her dingy piers, and unfathomed mineral and agricul- tural treasure behind her. The town is truly old and quaint and therefore full of enter- tainment. Narrow, dirty streets are lined by houses of brick, wood, and_ plaster. Wooden grills and heavily-barred lattices, courtyards and galleries, green and cool’ interiors glimpsed from white and dusty streets, the tinkle of guitars under the star- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. i light, and the love-making under the shadow of the wall between the brown youth and the caged olive-skinned beauty—these things are old and new Spanish. The whitest man is tanned by the fierce sun, the darkest is ebon-black, and all shades between are seen on features ranging from Castilian to purest Congo. Innumerable churches, old, older, and less old, but all venerable with the crumbling age the tropics confer in a generation, dot the town. The best is that of San Pedro Clavier, who did much to break slavery hereabouts, was persecuted by the Spaniards, and is the patron saint of the city. His hon- ourable bones were duly displayed to our reverent gaze. We thoroughly explored again and again every corner of Cartagena, from the semi-opulent suburbs to the dirtiest slums —from the bathing beach, where we revelled in warm surf, to the wharves with their dingy fishing smacks, naked babies, fly- blown markets, and tawdry drinking shops. It is all one fascinating panorama of life and colour, noisy and clamorous, languid and hushed almost at the same moment. We even shared the pleasures of the population in the cock-pit, where a vociferating mass of Sunday “ sportsmen ”’ acclaimed the prowess of valiant birds. We met a very interesting personality in Mrs. Kerr. She is an American lady who, deserted by her husband, came here to make a living on her own some fifteen years ago. She penctrated into the jungle, shooting birds and other things, going fearlessly into dangerous and unhealthy places, and estab- lished a fine trade in feathers and_ skins. Having sold a good collection advantage- ously in Colon she bought a petrol launch there and navigated it successfully to Carta- gena with her black boy. Intending to use it in her hunting, she persuaded the captain of a river steamer to give her a tow, but the minute the wheel started up her launch was swamped, and her boat and all her belongings sank beyond recovery. She had to start afresh, and is again making good. She has a small shop full of butterflies, feathers, and skins, and is a great authority on local fauna. She looks and speaks like a lady ; drinks her

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THE AMATEUR EXPLORERS. cocktail and smokes a black cigar, and is altogether a fascinating figure. In preparation for our river-journey we laid in large stocks—mainly onions. And this is why :— Once upon a time there lived a missionary on the Congo, and he was much troubled by bloodthirsty and insatiable insects until he discovered that, after partaking of savoury dishes largely compounded of garlic or onion, he was less viciously persecuted. He then took to eating onions raw every day, where- upon the mosquitoes left him for other game, and he suffered no more. For this reason he contracted with a friend stationed in the Canaries (from whom I had the story) to send him a sack of onions by each steamer calling at his port. If he has not died or gone home, he is still eating onions on the West Coast, and laughing at the savage mosquito. From many points of view I prefer a diet of onions to one of quinine, and some pre- caution has to be taken, for the Magdalena River breeds all kinds of mosquitoes— especially the deadly malaria-carrier—by the thousand billion. The river-steamers start from Baranquilla, and we took a five-hours’ railway journey through the steaming jungle to Calamar, where we intercepted our boat. The inconveniences of rail and steamer transport in Colombia are inconceivable, and I see no reason why they should exist. However, the inhabitants are perfectly contented with what is offered them, and so I presume the operating companies—mainly British—are not going to spend money and trouble on improvements. Fuel is, of course, entirely wood, which is cut from the jungle and piled in handy stacks by track or bank. Steamers tie up for a whole day sometimes while fresh logs are carried aboard. The picturesque ceremony of stacking a moun- tainous load on bare backs, slithering with the precariously-balanced parcels down slip- pery banks, and racing therm across the swinging plank to the dump by the furnace doors soon palls upon the watcher—and the worker, I should think. Yet nobody resents these irritating delays, or considers the possibility of anything better. Under favourable condi- tions you can reach the capital in about ten days, but people have been known to consume six weeks on the journey to Bogota, for the Magdalena is a very uncer- tain river, with constantly- shifting sandbanks, and at all times doubtfully navi- gable. We ran aground on 159 several occasions, but our longest sojourn on a sandbank was no longer than five or six hours, when, after many futile attempts at warping-off, another steamer luckily happened along, and helped us back into deeper water. The banks on both sides of the Magdalena are almost entirely jungle, with rare and sudden patches of banana plantations or grazing-grounds filled with cattle; the infrequent human settlements range from single huts to small villages, and slightly larger ones serving as coffee “' ports.’’ All are intensely tropical and picturesque, even when their squalor and dirt become obvious. The passage or call of the rare steamer is the exciting event of life in this up-river existence, and the motley population—including in the larger settlements a priest or two and some- times even a policeman—throng the bank in full force. The variety of wild life on and in the river A street in Baranquilla.

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160 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Upper Magdalena. is wonderful. Gorgeous butterflies of great size flit across the waters. The birds, of at least a hundred different species, are of all sizes, from the tiny humming-bird, flashing like a jewel in the sun, to the stately blue- grey and white cranes meditating in the shallows or flapping leisurely across the tree- tops, and the sombre turkey-buzzard. Giant lizards and iguanas sit in strained attitudes, or crawl slowly on the muddy shore, tinted in all shades from light grey to vivid arsenical green. Equally gorgeous is the virgin forest, where trees of all sizes and sorts emerge from the tangled and impenetrable undergrowth, many half-choked by masses of creepers. Long strings of lianas and other vegetable ropes hang in festoons from the highest branches, and in between the intense tropical green you get great splashes of colour from flowering shrubs, trees, and vines. The paramount attractions of the river, however, are the alligators. I am eally not exaggerating when I say tha th: water literally swarm: with them. On the numerous sand- banks in midstream and on the flats on the river banks they lie basking in the sun in groups, in large families, or singly, generally with their horrid jaws wide agape. They will allow the boat to come quite close before sliding off into the water, and often do not trouble to move at all. We saw monsters more length, and surprised one right alongside, with his head out of water, in the act of gulping a large fish. We had several rifles on board, and the alligators were much shot at, though sel- dom hit. It isa very entertaining sight to watch them wake up simultaneously with the splash of the bullet in the sand behind or the water before them, after which they disappear with uncanny .speed into the turgid flood. The river steamers vary considerably in size and comfort. Some of the more modern ones have electric light and fans ; the cabins (when you are lucky enough to secure one) are wired for mosquitoes; and the deck space is fairly large. We travelled on many boats during our’ journeys up and down, and the majority were unspeakably uncomfortable. From Beltran to Giradot, for instance, we journeyed on a small boat which turned out to be a miniature inferno paved with sheet-iron and roofed with tin, thus encouraging both the furnace below and the sun above to make things as un- pleasant as possible for us. I quote the following from my diary :— “The night is a terror, There are only eight small single cabins on board, naturally A riverside village. than twenty feet in

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THE AMATEUR EXPLORERS. given up to the ladies, although I (the only man privileged) squeeze into my wife's. - She sleeps on a small camp-bed ; I sleep on the plates. As to hardness, neither of us can boast of an advantage, but my couch is the hotter, being located over the boilers. The rest of the passengers, in- cluding a number of women, sleep where— and if—they can. There isn't room for a quarter of them, and the general air of dirt, distress, and collapse in the morning speaks eloquently of the dark hours. I am the only man who has shaved and, apparently, washed—both difficult opera- tions. During the day we fight for food ; the last luncher sat down at the inadequate and filthy table about 3.15. “There are no fans and no light. The 161 glad to get quit of this boat, not knowing what was before us. I do not like to mention the “ official ” food, as it is well to forget some things. We saw it—generally an ancient cow—killed and chopped up in the morning, and met it subsequently in the form of an unsavoury- looking stew or greasy soup. We lived mainly on baked plantains and fried eggs, eked out with an occasional tin from our private store. Milk is unobtainable, as, except in the vicinity of the big towns, there are no dairies, although there are multitudes of cattle. Sanitation is to match; a shower-bath over the stern-wheel, where the bottom of the river is well churned up, supplies a certain amount of tepid water mixed with a great A river-boat “de luxe.” aggregate of perspiration would fill a spent river, And yet the journey has enough of beauty to make it all worth while.” The Magdalena here runs through wonderful mountains covered in verdure. On the banks are frequent ‘‘ scenes ”’ of native life with all the appropriate “cast” and “ props ”— red-skirted women beating their washing in the stony shallows, fishermen hauling in nets of splashing fish, naked children astride long logs in the wash of our paddles. The course is winding and discloses enchanting pictures on every side. Occasionally we encounter wild rapids and whirlpools, and then a party of copper-coloured swimmers plunge over- board with a wire hawser, and we are helped along by a warp fastened to some monarch of the forest. Beautiful as it all is, we were quantity of yellow mud. It is not much used. Indeed, everybody except an occa- sional member of the Bogota “ Four Hun- dred ’' seems to give up all his ordinary habits so soon as he goes aboard a boat. Nobody ever looked as if they had cleaned themselves or changed their clothes, and it was impossible to tell a respectable citizen from a wild backwoodsman. One particu- larly villainous-looking ruffian, with unkempt hair, blue unshaven chin, a torn, collarless shirt, frayed trousers, and bare feet, emerged at our final destination a dapper soldier, as clean as a new pin and in a beautiful uniform ! In the light of these facts, the following notice, prominently displayed over the eating- tables on all the boats, appeared very humorous to me: “Es prohtbido sentarse a la-mesa de la primera en traje que no

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162 corresponda a la categoria del pasaje,”” which means that it is forbidden to sit down to meals in the first-class without being dressed accordingly. I wonder what second and third-class clothing would look like ? The lower river service terminates at La Dorada, where you take a five-hour railway journey to Beltran, journeying thence by boat to Giradot, where a change is once more made to rail. Having realized the feelings of a sardine, we were now positively reduced to the status of potted meat. Three on a seat for two; the gangway filled ; a crew of noisy students shouting, skylarking, and shoving; dusky- eyed and superbly eye-lashed girls flirting and fanning; baskets of fruit (N.B.—A generous assortment of pines, mangoes, bananas, oranges, apples, papaias, etc., with the basket thrown in for thirty cents!) taken in at every station; con- fusion, clamour, and heat; hard seats, hard backs, and tucked-up legs —there you have the train. But through the win- dows ! From a_ scenic point of view the ascent from the steaming plains to the cold heights of the Sabana is won- derful. With each turn of the wheels the view changes, presenting a pan- orama of superb and ravishing beauty. Terrace above terrace, slope upon slope, and peak over peak you seem to look across the world—distances so great and an outlook so wide as I have only seen in dreams. Everywhere the loveliest greens are relieved by patches of blue-grey eucalyptus and flashes of gay shrubs and flowers. Bamboo woods of great stems and feathery tops, tree ferns, bananas—and. then suddenly a pine and a little foxglove, heralding the colder levels to which we are steadily climbing. At Esperanza, where the nervous Bogota- gians get off to break the change, there is already a nip in the air. Gradually over- coats and mufflers are produced, hats put on, and windows raised. At Facatativa, where we change our gauge, a heavenly cup of coffee with real milk foreshadows a return to civilized life. At seven, after twelve hours in the train, shivering slightly even in A native kitchen. ‘THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. warm clothes, we drive through the streets - of Colombia's capital. The hundred and fifty thousand inhabi- tants of this city are very proud of it, and compare it to Paris and other places that most of them have never seen. Asa matter of fact, although beautifully situated at the foot of lofty mountains, the town itself is of small account, with narrow, ill-paved streets —dusty in dry weather, a sea of mud in wet. As in most Spanish-American cities, the street level has sunk below that of the ubiquitous tramway lines, which makes driving and walking precarious and uncom- fortable. The more luxurious private houses present no better front to the passer-by than the dwellings of the humble. The shops seem dingy, and the only modern and really fine office building is that of the Lopez Bank— not yet completed. The Capitol is large and impres- sive, with two beautiful en- trances, and the cathedral and one other church com- plete the “ sights.” Our hotel was spot- lessly clean, with excellent service and food, an old Spanish house a little way from the centre of the town. The comfort of it was a comfort. The air is pure and refreshing, but the change of tem- perature is a bit trying, and a little sudden. After a journey such as ours Bogota is a very pleasant place to stay in. There is a nice little park where the Sunday church parade attracts rank, fashion, and the common folk. This park is beautifully situated, with a lofty mountain as a background. There is a big church on it, about fifteen hundred feet up. Thousands climb to it every Sunday, taking about two and a half hours for the ascent, attending mass, eating a picnic lunch, and then walking home again. They say that all the bricks for the church were piled at the foot of the slope, and each faithful walker took two or three up with him, thus acquiring merit. From the capital we retraced our steps to Puerto Berrio. On the line to Giradot there is a short tunnel—the only one in all Colombia. An elderly gentleman leaving

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THE AMATEUR EXPLORERS, Bogota for the first time was told by his friends that the darkness was always used by passengers to make the very necessary change from thick to tropical ‘clothing, a Giradot, showing the steamer that took the Author to the upper river. precaution he was most earnestly warned not to neglect. It is needless to recount how, when we emerged into daylight, he was just ready to put on his light suit ! Our nice little cubicle at Berrio was a welcome, if all too brief, haven of rest. At four in the morning we were hauled off our canvas cots and fought our way into the unlighted train, where we sat until the officials had had their fill of shunting. This seems to be their chief amusement, for whenever the train happens on a section of the line where there is more than one track, they indulge in it, for no apparent reason. Finally,we pushed off through the jungle, with the sparks from the engine making a golden rain in the dusk. All Colombian boats and trains except the Gira- dot Railway, which poisons the atmosphere with soft coal of a peculiarly obnox- ious kind, burn wood. The sparks flying from the towering funnels of the steamers are equal to a first-class firework display, but Jess pleasing when they burn holes in 163 your clothing and scorch your skin, as they are very apt to do in the daytime, when they are invisible. Irom Berrio the railway runs to Limon, with a stiff climb, but is finally brought to a halt by an im- passable moun- tain. The final ascent is so steep that you can see your own tracks three and four times below you ; and at times when you see the engine overhead and the tail van below you, it is difficult to tell if you are in the train at all. Some of the curves are so sharp that the engine barely avoids crashing into the last coach! I have never seen so many or such beautiful butterflies—all colours from scarlet and sapphire to velvet blacks, orange, and yellow. Many of them are of an enormous size. Tied for twelve hours to wooden seats, with food snatched from occasional fruit- stalls, and every other travelling discomfort that you can imagine, all our troubles never- theless vanished in the joy of beholding these wondrous forests, jungles, rivers, and moun- The Cathedral at Bogota. tains, as we wound in and out among the hills. We loved every inch of it, from the untrammelled wilds to the little clearing where native huts built of bamboos, with

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164 THE .WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mud-plastered. interstices and palm-thatched roofs, clung to the hillsides at.every angle ; from the little-naked children to the gaunt, sharp-nosed pigs. that wallowed in the shallows while the stream rushed by in foam and music over the white rocks. We mar- velled at the many-coloured birds and butter- flies and the dismal and sinister buzzards sitting untroubled and calm around each homestead—the only sanitary inspectors and refuse contractors in the whole countryside. The same holds good to a certain degree for the second part of the train journey from Santiago to Medellin, although this occupies or sacks of coffee er. cocoa. We ourselves secured a crazy contraption of loose boards covered by a torn canopy of dirty linen. At the very top.of our climb we lunched at a little inn, on a tin of sardines, before falling down the other side. All this was not accomplished without accident, for we broke a trace—mended with a piece of rope not noticeable on our already patchwork harness—we lost a tyre, we collided with a horse so covered with bundles of long grass that we took it for a haystack until it moved into us, and various minor adjustments kept us as busy as a comic turn at the circus. The park at Bogota. In the background is seen the “church on the hill,” to which the people make a Sunday pilgrimage. only three hours of the entire time spent in coming from Berrio, and is, of course, down- hill, commencing on the other side of the mountain. Here there is very little jungle, but great fields of sugar-cane and immense pastures rising gradually to green mountains and filled with countless herds of cattle. The break between the two trains is covered in about two hours by mules, who carry on their backs or pull in rough carts all luggage and merchandise up and down a winding mountain, which struggles in sinuous curves to dizzy heights whence you get most wonderful views down the ever- green valleys on either side. We met long trains of them, dragging rails and machinery The driver, clad in an appropriately dilapi- dated check suit and battered straw hat, shouted at the mules all the way up. Medellin is a friendly little city with a clean appearance, assumed successfully but not quite truthfully. The ‘“ Europa” hotel is quite passable, and once more we enjoyed a comfortable bed. The great trouble all over the country is lack of water, and a cold drizzle after half a mile’s walk to the shower . is as near as we got to a bath for many a. long day. This and other necessary excur- | sions inside the hotel provided all ¢! exercise I required. Medellin is the capital of- th «pr Antiochia, which .is famous for its large

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THE AMATEUR EXPLORERS. families. Fourteen to eighteen chil- dren are quite usual, and in one case we heard of a father with thirty- six; twenty-eight of them by one mother! This fecundity is popu- larly ascribed to a local baked maize- paste. One Sunday, in the chill and dark of earliest morn- ing, we crept to the station and into the cheerless train of the Amaga Railway. In due course we reached Caldas with the first or second sunbeams, and_ hobbled over eobbles to our hotel. Ascending a dirt-encrusted wooden staircase, we took our seats on rickety wooden chairs placed in the usual gallery surrounding the usual courtyard. A transitory glimpse of the dining-room chased. away all desire for breakfast, and the view of a nine-bedded sleeping-chamber induced a sort of “creepy” feeling which is still with me in my dreams. In the corner of the gallery was a com- bine washing and dressing-table, serving all the inhabitants indiscriminately. Now and then a sleepy guest would emerge, The primitive vehicle in which the Author and his wife crossed the “Divide.” 165 A picturesque bit of Medellin. cleaning his teeth vigorously, or gurgling noisily. Having permitted the allotted time for breakfast to elapse, our guide clattered into the yard with our two horses. I struggled into my zamoras (a kind of stiff canvas overall), we donned our ponchos, and swung lightly into our saddles off the seat of a chair which was supported by as many of the rabble of small boys present as could not find a vacant bit of horse to hold. My wife, in long boots and a big red hat, looked the “movie” star to the life, while I might possibly have been “ featured ” as a decrepit Mexican cow- puncher. By the time we reached the half- way house at “Las Brisas,” a tavern on a mountain top, with glorious views all around, we knew what we were in for. It is quite useless to describe the track —you could never visualize it with- out experience of your own, <nd if my efforts at painting it brought you any- where near the reality, you would not believe in its truth. Apart from the “road” itself, one does not real- ize what it means

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166 THE WIDE WORLD: MAGAZINE. to sit upright in the saddle for-eight hours or so.over the very roughest country when one has not ridden for a-decade. First of all, the track goes as straight as it can, which is fairly crooked. Next it climbs each mountain by the shortest way up, and that is often so steep that you think you are climbing up a rope. Thirdly, and conse- quently, it descends so rapidly from the summit that you sometimes seem to be, and sometimes aye, sliding down a precipice. The track is alternately fairly broad and dréadfully nar- row, and sudden corners on its spiral ways set you face to face with .an empty world. Often, naturally, it takes the con- ventional shape of a mountain road with preci- pices rising and falling sheer on either hand; or it is but a narrow ridge with abysses on either side. Again we are pitched down into a_ tropical valley seething in heat, where gor- geous flowers and still more gor- geous butterflies and birds flash among the trees, palms, and ferns, and screeching parrots dash into the dense tangle of creepers, while lizards wriggle across the track, monstrous _ shin- ing green beetles boom and blunder around, and immense ‘dragonflies dart with incredible speed after invisible prey ; and so up into the skies.again. We had to ford innumerable small streams, and ‘one fair-sized river whose swift ‘white waters swirled above the ‘horses’ knees. Their beds.are always of stones:and ‘pebbles rolling with the current-or-sliding away from cautious hovfs and affording ‘but an insecure foothold. But the surface of the road—this is the real terror! Imagine stones and tocks of all sizes mixed up with sticky clay, ‘sand, mud, and red earth. This you pour from a The ‘Author’s wife with some of the quaint :pets they brought back from Colombie. gigantic spout up one ‘side and down the other of .a steep mountain, letting it ‘follow the line’ of least resistance. Then you let the tropical rain descend on it for a week ‘or two, and finally you turn loose a few thousand ‘mules and horses to fight their way across, heavily burdened. They dig a foot- hold into three feet of mud, leaving a dozen different angles.and slopes and long rows of trenches .across the track; raise up corre- sponding waves of mud to be baked to an iron ‘hardness by the wind and sun, and laboriously nego- tiated step by step for many miles. Sometimes the mud remains soft and treacher- ous, concealing jagged, slippery boulders to trip unseeing feet, or else forms vast semi-liquid seas through whose thin crust the wretched beast of burden sinks to the withers. Very occasion- ally we struck a bit of level or a gentler rise where the surface was not qujte so ter- rible, and here we indulged in a short, perilous canter to ease our cramped and aching limbs. Mostly we crawled, how- sever, and always ‘we could see our oad ahead of us on the far hori- aon, Cut ‘into hill -after hill, never- ‘ending, with a hopeless, mysterious -geal somewhere in ‘front. Santa Barbara, where I ‘was taken really ill, is a‘long thin townlet ‘fencing the track, perched on the:summit of the pass. It looks as ‘pretty as.a ‘picture, and is.as dirty as you ‘like—and more so. We were supposed to have a room to ourselves, ‘but were rarely without company—a large contingent of the apparently-numberless offspring belonging to the inn generally ‘bearing us company, most of them in a state-of nature. The-other ‘guest-reom -contained nine ‘beds—all occu- :pied. I had to send for the local doctor,

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THE AMATEUR EXPLORERS, who took a long time to cross the square, but made up for it when he arrived in a frock-coat, patent boots, and resplendent tie. He had evidently dug out all his gala costume to honour the distinguished strangers. We laid up here for twenty-four hours, + the end of which period it was clear that I was too ill to stay away from civilization, and I was accordingly hoisted on to my horse and we returned on our tracks. I do not wish to dilate on my sufferings. Under the conditions of Colombian travel they were almost unendur- able. We arrived eventually at Baranquilla, which needs no description, nor does Puerto Col- ombia—an hour and a half away by train—which a mile of pier, but no harbour to rhap- sodize about! From here we returned to Colon by an almost in- credibly clean Dutch steamer, visiting Costa Rica on the way. We left Colombia with a real desire to return. It was a great and memorable experience, and, with all our hardships, discomforts, and troubles left behind, will remain a glorious memory of one of the world’s most beautiful, romantic, and unspoiled corners. Humanly speaking, the country is in an almost un- believable state of backwardness. Every- thing is primitive, almost prehistoric; the people and places are most wonderfully A typical stretch of 167 dirty, and the means of transportation, when they exist at all, incredibly inadequate. There are hardly a thousand miles of railroad in a country bigger than England, France, and Germany combined | We had collected numerous pets during our journey ; some of them, unfortunately, did not survive, but we managed to bring home a perfect specimen of the white-faced Capu- cine monkey, a dear little mite who does not weigh a pound and is still with us, as well as five birds, including the most marvellous parrot imagin- able; and, lastly, a beautiful black spider - monkey from the Upper Amazon. She spent a very happy summer with us, and is the most docile and affectionate creature; but we dared not risk the winter, as she is too large to keep indoors, so we took her to the Zoo, where she is quite re- conciled to her lot and can be seen in the small mammals house, the only one of her kind in England. For a lengthy period we had no cages, and a loose travelling menagerie was not an unmixed joy, but the necessary in- timacy resulting from this close com- panionship naturally made for rapid and perfect tameness. We all slept in the same room, ate off the same tray, and, in Colombian “ road.” short, lived together as one family. And although they all have their houses within the house now, for all practical purposes we do so still

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hat The story of one of the most remarkable plots and counter-plots in the history of the American police. A desperado planned to wreck a ,crowded passenger train in order to secure the gold it carried; the police ar- ranged to let him get just far enough with his scheme Ta WARDEN WCOLARD of LOS ANGELES, iled happened thereafter is told in the story. “Names, dates and places are all true,” writes Mr. Woolard, “and can be substantiated by official reports. Mr. Wiles and I ‘were personally on the scene, representing the Los Angeles Times, and the photographs were taken on the spot by a Times staff photographer.” CALIFORNIA PEY, this is the Crazy Dutch- to commit himself. What man. He’s the guy I was tellin’ you about,” said “ Little Mac” “ ] AM Ault. His companion, “‘ Lampey ” Lambertson, eyed the stranger critically. “ Right,” he replied. ‘ Let’s see what his old bus can do.” Thereupon the strange trio—Little Mac and Lambertson, who had been cell-mates in a Los Angeles jail, and the “ Crazy Dutch- man,” who explained he was “ just down from ’Frisco’’—climbed into the latter's touring car. Thus began what Southern California officers say was the most fiendish and at the same time the weirdest train-wrecking plot ever hatched in America’s great South-West. Lambertson had been one of the “ outlaw” switchmen who had lost a strike several months before on the Southern Pacific Rail- toad. His hatred for the ‘‘ Espee”’ was intense. He was also very eager to seize some of the money shipments he knew were made regularly from the North to Los Angeles. For days the three men met frequently, and their plans were finally perfected. Once during the plotti~z, the Dutchman threatened to quit when Lambertson insisted on carry- ing a large quantity of dynamite in the automobile. ‘‘ Lampey ” had planned a double method of attack, using a derailer and also a heavy charge of dynamite to make the wreck of the train certain. Dutchy, however, refused to carry the dynamite. ‘‘ None of that,’’ was his ultima- tum, and he won his point after explaining he would not risk his own neck by carrying explosives. He argued, with good effect, that if Lambertson wanted to wreck the train the derailer he had stolen during the strike would serve the purpose as well as dynamite ; and it Siould’ be less dangerous to the three wreckers themselves. As the first faint whistle of the Southern Pacific crack train No. 78, the Shore Line Limited, laden with a shipment of gold from Santa Barbara and hauling nine coaches of tourists bound for Los Angeles, sounded in the distance on the night of January 27th, Lambertson drove the last spike into the . large steel derailer. He had chosen a spot admirably suited for his terrible purpose. Here, at a point only a few miles north of the city, where the roadbed runs above a twenty-foot ravine, he knew from his years of railroad experience that engineers put on their final burst of speed as they enter the home stretch of their run, after rounding a curve some few hun- dred yards above. The place was also near the San Fernando

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THE TRAIN WRECK THAT FAILED. Boulevard and close enough to Los Angeles to assure a quick get-away with only a few miles to go. A heavy growth of eucalyptus trees screened the spot from the prying lights of automobiles coming round the bend of the boulevard. Again No. 78 whistled, this time nearer. It was 10.15 p.m. The night was dark, except for the pale light of the stars. “She’s at Burbank Junction now,” Lambertson said in a low tone to his companions, who had held the spikes for him as he drove them home. ** Due here in seven minutes,’”’ he continued. ‘‘ Now, Dutchy, you beat it for the car just as soon as she goes over the bank. Get the motor running. Mac, you stick right with me all the time. “‘ It won’t take three minutes to crack that express car in all the fuss that’ll be raised.” The three men drew closer to a huge stone culvert. They stood at the head of a path that extended down a sharp incline to the bottom of the ravine and led around under the masonry to a spot where they planned to stand until the train plunged from the rails and crashed to the bottom of the dry creek. Little Mac shivered and drew his coat more tightly about him. It was a cold night for Southern Cali- fornia ; almost cold enough for frost. The Crazy Dutchman ex- amined his revolver carefully. Apparently satisfied with his inspection, he slipped it back into his holster. Lambertson fidgeted _ner- vously as_ he strained his ears to catch the sound of the on- coming train. “ Don’t know what’s keeping her,” he mumbled, glancing questioningly at his pals. His patience was soon re- warded when two blasts of the whistle told the waiting men that_No. 78 was approaching the Pacific Electric inter-urban crossing, two miles above. Nearer and nearer came the fast passenger, the rumble of the wheels growing more and more distinct in the quiet night. At last, around the broad curve ahead came the glaring headlight of the engine. Sweep- ing out in a wide arc, it straightened down the right of way as the passenger coaches, one by one, followed the engine round the curve, every window blazing with light. . The hundreds of passengers, nearing their “Little Mac” Ault. “Lampey” Lambertson. 169 destination, were assembling their luggage and making their final preparations for leaving the train, all unconscious of the dreadful fate that Lambertson had prepared for them. Another minute and the air would be filled with the thundering crash of grinding steel and wood as coach after coach telescoped after careening crazily for a hundred feet or so upon striking the derailer. The joy of the travellers at nearing their journey’s end was soon to be transformed, if the train-wrecker had his way, into the agonized shrieks of the dying and the moans and prayers of the injured. Little Mac started down the path, but when Lambertson tailed to follow he turned back. Lambertson’s eyes were glued upon the approaching train ; he seemed fascinated by what he saw. For No. 78 was slowing down! Lambertson, trained man as he was, knew that compressed air was being slowly applied to the brakes. The train was actually stopping ! With a curse he turned to his companions, but before he could make a remark there came a Startling interruption. . “ Hands up!” cried the Crazy Dutchman, and with that he drew his revolver and levelled it at Lambertson. Quick as he was, Lambertson was quicker. Into the night there shot a jagged burst of flame, and a bullet narrowly missed the Dutchman. An instant later Little Mac and Dutchy fired almost simul- taneously at Lambertson. He staggered, recovered his bal- ance, and started to slide feet- first down the steep path toward a clump of bushes. He still clutched his big revolver. Halfway down the path he was met by a fusillade of shots from the bushes towards which he was heading. Lambertson’s body crumpled, and he rolled over and over until he landed at the feet of Detective - Sergeants William Cahill, Herman’ Cline, and Morris Posner, who had been ambushed in the dry bed of the creek. From another spot nearby came Captain of Detectives David Adams and Federal Agent Moore, of the Department of Justice. They also had been hiding in the ravine. Little Mac and the Crazy Dutchman paused for a second at the top of the path and then quickly slid down to the officers. *

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17° “We got him, I guess,’”’ said Detective Cahill, as -he slapped the ‘‘ Dutchman ”’ on the shoulder. The ‘crazy driver just down from 'Frisco,”’ it should be explained, was Detec- tive-Sergeant E. Raymond Cato, Cahill’s rtner, and both of them belonged to the Pos Angeles Detective Bureau. “ Little Mac ’’ Ault, in turn, was a “ crook gone straight,” who had revealed Lambert- son’s fiendish plan to Cato. Meanwhile, ‘‘ No. 78’ had come to a full stop, the engineer bringing her up to within a yard of the derailer, and Special Agents Bergin and Thomas, of the Southern Pacific, stepped down from the engine cab. With them was the official photographer of the railroad. He immediately set up his camera to get a flashlight of the derailer, firmly spiked in place by Lambertson. Truly it was a train wreck staged to order ; everyone’seemed to have his allotted part to play. To make the illusion of a pre- arranged affair complete, within a minute after Lambertson had been shot and the train had stopped, a party of reporters from the Los Angeles Times dived down the ravine to where the desperado lay groaning on the ground. Unknown to the detectives, Ault had con- fided the whole story that afternoon to Ben A. Markson, a Times reporter. Markson had met Ault a few months before, during THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the recovery of more than $100,000 worth of furs that had been stolen by a large gang of ‘‘ skylight workers.” Divining from Ault’: 's excited manner that this was “ big news," Markson passed on the information to Fred B. Moore, night city editor of the Times. Moore immediately assigned Markson, Otis M. Wiles, F. M. Litchfield, one of the staff photographers, and myself to the story. We knew the details of the entire plot and the counterplot. So complete was the advance story told by Ault that a full account of the case, leaving a blank for the fate of Lambertson— for he was known to be a fast gunman, and shooting was expected—was written and put in type before we left the office that night. ravelling in two automobiles, we drove rapidly past the spot designated by Ault. Going two or three miles up the boulevard, we waited until No. 78 came rushing down the track. Then we raced her until she came to a stop, ran quickly across the field that separated the highway from the railroad, and reached the ravine almost as soon as did Cato and Ault. Lambertson was not dead. He had been shot through the mouth, we could see, and twice in the neck. A dark red spot showed on his shirt over his chest. But he was conscious, breathing laboriously, and occa- sionally moving his right arm. The; dernibes,,epekod \ento, position by Lamberteon: The engine pulled wp within « yard the obstruction,

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THE TRAIN ‘WRECK “THAT: FAILED. 17 A flash-light Brak showing the baffled train-wrecker as he aipeated after being shot down. Flashlights of the scene were taken by Litchfield while the detectives waited for a stretcher to be ‘brought from the train. Lambertson was then taken back to Los Angeles in one of the coaches he -had planned to wreck. By previous otrengement, ‘my particular work was to collect all details and rush back to the office to make the necessary correc- tions in the advance sto Litchfield and 1 were actually speeding to Angeles before the train crew shad succeeded in removing the derailer. 3 Through this plan the huge ‘presses ‘in the Times building were rumbling out the story of the foiling of the plot before the pas- sengers had set foot in Los Angeles and before our competitor had even learned the eutcome of the detectives’ secret mission. Wiles and Markson rode back on the train with Lambertson. Blood-stained and utterly bewildered ‘by the suddenness of his arrest, he stoically kept silent, only once blazing into a-frenzy when he caught sight of Ault. Passengers on the train were still unaware of the near-tragedy that had been enacted. The few who saw ‘Lambertson looked sym- pathetically at him, believing that the train had struck him, thus accounting for the short delay. At the Southern Pacific station, the emer- ‘gency ambulance ‘of the Police Receiving Hospital rushed Lambertson to the operating table, where police surgeons examined his wounds. They found that he had been shot five times—once through the mouth, twice in the neck, once in the chest, and once in the back. Despite this, however, they said they thought he might recover. The details of Lambertson’s plot and the counterplot of the detectives as related by Ault ten hours before the time set for the disaster were found to be substantially correct. ‘‘ Little Mac’s ”’ story to Markson was as ‘follows : Lambertson said he was inspired to wreck the train by three motives: (1) He was a member of the “inner council’ of the “Red ”’ organization ; (2) he harboured a bitter hatred for the Southern Pacific be- cause of the ill-fated strike of switchmen in 1920 ; and (3) he wanted to rob the express shipments, ‘which -he believed would run from $70;000 to $150,000. Two weeks before, it appeared, Lambert- son had planned to derail No. 78, but the

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172 plot failed because the chauffeur with whom he had conspired got “‘ cold feet,”” as Lam- bertson expressed it, after considering the probable loss of life. After this Lambertson approached Ault. The two men had become friendly during terms in the Lincoln Heights stockade at Los Angeles. Ault listened to the proposal and finally agreed to help. He immediately told Detective Cato of the plot. Cato had a large touring car, and he made arrangements whereby Ault was to introduce him to Lambertson as a driver who would help them. Detective Cato as a ‘‘ crazy Dutch- man,” and quickly gained the confidence of Lambertson. In the meanwhile he conferred with his superiors at the Detective Bureau and also with Chief Deputy District Attorney W. C. Doran. These officials told him to go through with the plan far enough to remove any doubt of Lambertson’s intentions to wreck the train. The Southern Pacific officials were then notified of the plot, the Department of Justice was informed, and finally a counter- lot even more comprehensive than Lam- rtson’s was arranged. Special agents and an official photographer were placed aboard No. 78 when she came down from San Francisco. They rode in the engine cab, there to direct to best advantage the progress of the engine after the train entered the danger zone. At Burbank the train was held up for a few minutes to make sure that the detectives to The wounded robber being carried to the train which he had planned to wreck. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. jaa Lake and other officers hidden at the scene would have ample time to do their work. It was this pause which first aroused Lambertson’s suspicions. For the next few days after the shooting, Lambertson’s condition was critical. Armed guards watched constantly at his bedside in the Police Emergency Hospital. Despite his condition and the police precautions, Lam- bertson was declared to have attempted to escape from his room, and additional guards were detailed to watch him. His mother, an elderly woman with snow- white hair, came to his side, and the scene was pathetic in the extreme when her “baby,” as she called him, told her: “I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been out of work.” Later, his wife, who had been separated from him, came rushing to his aid from Las Vegas, Nevada. To her Lambertson poured out his hatred of the ‘‘S.P.” and his thirst for revenge upon Ault, the man who had betrayed his plot. “IT needed money,” he was quoted as saying. “I'd have got away with it, too, if a dirty double-crosser hadn’t told the police. I worked as a Cishwasher — got $2 a night. Icouldn’t get anything else—I wanted money for you.” Three days after the wreck that failed, Lambertson was removed to the County Hospital. On the same day, three com- plaints were issued against him by the District Attorney's office. He was charged with attempts to murder Richard H. Bradley, engineer of No. 78, and George Hammel, the fire- man. The third complaint accused him of attempt- ing to rob the express car of valuables listed as worth $150,000. Conviction un- der these charges carries an indeter- minate sentence in the State Prison, according to a California totalling from three to fifty-five years. But Lambert- son was not con- victed, for on the following day he suffered a relapse and died in agony perhaps as great as that which he had planned to bring to the passengers of No. 78. i

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American Edition Only. tenes MY F IRST LYNX By GEORGE SHIELS. A youngster’s nerve-trying adventure in an abandoned mine. “The story is true in every CLOSER acquaintance with the lynx has engendered in me a_ hearty contempt for the soft-footed coward and his mean ways, but the first one I encountered in the Rockies gave me such a fright as almost stopped my growth. He. was by far the largest and _ fiercest specimen I have ever seen—or ever shall see. A short time before the encounter I had been hoping that something in the way of adventure might turn up. My partner had gone down to the village on snowshoes, leaving me to spend the night alone in a shack far up in the mountains. It was my first night alone in the Rockies. I was still in my ‘teens, and ought to have been at school, but the West had gripped me hard. I was filled to the teeth with ‘ wild and woolly " literature. I knew the biographies of the James Boys, Tracey, Slade, and Plummer by heart. And here I was at last, in the land of my dreams! Alone in a leg shanty on the top shelf of the Rockies ! After my partner had skidded off on his snowshoes I sat a while by the stove with legs spread put, “ bad-man” fashion, and exercised the muscles of my imagina- tion. To say I was happy wouldn’t half tell it. I was steeped in romance. How often had I _ visualized this shack? Thousands of times! The grey logs, the bed in the far corner, the tin stove in the centre’ of the floor, the crude table and the zinc tea-service were all old friends. Nothing was strange, not even the acrid smell of resin in the pine firewood, not the lonely atmosphere. , Having smoked my corn-cob for a long time I got up and piled on an enormous fire of dry. wood. Then I stuck a big revolver in my hip-pocket, slouched my hat a trifle, detail,” writes the Author. and stalked to the shack door in search of trouble. There was nothing doing. The night was calm and the white hillside silent and solitary. A full moon was shining on a world of virgin snow, softening alike the wild gorges and the towering peaks Taos ups and downs formed the sky- line. “What a night for sticking up a stage!” I thought aloud, and stuck my thumbs in_ my vest. Almost in the same moment I caught the sounds of prehensile claws scurrying over frozen snow. This was the correct moment to draw my weapon. But, alas! a chill ran among the roots of my hair, and my body. felt as though sheathed in ice. I stood in the doorway of the shack paralyzed with fear. To this day I can’t be sure whether there was one animal or two. But there was cer- tainly one—a yellow one. It came across the snow in my direction like a streak of lightning. I tried to rush inside and bang the door. But I was too late; the animal shot in past me and went under the stove. Here was another suitable moment for drawing my gun, but, in truth, I had for- gotten I was armed. There appeared to be a great many dropped stitches in my think- ing. I leaped clear across the shack and” landed on the bed. From my new position 1 could see two red eyes and a tongue under the stove. Then I felt like putting the gun to my own head. The animal was Alex Long’s yellow dog! Alex was a pros- pector and lived somewhere behind the mountain. I felt so dirt cheap that I was ashamed to look in the dog’s face. We were both sweat- ing freely, but the dog had good cause. He had been chased by a lynx over a bare

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174 hillside, and only escaped by a miracle. I coaxed him out from under the stove and gave him some food. He ate it in hasty mouthfuls, interspersed by little spells of shivering and listening. He was just licking the tin plate when somewhere outside an angry lynx uttered a piercing yell that petrified us both anew. The yell was very local—in fact, the beast was at the door. The dog darted under the bed and squatted on the floor, while I staggered over to the bedside, sat down, and held on to my hair with both hands. The lynx repeated his fierce challenge, but this time from behind the shack. I wondered how on earth he could have gone round the house so quickly. Another and another nerve-destroying growl came through the back wall. The dog was moving about under the bed. I bent down and looked at him. He was tied up in a yellow, shivering knot of terror. “Oh, hang! !” T exclaimed. ‘I must do something !’ I had never in my ‘life handled a revolver, but I was a crack shot with a dart-gun, and felt sure I could hit a lynx. Swearing under my breath to keep up my courage, I went outside, gun in hand, and closed the door behind me. He is a good stalker who can surprise a lynx. I slipped round the corner on feathery feet, but the brute had gone. His dis- appearance gave me astonishing pluck. I wheeled quickly and retraced my ‘steps, hoping to meet him, but in vain. The lynx had become intangible. A few minutes later he was barking derisively on the summit. I went inside with a bold step and put my gun in the table-drawer. “You can come out, old chappie !'” I told the dog in patronizing tones. ‘“‘ Come out to the stove and get warm. That fellow won’t trouble us again to-night.” If I had regained my self-respect I was soon to lose it again. Before turning in for the night I discovered that the water- pail was empty. Boiled snow was all right for washing and making coftee of, but vile for drinking. The drinking-water we fetched from a spring in the bowels of the old Athabasca mine. The tunnel was some three thousand feet long, and the water was at the other end. Before starting I carefully latched the shack door, leaving the dog inside. Then, with a lighted candle in one hand and a pail in the other, I entered the old disused tunnel, which smelt strongly of cockroaches and antiquity. Always trust a tenderfoot to enter a mine without matches on his person! This seems to be his first blunder, but if he gets safely out and lives to be a thousand he never repeats it. The tomb-like silence, the inky blackness, the strangling fear, all combine to make a deep and lasting. impression. My candle was in a miner's candlestick, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with a steel clasp. The candle burnt down and the clasp got rather hot. An old miner would have noticed this in time and pushed the candle a few inches farther up, but I had to learn my lesson at first hand. When I bent over the spring to dip the pail, my candle dropped into the water. It spat a little, and then all was dark. ‘“No matches!” I was spared the necessity of groping in my pockets. They were already turned inside out before my mind's eye—and I knew I had no matches. Next moment my heart was beating in my throat. The wall of darkness was almost tangible, the silence crushing like a physical weight. Before I could find my way out [ had first to cross an old underground “station ”’ where several cross-cuts branched off in different directions. I must have crept about the floor of this open space for hours before striking the main tunnel, and then I set off by guess. But I soon found my bearings. On either side of the main tunnel were a number of old incline shafts, like stairways along a corridor, and these were hundreds of Sect deep and full of water to the brim. The icy water closing round my ankle made me draw back with a jerk, but the discovery was useful. I knew where I was and pro- ceeded on all fours, using my right hand as a feeler. After a long, slow passage I saw a grey speck of moonlight away in the distance. It was the portal of the tunnel, and I put on speed. The spot of light grew larger and more distinct. Soon it was the size and shape of a domino. Then, suddenly, it was blotted out before my eyes. I paused on hands and feet and peered through the opaque darkness. The moon must be under a cloud, I thought, and if so she would be through in a moment. This was my first impression. The next took away my breath. It was more than an impression. It was a fact. A huge animal was standing in the tunnel between me and the light ! I froze into a pose as motionless as the rock on either side of me. An animal glided forward stealthily and paused within a few yards of me. A pair of big orange eyes streaked with red and black glared at me out of the blackness. The eyes lit up the ferocious face of a lynx. The beast's mouth was more than half open; I could not only see his front fangs but also his back _ teeth. They were a_ fearsome mouthful. Of a sudden the stiffening left my body and I flopped on the ground like an empty sack. I lay there, quite conscious, wondering dully where those cruel teeth would first enter my flesh. Would it be my throat, my arm, or my face? I didn’t like the notion of losing my face first, and so deter- mined to hold it hard against the ground and let him start on my back.

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ote MY: FIRST LYNX. 175 “I tried to rush inside and bang the door. But I was too late; the animal shot in past me.” ” Little by little the big brute drew nearer. I closed my eyes. His breath came warm I' was able now to outline his whole body. about my face. When I woke up Alex Long’s He was a huge fellow, and had a fore-arm yellow dog was licking my hand. He had of massive power. - come after me through the shack window !

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IS THIS AMERICA’S BIGGEST BEAR? VERY sportsman in America is familiar with the famous Rocky Mountain grizzly type of bear. There are a great many, however, who have never heard of the Kodiak brown bear of the Alaskan coast. This variety is not of the grizzly family, but a regular brown bear, very much “ enlarged,” and exists principally on Kodiak, Hinchinbrook, and Montague Islands, along the coast, and at a few points on the mainland of Alaska. Particularly on the islands, conditions are ideal for their growth, and here the variety has attained a vigour and size unbelievable when measured by ordinary standards. In the spring of 1919, Dr. W. H. Chase, an all-round sportsman and veteran bear-hunter, and Joe Ibach, another veteran, both of Cordova, Alaska, sailed from Cordova to Hinchinbrook Island with the avowed in- tention of bagging the “ biggest bear north of fifty-three degrees.”’ The first day after their arrival was spent in making camp and getting the lie of the land. A few hours after the real hunting started both seasoned old-timers were as- tounded at the size of a set of tracks they encountered. From the signs there were seven bears in a bunch, headed up the bed of.a small, noisy stream. After a long hard climb up the precipitous bed of the brook, which was flanked with dense underbrush, four of the bears were sighted. Dr. Chase’s practised eye quickly singled out the largest of the four, and he let drive with his ‘401 Winchester automatic. This shot, which was later found to have broken four ribs and ripped up one lung, only enraged the great beast, which reared up, looking for its pursuers. Roaring like a mad bull it attacked a tree, ripping off big chunks of bark and splinters. Meanwhile, Ibach was busy with another of the bunch. Before Chase could get in a second telling shot, the monster sighted him and charged. Nothing could be seen through the dense brush except now and then a glimpse of a great paw slashing at the twigs and the rise and fall of the huge body. The bullets in the magazine of the automatic rifle were too precious to waste on chance shots ; there was nothing to do but wait. When that tawny avalanche of fur finally burst from the brush Dr. Chase realized that the biggest bear of all the ‘‘ Kodiak Browns ” was just in front of his rifle. The short time required by the enraged quarry to cover the twenty odd yards between his first stand and the clearing where the Doctor stood seemed an age. Suddenly, after a few nerve-racking seconds, the bear charged into the clearing, met a single pencil- The skin of Dr. Chase’s enormous bear. The doctor himself is seen in foreground. jet of fire from the Winchester muzzle, and tumbled headlong, without a quiver! From where he fired Chase could reach out his rifle and prod the ugly monster in the face ! The carcass weighed over sixteen hun- dred pounds, the skin alone tipping the beam at a hundred and forty-seven pounds. A tape-measure laid along the muzzle shows twenty-eight inches from nose-tip to a point between the ears, and the breadth of the head between the ears is eighteen inches. The hide—the sole floor-covering of Dr. Chase’s eighteen-by-twenty-feet office in the Lathrop Building, Cordova, Alaska, is mute evidence of the size of the gigantic frame it once encased. Across the rump from claw to claw the rug is three long paces for a tall man, while the head, mounted with gaping mouth, raises its muzzle knee high, the finger- long tusks bearing witness to what might have happened ifthe sportsman had missed. Dr. Chase and his mighty trophy are seen in the photograph here reproduced.

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TIE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a How I Make $100.00 a Week George Glick OR eight years I was tied to a job in a retail store; when I finally broke loose, I increased my earnings 150 per cent. - For eight years I worked in a retail store, and as far as salaries go for that kind of work, I was doing pretty well. I got my $40.00 every Saturday, and I suppose I should have been happy, but somehow or other, that $40.00 a week wouldn’t buy me everything I wanted. Expenses piled up something awful. Baby had to have new shoes mighty often, Florence had to have her music lessons; my savings account didn’t grow, I didn’t carry enough insurance; I felt I wasn’t getting any- where. Then one day, Mort Lyons, who had worked with me for years, dropped into the store and after the usual greetings, he told me what he was doing. I was surprised when he tohl me that he was averaging better than $80.00 a week. Now Bill is a pretty good salesman, but I knew I could outsell him. I had always been a hard-worker, and was rated a better salesman. It set me thinking, If Bill can earn $80 a week, why can’t I? Bill told me of his connection with J. B. Simpson and of the wonderful clothes they make to retail at $29.50. From what he said of the firm, I knew they must be first class, and Bill wouldn’t be identified with anyone that wasn’t. Amd when he showed me his samples, my eyes nearly popped out. There were the same fabrics for $29.50 that we were selling at $50, $60 and even $65.00. “But, Bill,” I said, “How can they do it?” That’s a wonderful story in itself, said Mort, whiyh Tl tell you later. I thought it over for the next few days, but. I just didn’t have the nerve to make the plunge. Separating myself from $40.00 a week sure and certain, rain or shine, seemed to me a very risky proposition. I talked it over with my wife and, as usual, she had a good suggestion. She san, “George, take your vacation now. It’s January. Business is dull in your store, and they will be glad to have you go now.” Well, the next week I started out, and by the following Saturday I had earned $36.00. The next week I made $52.00 and had enough prospects lined up to bring me $50.00 more. I went back to the store and quit my job. They laughed at me when I told them what I was going to do. “You'll be back in a month,” they said, “begging for your job”; but believe me, they couldn’t give me enough money to even get me back into that old hole in the wall. 3 I have been at it now for a year and last month I made $520.00, the month before, I made $738.00; my earnings for the first year in this business will be about $4,850, and next year I will increase that by at least one or two thousand dollars. I'm sitting pretty now. I’ve got a connec- tion with the finest outfit you could possibly imagine, honest and honorable people offering values that positively can not be duplicated by anyone else. How they can do it is the wonder of everybody. " < One day I made a trip through their tailor shops, and believe me, it opened my eyes. found them cutting trimmings without any waste by a process exclusively their own. saw methods used by them that I had never heard of before, and I thought I knew some- thing about making clothes as well as selling them. I found them buying woolens and pay- ing less than half what we used to pay in our little store. I found them applying the prin- ciple of many sales and small profits and the highest efficiency in every department throughout their entire establishment. Believe me, it was a lucky day for me when I heard of J. B. SIMPSON. If you are looking for a way to get into the big money class and would like to take up a proposition that will pay any diligent worker $50.00 to $150.00 a week, write J. _B. Simpson, Inc., Chicago, Ilinois. The quality of their all wool tailored to order suits will amaze you. Their values are so extraordinary, and they’ve got it so far over any other tailoring that you have ever seen at this price, that you will hardly believe your own eyes. Write them today. They will send you full information. Experience in this line is not essen- tial. They will teach you. One of their most successful men formerly sold stocks and bonds. Another used to be a grocery clerk. A third sold pianos. They will teach you—if you are willing to learn. Mail the coupon. Free Infermation Coupon J. B. Simpson & Co., Dept. 447, Chicago, TH. and would be glad to have you tell me more about the wonderful opportunity you have for saleamen and application blank, T have read the story of Territory Wanted Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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“I WENT TO HER HEAD AND PULLED, AND THE DRIVER OF THE OX-WAGON CAME AND HELPED ME.” (SEE PAGE 184.)

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Three Asses inthe yrenees A JOYOUS JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE. No lover of real a should miss the Author yearned to test his wife's theory that romance and adventure still linger in the E Céte-de-Argent express, steaming out of Bayonne early in the morn- ing of a day of June, left behind it a large kit-bag, a portable tent, a roll o blankets, a banjo, Billy, and myself. Billy and [ had come to Bayonne to look for a donkey. We wanted a nice, quiet, strong, good-natured, willing donkey to the kit-bag, the bed, the roll of blankets, and the banjo into the Pyrenees and away and beyond to the blue Medi- terranean Sea. We had come —TuHe WipE Wortp MaGazineE had made the coming possible— to look for a donkey—and adventure. Billy thought we should find them together. She thought it was a much better way of spending the summer than going to Southend- on-Sea, or staying in West Kensington. We had told our friends we were slipping down to Biarritz for the season, then slipping on to Lourdes, and thence to Monte Carlo for the autumn. The best people always “slip” to these laces. They never go with donkeys. Billy, owever, prefers to be original; it is best if one’s husband is poor. Which further helps to explain why we had come to look for a donkey. Vol. 13. ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD CLEAVER cart, camping out at night, and avoiding all such latter-day luxuries as hotels, trains, and motor-cars. Finally Mr. Walmsley came to us, and we commissioned him, with his wife and the donkey, to wander troash the Pyrenees, writing up iences exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGA- ZINE. His breezy account of the trials and tribula- seers Wa lmsl CY Saas It was raining in Bay- onne that morning, and it was cold. We were tired. We had travelled for two days and nights, and we wanted to go to bed. I bundled our things into a_ voiture, therefore, and we drove to the Grand Hotel. We didn’t discover it was the Grand Hotel until we woke up several hours later. It was an essential part of our plans that we should stay only at the humblest of inns, and then only if we were ill, or if it rained too hard for our little tent. We were to be original in all things. The Grand Hotel has a bath, an electric lift, and a gold-laced commissionaire. We must have been half asleep when we came in not to notice that commissionaire ; he was too utterly magnificent to be at all original. However, we should not stay there more than a night, we told ourselves by way of excuse, and went out to look for our donkey. We liked Bayonne. It is a strangely cosmopolitan place. Situated in the land of the Basques, yet close to the borders of France and Spain, its inhabitants are of three nationalities, yet they seemed one in being happy, good-natured, clean, and extraordinarily polite. Bayonne felt kind. It made one feel instantly at home. The town itself is medieval. Its streets are narrow and crooked, its houses tall and

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180 overhanging. It has an atmosphere of prosperity. A fine broad river, the Ardour, and its tributary, the Nive, split the town into three, and the bridges that connect the sections are well designed and handsomely built. But could Bayonne provide us with a donkey ? It looked as though it might. There were donkeys everywhere, some with panniers, most of them with little carts. Billy thought it would be a good idca to have a cart. “We might make it into a caravan with the tent,’’ she said, “ It would be just splendid. © We shouldn't have to bother about camping-grounds then.” I liked the notion. Our kit-bag was hea If we had a cart, too, it would not be nece: sary to unpack every time we wanted to find a handkerchief or make a cup of tea. “Let's ask a policeman,” I said. ‘‘ Ask him where the donkey shops are.” I should explain that, although I speak excellent French as a rule, I can never let myself go when Billy is with me—she says I speak with a Yorkshire accent. We went up to a gendarme and Hilly interpreted for me. “We wish to buy an ass,”’ we said. you help us?” He was a nice, obliging fellow. I could tell by the way he looked at us he thought we were demented, but he told us nevertheless that there was a stock market being held that very day at the Marché de St. Esprit, on the other side of the river. It would be over in ten minutes. If we had a voiture we might just do it. We took a voiture. The market was such as you will find in any English county town, but just a little more animated ;_red wine being more stimulating than beer. The buyers and sellers shouted, the horses neighed, the oxen bellowed, the donkeys brayed—and all at once. There were not many donkeys for sale, and the prices left us gasping. Eight pounds for an untrained yearling, fourteen for a trained three-year-old—and that of very doubtful character. I had taken care to seek advice regarding donkeys before leaving England. A scientific farmer friend of mine had told me that the best sort are black and have glossy coats ; that the most suitable animal for our purpose would be a young male of this black type. He had also told me how to tell the age of a donkey. You looked inside its mouth and saw how many incisors, or bicuspids, or molars it had—or hadn't. But whether it was ‘ had" or “ hadn't” I could not remember. We were disappointed with the Marché de St. Esprit and decided to go back to Bayonne. As we got into our voiture, however, a little man came up to us. “Can THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “You wish to buy a donkey ? "' he asked. “ We do,” said we. “Ah, the donkeys here are so dear!” he answered. ‘‘ Tell me what sort of a donkey you want.” We gave a list of the virtues we expected to find in this ass of our choice. He thought awhile. He was a little man, as I have said, of swarthy complexion and black twinkling eyes —a Gascon. “TL know of such an animal,’’ he sail presently. ‘‘ She is white, white as the snow in the Pyrences in winter-time, and, ah, she is so fat and sleek! Trés, trés jolie she is. The most beautiful she-ass in Bayonne. Permit me to take you to the gentleman who is her master. He has, also, a little trap. It will be admirable for you.” We reminded him that we wished for a young black male ass, and that its beauty was unimportant. “But you must see this one,’’ he cried enthusiastically, jumping into the voiture and shouting to the driver to proceed. ““You will never find one more suitable. She is strong, good-tempered, and wise. What use is your young black male if he is not intelligent ? I ama dealer in donkey My name is Charles Latour, and I know a good donkey when I see one.” M. Latour evidently had the courage that goes with conviction and the Gascon tem- perament. He calmly took charge of us, dismissed the voiture in the town, and then led us along the banks of the Nive, past an old arsenal, to a narrow lane dividing the river from a large vegetable garden. Here on the left was a gate and a notice- board : DE NSE D’ENTRER. CHIENS DANGEREUX. “Here is the house of M. Frangois,’’ said Charles. ‘‘ His dog is the most fierce in Bayonne, but it is chained up.” We entered the gate and walked through the garden until a small, dilapidated cottage came in sight. The dog, a powerful retriever, was chained to a kennel. It gave us a furious welcome. ‘A very fierce dog, indeed,” said Charles. “But you will like M. Francois. He is a gentleman.” To be frank M. Francois did not look it. He was big and fat, and his generous middle portion was tied in with a broad black cummerbund. His face was—well, scraggy ; nose, red and bulbous, and his eyes bleary. Four and a half bottles a day, I should judge, would be his average. He raised his straw hat and bowed as gallantly as his cummerbund would permit. Charles introduced us, and the pair of them had a little side-talk in Basque. “So you would sce my little Blanchette ? ’” said M. i “She is a beautiful donkey. Madame will love her. Ah! but it

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. 181 is sad; I must sell her. I have too many donkeys now. But Blanchette is the most beautiful of them all. Wait! I will show her to you. You will love her at once.” He disappeared behind the cottage and returned two minutes later with the most remarkable-looking animal I have ever seen. “Oh! isn’t she perfectly sweet ?'’ my wife cried. Her coat was as white as that of a dipped sheep ; her back was so flat that you could have laid a tea-service upon it, and in place of a mane she had a curious swelling that looked lke a bolster with a fringe of hair coming from the seam of it. “‘Good heavens!” I cried to my wife. “* She’s got dropsy !'”’ “It does look funny, doesn’t it ?’’ she answered. ‘‘ But isn’t its face perfectly sweet?” “ This is Blanchette,” said M. Frangois. “Did you ever see so beautiful a she-ass ? “‘ But what’s wrong with her neck?” I asked, pointing to the bolster. “ Surely that is disease ?” He laughed. “* Mais non, that is the grease! She eats —ah, there never was an ass so fond of her food as Blanchette! She eats the mice.’’ “‘ Mice ?” I echoed in astonishment. “No; he means maize,’ Billy put in. I felt relieved. M. Frangois proceeded to put Blanchette through her paces. He ran her up and down the garden path. She actually pranced. “We simply must have her,” said Billy. “What did Deakin say?” I repeated that my friend had advised a young black male. Blanchette was female, white, and her age——? “ How old is she, Monsieur ? ” “* She is old,” he answered frankly. ‘‘ But I have regarded her as a member of my family. She has seven years.” Seven years did not seem very old. I looked inside Blanchette’s mouth. It was not a nice thing to do to a lady, but she was evidently quite accustomed to such fami- liarity, and obligingly rolled her tongue well back from her gums. Her teeth were not retty. If she had been a member of my ily I should have taken her to a dentist long before. Those which were not brown were green. I thanked her and closed the mouth. “ About seven,” I remarked, with what I thought was the air of the experienced horse-dealer. ‘‘ The point is, what can she do, darling ? Ask him if he has got the trap handy ?” The trap was handy. It was not an elegant affair. It was, or rather had been, painted n. The colour scheme was not pleasing. Blanchette, however, did not seem to mind that. She backed in like a well-trained horse, and the harness was buckled up. “She is a very sage animal,” said M. Francois. “ If you do not buy her I shall sell her to a circus. See her broad back ? One could stand on one’s head on that, and Blanchette would not stir. I tell you she is remarkable in every way. Now, Madame. will you step up and we shall go for a little drive. Monsieur, you as well?”

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182 It was a fair test. Blanchette took us galloping down the lane at a tremendous pace. It seemed too wonderful that we should find such a treasure so easily. We returned and unharnessed her. I was enthusiastic. “‘ But are you sure about her age ? ” Billy asked me. “Of course Iam. She’s not a day over seven. I wonder if I can ride her myself ? ’” The fierce dog, during all this time, had never ceased in its efforts to break its chain and attack M. Latour and myself, but as the chain seemed stout enough it had caused me no anxiety. The chain, I should add, was a couple of yards in length. I got up on to Blanchette’s broad back and turned her head down the path. She was full of beans, or maize, or mischief, and set off gaily. We reached the gate safely and turned round. “Gee up!’ I said, kicking her flanks with my heels. ‘‘ Let’s see what you can do.” She did—nobly. A second later we charged into Billy and the two men, scat- tered them, and brought up stock-still in front of tke kennel, with my left foot dangling almost into the jaws of that horrible dog! I suppose it was the finest chance the brute ever had. He growled and made a flying leap at my leg. He missed the flesh, but got the front part of my trousers and held firm. I yelled, kicked Blanchette with my right foot and rained blows upon her neck, but she would not stir an inch. Evidently she was in league with the dog. Frangois got a stick and beat the dog. Charles pulled at Blan- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. get-away a quiet and unassuming one. I hate being laughed at. I am very self- conscious and sensitive to ridicule. We spent the remainder of the day buying food and other necessities for our journey, and in the evening we took the train to Biarritz. Biarritz consists of a number of large hotels, American bars, bathing huts, pro- menades, and a Casino, built on the edge and face of a low sea cliff, facing the Bay of Biscay. It is wondrous neat and clean, and ugly. The cliff has been chopped and sliced and tunnelled into; gardens have been made upon it; rocks have been cemented up and connected to the shore with iron bridges ; the sea has been tamed by square, massive cement walls. There is dly a square yard of Nature’s own architecture that has not been improved upon, and the result is so hideous that we were glad to get back to Bayonne before dark. There we found the whole population out listening to a band in the big square near the river. It was a jolly band, playing jolly tunes, and the crowd was just as jolly. Youths and girls were dancing. We danced ourselves. There was intoxication in the air—the music, the laughter, the twinkling lights reflected in the smooth dark Ardour, the utter abandon- ment of everything and everybody French, Basques, Spaniards, and an Englishman and his wife, we all laughed and danced together. No one seemed to mind us. Only the unhappy are strangers in this smiling Southern town. We had arranged to call for Blanchette at six—but the chambermaid did not awaken us until nine. We got up chette’s head. But it was Billy who saved me. She got hold of my right leg and dragged me clean over Blanchette’s flanks on to the other side, where I subsided into the dust. “It’s all right,” I cried a minute later; “if you cut off the other leg of my trousers I shall have air of shorts.” e bought Blanchette and the trap. 1 don’t care to say how much we gave for them, but I will mention as a point of possible interest that we carried out the financial side of the transaction in M. Frangois’ shop in the town. It was a butcher’s—apparently he combined the two professions. It was the sort of butcher’s shop you will not find in England. The meat he sold was horse and donkey —dead horse and donkey. I have often thought of that since we bought Blanchette. It was arranged that we should call for Blanchette at six o’clock the next morning —Saturday. I was anxious to make our Trying on the harness. hurriedly, ate our pétt déjeuner, and finished packing. “ Billy,” I said, “I think you'd better leave the getting of the luggage to me. Our road starts the other side of the main bridge. I'll go and get Blanchette, bring her here, pack up, and meet you over there. It will attract less attention if I am by myself. . . . You're so pretty, you ‘now, me | added hastily. ‘‘ The men stare.” “You're ashamed of me, I sup, ,” she answered tartly. ‘It’s this hat—I’d better buy another.’’ 4 “ Don't be silly,” I said. ‘“ We've got to do this as quietly as possible. 1—I—think I can manage Blanchette by myself. It will be so embarrassing for you. Of course, if you like, you can follow me. Pretend you are not with me.” It was finally agreed that she should meet me on the bridge. We went down to the office to pay the bill.

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. 183 “ Billy got hold of my right leg and dragged me clean over Blanchette’s flanks.” «‘ What train do you take, Monsieur ?” asked the lady clerk. “* We are not going by train,” I said. “You desire a taxi 7” “ But no,” [I answered coolly. ‘‘ I shall call for my luggage shortly. A private car— I go now to the garage.” he town seemed more busy than usual that morning as we walked along towards the fort, but it was not until we reached the market-place that we realized why. It was market-day! The little streets were packed tight with a seething mass of men, women, children, oxen, horses, mules, and donkeys. Stalls ran along the sides of them. ere there were no stalls, carts and traps were parked end to end, like military wagons. There was scarcely room to walk. My heart sank at the prospect of driving Blanchette though such a maze. But I said nothing to my wife. Her trust in me is infinite. She thinks I am a wondertul man, and I did not wish to disillusion her. We parted at the bridge. A few minutes later M. Francois and I were harnessing Blanchette into the cart. “You have got a bargain,” were his parting words. “‘ Be kind to her. I have loved her always.” I got up into the seat and he led her out of the gate into the lane. Then, with a proud sense of ownership, I flicked her flanks with a switch, and we set off on the first stage of our journey. The lane was short. At the end it turned abruptly into the main road, and also into a considerable stream of traffic. Instinctively I felt for a horn or bell to ring; we could hardly go charging into a main road without some warning! Yet no such instrument came to hand. Surely one should have something of the sort ! A motor whizzed past a foot in front of Blanchette’s face. She stopped. I got down and took her head. “Gee up! '"’ I said, in the hope of leading her across to the right side of the road.

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184 She obeyed, and got out into the middle of the road. Then she stopped again. A large lorry drove up almost on top of the cart. “Go on!’ bawled the driver. ‘‘ You are obstructing the road—do you not see?” I was not obstructing the traffic; it was Blanchette who was to blame. She had got the cart broadside on to the left line of traffic and herself broadside on to the other one. I whipped her. She turned her head round and eyed me disapprovingly. 1 went to her head and pulled. She shook herself free and made a sudden snap at my hand. I went back again and plied the switch. She seemed to like it; anyway, she did not move. By this time the lorry driver was getting angry. There was a touring car behind him and several market carts. A large ox- wagon was drawn up on the other side of the toad, “Thrash her!’ said the driver. you not understand ?” I thrashed her. The switch broke. I went to her head and pulled, and the driver of the ox- wagon came and helped me. Blanchette simply planted her fore feet more firmly, leaned back, and stuck. Two more men joined us. One of them pushed at the cart, the other helped us for’ard, but we did not make her move. “Mon Dieu! There never was such a donkey!” said the ox-man, stopping to wipe his brow. “She is a female. They are like that—obstinate.” ““You must move the cart sideways,” said one of the other men. ‘‘ You are obstructing the traffic—it is against the law. Here is a gendarme.” A tall man in a blue uniform came up. ‘What is the matter?” he said fussily. “You must not act in this manner; the traffic is being obstructed.”” It was slowly dawning on me that such was the case, but it did not help to shift Blanchette. “Is the donkey yours, Monsieur?” the gendarme asked. I replied in the affirmative. “Then you must move it,” he said. “‘ See that it is moved.” There were now at least a dozen vehicles held up on either side of us, and a respectable sized crowd had gathered. The ox-man made a general appeal for help. Several youths volunteered and laid hold of one side of the cart. Then, all together, we heaved. Blanchette, apparently, was not prepared “Do THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for this manceuvre. She expected to be moved forwards or backwards, but we pushed sideways. She gave way—instantly —and the next second she was safe on the right side of the road. But she did not stop. Apparently quite content with her morning's fun, she decided to show what a nice, well-behaved ass she could be, and she joined the stream of traffic moving towards the market as though nothing had ever happened. She gave me no chance to climb up into the trap, but I was permitted to hold her head and walk alongside her in company with several small interested boys. I did not wish for company just then ; I was feeling too hot and bothered. I wanted to be alone in a quiet lane—with Blanchette. I wanted a long, particularly whippy whip. I wanted to whip Blanchette very indeed. She was a brute. We reached the market quickly. Picca- dilly Circus at theatre-time would have seemed a calm sequestered spot compared with the scene that now confronted me. There was no at- tempt at traffic control. Bullock carts, donkey carts, and motor - cars struggled together for right of way. So did Blanchette, but her idea of direction was not exactly mine. I wanted to take one of the quieter streets that run parallel to the river and emerge in the road where the Grand Hotel is situated. She wanted to see the market. And see it she would, in spite of all my persuasive efforts to the contrary. She nosed her way through that crowd like an old and determined lady at a summer bargain-sale. What obstacles she could not move with her nose she moved with her trap, by a simple side-slipping action of the shafts that swept everything within a couple of yards of her out of the way. I hung on to her head in desperation. We gained the centre of the market, and then Blanchette stopped in front of a fruiterer’s stall. She wished for something, apparently, for she gazed at the fruit and then turned her large intelligent eyes on me as much as to Say, ‘‘ Well, old sport, what about it?” I know that I should not have given way to her at that moment. I should have whipped her unmercifully. She deserved it. But my wife was waiting and the market was being hung up. I gave her a peach, and threw the lady at the stall ten sous. Then Blanchette moved again and actually condescended to answer to my steering.

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. We gained the little street I wanted through a by-lane. I began to breathe once more. There was no moving traffic in it, only a long line of carts and traps parked on one side. I got up on to the seat, and made a clicking sound in my cheeks, such as a driver does when he wishes_ his horse to move fast. Blan- chette liked it. Perhaps she had never heard it before. Perhaps it appealed to her vanity. Anyway, she opened out. There was no moving traffic, I have said. The street was clear of every- thing but the parked carts. One would naturally expect a well - trained, intelligent donkey to steer clear of those. They were all drawn up in a neat queue close to the right-hand pavement— twenty of them, at least. Our right-hand wheel caught the left-hand wheel of the first of them and locked, with a horrible grinding sound. I ulled at the reins with all my might. lanchette slowed, but did not stop. The grinding sound increased. The first cart backed on to the second, the second on to the third, and so on until the whole queue began to quiver and grind and crash like an electric stone- crusher. I leapt to the ground. Blanchette, after one last effort to overcome the inertia of those twenty carts and drag them to the Grand Hotel, stopped dead. The task was too much for her. She was only a poor, insignificant female don- key after all. T took hold of the bit 185 I urged her forward again, then back wards. The two traps groaned and shrieked like animals engaged in mortal combat. The street was now in commotion. Attracted by the noise, the owners of most of the carts appeared, some from the market, some from wine - shops. Some were amused, most of them were angry, but all of them shouted. The owner of the particular trap we were engaged with was a fat Basque, and apparently he could not speak French—or at least I could not under- stand it. He was one of the angry ones. He seized _ Blanchette’s head and beat her. I made . no efforts to prevent him. If he had had a spare stick I should have been grateful to him, preferably one studded with nails. He beat her, and then, signal- ling to me to hold on to his own cart, he made her back. With a last protesting shriek the vehicles came apart, and then Blanchette and I stood free for action once more. But I didn’t wish for any more. I wanted a bath and a long drink. “I wanted to bury myself, to cease to exist. Above all I wanted to take Blanchette into Frangois’ butcher's shop and murder her, to murder Frangois as well, and put them both into the sausage machine. It was an hour later when I joined Billy on the bridge. “You have been a long time” she said. “It has been terribly embarrassing for me waiting here. But I’m glad you managed every- thing so well. I do think and savagely pulled her back. The cart she had caught came with us. Our wheel was firmly locked to it, and so was our mud-guard, and part of one shaft. The Author with “Blanchette.” you're clever. Shall I walk or shall I get up?” “Get up, darling,” I said. “I’m going to drive straight into the river. It will be the best for all of us.” (To be continued.) = SS

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Che DIAMOND A very quaint little story. writes the names of ship and persons concerned. happened in May, 1921.” OMEWARD-BOUND, the City of Gloucester, manceuvred under the commands of the skilled’ Canal pilot, fastidiously picked her way imto her Port Said anchorage. She was from Calcutta, with the usual mixture of passengers—Indian Army and Govern- ment officials, missionaries of half-a-dozen denominations, and a leavening of tea- planters and mining engineers. Having safely moored the vessel fore and aft, the pilot, who had been on the bridge eight solid hours from Ismailia, took a final whisky-and-soda and his leave. The native coaling-gangs, which had swarmed aboard the instant the ship anchored, commenced their monotonous chant as they emptied their baskets of coal into the steamer’s depleted bunkers. Throngs of Arab boat- men surrounded the accommodation-ladder, up which poured a motley stream of jugglers, conjurers, bead and curio-sellers, and a collection of the land-sharks that seem to be an essential part of the community in every harbour, with Port Said an easy winner. The Second Officer leaned against the tail on the promenade deck and surveyed the scene before him with an amused and cynical eye. Many, many times before he had seen the conjurer produce the newly- fledged chicken from the inside breast- pocket of an astonished missionary. He knew that the beautiful books of pressed flowers were frauds, that the polished olive- wood in which they were bound did not come from the Mount of Olives, as it pur- ported to, and that the pretty flowers them- selves were not from the Garden of Geth- semane, but from the banks of the Rhine. He was sorry for the people who bought the quaint coral necklaces, too. How were they to know that they were artificial, and that the crude way in which the “ coral ” was strung was part of the deception ? None of the Arabs ever offered to sell any- thing to the Second Officer. It was years “It is absolutely true,” Author, “the only alterations being in the incident be |H.CAMPBE BUCKLEY ILLUSTRATED BY UYVOHN CAMPBELL since he had bought anything of any of them. He had graduated in the school of experience; he knew too much. Just then a hand touched his arm, and the Second turned. It was the Senior Wireless Operator. “ Halloa, ‘Sparks,’’”’ he greeted, ‘‘ how’s things ?” The Senior Operator looked anxious. “‘ Just walk down the deck with me,” he said quietly. ‘I think I can put something in your way.” They moved to a secluded corner, and the Second observed that ‘ Sparks ” was fairly trembling with excitement. “‘ Well,” he asked, ‘“‘ what is it?” “Want to make twenty or thirty quid ?” queried the Marconi officer, in a tense whisper. Mr. Price grinned; he was not by any means a wealthy person. “Just try me,” he suggested. ‘“‘ Just lead me to it! How’s it to be done?” The Operator glanced round to be sure they were not overheard. ““ Twenty or thirty quid, as easy as falling off a log, and I’d do it myself only that I’m scared,” he mumbled. “I thought it would be more in your line, and that’s why I came to you.” The Second was puzzled and doubtful. “ Better let me have a few particulars, hadn’t you ? ” he demanded. With that his companion led him farther into the corner and whispered :— “‘ Well, we’re calling at Marseilles, as you know, and there’s a gentleman in a fez down on our deck who has a parcel of dia- monds that he wants landing there on the quiet. . You know—smuggling.”

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The Second snorted with disgust. After all, though, it wasn't so surprising—the comparatively youthful ‘‘ Sparks’ hadn’t been long at sea, and in any case was a novice when it came to dealing with the gentle Egyptian. He placed his hand pater- nally upon the young fellow’s shoulder, and declared :— “ Didn’t think you were as green as all that, Marconi, old man! But I’m ready to admit that it’s a new dodge, whatever it is.”” The wireless man looked hurt. “Green?” he repeated, indignantly ; “‘who’s green? And what d’you mean, anyhow ?”’ The Navigating Officer patted him on the back. “Confidence trick, old bean. Don’t get sore with me now. Bad place, Port Said. Just show your slippery friend to me, and I'll demonstrate to your entire satisfaction how not to be had.” Together they walked the remaining length of the promenade deck. Arrived at the after-end, the younger man nudged the Second and indicated a shabby-looking individual seated upon a hatch-cover on the lower deck. He wore an overcoat, a sphinx- like expression, and a fez. “ Right-o!”’ said Mr. Price. me closely.” He descended the ladder, and the younger man gazed with eager interest as the Second lit a cigarette and approached the alleged diamond-merchant. There was no one within earshot, and the deck officer came to business at once. “ Well, friend,” said he, ‘‘ what about this little business you want doing?” Then, as the native gentleman glanced about him with apparent apprehension, he added :— “It’s all right; there’s nobody but Marconi up there—and he knows what you told him. Come on; let’s hear the good news.” The Egyptian measured him with a steady and calculating eye. “Yes, Effendi, 1 have business,’’ he answered gravely, in good English. “ But are you safe? Can you keep very quiet —never speak? Not one word?” He placed a brown forefinger over his pursed lips. "The Second gave an understanding nod. ““Not a single, solitary, blessed word,” he agreed. ‘‘I can be as quiet as a deaf- mute at his own funeral.” The native did not smile; perhaps he did not understand. He looked inscrutable. “We cannot talk business outside here, Effendi,’’ he said. ‘“ Take me into your cabin. There is a Customs man on board. He knows me, and is watching me.” The Second Officer wondered. What was “ Just watch THE DIAMOND SMUGGLER. 187 “The Egyptian smiled.” the little game ? This was an entirely new wheeze so far as his experience went. However, he had engaged in the affair and would go through with it. This beggar had no diamonds, of course. If he had, wonld he entrust them to an entire stranger? © Not likely! These Egyptian Johnnies were far too cute to trust anyone. Why, they didn’t even rely upon one another! . . . Well, anyhow, that verdant Marconi opera- tor must be enlightened a bit. *‘ All right,”” he assented. ‘‘ Follow me.” He led the way to his own cabin, bestowing a furtive wink on the wireless man as he passed. The native followed him in and carefully closed the door. He helped himself to a seat and to one of the Second’s cigarettes, and settled down. Mr. Price made a mental note of his cheek, and promised himself an ample revenge. “ Now then,” he asked, ‘‘ what about it ? ” The Egyptian smiled ; he appeared more at ease. “ First,” he said quietly, “I must tell you, Effendi, that my name is Abdul ben Hassan. My brother and myself very beeg diamond merchants. Perhaps you have heard of us? No? We send diamonds everywhere—America, China, Australia— everywhere! And always, always trouble from the Customs. Without duty, the profits are much bigger. So now we smuggle. All

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. right! Very good! More money for us ; “Not gold,” said he. “ Brass. But some money for yow—and no Customs. real diamonds. The imitation setting, What do you say, Effendi?” “ Bright idea. How much money is there in it ? ’’ demanded the Second, guilefully. ‘‘Twenty pounds Engleesh. Thirty, if you take also.a parcel of rubies. Very easy money, Effendi.” Mr. Price thought it sounded rather too easy, but he didn’t say so. ‘‘ Good enough,” he agreed readily. “ Let’s have a look at the money. Show me thirty pounds.” The man of diamonds nodded his approba- » tion. “You are a business man, meester. How would you like the money ? I can give you American, French—what you like.” ““Well, as we go to Marseilles, perhaps we'd better say French. It'll save me drawing money there.’ Mr. Hassan fumbled in an inner pocket. and hauled out a very fat and dirty wallet. ~ He did not open it. “T can give you two thousand francs,’ Effendi. I have no small money. The exchange is about fifty-five to-day. Two thousand will be about thirty-six pounds Engleesh. Can you give me six pounds change ?”’ So that was the game! This rascal had a pocket full of all kinds of counterfeit paper money, and would present him with two thousand francs, counterfeit and worthless, and depart with ‘‘ six quid ”’ in good English currency! Nothing doing! The Second Officer was a little too smart for that! “‘No,” he said quietly, ‘ 1 have no change —not a cent.” . But the coloured gentleman was a man of resource. He suggested that the ship’s purser would undoubtedly lend six pounds to the officer, and he, Abdul ben Hassan, would wait.: there in the cabin while it was procured. °.: Quite impossible, the Second told him. He was on bad terms with the Purser, who would not oblige him, he felt certain. “‘ Anyhow,” Price went on, “ what about these diamonds ? You haven't shown them to me yet.” Mr. Hassan thrust a brown paw deep into the recesses of his voluminous overcoat pocket, and produced a small and dirty blue cardboard box, such as is generally used for Birmingham jewellery. With great and ostentatious care he opened it, displaying half-a-dozen cheap-looking rings, each set with a chunk of cut-glass the size of a pepper- corn. The Second laughed derisively. Mr. Hassan held up a reproachful hand. He carefully extracted one of the tawdry rings and explained, tapping awhile the obviously brass setting. Meester Mate, is what you call a ‘bluff.’ See—the spark!” He cupped one hand partially about the stone in the ring, and it flashed with a thousand lights. The officer was mystified. In truth, the thing appeared to be a diamond, and yet . . Abdul ben Hassan was a psychologist ; he pushed his advantage. ““ Give me glass,”’ he demanded, will prove to you my diamonds.” _The Second looked around. - There was no glass in the cabin barring that in the photo- frames of his. several sweethearts. He couldn’t have his girls’ pictures scratched by this-fellow, he decided; he would go and. find - Chips,”’ the ship’s carpenter, and get glass from him. He got it, and returned, and, Hassan, at once made several severe scratches upon it. However, many things besides-diamonds will scratch glass, and the Second knew it. His doubts still remained. But he was. puzzled, distinctly puzzled. He had never known anything like this before. ‘ Well,” said the native, the stones?” “Sure I more ?”’ Mr. Hassan nodded. “Sixty pieces of diamouda and twenty pieces of rubies. But first I must send a telegram to my brother, which he will forward to Marseilles. When does your ship sail, Effendi ? ’”’ The officer made a rapid calculation. “About half an hour from now. We are only taking two hundred tons of coal.” “ Please give. me paper and pencil.’’ . Producing .these, Mr. Prige looked on while the other wrate a long-telegram -in Arabic, counted the words, and signed it. - Mr. Hassan then made three strange cabalistic signs on a pjece of paper and handed it over. " « ‘‘ What’s this for ? ”’ asked the Second. : ‘Take down this address,” was the-reply, “‘ Number 98, Rue de Cannebieére, Marseilles. Got it ? You will go there with the packets, which will be handed to you— they are small and easy to conceal—and show this paper. “A man at that address will show you one exactly like it. To him you will deliver the stones, and to no one else. Should anyone ask you anything about the business, you must pretend you not understand. Is everything good now, Effendi?” Mr. Price was still sceptical. ° “ Everything’s good,” said he, “' excepting that I haven’t got either the stones or the money.” “and I “‘ will you take will, but haven't you any

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THE DIAMOND SMUGGLER. 189 “Woll, friend,’ said he, ‘what about th’s little business you want doing?’”

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190 The inscrutable look again appeared in the eyes of Mr. Hassan. Again he placed a finger on his lips. “Wait, Effendi,” he urged in a soothing voice. ‘‘ The whole thing will be handed to you later. But not by me. There is danger, and we always wait until the last minute. And now, if you please, I had better see again the young wireless man. He is young, and may talk.” The Second, much mystified, conducted his companion to the operator’s cabin. He was still at a loss as to the intended machinations of the gentleman with the fez. Some game was in the wind, he felt sure— but what was it? He waited outside the cabin for some minutes. Suddenly, the door was opened by Simpson, the wireless man. The sender of ‘ longs and shorts ” passed him in a hurry, to return presently bearing a piece of glass, with which he dis- appeared into his room, and the door was again closed. Five minutes later Ben Hassan and the operator emerged. “Hurry up,” advised the Second, “ the pilot’s aboard, and we'll be off in another ten minutes.” The Egyptian handed him the little blue cardboard box. “‘Hold these, and remain here, Meester Mate,” he said, ‘“‘ while I go and fix up with my partner.” The Second took the box, and Hassan disappeared along the deck. “Rum go,” remarked the Navigating Officer to Simpson ; “ what did he have to say to you in your room?” “* Showed me the rings in that box you’ve got in your pocket,’ replied the other, “‘and he proved they were diamonds, on a piece of glass I got for him.” The Second laughed. ‘* Something tells me that our friend isn’t coming back,” he said. ‘‘ He’s a long time finding his partner. Anyway, I’ve got his rings, and it’s my opinion he’s got the wind up and has beaten it off ashore. By the way, ‘ Sparks,’ did he ask you to get any change for him?” “Yes, but I told him I didn’t feel inclined to be a bold, bad smuggler. All the same, he insisted on letting me see how his dia- monds would cut glass; though what satisfaction he got from it I don’t know.” ““Humph!” growled the Second. “ It’s queer—very queer.” A quartermaster brought the order “ Stations,” and the two separated, the Marconi officer to see that his wireless was -I wonder THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ° in working order, and the Second Mate going aft to unmoor. While so doing he observed a boat from the steamer frantically making for the shore. In the stern-sheets sat Mr. Ben Hassan. He saw the officer on the poop, and waved a farewell. Mr. Price did not return the courtesy. -t Artful swab!”’ he muttered, “ he had some game on, but I was too many for him. what the idea was? He was certainly a most artistic liar, Anyway. I’ve pinched his stock-in-trade, and he'll have to lay in some more ‘diamonds’ before he can try another swindle.” An hour later the City of Gloucester was foaming her way through the blue Mediter- ranean. The Navigating Officer had amused several groups of passengers with an account of how he had outwitted the wily Egyptian. The rings which had fallen to his shrewd- ness, and which had cost him nothing, he had presented to several small and delighted girls. One of them ran up to exhibit hers to her mamma, to whom Mr. Price «was talking. “Yes,” he wound up. “It’s the very first time I ever knew one of these Port Said wallahs to leave a ship and go ashore out-of- pocket.”” Someone appeared at his elbow. It was Simpson, the Wireless Operator. The Second excused himself and stepped aside, for Simpson looked sorely troubled. “ Anything wrong ? ” asked the officer. “Well,” said the other, “I can tell you what game that chap in the fez was after, anyway. My wrist-watch and my junior’s gold watch and chain have gone west.” ““ What ?”’ gasped Price. ‘‘ Pinched?” “Sure thing! The beggar must have nailed them when I went out to get the glass for him to try his stones on.” Mr. Price smiled a superior smile. “Well, you know, you were a fool to leave him alone in your cabin,” he sug- gested. “Yes,” agreed the other. “ But for the love of Mike keep it quiet. My room-mate thinks the things were collared while he was ashore and I was at lunch.” The Second Officer promised not to breathe a word—and he never did. With a sinking feeling he hurried to his own cabin. His gold cuff-links, his tie-pin, his folding Kodak, and various other portable articles were missing from hastily-ransacked drawers, He never breathed a word about that, either |

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Ses, URING Dera “Enough that said!” he ex- after- claimed. ‘ Come noon, ILLUSTRATEL BY right along. I'll on the trip back STANLEY L.WOOD be delighted.” to the Junction, “Very well,” as- George learned from VI. (Conclusion. ) sented the mother. his desultory conver-_ . a sation with Charley Crane that the detec- tive’s car had not been so badly damaged but that he had been able to return to the Junc- tion without help. In going over the | situation as it now resented itself, eene felt there was | something sinister in | the demand for his presence in the city The conclusion of this remarkable narra- tive, which will be found just as dramatic as the preceding instalments. Appearing as a witness at the trial that had been ly arranged to induce him to | commit himself, George Keene emerged triumphantly from the ordeal owing to a startling incident which brought the case to an abrupt conclusion. Later, however, | there came humiliation and confession, but things straightened themselves out, | and the story ends, as all good stories | should, with happiness and wedding bells. —— “We shall only need a 2 coups of suit cases. How long do you expect to be there, , George?” H ‘Oh, three or four days,”’ he said, beam- ing at the prospect of their company on the trip. cores and the two ladies were breakfast- ing in the dinittg-car late next morning, as the train was hurrying indicated by the sub- peena. On arriving home, therefore, his first act was to look through the local paper for something tangible in the way ote news item concerning the case on which he was called. Finding nothing, however, he concluded that the paper had not yet received the despatches relating to it. To his mother he explained that he had been called to the city as a witness. ‘ Evi- dently,’ he assured her, as her eyes grew troubled at the mention of courts and witnesses, ‘‘they have found someone besides myself who might have done this robbing, and are having the trial over there. I’ll clean myself up a bit and go over to see Minnie before ‘ No. 6’ leaves.” “Oh, mother!” exclaimed that young lady, after George had apologized for his late call and explained his mission, “couldn’t we go with him and _ take advan- tage of the midsummer sales for my shopping ? ” hat shopping do you want to do, young lady ? ”’ asked George, as he playfully pinched her rosy cheek. “* Well, you see,’’ she answered, shyly, “I am to be married this fall, and so——” toward the city of the plains, when it was forcibly brought home to the former agent that this was likely to prove anything but the pleasure trip he was oping for. A passenger brushed by him and took a seat a few tables beyond them. George glanced at the man and then, turning to Minnie, who sat facing in that direction, he murmured : “ Take a look at that man who just passed us.’ The girl nodded, and Keene continued: “His name is Ryan, and he is one of the detectives who tried to frame me up the other day.” Minnie was interested, and stared at the man defiantly. ‘‘ He looks the part,” she said, finally. “He certainly does, and acts it, too,” replied Keene. “‘ He still insists that I took the money. It would take an act of Congress, I guess, to make him change his mind.”’ They had just time, after leaving the dining-car, to gather their belongings to- gether before the train stopped at the station, where, as they passed through the gate, McFee met them. George was expecting

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192 him, and shook hands cordially ; then he introduced the ladies. “ The preliminary hearing is set for, two this afternoon,’’ said Mckee later, ‘‘ and I expect you will be the first witness called. I can depend on you to be there, can’t 1?” “ Sure thing,’’ answered Keene, and the detective fell back and joined Ryan, who was following’a short distance behind. “Well, you old pessimist, what do you think of things now?” Don asked him jovially, as he fell in with the detective. “Oh, nothing much!” answered Ryan. “Except that we have lost.” ‘ How’s that ? ” said the other, quickly. As they drove up the street to the office Ryan gave a detailed account of his trip two nights before and his failure to get ‘positive proof that his deductions regarding Keene’s night mission were correct. He finished by saying gloomily: ‘ The man is just too darned lucky. If we don't get him this afternoon, we never shall get him ! ” Up te the time of entering the court-room George had been more or less hazy as to which case he was to be a witness in. If it was the first robbery, he had no fears. “It could hardly be the second one,” he reasoned, ‘‘ for, to all appearances, at least, that was committed at the Junction, and the trial should be held there. But if it was the third one, of which I am supposed to be entirely ignorant. He caught his breath sharply at the thought. “ ‘Then I am certainly up against it, though they will have to play their cards mighty cunningly to avoid showing collusion to the court. As for me, I shall have to play mine still finer to beat them at their own game when I take my seat in the witness chair. And then there’s that gimlet-eyed Ryan! He’ i sit there and grin like a monkey, the hound!’ Thus he meditated as he sat in the bailiff’s room staring at the floor, waiting to be called. Out there in the court-room was Minnie, who had decided for all three of them that she and her mother should attend the hearing, as she said she had “ always wanted to see what the inside of a court- room jooked like.’’ And now she had the chance, reflected George—and she might see and hear more than she bargained for ! Suddenly his name was called and he raised his head. The bailitf beckoned and turned toward the door. George braced himself, almost defiantly, and followed. THE TRIAL. As he walked down the aisle to the railed- in space before the judge’s desk, he recognized Bailey sitting with Rvan outside the railing opposite the witness-stand; McFee sat inside with Bain, and a man he took to be Bain’s attorney. In the prisoner’s dock he saw a man whom he instantly remembered as the man who had gone across the street the night he had made the quick exchange THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the cash boxes. “ So that's their game, is it ?”’ he thought, as he walked across to the witness stand, He was raising his hand to be sworn, when a man tip-toed down the aisle and, leaning over the railing, whispered excitedly into Bain's ear. The old man got up quickly and, motioning to MclI*ee to follow, walked rapidly from the room. The short harangue of the attorney over, Bain’s lawyer rose to his feet and, addressing Keene, said: ‘' You may tell the court your name and occupation.’’ George did so, and the attorney continued :— “* Now, young man, you may tell the court all you know about this case.” He spoke sharply, as though lashing himself into an effort to impress the witness. Back in the audience George saw Minnie staring in round-eyed wonder; closer Ryan was doing his best to ‘disconcert him by a steady stare. “IT don’t know anything about this case,” he answered evenly. “I haven’t even been told the nature of it,’’ he added; a bit defiantly. The district attorney looked at the witness in surprise, but the lawyer headed off the question on his lips by saying quickly : “Do you know the defendant in the dock ? "’ “No, I do not,” he answered, after a casual glance at the prisoner. The questioner took a step- fornae and asked sharply: ‘‘ Do you. mean to tell me that you never saw that man before ? ” “No, I don’t.” “Don’t what ?”’ snapped the lawyer. “Don’t mean to tell. you that I never saw him before,” retorted Keene; and Ryan leaned over and whispered to Bailey. “Oh, then you have seen him before ? Well, you may tell the court-where you have seen him, and in what circumstances.” “He was sitting on a cash-box in the express office at M. Junction, where I was agent.” “‘ Why was he sitting on this box ? Come, quick, tell us about it.””. The lawyer spoke sharply, evidently trying to “rattle” the witness. “I suppose it was to keep someone from stealing the contents,” answered Keene quietly. Going off at a tangent the lawyer deman- ded: “ Where were you on the night of the second of this month?” “‘ From six o’clock in the evening till about three in the morning I was in the R.M. Express Company’s office in the Junction.” ‘““ How do you know ? ” “* Because I couldn’t have been anywhere else; I was in the company’s employ, and on the night shift.’ “Then on the night of the second you saw this man sitting on a cash-box in that office ?’’ The lawyer was trying to entangle the agent.

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. “The a attorney strode faewerd Vand nailed : ‘Do you mean te tell me you don’t know that the contents of that box were stolen ?’” Vol. 1L—14.

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194 “No, sir; it was at a later date I saw this man on the box,” said Keene, gripping the arms of his chair. - ““What date was that?” “T’m not sure, but I think it was the seventh.” “So it was on the night of the seventh of this month that the contents of the box this man was sitting on were stolen, was it?’’ asked the lawver, desperately at- tempting to wring an admission from the witness. Ryan leaned forward eagerly; Keene drew a deep breath. “I haven't been informed that the contents of that box were stolen,”’ he said carefully. The attorney strode forward and, shaking his finger in Keene's face, snarled: ‘‘ Do you mean to tell me you don’t know that the contents of that box were stolen?” The lawyer for the defence looked his surprise at the question, the judge leaned forward as though to speak, and there was a general craning of necks. An interruption at the back of the room, however, saved the witness from the necessity of answering. Bain and Mckee came down the aisle, Bain carrying a piece of tightly rolled pasteboard in his hand. He stepped up to his lawyer, who had now turned round to see what the interrup- tion was, and whispered something. He in turn whispered to the district attorney, who from sheer force of habit reached out his hand and took the roll from Bain’s hand. Ryan frowned deeply the attorney arose, with a slight smile on his lips. “YOU ARE SO EASY!” “Tf your honour please,’’ he said smoothly, ‘it appears that this company has suffered three robberies during the last few weeks, and as it was impossible for this defendant to have been implicated in the first two, and as the aggregate amounts of all three robberies have just been returned in one box ’’—he waved the now unrolled paste- board backwards and forwards to emphas his remarks—‘‘ I ask the court to dismiss the case on the grounds of insufficient evidence.”” ‘The judge thought for a moment; then he asked: “ What is that thing in your hand?” The attorney glanced at Mr. Bain, who turned crimson, but managed to stammer : “ "Why—er—that is a piece of cardboard— er—that was found in the box.” The judge, sensing something piquant, said: ‘ What is that printing on it? Read it, please.” Amid a deep silence, the lawyer cleared his throat, and in an impressive voice read: ‘‘ You are so easy my conscience hurts me. I am _= returning the stutt herewith.” A titter ran through the room, and the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bailiff rapped sharply on the railing: “ Order in the court ! * he snapped. The judge smiled good-naturedly. ‘‘‘ Before we dismiss the case,”’ he said, “don’t you think you had better excuse the witness ? ”” Lain was talking excitedly to his lawyer as Keene passed them, and he heard the words : “T am perfectly satisfied. I won’t go an inch further in the hunt for the thief. George grinned broadly as he glanced at Ryan, who winked slyly. Keene instantly frowned. “Isn't that a wonderful thing!" ex- claimed Minnie, as she and her mother _ hastened to meet George, as the crowd was edging its way to the door. ‘‘ Just think, the thief sent all that money back! He must have some good traits in his character to do that. But that old lawyer, George, I just hate him! Why, from the way he acted, one would have thought vou were on trial!” George smiled happily. ‘‘ Oh, well, one must expect that,’ he explained. ‘‘ Some of them think they must scare a witness to make him tell what he knows.” Once more out in the sunlight George drew in deep breaths, and from the innermost recesses of his soul thanked Heaven that the awful load was lifted from his co:iscience and he still walked a free man. “ Let’s go in here and have some ice cream,” he said, as they came to a confec- tionery store. It was a high-class place, with a row of Partitioned booths on one side. Thev entered the farthest one and gave their order to the attendant. The cream was pleasant, and as they dabbled with it, George smiled in supreme content. He was brought abruptly back to earth by the rather loud talk of two men who entered the booth adjoining theirs. Rising quickly, George pulled the curtains together, for he recognized the voices as those of Ryan and Bailey. Bailey was speaking. ‘‘ But old Bain still thinks the man is innocent,” he argued. “ Sure!’ said the other. ‘ That is the reason he is bald-headed; hair will not grow on granite.” Minnie smiled, and Keene turned white as chalk, for he knew the men were talking about him. “ Tasked him where it was shipped from,” continued Ryan, “ but he wouldn’t tell me. Said he didn’t want any more publicity than he couid help as he was quite satisfied to let the matter drop.” “Well, if he is guilty, as you think,” objected Bailey, ‘“ what made him send the stutt back ? “Good Lord, man!’ answered the detec- tive, ‘I guess you didn't see what I did in the sherift’s office, there at the Junction.” George sat huddled in his seat, utterly dejected. The two ladies sat in strained attention. Once Keene thought of offering

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THE MAN WHO TURNED THIEF. 195 an excuse to leave the place, but the look on the older woman’s face made him feel . that it would be the act of a coward to do so, and he resisted the impulse. The detective continued, in a perfectly audible voice: ‘‘ When those cow-punchers came in there with the sack of money, and Keene realized the fearful risk they had ran, he wilted. Take it from me, the man’s iron nerve gave away, and he just had to sit down. I sup) it was the first time in his life that he had known what real friend- ship is. It doesn’t come to very many, but it came to him, and he sagged down, and the reason was because he knew he didn’t deserve it.” RYAN SUMS UP. “I watched him closely, Bailey, while the rest of you were at the desk staring at the money. He saw I had tumbled to him, and I saw the change come over him. Man, that was a revelation! I saw him, by a tremendous effort, call back his nerve. Those friends of his, he knew, had to be rotected from the thing they had done. Phere was no time for baby-play—he had to play the game through—and he did. I never saw a better exhibition of acting than I saw there. You remember how he looked when he picked up that sack of money to go away with it? There was not a shadow of fear—he was protecting his friends as they had protected him. Though he loathed the sight of that sack he took Keene turned white, for he knew the men were talking about him.” ‘ wouldn’t mind being decent myself ! it, knowing that as long as he had it we should not dare to go to court.” “‘ But look here,” objected Bailey. ‘“ You couldn't prove a word of what you have said ; it’s nothing but theory.” “Sure, I know that!” assented the other. ‘It’s my business to theorize— to make deductions and jump to conclusions sometimes. But listen: Only the night before last, what did he do? e drove all night long to take a load of vegetables to Ophir to sell. Do you get that? Why didn’t he go in the day time? I'll tell you why. Because he did not want to haul that box of money around in daylight! He knew I was still at the Junction watching him. . I didn’t think it was in him, but must give him credit for being a fast worker. He knew the time to strike was when we least expected it, and he guessed right; for it was by the merest chance that Barney saw him start on the trip and later told me. I didn’t let any grass grow under my feet; I hired an auto and chased him to within ten miles of that town, and would have caught him with the goods if we hadn’t wrecked the car. But I had guessed wrong ; I thought he was going to ship it out of the country so that he could pick it up later. But this friendship stuff had him in its grip, and he was returning it. I never thought of that! And that girl of his! Great Scott, man, if I had a girl likeSthat look at me the way she does at se

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196 then the nerve of him to write that stuff on that piece of cardboard about it being so easy that his conscience hurt him! Ye gods! ‘ Easy’ is right, take it from me!” He laughed loudly as he arose to depart. As the men’s footsteps died away George looked up in utter weariness. His face under the electric light was grey and ghastly, creased with suffering. ‘‘ I'm sorry,” he said brokenly, “ that you had to hear the truth from that man. Honestly, I intended to tell you as soon as I had sent that other money I have at home back to Mr. Bain.” Mrs. Carlyle frowned slightly. Woman’s safeguard—intuition—was listening for a false note in his voice. *‘ I won’t impose on your credulity,’’ Iseene continued, “ by saying it places me in a false position, for whatever my position is, I have only myself to blame. I ‘only wish to assure you that I have suffered for my sin, and that I was led on more by my conceit than from any real desire for gain.” The older woman’s face softened as she listened. “I believe you, George,”’ she said frankly, “and I expect you have learned your lesson to the smallest detail. I think I can under- stand the conceit you allude to, for my husband, in his lighter moments, used to say that he believed he would have made a successful bank robber if he had had the nerve.” She smiled reminiscently as her thoughts wandered back along the years. George’s face lit up, and his shoulders squared, as this good woman’s eyes looked confidently into his own. He turned to Minnie, but her face was flushed and her eves were flashing. His heart sank, only to rebound again even more lightly than before, for she cried indignantly, ‘‘ Oh, that odious man! How I hate him! I know he saw us come in here, and he followed for no other purpose than to shout out his story so that mother and I would hear it! But it’s all right, George, for you had it in you to send it back ; meant to steal it. You must be something more than common clay, or you wouldn’t have such friends or—or such a girl!” She smiled demurely. ‘ Let’s go,” she added, rising. On arriving home, George and Minnie’s first desire, which they carried out at once, was to indite a letter to a certain man in the city they had just visited. With the girl looking over his shoulder, George wrote :— Mr. R. W. Barn, D—. Dear S1r,— Knowing that the money has been returned that your company lost through tobbery in the past few weeks, and that in consequence there is no danger of my being prosecuted for the theft, I am here- with returning that which my friends took from Ryan and Bailey. you never really” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I feel that I owe you an apology for demanding its custody in the first place ; but under the stress of the moment I was in no condition of mind to judge correctly, so I am making the only reparation possible in the circumstances, and hope the spirit of the thing will find you in a receptive mood. Ican say nothing further, except that I have learned a wonderful lesson. Give McFee my regards, and tell him that as soon as I can dispose of the products of my ranch I am going to marry the most wonderful girl in the whole world, and that he will be invited to the wedding. With best wishes, I am, Yours very truly, GEORGE KEENE. Placing the letter in the sack of money, the sweethearts took it to the express office and shipped it, and twenty-four hours later a very much surprised man opened it. As it happened, McFee was present. Bain handed him the Jetter, which the de- tective read. He smiled as he returned it. “That man makes me feel like a fool!” “Same here,” agreed the old man solemnly. ‘He says something about having learned a lesson, Take it from me, McFee, I have learned one, too. | Say,: Don, listen.”” E . i r The two men, with their heads close to- gether, proceeded to discuss something, the. detective nodding his head. vigorously” from time to time. oe “It was still early fall when George finished harvesting at his ranch and made his last wp to the mountains. . e had done well, and felt that he and Minnie could now lay their plans. The day of days came at last, and George was receiving the congratulations of a score of friends, when Don Mcflee stepped before the happy couple and presented the girl with a letter, asking her to tead it immediately. In some confusion she opened it, and with her husband looking over her shoulder they read :— ne ls Dear Mrs. KEENE, Some time back I received an express package, the contents of which you no doubt know all about. Along with the rest, it contained a letter from the man who is now your husband. _ In it he said something about having learned a lesson. I, too, have learned a lesson, and a valuable one. In the same spirit in which your husband returned the package, I am sending you a cheque for one thousand dollars, which our mutual friend will han to you. With best wishes for your future happi- ness, I am, Sincerely yours, R. W. Bary. THE END.

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA Ze EZ Z = Told by OSCAR OLSSON, and Set Down by REGINALD POUND. Here is the final instalment of a fascinating narrative—-written exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE—describing an important cinematograph expedition to the interior of Africa. Mr. Olsson’s object was to film wild animals in their natural haunts and to secure he secured some of the most remarkable p! taken. The films of this expedition will he shown by the Swedish Biograph Company. 1V.—(Conclusion.) The Author with an elephaut shot in the Congo forest. cult business, owing to the number and size of our “ specimens.” The crossing entailed several perilous journeys in canoes, which threatened to capsize at any moment. One trip was made memorable by a thunderstorm, the tropical downpour accompanying it not only drenching us through and through, but irreparably in- juring several choice specimens. On top of this misfortune we met with a fresh difficulty on landing in the shape of a FRANSPORTING our baggage over Lake Edward proved to a diffi- lack of bearers, a defi- ciency which delayed us for some time, until, through the good offices of two Belgian adminis- trative officials, whose services had been placed at our disposal by their Government, we were able to proceed. Then began a long march _ northward, through mile after mile of what seemed endless virgin forest, the haunt of the pigmy and the little-known okapi. Up till then I had imagined this forest country to be dark and depressing in the ex- treme, an idea which 1 was relieved to find erroneous. True, we were shut in on all sides by giant trees and dense foliage, but the sombre beauty of it all, heightened by the songs of the birds and the long, slanting sunbeams that fell athwart our path, made the forest seem like a huge fairy cathedral, in which Nature’s children, beast and bird and insect, kept up an incessant anthem, swelling at night into a sonorous pean that hushed only at the coming of day. Away on our right, and visible whenever we came to an opening in the trees, lay Ruwenzori, its many towering peaks sharply defined against a sky of ever-changing

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198 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tints. Here and there weshad to cross rapids or ford rivers whose music mingled pleasantly with the other forest sounds, while frequently we found our progress barred by such® a tangle of tropical’ loveliness that it seemed almost sacri- legious to cut a way through it. Approaching game ‘under these conditions was harder. than we had anticipated. A perfectly natural quiet was almost impossible of achieve- ment, unless we stood stock- still. Constantly we had to break the silences by hacking at the undergrowth or pushing a way bodily through the maze of foliage. One day we had news of elephants feeding in a clearing not far from the one in which we had pitched our tents. The hunters went off immediately, while I made a detour and approached the herd from a slightly different angle. The result of four hours’ steady stalking rewarded me with nothing more exciting than a glimpse of three cow A war-dance of the Shilluks. Another phase of the war- dance.

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 199 A pigmy chief of the Wambutti. elephants plunging across a glade into the forest, their flight having been precipitated by the sound of our approach, which to me seemed comparatively noiseless. Native hunters told us that the elephants are becoming increasingly shy every year, owing to the inroads of the ivory hunters. However this may be, my disappointment was amply atoned for on the following day, when I went out with my rifle and, after a chase of less than an hour, brought down the elephant shown in the first photograph. There was a time, well within living memory, when the human. inhabitants of this great forest were w more to be feared than the wildest of the animals with which it abounds. To venture into their midst with- out-an escort was to court almost. certain ~ death, witli the para- z doxical ny, of your end: being: has- tened by slow torture. Now; owing to the steafly march of civi- lization, the tribes have- learnt that they cannot. attack the white. man with im- unity, and there are ew, if any, savages among them who The ‘ion crossing Two of the queer little ’ Black Forest pigmies.

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200 would flout this unwritten decree. Though civilization has succeeded in taming them thus far, however, it has accomplished very little else. The Wambutti forest tribes, for example, among whom we spent some time, are as primitive in their domestic and hunting habits to-day as they were centuries ago. Their homes are of the rudest descrip- tion, being little more than mere shelters of leaves, such as many an animal would disdain to occupy. They hunt, too, as they always did, with bow and poisoned arrows, and they live almost entirely on the fruits of the chase. My first impression of these and other pigmiy tribes was slightly disappointing, for, like many other travellers, I) had rather vaguely imagined that a pigmy was a dwarf in the fullest sense of the term. [I found that while the pigmies cannot be said to approach the anthropometrical standard of most white races, they are by no means living editions of “ Xit’’ or “Tom Thumb.” I have not made an exhaustive study of the subject, but I should say from fairly close observation that four feet five or six would be below rather than above the average height of the pigmies, who, however, being well- proportioned, may quite possibly look bigger than they actually are. A typical pigmy village consists of a collection of huts, constructed of sticks and leaves, arranged round the edge of a clearing. The sticks are stuck hoop fashion in the ground, the thatch being provided by the broad foliage of an arum lily-like plant which flourishes in the forest. Each household is equipped with an_ earthen cooking-bowl, skins for beds, little drum- like honey-pots, made of bark and skin, and gourds for holding water. A chief proudly showed me a bed which he had built for himself in the middle of the clearing. It consisted of a sort of hammock, made of pliant sticks and vines, slung between four upright poles, up which he clambered with the agility of a monkey. A pigmy family rarely if ever comprises more than four or five persons. A husband usually has only one wife, and never more than two, while two children is the average number, three being considered too big a family to rear. The babies are interesting little creatures, but to me they seemed to compare very favourably in size with white babies, as seen in one of my photographs. The pigmy makes a good husband and father, though he is not averse to giving his wife a sound beating when her behaviour seems to him to merit drastic punishment. Par- ticularly noticeable is the low opinion which most of the tribes outside the forest zone have of these queer little people, whose thieving propensities have earned for them classification with pests like the hyena and the jackal. One native spoke of them in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. my hearing as “ wood rats,” and spat con- temptuously as he did so. The arrows used by the pigmies are tipped with poison obtained from a forest plant. Once this poison has acted it is rendered harmless. Enis answers a question which I am often asked—how is it that the pigmies are able to eat with impunity meat that has been poisoned ? In addition to bows and arrows they use, in the case of the larger animals, spears and long-handled knives of a primitive kind. As trackers of game they are probably unsurpassed. Born and bred to the chase, they are so skilful that they can approach many animals within a hand’s reach without disturbing them. A favourite method of catching animals with some of the tribes is to organize a game drive, the beasts being driven along the game tracks into rudely fashioned nets, where they are killed by hunters lying in the near-by thickets. Meat and honey com- prise the chief items in the pigmy dietary, although these are supplemented in some of the villages by sweet potatoes and other vegetables. One of the smallest pigmies I saw was a chief, who appeared out of the bush one day while I was lying in wait for some birds which I was anxious to photograph. Hearing a rustling in the foliage I turned and saw a wrinkled, bearded face and piercing black eyes regarding me from behind a tree. In one hand he had a bow and a bunch of arrows, their tips glistening with freshly- applied poison. A roughly made basket, containing scraps of meat, was slung over his shoulder, while round his waist was a girdle of grass. Altogether the little figure looked too gnome-like to be human. At first he hesitated to respond to my beckoning gestures; then he came forward rather reluctantly, his gaze fixed on my camera, which evidently excited both his curiosity and suspicion. The former was visibly increased as he watched me focus the camera on some parrots which had alighted on a neighbouring branch, and release the shutter without, however, harming the birds. The next moment the pigmy raised his bow, aimed at the birds, and sent an arrow twang- ing into the breast of one of them. Then, having retrieved the dead bird, he handed it to me, as much as to say: ‘‘ What a rotten shot you are!’’ After satisfying himself that he was in safe company, this pigmy promised to return the next morning to act as my guide in search of wild pigs and elephants. Accord- ingly he turned up at an early hour and, followed by three of our bearers, we set out. There had been a heavy rain and the forest was shrouded in mist which, after an hour or two, dissolved into a fine day. In the tree-tops the parrots were screaming lustily, while numerous other birds added their calls to the early-morning chorus. Once

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 201 Mandi girls threshing maize. a loud crashing in the forest depths pro- claimed the near- ness of big ¢ beasts; the pigmy, hurrying on ahead, reported that thev &,, ere black Cape buffa- loes, which reappearin a : the forest from time More pigmies of the forest regions. tg tj me, afterroam- ing perhaps for months in open country. Shortly after this we struck an elephant track, and at once the little hunter was all caution and suppressed cagernessy The hunt took us through about eight miles of forest, which in parts shut out the sky as completely as any man-made roof would have done. We then reached a knoll, around which there was a wide clearing, with a deep depression on its farthest side. In this depression was a herd of elephants. Bidding us make a short detour, so that we should approach the herd on its left flank, the pigmy went on ahead, and I got my next glimpse of him in time to see him raise his bow, discharge two arrows in quick succes- sion into the Mandi warriors in full regalia. hind leg of

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202 one of the biggest of the elephants, and follow the wounded beast into the bush. After a chase of an hour and a half, we emerged from the forest into another clearing, across which the wounded animal, now far behind its fellows, was dragging its way with painful difficulty. Reaching the edge of the clearing it swung round, as if to expend its last remaining vestiges of strength on its relentless pursuer, and then suddenly rolled over dead. The poison had done its work We returned late in the afternoon, after being accompanied part of the way by the pigmy who, having put us on the right track for camp, hurried away to his village for assistance in cutting up and carrying home the elephant meat. Most of it, I gathered, would be bartered with neigh- bouring tribes for honey, sweet potatoes, and Indian corn, the rest being dried and then eaten roasted or raw, as fancy dictated. The existence of innumerable ‘ blind" paths in the forest naturally adds to the difficulty of travelling through it. Time after time we found ourselves halting at cross tracks, wondering which one to take. The problem was usually solved by sending someone to explore the different paths, a course which necessarily entailed much delay. We were fairly fortunate, however, in our guides, most of them recruited from the villages through which we passed, and there was little straying from the path while we were in their charge. Some of the tribes, by the way, have a system of marking “blind” paths, by scattering twigs up and down them. On one occasion I volunteered to explore a path which converged with a number of others at the point at which we had halted. After walking for three-quarters of an hour I came to another set of crossways, and here, by some mischance, I managed to take the wrong route in returning, as I thought, to the rest of the party. Half an hour's steady going, however, brought me no nearer the expedition, and I began to get anxious. To add to my troubles I found myself surrounded by creeping plants, which, hanging in festoons from the branches over- head, were furnished with sharp thorns. Most of these thorns were so small that they were almost invisible, but they nevertheless managed to make themselves felt. - After a few minutes my skin seemed to be seared with red-hot pin-pricks. Another form of torture apparently reserved for travellers in this part of the forest was a thorn which was as long and as sharp as a darning- needle. Its long spines seemed to be specially designed to catch the eyes, and I had more than one narrow escape from them. I wandered. up and down one section of path for nearly two hours, without having the slightest clue as to the direction I ought to take. Was it to be my lot, after all, to be THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. lost in this bewildering maze of trees? At such times, of course, the mind is peculiarly receptive of morbid ideas, and mine was no exception. Then came reaction. I would not resign myself to such a fate, I decided, with- out a pretty good struggle! Pulling myself together, I pushed on. Altogether I was missing for just on six hours, my return being aided by a number of rifle-shots which some of the rest of the party fired at intervals as signals. Guided y these, I finally struck the right path and, feeling very nervy and fatigued, stumbled on the expedition again. And never were faces and voices more welcome ! I had passed through an experience which I hope never to repeat. We spent rather more than a month in the equatorial forest, and there was not one of us who was not relieved when we at length had the open sky for a roof again, and were able to enjoy a clear view on all sides. In spite of its many beauties, the forest after a time palls onthe senses, and one longs for air that is not laden with the odour of fungus and decaying vegeta- tion, or damp with lingering, fever-sodden mist. The Prince in particular suffered greatly from fever, and although he with- its ravages until the very last moment, sted on taking his full share of the work, it soon beeame plain that neither he nor the rest of us, who could feel the scourge stirring in our veins, could hold out indefi- nitely. It was therefore decided to rest for a period of two months, during which time the tit members of the party arranged to go on adding to our stock of specimens. Irumu, where we made this enforced stay, lies a little to the west of Lake Albert. It is a picturesque and prosperous trading centre, where gold and ivory are important items in the transactions of the traders, and where barter goes on apace. A common sight in Irumu is that of women returning from _the woods with great loads of fuel, which they dump down in an open space and exchange for food and scraps of clothing. In one store I saw a native exchange a small but valuable elephant tusk for a ‘ packet of salt and some soap, a deal with which he seemed very well pleased. So also, I should add, did the storek Cannibals are reputed to live in the forest country west of [rumu, but I was unable to obtain definite confirmation that they still exercise their cannibalistic tendencies. These so-called cannibal people, the Bakumu and the Banyali, are rather fearsome to meet in bulk, so to speak, but individually they do not impress one very much. Most of them seem to live in a state of nudity. They carry a variety of spears, some with barbed points, others with straight, sharp, unflattened heads, these latter being tipped with poison. Two old men of the tribe who came into our camp had their bodies

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FIVE THOUSAND MILES ON FOOT IN CENTRAL AFRICA. 203 Prince William of Sweden with three typical pigmies and an ordinary native. strangely painted and their hair plastered with some sticky substance, which made it look like strands of tallow hang- ing from their heads. At last, in September, we were able to move on, our steps being now directed towards Kas- senyi, east of Irumu, where we boarded a lake steamer, crossed Lake Albert, and so made our way to Nim- ule, on the Nile. Here we were met by the Governor of Mongalla, who, with five hundred carriers lent by the Sudan Government, accompanied us as far as Rejaf. But although we were now nearer civilization than we had been for some months, march- ing was still the order of the day. At the same time the roads we traversed really were roads, and not mere tracks, and the going was tolerably comfort- able. Owing to the heat, how- ever, we had to take the road each day at dawn or before, the average distance covered being fourteen miles a day. Prince William of -Sweden watching a native dance. On the way up to Rejaf we visited many villages whose in- habitants have a close affinity, at any rate so far as their state of savagery—or civilization, if you prefer it—was concerned with the tribes we had met in our long journey through the interior. The Shilluks paraded for our benefit a big party of warriors, whose dance, I be- lieve, I was the first to photo- graph. The dance was carried on to the accompaniment of weird music (?) pro- duced from still more weird instruments, a few of which are shown in the photo- graphs. The Mahdis also entertained us in a similar fashion, my last few feet of film being expended in recording scenes in their everyday life And so at last we came to Khartum and civilization, heartily glad that our travels were over, at any rate for the time being. Speaking for myself, I freely admit that I was glad to leave Africa behind me. I had spent nearly three years in travers- ing much of its length and still more of its breadth, and had travelled well over five thousand miles on foot. THE END. A hippo being hoisted on board a Nile steamer. >

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ROBINSON - substance similar HE Long : ’Un first to cotton — and got to potassium cya- know nide. As soon as Sandy on the es ’ the hatches were night of July 4th, * ee ang 7 the 1g2t. * got air the The Long 'Un *e a whole mass was an average vee a> ue roared into ex-public school ote waee flames. A truly boy of twenty- : oF grand sight at one. He had had H. W. * night, but rather to leave his job hi d terrifying. in the Malay . . . IC. dr fey It was the first States a few time the Long weeks before; ‘Un had. been concerned in a owing to the ILLUSTRATED BY rubber slump, fire at sea, and and was. then £.PRATER he was duly inte- travelling... from : rested uring that Singapore to [ bane Freemantle hop- | ing to get a job ! tralia. He had little money and ; less knowledge of the world, but was out to do the best he could. . in Western Aus- | happened to the Author and his companion, ond ihe fire he conceived a liking for Sandy, who showed his devil- may-care but highly practical character to great advantage. The flames By way of a start he was travelling steerage, quite a new experience: He had‘ really met Sandy two days before, at Derby, a little one-horse town up in the Nor’-West, where the boat called to pick up cattle and a few passengers, one of whom was Sandy. It was a hundred and fifty miles out of Broome that the incident of the trip occurred. At about 7.30 p.m. on July 4th the Long ’Un and a little Nor’-West cattle man were walking the confined well-deck, used by the steerage passengers, when they smelt something burning. Thinking it must be the cooking, they took no notice till it struck them that the’ smell was strongest near the opening to the ‘tween decks, where the bullocks were stowed. : jumping down to the hatch of the No. 3 hold to see if the cattle’s straw was smoulder- ing, they soon found that the smoke was issuing from a corner of the lower hatch. They promptly raised the alarm, and in a few minutes some sailors ran up and pulled off the hatch—a fatal thing todo. The hold was stowed with kapok—an inflammable : roared higher and higher. The ship’s hoses proved ineffectual, so the sea-cocks were opened to flood the hold, but the kapok, being buoyant, only floated nearer to the already hot ‘tween decks, and with about six feet of water in the hold no more could be allowed for fear of making the boat unseaworthy. All the passengers did their best to help, and Sandy showed up well, coupling up steam pipes to the bilge: pipes; as it was soon clear that the only chance of saving the ship was to close the hatches and smother the flames with steam. The hatches were made of wood, and although water was poured on them in an attempt to keep them cool, it was touch-and-go whether they would burn through before the steam mastered the blaze. In something like eight hours the fire was subdued sufficiently to enable the boat to resume her course; she had turned round to return to Broome when. it broke out. She could not stop at any of the coastal ports, as they possessed no fire brigades capable of tackling such a conflagration, but ran from Broome to I‘reemantle at her best speed.

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During the run the Long ’Un improved his acquaintance with Sandy. He was an all-round man, considerably travelled, and had been in the bush about twelve years. He had just come out of a yard-building contract, with a fair-sized cheque, and was now travelling to Port Headland for the sheep-shearing there. In the circumstances, however, he could not leave the boat till they reached Freemantle, where the passengers were put ashore to allow the brigade to fight the fire. The Long ‘Un went to Perth on his own to look for a job. What a hope! He had some fairly swagger clothes still, so, all ‘ togged up,”’ he would stroll into a big office, hand his card to the little girl behind the coun- ter, and demand tosee the manager. “Will you step this way, sir?” He stepped. “Good — morn- ing, sir. Sit down, won't you? Cigar?’ a- very affable gentleman would say. ‘What can I do for you ?"* “Thanks aw- fully, old chap. But what I’m really looking for is a job, you know.”” It was funny to see those mana- ger’s faces! But they were all sportsmen, and the Long 'Un would have surely got a job if there had been one going—but there wasn't. He was in Perth about a fortnight, trving everything, but could get nothing. Living on two small meals a day, wandering round a_ strange town looking for a job that wasn't there! A fairly disheartening, but all too common experience. SANDY’S GREAT SCHEME. He ran up against Sandy once or twice, and TWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 205 one day met him in a very exultant mood. It appeared that the Scotsman had heard of a wrecked steamboat, lying in an uninhabited island, that was for sale, and had seen photographs and all her papers. He meant to buy the wreck and see what could be made out of her. “Say, laddie,”’ he said, ‘‘ will you come in with me on this? I'll buy the old tub and you can split the winnings with me. If I lose you'll gain nothing, for I sha’n't pay you wages. We'll just go as mates.” The Long 'Un had to get out of the town, as there was absolutely nothing doing there, so he thought he would take the chance, and the whole job appealed to him as a gamble. Sandy had a War-Bond which he proposed cashing to enable him to buy the boat. He duly bought the wreck, and the partners booked steerage passages on a coastal boat “* Aren’t we carrying them ourselves ?’ demanded Sandy.”

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206 running from Perth to Esperance, which was the nearest town to Middle Island, the uninhabited island where the steamer lay. They were fired off the steamer at Esperance at six o'clock on the morning of September 23rd, with no breakfast. They only had their swags, and as they walked down the jetty they were met by a man who demanded a payment of threepence per swag. “Why ?”’ demanded Sandy. “ Aren't we carrying them ourselves ? ” “Yes, but you must pay threepence each.” . “Then you can jolly well pick ’em up and carry them yourself.” However, after it was explained that the charge was a jetty-due, they paid up and made a bee-line for the nearest “ pub ""— and breakfast. Whilst there they learned that it was the wrong time of the year for venturing to Middle Island, and that they would have to wait for three months. Well, they couldn't sit down and do nothing, and there was no work in Esperance, so they decided to try to get a job on the construction of a railway line that was being built northwards. The morning was taken up in collecting informa- tion and buying stores. About 2.30 they pulled out of “ town ” for a thirty-five-mile tramp through the bush. They were travelling Tight, carrying their swags, a fifty-pound flour bag containing the food wanted tor the day's trip, two water- bags, and a rifle. The Long En had never been ‘‘ on the wallaby ” (tramp) before, and stepped out quite briskly, ready to enjoy a new experience. Then the rain came ! The swags got wetter and heavier at every step. Wet boots developed sore feet, and when, at the end of about six miles, a little tin stable came in sight, the Long ’Un felt cheered at the idea of being able to sleep in shelter. The shed was reached, a fire with difficulty lighted, and preparations made to cook a meal. They had two tin plates and an empty fruit can for cooking utensils. Meat was fried on the plates, tea made in the billy, and then there came the discovery that the loaf of bread, specially purchased for the first meal, had been left behind! There was nothing for it but to cook Johnny-cakes on the ashes. They were both ready to turn in directly afterwards. There followed two of the worst days of toil that the Long ’Un had ever experienced before they arrived at the railway camp. As they came up, the ganger was standing on the side of a cutting, watching the shovellers down below, They got a start next day. It was pretty solid work, eight hours a day on the shovel, going for their lives. There was not even a tent to sleep in the first month, only two tin plates to cook with, and it was mid- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. winter! By October 21st they had had enough of navvying and thought it time to get on with their real business—the wreck. Accordingly they took their money and set out for Esperance again. Reaching Esperance on the 23rd, they made nguinacs as toa boat. There were only two at all likely, and of these the best turned out to be unobtainable. After much per- suasion they secured the second, a twenty- two-foot open boat, with no centre-board, called the Seabird. Having hired her, they laid in a month's ‘ tucker’’ and then sat down to wait for a favourable wind. The expected westerly breeze sprang up on the 29th, and they were able to make a start. Two local men sailed the boat for them. The first day the breeze was too gentle to enable them to do more than about twenty out of the eighty miles, and they anchored for the night in a little anchorage known as “Lucky Bay.” Next day half a gale blew, and it was with difficulty that the boat beat out of the bay and covered the twelve miles or thereabouts to the ‘‘ Duke of Orleans ” (another anchorage), in really rough weather. Luckily there was fresh water at the ‘‘ Duke,” for they had to stay there two days, weather- bound by a strong gale. The Seabird did the last forty-eight miles in about five hours, Middle Island being reached at noon on November 2nd, and the two adventurers, with their stores, were put ashore. What a desolate place it was! The island consisted of four thousand acres of rough, uninviting ground, hilly in one part and covered with the thickest of scrub. It had a savage, rocky coast, and the only sign of human presence was the abandoned wreck, fast on a reef running parallel to the shore of the little bay. The afternoon was spent in looking for fresh water, which they found in a couple of rock-holes, in putting up the tent—a little calico affair, six feet by eight—and stowing away the stores. They made arrangements with the owner of the Seabird to be picked up in a month's time, and next morning the boat left. Now, indeed, they felt like Crusoes, abandoned to their fate on a desert island ! : FORESTALLED ! The first business was to explore the wreck. They found they could wade out to her over the reef and climb her side by means of a rope. A thorough search of the vessel, spread over two days, revealed the disconcerting fact that they were stuck. Not even a half-inch spanner could they discover. Every: tool on board had been stolen ! “* Someone’s been here and stripped her ! ’’ growled Sandy. He was right! Everything movable had been taken, down to the ship's boats and the steering engines. However, the two men did not give up hope. Though

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it was a long job and a slow one, they re-ballasted the ship, tipping her up so as to enable them to get at the hole in her bottom when the relief boat returned and they could obtain tools. They thoroughly enjoyed themselves during that first month, with plenty of work, plenty of fishing, and plenty of bathing, though that had to be done inside the reef, for fear of sharks. There were three big, blue, eighteen- footers living in the bay, and every day they swam up_ and down outside the teef. When the Seabird arrived, these sharks had come to investi- gate her, and, just for fun, the owner had shot a seagull sitting on the water. In less than two minutes the gull disappeared in a flash of blue and a swirl of water. “Ugh!” said Sandy, “I'm glad I'm not swimming out there!’ At the end of the third week the partners be- gan to look out TWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 207 patient work on the wreck. The flour gave out, and it was too windy to shoot or fish. They had nothing to eat for two days. Although there were numbers of tamar (rock wallaby or small kangaroo) on the island, they were too wild, and the scrub gave them too much cover, for the hungry men to get them with the little Rem- ingtom. 2.25 They tried catch- ing them = in snares construc- ted from trawl- ing lines found on the wreck, but did not meet with much suc- “cess, and the supply was un- pleasantly inter- mittent. The fishing was equally — erratic, for in only two places could groper becaught, and these places were tenable only in) smooth weather. As an easterly gale blew from De- cember Ist to January 12th, their best fish- ing-ground, a rock on the east side of the island, remained unapproachable. for the return of Once the pair the boat. Their tried it, made tobacco had desperate by a given out on two-days’ fast, November 24th “Sandy” and the wreck. when no tamar —a great loss to heavy smokers. However, they still had tea, and the dried leaves made quite a pleasant substitute, They spent a lot of time fishing with hand- lines, as of course no meat had been taken to the island; and they saw more than enough of the sharks, for the voracious brutes used to dart in and snatch fish, line and all, as soon as anything was hooked. In that way the fishermen soon lost all their small tackle and were reduced to two heavy eight-ply cord lines and a supply of big hooks, of use only for large ‘ groper,'’ a rock fish running from fifty to a hundred and twenty junds. On the first of December bad luck came upon them with a rush. There was still no sign of the relief boat, and a tremendous easterly gale sprang up which upset all their had been snared and the sea birds were too wild to be approached with a rifle. e rock was a piece broken off from the main cliff, worn smooth by the colossal rollers, and with a big crack behind it that had to be jumped. Covered with black slime, slippery as ice when wet, it lay in the curve of a sloping-walled cove, the cliffs of which were so steep that there was no chance of getting out of the water if one once got in. A PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE. That morning Sandy and the Long ‘Un watched the rock for some time, and as no waves actually broke over it, but only spray, they decided to take the risk of fishing from it. After about ten futile minutes Sandy gave a shout. ‘ Look out! ’’ he yelled, and

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208 dropped on his knees. A huge, unexpected wave tore swirling up the main slope at their right. Its backwash roared down the cliff, leapt the crack, and broke over them in thunders of foam as they clung with grating finger-nails to the slime, praying for a chink to hold on to. But there was nothing ; the avalanche of water swept back and took them into the sea with it ! The Long ’Un thought his last hour had come, but he swam for his life towards the rock, though its sides were undercut and he knew it to be unscaleable. Heavens! What was happening? The body of the same wave whose backwash had carried them off the rock now swelled up under them and whirled them towards the dripping, jagged edges of the crag. Were they to be dashed to pieces ? Nearer and higher they soared, till the mass of water bore them right over it. “Stop! stop!” breathed the Long ‘Un. They were now rushing towards the fissure, where the imprisoned waters were raging furiously and nothing but death awaited them. Bump! Bang on the top of the rock— sprawled, miraculously, side by side as the water receded-—the two partners found themselves within three feet of the frothing depth of the crevasse, each with his line still in his hand! Trembling they scrambled to their feet, dashed for the narrowest part of the gap, jumped, and col- lapsed well above high-water mark. What a miracle ! To be thrown back on that unap- proachable rock by the same roller whose backwash had swept. them off! That, needless to say, was the end of their trying to fish from the rock. After a rest, they picked up the rifle, which had been left high and dry, and started back towards _ their camp. On their way over the bare, broken _ boulders one of them spot- ted a shag, a spe- cies of cormorant. A careful stalk by the Long 'Un fol- lowed. Crack! A hit; but the bird was flapping over the rocks to the The “Long ’Un” on Middle Island. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sea! This happened on the leeward side of the reef, where the water was smooth. Flop! and he was in, swimming hard. Fifty yards out the bird rolled over on his back. The Long 'Un ripped off his shirt, shouted to Sandy, and dived in. Half-way towards the now dead bird he thought of sharks. But he was hungry, really hungry, and a man sticks at nothing when driven by hunger. He swam, however, as he had never done before, reached the bird, took its neck in his mouth, and sped back for theshore. Sandy helped him out, and together they sat down in the sun to pluck their bag. The Long’Un, thanking God in his heart, looked with mixed feelings at the three triangular fins circling round the patch of blood which he had just left. During the following few days their luck was better. They snared several tamars and managed to shoot a few birds dead on the spot. There are only two places in a sea bird’s anatomy where, if you get him, you drop him dead : the neck and the head. No matter where else the bullet hits him—heart, lungs, anywhere—he will always manage to struggle to the water, and once in, the current bates to it that it is a fifty-yard swim to reach im. Ere long the partners experienced another run of bad luck. They had _ abso- lutely nothing to eat for a fairly long spell, and ~ were growing rather weak. One morning, as they were walking hopelessly —_ along the reef, with just lines and a pole to carry fish if any vee paca San- s a es; picked out some : thing,on the rocks. “! What's that?” he whispered . m ks like a dead ‘sheep washed up.” It’s.a seal.” They were both bare~ footed. In fact, shorts and a shirt apiece were - all the clothes they possessed, so their movements were quite silent. ~ 5" Stick a knife into. him,” said Sandy, a moment later.

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Each carried an eight-inch knife on his belt. The. Long ’Un put down his line, took the pole, drew his knife, and crept cautiously up to the quarry, Sandy close behind. It Aes a great lion hair-seal, about nine feet long. 3 sha'n’t stick a knife into that lot,” thought the Long 'Un, “or I'd lose knife, seal, and all.” A BATTLE WITH A SEAL. He knew he could stun the animal if he hit him over the nose, but to do that properly he would have to get sideways on, and the seal would see him. Very cautiously he straddled its tail, a foot on either side— its head being pointed up-wind—put the knife in his mouth to be handy, and, with both hands, raised over his head the pole he had_ been ing, a big stick of hard mallee wood, eight feet long and two inches thick. The Long ’Un put all his strength into that blow. He wanted that seal, wanted him badly—to eat. Down came the mallee, fair on the top of the seal’s head, which was pillowed on the hard rock. It was*a crack that one would have thought must have split an elephant’s skull. Up jumped the old seal, with a roar like a lion. Round he whipped, his great square mouth open, showing a wonderful row of enormous teeth, and the Long ’Un leapt back as though he had been shot. The seal rushed at them savagely, evidently “ seeing red." Round came the stick again with an awful smash that broke it im two over the side of the seal’s head. That turned him seawards, and he made a dash for the briny at a tremendous pace, his flappers hitting the rocks with a noise like pistol shots. Pursuit was hopeless, and sadly they watched him disappear. “f goes a week's meat!’ said Sandy mournfully, and the Long ’Un felt the same way. They really did want that seal ! In the afternoon, however, they caught a small groper, which lasted that day and the next. But there’s not much nourishment in fish, and they were just as weak after they had eaten him as they were before. Another two days went by without a bite of anything, and they were getting desperate. They watched the horizon without hope, for they knew they could not be relieved whilst the easterly wind held. : One morning, scouring the main reef for something to eat, they came on a shag. The Long ’Un got a lucky shot in from long range, but the bird struggled into the water, and by the time his pursuer was ready to dive had swum and drifted a hundred yards out, the current rapidly carrying it away. Sandy was only ‘a little way behind the Long ’Un, who always kept his belt-and - knife on when swimming. The Long ‘Un dived in and soon reached the bird. Taking Vol. L—15. FWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 209 it in his mouth he started back at the double, anxious to get away from the patch of blood as soon as possible, though the bleeding bird, which he was grasping in his teeth, left a trail on the water. Half-way to the shore he heard unusual sounds. Looking up, he saw Sandy firing rapidly with the little repeater. He looked behind him over his shoulder. There were the three dreaded triangular fins, with the huge blue bodies just showing, only fifty yards away, and little bullet-splashes jumping up round them! What an awful feeling of helplessness the vision brought! He had seen those sharks moving in the water and knew just about the size of the chance he stood. He had fifty yards to go—and a shark can cover forty miles in an hour! He was so tired and weak and hungry. Why struggle 2? He turned round to face them, and—Heaven only knows why—drew his knife. Lazily treading water there, quite ready to chuck up the sponge, his mind suddenly flew to the home in the Old Country, to the old people and the little girl who had written to him till he was marooned. Was he never to see her again ? Then, in a flash his brain cleared. Sandy was still firing—there could only have been a second or so lost. He rolled over, and with renewed strength swam for dear life. It only seemed a few seconds before he was scrambling up the rock, trembling all over, and looking back at the sharks following up the blood trail. The bird was still in his mouth, but his teeth had sunk right into its neck. What freak, or Providence, had held those sharks off ? Sandy had been firing at their fins in the hope that if he hit one of the vertical bones they woull be tickled sufficiently to take their minds from their prey. Good old Sandy! Standing thcre steady as a rock, and shooting like a King’s prize winner at Risley ! Good little ‘‘ twenty- two,’’ that never let them down ! They didn’t say much, but just sat down and plucked the bird while it was still warm, the Long 'Un’s heart full of a big realiza- tion. If he didn’t get religion then, it was something very like it. : There could not have been two better mates. They got on well together, and never had a disagreeable word between them. Yet a fortnight later, each of those men had pure, black, cold-blooded, murderous hatred in his heart for the other ! THE QUARREL. It arose over the next bird that was shot. It fell into the water and had drifted quite a long way out by the time they reached the spot where it had been hit. To be honest, - hungry as he was, the Long 'Un was afraid, after his shark experience, to plunge in to fetch it. Anyway, he thought it was time

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210 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE “The seal rushed at them savagely.”

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Sandy took a turn. The Long ‘Un stood watching the shag drift away and made no move towards undressing. “ Well, are you going after it ?” he asked, presently. “No,” was the answer. “I'm hanged if I am, then,” said the Long ’Un, and he turned his back and walked on. Not another word was spoken between them for the rest of the day. The next morning the Long 'Un snared a_ tamar. Sandy had always done the skinning and his mate the gutting. On this occasion the Long ’Un took his knife and skinned the animal. When he had finished Sandy came out of the tent. eS suppose you ‘re going to eat that now, as you ve snared it?" he asked. No; we share everything.’ “ Well, why on earth have you skinned it then? I’ve always done the skinning.” _ “IT thought you didn’t want to—and I wasn't going to ask you to.” “You meant to eat it, though. Just what you would do!" They were literally trembling with hatred. The slightest thing more would have started a fight—a fight to the finish. Each held a knife, and there was the rifle for one. Even while, the Long ’Un stood there glaring at Sandy. his: thoughts flew to it. There it was, magazine ‘filled and all ready, and he could reach it first ! Just in ‘time the Long ‘Un realized how near they were to danger. He turned round, without another word, and walked into the camp. : That state of tension—due, of course, to weakened bodies and overwrought nerves— lasted for some time. If either man had been of a meaner order, he would have stabbed the other. in’ the night. The thought was often in the’Long 'Un's mind, and probably in Sandy’s. Not a word was spoken for two days—two days without a mouthful of food beyond the tamar, which was a small one. The supply problem was again becoming acute. hey got up in the morning, boiled some water to drink for breakfast, took the rifle and the fishing lines, and went round the snares.. There were some forty spread through the brush in the tamar tracks, but all of them were empty. Then they walked round the rocks on the desolate shore. Sandy kept his eye on the water in case he might see a groper that had strayed from his natural haunts, and the Long ’Un, with the rifle, kept a look-out for sea-fowl. All in vain! A hopeless tramp back to camp followed, over the burning white sands of the bay. Oh, that feeling of hopelessness! One can go hungry for a time if one knows that there will be food, say the day after to-morrow ; but when one is already emaciated and weak with hunger and can see no chance of TWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 211 being able to get food either to-morrow, the day after, or the day after that, then one really knows what hopelessness is. They became very weak, and finally, in desperation, they hacked a number of limpet off the rocks and boiled them all day. In the evening, after a fruitless day's fishing, they came back and drank the water the limpets had been boiled in. The limpets themselves proved impossible. Tough ? They were like solid blocks of rubber! However, they ate or rather swallowed a few, and in an hour were suffering agonies from cramp in the stomach. Never again ! The next day—still silent and ready to fly at each other's throats—they went fishing on the western side, where there used to be groper, although they believed all had long been caught. After about an hour's hopeless fishing there was a blue swirl in the water. The Long ‘Un thought it was a shark and began pulling in his line, as he did not want to lose it. Sandy did the same, but soon saw that the fish was an immense groper. He allowed his line to slack. The groper rushed at the crab bait, seized it, and ran. Sandy jerked, hooked him, let out a wild yell, and lost his head. It was a huge fish, and should have been carefully played. In his excitement, how- ever, Sandy braced his feet, took the line with both hands, and hung on. Just as he was on the verge of being pulled over the cliff the line broke. Not a word was said. Neither dared trust himself to speak ; they just rolled up their lines and went back to camp. To see three or four days’ food swim away after having it hooked! Heavens! What could hit a man harder ? Supperless they went to bed, and breakfastless round the snares next morning. Not a thing taken, and not a bird that would sit within three hundred yards of a rifle. After dinner—water only—there was nothing to do but go fishing again, without an earthly chance, for when a groper has once felt the bite of a hook he will not put in another appearance for weeks. Still, that was the only place and the only possibility. There followed a long, rough walk through thick scrub, which tore their naked skin, and a bootless scramble over jagged rocks. They were losing the little strength they had, and’ were obliged to rest several times. Sandy went to the same place as before. The Long ’Un could not bear a possible Tepetition of yesterday's sight, so he took another and less favourable position, some hundreds of yards away where he could not be seen and was out of hearing. He baited his hook, threw it out, had it sucked clean in a minute by minute “ leather jackets,” re-baited, threw out again. He was getting very cold, and it began to rain. There was not a fish to be seen. How useless to carry on! Yet——

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212 THE BIG “GROPER.” What was that ? Was it the light on the water play- ing tricks? No; it was that huge groper _ again, floating up over the edge of the reef like a great blue mist rising ! He was ap- proaching the bait... . He was smelling it! Would he_ bite ? Yes.... No; he had turned away. Futile to think of it; he had been bitten only yes- terday, and knew too much. The Long ’Un hauled in, re- baited, and threw out again. An-. other half - hour and back came Mr. Groper. other smell—no ; he wouldn’t bite, and went off. About two hours of this tan- talization ensued. The Long ‘Un’'s hopes alternately rose high and were flung down with a thud. He had used up all the groper’s pet bait—the blue crabs— when he suddenly thought that per- haps the fish would not connect a yellow and black crab with a fish- hook. So he baited with the black and yellow sort, and presently back came the big blue brute. Instead of letting the crab lie still, the Long ’Un pulled it gently over the rough bottom, so as to look like a crab running for its life. The groper came nearer; the crab ran faster. A rush, and the groper was tearing away with the bait in his lips. “Oh, Heaven, let it strike!’ prayed the Long 'Un—and struck. The hook missed the fish’s teeth and buried itself firmly in the angle of his mouth. The Long 'Un wanted to shout with joy, and was nearly dying with anxiety lest the strain should break the line. Away shot the fish like a torpedo, straight out to sea, the Long ’Un putting as much pressure on the old line as hedared. Twenty, thirty, forty, fifty yards—would he never THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. turn ?—there were only sixty vards of line. Yes ; he was swinging round at last ! The groper tore through the water to the right, the Long ’Un hauling in as fast as his arms could work, the line nearly breaking with the stress of being dragged sideways through the water at such a speed. The groper dashed under the rocks about forty yards away on the right, and started rubbing against them, trying to draw the hook, the Long ’Un in agony expecting the line to be cut against the sharp edges or underwater shells. He put as much weight on it as he dared, and jagged at the brute. At last the fish swung out to the open, at terrific speed, turning in a semicircle at the end of the line and then Tushing under more rocks on the Long 'Un’s left. He was fairly tired now, and the Long 'Unstarted hauling in in earnest, climbing down the cliff at the

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same time. He scrambled down a little chimney to the water’s edge, and finally pulied the groper to him, but he was not sure of him till he had caught the two strands of fencing wire to which the hook was “The groper rocks about forty yards away.” dashed under the attached. Then, with a great effort, he hauled him into the crevice, turned him on his back and thrust a large stick into his mouth while he stood upon his belly, the fish being jammed into the narrow crack. Not until then did. the Long ‘Ut draw, breath. After a minute’s rest he pulled out his knife and cut his victim’s throat—no easy thing to do with a big fish. Having severed ‘its jugular, he jagged its backbone at the throat, and that killed it instantly. In about ten minutes he was able to haul it well away from the water, and bound it firmly by the gills to a tree to make doubly sure that it would not flounce back. He was taking no chances. Then he went to call Sandy. He did not climb right to him, but stood at a distance and shouted. ‘“‘ Sandy, I’ve caught a groper. going to stay longer.” “ Good shooting, man ? Is it a big one?” I'm not ‘Fair size. Come along, if you're not catching a ‘ing.’’ Sandy had not seen a fish all the afternoon, so he rolled up his line and came. He did not notice the fish at first under the trees. “ Where is he?” “ There.” “‘ Heavens, man! What a beauty!” TWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 213 He dropped on his knees and tried to hug it. “Isn't it a love ? What a beauty! Isn’t it a duck?’ So he went on for about ten minutes. ‘' [t’s the one I hooked yesterday ! How did you do it?” It took them an hour to scale it, and it was no small job to get that fish to camp. He weighed about a hundred and twenty pounds. and a Special pole had to cut to carry him on. The very sight of the brute, however, gave the men new strength. The whole journey was filled with exclamations of “Isn't he a love 2” (from Sandy), and a minute description (by the Long 'Un) of the capture. Several rests were necessary before they reached camp, and then the first thing was to get a big fire going. The head of the groper—the fish measured five feet long and two feet six from back to front—was cut off with the axe and split into four pieces to make it go into a four-gallon kerosene tin to boil. The men ate the whole of the head for supper, and felt comfortable inside for the first time in three weeks. They consumed the entire fish in three days—pretty good going for two men! The catching of that monster put them on good terms with each other once more, and never again did they have even the semblance of a quarrel. From that evening Sandy took even more than his fair share of retrieving sea birds and had several nasty, narrow escapes from the three watching man-eaters. RELIEF AT LAST! For a week or so after they had demolished the groper, luck favoured them with the tamar snares, and they were never seriously short of food. One morning, however, after they had finished the hind legs of the last tamar for breakfast, they went round the snares to find them all unproductive; and there were no birds to be shot. They came back to dinner and were talking about the weather, as there had been signs of a slight westerly breeze, though only for two days, and they could not expect relief for another forty-eight hours at least. They were just sitting down to consume the water in which the breakfast meat had been boiled, and which they had prudently saved, when they caught a distant sound like a shot. Both leapt to their feet and stood looking at each

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214 other in silence for a moment. Then “ The Seabird! The boat!" they shouted, and rushed for the shore. There, just rounding the corner of the island, was the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Seabird’s owner with jail if he did not fetch them, and he had been forced out time after time in his unseaworthy old twenty-two- foot tub, to beat against heavy contrary winds. This _ was Seabird, with the figures of two men on board. Feelings of relief, excite- ment, and hunger struck them all at once. They stood and shook hands, clapped one an- other on the back, and cheered them- selves hoarse. When the boat had come withn range, the first hail sent out to it was i— _" Happy Year!” ““No thanks to you!’’ came the reply, which puz- zled them more than a little. How- ever, they remem- bered_ their hunger, and the next shout was :— “Got any dam- er on board? ring it ashore soon.”” Before long the little home - made New his sixth attempt to reach the island. No wonder he was not too pleased with them ! They ferried all their stores and gear to the Seabird in the little dinghy, getting soaked to the neck in doing, it for the rollers were terrific. The Long 'Un trembled lest the dinghy should capsize and all his recious papers and photo- graphs be lost. Everything was saturated with spray, and one time, Bill, the mate of the Seabird, nearly got dashed to pieces launching the little — craft. How the Long ‘Un’s camera and films came through undamaged was a sheer marvel. At last every- : thing was stowed dinghy was un- shipped and one of the men_ paddled ashore with a box of tucker and a large damper. By the time Sandy and the Long ’Un had carried the stores to camp the owner of the boat had come ashore too, and they all sat down to eat. Eat? I should think so! Sandy and the Long ’Un ate half the damper without stopping. Then there was a bundle of mails for the Long ‘Un, which had been chasing him since May, 1921-—and it was now January 18th, 1922! He and Sandy had been on the island from November znd and had not seen a single ‘civilized’ thing to eat since December 1st, when their flour had given out. That night those two sat up and cooked damper without pause, eating intermittently all the time. Next morning the wind chopped round east again, blowing up half a gale. Meanwhile they found out why their well-meant New Year's greeting had been received so strangely. The Esperance people, it appeared, had been growing very anxious about them, the local policeman” had threatened the The arrival of the Seabird to rescue the two Crusoes. on board, and with two reefs in the sail and a howling gale behind, they left the island behind and started for the West. If anyone wants excitement let him try travelling eighty miles in a_ twenty-two- foot open boat down a’ granite coast with only two anchorages, and half a gale blowing. AN EXCITING VOYAGE. The Seabird heeled cver at a most perilous angle, yet they daren’t stop in the open to take in another reef for fear she should be swamped, and the speed at which they were going forced her stern so low in the water that the crests of the following waves swirled into her. Every man had his job cut out— one at the tiller, one at the sheet, one at the pump continuously, and one holding the dinghy in place at the port side. What a trip! Wet through, in an icy gale, with roaring deadly reefs all round, hats off to the two men who worked the Seabird / It was as near suicide as any man likes to go, but sail that day they had to, for the stores taken down to the island were insufficient for four Digitized by Google c

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people, and Sandy and the Long ’Un would have faced anything in preference to another week there. All along that coast there are murderous things called ‘‘ dumb breakers,’ formed by a rock sticking up from the bottom, with, maybe, twenty feet of water over it which, in rough weather, ‘‘ breaks’”’ periodi- cally—usually every twenty minutes. A huge circular roller forms, perhaps fifty yards in diameter and as large as any Atlantic comber, rises up, curves, and ‘TWO ROBINSON CRUSOES. 215 hurry, and the lower half of the shark cisappesred: A_ big twenty-footer had swirled up and bitten the small one—it wasn’t so very small, either—clean in two! * Nobody felt like bathing just there. Next morning they pulled out of the ““Duke,”” and headed for Esperance and safety. An even stronger easterly wind was teh ted 3 than on the previous day, but they all felt mad enough for anything, so they decided to run for home with three reefs in. And run they did! The poor old tub crashes inwards. Heaven help the boat that gets caught in it! There is no indication of the whereabouts of these death - traps until the roller ac- tually breaks, for all the white water it causes is quickly dispersed. There are pl enty of ‘‘dumb breakers ”” down that coast, and as they are only perceptible in rough weather the Seabird's captain did not know where to look out for them. He missed three at the mo- ment of their breaking by some- thing like two hun- dred yards, and there was no know- ing how many he went over uncon- sciously in the less perilous stage. With such a wind they soon put the “‘ Duke of Orleans”’ on the starboard bow and ran for the anchorage, teaching compara- tive safety at about 4 p.m. Whilst Sandy and the Long ’Un got ready to cook the tea, the other two amused themselves by shark- fishing, as they had a proper shark-tine and hook. Very soon they caught a small six- footer, hauled him alongside till his head rested on the gunwale, and then Bill ripped him open with a knife. He left him hanging there, half in and half out of the water, while he washed the blood off his hands over the side. Suddenly he leapt back in a great “Sandy” at the railway construction camp, where the two men worked before going to Middle Island. shook and trem- bled like an over- driven steamboat, but, water - logged as she was, she staggered safely into Esperance at about 3 p.m. As the boat ap- proached the jetty those on board could see a man climbing up the fire brigade look- out ; then they saw people collecting ; and by the time the Seabird had tied up, nearly the whole of the popu- lation had come down to give Sandy and the Long ’Un the most hospitable of wel- comes. Three hours after the men had landed the poor, over- worked craft which had carried them back to civilization sank at her moor- ings. That night there was work for the local barber, and then came a right royal reception in one of the three “‘ pubs.” Once again on the mainland—and v glad to be there—Sandy and the Long 'Un started looking for a job. They got one for the second time on the railway construction work, and soon settled down to the usual bush life. They do not feel inclined to repeat the trip to the island, unless someone puts up a good supply of tucker and guarantees the weekly calling of a steamboat. ae”

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SORCERY y AND SPIRITUALISM yy: IN PAPUA On the whole, the sy. stem works ry well. tively new 5 : During a resi- among civilized - 2 dence of many peo ple—though years in the from time to time country I have in the past there have been out- breaks of similar phenomena classed under the name of witch- Beatrice seen a good deal, and heard a good deal. more, about the sorcerers. of Papua. ,I'know a number* of them craft. It is no new thing, how- ever, to savages; it is, probably, as old as the savage himself. And in Papua, the very home of sorcery, the unsophistica- ted cannibal has forgotten more than most frequenters of — = ILLUSTRATED BY W. SMITHSON BROADHEAD modern Seance, ever sr Authoress of “When the Red Gods So large a part doe; | Cell” and numerous other popules novel the whole business of Grimshaw is a very remarkable person- sorcery play in Papuan | ality, and knows the South Seas better life that it has long than any other woman and most men. been recognized by the She has made her home in New Guinea laws of the country. for many years, and has travelled ex- The practice is a | tensively in the little-known interior. In criminal offence | this fascinating article she tells some punishable by heavy curious stories concerning native sor- fines or imprisonment. | cerers and their mysterious doings, which The cases brought in | include restoring the dead to life, table- by native police, and rapping, and curses that kill. tried by the magis- | CGrimshaw trates, include as many charges of sorcery as did medieval law-records in the days of witch-finders. But the British Government of to-day does not proceed on the lines of Matthew Hale. It merely asks for evidence as to the ill- effects of the sorcerer’s practices—there is always plenty, since witchcraft in Papua is inextricably mixed up with murder and. oppression—and, being satisfied, claps the otiender into jail. He is not imprisoned for practising magic—though that is, for reasons of convenience, the actual charge—but for making himself a danger and a nuisance. Government. long time now prohibition, training, td . They suggested, so they “two + sorcerers, : : posed “at?! the time: to fairly- well—they are a reserved and cautious race— and have even succeeded in get- ting them to tell me, more or less, what thev tho ight about the * business. And I am obligéd to record an: impression that there is -‘‘ something in it.” Ihave not a shadow of a doubt that the-“ something ’” is entirely bad, but it exists. The first I saw of Papuan sorcery was in a Government. official’s - house, «when sup- ing,” + were told to, conie up ‘to the veranda and see if they could - produc e answered ‘that for a had “been! unable: to out of could not giarantee the of anything they might attempt. however, that they might kill a dog before my eyes, bring him back to life. something smaller would was produced, which had just been killed, and afterwards I said 1 thought - do, so a_ lizard any- 7: thing interesting for! the white woman. to look at—permission being specially granted by the They they practise magic on account of-the Government and were conipletely

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i a th village, a strange place of - gator skulls, wooden spears, and os to life, and that was K. SORCERY AND and was still warm. It had no marks on it, and I handled it, and saw that it was undoubtedly dead. Then the sorcerers set to work. They were tall, fine, dignified men, dressed in a great many beads and dogs’ teeth, with bird of paradise plumes streaming over their dusky shoulders down their newly-oiled brown backs. They also, as a concession to white preindices. wore gaudy calico kilts, probably lent by the house boys. it may be said at once that the trick was a failure—but what interested me was the fact that the sorcerers clearly hoped for success, and tried hard for it. They made what used to be known as “ magnetic passes ”’ over the little grey corpse, and, like the medium in a séance, they breathed heavily and seemed to be exerting themselves in some uncomprehended way. But the lizard did not come to life again. The chief sorcerer (I gathered that the other was his assistant and more or less a pupil) told me that he had feared he was out of training. Could I give him a couple of weeks and let him come back again ? Questioned about what he meant to do, he cast down his eyes, as a native does when he means to keep back his real thoughts, and replied that he would " eat a great deal of wild Ringer, which had magic virtues.” ie did not renew the appoint- . -qentn. as I was going away. > Unsteac, I wandered off down to mah y- -légged brown houses set ~ in ‘the green sea-water upon high , ind looked up a sorcerer of whom. I knew something. He was, and is, a very famous man. d.am not at all sure that he gannot-read English, so I will Sim aly call him K ! K-— received me with the perfect manners that he always splayed and showed me round s house—the two bare, matted rooms, the curios, pig and _alli- carved long drums, with iguana skin stretched-across one end. I gave him a little present, and told him I had come to hear about bringing the dead to life. Instantly something did come appeared that I had hit u on his favourite subject. Now among his other lide ments, which are many, is the best linguist I have met in Papua, the country of many languages. SPIRITUALISM IN PAPUA 217 I do not know how many native tongues he speaks fluently ; it is likely that he can talk a dozen or more, but he is certainly a very fine speaker of the white man’s tongue, and does not use the ‘ pigeon " variety of it. So there was no difficulty at all in under- standing what he meant. Our interview proceeded as follows :— RESTORING THE DEAD TO LIFE. “Do the sorcerers kill men and_ bring them alive again?” “T don’t know, Missus (cautiously). “T know " (with excitement) “ the sorcerers can make a man alive when he is dead. No, Missus, J can’t do such things. The Govern- ment does not allow it.” kK ’s expression became extremely ious, and then relaxed, as he returned to 1is favourite subject. The interior of a cannibal temple.

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218 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ T will tell you what I have seen, Missus. I have-seen it myself. It was im the hills behind Port Moresby, a long way behind. There was a man who was dead, and he was so dead he was all swelled up. And a sorcerer said he would make the man alive, Missus: [ said * You cannot,’ but lie said ‘Yes,’ and I said ‘ Maybe for a littke while,’ but he did not say anything more. And we wert to the house of the man, and the widow was crying, and she was cutting herself with a piece of broken bottle. “The sorcerer looked at the dead man, and he said, ‘I will make. him alive,’ and he stuck a long spear into the man. i ‘What on earth for ?‘’ I interrupted. “ He did that, Missus, so the people should know the man was very dead. And there was a noise like ‘ whiff,’ because this man had been dead some time. Then he make him alive.” “ How?” But the sorcerer was not going to betray his fellow. ‘‘I don’t know, Missus,’’ he replied, with an expression of the most limpid candour. “‘ When I come back,’’ he went on, suddenly waking into the fiercest interest and action, ‘‘I see that man—I see him with my eye—he alive, Missus ; he lie on his bed and sit up and talk!” “‘ What did he say ?” No native ever answers a question while he is in the midst of a tale. K. swept on, his eyes, which had been so blank and dead, full of wild fire; his brown hands, curiously fine and delicate, waving excitedly. A village in the bush. ‘That man alive just like me. He stayed alive:one night, one day, a little bit of another night. Then he died again.” The light went out of K. ’s face and his hands dropped to his sides. ‘* Does that generally happen when they bring a man to life, or does the man stay alive?” “Yes, Missus, I think so,” replied K—— skilfully. Then, slipping off the subject, and becoming very grave, ‘‘I have seen many times the ghost of a man when it goes out and leaves the man.” ““You have? What was it like?” “It was like a football, Missus. A foot+ ball which the boys play with. It was like a lantern all the same, and blue.” His English has its limits, but I jud that he was trying to describe a ball of blue fire which floated and moved. I need not point out the striking likeness to certain phenomena which have been made familiar by the exploiters of the spiritualist cult. Finding him in such a communicative mood, I asked him what other strange things he knew. K knew many. One was the practice—which he said was well known— of making oneself invisible. Many sorcerers did it ; but they could not, at the same time, make themselves inaudible, and that was a great trouble. He himself had often heard men passing along the road, invisible, and he had lost a good axe, picked up under his very eyes by a man who was not visibly there. Asked about the too-well-known practice

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SORCERY AND SPIRITUALISM IN PAPUA. of cursing men to death, K—— betrayed uneasiness and suddenly recollected an engagement elsewhere. I gathered that the conversation was becoming more personal than he liked. But this curs- ing to death is the most familiar of all Papuan sor- cerers’ tricks. I was nct long after on board a Government steamer which had among the native passengers a fine young man dying of nothing at all. The local magistrate had sent him away because someone was cursing the youth to death, and it was hoped that change of scene might do him some good. He had no trouble of any kind that the Government medical officer could discover, and he said himself that he was not ill, but that he was going to die in about “ half a moon.” A man, he said, had a grudge against him and had cursed him, and now nothing could save him. He would not divulge the name of the man who was supposed to be his enemy. What became of him in the end I cannot say, but it is probable that he kept his word and died. ‘he real home of sorcery in Papua is the wonderful Mekeo plain country, a region un- troubled by tourists- or travellers save at long intervals of years —beautiful, fefttile, and thickly populated by the finest looking natives in Papua. The Catholic Mission has been at work there for over thirtv vears, and in that time has changed the Mekeo country from a land of murderous man-eaters to a district that is quite safe for anyone to visit-- that is, if the visitor does not object to poisonous snakes, pythons, wild boars, alligators, and swarms of exceedingly vicious mosquitoes, nor yet to the certainty of malarial attacks and the chance of black- water-fever, which latter is often fatal. These things, however, sound much worse than they are, and I have never enjoyed anything more than the visits I have made to Mekeo. On one occasion, after a day's march through beautiful, deep forests, I passed through a handsome village built in one Jong street, with a tree-house set some forty feet up in the air at the end of it, and many clusters of shady betel-nut and coconut palms. Beside the finest of the brown thatched houses a very tall and power- ful native, almost naked. was standing. His huge bush of woolly hair—the Papuan has 219 A Papuan sorcerer and his assistant. the largest head of hair in the world—was teased out to an unusual size. He was curiously painted with river mud, which had dried white on his chest and muscular bare legs. I asked my interpreter, a kindly missionary, why this man was so oddly decorated, and was told in reply that he was a well-known sorcerer, a great enemy of the Mission. The mud signified that he wished to killa man. The teased-out hair probably contained a live and very poisonous snake coiled round the top of the man’s skull, and if IT annoyed him he was perfectly capable of letting it go at me. ; I did not annoy him! I did not even ask him questions ; his aspect was not encourag- ing to curiosity. I never heard if he killed the man who had excited the extraordinary display that I saw, but the chances are that e did. THE SORCERERS’ UNIVERSITY. These sorcerers of Mekeo are the product of a curious system of training. There is, in the depths of the great forests, a secret place where sorcerers receive their teaching irom each other. The village near it, Mo

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220 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by name, has long been known among natives as a kind of sorcerers’ university. The. course of instruction takes about two years, and no outsider is ever told of what it con- sists. Freemasonry itself is not more closely guarded. : At the end of the time, however, the young sorcerer comes forth fully equipped. He can curse a man to death as easily as you or [ could hail a taxicab. He can poison in secret ways that are never suspected. He can, it is claimed, kill a man and bring him to life again. He can use a private wireless system of immemorial antiquity, that carries news where there is no apparent means of communication. He can see through things- that are opaque to others. He can, so thev say, make himself invisible. He can, quite certainly, do things with poisonous snakes that no other snake-charmer in the world would attempt, and he does not first prepare the snake by removing its poison fangs, since that would make it useless for his purpose. The Government catches and jails him as often as it can; but, nevertheless, he is not extinct. Listen to a tale of his powers. Near one of the big villages live some missionary nuns who are not liked by the sorcerers. On a certain afternoon one of the sisters had just set lunch on the table; it was soup, and the tureen was rather large. She wanted salt, or something of the kind, and turned her back to get what was required, She is certain that there was no one in the room or on the veranda when she did this, and the action only took a couple of seconds. There was no possible chance of anyone getting in during the time. Sitting down at table she helped the soup, and was about to begin when she observed that the tureen was. moving a little. If she had not been on her guard she would have lifted it up, carefully, to see what was wrong, but, suspecting a trick .of some kind, she knocked the tureen sharply over. Out from under it leaped a long black snake and struck at her face ! : : It was 4 narrow shave, but she avoided the deadly creature and killed it. Then she ran out of the house and was just in time to see the long legs of the local wizard disappearing into the forest. She does not know how the man contrived to get the snake under the tureen, but others think that the whole business seemed rather like what is known in spiritualistic circles as an ‘ apport.’ It is well known in Mekeo that anyone who offends a leading sorcerer is likely to die soon after, in the night, from the bite of a black snake. The natives told me that the sorcerers train their snakes to bite anyone they wish by a sccret process of their own, and after- wards let the horrible creatures loose at night near some crevice in the victim’s house. The snake enters and does its deadly work, but there is, of course, no proof against the sorcerer, The favourite place for keeping snakes ina sorcerer’s house 1s a large iron saucepan with a close-fitting lid, which can be bought from the traders. Visitors from other houses are naturally very chary about interfering with the cooking apparatus in a place where the owner is even suspected of sorcery. While Out on. business, the sorcerer carries his snake either in his hair or in a short section of baniboo that hangs like a locket on his breast. ; CLAIRVOYANCE. Clairvoyance is said to be another of the sorcerers’ accomplishments. Some years ago there was a big flood in a river, and one of the youths of a certain Mekeo village was swept away and drowned. While the flood re- mained there was no chance of finding his body, but the parents prepared to look for it, as soon as it should be possible, in the place where such grisly flotsam and jetsam is usually found. A white man (whom I know) was standing near the flooded banks of the stream watching the turbid, mud- coloured water rush past. Two sorcerers, at a little distance, were doing likew The white man asked them what they were looking at, and they calmly replied that they were looking at the body of the youth. “That's nonsense,” said the white man. “You could not see him through all this muddy water ; and in any case it’s impossible he should be in that part of the river at all.” Sorcerers rarely argue. The men only smiled and pointed out the exact spot where, they said, the body was lying. My friend looked and could see no eddy, no trace of anything that might have suggested such an idea. But when the water went down that was where they found the body. In all savage countries there are tales among the whites of news sent with incred- ible swiftness from village to village, out- stripping white men’s telegraphs. Drumming is supposed to be the means of communica- tion in Africa. In Papua, drums are certainly used by natives, but the sound could never carry over the blank uninhabited space, several days’ march across, that in most parts of the country separates the mountain tribes from those of the plain. Further, these tribes are often mutually hostile and too suspicious to pass a message on, even if one could be sent. Yet news has come many and many a time about the various expeditions which have penetrated into the unknown interior. Incidents of the trip, almost always in the form of attacks, have been reported and become current among the coast natives while the explorers were far out of reech of all ordinary communication. Usua.ly the reports are discredited until tine proves them to be true. “ Table-rapping ”’ has always been known among the Papuans. They use variou::

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SORCERY AND SPIRITUALISM IN PAPUA. sacred images for the purpose of pro- ducing raps —two raps for ‘‘ yes” and one for ‘‘no.”” They do not question the spirits about any- thing very deep; details of a future existence do not appeal to them, and they have no desire to know what their dead relations are doing, being un- alterably convinced that the said rela- tives are sure to be up to no good. They call the spirits to tell them where and how they can find their enemies when a fighting raid is contem- plated, and they often ask when they are to expect a good feast of cooked man — not excluding woman and baby. If answers are un- favourable, they wait for a better time, and_ satisfy themselves with pig. By their own account “the spirits do, not lie” ut these impor- tant matters. Extremely fine masks, showing much imagination of a rather sinister kind, are used by sorcerers in many parts of the country. They are also used for danc- ing by other natives, but the sorcerer has the best, the finest, and the most horrible. In the illustrations can be seen some that suggest the worst kind of nightmare. There is also a jump-on-your-back little demon ugly enough to frighten any nervous person out of a night's sleep. These things are supposed to represent various spirits, and if the Papuan believes in them as strongly as he seems to do, he is certainly a brave man to invite attention from creatures that look like these. About some parts of the country the mar- Tageable bachelor, who often experiences difficulty in finding a wife, is fond of gather- ing together various unattached young men of his own age and holding a spirit séance with them, to find out which of them is to be married first, and how soon. They place every confidence in the result. In most of the matters above mentioned the Papuan sorcerer runs his civilized cousin very close. In other directions, however, he seems to have found, or else never lost, certain strange powers common to medieval wizards, which our modern spiritualists do not even claim. Hearing the account of the ‘‘ enchanted houses,” well known in Western Papuan villages, it is impossible not to think of the famous “" charm of woven paces and of waving hands,” used by the sorceress Vivien with such dire

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222 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Typical Papuans. effects on Merlin, the mighty wizard, when she shut. him into the hollow oak against his will and left him‘there-as dead. - ENCHANTED HOUSES. The sorcerer of the West has a charm of that kind, -He builds a: little house, the sole 2 of which is murder. Once a man enters this house he loses all: power of resist- ance, .and ‘can easily be killed... Strangers are-lured into the place. by. proinise of fine things, to, be seen inside—bird of paradise plumes,. ¢arved shields and drums, and other ative treasures. Natives of the village are simply told to go in, and seem to have rio power to refuse when ordered, even though they know what is coming. This sounds like hypnotism, but the theory does not fit altogether, for it would seem much simpler, if only hypnotism were in question, to apply it straight away without the intervening medium of the enchanted house, which is troublesome to build and must be burned down every now and then and started afresh if it is to keep up its sinister powers. There is never anything inside the house, and it is used for no purpose but the killing of the man who has been lured or ordered into it. For long the practice was carried on without being known to white men ;- but of recent years, as confidence in the power and goodwill of the Government increased, com- plaints have been made now and again by the victims’ relatives, and ee has’ been. done upon the murderers. ° ft is not likely that the curious cult of the’“ enchanted house ” will survive very much longer... * A sorcerer’s professional outfit is'strangely reminiscent of the contents of the ches’ cauldron’ in “Macbeth.” Wande through the Mekeo forests I met “a sorcerer whom | happened to know a little. “Whén not engaged in the practice of his profession he was, and is, a rather pléasant n. He knows a little ‘‘ pigeon "’ English, picked up about local trading stores: I saw that he was carrying the usual bag over his back (your sorcerer seldom ‘goes out without his stage properties), and I offered him a stick of tobacco, to be shown the contents. Very good-naturedly he tumbled them all out on the ground. They formed a curious collection—bats’ wings, frogs’ feet, small human bones, a baby’s mummied_ hand, bundles of leaves and herbs carefully tied up, and probably poisonous ; also several rather fine quartz stals which he seemed to value greatly. e would not explain the uses of any of these things, merely smiling when asked what he did with them. But no doubt the course he had taken in the sorcerers’ secret university had taught him the special ‘‘ powers” of evel item. This sorcerer had a curious mania for a Papuan—that of stealing, or begging, any seeds of foreign plants he could get from the white pecple and growing them in his own

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SORCERY AND SPIRITUALISM IN PAPUA. private garden. I think he was always opeful of discovering some really fine new poison among them. “He, or his cronies, not long ago made a tremendous find, which was only prevented by the action of the unsympathetic district magistrate from opening up a new world in the way of easy pvisoning. Mekeo is a place where beautiful birds abound, and at different times bird-collectors, licensed to shoot and snare for foreign museums, had been allowed to collect a certain number of specimens. Entomologists, too, had visited the country from time to time, finding it a wonderland of beautiful butterflies. All Weird dancing masks used in tribal ceremonies by the natives of the Gulf of Papua. these people made great use of the natives to help them in their work, and before Jong the sorcerers, with an eye to business, ha found out from their friends that there were certain very powerful poisons in the posses- sion of the whites—arsenic, used for curing bird skins, and cyanide of potassium, kept by the entomologists in their killing-bottles. Perhaps the collectors were careless ; perhaps 223 they could not have kept the stuff from the sorcerers if they had tried. In any case the deaths from poison began to mount up so quickly that suspicion was aroused, and ‘the whole matter gone into. It was then found that the sorcerers had been making private caches of arsenic and cyanide, and had found the drugs so useful that they were prepared at any time to buy them from the collectors’ assistants at very high prices, or, if that failed, to frighten the men into procuring what was required. At present the Mekeo sorcerer is fighting a losing fight. Government on the one side and the Mission on the other are giving him ~eS a bad time all round. His prestige is les- sening and his amusements are constantly and rudely interfered with. But it is not likely that he will ever quite lose his hold, either in Mekeo or elsewhere, since sorcery, under other names, is practised everywhere in civilization to this day by the very people who profess to govern and improve the savage. :

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Short Stories THE LITTLE BRASS GOD. By COURTENAY DENYS. Illustrated by FRANCIS C. HILEY. ONES was new to © ~~ India. He was twenty-one, and | had been out only three years. He had left England with his mind full of tales of the arbitrary methods of the ‘ brutal lanter,”” but by force of circumstances he had become one of that community him- self, and had now learned that the Indians who worked for the planter called him “the protector of the poor’’: and there seemed every reason to believe that in nine cases out of ten the Indian was just in his estimate of the English character. He had also learned that if you want to buy any- thing in India you make an offer for it, and that the expression ‘It is not for sale” means that your offer is too small. If you raise the price, and it is doubled, the inference is.that you may take it at the price you have suggested; you then put down your money and take the article. The seller hurls imprecations at you, calls on all his gods to witness how you are robbing him, and swears that he won't sell; but he lets you take it—and all is well. He smiles directly you have gone, and tells his wife that he has done you down. And_ he generally has. One day Jones saw a little brass god, with an extraordinarily repulsive and vicious countenance, and fell in love with its appal- ling ugliness. He offered a rupee for it, and then two., The owner repeated his original statement “that it was not for sale, so Jones raised his offer to three and four rupees, but still the owner refused to part with it. All brass ware is, as a rule, sold by weight, and Jones knew four rupees was far too much, but he placed that sum on the floor and’ took the god. Thereupon the owner got very excited. His lamentations seemed more genuine than usual, and his insistence that he did not wish to sell the god was more emphatic than. custom demanded. Still, the thing had been exposed for sale, so the experienced Jones refused to let himself be taken in, and possessing himself of the little god he departe The owner followed him for quite a long way begging for A planter’s story of on odd experi- © but ence that befell him in India. ! the return of his god, Jones took no notice, and kept it. It sat several inches high, was squat in figure, and amazingly hideous of countenance. On getting home Jones boiled it to kill germs, cleaned it with “ Brasso,"” and put it on the wooden mantelpiece. It looked quite fascinating on the well-stretched red baize —only fixed that morning. It was the cold weather, so in the evenings Jones enjoyed the luxury of a fire, and that night, pulling his chair within reach of its warmth, he lay back for his usual after- dinner read. His bungalow was five miles from the nearest English residence, for he was in independent charge of an ‘“‘ out work." His servants had retired, as usual, to their quarters two hundred yards away, so he was alone and everything was silent and, peaceful. Soon he would be sleepy and ready for bed. His book was on mythology, his. thoughts having been led thereto by his purchase. The subject was engrossing, and he did not go to bed as early as he intended. Suddenly he was startled out of his world of myths by a crash at his feet. He started up, and found the little brass god lying in the fender. He stared at it and then looked up at the mantelpiece. The shelf was empty; the god had been its only ornament. Giving himself a mental shake, Jones told himself that the cat must have taken a short cut over the chimneypiece. He picked up the little god and looked closely at its evil coun- tenance. The expression seemed distinctly to denote fiendish amusement—a thing he had not noticed before. He dusted off the ashes, put it back on the shelf, well away from the edge, and then sat down to finish the chapter. Paragraph followed paragraph, each more interesting then the last, and still he read on. Crash ! uy Jones bounded up. What was that ? The evil little image was in the fender again ! It was lying on its.back, and in the dancing fire-light its ugly little face seemed to radiate smiles of fiendish delight. The planter gazed at it with horror in his eyes.

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“You little brute! ’’ he thought. ‘‘ How did you get off again ?” The flicker of the flames seemed to cause the features to twitch in what looked very much like a deliberate wink. At last, reluctantly, Jones picked up the little image. _He remembered vaguely some story in Bible history about Baal, a heathen god, who had been found by his priests lying at the foot of his pedestal. Was history repeating itself? Was this little image a reincarnation ? But Baal's hands and feet were broken, he remembered, and nothing was broken here. The ugly little hands were tightly pressed on a big stomach, the feet were tucked under the same protec- tion, at the end of fat crossed legs, and the eyes, on closer examination, were quite still, But how the deuce had the little beggar got off the mantelpiece twice ? SHORT STORIES. 225 Jones wondered if the shopman had really not wanted to sell the god, and whether there was anything in what he had said about desecration or in the curses he had employed. “It's all nonsense, Tommy Jones!" he growled at last. ‘' Pull yourself together ; put back the little piece of brass, and watch it.” Thereupon he replaced it, tested its sitting powers, found its balance excellent, and its base flat and wide. He shook his finger at it. ‘‘ Now you jolly well stay still,” he said. Then, sitting down in his chair, he watched. Nothing happened for some minutes, and he was just getting sleepy, when—yes ! the little god was moving! Jones sprang up with his eyes nearly starting out of his head. The figure was jerking itself forward, very slowly, but quite distinctly and very “Yes! —the little god was moving!” Vol. 1L—16.

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226 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. perceptibly. It had the whole mantelpiece to itself ; no cat, rat, or mouse was there to push it. Yet on it came. Jones stepped back, pinched himself to see if he was really awake, and gazed in horror, The god, advancing steadily, ap- parently straight at the paralysed watcher, Teached the edge and toppled off again, Instinctively Jones sprang forward to save the fall, but too late. The little god crashed into the hearth and disappeared ! ‘The planter stood spellbound for a moment or two; then his normal common sense re-asserted itself. He looked under the grate, and gave a sigh of relief—the god was there | Good business ! “All right ; muttered, Straightening up, he stood by the mantel- piece, leaning his elbow on it, with his head on his hands, and tried to think the matter out. There seemed, however, to be no solution of the mystery. He had _ better take the god back to-morrow, and. But that was sheer cowardice; surely he wasn't afraid of a little bit of brass ! He scooped the idol out from under the grate, dusted it, and leaning one elbow stay there and burn!” he on the mantelpiece, held it in his hand and examined it closely. 1t was certainly appal- lingly ugly—the face was utterly vicious and malign. “ Yes, that's what you are,” he said aloud. “You are a malign little devil—— What was that ? Something touched my elbow !'” He jumped away from the mantelpiece as if he had been stung. ‘‘ Scott! Am I going dotty ?’’ he cried. ‘‘I had my elbow there,” and he put his hand on the spot, only to pull it away again with a startled jerk, for something had moved under it ! Carefully the planter felt over the surface of the newly-covered mantelpiece. Yes; there was a lump, and the lump moved. Now he understood ! Quickly he ripped out the fastening nails, turned the baize cover back, and discovered a little shovel-headed beetle. The insect had got under the cloth, and had been working round trying to get out, struggling harder whenever an obstacle showed signs of giving way. Jones threw it out of the window, and went to bed, secretly very glad that he had_ solved the mystery, and downed the “reincarnation ”’ theory. POACHING ON A KING'S PRESERVES. By THOS. B. DONOVAN. Illustrated by R. B. M. PAXTON. ECAUSE the fol- lowing story is true, and be- cause the events narrated took place within the last few years, it is necessary to disguise slightly the A very amusing story concerning a resort that desired to add to its attractions, a monarch who jealously ed certain rare animals, and the devious ways by which some “specimens” were procured. gestions put forward, none found more sup- rt than that of the local Member of Parlia- ment, who proposed the foundation of a Na- tional Park on the ex- | Of the various sug- | \ | names of the chief actors, and the name of the Swiss resort involved, for their publication would cer- tainly be the cause of scandal in the Alpine Republic, and might conceivably lead to international complications. With these exceptions, however, this is a plain unvar- nished history, and goes to prove that romance has not altogether departed from the Alps with the introduction of mountain railways. The scene opens at a meeting convened (out of the season) in a Swiss resort of world- wide fame—let us call it Rugenville—with the object of discussing how to render the place still more attractive. It already boasted some of the finest scenery in Europe, famous snow-clad peaks and gem-like lakes, funiculars in all directions, and a wonderful casino where you might listen to Beethoven or to the jingle of coins on the green baize tables, according to your mood. tensive wooded slopes of one of the adjacent mountains, and, in articular, the reintroduction of the ibex, long extinct in these regions and, indeed, in most of Central Europe. In an eloquent speech he described how in bygone centuries that picturesque animal was as plentiful as the chamois is now, and pointed as proof to the numerous inns to be found in the region, bearing as their sign the head of an ibex with its great curved horns. ‘‘ Let us,’’ he concluded, ‘‘ begin our National Park with a small colony of ibex, “ which may in years to come so increase in numbers that we can stock the different Alpine valleys around and provide a further study for the naturalist, a new delight for the tourist.’’ The meeting thereupon unanimously resolved on the foundation of a National Park to be stocked with ibex, and a committee was appointed to further the idea.

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Subscriptions rolled in from hotel pro- prietors, shopkeepers, and railway manage- ments, always keen on any scheme which would induce the holiday-maker to prolong his stay. A suitable tract of land was acquired and the work of fencing it in begun Everything went swimmingly, in fact, until some inquiring member of the committee asked: ‘“‘ What about the ibex ?"’ “ My friend was ushered into a private room where sat a picturesque, wild-! Everybody, it transpired, had forgotten the ibex, assuming that, when the right time came—well, they would go and buy some! Now, the European ibex is one of the rarest of the goat family, and seldom met even in the best-appointed zoos. The Asiatic ibex, of course, is more commonly encountered, but this is quite a different species, and not at all what was wanted. ven the great Hagenbeck, when approached, was unable to supply the committee’s needs, and things soon ame serious, in fact the committee began to look ridiculous. n his dilemma, the local M.P. consulted a friend of the writer’s, an English resident, Mr. Charles, who, brought up from his youth in Switzerland, knew the language and customs like a native. Further, he had a wide and peculiar acquaintance with all the valleys on both the Swiss and Italian slopes of the Alps, being a mountaineer of some note. To him, the committee confided their SHORT STORIES, 227 individual.” troubles. Mr. Charles pointed out that there was only one place in Central Europe where the ibex flourished in a wild state—the Val d’Aosta, on the Italian side of the Alps. Years before he had seen them there, and had also learnt that they were the private property of the King of Italy, who kept the valley as a close preserve, hunting there once a year with his friends. he position looked rather hopeless. However, Mr. Charles, who, although not in his first youth, was of an adventurous nature, ~ offered to pay a visit to the Val d’Aosta, just to make a few inquiries. Accordingly, shortly afterwards, he took train through the Simplon to Milan, and travelled thence up the wild rocky roads that lead to the Val d’Aosta. If you look at the map: you will see that the Val d’Aosta is situated amidst rugged mountainous country just on the other side of the Great St. Bernard. In the most remote of the several villages that are scattered through the valley my

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228 friend passed a night in the primitive inn, and over a game of cards with some of the villagers got into conversation about the famous ibex of the valley. The excitable Italian peasants all volunteered information about the celebrated herd—the annual shoots arranged for the Roval party, the strictness of the guard kept over them by the special corps of gamekeepers, the pro- hibition of dealing even in the horns of animals that died, all of which had to be delivered up. Later, Mr. Charles was amused to receive three separate visits in his room from peasants who, with a great show of secrecy, offered to sell him ibex horns at exorbitant prices. He declined these offers, but declared jokingly that if he could buy a live ibex, he might be interested. .The landlord, who overheard this remark, took Mr. Charles aside and told him mysteriously that he would like to introduce him to a special friend of his. Accordingly, the follow- ing day, my friend was ushered into a private room where sat a picturesque, wild-looking individual with black flowing moustachios, arrayed in the velvet coat and baggy trousers beloved of the more prosperous Italian peasant. He introduced himself as the “* sole exporter "’ of ibex from the Val d'Aosta, and volunteered the information that he had had the honour of supplying more than one famous collection. Mr. Charles, feeling con- strained to act up to the part he had un- wittingly assumed of a potential buyer, asked for further particulars. He learnt that the cost of a young ibex was a thousand francs, and that the ‘ exporter” would be prepared to supply anything from one to half-a-dozen young ibex as soon as the - breeding season came and personally trans- port them to any desired place in Switzerland via the St. Bernard Pass. Mr. Charles, well satistied with his progress, exchanged addresses with the ‘‘ exporter ” and returned to Rugenville. It may be remarked in parentheses that, the soul of honour in the ordinary trans- actions of life, no doubt assailed him as to the morality of poaching the King of Italy's ibex ! The committee, sworn to secrecy, were delighted with his report, and waited impatiently for the spring—and_ the ibex. The long winter passed, and at length Mr. Charles received a letter written on dirty paper in execrable Irench, of the following purport :— HonourRED PaTRON, Pray pardon the fact that I do not write to you with my own hand. Alas! I am not skilled with the pen. But my friend the parish clerk is kind enough to act as my secretary, and every confidence may be placed in his dis- cretion! Unfortunately, I have bad news to report. The past breeding season has been very unsuccessful—owing to the late snows many of the kids perished. Again, I had the ill-fortune THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to shoot a kid when aiming at the mother, and thereby lost the opportunity of turning an honest penny. The cursed gamekeepers, too, have been more alert than ever, and I have had one or two narrow escapes. May better luck be in store for us next season! In the meantime, I beg most humbly to otter your honour some fine ibex horns at a moderate price. This was a sad blow for the committee, who had circulated dark hints that the empty park would soon receive some inter- esting occupants. There was nothing to do but wait, and endure the jeers of their fellow-citizens. Then the War broke out, and the frontier between Switzerland and Italy was occupied on both sides by strong military guards, extending right up to the very snow-line. It was impossible, with a strict censorship, to correspond any further on the subject of the King of Italy's ibex, let alone think of smuggling them across the strongly-held frontier! At least, so thought the committee, but the added difficulties seemed to fire my friend Mr. Charles to further exertions. He wrote to the “ sole exporter "’ asking him to meet him on the Great St. Bernard Pass on a specified day a month ahead. At the appointed time he journeyed to Martigny, and tramped up to the famous hospice ten thousand feet above sea-level, where the good monks were astonished to receive a visitor. Since the beginning of August, when the tourists had fled from Switzerland like rats leaving a sinking ship, they had seen practically no one from the outer world but Swiss and Italian frontier guards, for the hospice is close to the border line. Mr. Charles kicked his heels for two days, hard put to it to find an excuse for his prolonged stay, and wondering what had -happened to his poacher friend. On the morning of the third day, he was sitting on a stone near the summit of the Pass, watching the wonderful panorama, when a man cautiously approached him whom he pre- sently recognized as the exporter of ibex. “Signor,” he explained, ‘“ twice have I approached the Pass but each time have I met the sentries. Once they shot at me! You see I have no passport, and cannot come by the main road. But I know these mountains better than the soldiers, and I am here. What is it you wish me to do?” Mr. Charles explained that he was still interested in ibex, and wished to know if there was any possibility of procuring them now, under war conditions. “ Surely,’’ was the reply, “ there are man: kids this breeding season, and I she certainly have better luc’ than last, for many of the guards are mobilized. But, Signor, the risk of crossing the frontier is greater, and the price is now two thousand francs.” “Good,” said Mr. Charles, “ my friends are willing to pay two thousand francs.”

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Asimple code was arranged whereby the “ rter * could give word of his coming, and the two departed down their respec- tive sides of the Great St. Bernard. It is almost incredible that a man should suc- ceed in crossing a closely-guarded mountain frontier in war-time, where every road and track was watched, and not only this, but carry with him two live animals. Yet this is what Giuseppe accom- plished soon after- wards in the early summer of 1915. He did not com: alone, for he had by good fortune secured three ibex kids, and he brought a friend to carry the third. The kids were carried in specially-made pockets inside their capacious greatcoats, and the gentle poachers slept with their tiny charges en route, in order to console them for the loss of their mother and to keep them warm, and fed them from a bottle. It was ditffi- cult to get these daring Italian smugglers to talk much of their exploit. The only comment they would make on their perilous journey was that they knew every stone of the Great St. Bernard and that it would take clever sentries to block their way. The “sole exporter,’’ in his gentlemanly manner, apologized to the members of the committee appointed to meet the smugglers privately and receive their booty, for bringing a second man. “‘ But,” he added magnificently, “‘he is a man of strict integrity and you may rely on his maintaining an honourable silence.’ Having delivered the goods and received payment, the two velveteen-clad adventurers departed on their return to their home in the Val d’Aosta by the same dangerous route by which they had come, but this time unencumbered. The kids were duly installed in the enclosure prepared for them, carefully nurtured on the bottle, and the last time I saw them, a few years ago, they were sturdy creatures and develop- ing the huge horns that distinguish this SHORT STORIES. 229 “He was informed that he was suspected of being a spy!” interesting animal. To-day, I learn, they and their offspring constitute a regular colony. The story has a sequel which adds a further touch of comedy. One afternoon shortly afterwards, Mr. Charles was surprised to receive a visit from two Swiss military officers, who subjected him to a close examination. On demanding the reason for this, he was informed that he was suspected of being a spy! He soon learnt that his visit to the frontier at the Great St. Bernard Pass was responsible for this, the good monks, after some days of doubt, having at length informed the authorities of their strange foreign visitor. Now he was in a quandary indeed, for he was pledged to secrecy, like all the other accessories to the poaching of the King of Italy’s ibex. Realizing at length that the alternative was likely to be decidedly unpleasant, he invited his visitors to accom- any him to the house of the local Member of arliament, who was also, incidentally, being a lawyer, a President of Courts- Martial, and well known to them. There, to their astonishment, they heard the story I have just related, and the day ended amidst Homeric laughter over a couple of bottles of the best wine that the Rhone Valley affords.

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LYING over Ni- neveh had an interest pecu- liarly its own, and while paint- ing it from this novel view- point, I could not help recall- ing my feelings when I first flew over Jerusalem and Babylon. Even the most unimaginative of men could scarcely survey without emotion the remains of this city — the most splendid of the ancient world. From the air Nineveh's _ pre- sent desolation is the more marked, distinguish it besides its walls and moats, THRKOUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. VI.--(Conclusion.) 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, i 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, specially 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. fourth was pro- tected by the Tigris until, dur- ing the city’s final siege, the tiver shifted its course to its present position three miles away, which enabled the Medes to march into the city via the deserted Tiver-bed. From the air I could easily distin- guish the small stream that divides Nineveh, separating the Palace of Assur- bani- pal from that of Esar- haddon, The latter is sur- mounted by the village and tomb for little remains to of Jonah, so that his white shrine now occupying a large oblong. Originally three preached as an outcast. of its sides were heavily fortified, and the occupies the place where originally he For a moment my gaze rested on the snowy highlands of 230

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. Kurdistan, forming a wall—forbidden and unvisited—along the north, before dropping downwards towards the great city of Mosul, lying on the farther bank of the Tigris. Mosul is connected with the Nineveh bank of the river by a bridge of boats. All day long this bridge offers a scene of activity, from the women doing their daily washing on either side, to the loafing Kurds, in from the surrounding country, who hold a market here in the early hours of the morning, selling ‘melons which they bring down from the mountains. These Kurds have a noble, though fierce, appearance with their numerous knives and firearms, and their rough clothes are a veritable riot of colour, in great contrast to the softer tones affected by the Arabs. While we were staying in Mosul a war against the Kurds had commenced, owing to their having murdered in Amadieh, their capital and stronghold, two English political ofhcers who had recently arrived there. This supplied = an opportunity for my brother and me to join in an aerial reconnais- sance over the moun- tains, enabling‘ us to paint Amadieh from the air. The start was made an hour before sun- rise one morning. We rose into the heavens while the city lay still asleep, and the green plain between Mosul and the mountains was covered with a silvery film of mist and dew ; not till we passed over Nineveh did the nearer hills begin to take on definite shape. Half an hour's flying brought us over Sheikh-Adi, and there I saw, in the midst of its clustering huts, a stone structure with a spire which instantly carried my thoughts back to the familiar English village church. It was, how ever, something very different, nothing less than the chief shrine of the ‘devil wor shippers ’’—the Yezidis—con- taining the altar of Melek Taus, the Peacock King, who, as the devil’s incarnation, is believed by the Yezidis to greater power than esus, whom they also venerate. n this shrine is a beautiful 231 beautiful workmanship in copper and silver of this incarnation of the devil can be formed from the photograph herewith. We now reached the mountains, and had to rise to fifteen thousand feet to surmount them; they were steep and rugged, with tiny villages clinging to almost inaccessible heights. Their tribesmen were accustomed to shoot at passing aeroplanes, sometimes not without success; and on approaching Amadieh we were treated to a fisillade of shots, evident by the holes torn in our wings. This, together with the shaking . of. the machine,:: made my painting a matter .of difficulty., Apparently Sydney was think- ing much the same thoughts as I was, for I could see him anxiously watching the engine for any signs of trouble. If anything went wrong the gorges and ravines below gave us no opportunity of landing safely, and if one did pass through that ordeal there was the enjoyable prospect of capture and murder by the vengeful Kurds. These forebodings were intensified when Sydney pointed signi- ficantly downwards at what appeared to be the wreck of an aero- plane brought down by the tribesmen a few days previously. We now saw, jutting out from a spur of a giant ridge, a conical hill on whose summit lay \madieh itself. It looked a straggling concourse of houses of stone and wood, somewhat hidden by the profusion of poplars and walnuts. The scenery here was of the wildest description, deep chasms alternating with wooded slopes, while the heights above the city were covered with snow. Gradually we passed eastwards from Ama- dieh and reached eventually the Great Zab river, whose turbulent course between precipitous cliffs served as a guide towards the Tigris, which we then followed back to Mosul. South-east of the Zab, as far as the borders of Persia, the mountains degenerate into the lowlands of Lower Kur- distan. These plains form summer pastures for the camels, and from the air we could see great herds grazing while we flew on our course image of the sacred peacock ; Melek from Mosul to Kirkuk, the at one time there were two, The effigy Sarees chief city of Lower Kurdistan. but one was stolen, eventually King, the deity of The photograph shows this finding its way into the British the devil - worshi city, set among its hills, as it Museum. An idea of the pers, or Yezidis. appeared to us when we were

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232 about to land. It is divided into two dis- tinct towns by its turbulent river Hasa Su (meaning “‘ black water ’’), the older town being fortified and built on a steep ridge. We first passed low’ over the roofs of this older town, and then crossed the river in order to land beyond the Turkish barracks. Just as we were about to alight a whirlwind rose suddenly, drawing up the sand into a mighty column which moved rapidly towards us, and we only just had time to turn quickly to avoid it. Any city would be proud to possess the tombs of Daniel, Shadrach, and Meshech, and that possession is Kirkuk’s one and only boast ; at one time it had also the tomb of Abednego, but this is now lost. Otherwise the city has few pretensions to interest other than the romance of its wild, uncouth inhabitants, its turbulent river, and_ its picturesque bridges. While, all that after- “ noon, we toiled in the heat on the necessary repairs to our engine, we could not help dwelling on its isolation, far from road, rail, or civilization. So great was the sun's strength, incidentally, that I scorched my fingers’ badly through picking up a spanner that had’ been lying on the sand ! , » Next day we ‘ew -to’ Khanikin, landing _amid its far-famed orchards, and there we found the heat of 120” in the shade so intense that we spent’ the afternoon lying THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in the water of a stream overshadowed br willows; but even that presented diff culties, for we had to be careful not to discard our sun-helmets even in the water ! Despite the vicissitudes of travelling by aeroplane over wild and rugged lands, we had good reason to dwell on its very real thrills and joys when some weeks later we found ourselves on the highways of Persia, having exchanged the aeroplane for the motor-car and the exhilaration of inter- course with the elements of Nature for the joys of the road and human life. We left the soil of Irak and Kurdistan at the border village of Kasr-i-shirin (castle of Shirin), so called in remembrance of the love the Emperor Chosroes bore. Shirin, his Christian bride—a ‘favourite theme of Persian poets. One evening, just before we started, I climbed the hill above our cam; to survey the view of Persia’s borderland. Rising from the sultry plains of Irak the hills steadily increased in size up to the tinal range—now azure in colour—that guards the gate of Persia, the Pai-tak pass. The thought of what ages of history, what varied life, with its endless comings and goings, this pass had silently witnessed— from the times of Darius and Alexander, the Roman legions, and the hordes of Genghiz Khan down to our own times—occupied my mind. I could see, trailing away into NS ~, Kirkuk, the chief city of Central Kurdistan, which contains the tombs of Daniel,‘ Shadrach, and Meshech.

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. the distance at regular intervals, the series of brick forts built for the protection of the border, and wondered at the endless proces- sions of pilgrims’ trains, of princes’ palan- quins and trading caravans, that these ancient forts must have seen. As I sat there a caravan wound its way down the rough 233 and slippers all complete. She made no attempt to conceal her features, as the city women do, but gazed at us in frank curiosity, with a twinkle in her dark eyes deepened by Aohl on the lashes. The couple looked for all the world like ‘* Prince Camara- lazaman and Princess Badoura”’ in an ; - Arabian - Nights’ road —a__ long string of laden camels and mules in single file with the Arab_ mer- chants. following, coated with duist. One of. ‘the; don- keys had: fallen, and now lay still by the roadside. A white speck glistened in’ the sky; and in a moment a vulture was swooping down upon the scene. Such is life and death along the great high- way of Persia. ur first night in Persia was spent — accom- panied by Ach- med, our Arab boy—in the khan at Karind, which we reached to- wards evening after our long climb - through the pass. The trees and bushes that had made the mountain- side look green with verdure had disappeared, rendering these uplands almost as barren as the desert. Imagine, therefore, our joyful surprise on this first view of a Persian village to come upon it, in a gorge of the mountains, sur- rounded by orchards and gardens of the brightest green. That evening we walked up to a hillock by the village gate and watched the stream of villagers returning from the fields. They were mostly Lur Kurds—this being the Kurd province of Persia—from whom the Persians were distinguishable by their black or red trousers, yellow or blue frock coats, and hats like inverted saucepans. The first-comer was a most handsome youth, wearing the Kurdish dress of sump- tuous purple silk with baggy pantaloons, heavy turban, and a delicately-wrought dagger in his silken waist. He was driving a donkey bearing a beautiful damsel equally gaily dressed—trousers, ballet skirt, turban, Kurdish tribesmen arriving in Kermanshah. - showat a Western ‘theatre. | «May thy pa- tience ‘not’ over- weigh thy-hunger, oh ye shadows of the Shah !’\ the young man called to us, or words to that effect; and I could see the . lady i was shaking with amusement as they turned into the village. A group of har- vesters followed, chattering noisily. Their -huge black hats, like elongated mortar - boards, wound = around with purple silks and tassels, gave a noble setting to their bronzed faces and long black curls. All of them were armed to the teeth. Early next morning, before continuing our journey, Sydney and I went through the village to paint, but the readiness with which its dogs—they are really of wolf descent—recognized us as strangers, barking and snapping savagely from every roof, showed us that the place had its disadvantages. On the completion of our work and our return through the village the dogs seemed to be waiting for us, determined not to let us escape too easily. Suddenly, from a side-alley, several of them leapt out at us, and I was knocked down. I do not know what would have been my fate had I been alone, for the villagers showed no disposition to assist us. With our sticks Sydney and I succeeded in keeping them back sufficiently to enable us to retreat down the lane to where our car was waiting. Though I happily escaped any serious bites and consequent hydrophobia I, nevertheless, fell a victim to fever, and until we reached Kermanshah, a couple of days later, I lay on a matress jolted up and down in the back of the car.

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234 If Karind gave the appearance of an inland “‘ treasure island,’ our first glimpse of Kermanshah completely outshone it. Like other cities of Persia, it lies beneath a lofty mountain whose barren sides grow opalescent with colour as the day changes. As we approached from the rolling barren hills, covered only by camel thorn, we were struck by the scene of life and prosperity around the city—stretches of wheat and barley fields interspersed with groves of saplings and tiny streams with busy groups of harvesters at work in the fields. The bazaars of Kermanshah were a veri- table Ali Baba’s cavern for riches and colour, and were rendered gay and lively by the stalwart figures of Persia’s varied types and costumes. The photograph repro- duced depicts a Kermanshah street scene ; the two Kurd horsemen shown in it had ridden in from Karind. These hardy warriors own allegiance to no Government, but trust only to the rifles slung across their backs. We spent one morning in the goldsmiths’ bazaar, negotiating the purchase of a bracelet I had. set my heart on; but the goldsmith was very obstinate over his price. However, when we commenced to depart, he reduced it with a surprising bound, at the same time appealing to Heaven and the passers-by to witness the extent of -his sacrifice. ‘‘ Oh, Majesty of Allah! May my daughter. marry a Christian if what I ask is not a mere trifle. By Allah! the bracelet is worth tenfold the sum I ask.. Nay, my Lord, oh Pillar of the State! -1 am a poor man, and full of courtesy withal. Heaven witness! My goods are the cheapest in all A fruit shop in the outskirts of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Iran. Our Lord the benevolent, the Great Shah Abbas, himself showed not greater modesty than I.” But our marketing was chiefly concerned with the purchasing of food and household requirements ; and in Hamadan—a large city that we reached a few stages later— we hired a small boy, Hassan by name, to help us and Achmed in this duty; for we stopped several days in Hamadan, occupy- ing an empty house. This place lay at the head of a crowded side-alley, its unpreten- tious door opening into a courtyard contain- ing a fountain—used by us for ‘ washing- up ’’—and around which lay the rooms. In the mornings we would go into the bazaars ; and in a fruit shop on our way— the picturesque character of which is shown in the accompanying photograph—we pur- chased melons, grapes, cucumbers, and chuppattee. Unfortunately every leg of mutton we purchased did not reach our table; for after Achmed had duly washed it in the bucket-and then gone to’ prepare a fire on which to cook it, he would return to find.the meat gone.: On: two successive evenings this Happens and’ we -bécame rather suspicious of our neighbdur:: So, on the third evening, we watched from béhind a balcony. First-a nose and thenthe jaws of our neighbour's dog appeared, reaching under the door, and we were just in ‘tim to save our third leg of mutton.*» ~~, ~ On arrival at each village on our route we used to draw up at the Akan—a ‘public lodging house for all who travel, consisting of a large courtyard for the animals. and empty rooms around it, opening. oné into another, in which to lay. out one’s bed (if there is room) and light a fire. In the khan at Avah, our sleeping companions were of an interesting and typical kind. There was a beggar who had fallen low in the social scale; two abate ots Excellenc - el-Molk 4 naine meaning ‘‘ Eye of the State’) anda Mullah returning to Hamadan who was connected, I gathered, with the Tomb of Esther and Mordecai. Hamadan, ~ being built on the site of the ancient Ecbatana, the

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. capital of the Medes, was once the scene of Ahasuerus’s court. During the daytime Sydney and I were out in the village enjoying the wonderful view of its mountain range or the cool of its stream, overhung by walnut trees. When we returned with Achmed at dusk to cook our evening meal, it was apparent that our 235 The scenery at Avah was grandness itself, the colour of the sandstone tinging the mountains bright red, in strong contrast to the emerald green valleys; but as we journeyed north it gradually merged into the great central plateau, over which the scattered villages were visible for miles, each enclosed by its crenellated mud walls. Persian wayfarers asleep in a wayside khan. companions had spent the whole day in sleep except for an occasional smoke at their ever- ready water-pipes. The above photograph shows the singularly unfurnished character of the room better than any words can do. During the evening the khan-keeper entered and joined in the general conversa- tion—Persian flattery, poetry, and story- telling. “Oh, Mullah! Oh, Effendim! Allah grant thee all thy needs and a blessing on thy children,’’ he declared. Ostensibly he was seeing that all was well with his guests, though as a side-line he did not neglect to note any opportunity for relieving them of any spare cash. “Verily the poet spoke truly: ‘ the full moon would resemble thee were it not freckled, and the sun would be like thee were it not eclipsed.’ Verily, my Lords, ve have showered light upon your slave by this night’s intercourse.’’ This is a freely trans- lated specimen of one of his fulsome speeches. Sultanabad, where we stayed for some days, was typical of all these villages. The khan was the only building outside its wall and the village gate was the only means of ingress and exit, so that once inside I always had the feeling of being locked in a prison, quite at the mercy of the inhabitants—and theirdogs. In the middle of the village wasa stagnant pool; there the women did their daily washing, as shown in the final photograph. One citizen of Sultanabad, Yari by name, showed the typical jealousy of Persian husbands. He happened to be taking his wife to visit her relations in the next village on an occasion when we were walking in the same direction, and we went together. His wife, however, was previously directed to conceal herself behind a hillock until we had advanced some distance, and when we reached the village and entered the uncle's house she remained outside all the time we were partaking of chai (Persian tea) from their samovar.

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236 From Sultanabad, just visible away over the plain, we could see the smoke and glitter of houses, denoting our proximity to the city of Kazvin. The view of it from. the air, reproduced at the head of this instalment, gives the best idea of its typical Persian archi- tecture and poplar groves, with. the great plain and the Elburz mountains beyond. When we arrived in Kazvin we found it in a thoroughly holiday mood, for its inhabi-- tants were preparing in regal style for the passing through of the Shah, King of Kings, Servarit of the Most High, etc., etc., on his visit'to Europe. Their method of decora- tion was unusual; it consisted of hanging carpets out of every window and_ balcony to add to the already colourful effect given by the turquoise gates and wonderful mosque. The road along which the Shah was to pass from Teheran was guarded in places by Persian soldiers for fear of attempts at assassination or the onslaughts of brigands, particularly the much-feared Kutchik Khan, whose band was ravaging this district. The appearance of anything unusual on the road justified, in their guardians’ view, the immediate use of their rifles. One of the gateways in the “ Avenue of Diamonds,” in front of the Shah’s palace at Teheran. From the painting by Sydney W. Carline. (By permission of the Imperial War Musewn.) THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We were informed in Kazvin that, on account of this, we should not be allowed to proceed along the road to Teheran, but we determined to test the ban for ourselves. However, we had not gone far on our way before we encountered a barrier swung across the road, which the old watchman in charge refused to remove until the soldiers appeared. We knew that their arrival might not make things very favourable for us, and so we determined to have it opened. Putting our engine full on, therefore, we made as if we intended to break through by force. To any Persian a motor appears a sufficiently formidable engine of war, and the sudden roaring of our racing engine quite terrified the old man, who hastily opened the barrier. We were just in time to speed away as a couple of soldiers appeared on the scene and tried to bring us back by firing wildly after us. There, was much romance in traversing this barren plateau, beneath the Elburz range, with the’ symmetrical cone of Demavend, the Paradise of the prophet Zoroaster, i high ahead of us, mising surrounding mountains. Demavend is the sacred mountain of Tersia, and, accord- ing to a Persian fable, there is in its centre a bottom- less cavern over which the tyrant Zohak was chained _ by the hero Feri- doon, and left for ever to fill the air with his shrieks and groans. No wonder few travel- lers venture to its innermost recesses, for its inhabitants say, ‘‘ There as- suredly the devils will keep you.” When we found ourselves between grim walls conceal- ing wondrous gar- dens or passing Persian _grandees riding at the head of cavalcades of retainers, we knew we were nearing Teheran. Then, all of a sudden, we round ourselves neath a gigantic portal—a blaze of coloured tiles, yel- low, blue, black, and green, the same colours appearing always above the

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 237 in clothes of every Persian who passes beneath. We were sur- prised to find that every street had one of these gates, some decorated with pictures in tiles of a soldier standing to atten- tion, or a row of troops with bugles for ever at their lips, with above it Persia’s symbol— the lion with the sword and the Ris- ing Sun. - The most beautiful gate was that leading to the Shah's lace, of which Sydney — much to the curi- osity of passing crowds — painted the picture on the previous page. In this beau- tiful city life was never dull, whether spent in bazaars or tea-houses, or in the luxurious native hotel. In Artillery Square we saw a fakir performing with snakes and scorpions before an admiring audience, and we also visited the Stock Exchange. This latter is not the prosaic place one might imagine, but a garden, as beautiful as*can be conceived, in which frock-coated Persians transact their business in shady corridors, amid saplings, roses, and spraying fountains. The “ Garden of the Thousand Nightingales "’ or the ‘‘ Gar- den of Eight Paradises ’’ are not mere figures of speech but are among Persia’s realities. The most wondrous Paradise of all, how- ever, is the Shah’s Palace in the centre of the city—at least, it seemed so to us as we stood in front of a blue-and-white sentry beneath its portal, or gazed at it from the ‘* Avenue of Diamonds,”’ whence it looked a veritable jewel of varied colours. Sydney wished to paint it from the barracks roof in Artillery Square, but had much difficulty in getting permission to do so, It had evidently been decided by the Persian High Command that he was a spy, for when, on finishing his work, he wished to return, he discovered that he was locked in, and when at last the door was opened he found himself faced by a row of levelled rifles, in the hands of a squad of soldiers. However, explanations eventually set the matter right. ife in Persia follows a smooth and even path, still innocent of the smoking factory, the electric tram, or the steam plough, a life in which time and speed are placed in proper perspective—gauged only by the pace of a galloping horse or a camel’s trot. Washing day in the village of Sultanabad. As a matter of fact, Persia possesses no more than five miles of railway to disturb the ace of its sunlit plains. This line runs from Teheran to Rhage, where lies the Golden Shrine of Abdul Aziz. Many are the pilgrims who board the train to visit the shrine, but few make the further tramp up the bare hillsides to the lonely whitewashed ‘‘ Tower of Silence,”’ the first home of Persia’s ancient faith, the fire-worship of Zoroaster. There the Parsees still expose their dead to be disposed of by vultures in accordance with their ancient law, but when we climbed up the rocks above we could see only a skull and some scattered bones inside. Sitting there I painted in the twilight a picture of the White Tower, with its Fire Temple, and.the bare mountains disappearing into the endless plain. Near by we found a sculptured relief cut in the rock representing Nadir Shah and his courtiers. Gazing at it I recalled the Great Rock of Bisitum, which we passed between Kermanshah and Kangavar, carved with the story of Darius and Persia’s earliest history. Yet this monument beneath which we now stood, though comparatively modern, purported to commemorate some- thing happening even farther in the past— the Rock which Moses struck! The spring of water issuing at our feet they declare to be perpetual evidence of its truth ! It was strange to think that since we left Sinai we had travelled so far—through Palestine, Irak, and Kurdistan—to find the miracle of Moses enshrined in the heart of the Land of the Lion and the Rising Sun! THE END.

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The Odyssey 5 Humbert Rulliére Told by HIMSELF, and Set Down by G. FREDERIC LEES. Illustrated by GEO. SOPER. The amazing life-story of a man who, after becoming a miner, was condemned to banishment for life to the terrible French convict settlements of Guiana. Then followed his escape in a British vessel, some remarkable experiences in the United States, and then the outbreak of the War. He promptly enlisted in a Canadian regiment, went through further adventures, and finally, after his discharge, returned to his native country, where the authorities were confronted with the puzzling anomaly of a French citizen carrying British and Possessing no French rights at all. He was liable to arrest every day he remained, but the police were apparently reluctant to act, and eventually he received what amounted to a pardon from the French President. “Few people would think it possible,” writes Mr. Lees, our Paris Correspondent, “that a man could suffer so much and survive, but one has only to converse with M. Rulliére to see that Nature has endowed him with the iron constitution and the will-power of that singularly similar forerunner ef his in fiction—Jean Valjean. I cannot help thinking that had Victor Hugo been alive to-day, he would have been tempted to take inspiration from the life-story of this former ex-convict to make an addition to his immortal gallery of sufferers, Les Misérables.” N American writer, Mr. Upton Sin- clair, has written a novel, entitled “« King Coal,” in which he describes in a particularly powerful manner the terrible conditions under which miners used to toil in certain coal-mining districts of the United States in the bad old days. Another master of realistic fiction, Emile Zola, has treated a_ similar theme in ‘ Germinal,” and proved most conclusively that on this side of the Atlantic, as on the other, “ King Coal,’ though he is generally credited with being a “‘ merry old soul,” has at times indulged in a danse macabre on the poor bodies of the slaves of the mine. With two such master- Pieces as these for everybody to read, it would be not only useless, but presumptuous, for me to attempt to depict the deplorable lot of the coal miners of the St. Etienne district, in the Department of the Loire, in the late ‘eighties and early ‘nineties, when I myself, as a boy and young man, was one of the unfortu- mate workers among them. 1. M. Humbert Rulliére as he appears at the present day. These dangers, hardships, injustices, and so forth need not be insisted on; they will be referred to in this autobiography only in so far as they have a bearing on the struggle between Capital and Labour. To the pretensions of the one and the demands of the other I must perforce refer in greater detail, since they were the very point of departure of all those misfor- tunes which came near to wrecking my life. But, first of all, I must tell you who I am and how I came to be involved in the apparently per- petual strife between master and man. I was born at Lyons on March 1st, 1874, the son of Claude Rulliére and his wife Rosalie Blanchard. Both my mother and father died when I was almost a child in arms, with the result that I was brought up by my maternal grandparents in_the neigh- bourhood of St. Etienne. At the communal school I received a good grounding in ele- mentary knowledge and with my early thirst for instruc- tion came, at an unusually

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THE ODYSSEY early age, an all-absorbing interest in politics. After I had left school I became an omnivorous reader of books, especially those dealing with political economy and social questions. Is it not a strange paradox that this very eagerness to learn the truth about social conditions, those very principles of morality and justice which were taught me in the communal school, were leading me to an abyss, and that soon I should be regarded as an ‘undesirable ’"—nay, treated as a hardened and dangerous criminal? This might never have been had I become a schoolmaster, as my grandparents wished. But my tastes were otherwise. Moreover, | understood the necessity of earning more money than the scholastic profession would have brought me, in order to meet the needs of my grandmother and grandfather, who were getting old. And so, at the age of barely sixteen, I elected to become a miner. : It was at Villars, a commune in the neighbourhood of St. Etienne, that I got mv first job. I was received with the greatest cordiality by the miners. The older men especially showed me the most fatherly attention. They watched over my security, they warned me of dangers, and told me how to avoid them. What were the exact conditions under which miners worked in 188g, at the time I made my first descent into the bowels of the earth? I will explain as succinctly as possible. About 1884 a Bill was passed recognizing and guaranteeing the existence of profes- sional syndicates (trade unions). This not only permitted workmen to organize in order to defend their interests, but forbade employers, under a penalty of fine and impusonment, from interfering with that right. Despite the protection of this Bill, workmen in general and miners in parti- cular hesitated to form themselves into syndicates owing to their fear of reprisals. These reprisals were, in fact, often exer- cised by the wealthy mining companies which, exactly as in the United States, in the days described by Mr. Upton Sinclair, entrenched themselves behind their powerful financial backers and considered themselves above the law. The tyrannical action of some of the mine owners or mining corpora- tions of the St. Etienne basin had terrorized the workers, who were still too servile to brave the anger of these all-powerful com- panies. I found, then, when I became a miner, that the workers’ syndicate was in a merely embryonic state. The Federation of French Miners—now the Federation of Workers ‘Underground—did indeed exist, but its power was insignificant owing to the very few members on its lists. Is it sur- prising that, in these circumstances, and with the ideas I had in my head through reading and reflection, I immediately Seca e , OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 239 militant syndicalist, and that on reaching man’s estate I found myself holding the post of secretary to my syndicate? The opinion of the older miners was very divided. Some looked upon me as a sort of apostle to be followed ; others as a young fellow whose head had been turned by too much study. But a!l agreed in considering me a good workman, who did his duty in the mine. Theat quality brought me the esteem of all my comrades, and [ insist on this point in view of what happened later. When the movement in favour of an eight- hours’ day began I naturally welcomed the innovation with joy. So, on May rst, 1890, in the name of the Federation of Miners of the Loire, I drew up a petition addressed to the public authorities, through the Prefect of the Department, in which we respectfully asked for the limitation in question on the ground that, with better organization in the mines, we should be able to produce just as much, if not more, in eight hours than in ten or twelve, which many of us were then working. From that moment I was a marked man, a “‘ dangerous social malefactor,’’ whom it was considered, as events soon showed, was better out of the way, as soon as possible, and at any price. On the occasion of the May Day demon- strations of 1890, 1891, and 1892 numerous arrests were made among the most militant workmen, but after a time they were released for lack of evidence. I was very much surprised that I myself was left at liberty; but one day the Mayor of the dis- trict sent for me and took me into his confidence in the following manner. “ Rulliére, the gendarmes have been want- ing to arrest you,’’ he told me, “ but I put in a protest against it, on the und that you were an honest fellow aad that your grandparents had need of you, since they had no other support. As the gendarmes had no serious accusation to make against you, they went back to the examining magistrate, who had, in a way, ordered your arrest. The magistrate summoned me to his office and explained that he was determined to put you away. I replied that, although I could not oppose a judicial decision, I should protest against ‘any arbi- trary action. Then I learnt that they had nothing serious against you, unless it is your political opinions. Now, Rulliére, if you want some good advice, listen to me. Your ideas are too advanced. Your enemies are seeking an opportunity to get rid of you for ever. Moderate your views and await a more propitious time to make good your claims and those of your companions in misfortune.” If I was not arrested at that time, I had nevertheless to undergo severe “ reprisals ” on the part of the powerful mining company for which I worked. For having taken part in the May Day demonstrations, and through

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240 being branded as a militant syndicalist and partisan of an eight-hours’ day, 1 was dis- missed from the mine and “ marked with red ink ’’—that is to say, I was reported to all the great mining companies as being an “ undesirable.” THE “MINE OF THE CONDEMNED.” All the companies to which I applied for work after my dismissal refused to take me on as soon as they had looked at my miner's book, which was filled up in such a way that those ‘in the know” could immediately recognize me as a trouble-maker. Never- theless, after a good deal of seeking, I found employment at the Ponsonnard mine, where about five hundred men were employed. A large number of these miners were men who had been expelled, like myself, from other mines in the St. Etienne district for taking part in strikes, or for dving propaganda work ; and it was this fact which led to the Ponsonnard property being nicknamed the “Mine of the Condemned.” Now, at the Ponsonnard mine there was a porion (overseer) named Ravel: a man who had been a candidate at the municipal elections, but had been defeated by the Republican candidate supported by my Union, Although too young to vote myself, I had taken part in the elections. This led Ravel to consider me as responsible for his defeat and to nurse a bitter hatred against me. He, therefore, went to the head over- seer, named Chausson, who engaged or dis- missed workers, and insisted on my being sent away. Chausson objected, saying that it was impossible for him to dismiss a miner without sufficient reason, and on M. Pon- sonnard being consulted he supported him in his decision, saying that so long as I did my work satisfactorily 1 was to be left alone. Ravel returned to the charge, however, and, determined to get rid of me, finally persuaded Chaussun to give him the necessary authority. Chati son gave way, and I was summarily disthissed. M Owing to Chausson's action I was soon in most desperate straits, for, without work, I was unable to support cither myself or my aged grandparents, the thought of whose coming miserics goaded me to the point of despair... My comrades had a mind to go on strike on my behalf, but I feared that any demonstration might end in disaster, so I thanked them for their kind intention and told .them.I would settle the affair without compromising them. : 1 was just on the point of deciding to kill Chausson when my philosophy came to mind and I told myself that this man was but the instrument of others in higher places. I finally resolved that, whilst sparing his life, | would give him such a fright that he would remember it as long as he lived. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Two days after my dismissal from the Ponsonnard mine, about four o'clock in the morning, I went to the pit-head once more and descended. I was armed with a revolver charged with six cartridges from which I had withdrawn the bullets, these being replaced by wads. I descended an inclined plane until I was about four hundred feet underground and then went along a side gallery, looking for Chausson. Suddenly 1 saw a light behind me and, turning round, caught sight of the man I was looking for. 1 had with me only a small pocket-lamp, which I extinguished before he saw me. The gallery was a low one, barely six feet in height, and it was quite easy for me to hide myself whilst keeping an eye on all his movements. When Chausson, all unconscious of my presence, was but a few steps away, I sprang out and cried: ‘ Halt! Rutfian.” I went on excitedly: ‘I have condemned you to death, and l’m going to execute you with my own hand!” HOW I PUNISHED CHAUSSON. Before he had time to recover from his astonishment 1 discharged my first blank cartridge at him. The detonation in the confined space was terrible, and involun- tarily 1 stepped back. Evidently I had wadded my cartridges too tightly, for they went off like bombs. Following the first report, Chausson howled like a wounded wild beast. He must have thought he was killed, for he fell in a heap. His lamp went out, leaving me in complete darkness, but I was determined to discharge all my car- tridges before ascending to the surface, and this I did. At each shot a noise like thunder was heard; the entire mine reverberated with the sound. The miners (as I learnt later) heard the firing, but not one of them moved to ascertain what was happening. “ Rulliére is settling his affairs himself,” they told one another, “* and he’s evidently doing it thoroughly.’” All of them believed that, in addition to Chausson, I had also killed Ravel. In the pitch darkness—I had dropped my little pocket-lamp in my _ excitement—I encountered the foot of the prostrate Chausson and, bending down, I ascertained that he had only fainted. Then, groping my way back as fast as possible, I got to the surface, hurried home, changed my clothes, and set off in the direction of Firminy, a big industrial centre, where I took the train for Toulouse. As soon as Chausson recovered he gave the alarm, and the police—gendarmerie on foot and on horseback, policemen in uniform, and detectives in plain clothes—were launched on my track. My description was sent to every magistrate in France and to all the frontier police stations. The entire judicial

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THE ODYSSEY and police machinery of the country was set in motion against me, for, owing to the nature of my offence, I was looked upon as a most dangerous criminal—a man who must be arrested at all cost. I reached Toulouse, in the south-east of France, about four o'clock on the afternoon of the next day. A few hours later I was again in the train, travelling to Foix, the chief town of the Department of the Ariége, where I arrived about ten at night. The next morning I set off to find M. Emile Darnaud, a retired army captain, an officer of the Legion of Honour and of Pubiic Instruction, and one of the wealthiest land- owners of the district. I can to-day set down all these details, since this gentleman is now dead. M. Darnaud was not in town, but at his chdteau among the mountains at Roque- fissal, about thirty kilometres from Foix, and it was there that I found him. He received me very cordially, thanks to our mutual friends and our ways of thinking in common. 1 immediately told him my story and explained the object of my visit—to obtain from him such assistance as would enable me to cross the frontier into Spain without fear of being troubled by the gendarmerie or the customs officials. My proposal ap- peared to him to have little chance of Tealization. “How can you expect to be able to cross the frontier without being arrested when on all the roads, however small they may be, there are customs houses or gendarmerie stations ? '’ he asked. Then, after" momentary reflection, he walked to a shelf of his superb library and OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 241 took down an atlas containing a large-scale map of the Pyrénées. “‘ For instance,”’ he continued, “ you might have crossed the frontier here ’’—pointing to a road—" but there is a customs house. Here, again, there is a gendarmerie. There is a spot here where you could escape the notice of the authorities, but I am afraid that it is one of those narrow ways which only the most daring smugglers would attempt to follow, and I do not know whether I ought to advise you to follow their example.” A FRIEND IN NEED. After a few more moments of thought M. Darnaud, exclaimed: ‘‘I’ve got it! I think I’ve found a sheet-anchor for you. At Tarascon-sur-Ari¢ge there is a good comrade who has many friends, and he will certainly be able to help. I will give you a card of introduction ; you have only to show it to him and he will, I am convinced, do what is necessary.”’ A few hours later I reached the Tarascon railway station and immediately proceeded to the house of M. Nadal, to whom I handed M. Emile Darnaud's card, bearing the simple words: “ To M. Nadal, in the hope that he will do what is necessary for the bearer.” No sooner had Nadal read this laconic “The Mayor sent for me and took me into his confidence.” Vol. 1.—17.

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226 perceptibly. It had the whole mantelpiece to itself ; no cat, rat, or mouse was there to push it. Yet on it came. Jones stepped back, pinched himself to see if he was really awake, and gazed in horror. The god, advancing steadily, ap- parently straight at the paralysed watcher, reached the edge and toppled off again. Instinctively Jones sprang forward to save the fall, but too late. The little god crashed into the hearth and disappeared ! The planter stood spellbound for a moment or two; then his normal common sense re-asserted itself. He looked under the grate, and gave a sigh of relief—the god was there | Goud business ! “All right ; muttered. Straightening up, he stood by the mantel- piece, leaning his elbyw on it, with his head on his hands, and tried to think the matter out. There seemed, however, to be no solution of the mystery. He had_ better take the god back to-morrow, and But that was sheer cowardice; surely he wasn't afraid of a little bit of brass ! He scooped the idol out from under the grate, dusted it, and leaning one elbow POACHING ON stay there and burn!” he THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on the mantelpiece, held it in his hand and examined it closely. It was certainly appal- lingly ugly—the face was utterly vicious and malign. “ Yes, that’s what you are," he said aloud. “You are a malign little devil—— What was that ? Something touched my elbow !” He jumped away from the mantelpiece as if he had been stung. ‘ Scott! Am I going dotty ?”" he cried. ‘“‘I had my_ elbow there,” and he put his hand on the spot, only to pull it away again with a startled jerk, for something had moved under it ! Carefully the planter felt over the surface of the newly-covered mantelpiece. Yes; there was a lump, and the lump moved. Now he understood ! Quickly he ripped out the fastening nails, turned the baize cover back, and discovered a little shovel-headed beetle. The insect had got under the cloth, and had been working round trying to get out, struggling harder whenever an obstacle showed signs of giving way. Jones threw it out of the window, and went to bed, secretly very glad that he had solved the mystery, and downed the “ reincarnation ”’ theory. A KING'S PRESERVES. By THOS. B. DONOVAN. Illustrated by R. B. M. PAXTON. ECAUSE the fol- lowing story is true, and be- A very amusing story concerning a | resort that desired to add to its | | Of the various sug- | gestions put forward, none found more sup- cause the attractions, a monarch who jealously rt than that of the events narrated took ed certain rare animals, and local Member of Parlia- place within the last the devious ways by which some ment, who proposed the few years, it is necessary “ specime! were procured. foundation of a Na- to disguise slightly the = tional Park on the ex- names of the chief actors, and the name of the Swiss resort involved, for their publication would cer- tainly be the cause of scandal in the Alpine Republic, and might conceivably lead to international complications. With these exceptions, however, this is a plain unvai nished history, and goes to prove that romance has not altogether departed from the Alps with the introduction of mountain railways. The scene opens at a meeting convened (out of the season) in a Swiss resort of world- wide fame—let us call it Rugenville—with the object of discussing how to render the place still more attractive. It already boasted some of the finest scenery in Europe, famous snow-clad peaks and gem-like lakes, funiculars in all directions, and a wonderful casino where you might listen to Beethoven or to the jingle of coins on the green baize tables, according to your mood. tensive wooded slopes of one of the adjacent mountains, and, in articular, the reintroduction of the ibex, long extinct in these regions and, indeed, in most of Central Europe. In an eloquent speech he described how in bygone centuries that picturesque animal was as plentiful as the chamois is now, and pointed as proof to the numerous inns to be found in the region, bearing as their sign the head of an ibex with its great curved horns. ‘‘ Let us,’’ he concluded, ‘‘ begin our National Park with a small colony of ibex, “ which may in years to come so increase in numbers that we can stock the different Alpine valleys around and provide a further study for the naturalist, a new delight for the tourist.”’ The meeting thereupon unanimously resolved on the foundation of a National Park to be stocked with ibex, and a committee was appointed to further the idea.

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Subscriptions rolled in from hotel pro- prietors, shopkeepers, and railway manage- ments, always keen on any scheme which would induce the holiday-maker to prolong his stay. A suitable tract of land was acquired and the work of fencing it in begun Everything went swimmingly, in fact, until some inquiring member of the committee asked : ‘‘ What about the ibex ?” SHORT STORIES. 227 “My friend was ushered into a private room where sat a picturesque, wild-looking individual.” Everybody, it transpired, had forgotten the ibex, assuming that, when the right time came—well, they would go and buy some! Now, the European ibex is one of the rarest of the goat family, and seldom met even in the best-appointed zoos. The Asiatic ibex, of course, is more commonly encountered, but this is quite a different species, and not at all what was wanted. ven the great Hagenbeck, when approached, was unable to supply the committee’s needs, and things soon ame serious, in fact the committee began to look ridiculous. n his dilemma, the local M.P. consulted a friend of the writer’s, an English resident, Mr. Charles, who, brought up from his youth in» Switzerland, knew the language and customs like a native. Further, he had a wide and peculiar acquaintance with all the valleys on both the Swiss and Italian slopes of the Alps, being a mountaineer of some note. To him, the committee confided their troubles. Mr. Charles pointed out that there was only one place in Central Europe where the ibex flourished in a wild state—the Val d’Aosta, on the Italian side of the Alps. Years before he had seen them there, and had also learnt that they were the private property of the King of Italy, who kept the valley as a close preserve, hunting there once a year with his friends. The position looked rather hopeless. However, Mr. Charles, who, although not in his first youth, was of an adventurous nature, * offered to pay a visit to the Val d’Aosta, just to make a few inquiries. Accordingly, shortly afterwards, he took train through the Simplon to Milan, and travelled thence up the wild rocky roads that lead to the Val d’Aosta. If you look at the map you will see that the Val d’Aosta is situated amidst Tugged mountainous country just on the other side of the Great St. Bernard. In the most remote of the several villages that are scattered through the valley my

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228 friend passed a night in the primitive inn, and over a game of cards with some of the villagers got into conversation about the famous ibex of the valley. The excitable Italian peasants all volunteered information about the celebrated herd—the annual shoots arranged for the Royal party, the strictness of the guard kept over them by the special corps of gamekeepers, the pro- hibition of dealing even in the horns of animals that died, all of which had to be delivered up. Later, Mr. Charles was amused to receive three separate visits in his room from peasants who, with a great show of secrecy, offered to sell him ibex horns at exorbitant prices. He declined these offers, but declared jokingly that if he could buy a live ibex, he might be interested. .The landlord, who overheard this remark, took Mr. Charles aside and told him mysteriously that he would like to introduce him to a special friend of his. Accordingly, the follow- ing day, my friend was ushered into a private room where sat a picturesque, wild-looking individual with black flowing moustachios, arrayed in the velvet coat and baggy trousers beloved of the more prosperous Italian peasant. He introduced himself as the “ sole exporter’ of ibex from the Val d'Aosta, and volunteered the information that he had had the honour of supplying more than one famous collection, Mr. Charles, feeling con- strained to act up to the part he had un- wittingly assumed of a potential buyer, asked for further particulars. He learnt that the cost of a young ibex was a thousand francs, and that the ‘ exporter ’’ would be prepared to supply anything from one to half-a-dozen young ibex as soon as the . breeding season came and personally trans- port them to any desired place in Switzerland via the St. Bernard Pass. Mr. Charles, well satisfied with his progress, exchanged addresses with the ‘‘ exporter "” and returned to Rugenville. It may be remarked in parentheses that, the soul of honour in the ordinary trans- actions of life, no doubt assailed him as to the morality of poaching the Ning of Italy’s ibex ! The committee, sworn to secrecy, were delighted with his report, and waited impatiently for the spring—and the ibex. The long winter passed, and at length Mr. Charles received a letter written on dirty paper in execrable Irench, of the following purport :— HonovurReED PATRON, Pray pardon the fact that I do not write to you with my own hand. Alas! IT am not skilled with the pen. But my friend the parish clerk is kind enough to act as my secretary, and every confidence may be placed in his dis- cretion! Unfortunately, I have bad news to report. The past breeding son has been very unsuccessful—owing to the late snows many of the kids perished. Again, I had the ill-fortune -happened to his poacher friend. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to shoot a kid when aiming at the mother, and thereby lost the opportunity of turning an honest penny. The cursed gamekeepers, too, have been more alert than ever, and I have had one or two narrow escapes. May better luck be in store for us next season! In the meantime, I beg most humbly to offer your honour some fine ibex horns at a moderate price. This was a sad blow for the committee, who had circulated dark hints that the empty park would soon receive some inter- esting occupants. There was nothing to do but wait, and endure the jeers of their fellow-citizens. Then the War broke out, and the frontier between Switzerland and Italy was occupied on both sides by strong military guards, extending right up to the very snow-line. It was impossible, with a strict censorship, to correspond any further on the subject of the King of Italy's ibex, let alone think of smuggling them across the strongly-held frontier! At least, so thought the committee, but the added difficulties seemed to fire my friend Mr. Charles to further exertions. He wrote to the “ sole exporter "’ asking him to meet him on the Great St. Bernard Pass on a specified day a month ahead. At the appointed time he journeyed to Martigny, and tramped up to the famous hospice ten thousand feet above sea-level, where the good monks were astonished to receive a visitor. Since the beginning of August, when the tourists had fled from Switzerland like rats leaving a sinking ship, they had seen practically no one from the outer world but Swiss and Italian frontier guards, for the hospice is close to the border line. Mr. Charles kicked his heels for two days, hard put to it to find an excuse for his prolonged stay, and wondering what had On the morning of the third day, he was sitting on astone near the summit of the Pass, watching the wonderful panorama, when a man cautiously approached him whom he pre- sently recognized as the exporter of ibex. “Signor,” he explained, “ twice have I approached the Pass but each time have 1 met the sentries. Once they shot at me! You see I have no passport, and cannot come by the main road. But I know these mountains better than the soldiers, and I am here. What is it you wish me to do?” Mr. Charles explained that he was still interested in ibex, and wished to know if there was any possibility of procuring them now, under war conditions. Surely,” was the reply, ‘‘ there are many kids this breeding season, and I shall certainly have better luc’: than last, for many of the guards are mobilized. But, Signor, the risk of crossing the frontier is greater, and the price is now two thousand francs.” “‘ Good,” said Mr. Charles, “ my friends are willing to pay two thousand francs.”

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Asimple code was arranged whereby the ‘‘ exporter” could give word of his coming, and the two departed down their respec- tive sides of the Great St. Bernard. It is almost incredible that a man should suc- ceed in crossing a closely-guarded mountain frontier in war-time, where every road and track was watched, and not only this, but carry with him two live animals. Yet this is what _ Giuseppe accom- © plished soon after- wards in the early summer of I915. He did not com + alone, for he had by good fortune secured three ibex kids, and he brought a friend to carry the third. The kids were carried in_ specially-made pockets inside their capacious greatcoats, and the gentle poachers slept with their tiny charges en route, in order to console them for the loss of their mother and to keep them warm, and fed them from a bottle. It was diffi- cult to get these daring Italian smugglers to talk much of their exploit. The only comment they would make on their perilous journey was that they knew every stone of the Great St. Bernard and that it would take clever sentries to block their way. The “ sole exporter,” in his gentlemanly manner, apologized to the members of the committee appointed to meet the smugglers privately and receive their booty, for bringing a second man. “ But,” he added magnificently, “he is a man of strict integrity and you may rely on his maintaining an honourable silence.’’ Having delivered the goods and received payment, the two velveteen-clad adventurers departed on their return to their home in the Val d’Aosta by the same dangerous route by which they had come, but this time unencumbered. The kids were duly installed in the enclosure prepared for them, carefully nurtured on the bottle, and the last time I saw them, a few years ago, they were sturdy creatures and develop- ing the huge horns that distinguish this “He was informed that he was suspected of being a spy!” SHORT STORIES. 229 interesting animal. To-day, I learn, they and their offspring constitute a regular colony. The story has a sequel which adds a further touch of comedy. One afternoon shortly afterwards, Mr. Charles was surprised to receive a visit from two Swiss military officers, who subjected him to a close examination. On demanding the reason for this, he was informed that he was suspected of being a spy! He soon learnt that his visit to the frontier at the Great St. Bernard Pass was responsible for this, the good monks, after some days of doubt, having at length informed the authorities of their strange foreign visitor. Now he was in a quandary indeed, for he was pledged to secrecy, like all the other accessories to the poaching of the King of Italy’s ibex. Realizing at length that the alternative was likely to be decidedly unpleasant, he invited his visitors to accom- ny him to the house of the local Member of arliament, who was also, incidentally, being a lawyer, a President of Courts- Martial, and well known to them. There, to their astonishment, they heard the story I have just related, and the day ended amidst Homeric laughter over a couple of bottles of the best wine that the Rhone Valley affords.

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LYING over Ni- neveh had an interest pecu- liarly its own, and while paint- ing it from this novel view- point, I could not help recall- ing my feelings when I first flew over Jerusalem and Babylon. Even the most unimaginative of men could scarcely survey without emotion the remains of this city — the most splendid of the ancient world. From the air Nineveh's pre- sent desolation is the more marked, for little remains to The city of Kazvin as seen from an aeroplane. TAROUGH THE EAST BY AIR By RICHARD CARLINE. V1.--(Conclusion.) 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, specially 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. distinguish it besides its walls and moats, occupies the place occupying a large oblong. Originally three of its sides were heavily fortified, and the preached as an outcast. gaze rested on the snowy highlands of fourth was pro- tected by the Tigris until, dur- ing the city’s final siege, the river shifted its course to its present position three miles away, which enabled the Medes to march into the city via the deserted Tiver-bed. From the air I could easily distin- guish the small stream that divides Nineveh, separating the Palace of Assur- bani- pal from that of Esar- haddon. The latter is sur- mounted by the village and tomb of Jonah, so that his white shrine now where originally he For a moment my 230

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. Kurdistan, forming a wall—forbidden and unvisited—along the north, before dropping downwards towards the great city of Mosul, lying on the farther bank of the Tigris. Mosul is connected with the Nineveh bank of the river by a bridge of boats. All day long this bridge offers a scene of activity, from the women doing their daily washing on either side, to the loafing Kurds, in from the surrounding country, who hold a market here in the early hours of the morning, selling melons which they bring down from the mountains. These Kurds have a noble, though fierce, appearance with their numerous knives and firearms, and their rough clothes are a veritable riot of colour, in great contrast to the softer tones affected by the Arabs. While we were staying in Mosul a war against the Kurds had commenced, owing to their having murdered in Amadieh, their capital and stronghold, two English political cers who had recently arrived there. This’ supplied an opportunity for my brother and me to join in an aerial reconnais- sance over the moun- tains, enabling’ us to paint Amadieh from the air. The start was made an hour before sun- rise one morning. We Tose into the heavens while the city lay still asleep, and the green plain between Mosul and the mountains was covered with a silvery film of mist and dew ; not till we passed over Nineveh did the nearer hills begin to take on definite shape. Half an hour’s flying brought us over Sheikh-Adi, and there I saw, in the midst of its clustering huts, a stone structure with a spire which instantly carried my thoughts back to the familiar English village church. It was, how ever, something very different, nothing less than the chief shrine of the “devil wor shippers ’’—the Yezidis—con- taining the altar of Melek Taus, the Peacock King, who, as the devil’s incarnation, is believed by the Yezidis to S greater power than esus, whom they also venerate. n this shrine is a_ beautiful image of the sacred peacock ; at one time there were two, ‘a but one was stolen, eventually finding its way into the British Museum. An idea of the 231 beautiful workmanship in copper and silver of this incarnation of the devil can be formed from the photograph herewith. We now reached the mountains, and had to rise to fifteen thousand feet to surmount them; they were steep and rugged, with tiny villages clinging to almost inaccessible heights. Their tribesmen were accustomed to shoot at passing aeroplanes, sometimes not without success; and on approaching Amadieh we were treated to a fusillade of shots, evident by the holes torn in our wings. This, together with the shaking . of - the machine,: made my painting a matter .of difficulty.. Apparently Sydney was think- ing much the same thoughts as I was, for I could see him anxiously watching the engine for any signs of trouble. 1f anything went wrong the gorges and ravines below gave us no opportunity of landing safely, and if one did pass through that ordeal there was the enjoyable prospect of capture and murder by the vengeful Kurds. These forebodings were intensified when Sydney pointed signi- ficantly downwards at what appeared to be the wreck of an aero- plane brought down by the tribesmen a few days previously. We now saw, jutting out from a spur of a giant ridge, a conical hill on whose summit lay Amadieh itself. It looked a straggling concourse of houses of stone and wood, somewhat hidden by the profusion of poplars and walnuts. The scenery here was of the wildest description, deep chasms alternating with wooded slopes, while the heights above the city were covered with snow. Gradually we passed eastwards from Ama- dieh and reached eventually the Great Zab river, whose turbulent course between precipitous cliffs served as a guide towards the Tigris, which we then followed back to Mosul. South-east of the Zab, as far as the borders of Persia, the mountains degenerate into the lowlands of Lower Kur- distan. These plains form summer pastures for the camels, and from the air we could see great herds grazing while we flew on our course from Mosul to Kirkuk, the chief city of Lower Kurdistan. The photograph shows this city, set among its hills, as it appeared to us when we were

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232 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. about to land. It is divided into two dis- tinct towns by its turbulent river Hasa Su (meaning “ black water’), the older town being fortified and built on a steep ridge. © We first passed low'over the roofs of this older town, and then crossed the river in order to land beyond the Turkish barracks. Just as we were about to alight a whirlwind rose suddenly, drawing up the sand into a mighty column which moved rapidly towards us, and we only just had time to turn quickly to avoid it. Any city would be proud to possess the tombs of Daniel, Shadrach, and Meshech, and that possession is Kirkuk’s one and only boast ; at one time it had also the tomb of Abednego, but this is now lost. Otherwise the city has few pretensions to interest other than the romance of its wild, uncouth inhabitants, its turbulent river, and its picturesque bridges. While, all that after- noon, we toiled in the heat on the necessary repairs to our engine, we could not hel dwelling on its isolation, far from road, rail, or civilization. So great was the sun’s . strength, incidentally, that I scorched my fingers’ badly through picking up a spanner that had’ been lyirig on the sand ! 4 , > Next day we ‘flew -to’ Khanikin, landing _amid its far-famed “orchards, and there we found the heat of 120’ in the shade so intense that we spent the afternoon lying in the water of a stream overshadowed by willows; but even that presented diffi- culties, for we had to be careful not to discard our sun-helmets even in the water ! Despite the vicissitudes of travelling by aeroplane over wild and rugged lands, we had good reason to dwell on its very real thrills and joys when some weeks later we found ourselves on the highways of Persia, having exchanged the aeroplane for the motor-car and the exhilaration of inter- course with the elements of Nature for the joys of the road and human life. We left the soil of Irak and Kurdistan at the border village of Kasr-i-shirin (castle of Shirin), so called in remembrance of the love the Emperor Chosroes bore. Shirin, his Christian bride—a “favourite theme of Persian ts. One evening, just before we started, I climbed the hill above our cam to survey the view of Persia’s borderland. Rising from the sultry plains of Irak the hills steadily increased in size up to the tinal Tange—now azure in colour—that guards the gate of Persia, the Pai-tak pass. The thought of what ages of history, what varied life, with its endless comings and goings, this pass had silently witnessed— from the times of Darius and Alexander, the Roman legions, and the hordes of Genghiz Khan down to our own times—occupied my mind. I could see, trailing away into ~ Kirkuk, the ‘chief city of Central Kurdistan, which contains the tombs of Daniel,’ Shadrach, and Meshech.

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. the distance at regular intervals, the series of brick forts built for the protection of the border, and wondered at the endless proces- sions of pilgrims’ trains, of princes’ palan- quins and trading caravans, that these ancient forts must have seen. As I sat there a caravan wound its way down the rough 233 and slippers all complete. She made no attempt to conceal her features, as the city women do, but gazed at us in frank curiosity, with a twinkle in her dark eyes deepened by oh on the lashes. The couple looked for all the world like ‘* Prince Camara- lazaman and Princess Badoura’’ in an : -Arabian Nights’ road—a__ long string of laden camels and mules in single file with the Arab mer- chants following, coated with dust. One of ‘the; don- keys had: fallen, and now lay still by the roadside. A_ white speck glistened in the sky; and in a momenta vulture was swooping down upon the scene. Such is life and death along the great high- way of Persia. ur first night in Persia was spent — accom- panied by Ach- med, our Arab boy—in the Ahan at Karind, which we reached to- wards evening after our long climb - through the pass. The trees and bushes that had made the _mountain- side look green with verdure had disappeared, rendering these uplands almost as barren as the desert. Imagine, therefore, our joyful surprise on this first view of a Persian village to come upon it, in a gorge of the mountains, sur- rounded by orchards and gardens of the brightest green. That evening we walked up to a hillock by the village gate and watched the stream of villagers returning from the fields. They were mostly Lur Kurds—this being the Kurd province of Persia—from whom the Persians were distinguishable by their black or red trousers, yellow or blue frock coats, | and hats like inverted saucepans. The first-comer was a most handsome youth, wearing the Kurdish dress of sump- tuous purple silk with baggy pantaloons, heavy turban, and a delicately-wrought dagger in his silken waist. He was driving a donkey bearing a beautiful damsel equally gaily dressed—trousers, ballet skirt, turban, Kurdish tribesmen arriving in Kermanshah. show at a Western theatre." “«"" May thy pa- tience ‘not’ over- weigh thy-hunger, oh ye shadows of the Shah!" the young man called to us, or ‘words to that effect; and I could see the . lady + was shaking with amusement as they turned into the village. A group of har- vesters followed, chattering noisily. Their -huge black hats, like elongated mortar - boards, wound = around with purple silks and tassels, gave a noble setting to their bronzed faces and long black curls. All of them were armed to the teeth. Early next morning, before continuing our journey, Sydney and I went through the village to paint, but the readiness with which its dogs—they are really of wolf descent—recognized us as strangers, barking and snapping savagely from every roof, showed us that the place had its disadvantages. On the completion of our work and our return through the village the dogs seemed to be waiting for us, determined Not to let us escape too easily. Suddenly, from a side-alley, several of them leapt out at us, and 1 was knocked down. I do not know what would have been my fate had I been alone, for the villagers showed no disposition to assist us. With our sticks Sydney and I succeeded in keeping them back sufficiently to enable us to retreat down the lane to where our car was waiting. Though I happily escaped any serious bites and consequent hydrophobia I, nevertheless, fell a victim to fever, and until we reached Kermanshah, a couple of days later, I lay on a matress jolted up and down in the back of the car.

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234 If Karind gave the appearance of an inland “treasure island,” our first glimpse of Kermanshah completely outshone it. Like other cities of Persia, it les beneath a lofty mountain whose barren sides grow opalescent with colour as the day changes. As we approached from the rolling barren hills, covered only by camel thorn, we were struck by the scene of life and prosperity around the city—stretches of wheat and barley fields interspersed with groves of saplings and tiny streams with busy groups of harvesters at work in the fields. The bazaars of Kermanshah were a veri- table Ali Baba’s cavern for riches and colour, and were rendered gay and lively by the stalwart figures of Persia’s varied types and costumes. The photograph repro- duced depicts a Kermanshah street scene ; the two Kurd horsemen shown in it had ridden in from Karind. These hardy warriors own allegiance to no Government, but trust only to the rifles slung across their backs. We spent one morning in the goldsmiths’ bazaar, negotiating the purchase of a bracelet I had. set my heart on; but the goldsmith was very obstinate over his price. However, when we commenced to depart, he reduced it with a surprising bound, at the same time appealing to Heaven and the passers- by, to witness the extent of -his sacrifice. ‘‘ Oh, Majesty of Allah ! May my daughter marry a Christian if what I ask is not a mere trifle. By Allah! the bracelet is worth tenfold the sum I ask.. Nay, my Lord, oh Pillar of the State! -I am a poor man, and full of courtesy withal. Heaven witness! My goods are the cheapest in all A fruit shop in the outskirts of Hamadan. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Iran. Our Lord the benevolent, the Great Shah Abbas, himself showed not greater modesty than I.” But our marketing was chiefly concerned with the purchasing of food and household requirements; and in Hamadan—a large city that we reached a few stages later— we hired a small boy, Hassan by name, to help us and Achmed in this duty; for we stopped several days in Hamadan, occupy- ing an empty house. This place lay at the head of a crowded side-alley, its unpreten- tious door opening into a courtyard contain- ing a fountain—used by us for “ washing- up '’—and around which lay the rooms. In the mornings we would go into the bazaars ; and in a fruit shop on our way— the picturesque character of which is shown in the accompanying photograph—we pur- chased melons, ‘apes, cucumbers, and chuppattee. Unfortunately every leg of mutton we purchased did not reach our table; for after Achmed had duly washed it in the bucket-and then gone to’ prepare a fire on which to cook it, he would return to find.the meat gone.. On:wo successive evenings this beppensis and’ we .bécame rather suspicious of our neighbour: ~So, on the third evening, we watched from béhind a balcony. Tirst.a nose and then the Jaws of our neighbour's dog appeared, ‘reaching under the door, and we were just in time to save our third leg of mutton. . On arrival at each village on our route we used to draw up at the Ahan—a ‘public lodging house for all who travel, consisting of a large courtyard for the animals. and empty rooms around it, opening. one into another, in which to. lay out one’s bed (if there is room) and light a fire. In the khan at Avah, our sleeping companions were of an interesting and typical kind. There was a beggar who had fallen low in the social scale; two servants of his Excellency Eyn- el-Molk (a name meaning ‘‘ Eye of the State ’’) and a Mullah returning to Hamadan who was connected, I gathered, with the Tomb of Esther and Mordecai. Hamadan, - being built on the site of the ancient Ecbatana, the

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. capital of the Medes, was once the scene of Ahasuerus’s court. During the daytime Sydney and I were out in the village enjoying the wonderful view of its mountain range or the cool of its stream, overhung by walnut trees. When we returned with Achmed at dusk to cook our evening meal, it was apparent that our 235 The scenery at Avah was grandness itself, the colour of the sandstone tinging the mountains bright red, in strong contrast to the emerald green valleys; but as we journeyed north it gradually merged into the great central plateau, over which the scattered villages were visible for miles, each enclosed by its crenellated mud walls. Persian wayfarers asleep in a wayside khan. companions had spent the whole day in sleep except for an occasional smoke at their ever- ready water-pipes. The above photograph shows the singularly unfurnished character of the room better than any words can do. During the evening the khan-keeper entered and joined in the general conversa- tion—Persian flattery, poetry, and story- telling. “Oh, Mullah! Oh, Effendim! Allah grant thee all thy needs and a blessing on thy children,’ he declared. Ostensibly he was seeing that all was well with his guests, though as a side-line he did not neglect to note any opportunity for relieving them of any spare cash. “Verily the poet spoke truly: ‘the full moon would resemble thee were it not freckled, and the sun would be like thee were it not eclipsed.’ Verily, my Lords, ve have showered light upon your slave by this night’s intercourse.’ This is a freely trans- lated specimen of one of his fulsome speeches. Sultanabad, where we stayed for some days, was typical of all these villages. The khan was the only building outside its wall and the village gate was the only means of ingress and exit, so that once inside I always had the feeling of being locked in a prison, quite at the mercy of the inhabitants—and their dogs. In the middle of the village was a stagnant pool; there the women did theirdaily washing, as shown in the final photograph. One citizen of Sultanabad, Yari by name, showed the typical jealousy of Persian husbands. He happened to be taking his wife to visit her relations in the next village on an occasion when we were walking in the same direction, and we went together. His wife, however, was previously directed to conceal herself behind a hillock until we had advanced some distance, and when we reached the village and entered the uncle’s house she remained outside all the time we were partaking of chai (Persian tea) from their samovar.

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236 From Sultanabad, just visible away over the plain, we could see the smoke and glitter of houses, denoting our proximity to the city of Kazvin. The view of it from. the air, reproduced at the head of this instalment, gives the best idea of its typical Persian archi- tecture and poplar groves, with the great plain and the Elburz mountains beyond. When we arrived in Kazvin we found it in a thoroughly holiday mood, for its inhabi-- tants were preparing in regal style for the passing through of the Shah, King of Kings, Servarit of the Most High, etc., etc., on his visit to Europe. Their method of decora- tion was unusual; it consisted of hanging carpets out of every window and_ balcony to add to the already colourful effect given by the turquoise gates and wonderful mosque. The road along which the Shah was to pass from Teheran was guarded in places by Persian soldiers for fear of attempts at assassination or the onslaughts of brigands, particularly the much-feared Kutchik Khan, whose band was ravaging this district. The appearance of anything unusual on the road justified, in their guardians’ view, the immediate use of their rifles. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We were informed in Kazvin that, on account of this, we should not be allowed to proceed along the road to Teheran, but we determined to test the ban for ourselves. However, we had not gone far on our way before we encountered a barrier swung across the road, which the old watchman in charge refused to remove until the soldiers appeared. We knew that their arrival might not make things very favourable for us, and so we determined to have it opened. Putting our engine full on, therefore, we made as if we intended to break through by force. To any Persian a motor appears a sufficiently formidable engine of war, and the sudden roaring of our racing engine quite terrified the old man, who hastily opened the barrier. We were just in time to speed away as a couple of soldiers appeared on the scene and tried to bring us back by firing wildly after us. There, was much romance in traversing this barren plateau, beneath the Elburz range, with the’ symmetrical cone of Demavend, the Paradise of the prophet Zoroaster, high ahead of us, nising surrounding mountains. Demavend is the always above the One of the gateways in the “ Avenue of Diamonds,” in front of the Shah’s palace at Teheran. From the painting by Sydney W. Carline. (By permission of the Imperial War Musewn.) sacred mountain of Persia, and, accord- ing to a Persian fable, there is in its centre a bottom- less cavern over which the tyrant Zohak was chained _ by the hero Feri- doon, and left for ever to fill the air with his shrieks and groans. No wonder few travel- lers venture to its innermost recesses, for its inhabitants say, ‘‘ There as- suredly the devils will keep you.” When we found ourselves between grim walls conceal- ing wondrous gar- dens or passing Persian _grandees riding at the head of cavalcades of retainers, we knew we were nearing Teheran. Then, all of a sudden, we found ourselves beneath a gigantic portal—a blaze of coloured tiles, yel- low, blue, black, and green, the same colours appearing

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THROUGH THE EAST BY AIR. 237 in clothes of every Persian who passes beneath. We were sur- prised to find that every street had one of these gates, some decorated with pictures in tiles of a soldier standing to atten- tion, or a row of troops with bugles for ever at their lips, with above it Persia’s symbol— the lion with the sword and the Ris- ing Sun. The most beautiful gate was that leading to the Shah’s lace, of which Sydney — much to the curi- osity of passing crowds — painted the picture on the previous page. In this beau- tiful city life was never dull, whether spent in bazaars or tea-houses, or in the luxurious native hotel. In Artillery Square we saw a fakir performing with snakes and scorpions before an admiring audience, and we also visited the Stock Exchange. This latter is not the prosaic place one might imagine, but a garden, as beautiful as*can be conceived, in which frock-coated Persians transact their business in shady corridors, amid saplings, roses, and spraying fountains. The“ Carden of the Thousand Nightingales ” or the ‘ Gar- den of Eight Paradises ’’ are not mere figures of sperch: but are among Persia’s realities. The most wondrous Paradise of all, how- ever, is the Shah’s Palace in the centre of the city—at least, it seemed so to us as we stood in front of a blue-and-white sentry beneath its portal, or gazed at it from the ‘‘ Avenue of Diamonds,’”’ whence it looked a veritable jewel of varied colours. Sydney wished to paint it from the barracks roof in Artillery Square, but had much difficulty in getting permission to do so, It had evidently been decided by the Persian High Command that he was a spv, for when, on finishing his work, he wished to return, he discovered that he was locked in, and when at last the door was opened he found himself faced by a row of levelled rifles, in the hands of a squad of soldiers. However, explanations eventually set the matter right. -ife in Persia follows a smooth and even path, still innocent of the smoking factory, the electric tram, or the steam plough, a life in which time and speed are placed in proper perspective—gauged only by the pace of a galloping horse or a camel's trot. Washing day in the village of Sultanabad. As a matter of fact, Persia possesses no more than five miles of railway to disturb the peace of its sunlit plains. This line runs from Teheran to Rhage, where lies the Golden Shrine of Abdul Aziz. Many are the pilgrims who board the train to visit the shrine, but few make the further tramp up the bare hillsides to the lonely whitewashed “ Tower of Silence,” the first home of Persia's ancient faith, the fire-worship of Zoroaster. There the Parsees still expose their dead to be disposed of by vultures in accordance with their ancient law, but when we climbed up the rocks above we could see only a skull and some scattered bones inside. Sitting there | painted in the twilight a_ picture of the White Tower, with its Fire Temple, and.the bare mountains disappearing into the endless plain. Near by we found a sculptured relief cut in the rock representing Nadir Shah and his courtiers. Gazing at it I recalled the Great Rock of Bisitum, which we passed between Kermanshah and Kangavar, carved with the story of Darius and Persia’s earliest history. Yet this monument beneath which we now stood, though comparatively modern, purported to commemorate some- thing happening even farther in the past— the Rock which Moses struck! The spring of water issuing at our feet they declare to be perpetual evidence of its truth ! It was strange to think that since we left Sinai we had travelled so far—through Palestine, Irak, and Kurdistan—to find the miracle of Moses enshrined in the heart of the Land of the Lion and the Rising Sun! THE END.

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The Odyssey : ~ Humbert Rulliére Told by HIMSELF, and Set Down by G. FREDERIC LEES. Illustrated by GEO. SOPER. The amazing life-story of a man who, after becoming a miner, was condemned to banishment for life to the terrible French convict settlements of Guiana. Then followed his escape in a British vessel, some remarkable experiences in the United States, and then the outbreak of the War. He promptly enlisted in a Canadian regiment, went through further adventures, and finally, after his discharge, returned to his native country, where the authorities were confronted with the puzzling anomaly of a French citizen carrying British and possessing no French rights at all. He was liable to arrest every day he remained, but the police were apparently reluctant to act, and eventually he received what amounted to a pardon from the French President. “Few people would think it possible,” writes Mr. Lees, our Paris Correspondent, “that a man could suffer so much and survive, but one has only to converse with M. Rulliére to see that Nature has endowed him with the iron constitution and the will-power of that singularly similar forerunner ef his in fiction—Jean Valjean. I cannot help thinking that had Victor Hugo been alive to-day, he would have been tempted to take inspiration from the life-story of this former ex-convict to make an addition to his immortal gallery of sufferers, Les Misérables.” American writer, Mr. Upton Sin- clair, has written a novel, entitled *“* King Coal,” in which he describes in a particularly powerful manner the terrible conditions under which miners used to toil in certain coal-mining districts of the United States in the bad old days. Another master of realistic fiction, Emile Zola, has treated a_ similar theme in ‘“ Germinal,”” and proved most conclusively that on this side of the Atlantic, as on the other, ‘“ King Coal,’ though he is generally credited with being a “ merry old soul,” has at times indulged in a danse macabre on the poor bodies of the slaves of the mine. With two such master- pieces as these for everybody to read, it would be not only useless, but presumptuous, for me to attempt to depict the deplorable lot of the coal miners of the St. Etienne district, in the Department of the Loire, in the late ‘eighties and early ‘nineties, when 1 myself, as a boy and young man, was one of the unfortu- nate workers among them. I. M. Humbert Rulliére as he appears at the present day. These dangers, hardships, injustices, and so forth need not be insisted on; they will be referred to in this autobiography only in so far as they have a bearing on the struggle between Capital and Labour. To the pretensions of the one and the demands of the other I must perforce refer in greater detail, since they were the very point of departure of all those misfor- tunes which came near to wrecking my life. But, first of all, I must tell you who I am and how I came to be involved in the apparently per- petual strife between master and man. I was born at Lyons on March st, 1874, the son of Claude Rulliére and his wife Rosalie Blanchard. Both my mother and father died when I was almost a child in arms, with the result that I was brought up by my maternal grandparents in the neigh- bourhood of St. Etienne. At the communal school I received a good grounding in ele- mentary knowledge and with my early thirst for instruc- tion came, at an unusually

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THE ODYSSEY early age, an all-absorbing interest in politics. After I had left school I became an omnivorous reader of books, especially those dealing with political economy and social questions. Is it not a strange paradox that this very eagerness to learn the truth about social conditions, those very principles of morality and justice which were taught me in the communal school, were leading me to an abyss, and that soon I should be regarded as an “undesirable ’’—nay, treated as a hardened and dangerous criminal? This might never have been had | become a schoolmaster, aS my grandparents wished. But my tastes were otherwise. Moreover, | understood the necessity of earning more money than the scholastic profession would have brought me, in order to meet the needs of my grandmother and grandfather, who were getting old. And so, at the age of barely sixteen, I elected to become a miner. ‘ It was at Villars, a commune in the neighbourhood of St. Etienne, that I got my first job. I was received with the greatest cordiality by the miners. The older men especially showed me the most fatherly attention. They watched over my security, they warned me of dangers, and told me how to avoid them. What were the exact conditions under which miners worked in 1889, at the time I made my first descent into the bowels of the earth ? I will explain as succinctly as possible. About 1884 a Bill was passed recognizing and guaranteeing the existence of profes- sional syndicates (trade unions). This not only permitted workmen to organize in order to defend their interests, but forbade employers, under a penalty of fine and imprisonment, from interfering with that right. Despite the protection of this Bill, workmen in general and miners in parti- cular hesitated to form themselves into syndicates owing to their fear of reprisals. These reprisals were, in fact, often exer- cised by the wealthy mining companies which, exactly as in the United States, in the days described by Mr. Upton Sinclair, entrenched themselves behind their powerful financial backers and considered themselves above the law. The tyrannical action of some of the mine owners or mining corpora- tions of the St. Etienne basin had terrorized the workers, who were still too servile to brave the anger of these all-powerful com- panies. I found, then, when I became a miner, that the workers’ syndicate was in a merely embryonic state. The Federation of French Miners—now the Federation of Workers ‘Underground—did indeed exist, but its power was insignificant owing to the very few members on its lists. Is it sur- prising that, in these circumstances, and with the ideas I had in my head through reading and reflection, I immediately became a , OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 239 militant syndicalist, and that on reaching man’s estate I found myself holding the post of secretary to my syndicate? The opinion of the older miners was very divided. Some looked upon me as a sort of apostle to be followed ; others as a young fellow whose head had been turned by too much study. But a!l agreed in considering me a good workman, who did his duty in the mine. That quality brought me the esteem of all my comrades, and I insist on this point in view of what happened later. When the movement in favour of an eight- hours’ day began [ naturally welcomed the innovation with joy. So, on May Ist, 18go, in the name of the Federation of Miners of the Loire, I drew up a petition addressed to the public authorities, through the Prefect of the Department, in which we respectfully asked for the limitation in question on the ground that, with better organization in the mines, we should be able to produce just as much, if not more, in eight hours than in ten or twelve, which many of us were then working. From that moment I was a marked man, a “ dangerous social malefactor,’”” whom it was considered, as events soon showed, was better out of the way, as soon as possible, and at any price. On the occasion of the May Day demon- strations of 1890, 1891, and 1892 numerous arrests were made among the most militant workmen, but after a time they were released for lack of evidence. I was very much surprised that I myself was left at liberty; but one day the Mayor of the dis- trict sent for me and took me into his confidence in the following manner. “ Rulliére, the gendarmes have been want- ing to arrest you,” he told me, “ but I put in a protest against it, on the und that you were an honest fellow and that your grandparents had need of you, since they had no other support. As the gendarmes had no serious accusation to make against you, they went back to the examining magistrate, who had, in a way, orderev| your arrest. The magistrate summoned me to his oftice and explained that he was determined to put you away. I replied that, although I could not oppose a judicial decision, I should protest against ‘any arbi- trary action. Then I learnt that they had nothing serious against you, unless it is your political opinions. Now, Rulliére, if- you want some good advice, listen to me. Your ideas are too advanced. Your enemies are seeking an opportunity to get rid of you for ever. Moderate your views and await a@ more propitious time to make good your claims and those of your companions in misfortune.” If I was not arrested at that time, I had nevertheless to undergo severe “‘ reprisals ”’ on the part of the powerful mining company for which I worked. For having taken part in the May Day demonstrations, and through

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240 being branded as a militant syndicalist and partisan of an eight-hours’ day, I was dis- missed from the mine and “ marked with red ink ’’—that is to say, I was reported to all the great mining companies as being an “undesirable.” THE “MINE OF THE CONDEMNED.” All the companies to which I applied for work after my dismissal refused to take me on as soon as they had looked at my miner's book, which was filled up in such a way that those “in the know’ could immediately recognize me as a trouble-maker. Never- theless, after a good deal of seeking, 1 found employment at the Ponsonnard mine, where about five hundred men were employed. A large number of these miners were men who had been expelled, like myself, from other mines in the St. Etienne district for taking part in strikes, or for doing propaganda work ; and it was this fact which led to the Ponsonnard property being nicknamed the “Mine of the Condemned.” Now, at the Ponsonnard mine there was a poerion (overseer) named Ravel: a man who had been a candidate at the municipal elections, but had been defeated by the Republican candidate supported by my Union, Although too young to vote myself, I had taken part in the elections. This led Ravel to consider me as responsible for his defeat and to nurse a bitter hatred against me. He, therefore, went to the head over- seer, named Chausson, who engaged or dis- missed ‘workers, and insisted on my being sent away. Chausson objected, saying that it was impe le for him to dismiss a miner without sufficient reason, and on M. Pon- sonnard being consulted he supported him in his decision, saying that so long as I did my work satisfactorily I was to be left alone. Ravel returned to the charge, however, and, in most desperate straits, for, without work, 1 was unable to support either myself or my aged .grandparents, the thought of whose coming: miseries goaded me to the point of despair... My comrades had a mind to go on strike on my behalf, but I feared that any demonstration might end in disaster, so I thanked them for their kind intention and told .them.1 would settle the affair without compromising them. . 1 was just on the point of deciding to kill Chausson when my philosophy came to mind and I told myself that this man was but the instrument of others in higher places. I finally resolved that, whilst sparing his life, I would give him such a fright that he would remember it as long as he lived. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Two days after my dismissal from the Ponsonnard mine, about four o'clock in the morning, I went to the pit-head once more and descended. I was armed with a revolver charged with six cartridges from which I had withdrawn the bullets, these being replaced by wad I descended an inclined plane until I was about four hundred feet underground and then went along a side gallery, looking for Chausson, Suddenly 1 saw a light behind me and, turning round, caught sight of the man I was looking for. 1 had with me only a small pocket-lamp, which I extinguished before he saw me. The gallery was a low one, barely six feet in height, and it was quite easy for me to hide myself whilst keeping an eye on all his movements. When Chausson, all unconscious of my presence, was but a few steps away, I sprang out and cried: ‘ Halt! Ruffian.” I went on excitedly: ‘1 have condemned you to death, and I’m going to execute you with my own hand!” HOW I PUNISHED CHAUSSON. Before he had time to recover from his astonishment 1 discharged my first blank cartridge at him. The detonation in the contined space was terrible, and involun- tarily I stepped back. Evidently I had wadded my cartridges too tightly, for they went off like bombs. Following the first report, Chausson howled like a wounded wild beast. He must have thought he was killed, for he fell in a heap. His lamp went out, leaving me in complete darkness, but I was determined to discharge all my car- tridges before ascending to the surface, and this I did. At each shot a noise like thunder was heard; the entire mine reverberated with the sound. The miners (as I learnt later) heard the firing, but not one of them moved to ascertain what was happening. “ Rulliére is settling his affairs himself,” they told one another, ‘‘ and he’s evidently doing it thoroughly.” All of them believed that, in addition to Chausson, I had also killed Ravel. : In the pitch darkness—I had dropped my little pocket-lamp in my excitement—I encountered the foot of the prostrate Chausson and, bending down, I ascertained that he had only fainted. Then, groping my way back as fast as possible, 1 got to the surface, hurried home, changed my clothes, and set off in the direction of Firminy, a big industrial centre, where I took the train for Toulouse. As soon as Chausson recovered he gave the alarm, and the police—gendarmerie on foot and on horseback, policemen in uniform, and detectives in plain clothes—were launched on my track. My description was sent to every magistrate in France and to all the frontier police stations. The entire judicial

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THE ODYSSEY and police machinery of the country was set in motion against me, for, owing to the nature of my offence, I was looked upon as a most dangerous criminal—a man who must be arrested at all cost. I reached Toulouse, in the south-east of France, about four o'clock on the afternoon of the next day. A few hours later I was again in the train, travelling to Foix, the chief town of the Department of the Ariége, where I arrived about ten at night. The next morning I set off to find M. Emile Darnaud, a retired army captain, an officer of the Legion of Honour and of Pubtic Instruction, and one of the wealthiest land- owners of the district. I can to-day set down all these details, since this gentleman is now dead. M. Darnaud was not in town, but at his chdéteau among the mountains at_ Roque- fissal, about thirty kilometres from Foix, and it was there that I found him. He received me very cordially, thanks to our mutual friends and our ways of thinking in common. I immediately told him my story and explained the object of my visit—to obtain from him such assistance as would enable me to cross the frontier into Spain without fear of being troubled by the gendarmerie or the customs officials. My proposal ap- peared to him to have little chance of Tealization. “How can you expect to be able to cross the frontier without being arrested when on all the roads, however small they may be, there are customs houses or gendarmerie stations ? ’ he asked. Then, after" momentary reflection, he walked to a shelf of his superb library and , OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 241 took down an atlas containing a large-scale map of the Pyrénées. “* For instance,’’ he continued, ‘‘ you might have crossed the frontier here ’’—pointing to a road—” but there is a customs house. Here, again, there is a gendarmerie. There is a spot here where you could escape the notice of the authorities, but I am afraid that it is one of those narrow ways which only the most daring smugglers would attempt to follow, and I do not know whether I ought to advise you to follow their example.” A FRIEND IN NEED. After a few more moments of thought M. Damaud, exclaimed: ‘‘I’ve got it! I think I’ve found a sheet-anchor for you. At Tarascon-sur-Ari¢ge there is a good comrade who has many friends, and he will certainly be able to help. Iwill give you a card of introduction ; you have only to show it to him and he will, I am convinced, do what is necessary.” A few hours later I reached the Tarascon railway station and immediately proceeded to the house of M. Nadal, to whom I handed M. Emile Darnaud’s card, bearing the simple words: “ To M. Nadal, in the hope that he will do what is necessary for the bearer.” No sooner had Nadal read this laconic “The Mayor sent for me and took me into his confidence.” Vol. 1.—17.

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242 message than he shook me by the hand with the greatest cordiality, saving: ‘I under- stand. Rest assured that the ‘necessary’ will be dene. But as it is dinner-time, let us sit down to table. We will talk about ways and means afterwards.” When the meal was over we went for a walk in the jittle town and, as soon as we were quite alone, in a rather solitary spot, Nadal astonished me by saying: ‘1 know who you are; I've read about your case in this morning’s papers. You may be quite sure I will do everything it is humanly possible to do. Do you want to leave to-night ?” I replied in the aflirmative. “ Very well, then,” he continued ; “ we'll get home at once and I'll write a letter for you, to be taken to one of my friends, a miller at Siguére.”” That same night I found myself in an old diligence travelling in the direction of the foot of the valley of Siguére, where 1 was to alight and then proceed on foot to a village of that name. My only travelling com- panion was a man who was stretched out on the opposite seat and who appeared to be asleep. After a time, however, he spoke to me in the patvis of the district, and when I replied that I could not understand him he continued to try to get into conversation by speaking in French. As you may well understand, I did my best to avoid giving strictly truthful answers to his indiscreet questions. “Yes; I saw that you were not of these parts when M. Nadal accompanied you to the diligence,"’ he said. ‘‘ And I can tell you this: he’s a real honest man. But where are you going at such an hour as this, and in such a country ?”’ “I’m on my way to Siguére.”” Know anybody there ? "’ “Yes; I've got a letter of introduction to M. Morin, the miller.” “Would it be indiscreet to ask if you are a deserter ? ”’ “ Well, to tell you the truth, I am.” Thereupon I related to him a_ fanciful story of a soldier to whom an officer had taken a great dislike and who, charged with an imaginary crime, was about to be brought before a court-martial. Faced by certain death if I remained to be tried, [ had escaped from the guard-house and deserted. “ In which case you are in a very difficult situation,” continued my interlocutor. “‘ You will reach Siguére about nine o'clock, by which time everybody is a-bed; and, as you don’t know exactly where M. Morin lives, you will be obliged to knock at some door or other. And that door, as bad luck will have it, may be that of a gendarme or a customs ofticer, who, after questioning you, will most certainly take you in charge. Now, if I were in your shoes, I should not go to » Siguére to-night; 1) should) wait until THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to-morrow morning. Why don’t you stop with me at Larramade, where I live?” Larramade is a little hamlet at the foot of the valley of Siguére. So, when my talkative companion got down from the diligence, 1 fcllowed him, and he was good enough to let me spend the night at his house, “ being a friend of M. Nadal and therefore worthy of contidence.’’ Moreover, the next morning, after breakfast, my kind acquaintance introduced me to the district postman, who agreed to guide me to M. Morin’s. At the entrance to the village the postman was met by his children, to the eldest of which, a girl of eight, he handed me over with the following odd recommenda- tion: ‘‘ You see this gentleman ? Well, he’s the father of the baby at M. Morin’s. Guide him to the mill immediately.’’ Thereupon the little maiden took me under her care and brought me safely to the miller’s at the far end of the village, almost at the foot of Mount Sigu¢re. ‘ On reaching M. Morin’s I at once handed him M. Nadal’s letter and said that I would wait for a reply. The honest miller had no sooner read the missive than he stretched out his hand, saying: “ It is impossible for me to accompany you, but I will imme- diately find you a guide who will get you across the frontier in safety.” After giving instructions to his wife regarding the millwheels, M. Morin said - “Whilst my spouse is getting dinner ready, I’ go and look for a guide.” CROSSING THE FRONTIER. The table was laid for the meal by the time the miller returned. He hastened to inform me that he had found an excellent guide, no other than his brother-in-law, and by the time we had reached the coffee and pousse café (cognac) this man_ arrived. M. Morin’s brother-in-law was a fine young fellow who had just been released from military service after three vears in the army. I paid him the twenty-five francs which he asked for the service of guiding me to the first village bevond the Pyrénées, and after having supplied ourselves with provisions and a little wine we made haste to ascend the mountain. The climb was most difficult, for my guide took me up ways which were reputed to be inaccessible, and which were indeed so except to the mest intrepid climbers. I must confess that during that trving scramble my hair more than once stood on end with fear. About half-past six o’clock in the evening —we were then at the end of the month of August—my guide announced that we had reached the territory of the Republic of Andorra. At that time I was in complete ignorance of the existence of this small tepublic, and I believe that there are still many people, even among the best informed,

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE: 243 “Before he had time to recover I discharged my first blank cartridge at him.”

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244 who have never heard of this tiny inde- pendent State. Once on the territory of Andorra I had no further need of the services of my honest guide, so we parted, and I set my best foot foremost to descend the Spanish slope of the Pyrénées. The valley ot Andorra lay before me—a completely deserted stretch of country, apparently with- out the slightest trace of vegetation and within a few yards of the eternal snows. Night had now fallen, and I asked myself where I was going to sleep. I hurried on in the darkness, stumbling now and then over boulders, but glad all the same to think that I was moving towards what I thought was a land of liberty. At the end of two hours walking I caught sight of a welcome light, and towards this I directed my steps. It turned out to be the mountain quarters of some shepherds, who, during the fine season, came from the bottom of the valley to those high altitudes to graze their flocks. Although it was already late, nearly ten o'clock, nobody in the house was asleep, so that when I knocked all the occupants rose to see who it was. The place was lit with resin torches. The head of the family, the grand- father, came towards me and was the first to speak, in a most sympathetic voice. My youth, gentle air, and correct dress evidently reassured him. He, too, like my travelling companion of the diligence, jumped to the conclusion that I was a fugitive from the army, for, whilst giving me a welcome, he uttered the word “ Deserter?’’ I replied “Oui.” Then, despairing of being able to make people who spoke neither French nor Spanish, but only a Catalan dialect, under- stand me, I made signs to express my one desire—a corner where I could stretch myself dut and sleep. The good old fellow made it clear by word and gesture that this went without saying, but he first of all insisted on my eating, and having indicated to him by tapping my pars that I was willing to pay for a meal I willingly fell in with his proposal. AMONG THE SHEPHERDS OF ANDORRA. Never shall I forget the touc hing hospi- tality I received in that mountain home! Whilst the old man pressed me to sit down at the table, the young women of the house- hold busied themselves with the preparation of a good meal, consisting oh soup, an omelette au lard, sausage, ham, cheese, and a huge goatskin bottle of excellent wine. There were some little children in the house- hold, and these climbed on my _ knees; whilst the young girls, a little more timid, glanced at me kindly out of the corners of their eyes, evidently wondering who I was and doubtless imagining the strange adven- tures through which I must have passed while journeying to them out of the unknown THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. through the darkness of the night. Ah! how good it was after that regal repast to stretch myself in the clean straw with these shep- herds of Andorra and sleep the sleep of the just ! As soon as I was up next morning one of the women announced that my de‘jeuner was ready. After eating withea good appetite I made the family understand that Po vished to pay the bill before going on my way, but indignant protests showed me that I must not insist. Greatly touched at such a mani- festation of sympathy, I left that hospitable place with regret and moved forward in the direction of Old Andorra, the capital of the republic, where I arrived about noon. By four o'clock in the afternoon I was at the Spanish frontier, and at nightfall at Séc d’Urgel, a little town which is the seat of the Bishopric of the province of Lérida. This Bishop and the Prefect of the Ariége are, in away, the administrators of the Pyrénéan Republic. The day after my arrival on Spanish territory I made the acquaintance at an inn of a French engineer, M. Claudon, who was in charge of the making of a road and several bridges. I must have made a good impres- sion on him, because he invited me to luncheon. During the meal he naturally spoke of the work he had in hand and hap- pened to mention that he was in need of a miner who knew how to handle powder and dynamite, whereupon I offered my services. At first he doubted my ability, but con- sented to give mea trial. That same after- noon we went to a big stone quarry from which he got his materials, and where some thirty holes were waiting to be charged. I did the work, and everything turned out so satisfactorily that he gave me the job. Dinner found us together once more, and it was then that I discovered he was a man of my own ideas. This being so, I told him my history. He became a true friend and comrade, and when, at the end of two months’ hard work, I decided to leave him, he gave me a letter of introduction to the principal working men’s clubs in Spain. Thanks to this letter I was able to find employment and to travel from place to place with the greatest ease. Though I was well treated wherever I wandered, I decided, on the strength of a recommendation, to go to Tarzout, in Algeria, where a colony of workers had been established by a mil- lionaire of the most liberal ideas. “As it was impossible for me to go to a French consul to get a passport to enter Algeria, I deter- mined to get in without one, which, I was told, was quite possible by embarking for Oran at Gibraltar. A few weeks later I was at Tarzout, delivering a letter of introduction to Elysée Reclus, a great savant. ‘* The bearer of this letter,” ran the epistle, “is a good comrade worthy of your consideration. Kindly do

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 245 “The head of the family came towards me.”

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246 for him what you can.” Reclus gave me a hearty welcome, and at once put me in com- munication with the founder of the colony, M. Régnier, who had married his daughter. M. Regnier, as soon as he heard that I had been a miner, was delighted. ‘ The very man we want!” he exclaimed. There is work for you here, blasting rocks.’’ The next day I started on my labours. In addition to the great Elysée Reclus, there were many remarkable people in the colony of Tarzout. Among them I should like to name Dr. Paul Gilles and Madame Giles, with whom I became very friendly. You will understand, of course, that they, like everybody else, were quite unaware of my identity. I lived there under the assumed name of “ Dumont,” and nobody knew anything about my history. However, one day Dr. Gilles left for the neighbouring town and did not return until three days later. He brought back a newspaper, and on my visiting him in the evening, he handed it to me. “Read that—the paragraph marked with blue pencil,”’ he said. ‘‘ It’s rather an extra- ordinary case, and one in which we in the colony have been interested for some time past.” I took the journal and, with fear in my heart, read the following words :-— DEATH SENTENCE ON AN ANARCHIST. St. Etienne, March 30th, 1893.—The Assize Court of the Loire, sitting without a jury, has just condemned to death in default a miner named Humbert Rulliére, who, on August 25th, 1892, attempted to murder an overscer of a mine from which he had been dismissed for anarchical propaganda. This condemnation has produced a painful impression in the district, where Rulliére enjoyed great esteem among the workers. After committing his crime, Rulliére disappeared from the St. Etienne district and, it is believed, sought refuge in Spain, where he is supposed to have embarked for a foreign port. “I wonder if you, a miner, happen to know this Humbert Rulliére ? ’’ asked Dr. Gilles when I had finished reading the paragraph. “No,” I replied.“ But I remember his case quite well, since, as you know, I have worked in the St. Etienne basin.” ‘What ! You mean to say you don’t know him ? ” exclaimed the Doctor. ‘‘ Come now, ‘ Dumont,’ confess that you yourself are the miner who has just been condemned to death by the Loire Assizes |” DISCOVERED ! Mme. Gilles was present. I felt that I could not keep up the deception, and as I trusted both husband and wife implicitly I decided to own up at once. Dr. and Mme. Gilles were greatly touched by my confes- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sion, followed by a full account of my life- story, the details of which were of such a nature as to strengthen their determination to do everything in their power to protect me and enable me to seek a fresh haven of tefuge. This was essential, for it was very clear that I must leave French territory as soon as possible. A month later I was back in Spain, dis- embarking at Alicante, and on my way towards Andalusia. At Puerto Real, in the Province of Cadiz, I] again met Sefior Vin- cente Rodriguez, a good Republican whom I had come to know on the occasion of my first sojourn in the country. When I had explained to him the reason for my return he ofiered to assist me, but first of all insisted that I should rest for a time on a property of ten acres which he cultivated near Puerto. At the end of a week in his house, where, being a bachelor, he lived with his mother and sister, I made ready to depart. But a great surprise awaited me. “Mon ami /.are you really in sucha hurry to leave us ? ”’ said xehor Rodriguez. ‘‘ What do you say to staying a little longer? Is there not a possibility of our working together ? I don't mean as master and man. You know my ideas. What I propose to you, if you care to stay here, is a partnership in the results of our joint labours.” You may imagine with what alacrity I accepted this generous offer, which was all the more gratifying to me because I was dreading separation from my host's charm- ing sister, for whom I had a tender feeling. And as that growing affection was, I felt certain, returned, I agreed there and then to remain. To make a long story short, I married the lady some three months later and then, happy in the knowledge, received from St. Etienne, that my aged grandparents were being properly looked after by my old com- rades of the mine, happy over my work and future prospects, I settled down to establish a home of my own. Alas, my happiness was of short duration ! Six months after my marriage I was arrested —firse of all on the ground that I was a foreigner ; and, secondly, on the plea that I had been overheard to express opinions against the Royalist r‘gime in Spain. No sooner was I in the hands of the Spanish police than the French Consular authorities began to make inquiries about me in France. Thus my true identity was dis- covered, and my extradition demanded and granted. Instead of sending me back to France by the quickest route, I was taken from prison to prison, from Cadiz to the French frontier, to Irun, and then to Bayonne. I shall not dwell on the suffer- ings I endured, but will give an account of my trial before the Assize Court of the Loire, sitting at Montbrison. I should explain that, according to French law, condemnation to death in default is

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. annulled as soon as the condemned man is brought back to French territory, and thus 247 I came to stand my trial before a jury of the Loire Assizes. It was on March 28th, 1895, that I was judged and condemned, this time to hard labour, which is known in France as the “ dry guil- lotine,” since it kills without bloodshed, unlike the ‘wet guillo- tine.” The former entails a_ longer torture, but it Jeads to just as certain an end as the latter. A few words on the subject of the constitution and appearance of a French Assize Court before I come to a de- scription of the essential features of my trial. The Court is generally composed of three judges, one of whom is the president, and a prosecuting attorney. The jurymen, to the number of twelve, sit in a box apart. The president and the prosecuting attorney wear red gowns, and for that reason the latter is generally known as the ‘‘ red man."’ Now, on entering that Assize Court, accompanied by two gendarmes, a curious thing struck me. Neither the president nor the prosecuting attorney wore red, but were gowned in black. I took the first opportunity I could find to obtain an explanation of this anomaly, and my counsel enlightened me. It appears that some sixty years before the Assize Court of the Loire had condemned and executed a man who was afterwards recog- nized to be innocent. The Court of Cassa- tion which proclaimed his innocence stipu- lated in its judgment that during a hundred years the Assize Court of the Loire should wear mourning for committing a judicial error. MY TRIAL. After the formation of the jury, which took about ten minutes, the president began to question me. “Prisoner, stand up! What is your name and Christian name ? ” “ Rulliére, Humbert, the son of Claude Rulli¢re and Rosalie Blanchard.” “Where were you born?” “‘ At Lyons (RhOne), on March 12th, 1874."" “Your trade?” “Working miner.” “* Rulliére, all the particulars collected in relation to yourself are very favourable “Confess that you yourself are the miner who has just been condemned to death!” except as regards one thing: you are con- sidered to be a very dangerous anarchist.” To this I replied that if I were really an anarchist, as understood the meaning of the word, it was impossible that I could be dangerous, for the very reason that anarchy stood in my mind for a good, moral, and equitable human ideal. “Tell me what happened at the Pon- sonnard mine on August 25th, 1892, at six in the morning,’’ said the president. “My first decision was to kill Chausson, who I considered was responsible for my dismissal,’ I said, ‘‘ but after reflection I determined merely to frighten him.”” I went on to tell the Court exactly what happened. After my examination came the witnesses for the prosecution—only three in all. Too poor to get up a case in my defence I had not a single witness, but I was defended by one of the most eminent counsel of the Parisian Bar, Maitre Lagasse. The first witness was Ravel, my mortal enemy, the man who was the cause of all my trouble. Ravel accused me of being a lazy and vicious worker; in short, he lied to such an extent that the president commented on his evidence, which was in contradiction with all the statements in my dossier and even contrary to his own declarations on the occasion of his first examination. Then came the equally lamentable testi- mony of Chausson, the man whom I had ‘‘attempted to murder” by firing blank cartridges at him. No wonder that now, when he appeared before the Court as fit as a fiddle, and, after months

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248 THE WIDE of reflection, recognized that I had really only tried to frighten him—and succeeded-—’ he was little disposed to pile on the agony. It was, indeed, only with great difficulty that the president could get anything out of him. You may be certain that Maitre Lagasse did his best, in cross-examination, to turn this to my advantage. The third witness merely testified to seeing me leave the mine after the shooting and to my good character. The speech for the prosecution, repre- sented by Maitre Cabanne, followed. It was his business to represent meas the most hardened of criminals. He recalled the anarchist Ravachol, and painted a very black picture of the danger Society ran in allowing such men—including, of course, myself—to be at large. The majority of the jury, much impressed, replied affirmatively to the question as to whether there had been an attempt to murder, but, also by a majority, they accorded me extenuating circumstances, in consequence of which the Court could have WORLD MAGAZINE. “The President began to question me.” sentenced me to the, minimum penalty— five years’ hard labour. The president, however, sentenced me to eight years’ hard labour, which meant that I ‘should be banished for ever from French territory. Later Maitre Lagasse told me he had learnt that the president had written in red ink on the margin of, the official paper bearing the record of my “condemnation these signi- ficant words: “ This man must never see France again ! Sentences to five, six, or seven years’ hard labour always entail, in France, what is known as “ doubling ’’—that is to say, after the condemned man has served his time in the penitentiary colony he must remain there for five, six, or seven years, as the case may be, before he is allowed to return home. When the sentence is for eight years or more, however, he must never return to his native land; he is doomed to remain for the remainder of his life in French Guiana. And that was the dreadful outlook which faced me when, still a young man, I left the Court of the Loire and began my dolorous Calvary ! (To be continued.) The next instalment of this remarkable narrative describes M. Rulliére’s experiences in the terrible penal settlements of French Guiana.

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Afloat witha Madman Told by Second-Engineer W. TWIZELL, and Set Down by DAVID MASTERS. NE voyage is very like another: some- When times the weather is calm, at other times storms throw a little more work on the engine- room staff while the ship punches stolidly through them until they blow themselves out. It was the same with the last voyage of the d/gerian crew, the steamship Algerian Prince arrived at Leith a short time ago she reported that one of the firemen had suddenly | gone mad in the Bay of Biscay, attacked the and endeavoured to set fire to the ship. Here is the full story of what actually took place machinery — instantaneously chew up a piece of coal gives a vivid impression of what would happen to the un- fortunate engineer who was hurled into the pits. He would be torn to shreds in a flash, I saw immediately that the man was in a frenzy—that something had turned his Prince. Everything went * Fay Z brain. It wasn't a very much as usual until, on the Pais Patina id be pleasant position, and 1 homeward trip, the unex- cA hari Reach pecs y thought I had better try pected happened. Our last port of call was Cyprus, and we were plough- ing steadily through the Bay of Biscay when I was called by the third engineer to go on watch at 4 a.m. “One of the firemen is missing,” he reported. “ Missing ?”” I echoed. ‘‘ Where's he got to?” “He's disappeared. We can't find a trace of him,” said the third engineer. “Who saw him last?” I asked. . + “He was down in the stokehold at half- past one, and hasn't been seen since.” I went on duty, not a little puzzled over the disappearance of the fireman. He was a Maltese, and one stoker less in the stokehold meant a little more work for the rest to do. There are all sorts of holes and corners in the lower regions of a ship that the ordinary passenger has little knowledge of, and the next morning, as the man had not shown up, we began a systematic search of the vessel to try to find him, Either he was somewhere aboard, or he had gone over the side. a I went to stop the engine of the refrigerator when I had a weird sensation that someone was near me. I glanced round quickly— and there was the missing fireman standing behind me, a wild gleam in his eye and a wicked-looking razor in his hand ! 2 There is not overmuch room to dodge about on the steel platforms running round the engine-room. eighteen inches across—just about enough to accommodate one man at a time, with a drop to a horrible death in the crank- pits below if one slips off. To watch the the second engineer of the vessel. They are only about . wide | diplomacy before resorting to force. madman with a Tazor is not a nice person to tackle, and in that confined space, where a slip meant death, there was little chance of getting out without being hacked. “ What's up?” I asked him, as calmly as I could. “ They're answered. “Don't be a fool,” I replied. no one here.” With that I pulled out my cigarettes, with trying to murder me,” he “ There’s none too steady a hand, and lit one. Then I offered one to him. “Have a cigarette and get to your quarters,” I said. ‘‘ You're all-right.” The frenzy scemed to be passing off, and to my relief the Maltese took the cigarette. After he had lit it I managed. to get him out of the engine-room. I thought by this time that he was all right again, but I had not left him very long when he slipped up to the room of Mr. Poole, the chief engineer, and tapped at the door. “* Come in,” called the Chief. The door opened, and there was the fire- man, looking more wicked ‘than ever, and slowly waving his razor. - . Ser “What do you want ?” asked the Chief. “ They‘re trying to murder.‘me, Chief,” said the fireman. , Pens “ Don’t talk rot,” growled: the Chief. “My wife! has run away, and the man she’s gone off’ with is paying.them 4500 to kilt-me,”’ cried=tlie Maltese, :‘! ‘They're after me! They. want toi murder.me! " The Chief having ‘no~wéapon’ handy, thought it best to try persuasion. “ Put

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250 that razor away and get back to your: work,” he ordered sternly.. For the moment the habit of discipline overcame the fireman’s madness ; closed the door of the Chief's cabin and went off'to his own quarters. © --° I spoke to him. a little. later, when te seemed quite normal, as he unfolded a. tale of domestic infélicities. His wife had desérted him, it appeared, and I thought at the moment that long brooding over the oceurrence had temporarily unhinged his mind. The next day the ‘fireman was again reported missing. We:searched the engine- room and .the stokehold,. but failed to. tind him. tumnel.in which the ‘propeller shaft | was ceaselessly spinning,. but could find no trace of him. Then we went over the decks and. poked. in all the possible hiding-places that we could thmk of, but without finding our man. : We began to think that perhaps he had jumped overboard. “What about the tops of the boilers?” suggested someone. It seemed about as sensible as suggesting the insides of the furnaces, for the tempera- ture on the boiler-tops was a hundred and seventy-eight degrees, and no man could stand that for long and live. However, we tried the tops of the boilers as a sort of last chance. To our amazement, the fireman was there! For six hours he had been lying on the boiler-tops amid that blistering heat, and how he managed to survive the ordeal is a mystery. “Come out,”’ we shouted to him, but he only bellowed defiance. ““Don’t be a fool! Come out. will hurt you,” we told him. His yelling quietened down after a bit, and we managed to induce him to leave his hiding-place. Once more the frenzy seemed to have left him, and by the time we got him to his quarters he appeared perfectly sane. We went about our jobs as usual, and the fireman went down to take his turn in the stokehold, so I began to think that every- thing was all right and that he had finally got over his trouble. I was about to go on watch when that wretched Maltese was once more reported missing! The business was now beginning to get on our nerves. The running of an engine-room is an onerous job enough, without having a madman to look after into the bargain. For the third time we began to search, hunting high and low. We scoured the engine-room, we raked the decks, we drew back the canvas covers from the boats, and we dived into the propeller tunnel, but no sign of the man could we find. “‘ He’s gone for good this time,’’ someone said, and there was little doubt in my mind that the poor beggar had slipped overboard No one he quietly . THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and that the heaving sea had ended all his troubles for him. ** We'll just have another look round the engine-room,”’ said the Captain to the Chief, and they went: below to satisfy themselves that he ‘was: not there. “They ran down the iron steps to the first grating. Right up in the corner, against the hull of the ship, is a _ tank about.four feet high." As they turned to We .even explored the pitch-black.- cS go down to the second grating they thought they saw a movement behind the tank. They turned back to investigate.- Behind the tank was a space not more than a foot wide. Peering cautiously over, +, they s saw the missing fremah. He-had-only‘to bob.down every time he heard. anyone: coming,” and not a vestige of him could be seen, >»! :.- - ‘Come out,” ordered the Captain. Thereupon the madman made a vitious “slash at them with his razor,- just missing * them as they hastily.started back. “IT won't!” he shouted, ‘1 won't ie And he began to brandish his razor and yell in the most appalling fashion. ©. By this time I had joined the others, and the second officer also ran down to us. There we stood, in single file on the grating, watching the antics of the madman behind the tank. 1 spoke to the man, and tried to persuade him to come out quietly; but this time persuasion was useless. He raved and shouted louder than ever. The lust to kill was on him. Seeing that persuasion was no good, we decided to knock away the tank and try to rush him. A sailor was leaning over, hammer in hand, preparing to smash away some of the tank's fastenings, when the madman, who had been crouching out of sight, suddenly leaped up and _= slashed savagely at his face. The sailor drew back, but not quickly enough, and, as the blood spurted out, in his anger he aimed a blow at the madman’s head with the hammer. The fireman reeled, partly stunned, but the blow was a glancing one, and not nearly effective enough to knock him out. Indeed, he treated it as though he had been hit with a piece of putty. He sprang out from behind the tank yelling ferociously, with murder in his eyes. For a moment he stood with his back to the tank; then he began to advance cautiously, seeking an opportunity to wield that horrible Tazor. Those behind me gave ground. I did the same. Facing a madman armed with a razor on a narrow engine-room grating was not exactly in my contract. As he slowly advanced, so we slowly retreated. There was no room for a rough- and-tumble on the grating, and there was little sense in getting hurt unnecessarily. Frankly, I didn’t like the look of things at all.

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AFLOAT WITH A MADMAN. 251 “He drew his automatic and fired a shot into the air.” Just then the Captain took the matter in hand. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he drew his automatic and fired a shot into the air. The report was deafening in that enclosed space, and either the noise or the sight of the weapon quietened the madman. I seized the opportunity to make a last attempt to persuade the man to be sensible. “Put down your razor and let me dress your head,’’ I said, for blood was pouring down over his eyes and face. He looked at me suspiciously. Remem- bering how tobacco had won him over before, I tempted him again with a cigarette. “Have a cigarette and come along and let me bandage your head,” I urged. He took the proffered cigarette and followed me along the grating and down the ladder to the store like a lamb. Here I bathed and bandaged his head, and he seemed very grateful for the attention. Then we rigged up a bed in the store, made him as comfortable as we could, gave him some cigarettes and matches, and left him. I saw no trace of the razor. It had dis- appeared, and I concluded that he had thrown it away. For a space there was quietness aboard, and we began to breathe freely again. Being chased round by an armed madman was not the sort of excitement we relished. Not that it interfered with our appetites or disturbed our rest, but it upset our work a great deal. We carried on, thinking that at last the man had regained his senses. But we were mistaken. “He's broken out again,’ said the Chief to me some time later. ‘‘ He’s taken charge of the store-room ! "” The store-room, I should explain, was a little apartment in which we kept engine “spares '’"—nuts and bolts, some as big as a man’s fist, and steel bars and hantmer heads—all those things that are so essential to the engineer aboard a ship, because he is not able to run out to a shop to buy what he wants if anything goes wrong. The grating running over the engines led up to the white door of the store-room, and then an iron ladder led down to the engine- room platform. Lemtortuna tly) we had placed the madman in one of the most impregnable positions in the ship. It was difficult to get at, and all around him he had numberless deadly missiles to hurl at would-be attackers. here was not room for more than one man to approach the door at a time—and behind the door was the lunatic with his razor and all sorts of weighty ammunition. A sudden thought struck “‘ Where’s the axe ? "’ he asked. “In the store,’’ I replied. I had handled it there only a short while previously. “ Well, we've got to get him, axe or no axe,”’ said the Chief. ‘If we leave him at large like this he may murder half-a-dozen of us before he’s finished.” That, of course, was the position in a nut- the Chief.

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252 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. shell. The madman was a menace to.the whole ship, and until he was captured not one of us was safe. “ Let me see if 1 can coax him out, Chief,” I said. With that I went up to the door, knocked on it, rattled the handle, and told the fireman to come out. An angry roar came from behind the panels. “If you don’t come out you ‘N get hurt,” I shouted. ’ “VT kill your 1m ‘kill you all tw yelled the Maltese. You could tell from .the tone of his voice’ that he meant. it, “and that his - mind was quite gone. . The Captain held a council of w ar with the Chief and myself, and it was decided to make © Obtaining some * an assault on the place. capstan bars, we attacked the door viciously and tried to burst it in, with the maniac yelling like fury all the time. In spite of all our etforts, however, the door held firm. “Give him a rest,” said the Chief. quieten down presently.”” We drew off, leaving the madman in possession of the store, and got on with our jobs. 1 came to the conclusion that the grating was not a very safe promenade. At any moment the madman might pop out of the store when my back was turned, hit me on the head with his axe or cut my throat with his razor, and quickly pop back again. It was rather unsettling, to say the least of it. That night the engineer on watch, turning to pick up the lamp to go down the tunnel, found that it was not in its usual place. The lamp was generally kept on the floor of the engine-room just below the store, whjch was twelve feet above it. Concluding that for some reason the lamp had been misplaced, the engineer secured another lamp and went about his business. Having completed his inspection he put the lamp in the usual place, and began to go round the engines with the oil-can. A few minutes afterwards he turned to take up the lamp again, but to his amaze- ment it was not there. It had mysteriously disappeared, yet he was certain that no one but himself had set foot on the plates of the engine-room, He began to rack his brains about it, and slowly it dawned on him that the other lamp was certainly in its place when he went on watch. He couldn't understand it. He searched round, but both lamps had com- pletely vanished. Their disappearance was uncanny. The mysterious disappearance of the lamps was explained next day, when smoke began to ooze through the cracks of the store- room door, and the glow of fire was seen within. The madman was trying to set the shi on fire and burn us all to death! We had “ He'll blundered properly, first in putting him there, and secondly in leaving him a box of matches. Later I found out that when the engineer's back was turned the madinan had popped out of the store-room and very cunningly, without a sound, removed the lamps. Taking a long piece of wire and fashioning the end into a hook, he leaned over the grating and fished for the lamp. Getting the hook through the ring.in the top, he drew it up and siléntly returned to his fortress with it. Waiting his opportunity, he served the second lamp in the same way. Heaping up some materials in the corner of the store-room; he then poured the oil from the lamps over them and set a match ‘to the pile. They were smoking and beginning to burst into flame reached the engine-room again. “We've got to get him out, boys,” said the Captain, but that was easier said than done. We ran the hose down to cope with the fire; then we took up the capstan bars again and made another onslaught upon the door, but were no more successful than on the previous occasion. Meanwhile the maniac was bellowing the most awful threats, and clouds of smoke were beginning to fill the engine-room, We realized that we would have to act quickly. Calling for a heavy hammer, we aimed crashing blows at the lock of the door. It gave way at last, and the door opened ever so slight just enough for us to see that the madman had barricaded himself in with some thick iron plates. We battered away at the door with our capstan bars until it yielded a little more. Then a fusillade of nuts and bolts flew through the opening and forced us to get out of range. A plucky little Japanese fireman jum forward, only to stagger back with a fearful gash over the eye where a heavy bolt had hit him. A moment later- ‘the Captain was struck on the ari. Waiting our chance, we made another attack and forced the dodr open about eighteen inches. Meanwhile the fireman raged in the open- ing, shouted the direst threats, waving the axe, and waiting to cut us down as we advanced.’ We got the hose to work through the partly opened door and managed to put out the fire, and then another shower of bolts drove us to cover. “We shall have to shoot him down,” the Captain, at last. There seemed nothing else to be done. Drawing his revolver, the Captain waved it menacingly. ‘‘ If you don’t come out quietly, we shall shoot you,” he warned the madman, but the fellow only howled louder than ever. The Captain raised his revolver, aiming when: I said

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at the maniac’s arms in order to disable him. We waited for the shot, but none came ; the revolver had jammed. Thereupon the Captain sent for the steward’s rifle—the only other weapon aboard—and gave it to the second officer, who was our best shot. AFLOAT WITH A MADMAN. 253 The wounds might have been fleabites for all the notice the madman took of them. “If you don’t come out, we shall shoot to kill,” shouted the Captain. But the fireman only raved and gibbered. He looked an awful sight, with blood pouring “Chancing the deadly razor, | threw myself upon him.” ‘‘ Aim for his arms,” the Captain told him. The second officer waited his chance, and with his first shot hit the madman in the right biceps. The madman, however, paid no heed to the wound, and was apparently completely unaffected by it. Again the second officer hit him in the right arm, and then he managed to hit the left arm. down his arms, and his eyes alight with insanity under his bandages. Reluctant to shoot again, we withdrew to consider whether there was any way of getting him out alive. “It's hot work,"’ I said to one of the sailors. “‘ What about a drink?” He went up on deck and brought down a

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254 pannikin of water. drink for thirty-six hours, and he craved for some- thing to slake his thirst. “All right,” I said. “Come out and get it. We won't shoot you any more or touch you. Just come out and have a drink.” “Put it in here,’ he cried. ‘‘ ] won't come out.” “Wait a minute while we fill the pannikin,’”’ 1 answered. We sent it up to be re- filled, and while we were waiting I turned to the second steward. “If I rush him while he is drinking, will you back me up ?”’ I whispered. “Vil be right behind you,” he replied. 1 guessed that while drinking the madman would lay aside his weapons, and give us our only chance of taking him unawares. The pannikin came down, and I held it out to him as he stood there, just inside the store-room door. He laid down the axe to take the water. This was my oppor- tunity! Chancing the deadly razor in his other hand, I threw myself on him and sought to pinion his arms with my own. He let out a mighty yell, dropped the water, and fought like fury to throw me off. A second later the steward dashed in and took a hand in the fight. The razor—much to my relief—fell from the mad- man’s hand, and after an exciting three minutes’ tussle, we held him safely and the handcuffs were clicked on to his wrists. The job of getting the struggling madman up the slippery ladders from the engine-room wasn’t an easy one. More than once I thought we should all be hurled into the crank-pits and be made into mincemeat. 1 did not realize how thirsty I was until my lips touched it. “Give me a drink,” called the madman. He had been cooped up without food or THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fondly imagined an end. day. The Algerian Prince. But we got him up at last, saw him safely under lock and key, and Mr. Poole, the chief engineer, and Mr. Twizell (on right) holding the axe with which the madman attacked the crew. that our troubles were at He was as quiet as possible the next He spoke sanely, and none of us doubted that his senses had returned. His arms were swelling tremendously from his wounds, and it seemed “ cruel to keep the handcuffs on him any longer. “He seems all right now,” remarked the Cap- tain, and ordered the handcuffs to be taken off. Half an hour later pandemonium broke loose on deck, The fireman had escaped and run amok ! I bobbed out of my cabin to find him chasing the crew all over the ship, brandishing a crowbar and yelling fiendishly. We had no chance to get near him ; he was like a whirlwind. For a time there was a man -hunt with a vengeance, and it was rather difficult occa- sionally to tell whether we were hunting or being hunted. As the madman chased round the galley in hot pursuit of a sailor, another man quietly tripped him up, and the mix-up on the deck became general. So tremendous was the maniac’s strength, how- ever, that it took five men to hold him while we got the handcuffs on him again. After that we breathed with relief once. more, and from that moment until we arrived at Leith the Maltese was kept under close re- straint ; we were taking no more risks. At Leith two doctors came aboard and examined him. ‘Quite mad,” was their verdict, and the poor fellow was removed to an asylum. If the mad fireman had carried out his plans he would undoubtedly have burnt the ship and sent her to the bottom with every soul aboard. the circumstances, had a lucky escape. In we I am not particularly anxious to make another trip with a maniac.

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CAPTURING (7 ‘COPPERHEAD’ E . : rs 7 [1M Sutherland \ sees LL. a The story of a murderous Kentucky feudist who, after being believed to be dead, “ came back” with tragic results. “The narrative,” writes the Author, “is true even down to small details, It occurred in the mountains near the Kentucky—West Virginia border a little over a year ago. DUTTON has a OPPERHEAD returned.” Cole, the young bookkeeper, made the announcement casually as he threw the mail-bag across the counter. He started to follow his volunteered infor- mation with an inquiry as to the identity of ‘‘ Copperhead Dutton ’’—the name was vaguely familiar to him—but the startled expression on the face of Allaphair Vanover, the postmistress, caused him to hesitate. The room grew unnaturally silent. The lumber-camp commissary was filled with the customary Saturday afternoon crowd of woodsmen; but each of them had straightened rigidly and stood staring at the speaker. Then someone forced a cough and several of the men shuffled their feet uneasily. As if moved by a single impulse, they turned and gazed at Hartley Branham, who stood leaning against the counter nervously twist- ing a bit of pine board. Conscious of their scrutiny he cleared his throat twice as if he were going to speak, but did not. Then, pulling his hat-brim low over his eyes, he strode toward the door. “ Hold on a minute, Branham!” The woods foreman, “ Long George’ Vanover, detached himself from the crowd and hurried to intercept the lumberman at the door. “Cole must have made a mistake.” He turned toward the bookkeeper and advanced upon him almost angrily. ‘‘ Who said the Copperhead had come back ? ”’ he demanded. ‘Big Sim Holden. He said I was to tell you and Branham that he'd seen Copper- ead, and that Copperhead had sent a message.” “What was it?” I was employed at the lumber plant where the capture was made.” “Said he'd come back to get even with some men who had done him wrong; that he wasn’t as dead as some folks thought he was; and that some people were too anxious to think he was dead, anyway. That’s all Sim told me.” “Sim ought to know.’’ Vanover glanced at Branham dubiously. ‘‘ He made moon- shine with Copperhead fer fo’ er five years.” “Who was it they found killed by the train, then?’ cried Branham. “They found the letters sayin’ it was Copperhead. How the——” “Easy, Branham! It’ll come out all right.’” Long George caught him by the arm and walked toward the door with him. “There must be some mistake,’’ he went on. “We'll find out later fer sure. Meantime, me and some of the boys’ll stay with you to-night and see that ve “T ain't afeard. “I know, but we’re comin’ jest to keep you company.” Branham turned without a word and dis- appeared. The general conversation started up again, but in a low tone and furtive manner that differed greatly from the accustomed banter. Cole had watched the scene with a puzzled frown on his face. He wondered why his simple statement concerning the return of Dutton had created such a stir among the ordinarily phlegmatic woodsmen. Never, since he had arrived in the camp, had he seen them exhibit so much emotion. Still bewildered, he went behind the counter, intending to ask Allaphair to explain the mystery. Cole was beginning to like Allaphair. She was a wholesome mountain girl, the daughter

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256 of ‘Long George” Vanover. She was rather dark, strong, self-reliant, and pretty ina way. Quiet and serious, she talked little, but when she smiled everyone within reach found it infectious. Cole had admired her at once, but of late he had realized that his eagerness to help her, to be with her, was not entirely based on admiration. Her habit of apparently reading his very thoughts— even her odd name-—interested him. “ Alla- phair,” she had told him, meant “song bird,” and was an Indian name which had always been in her family. She was busy putting up the mail when he drew near. Seeming to divine his ques- tion, she shook her head warningly. “I'll tell vou about it later,’” she whispered. When she had opened the tiny window the woodsmen filed past silently. To a few of them she gave letters and papers, but to the majority she simply shook her head negatively. |‘ Long George ’’ was the last in the line. He waited until the others had gone and then leaned forward. “Give me that gun I left with vou, Ally,” he whispered. ‘1'll see the Super and get him to leave you another one. It wouldn't be safe hyar without one.” Opening a drawer under the table, she picked up a heavy Colt +45 and deftly * broke ”’ it, catching the cartridges in her hand. Twirling the cylinder for an instant she snapped the gun_ several times, and then, apparently satisfied with the mecha- nism, reloaded it and handed it to him. “It’s been lying in the drawer for so long, Dad, that I thought it might be rusted ; but it’s all right.” He nodded and thrust it inside his overall bib. ‘ Anything you want to send up to the house, honey ? ” “ Nothing, Dad.” Thereupon ‘‘ Long George ”’ left hurriedly and Cole could see that Allaphair was worried as she watched her father disappear through the door. She shrugged her shoulders slightly and then turned toward the young bookkeeper with a smile. ‘‘ Now tell me all about it,’ she said. Cole perched himself upon a stool beside her. ‘1 seemed to have stirred up some- thing when I brought that message of Holden’s,”” he told her. “It’s a shame,” she burst out. “I feel so sorry for Hart Branham. Somebody ought to kill him.” “Who ? Branham?” “No; Copperhead.’ She was silent for a minute, gazing through the window at the dusty tramway outside. ‘I reckon you're the only one here who doesn’t know about Copperhead. He’s been gone for five years and everybody thought he was dead. He broke out of jail after she'd been sentenced to be electrocuted: “A killer, is he?” “Surely you've heard of the Dutton- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mollans feud ?’’ Her voice seemed to grow hard and metallic, a tone that was new to Cole. ‘‘ Copperhead led the Duttons. He can tell you who killed Cripple Billy Morton with an axe; he knows who tied a rope round Cal Mollans’ neck and made him keep up with his horse for twenty miles—the boy died beside the road; he knows who killed Sheriff Yeates while he was bending over the spring to scoop up water.” She itated a moment, and then went on :— They tried him five years ago for murder. My father was a witness, and Copperhead swore he'd kill Dad as soon as he got out. Then the Copperhead broke jail—crawled through a hole .n the wall you wouldn’t have thought a boy could get through. He left the mountains, and two years ago we heard that his body had been found on the railroad tracks near Memphis. The corpse wasn’t recognizable, but they found letters in the man's pockets. Then, last year, his widow married Hartley Branham and. vt “ Oh!’ Cole began to understand the unnatural excitement evinced by the lumber- men. ‘A sort of Enoch Arden, eh ?’ She nodded. ‘“ They'd better get him quick or he'll kill Branham. Did Holden say where Copperhead was going ?”’ “Said he met him out on Sandy Ridge. Why don’t they get a posse after him ? ”” ‘“That’s what the men are probably doing now. They'll go as soon as they find out where Copperhead went. But he’s liable to be hidden in the woods somewhere near. He strikes when they're least expecting him. That’s why they call him Copperhead— after the snake.” “ Do you really think he'll kill Branham? ” “ Of course! “And his wife, too! And it won't be the first woman the Copperhead’s killed—if they could only prove it.’ Cole saw that her lips were drawn in a thin, determined line and that there was an unac- customed glint in her eves. It was the first time he had seen her give way to her feel- ings, but there was no mistaking the hatred in her tones. Neither was she afraid; he knew that. He wondered what her actions would be if she met “ the killer.”” Half an hour later he left the office and started up the creek toward the mill. At this time of day the mill foreman always had his construction reports and ‘ mill cut ’ figures ready for transcribing to the office books. Usually the reports were brought to the office, but Cole was unable to curb his curiosity. He wanted to see what the woods- men were doing, and to learn whether a posse had been organized to scour the hills. He quickened his pace just before he came to Branham’s cabin, As he rounded the curve in the tramway he shot a worried glance down at the house, half expecting to see a tragedy. He smiled when he saw Branham standing at a grindstone sharpen- ing an axe. Methodically the woodsman

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CAPTURING *« COPPERHEAD.” was pumping the pedal and turning the blade from side to side. The loud, vicious crack of a heavy revolver froze Cole in his tracks. The shot seemed to come from the bushes above the tramway, about fifty yards ahead, but of this Cole could not be certain. He saw Branham straighten spasmodically as the shot rang out, carefully lean his axe against the grind- stone, and start slowly toward the door. At the third step he slumped heavily forward and lay motionless. Then Cole forgot his fear. Rushing blindly forward in the direction whence the shot came, he parted the bushes and plunged into the shadows. The acrid odour of smoke told him he was on the right trail. Through the tangled brambles he pushed until he found himself in a small, open glen. He stopped and glanced about. The woods were silent, startled into immo- bility by the echoes of the report, and he began to wonder whether he had taken the right direction. He didn’t stop to consider the danger, or even why he had dashed into the woods. The cowardliness of that shot from the bushes filled him with rage. He knew without reasoning that the Copper- head had fired the shot, and he looked about apprehensively, half expecting tosce the escaped feudist crouching in the underbrush. Presently he started forward again— cautiously this time. Before he had taken three steps the bushes in front of him parted and something glistened brightly in the sun- shine. Cole stopped and unconsciously raised his hands above his head. He knew that he was covered; but for an instant he was unable to see the owner of the gun, so thickly did the low-hanging blackberry vines screen him. “Whar the h—— air ye goin’?” demanded a harsh voice. Then the head and shoulders of the speaker appeared, and involuntarily Cole took a step backward. He didn’t remember ever seeing a face so utterly evil! The small, deep-set, black eves seemed to drill into his courage. A heavy growth of bread covered the man’s chin, and the coarse, unkempt hair on his forehead grew down to within an inch and a half of his eyebrows. a Cole could only stare; he had forgotten that a question had been asked. He had never seen a gun held quite so steadily. “‘Whar’s your gun?” The killer’s voice was hard, and did not invite hesitancy. “‘Why—I—I haven’t any.” “Then what air ve doin’ hyar? By Heaven, kid, you’ve got pluck! But ye sure lack sense. Git—and git quick! I ain't goin’ to shoot.” Cole started to back slowly away, still looking over his shoulder at the menacing gun. His first impulse was to make a break for it, but he didn’t dare turn his back on the feudist. Vol. 1.18. 257 “Wait !’" Cole brought up sharply against a sapling. Copperhead lowered his gun. ‘I jest wanted to give ye some advice,” he growled. “Keep yore mouth shut about seein’ me hyar. They know I done it, but they can't prove it unless ye tell ‘em. If ye blab, I’m comin’ fer ye. Understand ? And I'll git ye when ye aint lookin’ fer it. That's all.” Even as he spoke the Copperhead whirled with lightning speed and fired two snap- shots into the bushes down toward the hollow on his left. The roar had hardly died away before he was answered with three sharp explosions. As he stooped in an effort to get an aim at his man through the underbrush, another shot echoed from the woods a little farther up the hill. Copper- head straightened with a jerk, and Cole saw him suddenly clap his hand to his cheek. The killer staggered backward a step or two and appeared dazed. Then, with an oath, he thrust his revolver into his holster, leaped behind a large boulder, and disap- peared. Cole, still holding to the sapling, saw “ Long George ’’ Vanover and another man swing rapidly but noiselessly around the “‘bench.”” Then they, too, were lost in the shadows. Cole slowly made his way back to the tramway and across to Branham’s cabin. He wondered what Allaphair would expect him to do. Should he get a gun and try to find ‘‘ Long George,” or gather a posse ? He decided on the latter course. Two or three men were standing in the yard of Branham’s cabin watching the mountain-side, but no more shots were heard. The body of the slain man—Branham was stone-dead—had been taken in the house. Is he dead ?”” Cole knew that his ques- tion would be answered in the affirmative even before the men nodded. From within the cabin he heard the low-voiced crying of a woman. He was unable to distinguish her words with the exception of one sentence. “ I might have knowed it!’ The cry ended in a moan. Swiftly Cole made his way back to the office. Allaphair had gone to supper. He needed her advice, but he couldn't wait. He telephoned the county seat and got in touch with the sheriff, “ Moccasin Toot ”” Mollans, who promised to start immediately with three or four deputies. The name Mollans now carried a new significance to Cole. The feud of which Allaphair had told him had been waged by the Dutton-Mollans factions, which explained the sheriff’s eager- ness to rush to the man-hunt. in the club-house dining-room Cole said nothing to the men who sat at the tables. He noticed, however, that several of them, particularly the friends of ‘‘ Long George,” were absent. Cole ate his supper hurriedly and went to his room, where he inspected a rifle he had brought to the mountains for

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258 THE wild turkey. He crammed the magazine full of cartridges and left for Branham’s cabin. He knew that the sheriff would come straight to the home of the murdered man in order to question those who knew about the shooting. Cole waited in the yard, talking with the men who had gathered. Several women arrived and went in to offer their sympathy and.assistance. A few minutes later the sheriff and his posse drew up in a wheezing coughing car. Cole had heard it when it topped Bear-pen Mountain three miles away The man-hunters came into the yard. Mollans lead ing a lanky, cadaverous bloodhound by a_ leash “Long George "’ suddenly appeared and approached the sheriff. “You've got Queenie, I[ see. That's good! Let's git on the trail.” “ Jest a minute, George." Mollans glanced toward the sky. ‘ Ain't it goin’ to be too dark to do any good to-night ?” “The moon'll be up in two hours. It'll take us that long to git to the top of the mountain if we take the same way Copperhead went." “Have you been trailin’ him ? ” “We follered him a piece, but we lost his tracks. It got too dark.” “That’s goin’ to make it hard fer Queenie. She'll git mixed up with your tracks.” “No danger of that. Copperhead lost his hat and didn’t have time to pick it up. 1 hung it on a bush back up in the woods WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a-ways. We'll give Queenie one smell. That’ll be all she’ll need.” “Let's git started, then.” Mollans led the way through the gate, the half-dozen men following in single file behind him. Cole was almost the last man, and for a minute he was afraid they might send him ; J pry / back; his youth had always been a barrier between him and the older men. But now. apparently, thev expected him to go. Grip- ping his rifle tightly he kept within a few feet of the man in front of him. They broke through the fringe of bushes and were swal- lowed in the darkness of the woods. One of the men produced a flashlight. He carefully kept it plaving on the ground, and only in those places heavily protected by

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CAPTURING « COPPERHEAD.” foliage. Grim and silent, the posse pushed forward through the darkness. To Cole they seemed to be going about the business of the hunt with a cold, deadly, mechanical pre- cision. The tinkling of a cow-bell down in the riverlands seemed utterly out of place “T hung his hat here, I think.” ‘“ Long George's ’’ tone was guarded and he peered about him, flashing thé \ light cautiously “Here it is!” walked over a He | few } “involuntarily Cole took a step backwards. He didn’t: remember ever. seéing a face so utterly evil.” i paces toward a small ravine and came back with a black, shapeless mass of felt. " They’ held it before Queenie’s nose for an instant. Every muscle in the dog’s body seemed to grow taut and she gave one deep, sinister y. ‘‘ Long George’ took the hat and stumbled up the ravine until the watchers could no longer see him. Mollans held the dog in check with a strong leather leash, and it required all his strength to restrain her. She dug her toes into the yielding moss and leavesand pulled forward with every ounce of her power. Her gaunt body guivered and her eyes gleamed lefully at those about her. Slowly they started forward. The ravine 259 they were climbing became rougher and steeper every moment. Large stones and fallen logs’ blocked their path, but they scaled them tirelessly. Cole’s breath came in gasps, yet he dared not ask for a minute’s Tespite from the desperate climb. Gritting his teeth with determination, he kept pace with the others. He smiled grimly when he saw that the man nearest him was breathing with difficulty. The moon broke across the top of the knoll to the right, flooding the woods with a silvery light that made the darker shadows look ominous, furtively sinister. _ Upward they climbed, hugging the bed of a dried rivulet since it formed a fairly open passage through the underbrush. They struck rougher ground, and their progress became slower and more difficult. The sheriff and ‘‘Long George,” away in front, seemed

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260 to have forgotten everything save the chase. At a snail’s pace they made their way through a more open space over which spread a second growth of poplar and ash trees. By these saplings the members of the posse often pulled themselves forward. The dog, whining eagerly, literally dragged “‘ Moccasin Foot "’ along with her. The double ettort— to keep up with her and at the same time to try to slow her pace—was beginning to tell on the staying powers of the sheriff. With a quick movement he wound the leash about a sapling. The sudden checking threw Queenie back on her haunches, but she hurled herself forward again with a short yelp—and the leash parted. Giving a single, joyous cry she scrambled through the bushes and was gone. “The devil! ’’ growled the sheriff. He unwound the leash from the bush and stood staring at it foolishly. ‘‘ Broke off clean as a whistle!” Several of the posse moved as if to resume the climb toward the top of the mountain, but the sheriff stopped them. “'Tain't no use, fellers. We'd jest as well go home now. ()ueenie’s gone. We can’t do nothin’ without her.” “But she'll come back after while, won't she ?”’ asked ‘ Long George.” ““Mebbe, but when she does we couldn't git her back on the trail again. Couldn't make her fer love nor money. She don't believe in doin’ the same thing twice. _ They're funny that way, bloodhounds are.” “What'll she do when she finds him ?” “Come home again—if he don’t kill her. She allus jest smells to see if he’s the man she wants to find. Then she turns around and goes home. She acts mighty fierce when she’s on the hunt, but she’s plumb mild when she gits thar. We can't do any more to-night.” “Let's go to the top of the mountain and see if we can hear anything,” said ‘‘ Long George,"” who was apparently anxious to continue the hunt. ‘If he shoots her it might give us a line on where he is.” “He won't shoot her. He'll be afraid to shoot, because that would be a dead give- ’way fer him. He can't attord to let us know whar. he is. He won't shoot.” Again they started forward. Several times they stopped to regain their breath. Each time they listened for some sound to indicate the direction the bloodhound had taken, but nothing save the noises of the night could be heard. In another half hour they had reached the top and, gathering at the foot of a giant pine tree, they sat down and waited. Under a shelving rock a tew feet below one of the men built a fire. The dampness of the night was beginning to grow uncomfortable. About the tiny flame the men lounged and conversed in whispers. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The moon dropped behind the hills, and in the pitchy darkness of the hour just before dawn Cole was aroused by the sudden activity of the posse. Something was rushing towards them through the leaves and under- brush, and the men crouched in the shadows beyond the circle of the firelight with guns cocked and fingers nestling on the triggers. “It’s only the dog, men,’ called the sheriff, a full minute before Queenie ap- peared. ‘‘ No man makes a noise like that.” The bloodhound came slinking toward the fire, watching the sheriff turtively. She appeared to know that she had done some- thing wrong and expected a beating. Cole tted her, and she lay down gratefully at is feet. “‘ Well, he didn’t shoot her. I figgered he’d be afraid.” The sheriff glanced at the dog and she cowered still lower in the leaves. “ He throwed rocks at her, 1 reckon, and started her back.” Conversation died and the men sought more comfortable positions to await the dawn. Cole grew sleepy. His eyelids, despite his efforts to keep awake, slowly dropped. How long he had been asleep he didn’t know, but he suddenly awakened and sprang to his feet bewilderedly. He realized that a shot had been fired, but for the moment he was unable to bring himself to full wakefulness. He saw the sheriff start to struggle to his feet, totter, and then plunge sprawling to the ground, his head resting on his arm. A half-dozen rifles answered the shot. The posse, to a man, was lying prostrate in the leaves and peering in the same direction. Cole, seeing that he was the only one standing in full view of the unseen attacker, jumped for a large stone and threw himself behind it. Then a voice from the darkness out in front boomed forth tauntingly : ‘ Tie your dawg up next time! She works both ways ; I follered her to ve.” Three or four shots were fired in the direc- tion of the voice, but another laugh showed them the futility of such uncertain firing. They waited for several minutes until the screech of a “ brush’ owl on the opposite hillside told of the killer’s passing. Satisfied that Copperhead had gone, the men ran to the side of the sheriff. He grunted and came to his feet. ““T was jest possumin’,”” he grinned. “I’ve been waitin’ fer this chance fer years. He thinks I’m dead now, and I'll have a clear field to hunt him down. He'll be lookin’ fer a posse all the time ; and a posse can make as much noise in the woods as a brass band."” He went over and examined the tree against which he had been leaning when the shot had been fired. “Purty good shot frum the dark. He couldn’t git a bead frum whar he was, so he jest lined it. Look thar!’ He pointed toa bit of torn bark a few inches from the spot where his head had been resting.

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CAPTURING « COPPERHEAD.” When the posse arrived at the camp that morning, groups of small children on their way to Sunday school stared at the guns and dog curiously. No questions were asked or answered, the men merely nodding to acquaintances when they passed them. When they came to the home of the slain man, Branham's nephew met them at the gate. “Got away, did-he ? “Dog got loose,”’ answered Foot ” shortly. The posse broke up, Cole taking the sheriff and his deputies to the club-house for breakfast. They ate in silence and the officers stalked away as soon as they had finished. : Cole, on whom the excitement had acted as a tonic, decided that he wouldn't try to sleep for a while. Instead, he went over to his office, intending to make out some con- struction reports before noon. The outer door of the commissary was open. He peered through the window cautiously. Allaphair was perched on a high stool at her desk, buried in money order receipt counterfoils and stamp cancellation records. She was making out her quarterly post-office report. Cole was usually called into consultation to make it balance, and he decided to let his own work go for the day ; it could easily be done during the week. The girl's frown faded when he entered and she immediately drew another stool alongside her own. “It won't come out right,’’ she com- plained, ‘and I suppose you'll have to fix it again.” Cole glanced at the figures and gathered the counterfoils and data about him. Suddenly Allaphair closed the report books and pushed them away from him. “I can fix the reports all right,”” she said. “ You know why I was waiting for you this morn- ing. I want to know what happened. I was out when you came back yesterday after- noon, but I heard that you saw the shooting and were with the posse last night. Now tell me everything that happened.” He recounted the details, and she listened without interrupting. ‘Where did Dad go?” he had ended. “I don’t know. Home, I suppose.’ “‘ And Sheriff Mollans ? ” “He went over to Branham's, I think. Why?” “They're both gone after him. They won't stop now. Mollans hasn't forgot the feud days. Oh, I hope they kill him!’ Cole was surprised at the vindictiveness in her voice. They bent over the report and for the next half-hour monotonously double- checked the figures. Then the door suddenly burst open and a man stood outlined in its frame. “ The Copperhead !"’ breathed Cole, star- “ Moccasin she asked, when 261 ing at the crouched figure unbelievingly. The girl stealthily opened the drawer from which she had taken out the revolver on the previous day. She felt about among the papers; and then came a frown of disap- pointment when she realized that the weapon was gone. Cole's first thought was to duck behind the box-cabinets of the post-office. Then he realized that Allaphair would be left to face the killer alone. He wondered for a dazed moment what he could do. He could think of nothing ; his wits seemed paralyzed. With two quick strides the Copperhead was beside the counter. Leaning across he thrust a revolver within a few inches of Cole's chest. “T told ve I'd git ve if ve blabbed !”’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Somebody ‘phoned the sheriff. The only ‘phone from hyar to the county seat is in your office. Never mind how I know. Didn't ve heed what I told ye viste'day ?.” Cole was silent. He wanted to deny the accusation, but the words simply stuck in his throat. The Copperhead's face was for- bidding. It was dirty, unshaven, and one cheek was smeared with dried blood. Appa- rently ‘Long George's’ aim had been Tather accurate the day before, for the furrow ot a bullet showed plainly along the cheek-bone. “Git me some cartridges an’ somethin’ to eat,”’ continued Copperhead. ‘‘ An’ be quick about it.””. He nodded his head in the direc- tion of the girl, without taking his eyes off Cole. ‘ Thirty-eight cartridges—longs—an’ git a move on. Open a can of tomaters an’ git some cheese an’ crackers.”’ Copperhead shot the instructions in staccato, while his gun remained motionless barely a foot from Cole’s heart. The bookkeeper could see the dull, leaden bullets in the cylinder, and the finger on the trigger seemed to be closing convulsively. He braced himself for the impact of the bullets, expecting each second to see a burst of flame belch from the ominous-looking barrel. Cold fear took possession of him. Allaphair placed a box of cartridges and a slab of cheese on the counter and opened a box of crackers. She fumbled helplessly with the can-opener, and it seemed that she would never be able to puncture the top of the tomato tin. Her fingers trembled, but her face remained as calm and expressionlc3s as if she were waiting on any of the regular customers. Cole marvelled at her control of herself, and some of her courage appeared to be transferred to him. He lowered his hands a few inches. “ Keep ’em high! ”” The admonition was accompanied with a downward thrust of the Tevolver until it rested against Cole’s belt. ‘Put some sugar in the tomaters an’ stir ‘em up.” Again Copperhead nodded to the girl, and she obeyed silently.

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262 Cole racked his brains for some means of effecting the man’s capture, he could think of seemed feasible. _He half hoped that the sheriff or .‘‘ Long George ” would enter, but no one appeared to be within miles of the commissary. If he only had a rifle—but that was in the club-house dining-room. Utterly helpless, he could do nothing but watch the Copperhead finish his meal undisturbed. The fugitive, when he had gorged himself, stuffed the remainder of the cheese and crackers in his pocket.. Next, he broke the box of cartridges open with his thumb-nail and distributed them where they would be within easy reach.. Then he stepped back a couple of paces. ‘Come out here!’’ Unable to do any- thing save obey, Cole opened the latch of the couhter-gate and walked slowly to the middle of the floor, keeping his hands raised high above his head. During the entire time since the Copperhead’s entry Allaphair had not spoken. Cole could see that she was watching the ruffian ‘closely, but he realized that she could do nothing. It would be impossible for her to reach his office where he kept a gun; to do that she would be forced to walk across the main floor, past the fugitive. She made a move as if to come out and join Cole. “Stay whar ye air!’’ ordered the Copper- head, curtly. Then, turning his back to the girl, he stepped closer to Cole, menacing him with the revolver. “Ye’ve got a safe somewhar, ain’t ye?” he demanded. Cole nodded. “Open it ! I gotta have money.” Cole’s heart gave a bound. The safe was in his office—and his automatic was in his desk beside it ! He made an effort to control his elation, so that the Copperiicad would not suspect. With a stony face he walked steadily toward the office door. The Copperhead crowded close at his heels. “ Mind, now!’ he cautioned. ‘‘ No crooked moves! I don’t stand fer no foolin’ !” Cole felt the muzzle of the pistol against his spinal column, and a cold shiver shook him for an instant. He wondered how quickly he could pull the trigger once he had got his hand on the automatic in his desk. The safe stood against the wall, and Cole tentatively tried the knob. Then he stepped over toward his desk, half reaching out to the drawer. ‘‘ The combination is in the desk here,’’ he explained. ‘‘ I’ll have to get it to open the safe.” Cole knew that his voice did not ring true, but he clenched his teeth and _ resolutely turned his back on the bandit as he reached for the glass knob on the drawer. “Wait! I'll look,” growled Copperhead. A powerful hand caught him by the shoulder and thrust him aside. The ruffian pulled the drawer open and shoved his hand inside. but nothing - THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. With a grunt of satisfaction he drew out the automatic and pocketed it: “Open it, an’ be mighty quick about it. Any more foolin’ from ye, an’ I’ll let day- light into ye. Cole bent: down and began fumbling with the combination. His courage oozed from his finger-tips ; his one desire was to open the safe and get rid of the villain. There were several thousand dollars in a dispatch box inside, and Cole prayed that the amount would make the feudist forget his threat to shoot. He dared not fumble long with the combination ; he realized it would mean death. Just then Allaphair opened the door and entered, but the Copperhead paid slight attention to her. He stood over Cole, who was carefully reading the figures as he turned the knob. Cole couldn’t resist a look at the girl, for he knew that she had come into the office for a purpose. She carried a small tin wash-pan and a towel. Cole was puzzled. Was she sympathizing with the fugitive ? He hardly thought so ; her hatred had been too apparent for that. Then why had she come ? Why hadn’t she gone for aid ? She set the pan down upon the sloping pay-desk and propped it level with a lumber “ grader,” placing the heavy hickory handle under one side so that the water would not spill. “You have dirt in that wound.” she said to Copperhead. She came close to him and gazed critically at the cut near the edge of his hair. He had made no attempt to dress it, and the blood had dried and caked about it. The wound was just a scratch, and: he appeared to be unaware of its existence until she mentioned it. The man jerked his free hand up to the side of his head and grunted. “It don’ t matter,” he growled. “It ain’t goin’ to bother. Jest a scratch !”” “But you must see a doctor,” she con- tinued. ‘‘ It'll get poisoned unless you do something for it.” Her tone was persuasive, and filled with concern. Cole glanced at her curiously. “I've brought some water,” she went on, “and I’ll bind it up for you. That will do until you get a chance to have it fixed up.” “It ain't goin’ to hurt none,” growled Copperhead. “ Ain’t nothin’ but a scratch.” Ignoring his protests, the girl began tearing strips from a piece of cloth she had brought with her. Cole still pretended to be working at the combination, but actually he was playing for time. Whether she was doing a Samaritan act or had some other purpose, he didn’t know ; anyway, they were gaining time. He strained his ears for the sound of footsteps outside, but none came. “It's starting to inflame already,” said Allaphair, as she began dabbing at the wound with a moistened cloth. “I can’t .

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CAPTURING “COPPERHEAD.” 263 “Quick! Hit him!’ cried the girl, and even as she spoke she caught up the lumber ‘grader’ and thrust it into Cole’s hands.”

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264 reach it that way. Please sit down on this stool and lean your head over.” “All right, but be quick about it!” Copperhead threatened, as he obeyed her orders. “I ain't got no time to lose."” He watched Cole intently, paying slight heed to the ministrations of the girl. Stealing another look, Cole saw Allaphair dip a cake of soap into the water and begin washing her hands. “Lean your head forward a little,’’ she ordered. The Copperhead followed her instructions without looking at her, and Cole froze in his crouching position. He held his breath as she slowly raised her hands from the pan. They were thickly coated with lather. With lightning rapidity she brought them around and slapped them squarely into the ruffian’s eyes. Apparently taken completely by surprise, he sat still for am instant ; then he sprang to the middle of the floor, wildly clawing at his eyes with his free hand, while with the other he swung his revolver in circles. “Quick! Hit him!” cried the girl, and even as she spoke she caught up the lumber “grader '’ and thrust it into Cole’s hands. At the same instant the blinded Copperhead fired in the direction of their voices, and the window behind them shattered. Cole lunged forward and swung the heavy-handled THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. weapon once—not lightly, and with deadly accuracy. The Copperhead rolled to the floor unconscious. “Get the rope!’’ ordered Allaphair. She grader’ from Cole's hands s on the point of striking: “You don’t need to hit him I left it outside the door.” “ Hurry ! snatched the just as he we another blow. again.” Just as they started to tie Copperhead's hands and feet the door opened and the sheriff and ‘' Long George ’’ rushed in. ““We heard the shot. Is he dead ? "’ cried the sheriff. He leaned over and deftly hand- cufted the man, who was beginning to show signs of returning consciousness. “We follered him here. How did ye catch him ?” “ Cole hit him over the head."’ It was the only explanation Allaphair offered. She was as cool as if nothing had happened beyond the daily routine of her office work. © She walked through the commissary, and Cole followed her. “How did you do it, Allaphair ?’’ he asked, wonderingly. ‘‘ I can’t think how you ever had the nerve to do it.” “T told you about the Dutton-Mollans feud, didn’t 1?” He nodded. “My mother was a Mollans.”’ Smiling, she put away her books. A GIANT SAW. i WE reproduce herewith a photo. graph of the largest saw in the world, made by the well-known American firm of Henry Disston and Sons, of Philadelphia. This Gargantuan saw _Measures one hundred and eight inches in diameter, weighs seven hundred and ninety-five pounds, and possesses a hundred and ninety teeth, each tooth being detachable for the purpose of sharpening. The tre s seen on the right of the picture will e our readers some idea of the sks this gigantic saw performs with the greatest of ease.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 8a 1923 ATLAS New Europe FREE To the readers of The Wide World who take advantage of this offer now made in connection with Webster’s New International Words of Recent Interest Anzac, ace, barrage, Bertha, blighty, Boche, Bolsheviki, camouflage, Lewis gun, Liberty bond, Sammy, soviet, tank, war bride. These are but a few of the thou- sands of late words,—all clearly defined in this great work “The Supreme Authority” The MERRIAM WEBSTER X co Complete Reference Library in Dictionary Form—with nearly 3,000 pages, and type matter equivalent to a 15-Volume Encyclopedia, in a single 1 A The Only Grand Prize est Award) given to dictionaries at the Panama- je International Exposition was granted to Web- s New International and the Merriam Series for THE ENTIRE WORK (WITH COMPLETE 1923 ATLAS) ERED? Br'S1 00-08 and easy monthly payments thereafter (In United States and Canada.) On SUPERIOR INDIA PAPER REDUCED ABOUT ONE HALF (in Thickness and Weight) India-Paper aes 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 12% in. x 93 x 23 in. Weight 8% lbs. <@ Regular Paper Edition Printed on strong book paper of the highest quality. Size 129 in. x 92 in. x 63 in eight 164 lbs. Both editions are printed from the same plates and indexed. Over 400,000 Vocabulary Terms, and, in addition, 12,000 Biographical “To have this work i the home is like | Names, nearly 30,000 Géographical Subjects, besides thousands of other sending the whole family to college” References. Nearly 3,000 Pages. Over 6,000 Illustrations. The only dictionary with the New Divide Page characterized as “A Stroke of Genius.” THE ATL AS To those who mail this Coupon at once is the 1923 “New Reference G. & C. Merriam Co. "25°" Springfield, Mass. Atlas of the World,” containing (Publishers of Genuine Webster Dictionaries fer ever 1% years) 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” sepnenining z amusing “Test & Pronounciation® ver”; also cluding changes brought about by Interesting Questions” with references to their answers, and strik- the Great War, New Census Fig- ing “Facsimile Color-Plate” of the new bindings. Please include ures, Parcel-Post Guide, &e., all specimen pages of India and Regular paper with terms of your free Atlas off Webster’ International Dictionary to Wide handsomely bound in red cloth, World readers ere size 9§x123. Name.... Address. .

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“THERE WAS LITTLE DIFFICULTY IN GETTING OUR SHOULDERS UNDER THE SIDECAR AND TOPPLING THE WHOLE OUTFIT OVER ON TO ITS WHEELS.” (SEE PAGE 271.)

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ina The story of ‘what is surely the most remarkable adven- ture that ever befell two motor-cyclists. iding across the terrible Mojave Desert of California, the Author and a companion plunged with their machine over the rim of a precipice, falling into a sheer - walled from which they acces dis- covered there was no means of escape! How the two men MONG American motor-cycle clubs and trade organizations ‘‘endurance Tuns’’ have always been a favourite form of contest for testing the stamina of machines and the prowess of riders. Each succeeding year has seen endurance runs of a more strenuous nature. Not long ago the Bakersfield Motor-Cycle Club, of Bakersfield, California, announced its intention of staging an endurance run that was intended to be the ‘‘ worst ever.” It was to be a battle to a finish over a course so severe that no rider could be expected to make a perfect score. The man who got the farthest would be pronounced the winner, and an attractive list of prizes was offered. In considering possible routes for the run the desert was chosen as the region where Nature shows her teeth most menacingly to both men and motor-cycles, so it was decided to lay out a course to cover a trip of five hundred miles through the least- frequented and most formidable portion of the Mojave Desert, which. occupies almost half of the second largest state in America —a state nearly six times the area of the British Isles. Deh be. JOHN : “<EDWIN.’ HOGG ILLUSTRATED BY W.C.NICOLSON I. sught faced this appalling predica- ment, and how, in spite of fur- ther misfortunes, they finally won out, is described in the narrative below—a wonderful record of endurance and dog- ged pluck in the face of seem- ingly overwhelming disaster. Mr. Hogg is well known to our readers as the Author of “Hunting Wild Goats by Sea- plane” and other articles which we have published.” As a motor-cyclist of extensive desert- touring experiences, and as one interested in the activities of the motor-eycle clubs, the writer was called upon to assist in laying out the most formidable desert route that could be chosen. Several routes were under con- sideration, and over these a corps of path- finders on motor-cycles were dispatched, to return a few days later to report to the club with information. Carrying sufficient food and fuel in the sidecar to last for five days, and enough water to take us over the longest stretches between water holes, barring unforeseen delays, my friend Jack Fletcher and I set out from Bakersfield, travelling east through the desert after topping the Tehachapai Pass, over the range of precipitous moun- tains which separate the San Joaquin Valley, in which Bakerstield is located, from the desert beyond. Fletcher, whom I have known intimately for a number of years, is an expe- rienced desert man, as well as an expert motor-cycle. mechanic, a thoroughly con- genial fellow for a companion on such a trip, and a giant in power and physique. The club had assigned to us the task of * Mr. Hogg writes: “This is the narrative of my own experience, unexaggerated in ‘any detail. The trip described took place a year agu, at which time the Mojave Desert was sweltering in its normal summer temperature of between 120 it. degrees and 130 degrees Fuhren! ment I have already described.” Vol. 1.—19. The photographs showing myself were taken by means of the automatic camera attach-

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268 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE prospecting the endurance run course through what was considered to be the most dan- gerous, waterless, and trackless portion of the desert, to the west of Death Valley. The region that we were to investigate included the Owl Mountain district, the nearby Argus Mountains, and other adja- cent territory, where it is doubtful if any other motor vehicle had ever been before. All this region is a burned out, waterless aste, seldom visited by human_ beings except an occasional prospector in search of unknown mineral wealth. For three days we made our own path _ through the desert, covering three hundred miles of the course, which we considered was severe enough to eliminate all but the stoutest-hearted contestants. Indeed, the run we were planning would have been de- cidedly dangerous but for the plan of the motor-cycle club to follow the competitors with motor lorries to pick up those who fell by the wayside. As we toured through the cactus and sagebrush on the second day out Fletcher and I discussed the unpleasant fact that we ourselves were taking the longest chances of any of the pathfinders or the actual contestants in the proposed run, for we were prospecting alone in a region where a machine failure would be disastrous, with no advance arrangements for a rescuing convoy in case we failed to put in 1n appearance at Bakersfield in due time. It has been said that “ familiarity breeds contempt,” and undoubtedly it was our familiarity with the desert and its known dangers that took us into the unex- pected death trap ] am about to describe. It was near sundown of the fourth day of the trip, when we were almost on the point of turning back toward our starting point, that we came up on to the summit of a low desert mesa (tableland), there to let our curiosity lure us on into a predicament that came very near removing us from the land of the living without leaving a trace of our fate. From the mesa we could sce in the distance an area that had the appearance of being the most weird and picturesque jumble of volcanic rocks that we had ever looked upon. When examined through our field-glasses it appeared to be many miles in extent. There were rocks as big as a city skyscraper standing on end, leaning slant- wise, lying flat. and heaved into almost every conceivable position. We must in- vestigate this place before turning back, we thought ; possibly it offered some ‘‘ Water- loo" labyrinth that we could make the route of the endurance run. The sun was now getting so low that we knew it would only be a matter of minutes before nightfall, for there is little or no twi- light in the desert. When the sun goes down the light goes out—almost as if an electric switch has been turned off. We would go on, we planned, have a peep into this desert rock-heap, camp for the night, and then start back at sunrise the following day. Coasting down the side of the mesa, we set out through the sagebrush again, heading in the general direction of the rock country. We drove for half an hour, and presently the daylight vanished ; but with two powerful electric searchlights that pierced the gloom before us we pushed on. In the clear dry atmosphere of the desert it is very difficult even for an experienced man to judge dis- tances accurately, and undoubtedly it was a miscalculation of distances that led Jack Fletcher and me into trouble. 1 was driving the sidecar outfit, and with no thought other than that of getting to the edge of the rock country and cooking supper, we roared across the desert. We paid little or no attention to the slight undulations of the gravelly sand, upon which the machine travelled excellently. We plunged through clumps of sagebrush, knocking them down as if they had been so much grass, and at the short steep hills I merely gave the throttle an additional twist, and went charging over the slope. We had been plunging across the desert for perhaps ten miles after leaving the mesa, at a speed of between thirty and thirty-five miles an hour, when we came to the foot of a fairly steep sandhill, where our headlights showed the sand to be unusually soft and loose. Think- ing to get over this dune without losing speed and possibly stalling the motor, I opened the throttle wide, and we roared up the side of thedune. We topped the summit —and then, without the slightest warning, the machine dropped out from under us ! I felt my feet leave the footboards, felt the handlebars twisted from my grasp, and caught a glimpse of Fletcher soaring through the air head-downward in the dim starlight. The next thing I knew was a sensation of falling through space—just as I have some- times done in dreams, but always to wake up before I reached the bottom of the fall. This fall, however, was a real one. It was no dream ; and instead of waking up before I reached the end of it, I struck the ground— and then went to sleep. When I regained consciousness it seemed as if ] could remember falling through the air for hours. Then I recalled crashing down into the top of a mesquite tree; I remem- bered bumping through the branches and fecling the thorns tear my flesh. Gradually I regained my full senses, to find Fletcher standing over me with a canteen, bathing a gash near the top of my forehead from which the warm blood was streaming down into my eyes and over my face. “What on earth happened to us, Jack?" were my first words. “Hanged if I know,’’ he exclaimed. “I think we must have driven off a cliff, but don’t worry about that now. Let’s see if

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. = SS. the machine dropped “We topped the summit and then, without the slightest warning, out from under us!”

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270 your bones are all intact.’’ With that he bade me move my arms and limbs. The movement was accomplished with great pain in my left shoulder, but 1 was so delighted to find that all my bones were apparently whole that I was quite happy our mishap had been no worse. At that moment | had no thought of our real plight, which was not revealed to us until daylight. My next thought was as to whether or not Fletcher had been injured. With consider- able pain I managed to get to my feet. ‘“ How about you Jack; are you hurt ?”’ I asked. “Well, not to speak of!” he answered. “‘T think 1 fell a mile, and then I went to sleep. When I woke up | pulled myself out of a bush. I thought my right leg was broken at first, but I find it’s only badly bruised. I’ve got a few cuts, abrasions, and scratches, but no injury worth worrying about. We're so lucky to be alive after such a wreck that we ought to be optimists for the rest of our lives.”’ By this time our eyes had become suffi- ciently used to the darkness that followed the abrupt extinguishing of our headlights to enable us to learn something of the nature of the mishap that had befallen us. There was no moon, but in the clear desert atmos- phere there appeared to be literally billions of brilliant stars, which shed enough light over the scene to enable us to make out the dim outline of our surroundings. To all appearances we had blundered up the side of the sand-dune, and down the other side, to plunge off into space over the wall of a deep canyon. We had dropped almost per- pendicularly over the face of the clift—a plunge of about seventy-five feet—and had Janded in a dense growth of mesquite and chaparral. We found the motor-cycle lying bottom-upwards in the tangle of brush, which had undoubtedly saved us from instant death on the surrounding rocks by breaking the force of our fall. A superficial inspection of the machine—such as we were able to make in the darkness--convinced us that it was not damaged to any great extent. Gaso- line from the fuel reservoirs and sulphuric acid from the storage batteries were much in evidence in the atmosphere nearby, so that we dared not run the risk of fire by attempting to make a further inspection with any form of artificial light. The leakage of gasoline was at that moment our greatest concern, for if we lost the fuel we should be stranded in the desert—probably a hundred miles from the nearest water, and equally distant from any new source of fuel supply. Fletcher crawled under the sidecar and to our great joy discovered that the fuel tanks were not damaged. The gasoline was leaking from the air-vents, which he succeeded in stoppering by whittling off match-stems and driving them into the vents. Thinking that we had miraculously escaped what might easily have been a fatal THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZI mishap, we continued to congratulate our- selves upon our good fortune, never supposing for a moment that with the break of dawn we should not be able to make our way out of the canyon, repair any damage that the machine might have suffered, and return to civilization. We had water and provisions sufficient to last us for several days if neces- sary, and felt little or no concern for our safety. Accordingly, we proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as we could. We recovered most of our camping outfit from the upturned sidecar and the surrounding brush, built a fire a safe distance away from he machine, and set about establishing a camp for the night. I cooked a supper of bully beef, dried beans, coffee and biscuits, and later dragged in sufficient mesquite wood for a roaring evening camp-fire. It was only when I sat down on a rock and lighted my pipe that I heard the first wail of consterna- tion from Fletcher. When he reached into his pocket for his beloved briar he withdrew the pipe in about a dozen pieces. He had carried it in the hip pocket of his breeches, had apparently fallen upon it, and it was now smashed beyond all hope of repair. Without a pipe, he declared, he couldn't enjoy an evening by the camp-fire at all. At this juncture I produced from my haversack an old corn-cob pipe, and in another minute my companion was as happy as a toad in a shower. Sitting there on a rock in the glow of the camp-fire, and puffing rings of smoke into the air, he was the very picture of con- tentment and happiness. Perhaps it was just as well that we both managed to get some enjoyment out of that evening, for we awoke next morning to face the awful reality of the predicament we were in; a predica- ment that seemingly spelled a slow and lingering but none the less certain death. We slept contentedly under our blankets that night, and awoke with the sunlight streaming among great black shadows over the surrounding rock-clifts. Both of us were so stiff and sore from the bruises and injuries sustained in our plunge over the precipice that we could scarcely move. It was agony for me to attain an upright posi- tion, but little by little I managed to ease my battered muscles and joints until I was able to move about once more with no’ restriction greater than an occasional twinge of pain. We breakfasted, and while meditat- ing over our coffee, began to plan how we were to get back into the desert again. Meanwhile I had been studying the sur- rounding walls of the canyon, and it was only then that the first inkling of our real plight dawned upon me. The walls on all sides were almost perpendicular, and the floor of the gulch in which we found ourselves surpassed anything I have ever looked upon for ruggedness. There were rocks as big as houses all about us, fashioned and tilted into the most weird and fantastic forms and

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. positions imaginable. All the crags within our range of vision were unquestionably of volcanic formation, and as I observed this I felt cold chills coursing up and down my spine, for I came toa sickening realization that we were probably not in a waterworn canyon at all—but in all probability trapped in the crater of an extinct volcano, or in some tremendous earthquake “fault.” ‘In that case,” I mused, “ we are going to have a fine job getting ourselves out.” With this new-born fear virtually con- firmed to my own satisfaction, | walked through the brush to the very lowest portion of the ravine, hoping against hope that I might find some traces of water having flowed through the place to bolster up my waning hope that we might be in a canyon. If we were, we should probably have little difficulty in making our way out and getting the machine into the desert, where we would be able to travel. On the other hand, if we were in a crater or “‘ fault,”’ getting out would present difficulties. We could unquestionably scramble out on foot, but if we could not get the machine out as well we should be afoot in the desert—an utterly impossible dis- tance from the nearest water, food, or civilization ! Returning to our camp I imparted my thoughts to Fletcher. He listened intently, and then, with his characteristic optimism, he said: ‘ Well, maybe you're right, but we'd better go easy on our water and pro- visions until we find out. We'll get out all right !’’ For my own part, however, I was not so sanguine. I had seen other desert craters and earthquake faults, and realized only too well that if we were in one like some I had seen, getting the motor-cycle and side- car out was going to be a job somewhat like trying to get an automobile out of a mine- shaft ; while without the machine we should be in as sorry a plight as if we were to fail in getting out of the hole ourselves. Before going any farther with plans for escape, we decided to get the sidecar outfit on its wheels, and determine whether or not the vehicle was beyond repair. If it was hopelessly damaged we faced a prospect too horrible even to contemplate. The machine, with its reserve supplies of fuel, water, and what equipment remained in it, weighed close on a thousand pounds, but with Fletcher’s enormous strength we managed to lower it to the ground partly by brute force and partly by cutting the brush out from under it. After this there was little difficulty in getting our shoulders under the sidecar and toppling the whole outfit over on to its wheels. ‘o our great delight the motor started at the first stroke, and a detailed inspection revealed no damage eater than a bent handlebar and a broken footboard. As for the handlebar—a heave against it by Fletcher soon straightened it out. The broken footboard could not be 271 repaired with the few tools available, but we could easily get along without it. With this much of our task accomplished we set out to inspect the bottom of the chasm. From north to south it was so narrow as to have all the earmarks of a large canyon, but the walls were so high and so stecp that we knew it was useless to begin our search in either of those ¢irections. Accordingly, we set out toward the west. An hour's walk, however, showed us nothing but towering rock-walls, and a few minutes later our worst fears were half realized when we came to the place where the frowning cliffs closed in to form the end of the chasm. There was nothing to do but retrace our steps back to our camp, and then renew the search in the other direction. Prospecting this last remaining lead, it took us just forty minutes to find ourselves again face to face with nearly perpendicular walls of gnarled tock, and to feel our last hope vanishing ! We were trapped, and we knew it—trapped just as completely as two mice that might have fallen into an upright metal barrel. We might make our way out into the desert by climbing up any one of a score or more of places, but getting the machine out ap- peared to be utterly hopeless—and without the machine we faced no prospect other than a wild attempt to escape from the desert on foot, a journey for which we could never hope to carry sufficient water and food. Death from thirst or starvation was only a matter of hours ahead, whether we remained in the hole or attempted a dash through the desert on foot. We returned to the machine, and sat down to talk things over. Fletcher’s usual attitude of cheerfulness had vanished; he looked serious and sorely troubled. “ John,”’ he said, as we sat down, “ it looks as if we're marooned here for keeps. If we climb out without the machine we'll only jump from the frying-pan into the fire. We've got thirty-six quarts of water, and if we lie around and don’t work, we ought to be able to live at least six days. If we t to hike it through the desert heat, we'll never even make Owl Hole, which I figure is the nearest chance to water. That's seventy-five miles, and from Owl Hole to Paradise Spring it’s a hundred and twenty miles. There isn’t a burglar’s chance of making that stretch ! It would take five gallons of water apiece each day to march in this heat, and we haven't enough water to even make a start. I believe our only chance is to sit tight until they miss us back at Bakersfield and come out after us. They won't suspect anything is wrong with us until we're at least two days overdue. Then it would take them at least threedays to get here, even if our tracks are not already drifted over with sand. It'll be five days before we can even hope for a rescuing convoy, and maybe not then. By that time

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272 we'll be down to our last drop of water and our last. biscuit. After that, God only knows what's in store for us.”” I agreed with Fletcher most emphatically that to climb out of the chasm afoot and attempt to walk to water or civilization was nothing short of suicide. “ There's just two chances I can see, Jack, for getting ourselves out of this.” I said. “The first of these chances is to find water here in this hole. If we could find water we ought to be able to put out bases of supply between here and Owl Hole. We've got six six-quart canteens that can be used for the purpose, and we can also use the fuel tanks of the machine. We could pick up the cans as we go, and after getting to Owl Hole-relay ourselves on to Paradise Spring in the same manner. If we can get to Paradise Spring we should be safe, for it’s only thirty-two miles from there to Barstow, and we could make that easily. Barstow is on the transcontinental railroad, and from there we could get a train to Bakersfield. The other chance that ‘I can see is to take the motor-cycle and sidecar to pieces, lug them out, and reassemble it again. I re n we'd have to carry the pieces a good five miles, and we couldn't carry more than about fifty pounds at a time up those cliffs. The job would probably take us a week, and we should be working on short rations of both food and water. Then, if anything went wrong to seriously delay us, we'd be done. As to our supply of food, I believe we could make it—but water is a different story. But if we could find water in this place we'd be safe.” Fletcher's countenance brightened some- what as I expounded these two plans. Then he spoke, saying half humorously : “ Strange isn’t it, that great minds always run in similar channels ? Those two plans are the very things I was about to propose. Suppose we toss a coin to see which one we will try ?”’ “Toss a coin nothing!’’ I exclaimed. “Let's decide which plan is the best, and then put it into effect, and be quick about it. Whether we'll be able to live to accomplish either job is dependent upon the number of hours’ water supply we've got, and I don’t think we ought to waste any time.” “All right, then,’’ replied Fletcher. “Which is it to be—start tearing down the machine, or find water ? “Suppose we compromise,’’ I suggested. “You hunt the water, and I'l start the work of taking the machine to pieces.’’ “That's enough!"' said Jack, and we shook hands on it. Forthwith he shouldered a canteen and set out through the chaparral and rocks, while I broke open the tool-roll, and began the work of dismantling the side- car outfit. First I removed the sidecar body, and then the chassis from the motor- cycle, and began pulling out wheels and fuel tanks, The job was slow and tedious, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I soon realized that unless we were success- ful in finding water, we should undoubtedly face dire suffering or even death from thirst before the task I had begun would be accomplished. I had been at work for perhaps an hour, during which time I was twice driven to make inroads upon the precious contents of the canteens, when I was startled to hear a pistol-shot far off up the chasm in the direc- tion taken by Fletcher. ‘‘ What is he shoot- ing at ?”’ I asked myself, and then I went on with my work, thinking that perhaps he'd come upon a rattlesnake. For another hour I worked busily, and though I made every effort to keep my mind off the ever- present annoyance of thirst, I was again compelled to seek the canteens. By this time the sun was well up in the heavens, beating down upon my back with unrelent- ing desert fury as I stooped at the work. The parts of the machine became so hot that I could scarcely touch them with my bare hands, and I was finally driven to wearing my gloves, for the tools got so hot that I could no longer work with them. All this time I had seen nothing of Fletcher, and the thought suddenly flashed through my mind that he might have accidentally shot himself. The terror of this fear, whether teal or imaginary, was such that I dropped my tools, and set out up the chasm in the direction he had taken. I followed his tracks for half a mile, lost them in a pile of rocks, and then began shouting through the brush in an effort to locate him. Presently he answered my call, and I came upon him down all on fours between two huge rocks, pawing away at the earth like a terrier endeavouring to unearth a bone. He was so intent upon his work that he never even stopped digging when I approached. He merely glanced around over his shoulder. “T’ve found it ! I’ve found it ! ’’ he shouted. “Found what ?”’ I asked. “Water! Man, Water! Look at that earth! it’s moist!’’—and he went on clawing away at the ground. I saw at a glance that the earth was moist as he had said, and almost simultaneously my spirits soared high as my eye fell upon a dead jack- rabbit placed on a rock alongside Fletcher’s hat and pistol. The mystery of the shot I had heard was solved. “Good heavens, Jack!” I exclaimed. “We're surely in luck! We've got meat to eat, and a fine prospect for water!” “‘ Prospect!’ he yelled. “‘ We've got it! Look in the hole!” By this time Fletcher had scooped out the hole to a depth of about four feet, and now, using a flat stone to dig with, he was pulling out quantities of slimy mud. Then, as he ceased to dig for a moment, the hole began to fill, and in five minutes more there was nearly a gallon of murky liquid at the bottom of it. It didn’t look very appetizing,

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. 773 «6 Pye found it! I’ve found it!’ he shouted.”

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274 but it was water just the same, and water of any sort was priceless in the circumstances, We waited a few minutes for the mud puddle to settle, and then Fletcher got down on all fours and put his face to the pool. He sucked up a mouthful ; then he rose to his feet, and spat upon the ground with an expression of disgust and disappointment. “ Pure brine !"’ he ejaculated. ‘‘ We'll have to find another water-hole!”’ Just to satisfy my own curiosity I sampled a mouthful of it myself, only to promptly spit it out. It was at least twice or three times as salty as sea- water! A moment before our hopes had soared high, but now, with this disheartening discovery, they sank to altogether new levels of despair and discouragement, — Fletcher dropped upon the rock beside his jack- rabbit, with his head in his hands. For a moment he was silent. Then he said. ‘‘ Well, there's nothing for it but to dig another water-hole! The only thing I’m hoping for is that the entire floor of this hole isn't a bed of salt.”” Before our hunt for water could be resumed it was necessary for both of us to go back to our camp to further reduce the dwindling contents of our canteens. By this time we had fully realized that our plan to get the machine out of the chasm and make our way to civilization without first finding water was merely an idle dream. We should never live to accomplish the job. Accord- ingly, we decided to find water, if there was any to be found, before attempting to go on with the work of dismantling the machine. We therefore set out in opposite directions through the chasm, with the understanding that neither of us was to return until we had found water, or were compelled to return to our rapidly-disappearing supply. In the event of either of us wanting the other, we agreed that four pistol-shots fired in quick succession would be the signal. Taking up my hunt through the chaparral, I had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile before a coyote jumped up and ran away through the brush. This gave me food for thought. 1 knew that coyotes can go a long time with- out a drink, and that they frequently travel great distances to water, but the sight of the animal helped to confirm my _ belief that there might be drinkable water in our rocky prison, . I had gone but a few hundred yards farther before up jumped a rabbit out of the brush. He hopped along for a little way and then stopped. This was my chance for something to eat, if not to drink, and with a single well- directed bullet, I laid him low. I wanted that rabbit for what information I might be able to gain from its body almost as much as for food. In another minute I had ripped up the body with my hunting-knife. The contents of the stomach were quite moist— unmistakable evidence that there must be water somewhere near, and in the hope of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. finding it, I began following the rabbit’s tracks through the gravelly sand, but only to lose them a few yards farther on where the creature had gone through the rocks. After hunting around for fully an hour, I found the track again, leading away from the rocky ground, and for half an hour trailed him down the bottom of the gulch, crawling at times for considerable distances on all fours through the brush. 1 was wriggling along on my hands and knees under a clump of thorny mesquite when I put my hand down on something cold and clammy. My first instinct, of course, was to shrink away from whatever it was, but long experience in the desert had steeled my nerves against the normal instincts of reflex action and taught me wisdom. I knew almost the instant I touched it that I had put my hand down upon the loathsome body of a coiled rattlesnake, and that if I at- tempted to withdraw it the snake would undoubtedly get his fangs into me before I could beat a retreat through the dense brush. For several seconds I simply crouched there, . wondering what | was going to do, with cold chills coursing up and down my spine. I believe 1 should have been huddled there yet, paralyzed with fear, had not the snake itself broken the suspense. Feeling the warmth of my hand, and evidently knowing that some enemy was upon him, the snake wriggled his tail and body out from under my hand, and set his rattles going. I had often heard rattlesnakes rattle, but never before at such close range. With his rattles thrashing the air within a foot of my head, and in the dead silence of the canyon, it seemed to me that the noise was as loud as that of a drum in an orchestra. I still had the snake's head pressed firmly to the ground. I wanted to let go and bolt, but at the same time I knew full well that any attempt to do so would undoubtedly spell my doom. My brain and nerves were all a-flutter, but 1 managed to retain enough self-composure to realize that my only hope of getting away from the serpent unharmed was to hang on, at least to the head, if not to the tail and body that were thrashing and buzzing about my face, arm, and shoulder. Still pressing the snake's head firmly down, I managed to drag out my _ hunting-knife with my free hand, set the blade-edge against the back of the rattler’s head, and push the knife into the ground with every ounce of strength left in my arm. The writhing body fell away, spattering blood along my sleeve, and the rattles ceased to sound—evidence enough that the fight was won. Even then, however, I was half afraid there might be sufficient life left in the head to close the fangs upon my fingers, and for a minute or more I cronched there half fearful to let go. When I finally did muster sufficient courage, I did it with a single instantaneous motion. The knife, however, had done its work clean,

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. for the snake’s head was guillotined just back of the skull, and the fangs were holding a death- grip upon a dead mesquite twig. The snake was nearly five feet long, and on the tail there were sixteen rattles and a ‘button.’ I trimmed off the rattles to take back to Fletcher as evidence of the encounter, but the inc i- dent put an end to my further search for water—at least, in so far as crawl- ing through the brush in search of it was concerned. After getting back to camp from a fruitless all-day search for water, I told Fletcher that I'd die of thirst before I’d again crawl through the brush hunting for it. Fletcher had likewise returned to camp without having found a trace of anything save undrinkable salt water, but he had made one important <lis- covery. He had found a clump of barrel cactus, and had dragged a huge stem of one into camp. We chopped this open with our camp axe, and spent an hour or more chewing the pith. From each pound of pith we chewed up and spat out, we managed to extract a fluid ounce or more of the watery juice. The cactus juice had an acrid, metallic taste, and was a miserable substitute for water, but it partially alleviated our parched throats and mouths, and enabled us to get through the balance of the day without further reducing the precious water supply in our canteens. We ate the two rabbits for supper, and after an evening by the camp fire, discussing various plans for escape, retired to our blankets—thirsty, tired, discouraged, and seemingly no nearer a solution of our problem than we were at the outset of our mishap. Daylight dawned again—one of those cruel cloudless desert days with the sun beating down upon us like the concentrated rays of a burning glass. We breakfasted from our dwindling store, but thoughtfully refrained from eating bacon or other salty food that would tend to create thirst. During the previous evening we had virtually put aside the thought of attempting to carry the machine out of the chasm, piece by piece, without first finding water. We had done this only because we now thought it to be a forlorn hope, the accomplishment of which we would never live to see. With the rations we still had on hand, and the brush about the gulch undoubtedly containing more rabbits, the food problem was not causing us any particular worry; but the water question would have to be solved within the next forty-eight hours if our doom were not to be sealed. We compromised upon a plan of 275 “T still had the snake’s head pressed firmly to the ground.” activity whereby Fletcher, who was the best mechanic, was to push on with the work of dismantling the machine, while I renewed my search for water. We brought another barrel cactus into the camp for Fletcher to assuage his thirst with as he worked, and I set off on the hunt. I returned to camp that evening, almost exhausted and feeling as parched and dry as a cinder, after tramping the gulch all day without food, and with nothing to alleviate my thirst save cactus juice. I had seen no rattlesnakes, and not even a rabbit. I was discouraged and well-nigh hopeless when I came into camp, but I found that Fletcher had made excellent progress at tearing down the machine. He had sections of it scattered all round him, all ready to be carried up the chasm wall. He told me that near noon he had heard some desert quail whistling in the nearby brush, and had taken time from his work to construct and set some snares, which he had baited with hardtack crumbs. “T didn’t figure there was much of a chance to catch them,” he said, “ but I thought the plan might be worth trying anyway. We'll go out and have a look at them shortly.” —Forthwith we visited his traps, and to our great delight found that two of the despised snares contained a bird apiece. Here was food for supper at least, even if we did have to wash it down with cactus juice! Neither of us had touched a drop of water all day, since we were

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276 endeavouring to conserve our meagre supply for the task of getting the machine parts out of the gulch and reassembled. We decided, however, that we had earned a drink, and so we shared a quart of water. In the morning, and at the risk of dying from thirst before we saw the task completed, we began the work of lugging the parts of the motor-cycle and sidecar up the rock- walls and into the desert. Fletcher took all three wheels, and the frame of the motor- cycle, while I slung the motor on my back. At this juncture 1 got out my camera and began taking pictures. Fletcher paid little or no attention to what I was doing until I set the camera on the tripod, affixed an auto- matic timer to the shutter, and asked him to pose for the picture so as to have both of us included in the view. Evidently he thought I had gone insane, for he dropped the load of machine parts under which he was struggling, and cried: ‘Say! What in the name of Cesar's ghost is the idea of that ?’ “* Just this, Jack,’’ | replied, “ I haven't said anything to you about it, but I’m keeping a diary of this trip in my pocket notebook. is morning I made an entry in the book that I'll read to you.” At that moment the camera clicked. Then | produced the notebook, and read the entry aloud to Flet- cher. I still have that notebook, and the entry I made reads as follows: ‘‘ Fourth day imprisoned in Desolation Gulch. Began packing the machine out of the chasm. Thirsty as Hades, and water supply running too low THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The Author scaling the rocks with the dismantled engine. entries in this note- book will identify us. To-day I am going to begin taking photographs, which will serveas a pic- torial record. The will be found in the side pocket of the sidecar body, and some may be left in the camera. Finder please take good care of these, for when they can be developed they will tell the tale of how we to take a chance of drinking the little water we've got left. Have hunted all over this hole for water—and none to be found but salt stuff that we can’t drink. It looks as if our chances for getting out alive are getting slimmer every minute. Death from thirst will probably overtake us before we get the pieces of the machine out and reassembled for a dash without any water across the desert to Owl Hole. If our bodies and outfit are ever found, the Fletcher taking the motor-cycle to pieces prior to carrying the parts up the cliffs. tried to save ourselves.”” As I finished reading the last line Fletcher said, “Well, of all the things I’ve ever heard of! You're methodical to the last ditch, aren't you? I'll give you credit for being full of ideas, and I reckon those pictures will help our wives to collect our life insurance. Go ahead with your picture-taking. It’s a good scheme !"’ So saying he picked up his burden of wheels and motor frame, and plodded on toward the cliffs. (To be continued.)

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Three Asses inthe yrenees A JOYOUS JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE. No lover of real humour should miss this delightful narra- tive. Recently re- turned from a_ big game expedition to Central Africa, utterly bored with the “ everything - supplied- by-the-stores” atmos- phere that surrounds the modern traveller, the Author. yearned ta test his wife’s theory that romance and adventure still linger in the by-ways of old Europe for those who seek them diligently. Her idea was to go on tramp with a donkey- I gained the out- skirts of Bayonne —to beat her to death, throw her mangled corpse into the river, push the T was my intention to murder Blanchette as soon as w cart, camping out at night, and avoiding all such latter-day luxu- ries as hotels, trains, and motor-cars. Finally Mr. Walmsley with his wife and the donkey, to wander through the Pyrenees, writing up his experi- ences exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. His breezy account of the trials and tribu- lations of the “Three Asses ” will amuse our readers for months to come. “T don't,” I said; ‘it’s this —this beautiful white devil be- | tween the shafts. She prefers the middle of the road. She preferred it an hour ago. She'll go on preferring it until— trap in after her, and until ’’—I ground my then catch the next M C.F R.GS teeth—‘‘ until we get train back to Calais and | out of this. Look here, England. Billy, Ul walk. You I was getting too old for this sort of life. I wanted to go to Central Africa and hunt for elephants, lions, and crocodiles. I yearned, in short, for tran- quillity. “Billy,” I said dramatically, “I’m through. I can’t go on.” “‘ Oh, do look what you're doing,” said she. fal do you keep in the middle of the Toad?” ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD CLEAVER take the reins.” I dismounted. We had crossed the bridge, and after an embarrassing discussion with a gen- darme, had turned on to the Ardour River road. I didn’t know whether that was the road we had intended to take ; I didn’t care. The gendarme told me that it ran into the country, which was all I wished for. Some lonely spot where. . . . I dismounted, I say. My wife took the

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278 reins—and immediately Blanchette broke into a brisk trot and sidled on to the lawful side of the road. “You didn’t drive her properly,” cried Billy. ‘‘ She’s just perfect. Look !—oh, it’s thrilling! Do jump up again, dear.” 1 broke into a brisk trot myself. Blanchette had already got a lead of half-a-dozen yards. I think she heard me coming, for her pace grew brisker. I ran, and so did Blanchette, but she ran faster. “ Pull—pull—her up!’ I gasped to Billy. “ Oh—she won't! I can’t !’’ came Billy's voice, pitched high in alarm. “I can’t stop. Run! Runt” “Put the brake on,” I bawled. the handle!” Billy did so, and Blanchette slowed down to the trot once more. I raced alongside and swung myself up into the seat. “Give me the reins,” I cried hoarsely. “There's only one thing to do with an animal like this—break her spirit. . . . Hold on.... we're going to move. 1’ll show her— T'll show her!” We had reached the outskirts of the town. The road, curving round the last block of buildings, emerged on the river bank, and I could see it stretching for a clear two miles ahead. It was an ideal course for breaking a donkey's spirit. I struck Blanchette a heavy blow with my walking-stick and swore at her in Ki-Swahili. I cursed her ancestrv ; I cursed her progeny. I called her the daughter of a particularly vile type of hyena. I said she came of the same family as snakes and lizards—all in Ki-Swahili, for Billy’s sake. And Blanchette understood from that I had reached the limit of human endurance, She knew she dare goad me no longer. She flew, simply flew, along. The trap rattled, the harness strained, sparks flew from the wheels, the bolster of fat on her neck and the two panniers of fat on her flanks wobbled —and, oh! it was wonderful to see the white kilometre stones speed by. 1 was aware of an extraordinary sense of exultation. All my anger had gone. I stood up and flourished my _ walking-stick. I had won! I had won! This quivering, sweating, fear-stricken mass of donkeyhood between the shafts knew now who was master. Never again would she hesitate at my word of command. From now onwards— “‘ Do stop—do ! ” came Billy’s voice above the racket. ‘It’s making me feel seasick. St-st-stop.”’ “Whoa!” I cried to Blanchette. _ Blanchette whoa'd as though her spinal cord had snapped. We drew up alongside the fifth kilometre stone from Bayonne. “You—you frightened me,” said Billy. “T wish you would control your temper better. You're cruel, too. You beat her! She was going quite well. I'd be ashamed to “Turn THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. strike a poor defenceless animal like that ! ’’ I made no reply. Billy got out and stroked Blanchette’s nose. The animal was thoroughly cowed. “It isn’t as though she were young,”’ con- tinued my wife indignantly. " “ She’s—— But what's the matter, dear?” “Nothing,” I said. ‘A little faintness . I'm worried. You—you didn’t happen to notice—er—where—I think I'll walk back. The banjo and my rucksac—they must have fallen off. 1 distinctly remember packing them at the hotel.” Billy gave a heartbroken cry. ““You—you've lost them!” “They've dropped off,” I repeated mechanically. ‘ Wait here—I'll go back. No; I don’t want to drive back. I'll walk. The exercise will do me good. I feel I need it.” I took off my coat and waistcoat, flung them in the trap, and started back for Bayonne. _ It was now half-past eleven. The sun was high in a perfectly cloudless sky, and there was no wind. Above the roofs of Bayonne and the round hills that flank the Ardour there hung a trembling film of heat. A distant observer would undoubtedly have noticed the same phenomena hanging above myself—not only hanging, but clinging. ‘I walked quickly. In spite of my anxiety about the lost luggage I was aware of a dis- tinct sensation of relief. Only those who have owned a donkey and poisoned it, or who have had a bad tooth out will appre- ciate this. Nothing else seemed to matter. I had walked two kilometres, maybe, when I met an old woman ambling along with the rucksac slung over her shoulder and the banjo case under her arm. She was dressed in black, and her age I put roughly at ninety-eight. I bowed to her. “Madam,” I said in French, “ I have lost those things from my voiture—on the road— some minutes ago.” f She stopped, and gave me an unkindly look. “ Holshwatubulua aradasitula, and went on. “But, madam, the articles are mine,”’ I protested, turning and walking after her. “ They dropped from my voiture.” ““Rrrt!”’ said she, contemptuously. I got ahead and stood deliberately in her way. ‘Then I waved a five-franc note in her face. She ignored it and went on. _I felt very foolish. Apparently she was a Basque and could not understand French Yet she must have been aware that she had no right to the things. What could I do? I could hardly snatch them from her. I. followed, in silence, for two hundred yards, when she came to a cottage on the roadside. There was a man sitting on the step of it, making a bird-cage out of willow wands. He looked even older than the lady. ” she said,

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. 279 “That was my chance! 1 whipped it out of his hand and, picking up the rucksac, made Y a dash ‘for the road.”

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280 She said something to him and he got up and opened the cottage door. She walked towards it—but I forestalled her. “You have got my property,” firmly. “ 1 must have it.” “ Rrrt!”’ said she. ““ Warabinuda,”’ said the man. She put the rucksac on the step and passed the banjo-case to him. That was my chance ! 1 whipped it out of his hand and, picking up the rucksac, made a dash for the road. Then 1 paused, and extracted a mena frane note from my pocket. ‘I don't want your dirty money,” cried the woman. “Give me my pretty banjo and rucksac, you low thief!" She may not have said that, but it sounded like it. “ You area very wicked old lady,” I replied, and pressing the money into her wrinkled paw, I ran. 1 was glad to get back to Billy. She is wonderful in a crisis like this. Instead of sitting down and weeping, as the average girl might have done, she had carefully arranged her toilet and made a pot of tea. We took it @ la Russe—with lemon-juice. 1 began to see hope in life once more—even in Blanchette. There could be no doubt that she possessed many remarkable qualities. If only she would move like that to order I saw no reason why she should not take us to the other end of Europe. The scenery was agreeable. The River Ardour at this point is not unlike the Thames above Richmond—smooth and gently: tlow- ing, bordered with rich meadows and tall trees. There are low, rounded hills to the south of it, but to the north there are higher ones rising in green billows to the foothills and the Pyrenees themselves. Hay-making was in full swing. The air was sweet with the scent of it, and as we sat there a great bullock wagon piled high came lumbering slowly past. The men in charge of it were young and they sang. It is a good thing to hear men sing in the open air. There is no surer sign of happiness. Billy took out the banjo and we sang a coon song. Blanchette cocked her ears. She had never heard anything like it before. She liked it. We sang another. Her upper lip quivered, and her frame shook. We gave her ‘‘ Dixie Land,’’ and she expressed her joy in a raucous hee-haw that made the welkin echo. Then we packed up and went on. Blanchette behaved so decently that I freely forgave her for her morning's per- formance, and relented of my plan to murder her. She trembled whenever I spoke to her, and if 1 wished her to go quicker I simply I said sang. Undoubtedly her spirit was broken. I congratulated myself on a_ hard-won victory. I had but the vaguest idea as to the route we should take. We wished to see the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Pyrenecs, and to follow them to the Medi- terranean. Lourdes was the only spot I knew anything about. The present road, according to the map, ran roughly in that direction. It would do. After following the Ardour for five or six miles it turned abruptly north, crossed the railway line, and entered a valley full of ripening corn, young green maize, and busy hay fields. A happy valley indeed, echoing with the singing and laughter of the ants and the tinkling of cattle bells. e Toad ascended lazily, as befits a road on a hot, windless day. We walked alongside - Blanchette, feeling thoroughly at peace with the world. By and by we climbed over a hill and into another valley through which ran a murmur- ing brook. We halted under an oak tree, took Blanchette from the shafts, and set her free to graze by the roadside, thick with dewy grass and sweet-smelling herbs. We lunched on tinned tongue and Russian tea, and then spread out the waterproof sheets, lay down, and slept. It was three o'clock when we took the road again. The heat had not abated, but heavy clouds were gathering in the distant Pyrenees, and scudding in odd clumps across the blue above. There was promise of a thunderstorm, and I began to keep a look-‘ out for a likely camping-ground. It was, essential that we should find a spot close to water and screened to a certain extent: from the road. The country through which: we passed was too intensively cultivated for such places to occur frequently. If there Was a stream there would be a co’ fe near by, or if there was a sheltered, comfortable place there would be no water within a mile. We passed through the village of Briscous about seven, by which time the sun had disappeared into a canopy of leaden cloud and the air was unbearably close. Blanchette was becoming peevish. She was too tired for us to drive, yet she insisted on progress- ing either at a trot, far faster than we could walk, or at a walk so slow that it exas- perated us. From Briscous, which is a mere hamlet clustered round a white-washed church, the road descended into the valley of the River Mendialcu, a tributary of the Ardour. It was just as fertile as the other we had travelled through, and abounded with cot- tages and farms. But we found a camping ground of sorts ; a patch of common at the junction of a country lane with the main road. It was exposed, but a stream ran close at hand. There was firewood, and a sheltering oak for Blanchette and the trap. We “ outspanned,” as they say in South Africa. I unstrapped Blanchette from the trap, and moored her to the oak. I offered her a little water, which she refused, and a bucket of oats. which she upset. Then she

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281 io a i) & ~ Aa i] on) aI Z is] n Q Nn aw < iQ = z “TI offered her water, and a bucket of oats, which she upset. Then refused, she started cropping her harness.’ which she

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282 THE WIDE started cropping her harness, which I took away from her. “She wants thistles,” “All donkeys like thi I picked some thi , Stripped off the spikes that had not already buried them- selves in my flesh, and offered the thistles to her. Apparently, however, it was the spikes she liked. I swore at her and we started to pitch the tent. It was a patent tent, made in two parts which you laced together, As the lacing usually took a couple of hours we xed the halves together permanently. We erected it on a clear patch of grass half- a-dozen yards from the main road. The sky was now entirely overcast and thunder was rumbling in the mountains. Billy was thrilled at the idea of a storm. It would be so wonderful, she said, to be secure in our tent and hear the elements raging outside. She didn’t care what sort of a storm we had. I did; but then I am not so romantic as Billy. We had no mattress, but a couple of quilts spread on waterproof sheets made what appeared to be a comfortable substitute. A Witney blanket and pillows completed our sleeping gear, and when we had arranged everything we shut the tent against the heavy dew, and set about the preparing of a meal. The overcasting of the sky had brought a premature end to the daylight, but the fire I now lit carved a cheerful, rosy-walled cave out of the gloom. Billy made an omelette. She refused to depart entirely from the conventions, and arranged a table on a large mound not far from the oak. We sat down to it on biscuit tins. The omelette was excellent ; the table, however, was a failure. It was an ant heap, and an army of unusually votacious and pugnacious ants sallied forth to deal with us. We moved nearer to the fire for our second course— tinned pears. Then we lit cigarettes, took out the banjo, and started to sing. We were in the middle of “ Swanee River ’’ when Blanchette hee- hawed vociferously. We stopped. “Do you think she’s happy, dear ? ” said Billy. “She's used to a stable, you know. I do hope she won't catch cold sleeping out. It’s starting to rain now.” “ Perhaps she’s hungry,”’ I answered, get- ting up. ‘I think you'd better go into the tent. I'll look after her.” Our ass was certainly unhappy. I could tell that by her face, which wore an expres- sion of absolute despair, and the way she pawed the ground. 1 offered her a roll of bread. She chawed at it mechanically ; then hee-hawed again. She jumped as a sudden flash of lightning lit up the countryside. I persuaded her to move farther round into the shelter of the oak and shortened her mooring rope. said Billy sagely. WORLD MAGAZINE, +" I talked to her soothingly. I have seen men do this with horses. But she was still nervous at the sound of her new master’s voice. “Now, then,”’ I said, patting her on the “‘There’s nothing to fear, old girl. asy—easy.” 1 left her, and by the light of the fire started to collect all gear that might take harm in the rain. The night was still and eerie. The storm, by the look of the sky and the pattering raindrops, was gathering fast. In spite of the warm clamminess of the air I shivered. It was all so reminiscent of an African swamp, with its night horrors. Perhaps it was due to the electricity in the atmosphere, but my nerves were all on edge. I started at the snapping of a twig under my feet, at the stirring of Blanchette. In Africa we should naturally have had a peg of whisky at this time; but we had brought no spirits with us. Was this life worth while, I wondered ? We had been fairly happy at home. Ifit had not been for this confounded wander-lust- A sudden scream from the tent brought my heart choking into my mouth. I dashed across to it and flung back the fly. Billy was sitting on the pillow with her hands pressed tightly to her face. “In my hair,’”’ she screamed; “ take it out! I can feel it! Oh, it’s horrible! Be quick!” I put my hand on her hair and my fingers encountered a horrible wriggling thing with a body as hard as a crab’s and legs that bristled with spines. 1 switched on my pocket lamp. ‘The thing was entrapped in the hair. It was a stag beetle about two and a half inches in length, and its black body glinted devilishly in the electric light. Familiar though I am with the handling of natural history specimens, I recoiled. “What is it ?’’ Billy gasped. “ Nothing, dear,” I said, seizing its enor- mous antlers and untwisting the hair from them. ‘A bit of thorn.” “But it moves—I can feel it! in when I lit the candle ie “ N-n-no—darling,” I said with an effort, for the “ bit of thorn ” had taken a generous grip of one of my fingers. “ It’s nothing— just—just keep still. Oh Nee “Oh, is it biting you?” “No. There; I've got it! bramble——”’ I jumped out of the tent, threw the brute on the ground, and squashed it. I turned the light on it to make sure that it was dead, and as | did so another specimen came buzzing along like a Handley-Page and dashed straight into my face. It disconcerted me, and | had not re- covered from my _ consternation before another one made a forced landing behind my ear, and Billy screamed that one was crawling up her neck. It flew Only a bit of

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. I went into the tent. ‘‘D-d-don’t worry, darling,” I said. “They—they’re quite harmless. Come and let's sit by the fire—and—and sing again.” She came out and clutched my arm. vivid flash of lightning lit up the camp, fol- lowed almost immediately by a terrific thunderclap. We staggered towards the fire and I built it up. The rain had not yet materialized, but the atmosphere breathed of storms and electric disturbances. I threw a Burberry over Billy’s head to keep away the beetles. We did not sit—neither did we sing. The rumbling of the thunder died away and left a silence profound as that of a church at midnight, a silence that hurt, 4 silence that gave an extraordin: sense of approaching calami se It ae broken by Blanchette hee-hawing as though her soul was wrung with agony. “Oh, darling,” said Billy, ‘‘isn’t it just awful?” “With heavy hearts we set to work at the tent and erected it again.” 283 She shuddered as another stag-beetle hummed briskly past between our heads. “] wish I'd brought a collecting jar,” I said, with a feeble attempt to appear cheer- ful. “It’s the best hunting ground I’ve ever struck. We'd get sixpence each for those beetles in London. The stag-beetle, darling, belongs to one of the most interest- ing groups of. Py “* Please—please don’t be scientific. I can’t bear it.” I apologized. “But they'll go when the rain starts,” I wound up. “ We shall be snug as anything in our little tent. Would you like some more tea?” Billy: murmured that she would. I filled the kettle at the stream and put it on the fire, but scarcely had I done so than the storm broke with a torrential downpour of rain. The fire was extinguished as though I had thrown a bucket of water on it. I guided Billy to the tent with my torch.

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284 “ Quick!” I bawled. fastened.” A squall of wind had arisen, and already the canvas was flapping wildly. We got in safely and arranged ourselves as best we could by the light of the candle lamp and my torch. There were two more beetles among the blankets. I caught them and threw them out into the storm. And what a stormit was! The tain beat down with the roar of great sea waves, the thunder crashed with ap- palling might, After the first wind squall had died away the light- ning became con- tinuous, and the ras green, trans- ucent canvas of = our tent gave it a ghastly tinge. We wrapped the blankets about us and sat huddled up on the pillows. It had turned very cold. Now and again I detected the rattle of hailstones on the canvas and on the leaves of the trees outside. “ How are you feeling ?"' I said to Billy —-between the thunderclaps. She replied that she would be enjoying it if it were not for the beetles, an earwig that was chasing a grasshopper down her back, a group of mosquito bites on her ankles, and thoughts of poor Blanchette out in the storm without any protection. “It's romantic in a way, isn't it?” she added. “ Let's get the tly A halt by the roadside. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pletely. I think every guy-rope must have sprung its peg from the sodden ground at the same second. -We were enveloped, suf-- focated in folds of wet canvas, and as we struggled to get free the blankets and the quilts, the harness of Blanchette, and the straps of the kit-bag and various odd pieces of rope sought to entangle us from below. And as though this were not enough, the gods chose that opportunity — for bringing the storm to its crisis. The thunder crashed fa upon peal, ike a barrage of heavy guns, the lightning blinded us even through the folds of the tent. 1 got my head i out at last and pulled Billy's out, too. “We'd better stay like this,” I gasped. “ Are you all right?” She was as right as one could expect in the circumstances, I gathered. I tucked the walls of the tent well underneath us so as to form a valise. Were it not that our heads- were exposed to the deluge we should have been tolerably comfortable. Our bodies, at any rate, were dry—dry and warm. Un- usually dry and warm—quite hot in fact. But it did not dawn on me why | was parti- cularly so—not until I smelled burning. Then I remembered the candle. We got out quickly. The candle had I sneezed. “Yes,” L replied, and filled my pipe. Billy | wrapped the blanket tight about my shoulders and suggested quinine. fallen on a towel, we discovered, and the towel was already half con- sumed. I extin- guished it, made sure that nothing else was on fire, and then, extri- cating the water- proof sheets and Billy's Burberry from the muddle, “No,” I said firmly. The storm was becoming worse. I . felt. the canvas we anxiously. It was aE we joined Blan- drawn as close as : chette under the a drumhead. The The first P- oak tree. guy ropes must The storm, as be slackened, and I slipped on my Burberry. “What are you going to do?” said Billy. I explained. “You can't possibly go out,” she said. ‘‘T won't let you. I'd rather the tent did fall. I'd rather-—” At this moment the tent collapsed com- always when it has done its worst, was over. In a quarter of an hour, during which time the last remaining dry portion of us became wet, the rain ceased and the cloud-pall rolled from the sky and exposed the stars and a pale moon. With heavy hearts we set to work at the tent and erected it again.

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. “ Billy,” to-morrow.” “ Yes, darling,” she replied sadly. We lay down, wrapped the harness, the pillows, the kit-bag and the banjo about us, and tried to sleep. A Billy was success- I said, “we're going home ful, ut Billy can sleep in any circum- stances. I have known her to fall asleep while I was telling her the story of my most exciting lion hunt. lenvied her. The most agreeable thing in a life such as this is sleep. To sleep is to forget; to forget is.to be happy. I couldn't sleep, but in about an hour’s time I lapsed into a _ semi-stupor, from which I was shortly aroused by a most uliar noise. A deadly stillness had succeeded the storm, a stillness that the noise punctured with sharp, staccato notes, shrill yet tone- less; tack-tack-tack-tack, like a hammer beating on a cracked plate. There was something desperately uncanny about it. I sat up with my heart thumping wildly. Billy still slept. Tack-tack-tack. It seemed to come nearer. I reached for my shoes. They were under Billy’s head. I slipped on a thick pair of socks and crawled out. The moon was low, but the two roads “Blanchette” takes a little nourishment. 285 refused to establish connection between any of them and the noise. Tack-tack-tack. An insect ? A frog? It was too shrill, too coarse, too positively metallic for either of them. 1 kept to the moonlit side of the road. Whatever the noise the cause of it was certainly in the shadow. A_ braver man than I would have solved the mystery then and there by walking in the shadow. I didn’t feel up to it. Not on two double tots of whisky should I have felt up to it. But I did sum up sufficient courage to throw a stone, and to cry, in an unnaturally sepulchral voice, that frightened even my- “Shoo!” Instantly there came an acceleration of the notes, the snapping of twigs, a heavy pounding. I started back. An object—a large, black object — was coming towards me. 1 leapt back—straight into a gorse bush, I howled. I think the average man would howl if he trod on a gorse bush in stockinged feet at two o'clock in the morning, and faced a brontosaurus at the same time. It was not a brontosaurus, it presently transpired—only a stray mule with a cracked bell tied round its neck. It stood watching me as I writhed in were white and showed up clearly. Blanchette stood out in ghastly re- lief against the black shadow of the oak. Tack - tack - tack - tack. Apparently it came from the hedgerow of the lane. I moved cautiously in that direction. pain, its bell still going tack-tack-tack. 1 limped towards it and struck it with all my might on the flanks. It set off up the lane and disappeared. Then I limped back to the tent. Billy stirred as 1 entered. “Where have you been?’ she murmured sleepily. Tack-tack-tack. = I halted a dozen yards from the tent and peered into the inky blackness of the hedge. A tall hedge it was, of holly and blackthorn, and the shadow of it thrown by the moon reached half the width of the road. My imagination painted for me a dozen lurking shapes. there — but reason Stepping out along the Ardour River road. “Why don’t you go to sleep?” 4 I pushed the banjo under my head, pulled the harness over my shoulders, tucked the pillow round my feet, and lay back luxuriously. But Billy was asleep again before I thought of a suitable answer. (To be continued.)

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Fale of Old Bill — The story of a huge elephant, the pride of all Ceylon, which suddenly went mad, killed his mahout, and took to the jungle, where he became the terror of the countryside. ° F you catch a_ bull L elephant in his youth, hauling him = away from the side of his mother as she droops. dis- consolate beneath the tree from which a six-fold coil of manila forbids her to stir, butt, hustle, and prod the frightened youngster along of miles jungle ways toa prison wherein you proceed to bully him till he knows elephant dis- cipline backwards and will fetch and carry like any retriever; if vou feed, water, and groom him till he bulks in the course of years into a veritable prize elephant, overtopping by many inches all his brothers in Ceylon ; if you assiduously seck to over- lay the wondrous jungle wisdom. of | his kind with years of patient teaching in man’s wisdom, in such intimate association as dispenses with the curtain masking the utter feebleness and futility of such devices as ropes, bonfires, muzzle-loaders, spears, and finally that hoary fraud, “ the power of the human eye"; if you add insult to injury by persuading him against his better feelings to play traitor to his own kith and kin till he knows more about the art and mystery of elephant-catching than the oldest mahout, Wave you really and truly tamed that elephant ? e In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the answer is probably “ Yes,"" but there will always remain the outside chance that you have not. There is, for instance, the myste- rious condition of clephantine nerves known as musth. You cannot know your Kipling and not be aware of its terrifying s toms. Wise men tell us that it ari from periodic sexual hysteria, and I think they may be right, while, judging from the T. H. ROBINSON. Mr. Gibson describes how “Old Bill” first fell from grace, the tragedies that ensued, and the strange manner in which he was finally recaptured.* SOL measures he takes to deal with it, so does the Illustrated by Sinhalese mahout. It has been said, too, of ele- phants that they never forgive or forget either kindness or injury. Even the Cockney-spoilt, bun- eating pack animals at the Zoo are known to have their hours of neurasthenia, wherein their keeper moves gingerly and crab-wise about them and will refuse to take passengers, taught by the crafty twinkle in Jumbo’s eye that this morning it might amuse him to mistake a baby for a bun. Anyway, this is the tale of a hundredth case, and it concerns Billigamanaya the Magnificent, lord of all Ceylon elephants, a Colossus of his kind, master of all elephant craft, and hero of a hundred kraals. This saine “Old Bill,” a Titan in the prime of elephanthood, perfect and without blemish, stood slowly fanning his vast ears one day in August, Ty20, when, at the head of all the paraded decoy elephants of Ceylon, he strode into the enclosure of a notable kraal in the Wanni country, and bore an heroic part in the vanquishing and degradation of two score of his jungle brethren, Was it a judgment, perhaps, that decreed how an infuriated relative, his quarters jammed fast against a huge tree, his ponderous but desperate writhings and heavings ruthlessly restrained by the buttings of a giant head, the strangle-hold of a massive trunk, and the catch-as-catch-can footwork of his redoubtable persecutor, should catch, out of the tail of his angry eye, a glimpse of “Old Bill's brush-tipped caudal whisk, lashing excitedly to and fro? All's fair in catch-as-catch-can, so, with trunk whipped * The Author writes: was well known to me, id I have seen him since. “All the incidents and details narrated are in strict accordance with fact. All the statements in my story are vouched for by credible European The elephant Billigamanaya witnesses, including the wife of the planter referred to and members of the permanent Civil Service.”

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THE free for a moment, the prisoner seized and pulled off the authentic brush or tuft of Old Bill"’ himself, with a bleeding eighteen inches of quivering tail attached ! Oh, shame! Oh, utter humiliation! Heavens, how smarts the dishonourable wound! And what in the name of Providence is to befall when in the hour of the siesta gather the teasing clouds of flies with no plumed flail to keep them at bay ? But observe how deep into the soul even of a Colossus enters the iron of discipline. “ Old Bill” and his stout lieutenant carried on with the job of tying up that lashing, tail- tweaking, low-down jungle-wallah of an elephant till he had about as much kick left in him as a trussed turkey. Once through with it they retired in good order, though scarcely with “ tails up.” A good plucked one, “ Old Bill,’’ for an hour or so later saw him re-enter the arena. But if he made a brave show at butting, thwacking, and pushing the remaining captives into surrender, he had obviously lost his dash. That afternoon saw from him no more prodigies of valour, No more master-moves of kraal craft; the really awkward jobs fell to lesser paladins. On the fringe of the fray rather than in the thick of it, he flapped moodily a ridiculous pendulum, absurdly knobbed with cotton- wool and lint. Now, if ever, was the time. for tactful sympathy and a considerate demeanour on the part of his own particular mahout, though it was to fall out otherwise, alas! ‘‘ Old Bill,” who strode in his rightful place at the head of the procession which defiled before honourable guests after all was over, seemed tractable enough, but when his mahout halted him for the night at the temporary stables at Ambanpola, a few miles down the road, and offered him pails of water lashed with arrack and an armful of lush greenery, he butted everything aside and sulked in his stall. Then it was that his mahout aban- doned discretion. There are usually great doings among the fraternity at the wind-up of such a kraal as yields five-and-thirty elephants, and it is much to be feared that “Old Bill's ’’ attendant that night twined vine-leaves in his hair. The childlike fond- ness of the Sinhalese for “ dressing up” on all and sundry occasions of celebration is proverbial, and what must this fool mahout do but clap upon his silly head a fearsome devil-dancer’s mask and assume the wild and wonderful habitiments per- taining thereto. In this guise then, looking more like a fiend from the Buddhist Inferno than his accustomed self, did the crazy wretch appear in “ Bill's ’’stable to tuck up his charge, as it were, for the night, even, so they say, mopping, mowing, and anticking before a creature now very sore and savage, TALE OF “OLD BILL.” 287 the pain of his wound growing upon him with the hurt to his pride. Further details are unnecessary—would, indeed, be grue- some—but the case remains a clear one of homicide.* It is, in point of fact, an extremely rare occurrence for an elephant to kill its keeper, even in one of its periodic frenzies. No wonder, then, that the assembled mahouts and their Ambanpola convives, already a little unbalanced by the excitement of the occasion, should have proceeded to raise Cain as tidings of terrible happenings at the stables ran like wildfire round the hamlet. “Old Bill's attendant keeper heard and ran, brave lad, straight to drag the poor remains of his friend beyond reach of further indig- nity and to rail objurgations and gabble charms, to which the only response was the vicious flip of a trunk that sandbagged the wits out of him. He lived, by a miracle. Thereupon the village’ tucked up its comboys and ran as one man, woman, and child. After a little strenuous byplay with the doorposts of his stall, after the manner of Samson, Billigamanaya ran also. Daybreak rallied the reassembled mahouts to a council of war, the upshot being a coming and going from the hastily-shifted stables, the bringing up of a young and sportive cow from the ranks of the decoys, and her tethering in the patch of jungle wherein ‘Old Bill” had last been glimpsed and heard, breathing threatenings and slaughter. Unfortunately for an industrious English planter, who shall be known as B. , thestage for the sylvan idyl] wherein these strategists hoped to entangle the outlaw’s errant feet, and through which it was hoped he might be weaned gently from his present mood of bloodthirstiness into the paths of peace, was set upon land immediately adjoining the new bungalow and plantations of the afore- said B——, who was at that moment actually in occupation with his wife and daughter, the family having been spectators at the k . It seems likely that none of the three will forget the next two nights’ experiences as long as thev live. Though panic continued to ragein Amban- pola, there was little real danger to the villagers, the place having become a swarm- ing, noisy caravanserai of camp followers from Kraaltown, roaring night-long with innumerable fires. Very different was the plight of the unfortunate B—— and the ladies of his household. The cow having been tethered, through ignorance, within earshot of the house itself, they speedily realized that a completely unmanageable and mad- dened elephant—the largest, strongest, and Most courageous animal in the country— was making his near presence so obvious with trumpetings and bellowings of fury as _# A sentimental rider to this story as now related by the stable folk is that the fall of the mask revealed to Billigamanaya the Klentity of his victim, whose remains be then covered tenderly with the green leaves offered to him earlier as provender.

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288 effectually to deter any attempt at freeing the wretched cow. They knew, furthermore, that the bungalow walls afforded about as much protection as a matchbox, and that there was only one rifle among the party. The only step to minimize their peril that could be taken was to collect every available stick and shred of inflammable stuff at hand, ring the house about with bonfires, line every veranda and window with lamps and candles, abandon all thoughts of bed, and sit up hoping for the best. They did this till midnight, when, as luck would have it, the last bonfire flickered out. Not one shaving of fuel or one single dried cadjan of coconut leaves was left to feed the blaze. Nobody moved, a whole interminable hour went by, but nothing whatever happened. It was then, without so much warning as the snapping of a twig, that a perfectly THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. horrific blast of trumpeting set every piece of furniture in the place a-rattle and startled the two distraught women nearly out of their lives. B. sprang to the back veranda, to behold something the size of a haystack project itself through his garden fence with an ear-splitting rip of timbers, A drifting cloud passed, and clear in the moonlight stood Billigamanaya, ears cocked forward and trunk sky-pointing, heading straight for the bungalow at a walk that B—— expected every moment to see break into a charge that must bring the house down. Caprice or some distraction—it may have been a hanging bunch of plantains—halted this fateful on-drawing at a tree twenty paces short of the veranda (measured afterwards). B—’s womenfolk could only cower on the floor within, helpless to make any move towards safety, while their sole protector, wide-eyed

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THE TALE OF “OLD BILL.” and motionless, stood sentry behind a screen on the veranda, rifle in hand, torn by the distracting alternatives of whether to shoot or not to shoot. Most luckily, he held his hand. For “‘ Old Bill,” it seemed, was more hungry for the succulent sweets, the juicy fibrousness and soul-comforting pulp of the plantains, pineapples, papaws, and other luscious delights which he savoured everywhere about him, rather than athirst for more human blood. Wherefore he laid about him heartily and with right good will, benefiting exceedingly by a whole season’s industry on the part of B—— and his labour force. Only at occasional moments did he think of his wrongs, and then a fitful bellow would send the hearts of the still immobile watchers once more into their mouths, Towards dawn his peripatetic gormandizing had carried 289 him to a point where B—— deemed it safe to send his daughter and a servant scurrying down the front garden path to Ambanpola village. ‘‘ Old Bill’ winded this first escape and whirled quickly about, viewing the bungalow and whatever it might. contain with profound and suspicious disfavour. Reassured by the absence of sound or move- ment, he again sheered off a little later, when, greatly daring, B—— and his wife.stole off in stockinged feet and won to safety in the village, where they found the schaolhouse and fortress crammed with terrified villagers. Rounding up a few stalwarts, B— cautiously approached his homestead at the approach of dawn The house still stood, though “ pugs ”’ the size of tea-trays-revealed themselves within five yards of the front door, whereas of a year’s planting, literally hundreds of choice fruit-trees, a Barrage of what seemed like high explosive had swept the entire compound fiat. Next morning saw the indomitable B——, in command of some half-dozen of retainers, once again prepared to contest with the still vagrant “ Bill” the right of every Englishman to consider his house his castle. It was thought better on this occasion to dispense

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290 with lights, which obviously had no terrors for so sophisticated a marauder. This time, again without any preliminary warning whatsoever, a vague immensity suddenly blotted out the moonlight, a vast head, trunk, and foot were thrust actually within the veranda, and several yards of tatting were torn down and trampled on with snorts of disgust. An inquiring proboscis, with its quivering finger, curled snakily into the front room, tapped and scraped chairs and tables within inches of the observers, and was finally withdrawn. Not unwisely, B— evacuated the bungalow with the morning light, there being no doubt that “‘ Old Bill’ intended to make the garden his headquarters, the shade and food obtainable being much to his hking and the tank conveniently handy for bathing purposes. It took him two days to polish off the fruit, and on the third he started systematically on the many-acred vegetable plot. « Bill,” in fact, was rapidly becoming a_ notoriety. For three days now telégraph wires had been busy, dozens of decoys and their mahouts were marshalled in the vil- lages, subordinate Government officials wired innumerable instructions that were forth- with countermanded by their superiors, contradictory chits and orders flew back and forth—“ capture,”’ ‘‘ capture without shoot- ing, ‘shoot without killing,’’ ‘‘ shoot ” ; “don't shoot,” “‘ protect Mr. B——'s pro- perty,”’ and every conceivable futility. One wonders that the distracted Ratemahat- maya, whose province it was to translate these instructions into action, was not driven to suicide. “ Bill’ ought, of course, to have been shot, by which I mean shot at determinedly under organized direction until he was dead. He had already killed one man, half killed another, and was obviously out to kill some more. Against this it was argued that his intrinsic value alive was greater than that of any other‘elephant in the Colony. They argue thus queerly sometimes in Ceylon. So further tragedy befell, and yet again tragedy. « Bill” spent much time that week wallow- ing in the tank and shambling in aimless comings and goings from the bund. He was something of a cripple now, for final official orders having crystallized into ‘‘ shoot in the legs—not to kill '’ were subscribed to with the collective animosity of a whole country- side. .With slings, stones, scrap-iron and spearheads, they gashed, tore, and scaritied his monolithic limbs till his chargings were but feeble, half-hearted efforts. Crippled, however, he seemed more blindly ferocious than ever, which is, perhaps, no cause for wonder. Mankind had set its hand col- lectively against him—but mankind was still mightily afraid of him. Hundreds of villagers haunted the bund, unsafe as it was to linger THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. while drawing water from this sole village supply. None dared stand up, and .when- ever the intruder’ scented an’:enemy tand charged up the slope the line of curious heads disappeared like rabbits, followed ‘by a helter-skelter sliding and scurrying into safety. Baulked and thwarted, “ Bill’”’ turned with monotonous regularity ,to’ vent his spleen upon the unfortunate cow elephant. No one could get near enough to untie‘her, and she played the part’ of .whipping-girl for over a week, smarting under merciless belabourings of ‘‘ Bill’s ’ terrible trunk: Great and increasing were the proffered sewards for capture, for «‘ Old Bill’s ’”’ owners yearned unceasingly for his return to sanity and ase- fulness, pulling every imaginable string to avert his destruction. Twice he was nosed with a wire hawser, and twice he snapped his bonds like so much packthread. Witch- doctors and enchanters mumbled incanta- tions and charms by the score, and one Prophet stood -up boldly and called on all men to leave Billigamanaya in peace, for the next rash adventurer to interfere with him would assuredly perish. . S And so it happened. Amid the tangled wreckage of B——’s garden another makant fumbled with a noose, sipped, was caught about the middle by the whirling, lashing trunk, pitched skywards, and trampled to a jelly as he fell. Then they tried traps, all Manner of traps, including a hewn kitul tree, its crown sodden with sweet sap, laid crosswise on the bund with a noose cunningly attached. But ‘Old Bill” sniffed at it, knew it for a fraud, and lifted it gingerly by one end. He at once detected the rope, which he picked up most delicately with the finger of his trunk and flung violently from him; then he pushed the remainder of the contraption contemptuously into the tank. He next paced backwards and for- wards over the spot, taking precautions against a trap that were positively amazing, lifting his legs high like a cat on hot bricks, moving only one foot at a time, and pausing for several seconds after each individual step. Other devices, even more elaborate, were “spotted ’ out of hand and dodged with a snort of contempt. And still the relatively colossal price that was set upon his head prompted the more desperate spirits among the mahouts to essa his capture by the ordinary methods of hand- noosing from the ground. Harried and dis- tressed by the attentions of a handful of such reckless adventurers, ‘“ Bill’? one morning plunged down the bund to drink. With incredible courage one mahout followed and, actually clutching what was left of the refugee’s tail, hung on valiantly and shouted for ropes. None was brave or quick enough to act with sufticient promptitude, and “Old Bill,” cunning as ever, pushed deeper anto the lake instead of rounding upon his tormentor as the latter had expected. Actually, too,

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THE TALE OF “OLD BILL.” “Desperate as was his hold, his clutching fingers slipped down and ever down.” it was the very disability suffered by “Old Bill’’ just previous to his lapse that bereft that singularly gallant mahout of his one chance of life. esperate as was his hold, his clutching fingers slipped down and ever down the creature’s tail-stump, now wet and slippery with water and mud. There was no stout tuft of bristles to afford a final life-saving grip, only a shred of raw hide and flesh that whipped through his fingers. Dropping to his knees in the shallow water, the wretched man flung his arms to Heaven and shrieked: ‘‘ Atyo, Eliya, Aiyo!l” (Alas, O Elephant !). “Old Bill” killed the r fellow with a horrible deliberation which I will not 291 describe. What was left he held high out of the water for all to see, and then flung it from him to the very crest of the bund. Then, and only then, they left him more or less alone. And one day another mahout (for the cunning and valour of the brother- hood I know no word that is too high of praise) seated himself in a tree with a bunch of plantains, tossed them to ‘‘Old Bill’’ as he limped by, tried him with half-a-dozen words of command in the elephant language, found no fault in his responsive comings and goings, dropped quietly on to his shoulders, and so, without fuss or parade, while none looked on, rode a submissive Billigamanaya back to his stable.

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Esc ape On artmoor ILLUSTRATED BY JS.R.SKELTON One frequently hears of sensational “jail-breaks” in America, but most British prisons have a well-deserved reputation for impregnability. Not a single prisoner, it is said, has ever su in getting clear away from the grim convict establishment with its elaborate system of guards and communications and its bogs. Here, however, is a very interesting and unusual story—the personal narrative of a former inmate who made a bold dash for freedom and came within an ace of complete success. After reading the story of his experiences one can sympathize with his remark : “No more mates for me! was an inmate of the great prison on Dartmoor. We had been having beau- tiful weather, and the country around seemed to call to us unfortunates cooped up in that grim fortress. I can still recall the look that I used to see so often upon the face of some poor devil undergoing a life sentence, as he passed the iron-barred gate on his way to work in the shops. My own sentence was a matter of a mere three and a half years; but I was only a youngster, and it seemed like an eternity to me. After the day’s work was over, you would always find me staring out through the bars of my window, my mind full of bitter thoughts. Night after night I stood there, from five o’clock till darkness fell, thinking of my home and all that I had lost. It was then that the plan for my second escape—I had already made one unsuccess- ful attempt—began to take shape. The very thought of escape made my heart beat faster. They told me that no one had ever succeeded in getting clear away, but I deter- mined to have a shot at it. What would I not give to be free ? iG was the fall of the year 1908, and I Having made up my mind what to do, and how to do it, I waited impatiently for the next move, which I knew could only come through the chief warder, Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly, as I knew only too well, was in the. habit of coming to the “inside” parties in the morning to ask if there were any men who would like to go to the farm part of the prison to drive the horses. I made up my mind that the next time he asked I would put up my hand, which I did upon his next visit. Kelly was a very big man, weighing about twenty stone or more. I can see him now, although fourteen years have passed since that—to me—most wonderful day. He looked at me sharply when I lifted my hand. “Do you want to go into the farm party ?’’ he asked. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “Well,” said Kelly, “if I put you out there, mind, none of your hopping it! Remember what you got last time—three months in the parti-coloured dress, three months in leg chains, and a big dose of bread and water, and ‘number two’ diet. That was it, wasn’t it ?’’

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MY ESCAPE FROM DARTMOOR. “Yes, sir,” I told “Well, no larks, understand that!” he snapped. Wout another word he moved away, leaving me feeling that I could dance for joy. I was only twenty- two at the time, and s my father had been ", illed by a train, leaving my mother with a large (iG family of little children. ’ All my thoughts were with them, for I considered that by escaping I could help them. And now the chief warder had started the ball rolling for me ! The following day I was drafted into the farm party. The same officers who were there when I attempted to escape the first time were still in charge. They y ave me a great big horse named Brimst to look after. We were told to go to the quarries for stone for the prison, but as it was very foggy at the time an extra escort of warder- guards, armed with rifles, was sent with us. Nothing happened; we were too closely watched. One of the warders who was with us remarked to me: “ You won't try to hop it any more, will you?” I shook my head. “No, of course not!’ I told him, but even as I spoke I was watching for a chance to leap over the wall that lined the roadside. I felt no fear, nor was I in any way excited. Now that freedom seemed almost within my reach I knew that I could wait with the patience in the world for the right moment to start my dash for liberty. The next day dawned just like the one before, with the air full of thick, white, woolly fog. You could not see fifty feet in front of you ; on the moors it was awful. We were doing some horse-clipping; I remember every detail of the scene quite well. An armed guard was stationed at the stable entrance, but where I was the building seemed practically empty. There was onl one way out, and that was past the guard. The windows in the stables had iron ames to them and a kind of iron shutter, not big enough to get your head through. It was out of the question to get through them as they stood, so I took a fellow named W. into my confidence with a view to getting his assistance. He told me that e also wanted to escape, and I thought I had found a useful helper. I was soon 293 “I did not hesitate a second; I just leaped down.” to wish, however, that I had left him alone. After telling him all I wanted him to know, I instructed him to go to a certain place where he would find two small bars of sharpened steel. Off he went, and, after some little delay, back he came with them. “‘ Look here,” I said, ‘“‘ do you reckon that with those bars you could get one of those windows out in the loose box ?” “Yes, easily!’ he replied. I gave him instructions, and he departed to do the job while I kept watch for him. Twenty minutes afterwards he came back.

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294 “T can’t do it,” he said. ‘‘ It won’t move, but I think something has given way.” At that I“ got the wind up,” as the saying is, for I knew that if anything was found out I should inevitably be punished severely. I therefore took the tools from him, told him to keep a sharp look-out, and went into the loose box myself. I mounted the manger, placed a bar in each side of the window, spread my arms, and carefully applied the weight of my whole body. Suddenly, crack ! went the window-frame, and out it fell with acrash. It seemed to me to make a most appalling noise. Getting alarmed, I hur- riedly scrambled through. As I got my shoulders in the opening, the stable door was thrown open with a bang. I did not hesitate a second ; I just leaped down. Reaching the ground I turned to look back through the broken frame, and there stood a young convict. When he saw me he said : “Are you going to escape again?” “Yes,” I told him. “ Quick! Go and tell W- that P. has gone and that the way is clear for him!’ With that I turned to go. When I looked towards the bog, or moor as it is called, I saw to my dismay that the fog had cleared away for hundreds of yards all around the buildings. The main wall of the prison was only about fifty yards or so from the stable entrance, and almost facing the stable, just on the other side of the prison wall, was a large look-out tower used for signalling to outside parties in case of any trouble with the men. I thought of this with a gasp, knowing quite well that there is always an armed guard on the tower. Like lightning I rushed for cover. On getting there I glanced back at the tower, and there stood the guard—looking the other way! Ever so cautiously I chmbed up a sloping eight-foot bank to the level ground above; then I hid in the nearest bunch of furze. I wriggled my way from bush to bush in this fashion until I came to the small stone walls built around the fields beyond the prison. Here, being out of sight of the guard on the tower, I ran for half a mile or so till I came to the main road that leads to Two Bridges and Princetown to the right, and, on the left, to Tavistock. Cross- ing the road, I made my way to the far bogs as fast as I could, listening, with all my nerves on edge. for the alarm. I knew that directly they missed me the big bell would toll like mad, telling all the good folks for miles around that a convict had escaped and that they were to watch for him. They do not think of reward; they only know that he may be a murderer, or something just as bad, and they hunt him down like a rabbit. Having heard no alarm, I knew that I was safe so far. and after leaving the last houses behind me I took it easy. The fog had now thickened again, till it was almost like dirty cotton-wool, so that I had nothing to fear THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. unless it lifted suddenly and exposed me to the guard on the look-out tower, who could easily have seen me through his powerful glasses. If he did, then out would come the “ cowboy pony-guards,”’ as we called them, with their ropes and guns. But luck was with me that day and the fog remained thick. Just before I left the last of the prison farm- fields and reached the moor proper, I sat down to take my boots off. All convict boots then had a large arrow formed of hob- nails on the sole of each boot, and on the soft moorland the warders would soon be able to track one down by following the prints. While in the act of removing my boots I heard a curious swish-swish-swish sort of noise in the grass. My heart began to beat somewhat quicker, and I lay flat down, for the fog never seems to quite reach the ground. Only a few yards away I caught sight of a runner’s legs, and as they wore convict leggings I shouted out, “ Ww. ! W—!” and went towards him. : It was W—— right enough, and he told me that the other man had given him my message. He had waited for the fog to thicken again, then out he came to find me. Being anxious to get a move on we buried our boots; then, having picked about seven pounds of turnips to eat in case we got lost on the moors, we set off again. We travelled at a trot for about six miles, keeping slightly to the left. I knew quite well where I was going, and had no fear of missing the railway somewhere between Tavistock and Exeter, and I had no inten- tion of hitting it before darkness fell. After going a couple more miles we sat down for a while and then set off again. We had not gone far, however, when the ground in front of us seemed to be one mass of dark-looking bog, with here and there little patches of grass on top. Not wishing to waste time by going round the morass, I said to W. , “ Follow me carefully, and jump when I jump.” Away I went, jumping from patch to patch. It was awful; the ground fairly shivered! There were some nice-looking green places, but as soon as you got on to them you sank to the knees, and we had to wriggle across on our stomachs. That ter- rible bog seemed to take all the fire out of me. We had about two and a half miles of it before we reached firmer ground, and then, feeling dead-beat, we took a well-earned rest. By this time the friendly fog had cleared in patches, and we expected at any moment to see the warders on the war-path. All went well, however, so on we went again, keeping as much as possible to the fog patches. About four o’clock in the after- noon we came to a very narrow track. We had to cross it, as it lay athwart our path, but, to our surprise, we came to it again a few hundred yards farther on, and it seemed to take the shape of the letter “ S.””

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MY ESCAPE FROM DARTMOOR. “This will take us off the moor, I'll bet on it,” I told W——. I had a look up and down the lane for a few paces, and, to my astonishment, I found, in the soft earth, the track of two sets of pony shoes which, as far as I could see, looked as if they had come from the direction of the prison. Quickly I made up my mind. We went back away from the path, about fifty yards or so, and then lay down in the heather wait- ing for darkness to fall. We were both feeling pretty cheerful, and ate some of the turnips that we had brought with us. Darkness having fallen, we made our way along the narrow road, bearing to the left and keeping a good look-out. Two or three times we got a scare and had to lie flat, but at last, in the distance, we saw a small light to the right. Creeping nearer and nearer we came to an old moorland farmhouse, and we were just going to peep into the window when we heard heavy foot- falls somewhere near us, and moved away quickly and quietly. Not far from the farm- stead we came to some cross-roads, which I afterwards discovered were outside the Oke- hampton military camp, and I have often wondered since if the footsteps we heard belonged to a warder on duty at that point. The cross-roads lay in a valley, and on either side was a steep hill, so we kept straight on. The road now had loose stone walls on either side, so I knew that we were nearly off the dreaded moors that for miles and miles surround that awful Dartmoor prison. About twenty minutes after leaving the cross-roads we caught sight of a huge building with a light in every window. It gave me a shock, and I cried: ‘‘ My goodness! I believe that we have been going in a circle all day long, and here we are back at the prison again!” “ Let us go nearer and have a look at it!’ said : We crept towards it like a couple of frightened children. Then, in the distance, I saw some white things that looked very much like tents, and I was just going to turn away when a stern voice shouted: “Halt! Who goes there?” That was the last straw! We turned and fled, expecting a bullet at every step. Down the hillside we went, crashing and smashing our way through everything. Then, all of a sudden, poor old W. fell down, I tripped over him, and we lay there with all the breath knocked out of us. When we came to and picked ourselves up we looked round for the pursuing warders, but saw no signs of them. Nothing seemed to be moving, but about ten feet away, stretched right across our path, was a dead horse! We looked at the horse and then at one another. Rubbing our sore limbs we laughed till we nearly cried. All unknow- ingly we had walked into the heart of the 295 military camp just outside the pretty little town of Okehampton, which lies in the valley on the edge of the moor. While we were making up our minds what to do we heard an engine whistle, and a train went rushing by at a distance of about a quarter of a mile. That was all that we wanted to know to locate ourselves, so we made our way towards the line as quickly as we could over the bad ground. We soon hit the line and took the same direction as the train. While we were there another train rushed by and pulled up at a station in the distance. It looked like the Plymouth to London express, and we could clearly see the faces of the people in the carriages. Proceeding down the line we came to the station of Okehampton. The platform was still lit up, so we hid ourselves until every- thing was quiet, for we wanted clothes, and clothes we meant to have. I reckoned that we were now about twenty miles away from our late home, with its twelve or fourteen hundred “ no-goods ” cursing us for getting them shut up. I should explain that, directly an escape takes place, everyone is put under lock and key until the fugitive is tecaptured. When ve left the prison in the morning the clothes we had on consisted of a pair of knickers, a pair of pants, shirt and under- vest, stockings, boots, and leggings. Our hats, coats, and vests and a garment called a ‘slop ”’—something like a_footballer’s shirt—were left behind and, as I said before, we had hidden our boots and slung our leggings away. We had also torn our long stockings up to bind round our feet to save them from the sharp stones and thorns. So, you see, we were nearly naked, our legs from the knee downwards being bare, and, through crossing several small rivers, we were wet to the skin and as black as negroes where the peat had got on our hands and face. I could not have blamed anyone for taking a shot at us, for we must have looked terrible scarecrows. When the lights had been turned out on the platforms of the station and all was still, we crept cautiously in and went clothes- hunting, but without success. As I have said, Okehampton lies in a valley. Facing the station is a large hill, and on this hill was a big house, with half-a-dozen cottages close by. Our hopes now lay in the big house on the hillside, and a-hunting there we went. The moon was at the full, with heavy black clouds scudding across it every now and then. When clear it shone directly on the house. We went all round, trying to find an easy way to get in, but there was none. The place had a back and front entrance, and round the back of the house we came across a low window. Looking through, we saw that a table had been laid

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246 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for breakfast ; there was every- thing there that a hungry man could desire. With my fingers I pulled one of the beads out of the frame of the window, and twisted the sash out until there was nearly room for W-. to get through Everything was going well when my com- panion slipped and broke the glass. We both crouched down, W- under the window, and myself under the wall of the house. Suddenly, out of the stillness of the night, from somewhere close by a nervous sort of voice said: ‘‘ We had better clear out, im. ‘3 : When I looked up, startled, W—— was hurrying off, so I went after him. I felt tempted to fetch the loaf of bread I could see on the table, but thought better. of it. Later on I found W—— sitting on the fence by the station, and swore at him for running away from me. We then crossed the lines, jumped the fence, and found ourselves in Okehampton town. There was a row of houses near the station with gardens at the back,and a small path beyond. After going round all of them we found a little pantry window about eighteen inches square open. W. , being the thinner, climbed through, though he.made a lot of fuss about it. I told: him to open the back door and let me in, which he did. We shut the door behind us, then off we went to the pantry. It was best -to.get some food first in case we were disturbed, then we could get back on the moor, again. I am afraid that the Rev. A. E. Dobson— that was-the name of the occupier of the house—had. no breakfast that morning, or at the best a very late one! We took a cover off a silk cushion and stowed in it a turkey, a round of beef—both cooked— three loaves of bread, some tarts and cakes, butter, cheese, and several other things ; in fact, as much as we could handle, including some candles, matches, and two dinner knives. The food we placed by the back door, Then we went to look for clothes, of which we found plenty. About an hour afterwards two young fellows might have been seen leaving that back door, each carrying a parcel. All the good people, however, were fast asleep—which was just as well for us. We carefully buried our prison garb and then began to look for a place to take cover in during the next day. It still wanted an hour or so to daybreak, and just as daylight came we found a likely-looking place. It was a large field, in one corner of which was a farmhouse. In the other corner, forming an angle, was a tangled mass of prickly bushes, like furze. Here, after having a drink and a wash at a brook, we went to cover. First of all we set to work to hide ourselves. We cut down a lot of stuff, and fixed it to the bushes and overhead in such a way that anyone on the look-out for us could not see us, but we could see them

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MY ESCAPE FROM DARTMOOR. quite well. We soon made things comfort- <= able in our nest; then we spread out our table-cloth and dined on i baked turkey, beef, new bread, cheese, and fresh butter. & What a meal it was to two famished outlaws! Then we took turns at sleep. During the day we heard voices around us several times, and but for our care in hiding ourselves I reckon they would have found us. Some of the voices sounded to me very much like those of warders, and J I was not wrong, as “A stern voice shouted, ‘ Halt! Vol. L—21. 297 I found out afterwards. There were dozens of them in the neighbourhood, as was only. natural when they heard of the burglary at the chaplain’s house in Okehampton It was a good thing for us that we had thought of back-tracking a couple of miles on the other side of the line. If we had kept on towards Exeter that morning we should have been trapped before midday. That day seemed the longest in my life! Through eating the dry food we suffered much from thirst, and, to make matters worse, only a few yards outside our nest a small brook; we could hear it quite plainly. Our tongues swelled in our mouths, yet we dared not venture out of our hiding place for fear of being seen. As it was, we expected to be jumped on as soon as we emerged. But at last the darkness fell and out we went, like two poaching cats, and made our way to the water. We then made up our minds to circle round the town of Okehampton and hit the line on the other side of it. We waited for a train to go by and then set off. Seeing a large cluster of lights some way to our right, we took it for Okehampton. Round it we Who goes there ?’”

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298 went, but what worried us was another cluster of lights to the left, so we skirted that as well. After clearing it and crossing the line, however, to my horror I recognized the house on the hill where I had forced the window. We had mistaken Okehampton Camp for the town! It was only eight or nine o’clock at night, but, thanks to my memory, we got out of this danger safely and soon left the town and its warders, if there were any there, far behind us. We stuck to the line for some miles, and then W. began to complain that his stolen boots hurt him. I offered to change with him, as mine were lighter, but he would not do so. He kept on sitting down, but I felt as if 1 could go on for ever. His moan- ing annoyed me after a time, but I got him along until we came to a viaduct that crossed a large river. Over on the other side was a big light. Not wishing to be seen, we made our way down to the river bank. The water did not look very deep, and as there were some stepping stones W.- crossed to the other side. The current was very swift, and I had only got about half-way across when my foot slipped and in I went. I was whisked away like a feather. Fortu- nately for me, the river took a sharp bend lower down, and I was washed on to the bank on the other side. I climbed out like a drowned rat and ran into W. , who had thought that I was a “ gone coon.” Seeing a narrow lane beside the line we took it, and it soon brought us to the main road leading to Exeter. Down this we made our way, but we had not gone half a mile when we saw a man coming along in the distance with a bright peak to his hat. We at once took him for a warder, and made up our minds to tackle him if he tried to stop us. We both carried walking sticks belong- ing to the Rev. Dobson, and we meant to use them. But our fears were groundless ; the stranger turned out to be a railwayman. He said, ‘“‘ Good-night.’’ We answered, and went on our way. Some little distance farther on we came to a small village. Outside the inn stood a motor-car, and just as we reached the build- ing a man came out with two dogs. He was on a level with us and going our way. “What a lovely night ! ” he cried jovially, and I replied, ‘‘ Yes, it’s glorious, isn’t it?” Just then I saw about five men come out of the inn, climb into the car, and drive away. There was no mistaking them—they were warders! I could almost feel the weight of the irons round my legs again ! I pulled myself together as best I could, and just then I saw forked roads in front of me. “ Which way may you be going?” I said to the man at my side. “To the left,”” he replied. “Oh,” I said, ‘1 am sorry; we take the other road.” We wished each other good-night and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. parted. I think the village was called Ashley ; there is a big copper mine just outside it. We kept on our way, and I thought that W. had forgotten all about his aching feet, but presently he came to a stop near a. haystack. On the other side of the road was another inn, built in the living rock, there being a large cliff at that part of the road. “IT am going to have some boots out of that place later on,’’ he said. “Don't be so foolish!” I told him. “‘ If we get caught we shall have quite enough up against us as it is.” “T mean to have them,’ doggedly. “If that’s the case,” have to part.” was nothing loth, so I bound his feet up for him, shook hands, and left him. After going a little way I looked back, and there he was leaning against a five-barred gate. It was too much for me; I felt I could not leave him, so back I went. The end of it was that we broke into the inn and got what he wanted—fresh boots. W- also changed his clothes for a miner’s cord suit, and secured food, bag, money, and other things. Like many other country inns, the place was also the post-office and tailor’s shop. Just as we were leaving a chair got knocked over in the darkness. We heard footsteps coming down the stairs, so we hurried away. On getting outside I parted with W. , he going one way and I the other. Being in a hurry I did not notice that he had left the parson’s coat on the window-sill, so I went off all unaware of the fate that awaited me a few miles farther, down the road. I felt quite confident now, and I am sure that but for that unfortunate slip of W. ’s, [should have got clean away. rom the landlord’s evidence, given later on, it transpired that after closing-time he retired to bed and had been asleep some time when he heard a noise downstairs. Wondering what it could be, and thinking that possibly one of his customers’ dogs was shut up in the bar, he went down to let him out. Finding nothing, he was about to go upstairs again when he fancied he saw something curious about the window, On going nearer he discovered the topcoat already mentioned. Another look round revealed that a burglary had taken place. The landlord at once ‘phoned to the police at Moretonhampstead, and the sergeant there said that he would send someone over at once. But to proceed with my story. After leaving W—— I went on my way, passing a place called Ash and Week. Near a village named Winnal Down I noticed that there were roads branching in several directions, and in the centre I saw a black object that looked like a horse or a cow. On getting nearer, to my surprise, I saw that it was two men standing so close together that he growled I said, ‘‘ we shall

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MY ESCAPE FROM DARTMOOR. their shadows mingled—hence my mistake. I could have got past them quite easily if I had wished without being noticed, but not knowing what had transpired at the inn I saw no danger, and so kept straight on. I was passing them within a few feet when they sto me. Sy ok acening,* said one of them. “Excuse me, sir, but may I ask where you have come from?” “You may,” I replied. “ I have just come from Ash and Week.” “And where are you going to now?” “ To Exeter.” “What part of the town are you going to, sir?” “* Queen Street.” “Pm sorry to trouble you, sir,” said the man, and stepped back. “Oh, that’s allright!’ Ireplied. ‘‘ Don’t .”’ But, worse luck, they did worry, and, what was more, they called me back and asked me the same questions over again. Then they let me go once more, but I had only got a few feet away when they detained me. “‘ We are sorry, sir,’ said the spokesman, ‘‘but we must take you to the station to see Sergeant Hutchings. There has been a burglary a few miles up the road.” “It’s quite all right,” I told them, as cheerfully as I could, “ you will soon see that .you have made a mistake.’ And they did! It was no good showing fight ; I could not have got away, for they had cycles near at hand. So to the lock-up we went. On get- ting there I stuck to my original statement. They tried to pump me, but I held my tongue. I hoped that the old man at the inn would report the loss of the miner’s suit and bag and that, not finding any of his property” on me, the police would decide to let me go. They put me in a cell, with apologies, and I was kept there for twenty-four hours, during which time I did not hear a single whisper about escaping convicts or warders, so I became quite hopeful. But my luck was out, for soon after I heard voices, and 299 the door that led into the two or three cells at the back of the yard was opened. Next moment W. ’s face appeared at the trap door in my cell, and in a loud voice he called out: ‘‘ Are you there, Alf?” I remained silent, though my heart sank into my boots. Then the door opened, and a voice asked, “‘ Is this your chum, my dear?” As soon as I heard that voice I rolled myself up in the blanket, but it was ulled awa by a policeman and, as I Boked up, feigning surprise, W- cried :— “Hullo, Alf!” I could have killed him! Asa ‘‘ good pal” I was expecting him to say, if he had a scrap of sense, “ No, that’s not my mate; I don’t know him.”’ Then, of course, the lice would have let me go, knowing they Bad the real burglar, for there he stood in the miner’s suit, bag and all. After W. 's greeting I knew there could be no getting out for me, and I felt like a madman. The next day the pair of us were taken before the magistrate, charged with the burglary, and then sent to Exeter prison to wait our trial. Meanwhile, of course, the authorities were not idle, and we were speedily identified as the twoescaped convicts. The following Monday we were conveyed to Okehampton to answer to the charge of breaking into the Rev. A. E. Dobson’s house. We were sent for trial, and received twelve months each, to be served after the expiration of our penal servitude. All we had achieved by our bid for freedom, therefore, was an addition of twelve months to our sentences! I was sent back to Dartmoor, where I was put in the rti-coloured dress and chains which I wore ‘or several months, until I left for Exeter to do my final “ bit ” there. ‘ Thus ends the story of my second—and lest attempt atescape. No one has ever got clear away from Dartmoor, they tell me, but I still believe that if a man laid his plans well, worked ‘‘ on his own ’’—no more mates for me !—and meant business, it could be done. The great convict establishment on Dartmoor.

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tel A Pe NE_ bright morning in early June, 1894, I stood on A sailor’s plain tale of a disastrous voyage. “The story is true in every detail so far as my memory serves me,” writes the Author. “ Everything is set down exactly as it occurred.” ROUND CAPE HORN DECKLOAD James Whealen ILLUSTRATED BY W.F.WIGFULL as if she would turn turtle immediately her moorings were released. The British Govern- the long wooden ment prohibits the jetty at Hastings Sawmills, Vancouver, and gazed with a certain amount of foreboding at the rapidly growing deckload of the four-masted bar- quentine Y- 5 I had just put in a pretty rough winter and spring beachcombing along the Pacific Slope—lumping cargo, Tigging out sealers, doing odd jobs at the different ports, and between times going hungry and sleeping where I could. At last I sttuck Vancouver, and, being tired of the life I was leadin and wishing to see old England again, walked in to a_ sailors’ boarding-house, showed the “‘ boss”’ a seaman’s discharge, and was duly entered as a boarder entitled to two meals a day, in return for my advance note for two months’ pay whenever it pleased the old man to ship or “ shanghai ” me out of the port. I had been three weeks in this paradise, and had already success- fully evaded two “ shanghai-ings,’’ when the boss got impatient and intimated to me that if I rustled around and got a ship myself, he would be content with one month's advance instead of the usual two. He indi- cated the Y- as a likely vessel to get me off his eating list as suon as possible. And so I stood on the wharf that June morning and watched the deckload piling up, and the more I saw the less I liked it. I had all the deep-water sailor’s distrust of the fore-and-aft rig in heavy weather, and this vessel would surely reach Cape Horn in the dreaded month of August—that is, if she ever got that far, for, by the way they were stacking timber on her deck, it looked carrying of deck- loads across the Atlantic during the winter months, yet here was a British ship load- ing up to the sheerpoles for a seventeen thousand miles passage, and due to round the Hom in the worst of the winter months ! While these thoughts were passing through my mind I saw a man coming along the wharf with a brisk step and recognized him as “‘ Bristol,” a fellow-boarder of mine. I had never heard his real name, but he hailed from the old rum and sugar port, and, like a good many sailors, answered to the name of his native town. He was a handsome chap, about thirty years of age, with dark curly hair, sparkling black eyes, and perfect teeth. The ‘‘ dead-beats’”’ at the boarding- house envied him, for he always wore a good suit of pilot cloth, jingled money in his pocket, and had a watch-chain slung across his middle. Moreover, he was pang, his way at the boarding-house, had his three meals a day, and hob-nobbed with the “boss” almost on terms of equality. “Hello, Long Un!” he said, coming up to me. ‘“ The runner tells me you’re going in this hooker.” “Yes, 1am thinking aboutit,” I answered. “Well, good luck to you!” he laughed. “You can have her for me. Look at the hoist of them gaff topsails! Fancy man- handling them off Cape Stiff while hae hang on with your eyelids! And look at that fellow,’’ he went on, pointing to a huge baulk of timber that was being slowly winched along the length of the ship. os dup ose he breaks adrift down there? How long is

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* ROUND CAPE HORN WITH A DECKLOAD. your little hooker going to last with him utting holes in her? No, sir! When I ge round the Horn I don’t go on a Fraser iver raft. I’m going down to ’Frisco to pick a square-rigged wheat-ship. I believe in going round in comfort; no deckloads for me.” And “ Bristol,’ having summed up the situation, jauntily walked off, jingling his money. However, I couldn’t afford to pick and choose, so I went on board and, after inter- viewing the mate and captain, received orders to sign on the next day. At the ap- inted time I was at the shipping office. e ‘‘ runner ’’ was also there with two men fromthe boarding-house —a Swede and an Irish- man—who were signing on voluntarily. The wages were thirty-five do! a month and the final port of discharge Fécamp, France. I took one month’s advance ; the others took two months for the benefit of the “ boss.” The ship was still two hands short, but there were no volun- teers oftering, and the boarding - house keeper dared not resort to “ shanghai-ing,” as the ship was not leaving port immediately. The three of us slept at the boarding-house that night, and the next moming we were each handed a bar of soap, a few boxes of matches, and a small kit made up of odds and ends from the “lumber - room ”’ ; the “ boss ” stood drinks round, and, escorted by the runner and “ Bristol”’ and a few of the dead- beats, we made our way totheship. As the shore-lines were cast adrift and the vessel hauled out to an anchorage in the stream, “ Bristol’’ waved good-bye and promised to be in London to meet us as, naturally enough, his wheat-ship would easily romp past our “ rattletrap.” Next morning, June 12th, we were roused out at four o’clock, for the ship was to sail that day, and there was plenty of work to be done to make the deckload secure. So at it we went, passing chains and wire ropes through the bulwark stanchions and over the timber, bowsing taut with tackles, and straining the lashings to cracking point with huge wooden wedges. n the afternoon the captain came off in a tug. He waved the ship’s papers in his gor hand and roared out to us to man the windlass. As the anchor broke ground the boarding-house boat came alongside with the two men to complete our crew. They were lying in the boat with their dunnage, and were soon bundled unceremoniously aboard and dropped into the fo’c’sle. The anchor was then hoisted and catted, the tug lengthened her hawser, and we started on our long journey. ‘When supper-time came we lit the lamp in the dim fo’c’sle and examined our two latest arrivals. They lay just as they had dropped, their shabby clothesin disorder and their scanty sea-kits beside them. Something familiar-looking about one of them made me fetch the lamp closer and tum him on his back. Sure enough, it was “ Bris- tol’’! Shorn of his pilot- cloth suit, his watch and chain and his jingling money, “ Bristol’ was aboard the “ Fraser River raft’”’ after all. We found out afterwards that ‘‘ Bristol,’ in his fuddled state, thought he was signing on for a run to ’Frisco, and put his cross after the name “ Bristol’ for all the world like any bishop. All night we towed through the beautiful Strait of Juan de Fuca. At daybreak we set sail, the tug cast off, and we started south with the wind over the quarter, and as much of it as we wanted. By noon Cape Hatteras had faded from sight astern—and that was our last glim of land for six eary months. The Y—— was an iron vessel of some nine hundred tons unhandy to worl eighteen all told. The fo’c’sle was a portion of the for’ard house, fitted with eight bunks ister, heavily sparred and- She carried a crew of . and a sliding table. The doors, one on each side, were divided across the middle, and only the top portion could be opened on account of the deckload. To enter was a ticklish operation, especially in bad weather. You had to crawl on hands and knees under the boat-skids, reeve your legs through the upper door, and drop inside. Here lived seven able seamen and one O.S. The cook and carpenter cociipied another portion of the house, and the four apprentices lived in a small room under the fo’c’sle head. The Japanese cabin-boy lived aft with the officers:

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302 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The deckload, piled as high as the sheer- poles, ran from the fo’c'sle head to the poop, with spaces or wells for the pumps and the main and mizzen sheet runners. Life-lines were stretched from the fore to the jigger rigging, for, until the carpenter had erected a rude fence, there was nothing to stop a man from sliding off the timber into the sea. We carried good winds and fine weather right down to the Equator, and this gave us an opportunity to re-lash the deckload as it settled down. That great pile of lumber, by the way, required constant attention. The continual rolling and pitching loosened the chocks and wedges, and the least defect had to be remedied immediately, or the whole stack might “‘ fetch away " and wreck the ship. Of the two ‘‘ shanghaied ”’ men “ Bristol ” had taken his misfortune the more philo- sophically, and turned out to be a first-class seaman. The other, an elderly Yankee hog- farmer who had not been to sea for thirty ears, had no idea how he came to be aboard. e was a married man and felt his position keenly, especially when he found that he had to work two months for the boarding- house keeper before he earned anything for himself. However, he decided that grieving would not mend matters, so he buckled to with a will and did his best. It soon became apparent that we were in a “hungry” ship. The contents of the last casks of beef and pork opened were almost putrid, and the ship’s biscuits were honey- combed with weevils. We had no oil for the. fo’c’sle lamp, and were dependent on a foul-smelling slush lamp for the little light we had in that dismal place. Even in the daytime it was too dark to read there, as the baulks of timber shut off the light from the ports. During our watches below we soon got to know one another’s history—what ships we had been in; where we had been on the tramp, and so on, etc., until the yarns were worn out and there was nothing to do after being relieved on deck but to drop into our dark hole and sleep. There was one yarn, however, that afterwards made a great impression on me. ‘Bristol’ had a number of ugly scars on his body, and his story was that he had been wrecked off Cape Clear, and, after being bruised and tor on the rocks, had been taken to Skib- bereen Hospital, where he remained for some weeks. It was a queer coincidence that he should, ten years later, fetch up at the same out-of-the-way hospital ! We sailed the whole length of the Pacific without sighting a sail, and nothing occurred to break the monotony until we were in 40°S. The ship was under full sail when she was struck by a sudden squall and hove down almost on her beam-ends. Fortu- nately the huge gaff topsails blew to ribbons at the first gust, or it would have been the end of us. As it was we had our hands full snugging down the after sails and getti: the vessel before the wind. The deckh shifted slightly when she heeled over, so it was an all-night job for all hands relashing the timber and bending a new suit of heavy- weather sails. About this time some of the men cam- menced to tire easily. It was noticeable that it took us longer to make or take in sail than formerly, and all hands were called to manhandle sails that used to be stowed by a watch. We put this down to ordinary weakess, due to the bad food, until one day old Yank, the hog-farmer, showed us a dis- coloration on his right side. Then we knew that scurvy, the disease most dreaded by seamen, was with us. The captain pooh- poohed the idea of scurvy, and shouted out to Yank, who was walking for’ard after an interview: ‘If you’ve got scurvy you brought it aboard with you!” As we sailed farther south the cold in- creased, and the spray began to freeze on the deckload. Most of us had only the rags supplied by the boarding-master in Vancouver, and there was nothing to be got from the depleted slop-chest. e were a sorry crew. Witherd, the Swede, had a frost-bitten whitlow on each thumb and used to lie awake in his watch below, his hands held up to ease the throbbing, until it was time to crawl out on to the storm- swept deckload. He was almost useless on deck, but it is a deadly sin for a sailor to “Jay up” off the Horn; “Cape Horn fever,” it is called. Yank was doubled w with pain, and the rest of the men were w and disheartened. Even with good food the conditions under which we lived would have broken up most men. On the deckload there was not the slightest shelter from the elements; spray, hail, sleet, and wind worked their will with us, and the only relief was a few hours down in the cold, wet fo’c’sle. Want of sl also told on us, for in our weak state all ds were called to perform the simplest manceuvre. I shall never forget one night in the middle of August when all hands were called to repair sails. In a Tonring gale of wind, interspersed with furious hail ualls, the whole crew, crouched on the deckload in the light of a swinging hurricane lamp, put in the night sewing up, with numb hands, the rents in the only storm sails we had on board. While she was hove to in this gale the Y—, with all her faults, proved her splendid seaworthiness. On the third morn- ing of the storm the sea had risen to a height beyond the experience of anyone on board. We stood in awe and watched. Under a cold steel-blue sky the giant seas came sweeping up from the western horizon—great slate- coloured monsters whose sno’ crests ran level with our topsai] yard. “Just when it Cao -™

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CAPE HORN WITH A DECKLOAD. “The whole crew put in the night sewing up the rents in the storm sails.” appeared inevitable that the ship must be her side, and, with a swoop that made us overwhelmed, the little vessel would gal- gasp, slide down the vast declivity to meet lantly climb the menacing slope, pause on the next onslaught. Intermingled with the the summit as the foaming crest roared along booming of the wind, the startling clap of

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304 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the sails when we were becalmed in the troughs, and the crash of the seas, could be heard the orchestral plaint of five hundred tons of fretting timber. Twice we reached the longitude of the Horn only to be driven back by south-east gales. The large area of, the lumber stack exposed to the wind caused the ship to make a lot of lee-way. An ordinary head wind, in which a vessel in good trim would work to windward, sent our ill-used craft sagging to leeward like a crab. At last, however, we were round! On September 4th we put our helm up and edged away to the north. Somewhere behind those forbidding clouds on our port quarter lay grim Cape Horn. We had slipped past with deckload and bulwarks intact ! As the ship drew into milder weather the crew appeared to grow stronger, but the reaction was only temporary. Bad food and insufficient rest had planted disease in all hands, and the easier conditions were merely holding it off for a time. One day while we were running through the south-east trades the four men of the starboard watch took the beef-kid aft and showed the captain the piece of meat sent for'ard for their dinner. The captain sniffed at it: ‘* Seems good to me,’’ he said. “‘ Well, eat it yourself,”’ growled the men. The captain sent for a knife and fork, sat on the skylight with the kid between his knees, and ate a portion of the meat. **Good,’”’ said he, handing back the kid; “never tasted better meat at sea.” The starboard watch went for’ard and dined on weevilly biscuits. Shortly after this incident the captain sickened, and by the time we were in the north-east trades he could scarcely drag himself on deck. The crew, too, gradually grew worse, and the fearful mental depression associated with scurvy became painfully apparent. Laughter and jests were no longer heard, and “singing out’”’ on the ropes was but a memory of the past. The halliards and braces were manned silently and morosely. Yank was the first to “lay up.” The disease attacked him about the loins, and he suffered intense pain. His practice of wearing a plaster compounded of molasses and putrid pork-fat to ease his pain had resulted in an outbreak of horrible ulcers. The majority of the crew were affected in the arms, mouth, and nose. They became dull and haggard; their teeth dropped out, and their ulcerated gums protruded between their lips. The Azores were close at hand when the captain gave in. His limbs werd swollen to twice their normal size, and the carpenter had to widen his bunk to accommodate him. The mate, himself barely able to stand, assumed command, and wished to put into the Islands, but the sick captain begged him to take advantage of the westerly wind and make for Falmouth. So the course was set. The feeble crew buckled to and trimmed sail, sweating up the fore-and-aft sails with tackles, and the vessel went along at a fair pace. The westerly wind failed us in’a few days, and light easterly winds set in.’ Matters were now very serious. It w. nperative to get fresh vegetables soon. e of the men were down with disease in ‘the fo’c’sle, and the foetid smell of the place-was unbear- able. The carpenter had to -beshelped on deck to stand his watch. We-kept the ensign flying upside down in..the hope of attracting the attention of somhé-steamer, but although a number pace at'a‘ distance none came near us. The royalsand top- gallant sail and the gaff topsails,had been furled while we had men strong’ enough to stagger aloft, and we now ldy’.under our lower canvas ready to let ‘go stieets‘and hal- liards if it came on to blow, for’no attempt could be made to furl the''sails:~- At last one clear morning we sighted the Irish coast ahead. Later; it became misty, and a coasting steamer appeared: to leeward. Probably the smell of the ship, frightened him, for he sheered off. **.- "> 3. °- About noon, five fishermen in a row-boat hailed us, and, on being’assured that our trouble was not infectious, came. on board. They told us we were ‘about fifteen miles from Baltimore harbour, and offered to sail us in to a safe anchorage: The mate, who was stretched out on a hencoop, agreed, and the newcomers dropped their boat astern and took charge of us. With new blood aboard, the ship woke up and commenced to walk through the water, the mist cleared away and, as the sun set, we sailed through the heads and dropped anchor in that lovely harbour. In a few moments a doctor was aboard and the dying captain was lowered into a boat and taken ashore. The rest of us remained on the vessel that night. Next morning we were all taken ashore, placed in jaunting cars, and driven to Skibbereen hospital, where we received every kindness. The captain died the next day.: “‘ Bristol ” lay in the ward he had occupied ten years previously, and the doctor, groping with his forefinger in the poor fellow’s mouth, raked out the last tooth of the perfect set I had admired in Varicouver. With the exception of Yank, who was very far gone, the doctor had hopes of pulling everyone through. ‘e were “ paid off” while in hospital, and a few days later I left for London with a parting injunction from the doctor not to go to sea for at least three months. How my shipmates got on, or what the official inquiry brought forth, I do not know, for within a few weeks I was running down Channel in a comfortable ship with friendly bulwarks, and almost forgot the misery of beating round Cape Horn with a deckload. aude ile wee ; { ee Se ae YN Ne OES NCR IY EES

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The Odyssey o umbert Rulli@re Told by HIMSELF, and Set Down by G. FREDERIC LEES. sieves a Save Illustrated by GEO. SOPER. The amazing life-story of a man who, after becoming a miner, was condemned to banishment for life.to the terrible French convict settlements of Guiana. Then followed his escape in a British vessel, some remarkable experiences in the United States, and then the outbreak of the War. He promptly enlisted in a Canadian regiment, went through further adventures, ‘ aind finally, after his discharge, returned to his native country, where the authorities were confronted with the puzzling anomaly of a French citizen carrying British papers and possessing no French rights at all. He was liable to arrest every day he remained, but the ‘. police were apparently reluctant to act, and eventually he received what amounted to a ‘ pardon from the French President. “Few people would think it possible,” writes Mr. Lees, ' eur Paris Correspondent, “that a man could suffer so much and survive, but one has only _ to converse with M, Rulliére to see that Nature has endowed him with the iron constitution + and the will-power of that singularly similar forerunner of his in fiction—Jean Valjean. 1 * eannot help thinking that had Victor Hugo been alive to-day he would have been tempted . to take inspiration from the life-story of this former ex-convict to make an addition to his immortal gallery of sufferers, Les Misérables.” Sa EA Il. , condemnation, sent to the ‘‘ Dépét oy des Condamnés aux Travaux forcés ’’ at the Ile de Ré, situated on the western coast of France, between Rochefort and La Rochelle. To enter this dépdt it is necessary to pass over a drawbridge and through Fort Boyard, within the enceinte of which the dépét is situated. There I spent three dreary months. It was on July 29th, 1895, that a convoy of convicts to the number of about one thousand seven hundred, with knapsacks on their backs, left Fort Boyard for French Guiana. The distance from the dépét to the little port of St. Martin de Ré, where the convicts go on board, is less than a, thousand metres. The convoy in which I was-a unit filed between two lines of soldiers with fixed bayonets. Their weapons were directed towards our breasts, ready to run us through if the slightest movement which might be interpreted as an act of revolt were made. _ One of the most painful experiences in the life of a convict is undoubtedly the crossing of the ocean on board a transport. Steam launches took us on board the Ville de 4 LL prisoners who are sentenced to r . hard labour are, shortly after their St. Nazaire, our floating prison, which was anchored in proximity to the He d’Aix, out- side the roadstead of Rochefort. By means of gratings that could be taken to pieces two huge cages had been formed between-decks both fore and aft, each cage being divided into two sections. In the middle of each of these cages was a railed-in space reserved for a: warder, who, with fixed bayonet and revolver at his side, watched over us with threatening looks. On that first day I examined him closely. He was a Corsican with a bestial physiognomy ; and we soon had an opportunity of judging his mentality. Standing before us with his rifle, bayonet, revolver, and cartridges well in evidence, he suddenly blurted out the following as- tounding words: ‘‘ You are all of you rascals, every mother’s son of you ; but I'm a bigger rascal than you are, for I am a rascal and a half!” In these cages we were packed like herrings in a barrel, and I found myself in contact with some most repulsiveindividuals. One of them was a Kanaka, who had been originally condemned for cannibalism. I questioned him on the subject of his crime, and he told me everything in the most barefaced manner.

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306 Without the slightest shame he confessed that in New Caledonia he and all the members of his tribe lived solely by man- hunting. Many convicts escaped from the New Caledonian prisons and sought liberty in the bush, where they very soon died of hunger or fell a prey to the natives, who either ate them or handed them over to the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his cleverness as a thief by stealing quinine and other drugs from the pharmacy. Bring- ing them to my bedside he forced me with «ough but friendly threats to take the medicine. Kind-hearted B——!_ I cer- tainly owe my life to you, and it is but right that I should here set down a tribute to your memory. ; A group of convict workers. penitentiary administration to earn the reward of twenty-five francs offered for each escaped convict, dead or alive. This young and apparently intelligent canni had acquired all the vices of the white man without displaying one of those good quali- ties which, according to Darwin, distinguish man from the beast. Other criminals displayed instincts which were equally regrettable. Among them was a Corsican who had been sentenced for vendetta. He had killed no fewer than seventeen members of one family by shoot- ing them from behind walls and bushes. His protestations that he was as innocent as a new-born lamb, and his hypocritical airs, quickly convinced me he was a most redoubtable rascal. There was another Corsican of quite a different type. He was a born thief, and made no bones about con- fessing the fact. Mentally unable to fight against his thieving proclivities, he would have robbed his own father or his dearest friend. And yet the man had many good qualities, and before I was through with my own troubles I had reason to bless him. Years later, when I was suffering from marsh fever and had been abandoned by the doctors of the penal settlement, he exercised The crossing of the ocean, lasting sixteen days, passed without any very remarkable incidents. The only thing worth noting was the excessive brutality of the Corsican warders who, without rhyme or reason, fell upon some of the unfortunate convicts “ with fist and foot,” as we say in France. They were always threatening to do us _ bodil injury; to asphyxiate us or burn us wi jets of steam. Then, on landing at the Iles du:Salut—Salvation Isles, what a misnomer! —came the still greater brutality of the warders who were waiting for us with bludgeons. On reaching our future quarters. those of us who, like myself, were classed in what was known as “ Category A,” devoted to dangerous anarchists or those suspected of being such, were introduced to the execu- tioner—a grim joke on the part of the warders who, pointing us out to that most uninteresting-looking individual, said to him, with a brutal laugh :— P “Here are some new. customers for you. So many heads at a hundred francs apiece |!” Thus we learnt that the executioner received that sum for every head which fell into the basket of sawdust at the foot of the guillotine. Since transportation has been in force in

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. France—since 1852—men condemned to hard labour have been sent either to New Caledonia, in the Oceanic Isles, or to French Guiana, in South America. The majority of convicts were sent to the former settlement because the climate there is_ relatively healthy and, despite the severity of the penitentiary regulations, far fewer men died there than at Guiana. The object of trans- porting criminals to those distant parts was to use them as workers in the preparation of the country for the arrival of fresh colonists ; their work was to transform those wild regions into prosperous lands, suitable for those who of their own free will wished to leave France and establish themselves in the Colonies. French Guiana is, in reality, a very rich country ; but in order to be able to cultivate it without too many human sacrifices it must first of all be made healthy by draining its swamps, as the Americans have done in the Panama Canal zone. Then, when this draining has been accomplished, culture suitable to the climate and soil must be undertaken. To carry out so great an enterprise as this, however, the convicts would have to be treated with a little more humanity and a little more common sense. INNOCENT MEN. Strange as it may seem, innocent men represent about fifteen per cent. of the con- victs sent to Guiana, this hogs percents being due to the defective judicial system in France, where, until a man can prove that he is innocent, we take it for granted that he is guilty. And I am sorry to say that these 3°7 wrongly-condemned men have a very rough time in the convict settlement. They are sent to work in the most unhealthy districts, where they often succumb to marsh fever or dysentery. Among these “innocent ’’ convicts, or those condemned on a mere pretext, there stands out in my memory the figure of Meunier Régis, a former Trappist monk who, having abandoned the habit because he felt that he could no longer believe in the doctrines of his Order, became a lecturer— a most eloquent lecturer, too. For expressing his ideas with no more freedom than you will hear in Hyde Park any Sunday, he was arrested, imprisoned, and finally sentenced to eight years’ hard labour. égis was a man of great erudition and might have played some useful réle in the world’s work d he been treated properly. . Meunier Théodule was another of these unfortunates. He had been extradited from England on a charge of having been the author of the anarchist outrage at the Restaurant Véry, an outrage committed to revenge the anarchist Ravachol. There was only presumptive evidence against him and the word of a police informer, but he was sentenced to hard labour for life. What is known as the Convict Settlement of French Guiana consists of seven peni- tentiary districts—Cayenne, the Iles du Salut, the Montagne d’Argent, the Rourou (more correctly called the Roches peni- tentiary), St. Laurent, St. Jean, and St. Louis on the Maroni. Each of these penitentiaries is administered by a chief warder who bears the title of Commandant Supérieur. Above Devil’s Island, where Captain Dreyfus was imprisoned. In the foreground is the Ile Royale, showing convicts bathing.

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308 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. all these is the Director of the penitentiary administration, who is more powerful and more redoubtable than even the Governor of French Guiana himself. . The area of this colony is several tim larger than France, yet its population is but thirty-one thousand, whereas British Guiana has three hundred thousand inhabitants,'and Dutch Guiana ninety thousand inhabitants. Verily we French are not a colonizing race, nor do we seem to have the faculty of potens our overseas possessions to profit! The capital of French Guiana, Cayenne, numbers thirteen thousand souls. The majority of the free inhabitants of this-colony are coloured people, with a few hundreds of Creoles, the majority of whom are either tradespeople or officials. The convict popu- lation numbers about fifteen thousand. Of all the penitentiaries of French Guiana the one which I know the best is that of the Iles du Salut (Health Islands), so named by the sailors of Christopher Columbus during the second voyage of the Genoese navigator along the American coasts. Columbus's men, suffering from scurvy, landed there and were cured through drinking the fresh water of the islands and eating a sort of tropical cress, known in French as cressonnette, which grows abundantly on the rocks. The archi- pelago is composed of three islands—lIle Royale, Ile St. Joseph, and Ile du Diable. The first, the largest, is the seat of the Commandant Supérieur and of all the administrative offices. Ile St. Joseph is a little smaller ; its highest altitude not more than forty metres above sea-level. It is there that the convicts are imprisoned. The Ile du Diable, which is almost entirely covered with coco-nut trees, is almost as long as the other islands, but is much narrower—not more than three hundred metres at its broadest part, and it tapers down in one part to only twenty-five metres. Readers will remember that it was on this-solitary islet that’ Captain Dreyfus, wrongly con- demned as a traitor to his country but after- wards recognized to be innocent, passed. nearly five years of torture. His name heads the long, long list of innocent or too harshly condemned men who have been sent to penal servitude. : Convicts, unless they are endowed with unusual physical strength and powers of endurance, in which the mind must play a part as well as the body, are not long-lived in French Guiana. The climate of the country is bad and the prison food leaves much to be desired. The men’s rations, at any rate in my time, were as deficient in quality as they were insufficient in quantity. It is not pos- sible, moreover, for these unfortunate men to improve on the régime by purchasing food for themselves, for the man who is sentenced to hard labour is not allowed to have money in his possession. Any infraction of this rule constitutes a crime. I knew one convict, a certain Léonce Degrave, who was sen- tenced to eight days’ imprisonment because fifty centimes (fivepence) were found upoa m. : CATEGORY “A.” On my arrival at the Iles du Salut I was placed with a squad of miners employed in levelling the summit of the Ile St. Joseph, where the convicts’ quarters were to be estab- lished. In return for the work which I did I received as a gratuity half a pint of wine and about an ounce of tobacco weekly, but soon I was deprived of these little extras, through someone pointing out that I belonged to the ‘‘ dangerous’ ‘‘ A’ category. There were seventy-five of us in this category, but only a very small percentage were really anarchists; most of them were offenders like Guichard, the poacher of the Ardennes, who had fired on a game-keeper, or that other convict, Hugon, who, when a soldier in Africa, had threatened to strike his corporal, and then, -being drunk, had shouted ‘‘ Vive l’anarchie!’’ They were violent and ill-balanced men, it is true, but certainly not anarchists in the true sense of the word. At the Iles du Salut it is the custom when it rains for the workers in the open to seek shelter. One day when we “ dangerous” men of the “ A ”’ category were rolling stones along the ground under the superintendence of a Corsican warder, named Décanti, a sudden shower made us all run for shelter, some under coco-nut trees, others under the rocks. Décanti was the only one who braved the downpour, which he could do with im- punity since he had only to open the big umbrella he was-carrying. No sooner had he opened it than he ordered us to get back to our work. No one obeyed him. The warder, wrinkling his brow with e, then, addressed his order direct to a well-known anarchist named Marchand who, naked ,to the waist, promptly left his rocky shelter and advanced through the downpour towards the Corsican.. We could see from the way in which he walked and the ugly look on his face that there was going to be trouble. “You dirty Corsican!”’ he cried. ‘“‘ You want us to work, do you, nomatter how bad the weather ? Very well, here Iam. But I want to make a point of telling you what I think of you, offspring of a cursed race! You Corsicans are all the same: you'll do any dirty work that’s offered you. That is why, boys ’”’—addressing us over his shoulder— “they are all of them warders.” At these words Décanti, white with anger, drew his heavy revolver and pointed it at Marchand’s breast. The convict moved not a muscle, turned not a hair; he kept his eyes steadfastly fixed on the warder’s face, holding him as it were with a look, and continued, in a biting, ironical tone :—

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gro THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ Well, why don’t you fire, coward ? Do you think I’m frightened of a bullet? I desire nothing better—to be rid of this dog's life. Hurry up, coward.... Ah! how you tremble with fear! I know that you will never have the courage to press the trigger ; you will draw up a report against me instead. on't forget to mention I said!” Décanti savagely thrust his revolver into its holster and gave a shrill blast on his whistle which brought a number of other gardes-chiourmes (warders) to his assistance. Revolvers in hand, they marched Marchand off to prison, where he was putinirons. The next day he was brought before the Com- mandant Supérieur, charged: with “ violent language towards an official,’ and sentenced to a hundred and eighty dbys’: solitary _ confinement. WHAT HAPPENED TO MARCHAND. Marchand had the courage and the phy- sical resistance to stand this six months’ imprisonment without much detriment to his health, I saw him on the day he was taken out of prison and sent with a party of others to Charvin Creek, in the region of the Maroni River. It is there,in the midst of the virgin forest, that the most rebellious prisoners are sent, obliged to work under the very worst climatic conditions, to bow and often to be broken under the blows of the warders who, armed with clubs, use them freely at the slightest provocation, But Marchand—the toughest man I ever knew— stood the test so well and was of such exemplary behaviour that he was given a good mark and allowed to leave that Hades. He was brought back to the penitentiary of A typical creek in French Guiana, surrounded by virgin forests. Amid such surroundings many of the convicts work. St. Laurent, where, on the following day, he formed part of a detachment of convicts for the new works which had been started there. However, hardly had he left for this new destination than the heads of the pent: tentiary discovered that a mistake had made. Marchand, the incorrigible, ought never to have been brought back to the Iles du Salut. They telephoned immediately to the new works—but it was too late! Marchand had flown already; he had seen that there would never be so favourable an opportunity of slipping away. So, with two of his companions, during a momentary inattention on the part of the warders, he had plunged into the. bush. Soon a band of negroes was on the track of. the fugitives in the hope of gaining the twenty-five francs reward - per head. Very intelligently did Marchand and his two companions double on theirttacks. They reached in this way the very village from which the pursuing blacks had come, found the huts deserted, laid hands on food, ns and ammunition, and, thus well-provisioned and well-armed, continued their journey through the virgin forest without fear. Kot a soul did they encounter until three days later, when they arrived at the settlement of a tribe of Indians of the Upper Maroni, who received them in a most friendly way. Thence the ex-convicts reached, first of all, Dutch Guiana, then British Guiana, and finally the Republic of Venezuela, where they were henceforth free. I have since learnt that Marchand returned to France without being troubled by the police. The climate of the Iles du Salut is certainly much healthier than that of any other part of French Guiana. There are no swamps there, and conse- quently no mos- quitoes to spread fever; and the winds which blow continually clear away any mi- crobes there may be in the air. On the other hand, the poor food brings on scurvy and the water en- enders__ typhoid ever. Worse still, there is little chance of escape from those terrible rocky _ islands. Breakers make landing and em- barkation very dificult; the waves are alwa’ violent and e under - tow very dangerous. More-

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. over, as the bodies of convicts who have died in captivity are thrown into the sea, sharks are attracted in large numbers and become faithful and vigilant auxiliary warders. This is so well recognized and admitted by the penitentiary administra- tion that the sharks are protected ; they are creatures serving a useful purpose, and therefore worthy of official recognition. But notwithstanding the vigilance of land- gir and the Commissioner arrive on the Ile St. Joseph. All the men of my category were sent for one after the other and questioned. When my turn came I protested in the strongest possible manner against the harsh measures taken against me. I spoke of cir- cumstances which had had the inevitable result of driving me to the verge of despair and to actions which had brought about punishments ; of my irreproachable conduct “ Incorrigible” convicts at work. warders and the shoals of their hungry confederates of the sea, attempted escapes are sometimes crowned with success. The terrible conditions under which we convicts lived and died—literally like flies in some of the fever-stricken districts—could not fail to leak out. Clandestine letters were got away to France and were published in Parisian newspapers. Particularly did these revelations apply to the category of convicts in which I was so unfortunate as to be included. Finally, the Government decided to send out a special Commissioner to make an investigation. I saw this gentleman, and he seemed to me to be animated with the best of intentions ; he inspired confidence in us, and he himself confessed that we were not so terrible as we had been made out to be. In the end he promised to do his best for us. His arrival, it is only right to point out, coincided with the appointment of M. Simon as Director of the penitentiary administration—an interim appointment which was soon to become a permanent one. There can be no doubt that this most bene- volent official facilitated the task of the governmental Commissioner in many ways. One Sunday morning I saw: the Director and desire to observe the regulations to the letter. “If I am a political prisoner,” I concluded, ‘‘ please say so; but, if not, I demand to be treated as an ordinary convict, although my code of morals will never permit me to identify myself with the generality of these condemned men.” PLANS FOR ESCAPE. A few days afterwards I was informed that I was removed from “ A”’ category, and, in consequence, would soon be able to leave the Iles du Salut. Indeed, three weeks had barely elapsed since the visit of the Commis- sioner before I was sent on board the steam- boat Maroni and taken to Cayenne, where I remained for little more than a month. One day I was transferred to the Montsinery Camp, some seventeen miles north-east of the capital of Guiana, on the Cayenne river. As soon as I reached this camp my recollec- tions went back to the numerous escapes from the convict settlement, and I could not resist dwelling on the subject of a plan of my own. But the more I thought about it the less easy it appeared, for all around us were nothing but savannas stretching mile

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3i2z THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. after mile in all directions. Evidently there was not the slightest chance of success unless I‘could obtain the assistance of the natives of the country. So, on a favourable oppor- tunity presenting itself, 1 entered into con- versation with two negroes who inspired me with confidence and a certain amount of sympathy. I spoke to them quite frankly, in the following terms :— “Tf I tried to escape and you arrested me vou would receive a reward of twenty-five francs. If, on the other hand, I escape, and it is thanks to you that I recover my liberty, I am willing to pay you double that amount plus an indemnity of fifty francs for taking me in a boat to a place two days’ journey up the river, so that, by way of the military track, I can reach the first Indian tribe. Moreover, I promise to send you, six weeks after I reach a place of safety, double the sum I have already given you.” The negroes fellin with my proposal. But I had no wish to leave alone; 1 could not think of being without a companion on the long and dangerous journey I projected. Who, however, could I get to go with me? After a good deal of thinking I finally decided to broach the matter to a certain Swiss, named Wandervorgel, who was undergoing a sentence of twenty years’ hard labour for having assaulted the police when they came to arrest him for refusing to pay the licence for a milk-shop he kept in the suburbs of Paris. I was not long in discovering that I had been unfortunate in my _ choice. Wandervorgel betrayed me by associating himself with a number of others who saw in an attempted escape only an opportunity for thieving and drinking to excess. He and three others left one fine day without me, and before doing so they took care to lay their hands on everything I possessed in the way of provisions, clothing, etc., which I had got together for our journey. The very next day, however, the leader of the band came back to the camp and gave himself up, whilst the other three were arrested the day afterwards by the very negroes who were to have assisted me in my own plan of escape ! Though I had been left behind, things looked almost as black for me as they did for Wandervorgel, for the warders under- stood clearly enough that I also was to have been one of the party. One morning their chief called me aside and said :— “Look here, Rulliére, I know quite well that it had been arranged you were to leave with Wandervorgel, and with him meet the others in the bush. Youdidn't go, and that is a good thing for you; but be very careful in future. I’ve got my eye on you, and any attempt on your part to get away from here will certainly be unfruitful.’” This warder, a Frenchman named Beau- chard, had already taken me aside and spoken very confidentially to me. “There is a very black mark against your name,” he told me. ‘‘ However, I can see that you are a serious and intelligent man. Now, let me give you a piece of good advice. Continue to show good conduct and work hard as you are doing and all will go well. But never have anything to do with your companions—never compromise yourself with them.” A few days before Wandervorgel’s act of treason a convict named Dulac, whom I had known at the Iles du Salut, had said to me :— “T have hit upon an excellent plan for getting away from here. There are four of us in the combination, but one appears to be a little lacking in decision, and in order not to run the risk of spoiling everything I should much prefer to have you in his place. We shall have a good boat and plenty of provisions on board."’ Perhaps I should have accepted his pro- posal had I not already made my own pre- parations for escape. I have often wondered whether Beauchard had an inkling that [ had been approached in this way. However that may be, two days later, at dead of night, Dulac and his three companions, having made a hole in the side of their hut, were at the landing stage near which a boat belonging to the Mayor of Montsinery was moored. They quickly broke the padlocked chain attaching it to the bole of a tree, got the barrel of water and provisions they had hidden near by on board, and were lucky enough to descend the river, cross the bay of Cayenne, and reach the high seas without being seen. A week later, with all their stores exhausted and dying of hunger and thirst, they were still tossing about on the waves. However, after two days more of terrible suffering they fell in with some English fishermen, who gave them food and indicated the direction for reaching the nearest port, which happened to be that of Georgetown, British Guiana. Naturally on landing they were arrested on suspicion of being escaped convicts. They stoutly denied this. Their photographs were taken and sent to Cayenne, but as at that time the penitentiary administration was very much occupied with another escape of much greater importance—that of twenty-five convicts who had seized a schooner, making the captain, a warder, and seven seamen prisoners—the authorities paid little atten- tion to that of Dulac and his three com- panions. ‘ The reply given was that they could not be positive in recognizing the men from their photographs, and consequently the four convicts were released. Dulac had, however, to be admitted to the Georgetown hospital, so worn out was he by his recent privations, and a few days later he died. After a time I was brought back to the Iles du Salut, where, thanks to m good conduct, life became less unendurable. I had the good fortune to be allowed to get books from the library of an engineer. It was

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. thus that I came to read the works of Darwin and to renew my ac- uaintance with glish literature. Captain Mayne Reid and Swift I had read when I was at the Com- munal school, but not until I lived in French Guiana did I make the acquaintance of Shakespeare. At the same time I saw the news- papers, read all about the revision of the Dreyfus case, and kept au courant with the events of the day. was an eye-witness of Captain Dreyfus’ departure for France to undergo a proper trial. As my position improved my health bene- fited. After being kept for three years with irons on my legs at night-time, I was allowed to have my limbs free and, instead of being in a noisome hut, I was able to sleep in a hammock. _I was also promoted to the post of overseer over a group of stone- workers. One of the men under my orders, a certain Vernaison, had a genius for getting hold of anything he happened to want. One day he asked’ me if I would care to keep more in touch with the affairs of the world by reading all the cables which were sent to the Governor of French Guiana. At first I thought he was joking, but he went on to explain that copies of these cables were ted in a book for the benefit of the local jor, that the book was carried from the office by an Arab, and that nothing would be easier, as this man passed near the quarry where we worked, than to get him to deviate slightly from his route. Once we had him with us we could find a means of reading the cables on the sly. We managed it by inviting the son of Islam to have a tot of fafia (green rum) which was distributed to us as a sort of recompense for certain kinds of work such as ours. The man came regularly, and whilst one of us remained on watch the others read the news in the Major’s cable-book. With the appointment of M. Simon as Director of the penitentiary administration and the arrival at the Iles du Salut of M. Lafontan as Commandant, my life became still more bearable. Both were men with humanitarian tendencies, and the latter especially showed that he appreciated my good conduct. However, although I had now a right, as a convict of the first class, to a concession of land on the mainland, and notwithstanding my application for it, the Vol. 313 Ministry in Paris decided that I must remam on the islands until the time for my libera- tion. It was then that I thought of the [le de l’Enfant Perdu. This island, which ‘is in reality a mere rock, is situated about seven miles from Cayenne, at the entrance to the bay of that mame. On this lonely rock is a lighthouse in which three convicts live, looking after the light. Once appointed to their post they can remain there as long as they like. Once a month they are revictualled by the port administration, receiving exactly the same food as colonial workmen—a tempting scale of rations for badly-fed convicts. In addition to this good food they receive a wage of fifty centimes a day, which is relatively a good deal to those men considering that ordinary convicts do not get a solita centime for their work, with the result that when they are liberated they are penniless. Another consideration weighed with me in deciding to apply for a post on the lighthouse as soon as a vacancy offered—namely, the fact that the work to be done there was insignificant. One of the convicts makes the bread, another attends to the cooking, whilst the third looks after the light. They take turns to watch at night in case anything should happen to the light. Do not get hold of the idea that work at the Iles du Salut was repugnant to me; I merely wanted to do work of another sort—to wit, educate myself, or rather, gain knowledge by reading books, and I conceived the idea of having a number of parcels sent to me by post containing those small volumes of the ‘ Bibliothéque Nationale ’’ series, which used to be sold at the small price of twenty- five centimes per volume. On the Ile de YEnfant Perdu I should have leisure for study and reflection. So I sent in my application— and was again refused per- mission to leave! At that time the adminis- tration was having some difficulty in finding volunteers for the island, for the following reason.

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314 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE TRAGEDY AT THE LIGHTHOUSE. The convicts Pradel, Bigan, and Voisin formed the staff of guardians of the light on the Ie de l'Enfant Perdu. They had been there for some months, when one day they quarrelled and Pradel killed Bigan. Voisin had seen the murder and knew that Pradel Tegarded him as a dangerous witness when the inevitable inquiry was held. He was convinced that Pradel’s next move would be to get rid of him, so he decided, instead of awaiting events, to be the first to attack. So, taking Pradel by surprise, Voisin killed him. It was several days after this grim double tragedy before the steam-launch which re- victualled the guardians of the light came to the lonely rock. The officer-in-charge at once asked Voisin what had become of his companions. The murderer explained. “But what have you done with Pradel’s body ? ’’ asked the officer. ““T threw it into the sea,’”’ replied Voisin. ““You made a mistake there,” said the officer. ‘‘ And you were also at fault in not signalling for help as soon as Pradel com- mutter the crime. You will have to pay for this.” This prediction came true only a few weeks later, when Voisin was brought before the special maritime tribunal and sentenced to five years’ solitary confinement. In compensation for the disappointment I had just experienced, Major Lafontan offered me a post as overseer. But in the most respectful terms I declined it. A short time afterwards he called me to his office and announced that, in view of the time I had passed in Spanish prisons whilst await- ing extradition, he had decided to propose that a year be taken off my sentence. This was granted, and so I saw the day approach when I should be able to leave those accursed The penitentiary at Cayenne from the sea. islands and enjoy a little liberty on the main- land of French Guiana. But once liberated from the convict settlements, I asked myself what was I going todo ? The country, vast as it is, offers the white man few, if any, open- ings; only officials and business men can live there. In the case of the workman or the employé, existence is almost impossible. Towards the time for my liberation Major Lafontan went on a vacation, and was replaced By a friend of his, M. Jarry. Just before he left he said to me :— “ Rulliére, it is not I who will liberate you. I am going to be replaced by my friend, M. Jarry, and I’ve spoken to him warmly on your behalf. He will do what is necessary to insure you getting a good situation on your arrival at Cayenne.” Thus, on the expiration of my sentence on October 4th, 1890, it was this M. Jarry who called me into his office. “You are convict No. 27,143 ? ”’ he asked. ““ Yes, Monsieur le Commandant.” LIBERATED ! “Eh, bien! You are liberated from this morning, but you are, of course, aware that you must remain indefinitely in the peni- tentiary colony. Here is your liberation book, which I shall hand you when you embark for Cayenne. You must be ready to produce this book whenever it is asked for by the officers of the civil, military, or administrative authorities. On your de- parture I shall give you a letter of recom- mendation to one of my friends, a wealthy trader in Cayenne. M. Lafontan has spoken very highly of you to me, so I can do the same to my friend in the capital.” Having thanked him for his kindness, I withdrew. I had still a few days longer to remain on the islands, since could not embark before the return of the Ville de Cayenne, which had steamed by the day before on her way to St. Laurent, Parama- ribo, and George- town. . On October 12th, furnished with a letter of introduc- tion from Major Jarry, I landed at Cayenne and went at once to M. Henri Reliére’s, a merchant of the Place du Marché. He gave me a he welcome acigd reading through the letter, said he would be only too glad to

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. take me into his employ. Thus I entered immedi- ately on my duties as shopman, ed to receive and send off goods at the port. My employer had a large wholesale and retail shop for provisions of all sorts, wines and spirits.) At the time I was with him he did a big _ business among the miners of French Guiana, which enabled me to become ac- quainted with the conditions of work in the gold mines of the country. As I have al- ways in the whole of this French colony. Certainly there are a few small sections of roads in the suburbs of Cayenne and in the Maroni territory, but these are really in- significant ; whilst the narrow-gauge line which runs from St. Laurent to St. Jean and St. Louis cannot seriously be considered as a railway. River navigation with modern boats is equally unknown ; the colonists are still content with the primitive canoes of the Indians. Consequently, communication with the gold-mining regions is very difficult. After long journeys in canoes or boats, the miners land on the banks of a river or creek, and then make their way on foot along a rough track to the spot where they hope to find the precious metal. On reach- ing it they invariably experience great difficulty in obtaining supplies. The number of men who have died of hunger while seeking gold is beyond estimate. The thing that is turned to the greatest profit is food, and the traders or companies who possess sufficient supplies of provisions do a roaring trade. In certain regions there are no restrictions as regards the search for gold ; the miners work for themselves and, when they strike paying ground, come out to exchange their gold for food. In other districts, mining companies or private owners have the sole right to seek for gold over a given area, and in order to keep intruders away armed men are stationed here and there. In such territories one can work only as a hireling, on piece-work or for a daily wage, and in either case the labourer is often disgracetally exploited. he work, which generally consists in 3t5 Warders on the quayside at Cayenne. It was within sight of a similar group that M. Rulliére made his escape. taising and washing the mud from the beds of rivers or creeks, is most unhealthy ; only negroes are able to resist its ill-effects. The ly work which liberated European convicts can perform is that of carriers, which con- sists in carrying in a basket, either on the head or back, by way of the beaten track, the goods which arrive at the nearest river wharves, known in French as dégrats. I have seen liberated convicts, on their return to Cayenne from the gold-mining regions, where they have been but one or two years, in a terribly emaciated condition, dressed in rags and penniless. They told me that their sojourn in those parts had been worse than life at the convict settlement. On my arrival at Cayenne [ found hospi- tality at the house of a tailor named Jeanne, a liberated convict who had been sentenced to five years’ hard labour for receiving stolen property—a few bottles of liqueurs which he had bought, he said, in all good faith. Being a good tailor, he soon got together many customers, became prosperous, and_ later made up his mind to remain in Guiana rather than return to France. It was at his house that I met Meunier Régis, who had just benefited by a measure of clemency. which enabled him to return to France. He was about to embark, having received money from his friends, for Martinique, en route for home. No sooner had I taken up my residence at Cayenne than I determined that, as soon as opportunity offered, I would make my escape from French Guiana. The first thing to do was to save sufficient money to dress myself properly, to pay for my sea journey, and

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316 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to have cash in hand when I reached the United States, for it was in that direction that I had determined I would direct my footsteps. During the following year—less than twelve months after my partial libera- tion—I had enough money in hand to carry out my purpose: that is, commit the act which the special Maritime Code calls “ the crime of escape,’’ and which is punishable by five years’ hard labour. Now to be able to carry out such a “crime ’’ two accomplices were necessary. These I found in the person of two negroes, British subjects, whose friendship I had gained. I had some difficulty in leaving my em- ployer, who held me in great esteem. He asked me the reason for my departure. I replied that I had decided to leave Cayenne, in order to go to the mines, because the police annoyed me. Thereupon he set off at once to see the Chief of Police in order to ask for what reason his agents troubled me. This official replied that he was very aston- ished to learn that his subordinates should have in any way whatsoever annoyed me, since my record at the bureau de la surveil- lance was very good. However, he promised that he would give immediate orders that in future I was to be left alone by his men. This was exactly what I wanted. “‘ Therefore,’” added my employer, after he had told me this, ‘‘ there is no further reason why you should leave me. To persist in going to the mines would be the height of folly evertheless, I decided to carry out my plan. My kindly employer could do nothing more, but he added a caution. ‘‘ Well, you are certainly free to do what you like,” he told me, ‘‘ but I am convinced that before long you will regret you have left me.” When I reached the dock-side, with my bag in my hand, the two negroes were wait- ing for me with a boat, ready to take me on board a vessel. As soon as they saw me they very intelligently and most appropriately shouted out: ‘Hurry up, master; they are waiting for you to go.” It was thus possible for me to pass in front of the group of convict warders and police officers who were standing there without being suspected or troubled. Jumping into the boat, I sat down with my back to the land, meanwhile or-lering my two negro friends to pull a strong oar toward the good ship Triumph—the highly appropriate name of the Bntish vessel on to whose deck I stepped a few minutes after- wards. Oh! the relief with which I breathed as the vessel raised her anchor, and I saw Guiana gradually fading away into the dis- tance! My escape, if not full of startling adventures, was at least, I claim, the sim- plest and neatest on record, since it was effected under the very eyes of the police. (To be continued.) THE natives of Malekula, in the New Hebrides, have a secret society which, in some of its ritual, closely resembles Freemasonry. The members pass through various complicated initiation ceremonies, and are afterwards admitted to various degrees, or ranks, conferring addi- tional privileges. One of these privileges—very greatly esteemed—is the right to erect cere- CEREMONIAL EFFIGIES IN PAPUA. monial images of the kind seen in the accom- panying photograph: Large numbers of pigs ave to sacrificed, and many great feasts given, before a man obtains the right to Rt up one of these fearsome-looking efhgies. e picture was taken by Miss Beatrice Grimshaw, the well-known authoress, while in the New Hebrides.

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Told by R. WHITING, and Set Down by H. W. ELLIOT. The trip may be said to have n at Marseilles, whence we native bear-hunt, and - Only a short time before, it appears, a young man and a girl N behalf of Solar Films, | their demeanour as they might Ltd, I set out in A chatty article deal- have been, when I was amazed 1921 to obtain cine- ing with the experi- at a sudden surging uproar matograph pictures ences of a camera- round me which culminated in which would give a real com- man in picturesque e of police, who escorted pichensive idea of India’s Barma. Mr. Whiting | us back to our hotel and made gest province, its peoples, Bas raeze 6000 stories us realize how foolish we had towns, and scenery. bere a ways been. | iled for Port Said, where I at once got busy with my camera —thereby nearly landing my- pelt and the other, members of the p: in an ugly scrape. The aty when we Tanded was in a dis- turbed state, certain parts being distinctly unhealthy for Europeans, and notice-boards bearing the legend ‘‘ Out of Bounds ” were frequent, but these I am afraid we got into the habit of ignoring. I was busily engaged in photographing a certain mosque, hardly realizing that the surrounding crowd were not so amiable in avisit toa mysterious shrine in a cave. had strolled off together from their ship into the town. The | man was discovered next da near the docks bound, gagged, and robbed. The poor girl was never heard of again. Passing through the Canal we came in due course to Colombo, where an amusing episode occurred. Our visit coincided with that of the Crown Prince of Roumania, and I at once stationed one of my camera-men at a point where I thought a good view of his landing could be obtained, taking up my stand with a second camera at another likely spot.

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318 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. But the Prince had a ‘personal camera- man among his suite, who came ashore in advance to take his own picture of the pro- ceedings. Looking round for the best point of vantage, he trotted up to it, only to find me already installed there. Hastening on to the next best place, he discovered my com- - panion. The end of it was that we took the picture of the Prince’s landing, while the royal photographer must have got some excellent ‘‘ close-ups ’’ of the backs of our cameras. From Colombo we sailed for Rangoon— where our tour proper commenced. Ran- goon, near the mouth of the Hlaing River, is a city of some two hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, and the largest rice port in the world. - It is a busy town, peopled by many Easter races, very few of whom are Burmese, for the Burman shuns centres of commerce, photograph showing manacled convicts at work upon a water-mill—a primitive varia- tion of the old treadmill of our own prisons. We also took a picture of the sacred Fish Tank. Fish are sacred to the Burman—but that doesn't prevent him eating them. We put up at the one big hotel in Rangoon —the Minto Mansions Hotel—and our first night was a rather eerie one. Lizards, quite harmless little chaps, but regarded with grave suspicion by the feminine portion of the party, came out on the walls, and all night long the weird cry of the Tuhtu, sounding like nothing so much as a repeated request for ‘‘ doctor—doctor—doctor,’’ rang in our ears. This so unnerved my secretary that she wanted to go back to the sup: Of all the things I saw in Rangoon I verily believe that what will linger longest in my memory are the crows—assuredly the most amazingly human-like birds I have ever Burmese convicts on the water-wheel. leaving them to those who have not his constitutional aversion to work in any form. Here I obtained pictures of the prin- cipal buildings, including the famous Schwe Dagon Pagoda, with its mighty sittin, Buddha, busy street scenes, a native funer: (not so gloomy as it sounds, for the Burman thoroughly enjoys a funeral), the picturesque King Edward Avenue, and an interesting encountered. The following anecdotes will illustrate this statement. I am quite pre- pared to have them doubted, but they are true for all that. r For three nights running one of our party, Miss Webster, on retiring to bed hung her black silk stockings over the rail of the bed, and just as regularly as clockwork next morning one of them had disappeared. The

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servants were questioned, and at last roundly accused, but to no purpose. They protested their innocence and declared they knew nothing of the stockings. Finally the mystery was solved. Taking a siesta one evening just as dusk was falling, Miss Webster was startled to see from behind her mos- quito-net a weird black shape come in at the window. For a moment she almost became a convert to the Burmese belief in evil spirits, so strange was the apparition in the dim half - light. For a moment the thing hovered in the room, then it vanished. Jump- ing out of bed she turned on the light — and across the bed-rail was a dusty black silk stocking ! What she had seen was Mr. Crow coming back with her stocking in his beak. Apparently he had found no use for it—probably it didn’t fit! —so he had returned it. She did not, how- ever, get the others back in the same way. Gn another occasion clothes from a ward- tobe were missed and again the servants disclaimed all knowledge of them. A watch was kept, and a crow was actually observed flying off with a lady’s nightdress. Anything in the way of food is whisked away before your eyes. It doesn’t do to take another forty winks when your breakfast is brought to your bedside. You may have the A native water-carrier. THE SOUL OF BURMA. 319 forty winks, but if you do you will assuredly have no breakfast. I remember once watching the baiting of a kennelled dog by these remarkable birds. The dog’s dinner had just been brought to him, and immedi- ately three crows made a swoop for it. Their mode of pro- cedure was ingenious. Two got as near the plate of food as they dared while the third slipped round behind the dog and severely pecked his tail, At once the indignant animal turned on his tormentor, giving the other two crows the chance they wanted. They dashed in and each secured a bit of the dinner. Thenone of them relieved the bird who had pecked. the dog, and it, ia its turn, moved up towards the plate. Again the dog's tail was tweaked, and again, in the twinkling of an eye, some more of his food disappeared. Systematically, change and change about, the process was repeated until the plate was empty—and of that meal the infuriated dog got very little. But the most amusing episode I person- ally witnessed in connection with the Ran- goon crow was the following. It bears out my contention that these crows really think. crow is.a great lover of eggs, which he will steal whenever possible, and one day I determined to play a trick on one of them.

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320 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The indignant animal turned on his tormentor, giving the other two crows the chance they wanted.” So, instead of an egg, I left a ping-pong ball where I knew the crow would see it. He duly seized it and flew off into a branch of a tree with his prize. Now the crow’s method of eating an egg is to drop it from the tree on to the ground so that it smashes, then he flies down and eats the contents. My crow duly dropped his “ egg,” cocking his head to one side to watch the result. Naturally the “‘ egg "’ didn’t break. Instead, it bounced—and I've never seen a more amazed-looking crow. He put his head still more on one side and emitted a single long- drawn ‘ caw '’ of astonishment. Flying down, he picked up the ping-pong ball, carried it to a higher branch and once more let it fall. Again the same thing hap- pened. “Caw!” said the crow again. A third time he tried it, from a yet higher branch. At last it seemed to dawn upon him that the thing was a hoax and he sat gazing ruminatingly down on the mysterious ball. Then, all at once, he burst out into a sudden furious cawing. This was answered by another crow who, seeing the supposed egg, went through the same performance with it, and each time he dropped it the first crow cawed in derision. Then, putting their heads together, they cawed in unison. Before I left nearly a dozen crows had tried that “ egg '’ and each, after being ‘‘ had,” played the trick on another. And if those crows didn’t laugh then I’ve never heard laughter ! These birds’ well-known stealing pro- pensities, of course, are a godsend to the native servants. If anything disappears— well, the crows have taken it, and that’s all there is about it.

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One day Miss Webster lost a ring. I questioned her ‘‘ boy,’’ who, of course, knew nothing—“ the crows must have taken it,” he said. I made no more fuss, but when pay-day came I paid him nothing. ‘The crows,” I told him, “ have taken your pay.” He squirmed and salaamed and next day bobbed up smiling—with the ring. “The crows have brought it back again, Sahib,” he explained. I took the ring and paid him his money. “Strangely enough,’ I said, ‘‘ the crows have also brought your pay back.” And there the incident ended. From Rangoon we took the train for Toungoo. A Burmese train is a variegated affair, the first-class carriages being painted white, the second-class green, and the third- class brown. The reason for this is that though they are also marked first, second, and third in the usual way, the native, whether Burmese, Shan, or other tribe, cannot read these figures. He can, however, distinguish one colour from another, and he knows that brown is the colour for his part of the train. When travelling by train at night in Burma it is advisable to keep the window up, otherwise at stopping places a long brown arm is quite likely to be inserted and next morning some of one’s cherished pro- rty will be found to have vanished. “The urman has quite reconciled himself to the railway as a mode of transit, but whether he goes :to-day. or to-morrow is quite im- material to him. It is quite common to see THE SOUL OF BURMA. 32r a party of Burmese peacefully slumbering on the platform what time their train is steaming out of the station. Toungoo is chiefly remarkable-for its race- course. The Burman is an ardent devotee of racing, or indeed of anything that will give him an excuse fora gamble. The horses are wiry little beasts, with native jockeys, but I regret to say that racing, especially at the. up-country centres, is not always conducted “on the straight.’”’ zs I remember once talking to the starter and judge at one of these meetings, and they both strongly urged me to put my money on certain horses. “But how do you know that these horses are going to win?’ I asked. My informant looked at me in pained surprise. “Well,” he said, ‘I am the judge and he ’’—pointing to his friend—“' is the starter. If we don’t know, who else is likely to?” An instance has been known, too, where a horse which never started won the race! Concealed in a clump of’ jungle halfway_ round the course it joined the others as they swept by! In spite of all this, the-Burman is a good sportsman and:a good loser. - The races are all of one uniform length,- four hundred and forty yards, and the ponies’ competing in them are graded according to their class. The weighing-in arrangements are often primitive, ordinary butchers’ scales being used, while not infrequently the jockeys wear no boots, a single spur being strapped to one bare heel. After attending the Toungoo race meeting A Burmese railway station. 3

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322 we embarked on the train again for Hsipaw. The coach allotted to us was quite an elaborate affair, consisting of dining-room, bedroom, and kitchen. Three native boys waited upon us. Their permanent quarters were the kitchen, and as accommodation there was limited, we found that one would sleep on the stove, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. riding-crop which, he explained, had been an heirloom in his family for generations. He also gave her two baby tigers, one of which, unfortunately, we soon lost, as it jumped through the train window and got away into the jungle. Before we left the Sawbe told us that he had looked forward another among the stores, while the third tucked himself away on a shelf. At Hsipaw we were received by the ruling potentate, the Sawbe of Hsipaw, a gentle- man who had _ been educated at Cam- bridge and_ had seventeen wives—in Hsipaw, I hasten to add! He gravely asked after the health of the King of to giving us tea, but that unfortunately he the Viennese Café in Rangoon over the price of bread, and they had refused to supply him with any more! This to the august potentate into whose presence his subjects crawled on hands and knees ! He therefore regaled us instead with whisky and soda. His seventeen England, to which estion we made a ting reply. With him was his eldest son, who had himself just come back from Cambridge University, but the greater of his embarrassingly large family Zemained in the background. The Sawbe took a manifest fancy to Miss Webster and insisted on conducting her yound his domain in person, to the uncon- cealed jealousy of his wives. Miss Webster, however, nearly committed a faux pas of the gravest nature. All the time we were talking a native band had been droning out its eternal and tuneless music until, unable to stand the racket any longer, she exclaimed despairingly, “How much longer is this going to last ?’’ Hastily 1 warned her that the Sawbe un- derstood English perfectly, but fortunately he did not over- hear the remark, and so she re- mained in his good graces. She really won hisheart, I think, when after tell- ing her at great Jength that one of his horses had the “ tummy ache,” she ad- vised him to give 3t hot beer. At any rate, when we departed he presented her Members of the bodyguard of the Sawbe of Hsipaw. wives, to European ideas at any rate, ap- peared to have a rather thin time of it, working all day at the weaving-machines and at night time offering up prayers for their lord and master. Whilst at Hsipaw a bear-hunt was organized’ in our honour by the Sawbe’s Prime Minister. He meant well, but I cannot call the result exactly a success. When the hunt was first mooted, I suggested bringing our own provisions for the day, but the “P.M.” waved this suggestion aside. He, he stated, would be responsible for all the food and drink required. In a weak moment I agreed, only to find, when well away on our hunt, that the food consisted of tins of canned salmon, so “ high” that I think they must have been left-over Army rations of the Burmese War, ’85, while as for drink, we had a stream pointed out to us, the water of which was stated to be both cool and luscious. It wasn’t—but there was noth- ing else, so we got down on our knees and scooped it up with our hands as best we could. Nor did the huntitself afford with a beautiful carved ivory much compen- sation. he had hadadisputewith ,

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whole of that livelong day the only “ game ” I saw was a frog. In fact my wife, who was following us up in a bullock-wagon, got the only thrill. The bullocks apparently did scent something, perhaps a panther invisible to us, and they turned and bolted. Fortunately the wagon stuck fast between some trees, or else, like “ Charley’s Aunt,” she might have been running yet. More likely, how- ever, she would have ended her career over a precipice. Eventually we reached a cave which was declared to be that of the bear we were after, and the question arose as to who should have the honour of going in and stirring him up. A plucky black boy ulti- mately went in and announced that the cave was empty. Imme- diately a shouting THE SOUL OF BURMA. 323 Eventually we left the Sawbe and his family upon the very best of terms and resumed our journey by train to Kalaw. This is a most delightful spot, a hill-station some four thousand odd feet above sea-level, mass of Burmese swarmed after him into the cave, and if that bear had been hiding somewhere in its depths it is doubtful whether we should have shot him, but we should most certainly have shot about half the population of Burma. I fancy the ‘“ P.M.” had an inkling that this day's outing was not all that it might have been, for a day or two later he offered me a ride in his own “state carriage,”” an ancient vehicle kept together mainly by string, with which material the horse also seemed to be harnessed in the shafts. I doubt whether that horse had ever been driven before, and after half a mile or so I got out, feeling that a bullock-cart, though slow, was an infinitely safer mode of con- veyance. t was near Hsipaw that, returning one day from an expedition, we saw what we took to be a field of the most beautiful shade of green I have ever seen—more lovely even than a paddy (rice) field, and that is beauti- ful enough. _We were just exclaiming on the sight when to our amazement the whole “field” rose in the air with a mighty flap- ing of wings and raucous cries and screeches. ey were green parrots—thousands and thousands of them—looking for all the world like a green carpet upon the earth. Part of the Sawbe of Hsipaw’s numerous family. with a climate resembling that of Kent. English roses and other flowers bloom in abundance. There is a good golf-course, and the houses there are the only ones I saw in Burma possessing chimneys, for the nights at that altitude are chilly and one was glad of a fire and plenty of clothes on one’s bed. In the early mornings we got some beautiful cloud effects, Kalaw standing out above the great masses of vapour like an island sur- rounded by foaming billows. The one draw- back of the place was that there appeared to be very little water. Here I was told of some caves in the neigh- bourhood containing some remarkable Bud- dhist shrines, of which I determined to get pictures. With my camera strapped to my back, and accompanied by Miss Webster and our native boys, 1 set out light-heartedly enough, but our ardour was somewhat damped when we found that the approach to the caves was guarded by a swamp of considerable extent across which there was no visible pathway. On the brink of this swamp our boys promptly jibbed and declined to come any farther. Whether they objected to crossing the swamp or were fearful of approaching closer to the mysterious caves I do not know.

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324 However, having come so far I was not going to turn back, so I pushed on into the swamp, Miss Webster, wading thigh-deep through the morass, pluckily accompanying me. We won through safely enough and entered the caves, which were of considerable extent, and I managed to get some good pictures of the interior and the great figure of Buddha at their farther end. An uncanny silence pervaded the place and there was no sign of any living being— only the still image of Buddha gazing stonily down upon us. Somehow I was not sorry to find myself at the entrance and in the sun- light again. I am not of a nervous disposi- tion, but there was an atmosphere in that cave which made itself felt. We were just discussing our return through the swamp when, in a niche in the rock, I caught sight of the most exquisite alabaster figure of Buddha I have ever seen. It was quite small, but of wonderful workmanship. Temptation assailed me. Looking carefully round, I observed that there was no one in sight. Our own boys, away across the swamp, were too far off to see what we were doing. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then suddenly, from within the cave— the cave which we believed we had explored so thoroughly—came the sound of whispering voices and murmured prayers. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Hastily replacing the Buddha in the niche, I loosened my auto- matic in its case, ready for the attack I quite expected to come. ut nothing happened. With the replacing of the Buddha the voices ceased, and all was quiet as it had been before. Gingerly and carefully we re-entered the cave. There was not a sign to be seen of priest or worshipper. But a garland of fresh flowers, which had not been there when we entered a few minutes ago, lay before the great image of Buddha, and a snake, drawing his rustling coils along the floor, disappeared at our approach into the farther shadows of the cavern. We did not linger further, and I for one was very glad to find the swamp lying once more between us and that uncanny cave, from whose portals the eyes of the alabaster Buddha seemed to follow us with derision. From Kalaw we went on to Yawnchwe, In the bazaar at Kalaw. I whispered my plan to Miss Webster. 1 would carry my camera back through the morass on my head; in the camera case, slung on my back, I would place the alabaster Buddha ! My companion seemed doubtful both as to the wisdom and morality of this pro- ceeding, but I was determined. Again I looked round ; there was not a sign or sound, and slowly and carefully I lifted the Buddha from its pedestal and began to put it into my camera case. where, on the inland lakes, I obtained some excellent photographs of the remarkable Burmese method of leg-rowing. With this subject, and also with our trip up the mighty Irawadi, amidst some of the grandest scenery in all Burma; with the hill tribes of the Shan country ; with Man- dalay and the great fire which burnt Bahan village to the ground, of which I was luc enough to get some remarkable pictures, will deal in a second and concluding article. (To be concluded.)

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Mr. Fairfax on the trail. Amnon Hons the Am SSS SWZ SSN WY Caria = ———_- — Told by JOHN FAIRFAX, and Set Down by ELLIOT BAILEY. Amazon jungles where, after sundry trying experiences, he was captured by the cannibal Chunchos—bloodthirsty savages who use immense bows, shooting poisoned arrows as big as | spears. The narrative of his adventures and ultimate escape makes most exciting reading. | Led by the lure of gold, Mr. Fairfax, a veteran Prospector, penetrated into the little-known | and adventurer, an old hand in South American mining camps, decided to strike into the interior from the west coast of Peru, right over both ranges of the Andes and thence down through the tropical Montana to the Amazon, with the idea of exploring the vast gold resources of that little-known region. The privations and disasters this expedition entailed are herein set down. ¢ I left Mollendo by way of the Mollendo- Tirapata Railway, which climbs in about three days from sea-level to an altitude of fifteen thousand feet at Tirapata, the rail- head. Here I stayed at the hacienda of the manager of the Inca Mining Company—who tried hard to dissuade me from my hazardous project—until such time as I could procure mules to carry my stores and outfit. After much delay, even for Peru, these were forthcoming, and at sunrise on a beauti- ig July, 1921, I, John Fairfax, rolling stone ful July morning I set out over practically the same trail that Pizarro the Conquistadore followed when he broke the power of the Incas in the fifteenth century. The first day was fairly easy going, and by nightfall I made Assillo, where there still exists a wonderful church built by Padre Valvarde, who accom- panied Pizarro. There is little interest beyond the church, which together with about forty Indian hovels makes up the village. There are, however, about twenty dogs per Indian huge, savage brutes that fiercely attack any stranger. I, personally, was so viciously assailed by a pack of about sixteen, that after emptying my Colt *45 among them I had to climb on to the roof of a shack until the head Indian cailed them off. As a reward I took his photograph and that of several of his friends. Little occurred to break the monotony of the next few davs, until Triumfo was reached.

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326 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Here, owing to discontent among the Indians, several murders had been committed, and life was somewhat uncertain, as the Indians were indulging in a drunken carousal. For- tunately, my camera again came to the rescue. It pleased them to have their photo- graphs taken, and consequently they treated me with some consideration. I took a picture of a weird kind of devil-dance they were performing. By this time I began to suffer acutely from sorroche, a kind of mountain sickness peculiar to these great altitudes, about sixteen Aricoma Peak, where the mountains reach a height of approximately twenty-seven thousand feet. Near the Pass of Aricoma the mighty Amazon takes its birth. one’s thousand feet above sea-level, the symptoms being intense pains in the head and bleeding at the nose, while one’s heart-beats became alarmingly violent. Leaving Triumfo at dawn, with twelve leagues of barren, roadless mountains to chmb ere nightfall, I arrived on the shores of Lake Aricoma, a vast body of water, one of the wonders of the world, cradled between the two ranges of the Andes. There is something weirdly uncanny about these vast silent, sterile uplands, where one rarely encounters even a wandering Indian with his pack llamas. These patient animals are to the Cholo Indian what the camel is to the Arab. They carry up to one quintal (r1oolb.) burden, and feed as they travel on the scant mountain herbage. I tried to take a photograph of a party of these Indians and their llamas on the shores of the lake, with Aricoma Pass in the back- ground, thirty miles away. However, I could only induce one of the party to screw up enough courage to face the camera. They solemnly assured me, crossing themselves the while, that ‘' E/ ojo dei Diablo’ (The eye of the Devil) would have an evil influence on them and their llamas if they looked into it. The Indian I photographed, however, seemed to like the experience. This man decided to attach himself to me, and re- mained with me until fear of the dreaded Chunchos, the cannibal Indians of the interior, and the onslaughts of myriads of vicious insects drove him back to his native uplands. Driving my mules hard, I succeeded in making Huencarani, just below the famous Pass of Aricoma, where the snow-capped mountains run up to a height of twenty-seven thousan feet, somewhere about -midnight. Here I enjoyed the wel- come hospitality of a kindly old Italian miner, who was so excited at meeting a white man—he had not seen one for years —that he sat and talked to me long after I had fallen asleep in his rough bunk, Hereabouts is the source of the mighty Amazon, all_ run down- wards. Sometimes mule will slide gracefully for ten or fifteen feet at a time along a path about a yard wide, with one’s right stirrup hanging over the edge of a mighty precipice, at the bottom of which is a river one can faintly hear, but cannot see. I rode along one such nightmare path, from the ed, of which to the river below was roughly twelve thousand feet. Two hours’ ride from this spot I had the misfortune to lose a pack-mule, together with most of my outfit. Mule-like, he was in the habit of walking on the extreme edge of the path. Consequently, when a fragment of rock gave way, nothing could save him. The poor brute fell a sheer seven hundred feet before he struck the terrible jagged spurs below, effectually distributing the four hundred pounds of baggage he carried. I watched him bounce for what seemed an eternity before he finally disappeared. A few hours farther along the trail brought me to the last link with semi-civilization— Limbani. Here a Cholo half-breed—boasting a pair of boots and an ancient collar—runs a shack which he refers to with great dignity as ‘‘ El Hotel de Villa.” His main source of

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AMONG THE AMAZON CANNIBALS. income is derived from the sale of crude alcohol to the Indians in return for wash gold, this being the real beginning of the gold region. Resting my mule here—the half-breed charged me four soles (eight shillings) per day for fodder —I continued my journey to the encampment of Seftor Don Guillermo Oviedo and his son Pacifico, who, with the assistance of Indian labour, were collecting bark for the extraction of tannic acid. I should like to record here that of all the men I have ever met, these two, father and son, are the kind- liest and bravest. Failing in their earnest efforts to dis- suade me from entering the unknown Chuncho country, they provided me _ with every facility in their power. This particular region is the home of a very large brown bear, running up to between two and three hun- dsed pounds in weight, and for my special benefit Paci- fico Oviedo organized a bear-hunt. Armed with Peruvian service rifles (Mannlichers) and a good supply of soft-nosed cart- ridges, Sefior Oviedo, a half- breed Indian, and myself set out very early in the morning, little dreaming of what was to happen within the next few hours. The half-breed quickly picked up the spoor of a bear, which we traced to its lair high up the mountain side, densely covered with vegetation. Approaching with the utmost caution, we found a large female bear and its cub, the latter a few weeks old. Sefior Oviedo was most anxiousto secure the cub, so we all three fired at the mother, kill- ing her in- stantly, andafter some_ trouble succeeded in capturing the youngster. Then the fun really started. Owing of the Hacienda. Pacifico Oviedo, who was badly mauled in saving the Author from an infuriated bear. 327 to the broken nature of the descent, we soon became exhausted with the frantic struggles of the young bear, and therefore Sefior Oviedo decided to send the Indian down to the encampment for further assistance. He was barely out of ear- shot when Oviedo and I were suddenly attacked by the largest bear I have ever seen, evidently the father of the cub. This bear made straight for me, doubtless because I was then holding his son. Oviedo instantly grabbed his rifle and, aiming point-blank, pulled the trig- ger rapidly twice in succes- sion, but both cartridges missed fire! I thought then that my last moment had come, but Oviedo pluckily threw his rifle full in the bear’s chest, thus drawing the attack upon himself. In one stride the brute was upon him and seized him in his mighty embrace. However, the timely in- terruption had enabled me to regain possession of my own rifle and, thrusting the muzzle close to the bear's ear, I fired and killed the bear in the very nick of time. Another moment's delay and the gallant Peruvian would have been crushed to death. As it was, he escaped with a severe mauling and a broken arm. Never so long as I live shall I forget the unflinching courage of this brave moun- taineerin saving my life. After resting for some days at the encampment I start out early one Sep- tember morning for the Chuncho country, accom- panied by ten Indian carriers. My route lay through country that even the mountain mules could not pene- trate, by way of Maldonado and the River of Stones. All went well till we left Mal- donado, when,

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one by one, as food became scarcer and the torture of multitudes of weird and terrible insects became worse, the Indians left their packs on the trail and vanished. The factor that appeared to have the most terrifying effect on these Cholo Indians from the up- lands, however, was the proximity of the dreaded Chunchos. The latter are, un- doubtedly, the most warlike and savage tribe in the whole of this vast interior. They are very hostile to whites, and use huge bows and arrows, the arrows being as large as a Zulu spear and provided with great barbs, “Oviedo threw his rifle full in the bear’s chest, thus drawing the attack upon himself.” the points of which are dipped in the dead- liest poison. The Chunchos use their feet to pull out these huge bows, and they are so accurate that 1 have seen them drop a bird on the wing. They manufacture immensely strong ropes out of a mixture of gut and human hair, and with these they construct curious ferries by means of which they cross their swift-flowing rivers. I succeeded in obtaining a picture of one of these aerial ferries, but, unfortunately, it suffered badly at the hands of the cannibals, who stole my camera from me after my

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capture, the story of which I am about to relate. ‘When they found they could see all sorts of pictures reflected on the ground glass, it became an ever- lasting source of entertainment with them, and as much as my life was worth to at- tempt to get back. y last Indian having bolted, I picked out the essentials of my kit and struck out alone, still journeying edst- ward. Life now resolved itself into a perpetual fight with the fearful tangle of dense vegetation, brightened by the most brilliant flowers, butterflies, and birds. Some of the butterflies measured from six to eight inches from wing-tip to wing-tip. Unfortunately, there were other little- known members of the insect community, one which paid particular attention to me being a large fly, not unlike our common meat-fly but five times as large, known to THE AMAZON CANNIBALS. Clearing away the jungle growth from an ancient Spanish gold-working. the Indians as el lancero (the lancer), which I consider most appropriate since he carries in his tail a lance about half an inch long, which he thrusts straight through one’s jacket and shirt, drawing blood until ‘his hunger is appeased. This fiend, together with myriads of mosquitoes of every size, renders life a perpetual torment. There is also a butterfly which, when one has washed Vol. 1.—23. Crossing a river in the Chuncho country on a rope made of human hair and gut.

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33° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “IT saw a small Indian boy ‘ striking desperately at a large snake .. . one’s clothes and hung them on the bushes to dry, lays its eggs in them. The eggs pro- duce a grub which burrows into one’s flesh, causing painful and dangerous wounds. I saw also countless species of snakes, ranging in size from a tiny fellow a few inches long to huge boa-constrictors sixty and even seventy feet long, yet in all this devil’s garden of deadly things there is nothing so loathsome as the moroctalago, or vampire- bat. This unclean creature works only at night, its method being to alight on the face of its victims while asleep, gently fanning them with its wings and sucking their blood at the same time. So soothing and gentle are the movements of this horrible creature that the victim is not conscious of anything till he eventually awakes, terribly enfeebled from loss of blood, Failing human_ beings, which they prefer, these vampires will attack mules and donk rendering them unfit to travel for days. The shack of an old miner with whom I stayed was covered with flat- tened-out alcohol tins as a safeguard against the attack of these horrible creatures at night. Suffering from the pa/udismo fever common to these regions, and due to the sting of a particularly malignant mosquito, I remained for severak days with this miner. Here I made the acquaintance of a young Peruvian mining engineer, who, on hearing of my proposed journey into the Chuncho country, pro- mised to join me, fired, doubtless, by the rumours of vast gold deposits there, or pos- sibly by the good Peruvian wine we drank. However, his resolve melted with the rising sun, and on the plea of being ill he gracefully but firmly backed out. Leaving these kindly fellows, I again struck into the dense tropical forest. It now became necessary to use a machete, a long sword-like knife, to cut through the thick tangle of vegetation, which hourly became worse. As day succeeded day in the gloom of these mighty trees, through which the sun's light could not pierce, I gradually began to realize that I was lost, with no possible means of finding my way again. I had previously lost my compass through falling down a small ravine, so thickly overgrown as to be invisible. To attempt to steer by the sun was quite useless as, except at midday, when I got an occasional faint glimpse of it through the tangled growth, it was impossible to tell in which direction the sun was travelling. It was about this time that I became vaguely aware that I was being shadowed by strange gnome-like shapes, never taking definite form and yet always there, lurking in the deeper shadows of the forest. At first I refused to let this worry me, and attributed it to imagination bred by the fever. But SS I ce

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AMONG gradually it began to get on my nerves, and at times I found myself performing all sorts of little tricks of woodcraft in my endeavours to elude these ghostly neighbours. Then, one day, an event happened which was to have far-reaching consequences. High up on the boughs of a big tree I saw a small Indian boy striking desperately with a stick at a large Colibra snake, which was attacking him. I saw that the stick was little protection against this reptile—one of the deadliest.of the South American species—so I fired and killed it. This action eventually proved my salvation, though at the moment I did not foresee it, as the little beggar vanished like a will-o’-the-wisp the moment he was out of danger. During all this time I had been prospecting for gold whenever the jungle thinned out sufficiently to permit it, and, as a result, one day I struck a huge gravel bank that proved to be auriferous, or gold-bearing, from top to bottom. Sampling with my prospector’s pan over the whole range of this deposit, I- estimated my find at a round total value of two million sterling. A waterfall high above it could be utilized to wash it, and it really seemed as if I had indeed struck El Dorado at last. I even fell to day-dreaming of the beautiful home I could buy in England, the Rolls-Royce cars, the fine steam-yachts, and soon. I set about col- lecting all the necessary data, samples, position of water, etc., to enable me to make my claim before the Mines Delegate when I got back to the Province of Sandia. I worked myself to a standstill, and finally fell asleep in my tracks, thoroughly worn out, but very happy. I was aroused by feeling myself seized by powerful hands, which, al- though I am enormously strong myself, held me as if I were a child and finally trussed me up like a chicken Then, abso- lutely hel p- less, I saw that I was surrounded by as murder- ous a looking bunch of cut- throats as I had ever set eyes upon. vil - looking brutes they were, with cruel, glitter- THE AMAZON CANNIBALS. 331 ing, slit-like eyes, very high cheek-bones, and teeth filed into sharp spear-like points. In ‘stature they were remarkable, for their height was only about five feet, but they possessed an enormous breadth of chest, and a muscular development that would have made Sandow appear sickly by comparison. Another odd thing about them was that, beyond a-huge mop of lank jet-black hair, their faces and bodies were absolutely hair- less, though painted in the most hideous and barbaric manner. They wore a curious head-dress, composed of feathers of birds and snake-skins and little else, except the Chaiki, or chief, who had a sort of kilt made of a similar material to the head-dresses, embellished with strings of human teeth. One of these teeth had a large gold stopping in it, obviously the work of an American or European dentist, which may account for the non-return of a party. of three American mining men who ventured into these sinister regions ‘some years ago. After holding:a sort of debate over helpless, hopeless me, the Indians went through -a weird performance of striking heavy blows on the trunks of certain trees. At the moment I thought they were “' getting their hands in” prior to dashing my brains out, and took comfort therefrom accordingly. However, I found out later that this was a kind of primi- tive “ wireless’ used by these savages, by means of which they can

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332 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE." transmit messages for considerable dis- tances. Evidently, as a result of this tree-whacking, I was presently tied along a stout bamboo pole, shouldered by two of these miniature Hercules as easily as if I had been a rabbit, and carried for many miles through forest denser even than that through which I had come. 2s How long this journey lasted I never knew, as I became delirious with fever, but when I came to my senses I found myself, suffering acutely from the effect of the journey, lying in a large and not unpleasant hut built of bamboo and dried grass, which I discovered afterwards was the chief's hut. The reason I was still alive was because the youngster I had saved from the snake proved to_be one of the old scoundrel’s many sons. The chief had about seventy wives, his harem being frequently added to as a result of raiding other tribes and stealing their women. Their marriage service is a quaint one, ap- pearing to consist of knocking the woman down and then permitting her to get up again. Actually she goes down single and gets up married. These people, though cannibals, treated me not unkindly, and seemed at a loss to understand my desire to escape from them, though they certainly respected my rooted objection to sharing meals with them, which often consisted of a young boy, plump and tender, captured from an enemy tribe. They provided me instead with fish, certain water- snakes, and, as a great luxury, roasted monkey. The one thing the cunning old chief would not permit was my leaving him. I think he looked upon me as a kind of curio, my white skin and blue eyes being an everlasting source of interest to him. But for the fact that he felt under a sort of obligation to me regarding his son, together with crediting me with some sort of god-like origin, I firmly believe he would have eaten me. I used to hold long conversations with him through a slave captive, a Campa Indian named Mamani, who understood Spanish. This Indian had suffered the loss of a hand, the result of an unsuccessful attempt to escape some years previously. At first he turned a deaf ear to all my plead- ing that he should assist me to get away, and refused even to discuss the subject—out of respect, I imagined, for his other hand. However, if I were ever to return to civilization, Mamani was absolutely essential to me, as he knew every inch of these terrible forests. Therefore, I promised him alcohol in quantities he could only dream of, unlimited tobacco, and wives by the hun- dred ; I also threw in all my fish-hooks and a piece of burning-glass. The thing which finally “got him,” however, was an oid British Navy jack-knife I still possessed. (God bless the British Navy !) My plan was to get him to guide me to one of the big rivers from which I could possibly pick up my own direction, which I figured would then become westward. I had an idea of constructing a raft and using the river, somehow losing sight of the fact that all these rivers run from west to east with a strength of current that not even a powerful steam launch can make headway against. I can only attribute this lack of foresight on my part to the terrible sufferings I had undergone. At last the day for our attempt at escape arrived ! On the pretext of a fishing expedi- tion Mamani and I, accompanied by two of the Chunchos, set out early one morning with a big supply of coca leaves, which these Indians chew continuously, and from which pure cocaine is extracted. I managed, with much patience and by rather clumsy methods, to brew a sort of tea out of these leaves so strong in cocaine that it would have put an elephant to sleep. Making this very sweet with native sugar, both Mamani and I pre- tended to drink it; the two Chunchos also tasted it and liked it immensely. Finally they took a good old “ deep-sea swig,”” and within a few minutes both were fast asleep. It was now or never, and taking their spear-like arrows and destroying the bows,, Mamani and I fled as fast as the dense growth would permit. For hours and hours we fought our way through. To have been recaptured meant certain death, and when I was utterly ex- hausted and about to collapse Mamani half- carried, half-dragged me along, assuring me that unless we kept going the fumba (wireless tree messages) would get ahead of us before we got out of the Chuncho country, and result in our re-capture. I cannot tell how long this awful flight lasted. It seemed as though I had been tearing through virgin forest all my life. Most of the time I was light-headed with delirium, but I vaguely remember emerging on to the banks of a wide river, which I now belicve to have been the Inambari. ‘Thence, by gradual stages, I went back via Pagrario to Oconeca, and from the latter place I sent an Indian runner to tell the brave old Don Oviedo and his son of my escape. Immedi- ately they heard of my terrible plight, they came themselves with a party of Indians and constructed a litter on which they con- veyed me to their encampment, where I rested until I had regained sutticient strength to proceed over the difficult Andean trails to the coast, and thence to England. Sometimes in my dreams I still see those terrible Chunchos, with their cruel eves and teeth, and I shudder when I think how near I came to spending the rest of my days among them.

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The story of a voyage such as one dreams of in one’s youth—a happy- go-lucky cruise in sunlit tropic seas, visiting strange ports and peoples, bound to no hard-and-fast time- table and no fixed route. Our readers will have seen paragraphs in the news- papers referring to the voyage of the Speejacks. Here isa BY picturesque account of her Dale wares COllitts Collins says, he found him- self “envied by everybody in a hundred ports strung around the globe.” Photos by BERNARD F. ROGERS, Jun. T is a pleasant thing to be envied by everybody in a hundred ports strung around the globe. That was my happy experience as one of the fortunate voyagers on the American yacht Speejacks, which, by the time this is in print, will be nearing the end of her globe- encircling cruise. No wonder people who were still chained by routine sighed longingly when they heard of our trip and saw our smart little craft. The Speejacks, in herself, is the kind of thing you dream about when you are a boy. She is a Lilliputian liner, and despite the fact that her length is but ninety-eight feet and her tonnage sixty-four, she is fitted with every convenience for comfort. Sometimes—say when we were anchored in some unknown bay on the coast of New Guinea—we had to pinch ourselves to realize that we were awake. All about us naked brown men would be hovering in canoes, the uncharted shore would show dim and vague and mysterious, and farther back against the stars would rise great ranges where the foot of white man had never been. We were anchored in a port of the Stone Age, in a harbour of the primitive. No white people were within hundreds of miles, and even then they were “ roughing it ’—living as _ woman has a difficult réle to sustain ; best they could without any of the comforts of civilization. And meanwhile the steward would ring the gong and we would sit down to dinner prepared by a chef from a New York hotel. e shaded electric lights would throw a nice glow on the tiny, mahogany-panelled saloon, electric fans would cool the air, and up above in the wheel-house the wireless operator would be speaking to a ship a thousand miles away with the aid of a wireless telephone. The yacht originally set out from New York, and when she returns there shortly she will have been eighteen months on her journey. She relies entirely upon two 250 h.p. gasolene engines, which run exactly like those of motor-cars. She is fitted with an ice- making plant, an electric windlass, tele- phonic connections between the cabins, and many other comfort-producing devices. Mr. A. Y. Gowen, her owner, is a Chicago million- aire, and he was accompanied throughout the trip by his wife. Aboard a small yacht on such a voyage a she must be very tactful and very plucky if she wishes to be popular in such a tiny world, caged up, as she was in this case, with eleven men. Mrs. Gowen succeeded. A good sailor, she never complained of hardships ; she stood

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334 Mrs. Gowen, the owner’s wife, who accom- panied him throughout the voyage. her turn at the wheel with the rest of us, and generally acquitted herself admirably. Such a trip, how- ever, is rather too strenuous for a girl. For strenuous it was, despite all the comfort. If you try crossing mighty oceans in a sixty- four ton boat there must be trouble. We lived in a state of perpetual motion even on the calmest day; and in a storm the sensation was that of cling- ing to a match which is suffering from a fit of con- vulsions, To have to turn out at two a.m. and stand a_ two- hour trick at the wheel on a_ dirty night was an ex- perience to which an ordinary lands- man like myself never grew accus- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tomed. Ahead would be a black wall of rain and driving spray. The glass in front of the wheel-house would be clouded with drifting spray, the bow would plunge and dip and sway madly, black against the darkness, and it was a difficult task even to stand. With a draught of only about six feet the Speejacks had no grip on the water at all, and in a sea through which a steamer would have ploughed disdainfully she rose and rolled to every wave, going over them like a feather—but a feather which was whirled about by every breeze that blew and swept hither and thither by every current. Warm gold glowed the face of the binnacle —the only bright patch in a dark, cold world—and on it you centred your attention, trying hard to keep her head just where it should be. On a couch behind you the captain slept uneasily, I do not blame him, for though he set us our course he did not feel happy when he had to leave the wheel to us ‘‘ land-lubbers "’ from aft. Mr. and Mrs. Gowen, the cinemato- grapher and photographer and myself, who comprised the party, all had to take our regular turn at the wheel. We carried in addition a captain, three engineers, a sailor, a cook, and a steward. Yes; there were times when those night watches were not all they might have been and when the most musical sound in the world was the silver chime of the ship's bell telling that your ‘trick’? was over, and that the engineer had gone aft to wake your relief. The Speejacks in Sydney Harbour.

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ROUND THE-WORLD IN A MOTOR BOAT. 335 The Speejacks, the Lilliputian motor-liner, whose wonderful voyage round the world is here described. Be sure the man who appeared two minutes late for his watch was not popular! It was the one mortal sin. For the greater part of the trip we were in tropic waters, and then cruising was a sheer delight. Day dreamed into day, sea and sky vied with each other in brilliance, and over the horizon’s rim came strange islands and queer ports and peoples. We lived in the open air, even sleeping on cushioned lockers on deck, although we had elaborate state-rooms below. When you think of the space and the many means of whiling away the time open to passengers on liners you may wonder how we spent our days. We didn’t spend them—they just drifted by. We took our turns at the wheel, and in between we lounged about and read and smoked and yarned. Cradled close to the sea’s breast, carrying our home with us, our clothes khaki “‘slacks’’ and _ shirts, bare-footed, bare-headed—our life was that of lotus-eaters indeed. From the Panama Canal the little boat was towed, tossing and spinning madly, four thousand four hundred miles across the Pacific by a tramp steamer. This was the least enjoyable part of the voyage, monoton- ous, depressing. For twenty-two days the Speejacks was dragged, willy-nilly through the waves, and experienced sailors from the tramp who came aboard to make the tow- rope more secure, became sea-sick on a calm day. The captain told us that men set to watch the rope on his ship were also sick in rough weather from merely watching the amazing gyrations of our craft. But there was no other way. You cannot cross four thousand odd miles of sea unaided when your cruising radius is only a thousand miles, On the voyage our wireless picked up a “broadcasted ’’ message from the United States Naval stations asking that a watch should be kept for the Speejacks, reported a derelict. The news, we learnt later, was displayed with huge headings in the American press and caused much concern to the people at home until our perky message of re- assurance was picked up. To the lower Paumotus we came at last and thence to Tahiti. Here we went to the

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WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. six months. This stood in the way of the happiness of the American and his sweet- heart, and he came to us with the request that we should go out- side the six-mile limit and marry them at sea, the captain officiat- ing. Enis we agreed [Tahitian sweethearts. The strange wedding that took place on board the boat at Tahiti. rescue of an American citizen, and were the prime movers in an_ amazing marriage. There is a lawin Tahiti that no divorced person may re-marry within The Speejacks inside the barrier reef of a tropical island.

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ROUND THE WORLD IN A MOTOR BOAT. 337 A canoe-trip down a Fijian river. to do, and when we put the Speejack’s head to sea the wedding party was soon imastate of collapse. To us experienced voyagers the séa seemed quite calm, but the wedding party thought otherwise. When the ceremony came to be per- formed one of the bridesmaids was in such a state that she sat on her hat and didn’t care a scrap, and the service kad to be interrupted several times on account of the sufferings of the principals. The service was read by the engineer, who held a master’s “ ticket,”” and who was acting captain. He had been studying it very carefully, and gave it in full—even to the directions in paren- theses—“ here the bride gives her hand to the bridegroom ’’—and so on! When he asked who gave the bride away, a man stepped forward with a certain eagerness. We discovered that he was her divorced husband, and that he had placed his house at the disposal of the couple for the honeymoon! Altogether it was a most friendly affair. Fiji followed, and thence the yacht fan through a terrible gale to Samoa. Giant waves broke over her and short- crcuited all the lights, so that through the terrible night she staggered on darkly, like a wind-whipped ghost. By way of New Caledonia she came at length to Australia, with thirteen thousand miles of seaways and adven- ture behind herand the most engrossing ™ aay are part of the voyage ahead. Mrs. Gowen with a Fijian chief who was Up the Australian coast,we ran back educated at Oxford.

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338 into the golden tropics, cruising in summer seas in the shelter of the thousand-mite-long Great Barrier reef. Wonderful days. those, though it was the hurricane season, and at each port we were told that we would never make the next. At Dunk Island we spent several days with Mr. E. N. Banfield, whose books, onfessions of a Beachcomber ”’ and “' My Tropic Isle,’’ are known to all who dream of island romance. We found him a wonderful old man, Jooking more like forty than nigh on seventy, and a walking advertisement for the health- giving qualities of open-air life. A quarter ef a century ago he was carried ashore to die. To-day he is stronger than he has ever been, has carved a beautiful home out of the wilderness, and he and his charming old wife dwell in perfect happiness—a Darby and Joan who reign over a tropic kingdom of rarest beauty. Out through the reef we ran, fearing that the:ocean might punish us for our days of beqntiful cruising, but instead he smiled on Mr. E. N. Banfield, Author of “Confessions of a Beachcomber,” with his wife and Mrs. Gowen. Mr. Banfield’s island us and let us through. Our first call in New Guinea was Port Moresby, a romantic if ugly town where we met the men of the wilderness, the members of the “ Legion that never was listed.” Near at hand, too, was a big native village where you saw the Papuan as unspoiled as though he had been thousands of miles away from the capital. A strange country is New Guinea—you must never be happens there. For instance, in this village two dusky surprised at anything that The Speejacks paid a visit to home. THE. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gentlemen were gambling, and one, having lost his money, his few strips of clothing, and his house, finally wagered his wife. e lost her, too, and that was where the trouble started. For the winner, having seen the lady, declined to take delivery of her, where- - upon the indignant husband speared him ! They were both brought before the police magistrate, and that was how the story came out. Along the south-eastern coast we cruised, anchoring at night in tiny coves where naked savages surrounded our ship and stared in wonder at us. We usually favoured them with a searchlight display, and the sensation caused by that broad sword of light sweeping the heavens was indescribable. Away down on the very tip of New Guinea lies Samarai, a Pacific pearl indeed. It is aglow with croton bushes and embowered in palms; and when you want your hair cut you have to go to jail, for the warder is the only barber ! Ahead of us lay poorly-charted waters, and as an addi- tional precaution we took-with us a half-caste pilot. Edward was his name, and he had in his veins, it was said, the blood of a noble English family. But even Edward was not One sunny morn- ing, when the flat, sea made the detection of reefs a difficult matter, we struckacoral mush- room. At that grinding bump we thought our journeyings were over. The little yacht trembled like a stricken thing, the engines were hastily put astern, and we floated like a lame duck on the waters, with larger coral patches showing clearly on all sides. A hasty examination showed that one pro- peller was bent so as to be useless, but otherwise we were still seaworthy. So we crept on, using the other propeller, to Cape Nelson, where in a wonderful Norwegian fiord which had somehow strayed into the tropics, we made temporary repairs. The three engineers, in their bathing suits, beat the bent blade with heavy hammers until they got it into shape again. No easy task was theirs, as you will soon discover if you try to strike a blow under water.

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ROUND THE WORLD IN A MOTOR BOAT. The sea in which they worked was crystal-clear, and uu could see the ottom in six fathoms. Myriads of butterfiy-hued fish flashed about in all directions, and now and again nightmare things came cruising in from the deeper waters like great shadows and sailed anay again appa- rently puzzled by the sound of the hammers. The task was not a pleasant one, but fortu- nately the water was aS warm as Here we saw wonderful dances by hundreds of tribesmen — great fellows bedecked with feathers and bird-of-paradise plumes, tattooed, their ears and noses pierced and distended with great Tings, and their hands grasping cruel spears. To and fro they swayed in long lines to the throbbing of their drums—the only music in all the world which expresses the glamour, the oppression, the allure, the primitive charm of the tropics. To stand alone in the midst of that heaving human sea while the drums throbbed like living things was an experience never to be forgotten. The Trobriand Islands were our next port of call, places of rare fascination. This coral group is as yet practically uncharted, and navigation was difficult; but they were worth the risk. In the quiet lagoon in which we anchored the sea at night was a magic thing. As you travelled across it in a native canoe the bow wave broke glimmering like white quartz, sea-snakes went by like living ropes of fire, shoals of fish fled away with the brilliance of bursting rockets, and far down big sharks passed like Zeppelins seen in the glow of a searchlight. In such a sea it is no wonder that pearls of freat price abound. he natives of the Trobriands are still in the primitive stage, but they are more talented than their mainland brothers. Wonderful carvings they sold us, and their island home was beautiful with many palms and fine cultivation. With the captain down with fever, Mr. Gowen laid our course and we headed for the Solomon Islands. Somewhat to our gurprise, this amateur navigating worked 339 Members of the crew on deck. out well enough, and two days out we came to beautiful Shortland Harbour. Here supplies of petrol should have been waiting for us—we were powerless without them— but instead came the Resident Magistrate, with the news that he would like to report the barque carrying our consignment over- due. He asked for the use of our wireless for the purpose. Even as we talked the bowsprit of a ship showed round a corner of the island, and in lumbered the missing barque, the William H. Smith, She was fifty-nine days out from Sydney on a trip that should have occupied a month. For twenty days she had been in sight of the most southerly islands of the group and had been swept back farther than she had advanced; the captain's wife, who was with him, had given birth toa baby; and they had had difficulty in dodging waterspouts. . For a short journey it was comparatively excrang | The Solomons, we found, lived up to their reputation. Head-hunting is still the vogue, and on the day we arrived an enraged hus- bandstabbed to death a friend whohad prayed for rain. You see, the prayer was answered; but the trouble started when the other gentleman’s wife climbed a palm, the trunk of which was slippery as a result of the down- pour. She fell and was killed. The husband thought his revenge quite logical. A shark swallowed our log as we came to Rabaulon the island of New Britain. This prosperous town was once Germany's Pacific capital, but to-day, asa result of a Peace Conference mandate, is under the contr’!

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340. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE... of Australia. We spent Easter there and enjoyed some right merry celebrations, very welcome after our spell in the wilderness. : Thence we ran to the Hermit Islands, a little-known group of coral atolls away off the coast of what was once German New Guinea. We had seen plenty of palms, but nothing to equal this. The entire group was thick with palms ; they seemed like an army that had occupied the group and driven out all other vegetation. They made unceasing clamour in the gale which sprang up just as we entered the snug anchorage within the encircling reef. Here we found a surprise awaiting us. We were at the world’s end, and yet we were entertained in a beautiful two-storeyed stone house complete with all kinds of com- forts, even to a tennis court and a photo- graphic dark room. It was more like a castle on the Rhine than an island home. The explanation was that the Hermits were once the headquarters of a German Pacific millionaire, and he built his home there. ‘To-day the house is occupied by a youthful Australian administrator and his staff. For day after day we lay at anchor waiting for the gale to abate, and as it declined to do so we finally went out to it. The great seas which had been thundering on the reef, as though angry that our little craft had A Fijian warrior in full regalia. A South Sea island haven. escaped them, shouted with delight as we came, and hurled us high into the airin their glee. The three days’ run to Dutch New Guinea was a trial for flesh and spirit. On the second night out, when I was at the wheel, the engineer, chanced to go forward to look ahead. It was pitch black and from the wheel-house it was difficult to see the pitching bow. Presently he came hurrying in and woke the captain. “Tsay, cap,” he said, ‘come and see theislands we're running right into!” That was a nice bombshell to fling ° It seemed that wind and tide had thrown our tiny liner far off her course, and we should have passed the danger long before. Such in- cidents as these, however, had a way of putting a nasty damper upon night watches. How good it was to make the shelter of Humboldt Bay, just inside the border of Dutch New Guinea! Here in the tiny outpost of Hollandia we discovered a centre of the bird-of- paradise trade, and along the only street were ranged rows of beautiful birds which the hunters had brought in. For all the cascading beauty of their plumes, it seemed a sorry trade—like selling dead dreams in the market-place. We had been told that there would

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ROUND THE WORLD IN A MOTOR BOAT. be supplies of ben- zine available at Hollandia, but in this we were dis- appointed. Ahead of us was a run of a thousand miles and we had in our tanks just two thousand gallons. As wecon- sumed two gallons a mile it will be seen that there was no margin for rough weather, diversion from course, or other eventualities. The position was not cheerful, and there seemed to be every chance that we should find our- selves floating on the face of the eaters: a rich salvage prize. We. hailed the arrival of a Dutch steamer with de- light, but her captain demanded {500 for a short tow, and that was out of the question. With a confident hoot of our siren—which did not, however, echo our real feelings— we finally thrust out to sea again. It was with anxious hearts that we waited to see what the weather outside was like. If the storm still raged our chances were slight. It didn’t. The sea smiled, and, indeed, it smiled throughout the week’s run. It was a week of delight, cruising from the sunrise into the sunset and by night down the silver path of the moon. The sea was still as glass; we caught great bonito and kingfish on the line towing astern, and our only care was the dwindling stocks of fuel in our tanks. Later we learned from a Dutch survey ship that we were fortunate indeed to come through those waters without harm, for they are strewn with uncharted reefs and very perilous. We ran, in that journey, from the Pacific to the Orient, and made Amboina, in the Dutch Indies, with the narrow margin of two hundred gallons of benzine. All through the Indies we went, calling at Celebes, Bouton, Bali, and Java. The places were all a-brim with interest and colour, full of the charm of the East and crowded with experiences. And adventures still came our way. One night, when we were approaching Saliwatti Strait, a narrow waterway of the coast of Celebes, we were caught in the heaviest tropical deluge it had been our Ict to experience. The rain came down in a blinding sheet, shutting out everything, and as we had just seen the lighthouse for a A scene at Singapore. second, our position was perilous. Caught in the grip of a tide-race, we were hurried on towards the strait where there is only a channel a mile wide between cruel rocks. Though our normal speed was eight knots, we were travelling at fourteen, and we spent an anxious half-hour hurtling along into the gloom. Suddenly the lighthouse appeared out of the wet void, was abeam for a second, and then passed astern. We shot out into the open sea again. In these waters at night junks are a con- stant source of peril, as they carry no lights and seldom post a look-out. Collisions are almost inevitable, and though we took eve: precaution, we ran into one one valvetdark midnight. It was a nasty experience to be at the wheel, see a tall spar come suddenly spinning out of the gloom, put the helm hard over to try and escape, and then hear the grinding, jarring bump and feel the ship stagger. The heavily-built native craft heeled right over, but recovered herself and, scraping down our side, swept away astern before anybody aboard her seemed to awaken. Such incidents as this made it necessary to dock the yacht at Java and give her a thorough overhaul, but apart from the damage caused by the collision with the reef and the junk, she was in wonderful order, considering the thousands of miles we had come. By the time we had reached Singa- pore, twenty-three thousand miles had slipped behind us, and as I write the yaclit is ploughi ng her way across the monsoon-racked ndian Ocean with her bow turned for Home. It has been a fascinating experience.

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Short Stories A FIGHT WITH A BULL WALRUS. By CAPTAIN CHAS. MADSEN. hunter in Arctic waters, and here relates the story of an exciting encounter with an infuriated bull walrus. The Author is a veteran fur-trader and walrus- | | command of the power schooner Sea Wolf, bound on a walrus-hunting expe- dition among the Siberian ice-fields. We had an order from the Hibbard-Stewart Company of Seattle, Washington, for a hundred thousand pounds of green salted walrus skins at seven cents a pound, and figured it would be an extremely profitable expedition if we were succes: in getting the hides. Inasmuch as I had hunted walrus T the spring of 1909 I left home in on many occasions in the capacity of guide for large expeditions, as well as for moving picture companies, I felt quite confident of filling the order, as I knew the main habitat of the large northern herds. We hada lot of trouble in the ice that year, ultimately losing our propeller, but suc- ceeded in fitting another one, and finally reached the Diomede Islands, in Bering Straits, where we took on board eight Eskimo hunters, and then continued our

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A FIGHT WITH A BULL WALRUS. voyage through the ice-fields along the Siberian coast. On the morning of July 4th we found several “leads ’’ in the ice, and before noon saw patches of open water in the dis- tance, which showed that we were liable to run across the walrus herds at any moment. Sure enough, about one o'clock in the afternoon, much to the joy of. all on board, we sighted a few scattered walrus asleep on the ice-floes. Our Eskimo hunters were already smack- ing their lips, thinking of the great feast they would have after the first kill. The omiaks (Eskimo skin-boats) were made ready, and the ivory harpoons, as well as other hunting paraphernalia, placed in them. Every man, with the exception of the cook and engineer, had his rifle loaded and ready for the bombardment. About a mile from the nearest walrus the Sea Wolf was made fast to a large ice-floe, and the two omiaks started for the herds. Anoyak, the chief Eskimo hunter, followed the two omiaks in his little kayak, or skin- covered canoe, which we generally used for chasing a wounded walrus. The third omiak was dispatched to an adjoining floe, which also held several of the animals, and at a signal from me the fire- works began. The deafening roar of the big bulls seemed to cease all at once, as the twelve rifles poured a volley into them, fol- lowed by intermittent shots at the wounded Hoisting walrus hides on board the Sea Wolf. 343 A herd of walrus on the ice-floes. _animals that were clambering over their dead comrades. After the firing ceased we found out that we had killed seventeen walrus on the two floes, or approximately five thousand pounds of hides, as they average about three hundred pounds per animal; but as this was only a small part of our order we proceeded towards the other herds, farther to the west. Late in the afternoon we had thirty-nine walrus, representing twelve thousand pounds of hides, lying on the different ice-floes ready to be skinned. After a feast for the Eskimos the hard work began— the skinning of the huge animals, which weigh nearly a ton, taking several men _ to turn them over. After they are skinned the hide is spread out on the ice in order to let the heat escape before the necessa: fifty pounds of salt is applied. They are then rolled up tightly, like ordi- nary f-hide, and placed in the hold. While the Eskimos were busy skinning I paddled leisurely along from floe to floe in the stern of the big omiak, to see that all the animals were dead. My ivory harpoon lay ready in the bow, and attached to it was the long skin rope, with the seal “ poke ’’ or floater, filled with air, which has enough buoyancy to float a dead walrus in the water. As I did not anticipate an encounter with any more walrus, 1 thought the two cart- tidges which were still in the magazine of my 30-40 and the three rounds in my +4t Colt revolver would be sufficient to

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7 344 finish any wounded animal which might still be alive. Much to my surprise, how- ever, I discovered five walrus on the last floe, where we had originally killed only three. It did not take me long to realize that the two " extras” were live walrus, asleep alongside of their dead comrades, and, in a few moments | was crawling along the ice towards the dead animals, which afforded excellent cover until 1 was ready to shoot. The nearest walrus to me was sound asleep, but the other seemed disturbed, and had probably got my scent. Immediate action was necessary, and J therefore aimed at the first one and fired, killing him in- stantly. As I turned to shoot at the other, however, my foot slipped, and in my hurry and excitement I missed the vital spot. 1 say ‘‘ vital spot ’’ because there are only three chances of killing a walrus instantly, and that is by the brain shot, either through the eye or the cavity in the back of the skull, or by breakirig-oné of the neck vertebre. The walrus went scrambling for the water at a break-neck speed, and as my 30-40 was empty, he reached it in zatete. I noticed, however, that he stayed very close to the ice, and though he occasionally dived for a few seconds, he always came up again near by, roaring like a mad bull and blowing a stream of blood into the air like a good- sized fountain. I took it for granted that he was mortally wounded and that it would be but a matter of a few minutes before he would die and sink unless I could get the harpoon into him and throw out the floater, Skinning the walrus. or, if necessary, give him a finishing shot with the ‘41 Colt. All this seemed very easy, for I had done it many times before with wounded walrus. I had never even given their fighting capacity a thought, but before I got through with this fellow I was to learn a good deal. Getting quite close, I drove the ivory THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. harpoon with full force at the centre of his back, but was very much astonished to see it glance off as if it had struck a rubber ball. This, I discovered later, was due to the ivory spearhead being broken. The blow seemed to arouse the walrus afresh, and with a terrific splash and plunge, he turned and charged the omiak. He made several attempts to get his big tusks over the gunwale, but as soon as I realized his intentions 1 jumped over to the opposite side, thereby raising the boat so much that he could do nothing but bump his head against the outside. This appeared to in- crease his fury, and presently, with a roar, he turned a half-somersault and dived under the boat, coming up again on the other side. Here, after blowing several gallons of blood and water into my face, he tried the same manceuvre. After several attempts I finally managed to get the broken h: jabbed into him, but as soon as he felt it he started rolling around in the water, and in a few seconds had the whole harpoon-line wrapped around his body and the floater overboard. Then, in a frenzy of rage, he dashed at the omiak again, butting his head savagely against the side, and although I worked hard with the paddle it was impos- sible to avoid his blows, which several times nearly upset the boat. Again and again he repeated the attacks. He was apparently growing stronger instead of weaker, and he tried frantically to get his tusks over the stern, where I was sitting with the paddle, swinging the boat out of the way at each re- newed attack. In the excite- ment I had _for- gotten all about the three cartridges left in my *41 Colt, but just as he was about to take an- other dive I remem- bered them, and decided to be ready for him when he again showed on the surface. As I was sitting there, re- volver in hand, waiting patiently for a sign of his reappearance, I felt a bump~ which threw me, without exaggeration, six feet into the air. I landed in the middle of the boat, and the revolver, jerked out of my hand, went off with a bang, the bullet crashing into the stern-seat. I was certain the boat was smashed, but found, to my surprise, that it was still intact. A few feet from the stern was the walrus, floating along lazily. Quick as a

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A FIGHT WITH A BULL WALRUS. flash I grabbed up the revolver and fired for his left eye; and by the commotion in the water I knew I had hit my mark. 1 was sitting down astern, waiting for him to reappear, when a very peculiar feeling seemed to take pos- session of me. I felt 345 to the-death is raging between man and beast. There is a walrus tearing at an over- turned kayak, his immense tusks goring the yellow skin and splintering the frail frame at every stab. The Eskimo hunter is hanging sure, somehow, that the walrus was about to tear the bottom of the skin- boat with his enor- mous tusks. I glued my eyes on; the bottom, and in another second or two I felt an odd motion. Then; very slowly, two white tusks appeared through the heavy skin, like two great knives. Curiously enough, however, they went out again as_ slowly as they had come in, leav- ing two gaping holes which I speedily plugged with my fur cap and a piece of old canvas which happened to be handy. Quite a lot of water had got into the boat, and as my improvised plugs did not fit well I decided to make for the nearest floe in order to keep the boat from filling. Still followed by the walrus, I started for the ice. When I was almost alongside I heard a voice calling me. It was Anoyak, the chief hunter. He had evidently heard the shots, and had hurried out in his little kayak in search of me. n a few words I explained the situation to him, and with a smile he produced his 30-40 and fired at the walrus, which was now swimming directly toward the on- coming kayak. I am sure he hit the brute’s skull, but the bullet merely glanced off. With a roar and a splash the animal disap- peared. Anoyak sat still, waiting for his reappearance, and in the meantime I busied myself with the holes in my omiak, which I finally plugged by cutting two pieces of skin and blubber from one of the dead walrus on the floe. I was just ready to bail out the water from the boat when I heard a shriek from Anoyak. I really don’t know how to describe what I saw during the next few minutes. All I know is that I stood as if nailed to the ice- cake. Picture to yourself the Arctic Ocean, calm as a mill pond, filled with masses of floating ice of all sizes. Away to one side, and about a mile distant, you see the masts and part of the hull of the Sea Wolf ; on the other side the bleak, blue mountains and undulating tundra land of the north coast of ee pect in front of you a combat A close view of the skinning operation. Notice the formidable tusks. on for dear life to his pitching, rolling canoe. The next moment the scene changes. A large omiak is madly rushing to the rescue of the distressed hunter, and in the stern, paddling frantically, you see myself. The roar of the frenzied walrus and the cries of the helpless Eskimo are the only sounds that break the stillness of the Arctic air. Now the omiak is almost up to them, but the kayak is merely a mass of splinters, and the Eskimo, no swimmer, is splashing and scrambling around in the wreckage, trying to get hold of something—anything—that will keep his head above water. Swiftly the walrus swims towards him, and in another few seconds you see the immense white tusks rise in the air; then down they come with the intention of goring his enemy. However, he misses, and in another moment the Eskimo, in desperation, makes a grab for the tusks, seizes them, and holds on. While we watch amazed he swings himself around on the brute’s neck, and in another moment the pair of them disappear below the surface, only to come up again imme- diately. Now, however, the omiak is turn- ing toward them, and in another second two strong arms embrace the distressed hunter and lift him safely into the boat. A few minutes later the Sea Wolf came along, and after we got on board I reloaded the 30-40, and soon settled accounts with our big friend, who was still swimming round eager for battle. After that experience, however, I have always believed the Eskimos’ stories about the pluck and tenacity of the fighting bull walrus.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “TAPKABAZI.” AN INDIAN CONFIDENCE TRICK By “ NICOLA.” Illustrated by TOM PEDDIE. Cis one form or another the “ confidence trick” flourishes all over the world. This little story ; shows how cleverly it is worked in the country | districts of India. | HAT “ the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agliey’’ is very true, but the saying seldom or never applies to the age-old game of tapkabazi (the dropped jewel trick) as pre- sented by its astute exponents in certain parts of India. The trick is usually worked by a quartette of clever, intrepid rogues who, having banded themselves together for illicit purposes, move by easy stages from village to village in the remotest parts of a district well off the beaten track and line of rail, where countryfolk still lead most primi- tive lives and are simple and unsuspecting to an astonishing degree. No hurry charac- terizes their methods for, curious it may seem, in criminality, as in everything else, you can never hustle the East. The four knaves, masquerading as harm- less wayfarers, are in reality taking careful stock of the inhabitants of each hamlet, their share of this world’s goods, and the most subtle and convenient means of re- lieving them thereof. Yapkabazi is not the only device to which these artists in crime have recourse for the attainment of their nefarious ends. Conjurers such as they have many games up their sleeve, as indeed they require to have, and they play them oft as time, circumstance, or opportunity offer. Tapkabazit, however, has its distinctly humorous side; and it is of this artful combination of play-acting and trickery that I propose to give a brief description. Having rapidly ingratiated themselves with the artless folk of a selected village and learned all there is to learn of the gossip of the place—the short and simple annals of the poor—our four enterprising sportsmen incidentally hear, among other things, that good old) Mulaim = Parshad, widower and tenant-in-chief, who has made his little pile during a couple of score of years, intends, because of waning years and strength, to migrate shortly to his son’s home at another vulage, distant some twenty miles, there to pass the evening of his days in peace and quiet, with possibly some mild but lucrative occupation by way of a little diversion— for instance, money-lending at usurious interest. The old gentleman, after the actual date of his departure has been ascertained, is left severely alone. All moves are made at early dawn, so no question as to time arises. Our four heroes then proceed on their way, rejoicing at the rich prospect in store. When a good few furlongs separate them from Mulaim Parshad’s village, a council of war is hcld and a well-devised plan of campaign conceived for Mulaim’s undoing. Carefully, but not too ostentatiously dis- guised, the ringleader comes, as if by for- tuitous circumstance, upon the aged Mulaim, who, having started on his journey, is found taking a midday rest some eight miles dis- tant at a parao (encampment), where cool, sweet well-water is procurable, and where there are facilities for the preparation of a meal and the grateful foliage of umbrageous trees for a rest. Greetings—‘‘ Ram, Ram, brother ’’—are exchanged, with the cour- tesies common to the East, the pipe of peace is shared, and then the pleasant discovery is made that both pedestrians are journey- ing in the same direction. What more natural than that they should join company and thus beguile the tedium of the way? And so the two, after refreshment mutually enjoyed, a short nap, and a final pull at their lutas (brass pots universally used for drink- ing) and hookahs, jog along together.

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« “ TAPKABAZI.”

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348 Suddenly, while gazing earthwards during a momentary pause in the conversation, the old man’s companion pounces hawk-like, with an excited exclamation, upon some- thing he has seen at his feet in the sandy highway. Kising, he exhibits a glittering yellow object which reveals itself as a heavy bangle, affected by Indian ladies of the better class. Wild excitement on the part of both men is the outcome of this discovery. When this dies down, they agree to keep the matter secret and await developments, if any, with the idea of deciding later how best to dispose of the find. Developments, according to concerted plan, are not long in materializing. Very soon they see two men coming from the opposite direction in a state of extreme excitability and manifest distress, to the accompaniment of wild gesticulations and loud, jerky remarks. While yet some dis- tance divides the parties, our two friends are accosted in entreating tones with the eager inquiry: ‘‘ Ho, brothers! Have you in the course of your journey come upon anything lying on the roadway ?” “Come across anything 2? What are you driving at? Be explicit,” is the cautious rejoinder with which they are met. “Well, to be precise, we are members— close relatives, in fact—of a wedding party ” (or other ceremonial procession, according to circumstance) ‘‘ that has proceeded this way, and to our vast discomfiture we find that a heavy gold bangle, valued at four hundred and fifty rupees (£30), part of the bride’s dowry, is missing. The only con- clusion we can come to is that it has rolled out of the bullock cart from a box not as securely fastened down as it should have been. Have you seen anything of it?" To this appeal the instant answer is returned : ‘‘ Nothing of the kind, we assure you, brothers; but we are indeed most sorry for you.” The unfortunate losers are allowed to pursue their search farther down the road, and, when they are out of sight, Mulaim’s companion turns to him. “It is time for us to act—and act quickly, brother,’’ he exclaims. ‘' There is a village to our left, about a mile away ; it were well that we deviate slightly from our course and inquire for a goldsmith or artificer in metals to test the truth of what we have just heard, that the bangle is of gold.” Keenly interested, though not personally concerned, our friend Mulaim Parshad readily consents, and soon the pair find them- selves not only at the village but, by a stroke of great good fortune, at the small shop of an itinerant jeweller (the fourth THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. member of the gang, of course), who, on payment of a fee, subjects the bangle to two or three separate tests and finally pro- nounces it to be pure twenty-two carat gold right through, and worth intrinsically at least three hundred and fifty rupees. There- upon the travellers resume their journey, very jubilant. After a while, however, Mulaim finds his companion a trifle gloomy, if not morose, the cause of which he ascer- tains to be due to the fact that he is worry- ing as to how a man in his rather humble walk of life is to explain away the find to his relatives and friends, and—more difficult still—dispose of it without arousing sus- picion. Mulaim’s position, of course, is different, and the little demon of avarice now enters into his heart and sets it all a-flutter. “Well, brother, since you do not appear very keen to retain the bauble, what would you be prepared to part with it for?’ he asks, as a feeler. “You heard what the men of the wedding party said and the lowest market price at which the jeweller appraised the bangle,!’ returns the other. ‘‘ Suppose we put it at the latter figure, three hundred and fifty rupees ?”’ Much bartering and haggling follow. The evening shadows are commencing to lengthen and now or never must the coup be brought off. Finally, the bangle changes hands for three hundred rupees (/20). Mutually satisfied, the friends take their night’s rest together at another parao. Before morning , dawns, however, Mulaim discovers that his ! quondam friend, the bangle-finder, has dis- ” appeared. For the first time a faint sus- picion dawns in the old man’s mind, but bearing himself as optimistically as he can. he plods on and arrives late the following afternoon at his destination. There, of course, the bubble instantly bursts and the hideous truth is revealed’ What, in the guilcless innocence of his childlike faith. he purchased as pure gold proves to be solid brass, covered with a thin veneer of cheap gold leaf, worth two or three rupees only at the most ! ie Mulaim is dazed at the crushing blow dealt him. To whom is he to turn for redress? The police are communicated with, but the four confederates whose modus operand: has been described above have already assembled at an appointed rendez- vous, divided up their ill-gotten gains and speedily evolved plans as to their next pigeon-plucking exploit—well away, how- ever, from the scenes of the trick just brought to so eminently successful a cen- clusion.

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AMERICAN ONLY THE DEVILS POST-PILE™ NE of America’s most ex- traordi- nary natural won- ders, the ‘“‘ Devil’s Post-Pile,”’ is crum- bling. Mysteri- ously wrought in the cosmic cruci- Hidden away among the mountains of Southern California is a strange and practically unknown natural wonder—a great mass of basalt rock shaped into extraordinary formations which are pores a puzzle to scientists. The “Devil’s ‘ost-Pile,” as this curious phenomenon is called, has been set apart as a national monument. The Author illustrates his description with some striking photographs. One of the most perfect of the fallen pillars, struck down by lightning. tunately it affects at first only the outermost seg- ments. Though set apart by the President a decade ago, as a national monu- ment, authorita- tively recognized as ble, possibly when our planet's foun- dations were laid, it is now gradually suc- cumbing to the onslaughts of elemental forces. Paradoxically enough, this basaltic marvel of the California wilds actually im- proves as its destruction progresses, but the end, from a scientific point of view, is near —only a mere matter of centuries. Disintegrating agencies sunder the “masonry” of the remarkable structure, and frost, earthquake, tempest, and thunder- bolt continually rend and shatter its adaman- tine supports, but for the present the newly- exposed columns stand forth stronger, more perfect in form, more brilliant in their pristine glory. So huge is the mass that it must endure some hundreds of years before the demolition of the ‘ Post-Pile” is complete. That this attrition is constantly and surely going on, however, a glance at the illustrations will make apparent. For- the best example extant of its pecu- liar type of basalt, and readily accessible in summer, the ‘‘ Devil’s Post-Pile ’’ remains virtually unseen and unknown. Not more than one out of every ten thousand persons in the United States has beheld it or could name its location, although foreign Govern- ments and institutions send their scientists to study the long, dark, glistening prisms of this remarkable natural tower. The phenomenon is but a few hundred miles from Los Angeles, an easy drive of a day or so northward along the eastern base of continental America’s loftiest mountains— a trip of varied picturesqueness and rare charm. From San Francisco the distance is about the same, via the Yosemite Valley and Tioga Pass, also a route of scenic grandeur. The nearest highway is the trans- continental National Roosevelt Midland Trail, four thousand miles long and extending

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35° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. almost direct from Montauk Point, Long Island, New York, to the “ Post-Pile '' and the Golden State's chief cities—a road from Atlantic to Pacific. Two or three hours by trail, afoot or in the saddle, will take you from a resort called Mammoth to the weird, enchanted precincts of his Satanic Majesty’s reputed post- setting or pile-driving operations. The spectacle is astonishing—a joy to the sightseer and a puzzle to the scientist. In the heart of hearts of the stupendous Sierra Nevada, sur- rounded by scores of white-robed aks, residual glaciers, gorgeous akes, dreamy meadows, _ boiling springs, and ice-chilled, dashing brooks, the ‘‘ Devil's Post-Pile” occupies the centre of a region of magnificent scenery, more beautiful than the imagination can conceive or mere words describe. It seems a grim sentinel keeping watch over the Middle Fork of the San Joaquin River, which rushes noisily by within a hundred yards. This curiously-attractive natural wonder is set at an elevation of seven thousand five hundred feet above sea level, and is itself a pigmy as compared with the titanic heights A general view of the “Post-Pile,” showing the all about. vast heap of shattered columns. The ‘“ Pile" is a mile long, half mis a mile wide, and four hundred feet high. lation is not everywhere in evidence, crop- The formation whence it derives its appel- ping out only in certain places. The most striking columns constitute a thou- sand feet of its western face. They rise over a hun- dred feet above the talus—a_ vast heap of broken ““ posts ’’ accumu- lated through the never-ceasing bat- tering of the cliff by Nature’s pro- cesses, which ponnd away like ammers. Ulti- mately, in the course of centu- ries, all will be levelled. How far downward they extend is not known ; it may be that they go far toward the heat- radiating centre of SS = the globe, but A view from above, showing the pillars fitted together like pieces probably they of a mosaic. “ pinch out” ——————_ = ———

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THE “DEVIL’S POST-PILE.” close to the surface. The geological-experts would gladly pay a liberal admittance fee for a peep “ down below.” The columns in this amazing “" pile’ are arranged in rows almost as regularly as the pipes of a cathedral organ. Well-nigh perfect prisms, they are fitted together like cells in a honeycomb, each placed with the nicest care of true artisanship, and they look for all the world as if they had been shaped and set by human hands. The top ends were polished ages ago by grinding glacial motion, and may be compared with a parquet floor. The mosaic effect is startling. These columns range from fourteen inches to more than three feet in diameter. Most of them are pentagonal, whereas elsewhere, 351 main, but full of colour, some in varying shades of green, blue, and grey, a few white as alabaster. Until recently the handsomest of all the columns—tall, symmetrically proportioned, and tapering to a point—was separated from the main body and stood upright and alone, a_ proud, stalwart symbol of independence. This solitary column can clearly be seen in the upper centre of the general view—but it is there no longer. During my latest visit to the ‘ Post-Pile,"” last August, it was struck by lightning, and fell with a rever- berating crash, seared from end to end. Happily it only broke into a few sections. It would be difficult to find a locality where more sudden and violent electrical as in -the well-known Giants’ Causeway, storms come booming up. At midday, while the — sun shone brightly, a small‘ cumulo- nimbus ” cloud drifted over the ,Tange from the west, and in less than as many minutes three A striking view near the summit of the “Devil's Post-Pile.” Ireland, the general shape is hexagonal. The ‘ Devil's Post-Pile’’ affords strange deviations in this respect, some of its im- mense columns being eight-sided, many seven-sided, and the remainder hexagons. In one extensive section they are straight as sawn timbers, and stand perpendicular, in another they lean and are gracefully curved en masse, the individual prisms having become twisted and fluted in the making or the cooling, just like sticks of pliable candy. At one point they have the wavy appearance of flowing water, while at the southern upper end they project almost horizontally, resembling gigantic railroad ties or evenly-piled wood on a_ hillside. All sparkle like precious stones in the glare of the mountain sun, affording a bewildering spectacle. The columns are black in the vicious blue-white streaks darted earthward — and each shivered a noble tree. The fourth and _ final bolt, with a peal that , made the mountains them- selves tremble, took the column, - No raindrops pat- tered, hardly a shadow lurked on the majestic land- scape. The rock formation, which has the metallic ring of iron and somewhat its hard- ness, may tend to draw electricity. At that altitude, eternally shut in by granite ramparts, the summer and lightning season is brief, the winter long and rigorous. Death tragedies through cold are not infrequent. The snow often runs from fifteen to twenty-five feet deep, and where its weight bears against pillars it breaks them down. Thermal springs are scarce in the Sierra Nevada, but near the ‘Devil's Post-Pile’’ there are several. One, the ‘ Casa Diablo,” is so hot that food can be quickly cooked in the ground anywhere about it. Just behind the ‘Pile’ is a series of pools at which a temperature of 120 degrees is recorded. On the north are springs of distinctly carbonated water, notably that at Soda Spring Flat, which yields an effervescent drink pure as crystal and superior to any

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352 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. obtainable at the drugstore = foun- tain. The presence of the “‘ Post- Pile’”’ lava may account for an abnormal tempera- ture gradient that- gives rise to the heated water and the bicarbonates. Some —_ geologists point to the com- bination as “proof of comparatively Tecent volcanic activity and ques- tion the extreme age of the curi- osity. Others maintain, and their conclusion is equally sound, that these columns rose . before those in the ruins of the temples of Pom- peii, with which they have been compared; that they are older than Athens, Nineveh, or Nippur, and date from the be- ginning of things terrestrial. No guess is barred. As there are legends concerning the origin of Fin- ’s Cave, on the sland of . Staffa, Scotland, and the Giants’ Causeway, in County Antrim, Ireland, Europe's famed basaltic wonders, so does Indian tradition deal with the ‘ Devil’s Post-Pile.’’ An old Owens Valley Piute told me that long, long ago, when everything was young, there came among his people a very wicked spirit who professed to be far wiser and better than they and sought to lead them into new ways of thinking and living to gratify his own evil ends. In this upstart, a coyote in a lamb’s fleece, the ‘“heap big boss devil’’ saw a treacherous and formidable rival, so he thrust him into a cavern and drove the posts in behind him to make certain he’d stay. He’s still wriggling and sputtering down there, and his mad struggles send the water up sizzling and steaming! I thought I detected the trace of a smile on the graven bronze features of the aborigine as he spoke, and this was confirmed when he chuckled and suggested The “Post-Pile” at a point where the columns run vertically. that those modern reformers who would “make over "’ paleface and Indian alike well might be disposed of in the same manner. His subtle mind was working. A brave of the Mono tribe put the subject in an entirely new light. All mountains, he explained, rest on posts. How else could they stand? Here one had_ slipped off. Absolutely simple, isn’t it? Even a child could understand. The ‘‘ Devil’s Post-Pile”” is at the junc- tion of important trails leading hundreds of miles in various directions. Close by the Government maintains a_ picturesque log cabin that occasionally shelters stormboun sightseers. At times it is occupied by trappers, who bring out thousands of dollars’ worth of furs, for big game and wild life abound.

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“WITH A SCREAM THE MAGICIAN FELL TO THE GROUND.” (SEE PAGE 359.)

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¢ (FB ARDINIA, though so neartothe fashion- able resorts of Europe, remains in many -ways the uttermost end of nowhere, almost as far removed from our modern civiliza- tion as the most remote island of the South Seas. Externally it does not strike one as very different from an ordinary Italian pro- vince. Cagliari, for instance, never impresses me as more old- world than many a town near Naples or Rome. There are high mouldy walls, endless flights of time-worn steps, and the usual churches. There is, of course, no comfort, but everybody welcomes a stranger with traditional highland courtesy. The Sardinian record for hospitality, is probably the most famous in the world. You have only to present yourself at any of the feudal domains or vast farms of the interior to be overwhelmed with kindness and enter- tained indefinitely as the most honoured of guests. Indeed” your difficulty will be to find a pretext for eventual departure without wounding the sensitive feelings of your hosts. Their jealousy is equalled only by their generosity, and so long as you refrain from aving attentions to their womenfolk, there is nothing they will not lavish upon you unasked. You are made free of some of the finest wild sport in the world and your com- panions make yon feel as much at home with them as though vou were more than a friend, almost a brother. All the time, however (and every visitor 1 have met has confirmed my own impressions), you are surrounded by an atmosphere amounting virtually to an ice-wall of impenetrable reserve. However lon; and intimate your intercourse may be, 25. Se MAGICIANS Herbert Vivian ILLUSTRATED BY TH.ROBINSON Mr. Vivian, whose article on the Sardinian vendetta will be remembered, here relates an extraordinary experience that befell him in the island—the story of a vendetta that survived the grave and drove a young man to a terrible expiation. you never feel that you have snatched the slightest glimpse of the mysteri- ous native mind. The more you study them, the more _ hopeless the problem be- comes. You find kindness, heroism, and self-sacrifice mingled in the same individuais with all the savagery of the vendetta, which makes it a point of honour to murder in cold blood after generations of cherished grievance. This is inexplicable, but not unique, for family feuds are not exclusively Sardinian. But the more you come to know and love these peculiar islanders the more bewildered you must be by traits and ideas that seem to spring from another race—almost another planet. I admit that the fantastic story I am about to tell throws little or no light upon the great Sardinian mystery. It is merely a sidelight, a glimmer from the other side of the veil. It may, however, afford a clue for the guidance of future inquirers. I was wandering through Sardinia’s remote and lofty forests, famous for wild boar. I bestrode a gigantic mule, with Andrea Tagliapesce as my sole companion. I do not know why he had consented to come with me, for he was well-to-do, and the small fee he asked for his services could have afforded no great inducement. The insular love for the society of foreigners may have been a partial inducement, but when he made his revelation I fancied there was some touch of fatalism about it, leading him to recognize fe as a safe and remote confessor, in whom he could confide without much risk of my talking to anyone who mattered, without even much risk of understanding anything

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356 more than the incidents of a dramatic story. Soon, however, I came to recognize the impulse of an inexorable destiny, the working of a vendetta that even survived the grave. We had been talking of dramatic episodes of the chase. I had told him a few experi- ences with wolves in Koumania and the way in which an elephant had gratuitously spared my life in Somaliland. He listened with polite credulity, almost amounting to interest. Then he drifted into silence and I could see from his gleaming eyes that his thoughts were wandering in very different spheres. “Signor Cavaliere,” he broke out of a sudden, “ pardon me if I say that you are wrapped up too closely in earthly things. What would it matter if wolves tore you to pieces or elephants trampled you to dust ? ‘They would but destroy your mortal. shell. You run far greater risks in the paved streets of Cagliari or London, where unseen enemies of another world prowl and chase more relentlessly than any beasts of the forest. You are a foreigner, and therefore probably no Christian. Cannot you understand that Satan is quite as capable of propaganda and espionage as the devilish Huns were during the War ? It is our duty to work at counter- propaganda and counter-espionage, but that is a dangerous game. However, the hour and the place are at hand. I know that we are drawing very near to them. I know that I am destined to confess—and to confess to you, who are certainly no priest, perhaps not even a Christian.” The short dusk had already given way to premonitions of night. Owls were beginning to make uncanny noises in the thickets. Something in my companion’s odd manner led me to await an uncanny manifestation. “There,” said Andrea suddenly, ‘is the Stone of the Befana.”” The Befana, I should explain, is the Spirit of the Epiphany, who brings presents to children, and at the same time a rather evil sorceress whose magic is easily provoked to do harm. The idea is to keep in with her to get your youngsters’ stockings filled at Christmas and at the same time to avoid irritating her Jest she should be provoked to do you an ill-turn. But for our conversation and a certain un- canniness in the air, the Stone of the Befana might have passed unnoticed, as merely a dreary-looking rock in a lonely and desolate tract of country. We had now left the forest, and the stone lay on a sort of heath, half covered with brushwood and heather, and stained with ancient lichen. It made you think of a sacrificial altar of heathen times. Here, I learned from my companion, the Befana was wont to sit in a grey cloak on stormy nights and plan evil for the whole countryside. Villagers who would have fought and died for a point of honour, who had not the faintest regard for their skins THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, or their lives, would have flung themselves from the topmost cliffs rather than venture within reach of this ghostly menace at midnight. The place was taboo, and there were all sorts of horrible legends constituting it unholy ground. Andrea gave a shiver and murmured “Confiteor,”” as though he were entering a confessional-box to denounce himself for “murder. “T have said that I will tell you,” he muttered, with all the clamminess of fear in his muffled tones. ‘‘ It is ordained that I shall tell you. It may be my dying con- fession. Iam not sure that I would make it to a priest, but I feel that I am already absolved.” And then he told me the following remark- able story. My little wife, Giannina, who was always more to me than the apple of my eye, who Icved me and worshipped me as woman never adored man before—that little angel of my life grew sadder and sadder after our marriage when God withheld from us the supreme blessing of matrimony: With my farm, our perfect health, and all the other joys of life, it was a very great grief to us that we had no heir. There was nothing natural to explain the curse which darkened our lives. Her girl friends and my acquaintances, and all the old men and women of the village, shrugged their shoulders and looked strangely at us. They made us feel they knew some- thing of which we were ignorant. Gradually we became suspicious without anyone telling us anything definitely. Then, all of a sudden, there came a revelation. I must tell you that before Giannina and I came to an understanding she had been courted by a dark-browed, grim-looking young man named Luigi Sanguinacci, commonly called I/ Mago, or the Magician. After we had been married about two years, I came home one evening from tending my cattle and found Giannina in tears. This was so unusual an occurrence that I was deeply moved and begged her to tell me all that had happened. “Oh, it’s nothing,’ she began. ‘ Of course I don’t really believe in such things. But my cousin Lucia has been here and she says evervbody is talking about the spell which Luigi the Magician has cast upon us. You know he vowed vengeance when I refused him and married you, and the things one hears about his powers are certainly strange. You remember his dispute with the Mayor about the boundary, and then the withering away of all the Mayor’s silk- worms, which he had imported at huge expense from China? And you have only to look at Luigi to perceive that he has the evil eye. Oh, I am sure he has bewitched “But, darling, we are very happy

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THE MAGICIAN’S CURSE. 357 “He was on guard with the quickness of a panther, and his long sharp blade glittered in the moonlight.” together,” I told her. ‘‘ My farm is aoing she buried it on my breast. ‘ Andrea,” she well. How can you talk of a curse ? ” whispered, ‘‘ you know we have been married She looked shy and bent her head; then nearly two years—and we have no child.”

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358 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Till go and wring the brute’s neck!” I cried. I made a movement towards the door, but she clung to me and bade me remember that my strength might avail Jittle against Luigi’s magic. So 1 prevaricated to soothe her nerves, and did not go out till after supper, when I said I would take a walk to think over things in the moonlight. Then I went straight off to seek Luigi Sanguinacci’s dwelling. It was a sort of log-cabin in that clump of trees you can see over there, near the border of the forest. I found him seated on a bench outside, making traps for birds. ‘ “Hii, there, Sanguinacci,”’ I cried without any further greeting. ‘‘ Is it true that you are a magician ?”’ ¢ He gave a sour smile and answered slowly: ‘‘ People say so, because I know the virtue of herbs and the language of the birds of the woods.” “Yes, and people also say it is owing to your cursed magic that my marriage has not been blessed with children,” I told him. He gave an evil laugh. “ Well, what about it?’ he said mockingly. In my rage I drew my knife, and was about to spring upon him, but he was on guard with the quickness of a panther, and his long sharp blade glittered in the moon- light. ‘Come on, my boy!” he cried. “ If that’s the way you want it, we'll soon see who’s the better man.” I reflected, however, that I had come to negotiate, not to fight; I was acting for poor little Giannina much more than for myself. There would be plenty of time to kill him after I had induced him to recall his evil spell. So I pulled out a hundred- lire note, and said craftily: ‘‘ You know I am not afraid of you. It will be much better for both of us if you quit your insults. You see this money ? I will give it you if you stop the working of your accursed magic.’” I could see a conflict going on in his mind, but at last his greed got the better of his hatred." ‘* Now you are talking sense,’’ he mut- tered presently. ‘‘I really don’t know if I can do what you want; that is a question for higher powers. If vou have the courage to make trial, will you go to the Befana’s Stone at midnight ?” “ To-night ?” “Yes, this very night. The moon is in a favourable aspect. Bring a white cloth and two wax candles with you.” “What for?" “ That is ‘my secret. afraid, say so.'” “ Afraid ?"’ I laughed and gripped my knife again. “So be it,” said he. ‘The Befana’s But if you are Stone at midnight, then. But woe betide you if you try to play me tricks.” We parted without further words and, just before the appointed hour, I found mysclf beside the stone with a bundle under my arm. The moon was at the full and seemed to fill every nook and crevice of the countryside with silver. The bright light should have given me courage, but I confess to feeling superstitious qualms when I espied an uncanny figure crouching in the shadow of the great stone. . “‘Who is there ? ” I called, and drew my knife in alarm. ‘‘A friend of the evil spirits, like your- self,’”’ Sanguinacci answered with a laugh as he sprang to his feet. ‘‘ Have you brought what I told you?” I gave him my bundle and bade him make short work, but he growled that he was not to be hurried. Then he asked me whether I had brought a gun. “No, my knife is all I need.” “Well, I need something more,’’ he retorted. “It is beyond even my magic powers to load a knife and fire it off like a gun. However, I have taken the precau- tion of bringing a pistol. Just take it and see whether it is loaded. In the meantime I will prepare the altar.” He spread my cloth over the stone, stood the two candles at the sides and lighted them. “What about the pistol?” he asked me. “It is not loaded.”’ “Very well; give it to me and step back seven paces—not one more or one less. Count carefully, for the seven is important.’’ I did as I was told, and when I turned round I saw the magician bending with his face over the stone engaged on some uncanny tite. Presently 1 noticed the pistol lying on the cloth between the lighted candles. Luigi fell on his knees and murmured words that I could not understand. The whole scene was most uncanny, especially when the candles suddenly went out and I heard a deep, hollow voice apparently answering the magician from the stone in the same unintelligible speech. I gazed open-mouthed, with trembling knees, almost imagining I could sce the ghostly figure of the Befana, clad in a grey cloak, crouching behind the altar. But luckily the colloquy did not last long. The magician rose slowly to his feet, took the pistol from the altar and advanced towards me. “The spirit of the Befana,”” he announced, “has revealed to me that this pistol will tell you whether your desire will be fulfilled or not. Press the trigger, and then, if a shot is fired, it will be a sign that your wife is released from the spell. If there is no shot, then nothing can help you.” ao

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‘But that is impossible,’ I stammered, “the pistol is unloaded.” “That is the very reason why it is a test of the power of the magic. Fire away and take care to aim in the air. I don’t quite know how things happened. I only know that my nerves were all upset by these frightful ceremonies. I grasped the pistol and pulled the trigger. A shot re- sounded through the night, and with a scream the magician fell to the ground. Bending over him, I found that a bullet had passed right through his breast. Now my horror surpassed anything that had gone before. One glance at the man’s distorted features and glazed eyes convinced me that I was responsible for his death. What on earth was I to do? Go off to the police and give myself up ? No one would believe in my innocence! And even if I escaped with a few months’ imprisonment for culpable homicide, how could I bear to be separated from my Giannina ? Death would be preferable to that. Then a sudden ray of hope came to me perhaps an inspiration from the wicked Befana herself. No one had seen me come here; no one could produce any evidence to associate me with Luigi Sanguinacci’s death. I rushed to the stone in a panic, gathered up the cloth and the candles, and ran home as fast as I could to the arms of my beloved. It was not easy to account for my long absence and my agitated state, but we had always lived in perfect trust, and at last 1 succeeded in calming her distress. A couple of days later Luigi's body was found beside the stone. Adischarged pistol lay on the ground close by and there was another just like it, but unloaded, in the pocket of his coat. Giannina made no comment, but her face wore a strange expression for many days. Everybody said that Luigi must have met his death while seeking to probe the mysteries of the Befana. And no one was surprised, for his uncanny reputation had long foreshadowed a dreadful end. The police took no pains to investigate the affair, for they had Jong suspected him of all sorts ‘of misdeeds, and they evidently considered the district well rid of him. Within the year Giannina presented me with a curly, black-haired boy, and I felt so thankful that I went off that very day to the priest and gave him a hundred-lire note —the note which Luigi Sanguinacci never received—to pay for masses for the repose of the magician’s soul. But I have never felt that his wrath was appeased towards me, and when Giannina faded away and died, after a lingering illness, I felt that the curse had only been transferred. Perhaps Luigi's soul was too restless and troubled to find repose in the other world, however many THE MAGICIAN’S CURSE. 359 masses might be said on his behalf. I try to persuade myself that all his sorcery was a pretence; and he did undoubtedly trick me, to his own cost, by changing the revolvers. Even the voice which issued from the Befana’s Stone may have been a mere effect of ventriloquism. But we all believed that he was a magician while he lived, and it may well be that he still exercises magic after his death. The spell which he cast on my marriage was removed when he died, but nevertheless he still seems to be somewhere near me at all hours of the day and night. I have come to feel myself haunted, and I have prayed again and again to the Blessed Virgin to relieve me from the obsession. Last night the magician appeared to me ina dream. He wore his old evil smile, and said that he had indeed cast a fresh spell upon me and, unless he removed it, I should end my days in a madhouse. “Is’ there no way of escape?” I implored. “Yes,” he replied. ‘ You must first con- fess.”” That, sir, is why I have told you a story which has hitherto remained locked in my breast, for I never breathed a whisper of it even to my poor, dear wife, from whom I never had any other secrets. “ Well,” I said to Andrea, with a hearty clap on the back, “that is all right now. You have confessed to me and I have no hesitation in absolving you. After all, it was only an accident. You had no intent to kill.” “Ah!” sighed my guide, good, Signor Cavaliere, and I fully appreciate your sympathy. But confession is not enough. He told me that I must also expiate.” ““What nonsense!" I exclaimed. ‘ You have nothing to expiate. I tell you it was only an accident.” “Aye, but it was an accident that has brought a curse upon my life. We are near the end of our journey,” he continued. “Down in that valley in front of us you can discern the lights of Borgo Piano, where you are to pass the night. You cannot miss the way. I will leave you now and say an Ave or two here at the place of the tragedy. Perhaps I shall be able to exorcise the evil spirit which pursues me. This is the anni- versary of the magician’s death, and the time has come for me to expiate.’”’ So saying, he leaped lightly aside from the road and disappeared in the thick brushwood. I felt Preould do nothing, so I went on my way, though with many misgivings. Next day I learned that Andrea Taglia- pees had been found shot through the heart eside the ancient altar which goes by the name of the Befana's Stone. “ you are very

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woes ops The steel chamber from which the under-water pictures are taken. WITH A MOTION PICTURE CAMERA @xSr UNDER he SEQ Taking pictures and staging film stories in the depths of the ocean is the latest development of cinematograph enterprise, and it has been made possible by the daring and inventive genius of one man Mr. J. Ernest Williamson. Needless to say, the camera man who works under water takes his life in his OTION pictures have brought the ends of the world together. Through them we can travel from the frozen Arctic to the Equator and the desolate Antarctic, from east to west and back again around the globe. In their search for new scenes the camera men have penetrated tropical jungles and_ frozen seas, climbed the highest mountains, and descended into the craters of active volcanoes and the bowels of the earth. Only one man, however, has invaded the depths of the sea and has found on the ocean’s floor a ficld for moving pictures more fascinating and thrilling, more filled with possibilities and more unexplored and unknown than spot on all the surface of the earth. man is Mr. J. Ernest Williamson, and the story of his life, his work, and his numberless adventures is as fascinating and thrilling as any romance. A. ae ill son and his have met with scores of narrow shaves and real adventures as thrilling as article gives one a vivid difficulties and dangers of film-making at the bottom of the sea As in many another case, Mr. Williamson’s achievements were made possible almost by accident, and by means of apparatus designed fora totally different purpose. His father, Captain Charles Williamson, a noted marine architect and inventor, realized the necessity for devices for salvaging sunken ships, and designed a practical apparatus for the purpose. This consisted of a heavy steel chamber, which was lowered into the sea and connected with the float or ship by means of a flexible sectional steel tube. Descending through this tube to the water- tight chamber, the salvager could locate wrecks throu gh’ heavy glass windows through which the beams of a powerful searchlight were cast. Instantly it was constructed his son, who was then a news photographer, saw other possibilities in the apparatus. With alterations and improvements he transformed the steel chamber into a camera

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WITH A MOTION PICTURE CAMERA UNDER THE SEA. 361 room, and lo! the marvels of the ocean's floor and the teeming life of the depths were his to record. The wiseacres, of course, scoffed at his ideas. They claimed that no light penetrated to the ocean's floor, that the beams of the searchlight would be diffused by the water and would be inadequate to cause an im- pression on the film, and that long time- exposures were necessary even at moderate depths in order to get photographic records under water. But Mr. Williamson thought differently, and his very first attempts proved that he was right- and that the others were all wrong. Instead of semi-dark- ness, he found the depths illuminated by a clear bluish light of high actinic value, and instead of the beams of his electric light being disseminated or absorbed he found that they were far more effective than on land; the bottom of the sea was brought into clear and distinct visibility for several hundred feet from his chamber. For work at great depths he designed and built large “‘ batteries ” of powerful submarine search- lights. Selecting the Bahamas as the scene for his operations, Mr. Williamson prepared to take the first undersea film, a marvellous series of pictures of submarine life entitled This sketch gives a graphic idea of the “ The Williamson Submarine — Ex- pedition.”” These photographs de- picted masses of living coral, vast forests of sea-fans and sea-rods, schools of strange fish, and an ancient wreck. To add thrill and realism to the scene a diver was pictured as he moved about. upon the ocean's floor amid the fishes. The picture, however, lacked human interest. It was educa- tional, remark- able, a most valuable scientific achievement, but the public de- mands thrills, adventure, and “ pep.”” For: Mr. J. E. Williamson, the originator of undersea motion pictures, tunately for the success of the venture, this was easily obtained. The Bahaman spongers were avail- able, and into the film came apparatus by means of which Mr. Williamson takes his submarine pictures. the negroes—diving to the bottom, swim- ming, squabbling for coins tossed overboard, a crowd of am- phibious humans surrounded by the finny denizens of the depths. Even this, however, did not suit this pioneer of a new era in motion pic- ture photography. A touch of adven- ture or dare devilry was still required —some- thing to hold the audience breath- less and expectant. As Mr. Williamson pondered on how to introduce this, a huge grey shape swam lazily Past the window of his under-seas_cham- ber. Ashark! The riddle was solved. The public was

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362 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. always interested, fascinated, thrilled by these terrible sea-tigers. Securing the carcass of a horse, Mr. Williamson had it anchored mear the chamber and waited Patiently for sharks to appear. He id not have to wait long! At- tracted by the bait, the ulsive creatures swarmed about, ‘ing at the dead horse, tearing great mouthfuls of the meat and return- ing again and again. And as the camera crank turned there under the sea, and for the first time in hastory the film recorded the move- ments of the man-eaters in their own element, Mr. Williamson made a discovery. Con to all popular ideas and stories, the creatures did not turn on their sides to bite | While the great grey shapes swam and turned and gorged themselves before the camera man's es, the scheme of a still more thrilling scene was hatched in his fertile brain. The Bahamans baasted that they could battle with the sharks in their native element: that, armed only with a imife, they could attack and kil the sea-tigers. Here, indeed, was an opportunity for a film that would bring ‘“‘Ahs!” and ‘“‘Ohs!” from an audience. When the Bahamans were approached on the subject, A garden at the bottom of the sea. however, they backed out. No one denied a shark, but to dive down where there was that at times they did dive down and kill one shark and to attempt the feat when the water was swarming with them were two very different matters. The negroes well knew that even if th succeeded in kill- ing their enemy the scent of the monster’s blood would bring scores of his fellows dashing towards him, and that fhey would bite blin diy 2 y at ev within ot Omiedan flatly refused to take such a risk. Mr. Williamson, however, was not to be balked, now that he had made up his mind thata battle between a human being and @ shark must be embodied in his

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WITH A film. Stationing his best operator at the camera, the intre- pid man stripped off his clothes, gripped a__long- laded knife in one hand, and plunged into the sea himself!. All about him the ominous shadowy forms were swim- ming and, selecting one monster within the range of the camera, Mr. Williamson swam towards him, seized the savage creature by a fin, and buried the knife in the shark's heart. Scarcely had he gained the surface when the spot fairly seethed with the sea-tigers, snapping and biting at every- thing and anything within reach: But Mr. Williamson was safe, and, as he put it, the picture proved ‘‘a corker.”’ This first sub- marine film proved a revelation to the cinema world; it called forth the congratulations of scientists; but it met with little enthusiasm from the general public, partly because they did not realize it was actually taken under the sea, partly because they have no great taste for “‘ educa- tional”’ films, but largely because the picture lacked plot, continuity, and ‘‘ heart interest.” The possibilities of Mr. Williamson’s inventions and achievements were pow realized, however, and he at once set to work to produce Jules Verne’s ‘‘ Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea,’’ with real undersea pictures. But here difficulties arose which would have proved insurmount- able to most men. Fishes, . corals, ,even wrecks, were always available, but the famous story required a giant octopus and a submarine of imagii form. Yet, when the film was at last comploted, there was the - horrible, gigantic devil-fish battling with the diver and there, true to life, was the Nautilus. MOTION PICTURE CAMERA UNDER THE SEA 363 A diver at work on an old wreck. So realistic were they that no one not in the “‘know ’’ suspected that the octopus was an ingenious thing of rubber and sprirgs, operated by a diver. inside the creature’s body, or that the Nautilus was built of wood and canvas in Mr. Williamson's marine studio. Indeed, scientists declared the octopus to be genuine and naval men stated that the Naufilus was a real “ sub.” ““Twenty Thousand Leagues ” paved the way for other underseas stories, and then another and still greater difficulty presented itself. .. Devil-fishes, submarines, and other “‘ props ’’,could be made, but a story required actors and actresses; and the most dare- devil hero. of the ‘‘ movies’ and the most reckless heroines flatly declined to perform “ stunts ’’ at the bottom of the ocean.

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364 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. A few diving- girls and actors to take part in the scenes above water were secured and, assuming the most prominent part himself, Mr. Wil- liamson proceeded with his marvellous films as leading man, producer, and director in one. In rapid succession he produced “The Girl of the Sea,” “Phe Submarine Eye,” and ‘‘ Wet Gold,” and during r 3 e An exciting incident from one of the Williamson films. The octopus is made of rubber, and is operated by a man inside the body. the past year he has made a still more ambitious film, combining a story with highly educational matter, including “ slow motion ” studies of undersea life. But marvellous and thrilling as the pictures are, the greatest thrills, the most tense suspense, and the real dangers are never seen and seldom guessed by the public. These are the adventures, the close shaves, and the hair-breadth escapes of Mr. William- son himself—matters unrecorded on the A fight with a shark, film, incidents and experiences which ' the modest pro- ducer rarely men- tions, save to his most intimate friends. In the picture “The Submarine Eye,” one scene shows a diver about to secure a box from an ancient safe which lies at the bottom of the sea where it had fallen years before, from a wreck. The diver is seen prying open the safe door. e bends forward and reaches within —and then thedoor falls, locking his hands as securely as in a vice! In the picture séveral hours are supposed to elapse while the diver struggles to free himself, and in_ the meantime the villain on the yacht above cuts the life-line! Of course the audience, although thrilled and excited, imagines that in reality only a few moments really pass, but as a matter of fact, Mr. Williamson, who took the part of the diver, was under water four and one half hours while this scene was being taken! Moreover, the slightest error,

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WITH A MOTION PICTURE CAMERA UNDER THE SEA. the least mistake, would: have resulted in anent injury,. if net-loss of his hands, lor Mr. Williamson detests “ faking,’’ and wherever possible carries out the story by ~ actualities. The safe and its door in. this picture were no flimsy canvas -" props,’ as might be supposed. e safe, weighted to hold it down, was constructed of heavy © ‘wood, and the massive door was of steel and concrete weighing several hundredweight, which was necessary in order that it might fall to in a natural manner at such a great depth. Mr. Wil- liamson cut notches in the safe in which to rest his hands to pre- vent them from being crushed, but these were covered with rub- ber strips to con- form with the out- line of the rest of the safe, and had the intrepid diver failed to find these safeguards at the right in- stant, his hands would have been crushed to pieces. Salving the treasure-chest. This incident landed Mr. Williamson are in a very unpleasant predicament. 365 Fights with giant morays—able to bite off a hand at a single snap ; the presence of huge barracudas, the bloodthirsty wolves of the sea,» whose powerful jaws can shear through rubber, flesh, or bone as easily as though they were paper ; getting tangled amid the twisted and jagged timbers and plates of wrecks ; filling one’s hands with the awful poisonous spines ‘of huge black “ sea eggs "’; being suddenly. blinded and surrounded by . the inky clouds of sepia ejected by an angry octopus ; stepping into crevices among the The dummy subma- rine used in“ Twenty ‘Thousand Leagues Under the Sea.” jagged coral at im minent danger to life and limb—all these things are incidents of the day's work with this daring under sea producer. All of them, too, pale into insignificance compared with the dangers which con fronted him when he undertook to use the latest “self contained" diving suits These ingenious suits have no air hose or lines con necting them with a ship or boat, but supplied with air by means of a

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366 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The two types of diving suit— the “regular” and the “self-contained.” a.tube equipped with a mouthpiece. lf salt water comes into contact with the chemical, how- ever, deadly fumes are produced which instantly burst into flame when they come into contact with + the air. There are two types of these suits; one in which the diver is fully encased, the other merely a helmet and tunic open at the bot- tom, in which the diver is immersed in water to the chin. Mr. Williamson, realizing the im- portant advan- tages these suits offered, decided to use them, but he was totally un- familiar with their operation and could find no diver who had any more knowledge’ of the matter than him- tankcontaining oxylithe. This chemical when _ self. By chance he learned that the ta’ slightly moistened by the breath produces United tes Navy had adopted the suits oxygen, which the diver breathes through and that naval divers had been trained in a patel a Launching a torpedo from a submarine. A. strikingly realistic ecene built up in Mr. Williamson’s studio.

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WITH A MOTION PICTURE CAMERA UNDER THE. SEA. their use. Through friends he succeeded in inducing the authorities to lend him these trained men. When all was in readiness for their departure for the Bahamas, word was received of the sinking of a United States submarine near Honolulu. The navy divers were immediately ordered to the spot, and Mr. Williamson found himself with the self- contained suits, his company, his outfit, and not a man who could use the suits ! There was nothing to do but go at it blindly, trusting to luck, and that he or his men were not killed is a miracle. Though no one died while experimenting, there were some mighty close shaves. One man, for instance, rose to the surface waving his arms wildly, and was drawn’ hastily into a boat 367. careless. Although each charge of oxylithe was carefully measured and a definite time under water was allotted to the diver, the men would take chances—and there is awful danger in staying down when the supply of oxylithe is nearly exhausted. There is no warning, no symptoms, and before he knows it the diver is drunk with the deadly fumes. He goes raving mad, and unless brought to the open air at once, dies a horrible death. On more than one occasion Mr. Williamson has averted such tragedies by the fraction of a second. Once three men were down and had wandered some distance from the diving boat on which Mr. Williamson and his men were stationed. Suddenly one of tne divers lunged at his companion and struck him " Divers preparing to descend. Mr. Williamson (marked with cross) is seen wearing the “regular” costume. sent to his rescue. As his face-plate was removed a flame burst from the helmet, but the man survived. By accident he had got a few granules of oxylithe on his lips and then, while below water, had leaned sidewise until the water touched these granules. The sharp pain of the burning chemical caused him to release his mouthpiece, the water entered the oxylithe tank, and instantly poisonous gases filled the helmet. Realizing that death stared him in the face, the man managed by superhuman efforts to release his weighted belt, and even tore off one of his lead-soled shoes, before he lost consciousness. This was all that saved his life. 3 When, without any fatalities, Mr. William- scn and his amateur divers had at last learned to use the suits the men became a terrific blow. The other, a quick-tempered fellow, returned the blow with interest. There under the sea a battle raged, until the third man, realizing what was wrong, thrust the men apart, grasped the aggressor, and, despite his struggles, carried him bodily towards the ladder dangling from the boat. He succeeded in grasping the ladder and in getting near the surface, but beyond that he could not go. Looking down through the crystal-clear, water, Mr. Williamson and his horrified companions could see what was going on, but were utterly powerless to help. me of the workmen was a giant negro, a lawless, good-for-nothing ex-convict who, owing to his gigantic size, was called “* Biggie.” He was as strong as an ox and, to quote Mr. Williamson : ‘‘‘ Biggie,’ I said,

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3u8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘ get that man up.’ Biggie leaned over the of the float, grabbed the man by the back of his helmet and with a single mighty heave, lifted him from the water and tossed him on deck like a sack of meal. I guess it was the only good thing that fellow ever did in his life.” And the man lived. To be sure, his fingers and toes had doubled up, rigid and paralyzed, by the time his helmet was jerked off, but he revived, recovered, and went on diving. Not only under water do Mr. Williamson and his assistants daily risk their lives. Some of their most thrilling adventures have taken place on the surface, and at times when there seemed no danger. In ‘‘ Wet Gold ” a submarine plays a very important part. There are scenes within the “sub”; she is shown submerged and afloat and at various stages of submergence. Torpedoes are seen being fired from the tubes, divers enter and leave the air-locks in full view of the audience, and the hero enters and kills the villain by way of a torpedo tube. Complete in every detail with levers, wheels, and ponderous steel bulkheads all working perfectly, lying at the bottom of the sea, or rising slowly to the surface through the water, this submarine is such a perfect piece of mechanism that men who have handled and even built submarine craft can scarcely be convinced that it is not a genuine full-sized U-boat. But it is merely a built-up model, entirely the product of Mr. Williamson's fertile brain and clever hands. Nevertheless, on more than one occasion it proved as dangerous to its crew as any real submarine. Its submerging device was a system of tanks which could be filled with water or emptied at will, while in order to keep the counterfeit submarine right side up and make her sink, she was ballasted with hundreds of pounds of railway iron. Every- thing went well until on one occasion, when one operator had been sent down to bring it to the surface, something went .wrong. The horrified watchers saw the make-believe “sub,” as it leaped up like a porpoise, turn on its side and begin to sink with one edge tipped far up! Within it the operator was imprisoned, utterly unable to escape and probably unaware that anything was wrong. Slowly the thing careened. If it tipped a foot farther the air in the submergence tanks— open at the bottom—would escape, the entire structure would plunge down on its side, and the man within would be drowned like a rat. But as with bated breath the helpless onlookers watched, the submarine became motionless, held within an inch of the limit! But, as Williamson says with a laugh: ‘‘ A miss is as good as a mile.” invariably Mr. Williamson makes light of the adventures and narrow escapes and assures one that wandering about on the floor of the ocean and performing ‘‘ stunts ” at the bottom of the ‘sea is far safer than crossing a New York street. Many amusing and ludicrous incidents occur in ‘his unique calling as well as thrills. Once, when an island was required where’ no islet existed, the in- ventor, with his usual resourcefulness, con- structed a most realistic isle of coral rock, with palm trees and all, but by some mischance its moorings gave way, and the current swept it to a distant spot, where the amazed natives were treated to the unparalleled sight of a coral island floating out to sea ! On another occasion the diver, wearing a “self-contained ” suit, saddenly popped to the surface before the astonished eyes of a crowd of negroes, who had worked themselves into a highly nervous and exalted condition at a “ revival ’” meeting on the waterfront. At the first glimpse of the grotesque, goggle- eved sea-monster they uttered piercing shrieks and took to their heels. Sometimes too, there are incidents which are far more amusing to the onlooker than to those involved. In one picture a diver had to step into a quicksand and, when almost out of sight, was to be rescued by a fellow-diver, who walked around the deadly spot with.a chain and then, drawing the bight of the chain across the hole, dragged his companion to safety. This called for quick, alert, exciting action, and was planned as the “‘ thriller’ of the film. To the onlookers’ amazement, however, the man chosen to enact the role of rescuer went about his task in a most astonishing manner. He placed the chain in position link by link, stop and looked at it thoughtfully, rearranged it, and then, absolutely oblivious of the danger or the frenzied struggles of the sinking diver, calmly seated Limself and, resting his head on his hand, seemed to be contemplating the poor wretch in the quicksand! Despite the peril of the situation it was screamingly funny to those in the photographic chamber, but evidently something was wrong and another diver hurried out to the rescue. Not until the intended rescuer’s helmet was removed did the others realize that the oxylithe had run low, that the man was intoxicated—actually drunk—from the fumes, and that had there been any delay there would have been a double tragedy under the sea. Needless to say that film was never shown in public. In one respect, at least, Mr. Williamson is perfectly safe ; he need fear no competition in his own field. Even if some clever in- dividual should devise an undersea device which did not infringe the Williamson patents, there are few who would care to undertake submarine motion pictures. It is rare indeed that a man combines the qualities of an inventive genius, a scenario writer, a photographer and a deep sea diver with those of an accomplished actor, and is, in addition, absolutely devoid of fear. Mr. Williamson, however, is all these and more, and it is this combination of qualities that has made his submarine pictures possible.

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Three Asses Py Inthe PENEES A JOYOUS JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE. game expedition tu Central Africa, utterly bored with the is someone inside.” “ And the ass —did one ever cart, camping out at night, and avoiding all such latter-day luxu- ries as hotels, trains, and motor-cars. MAGAZINE. His breezy account of the trials and tribu- lations of the “Three Asees” will amuse our readers for months to come. males were clean shaven. The ‘books in their hands, By ae a ss Tisstrange. Perhaps there | e O | were dressed in black and the | women carried prayer see as so droll ?”” “They are gipsies. Look; they have had a fire.” “Let us peep inside the little tent.” I disentangled myself from the harness, which had worked round my neck, and sat up. Billy was awake and blushing. “Go out — quickly,” she whispered hoarsely. i was not feeling particularly well dressed, but I went out to fmd the sun shining brightly, the birds alt a-singing, and a crowd of at least twenty peasants, male and female, ing in the middle of. the road.. They Vol. L—26. ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD CLEAVER “Don’t let them “Do come in! Oh, do be quick!” and it only required the sound of Briscous church bell, pealing from the hill top near by, to tell me it was Sunday. A quiver of astonish- ment ran through the crowd as I appeared and the ladies turned discreetly away. Billy hastily thrust out my Burberry. and be decent, anyway,” she whispered severely. tne cattle I put it on and then, facing my inquisitors, wished them, good-morning. the hay harvest is good and that are giving rich milk,” I said, in the hope of putting them at their ease.

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37° A peasant with a face like Buddha replied that it was and they were. Then, by way of retort, he asked me quickly who I was, who was inside the tent, where did the white donkey come from, if I was an American, if Icooked my meals at the fireplace there, where I had come from, where I was going to, and if I had noticed the thunderstorm last night ? I made a suitable series of answers, and being now warmed up to the game, asked him if those were the church bells I heard ringing, if he and his friends were going to church, and, if they were, did he not think it were well if they went quickly ? “We are interested,” he told me. ‘“ We are interested in your ass. She is so white and fat.” Blanchette turned her head towards us and gave a good imitation of a blush. This fellow, she seemed to think, was getting dashed familiar. ‘« She is a wonderful she-ass,”’ I said in her defence. ‘‘ The fat is due to her eating mice. She eats frogs and mice exclusively. She can also count up to six and tell fortunes. At what hour does the service commence, Monsieur ? ”” “He is English—he must be English!" muttered one of the women. The church bell ceased at that moment, and the crowd began to move off. The curiosity of Buddha, however, was insatiable. He gazed at the tent as though it contained the fat girl of Peckham or the Siamese twins, shortly to make an appearance. “Do you live in that?” he said. “Is that your wife inside ? Have you a bed ? Do you ngt find it cold ? Do not the mos- quitoes bite you? Docs it keep the rain off. a ‘* Excuse me, Monsieur- ” Tinterrupted. “We shall both be late for church. Perhaps we can talk after. You will call on your way back. Please do.” I turned my back on him and started to collect sticks for the fire. “You stay here, then ? You do not go? You remain here, yes ? ” “Yes,”’ I answered baldly. He went—and my worst possible wishes went with him. “ Billy,” I shouted, “ they'll be back from church in a hour. Hurry up, dear!’ But Billy had gone to sleep again. I awakened her and made her aware of the seriousness of the situation. “They'll probably bring the whole con- gregation,” I said. “‘ And the priest as well. If you'll carrv on with the packing ‘I'll make a spot of breakfast. Then we can get away before they arrive.” Making a spot of breakfast, a necessary Preliminary to which is making a spot of fire, is not easy the morning after a thunder- storm. The firewood was wet, and after I THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE had coaxed it into a gentle smoulder pouring the contents of my petrol lighter on it I had to turn myself into a pair of bellows to keep it going. ‘However I managed to boil some water, and to warm four beaten eggs sufficiently to make them look like an omelette. Blanchette took a little oats, a loaf of bread, and my best handkerchief for her break- fast. She seemed a much milder-spirited animal than the one that had taken us alon the Ardour road the day before. She loo! depressed. Billy thought she was homesick. “Don’t worry about washing up,’’ I said, anxiously observing the Briscous road for signs of returning worshippers. ‘‘ Just put everything in the kit bag. I’ll harness Blanchette. We ought to be away in five minutes.” “But are you sure you remember how the harness goes ? ” ““Of course,”” I answered, with con- fidence. ‘‘ One simply puts it back as oné found it, It’s simple. You leave that to me.” THE HARNESS PUZZLE. 1 spread the harness out on the grass. I had no idea until then what a tremendous amount of harness we had got. There were yards of it—big straps, little straps, buckles, flaps of leather, pieces of rope all runnin, anywhere and everywhere. _ It seems impossible that this was the orderly arrange- ment that had fitted over our Blanchette and connected her to the trap. It had no shape; no beginning and no end. é “ Billy,” I said, ‘‘ do you remember which part went on first ? ” “ Darling, 1 don’t,”’ replied she. ‘‘ You said you knew. I think I’d try the bridle— the part that goes over her head.” : I sorted this out. It consisted of the bit, several chains, some rings, a number of straps and a pair of blinkers. -I lifted it on to Blanchette’s head and shook it down, but her ears were far too big to admit of it going on that way. Billy suggested that I should put the bit in her mouth first. I seized her, therefore, by the upper lip and tried to force the bit in between her large frontal fangs. She clenched them tightly. I coaxed her and swore at her. Finally I struck her. She opened her mouth and % stuffed the piece of iron in. But my triumph was shortlived. “It’s upside down,” said Billy. ‘‘ The blinkers should fit over her eyes, not round her knees.” Billy can be extraordinarily observant when she likes! I extracted the bit and turned the whole apparatus the other way up. Still it didn’t look right. The flaps now came over Blanchette’s ears. “‘ There’s something wrong,”’ I muttered, wiping my brow. “ Let’s try the other end and work forwards—perhaps—oh, hang!”

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. 371 “She backed the cart and Billy straight into the ditch.” Blanchette had bitten me. I did not strike her back, but I seized what looked like the after part of the harness and threw it over her ‘after part. There was a definite loop in it, which I distinctl remembered having seen round her tail. lifted that portion of her anatomy tenderly and tried to push it through. She kicked

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4) 372 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, me. I stood back and rubbed my leg. Billy sympathized. “Don’t,” I said. ‘‘ Leave me—finish the packing—lI can always do these things best when I’m alone.” I tried the middle this time—with a part of the harness that looked like a cross between a Sam Browne belt and a pair of stays. I succeeded. It went on splendidly, but I could not establish its connection fore and aft. There were buckles for half-a-dozen straps, and straps for half-a-dozen buckles, but neither straps nor rings to connect them to. A blackbird alighted on one of the trees and started to sing. I threw a stone at it; then I tried the bridle again. “‘ Everything's packed,”’ cried Billy pre- sently. ‘‘ There’s someone coming down the road. Why not just tie her in the cart anyhow, and fix the harness later?” The idea was a good one. If we could only persuade Blanchette to move the cart to some secluded spot, I felt confident of getting to the bottom of the har- ness problem in time. I would try everything, every way. At present I was bothered. My mind, usually clear, was dull, abnormally dull, and I knew it would grow duller when an audi- ence gathered. I seized Blanchette by the ears and gradually worked her round until she was in line with the shafts of the cart—which Billy lifted. “‘ Back, back,” I said. “* Back, old girl.” She backed, but at the wrong angle. I brought her forward again. “ Back, old girl,’’ I continued. She backed— between the shafts—but with such a way on her that she backed the cart and Billy straight into the ditch. I had to leave go of her to help Billy out. Billy was flushed, and spoke unkindly to me. Meanwhile Blanchette had started up the Briscous road at a speed that left no doubt in my mind that she was determined to be back in Bayonne for lunch. With the bridle in my hand I ran after her. She looked round, saw me, and ran faster. But she hadn’t reckoned with the wor- shippers, who, with Buddha in the van, were returning with unseemly haste to the scene of their morning’s entertainment. They formed a cordon across the road. Blanchette, nonplussed, stop) ed, turned, and then trotted up sheepishly and placed her muzzle in my hand. In the Basque country. “She is running away ?” cried Buddha. “‘ She is running away, yes?” She wasn’t doing anything of the sort, I explained. We were both running up the road for pure joy. I had packed up the little tent? Alas, yes, we were just going to move on. We walked to where our camp had been. The trap was still in the ditch, with its shafts pointing pathetically heavenwards. Billy was picking flowers up the rpad. “The most wonderful thing about our white ass,”’ I said to Buddha, “ is the harness she wears. Now if you will kindly assist me to extricate our cart from the ditch I will show you.” : I had taken a sudden liking to Buddha. I gave him a cigarette. He put it in his pocket, took off his best black coat, and helped me to drag the cart on to the road. “We will harness her, yes?” Isaid swiftly. ‘“ We will get the harness on.” “BUDDHA” MAKES HIMSELF USEFUL. You had only to look at Buddha to realize that har- nessing a horse, or a mule, or a donkey was as much a daily habit to him as the catching of the 7.30 is toa City clerk. Bring an ass, a cart, a set of harness, and Buddha together, and you knew the ass would be arnessed. I just stood back and smoked while, with deft fingers, he manipulated that amazing collection of straps, buckles, and rope into a thing of orderliness. “The harness is similar to our own, Monsieur,’’ he remarked, a little dis- appointedly. ‘It is the fatness of the ass that makes it so bizarre."’ ‘s Quite,” I said. ‘‘ She is a wonderful ass. How old do you think she is?” He tucked the last strap neatly in and examined Blanchette’s dentition. “ She has fifteen years,’’ he replied, without hesitation. Fifteen years—and Frangois had sworn to me she had seven! I recovered quickly, however, and thanked heaven that Billy had not heard. oF “ Fifteen last March,’’ I said coolly. “In the prime of life, as we say in Angleterre. Another cigarette?” He took another. I shouted to Billy. ‘* Finished, dear! Shall we go?” We went. It was a pleasant road, and the air was so fresh and the country so beautiful that we

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. were soon in good humour again. Down we went into the broad valley of the River Laruns, turned north through hayfields and pasturelands, ripening corn and young green maize to the valley head, and so on to more tolling verdant hills, above which, hazy in the distance, rose the rugged Pyrenees, luring us to our adventure. The Sabbath, apparently, is no day of rest to the industrious Basques. Their morning service over, away into cupboards and chests go their black clothes and stiff laundered _ shirts, and out into the fields go they and E their great ox | wagons to win the harvest of -hay while the weather holds. What a_light- hearted, jovial race they are! Not a hayfield did we pass without its choir of singing men, with the rippling music of cow-bells providing an ac- companiment. The haymakers we met on the road gave us good-morning with a smile, and only the politest show of curiosity. Were we going far? Was the white ass an English one ? Were we merchants ? Most of them spoke French; even as Buddha had done. Apart from their jovial disposition, the Basques do not present to the casual observer any striking characteristic. They look what they are—farmers; and a Yorkshire farmer or a Devon farmer dressed in a blouse, short, baggy trousers, and black, jelly-bag hat would look no different. Blanchette be- haved well. She stopped only when the road an to rise or fall, when we came to a bridge or a piece of white rock or wind-blown paper, or when we encountered another donkey, which occurred on an average every half-mile. She had un to realize, I think, that she had embarked on the adventure of ‘her life. Every inch of the road was new to her. There were smells she had never smelt before, unfamiliar noises, and in these The main otreet of the village of Labastide Clairence. 373 donkeys that we passed, who knows but what Blanchette, in spite of her alleged fifteen years, sensed the possibilities of romance ? There was one old he-ass grazing by the roadside for whom she developed an instant and overwhelming affection. We could not congratulate her on her choice, for he was scraggy and ill-conditioned ; moreover, he was lame in one foot. But she simply gasped with delight when he walked across to her and rubbed his nose against hers, and no words or blows of mine would per- suade her to pro- ess until I set her over ambling ahead. We drove him thus for half a mile, when I suc- ceeded in turning him back and de- luding Blanchette with the suggestion that he was still going on in front of us. We stopped at midday—close to a large Benedictine monastery—and t on the bracken-clad finding a shady s] and lay down for a hillside, had Tunc belated sleep. Little flies troubled us, and great horse- flies troubled Blanchette. We were glad enough to get on the road again at three o'clock. We reached Labastide Clairence an hour later; a picturesque village of large white- washed, red-roofed houses, lining a steep hill road and re- minding me_ of Clovelly. We halted at a débit de tabac, where I bought some execrable cigar- ettes, and by the time I had Jit one and thrown it away the whole population was out examining Blanchette. A veritable proces- sion followed us through the vil- lage, and we were juestioned in rench, Basque, and Spanish as to our destination, our occu- pation, and the pedigree of our ass. We stopped again outside a hardware shop. Billy said she couldn't possibly wash herself and the dishes, and drink out of the one canvas bucket with which we were

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374 equipped, and insisted that I should buy an enamel bow] for the first-named purpose, if nothing else. : The shop was kept by a very stout old Basquette, who couldn’t speak a word of French. Behind the counter,- however, were rows of shelves reaching to the ceiling, all of them laden with pots, pans, and buckets. On the topmost shelf, spun over with cob-. webs, was the article we wanted. Si) I pointed to it. The lady shook her head and showed by a simple gesture that it was far too hot and that she was far too stout to attain the necessary altitude. “Wara bera wara,” smile, and waddled to the doorway to have a look at Blanchette. I knew that my future happiness depended on my buying that utensil. I cleared a foot- ing, therefore, on three of the lower shelves and started to climb up. The lady returned in haste. I think she wanted to warn me against something. She took hold of the back of my leg, which was now almost on a level. with her shoulder and squeezed it. But, like the man in “ Excelsior,’’ when the maid asked him to stay and rest his weary head, I resolutely turned my face to the heights. “Oh, do be careful ! ’’ shouted Billy from the door. ‘‘ The shelves aren't safe.” “ [’'m all right,’”’ I answered. THE EARTHQUAKE. I was—at that precise moment. I re- mained so, in fact, until my fingers actually touched that confounded enamel pan, and I should have been then if the lady below me had not made a peculiar gurgling noise, as though she had swallowed a hairpin. I looked down, lost my balance, made a violent grab at the top shelf to regain it, and—well, the shelf gave way. So did the one below it; so did the one my fect were resting on; so, ultimately, did I, and the crowd of us—shelves, pots, pans and buckets, and ten years’ accumulation of dirt descended in a cataclysmic avalanche. Avalanche is not the word for it—earth- quake is better. But I feel sure that an earthquake could not be quite so noisy all at once. There is not an adjective qualify- ing the word’ noise that could. properly be applied to it. Now, the fat Basquette was immediately below us when the catastrophe started. She was still there when the tumult and the shouting died, and in this connection I must record a very interesting fact, illuminative, I think, of feminine psychology, so frequently misunderstood. . Were this Tction and not grim and honest narrative I am writing, I should have said that she screamed hysteri- cally. Actually she made no sound what- ever. She just sat and stared and occa- sionally blinked. Possibly she was out of she added, with a’ THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. . breath. A large foot-bath was fixed rakishl, over her head, and I was sitting on her lap. _ She did-not even request me to rise. I could not have done. so if she. had, for one of the shelves had flung itself across the back of my neck and practically..guillo- tined me. Billy removed it, and I got up to find the shop full of people. : Blanchette_as a centre of interest was forgotten. earthquake. ae Thank Heaven, the lady wasn’t hurt. We helped her on to a chair and Billy produced a bottle of Eau-de-Cologne.--. But she brushed ‘it.on one side and pointed dramati- cally to the wreckage. en she. started talking. Her meaning, I thought, was clear —she wanted compensation—and I prepared to disburse. But I was wrong, for through a member of the audience, we learnt that she was inquiring which enamel bowl it was I wished to purchase. The shelves were rotten, she said. She thanked the Bon Dieu that neither of us was hurt. Really she was splendid ! I bought the pan and, in spite of her pro- -tests, made good the actual damage. “IT think we had better go now,” I mur- mured to Billy. “I’li wire home for some more money from the next post-office.” We stepped out into the street. The white ears of Blanchette were visible above the heads of a crowd of more than fifty vil- lagers, waiting their turn to see the earth- quake. Our appearance created interest. “That is he!” . “He is English.” “No; he is American.” , “ What strange clothes they wear!” “He has a stranger face.” : “He went in to buy a pan. He is rich; he is American.” : At that moment Blanchette had the sagacity to kick somebody and cause a diversion. I got to her head and ordered her to move. She did so with evident willingness. She was tired of publicity. The road was steep—so steep that I was obliged to fall in behind the cart and push. It was undignified, but it was necessary. It was also hot. We gained the market hall at last, and here there was a divergence of roads. One was clearly marked ‘‘ St. Palais,”’ the next town on our proposed itinerary, and this I decided to take. What villagers had fol- lowed us, however, implored us to take the other one—why I could not understand, for it promised to lead in an entirely unsuitable direction. They were very excited about it, but I remained adamant to my choice. The road went uphill, ascending.from the outskirts of the village in wide spirals ; but it gave us, in reward for our toil, a fair view over the green valley of the Laruns, and the distant forest-clad plains that spread north- wards of the River Ardour away to Bordeaux. Everybody wanted to see the

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375 THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. “1 leet my balance and the shelf gave way.”

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376 It was a tall hill. We climbed, without respite, for the best part of two hours, when we reached a shady sward by a farmhduse and lay down to rest. It was four o'clock, however, and Billy wanted tea. I scouted round for water. There was none, except a green duckpond full of tadpoles and insects, which might have made the groundwork for an excellent stew, but was_ hardly suitable for pre- paring so sacred an infusion as tea for Billy. So 1 went into the farm- yard and knocked at the house door. A tall, pleasant- looking peasant woman came to it. She spoke French and, with delight- ful courtesy, in- vited me in while she filled my kettle from a large earthen jar. When I explained that I wished to make tea, however, and that my wife was waiting outside, she insisted that she should boil the water for us and that we should take it at her table. It is good to find such spontaneous kind- ness when travelling in a foreign country. I think there is no better evidence of a genuine entente cordiale. When I came back with Billy I found that the good lady had spread a clean cloth over the old oak table, and produced a slab of fresh butter, crisp rolls, cheese and cream. And there was our kettle almost on the boil. She liked the English, she told us. She did not take any notice of what the news- papers said about our quarrels. That was all politics. Her sons had served in the War, and they had seen what they had seen. “ France does not easily forget her friends —neither does she easily forget her enemies,’ she added, cynically. We chatted with our delightful hostess for an hour and then, wonderfully refreshed, took the road once more. It brought us shortly to the crest of the hill and to a fine view of the mountains, now purpling in the weakened sunlight. Another valley lay at our feet. Into this we leisurely descended, hopeful of finding a camping- ground near the banks of the stream. We were disappointed. There were cottages all the way down and mills by the stream itself. We had to push Blanchette across the bridge, because the rails of it were painted white ; and during this amusing operation we were accosted by a rural postman, eager for general information. He had noticed a biscuit tin among our luggage, and was very “Blanchette” at lunch. THE WIDE WORLD .MAGAZINE. surprised to learn we were not a travelling épicerie, otherwise a grocery shop. From him we learnt that the hills between this place and St. Palais were very wild and devoid of cultivation. We would do well to keep to the valley, he said, for if he knew anything about the weather, there would be a heavy storm be- fore the night had passed. But it was the wild that we wanted, and as the road wound up into the hills, we thanked him for his advice and carried on. We climbed the banks of a short, steep valley with a little stream-cours- ing through it and slopes clad with bracken and heath and stunted oak. We were tired, and Blanchette was getting cross. She told us, as clearly as she possibly could, that she had had enough of this idiotic adventure, that if she were an ass, we were asses too, and that the sooner we found a nice spot where she could rid herself of her harness and the trap and have a mouthful of herbs or a roll of bread, the better things would be all round. At la&t her patience gave out, and she stopped dead. There was no suitable camp- ing-ground at hand, but that did not seem to worry her. She stopped, and she evidently intended to go on stopping ; we could sleep in the road for all she cared. But, as things turned out, her attitude was perfectly providential, for close at hand was a little track leading from the road to the stream. We went down and explored it, and found a stunted oak tree, which gave Billy an idea. We couldn’t possibly pitch the tent, she said, on such steep ground, but if we ran the trap against the tree-trunk, we COULD sleep inside it and hang the tent down from a branch..-Then we should be quite free from ants‘ and*earwigs and the rest of the entomology that had helped to make the previous night so Jestives THE BIVOUAC. I give Billy full credit for this idea, but myself the credit of carrying it out. I filled the body of the trap with bracken a foot in depth, and rigged the tent above ‘it so as ‘to make as cosy-looking a.little bivouac as a tired tramp and his wife might wish for. Cosy-looking, I say, for events proved it cosy only u to a certain point. The sun had nearly set by the time I had finished my labours, and the stag-beetles

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. were getting into their stride. Billy wrapped a towel round her head and prepared a meal —sardines with butter, omelettes, baked tatoes, fruit salad, and cheese; not a ad menu, all things considered. I had tethered Blanchette to a tree and she was busy cropping the juicy tops of the bracken. ‘Tl thought things would go better when we got used to the life,’’ I remarked, when our meal was over. ‘I bet we'll have an absolutely topping night—sleep like tops— and wake as fresh as daisies in the cool morning air. Ah! it’s fine! Look at the snow yonder on the mountain top, catching the last gleam of sun. What a sky! Beryl— jade—those clouds——” ‘Where did you put the enamel bowl ? ” Billy interrupted. ‘ I want to wash.” ‘The enamel bow] ?”’ I echoed. ‘‘ Why —why—I put it. Bless my soul— where on earth—oh, ——!” “I wish you wouldn’t swear ! you put it ?”’ A silence fell—one of those silences which occur in the lifetime of every married couple, and also in thunderstorms, battles, and volcanic eruptions. They are sacred silences in a way—silences that are best unbroken. I got up and walked down to the stream. Then I came back. The silence was still going on; I could feel it all around me. “Billy,” I said, with an effort that only George Washington would have appre- ciated, ‘I left it in the shop. I must have forgotten it. I was suffering from shock. My memory was none too good. It’s—it’s the war, you know. It was not a nice bowl, though. Now I’ll bet that at St. Palais we'll get- if ‘‘ Let’s go to bed and sleep like tops,’’ she interrupted coldly. “I’m going to give up washing until we get home.” I should explain that a trap with one pair of wheels has three normal positions. First, the level one, when the shafts are oc- cupied ; second, a forward slanting one, with the shafts on the ground; .third, a backward slanting one with the shafts in the air. The present position of ours was a combination of the first two— made possible by the slope of the ground and the tree trunk, against which the end of the body leaned. The slant was just gradual enough -to prevent us from slipping out, and yet to preserve the general equilibrium and >-prevent the adoption of the third position— a decidedly undesirable one. Where did 4 scene in camp. 377 It was dark before we had made every- ching ready for the night. Then, very carefully, we crept into our snug bivouac. The bracken was dry and springy, and made an extraordinarily comfortable mattress. One could have wished for more room, it was true, but that was a small matter compared with the ease for one’s body, and the freedom from insect life. “It really is wonderful,’’ said Billy, more kindly. ‘I think I shall be able to sleep. Are you sure Blanchette has enough to eat?” “T’ve given her nearly three fathoms of cable,” I replied. ‘‘ Her area of grazing ground, therefore, is a circle with a diameter of eighteen feet. If we allow for each square foot of the area six bracken plants, and multiply that by the total. Are you listening ? ” But Billy was asleep, so I went to sleep myself. BLANCHETTE’S NIGHT OUT. I awoke at two minutes past one. I remember the time well, because it was Billy who awakened me, with her fist, which she had thrust into my face—and on the wrist of that fist was our luminous watch. Two minutes past one. An unholy hour! But I sat up nacannily: aware that something was the matter. Billy was sleeping. The thrust had been subconscious. I lifted the ventilating flap of the tent and peered out. The night was still and fine. A ghostly moon was sitting on the hills, and its light, on the dew-drenched bracken, gave one the impression that snow had fallen. Where was Blanchette ? Blanchette had vanished. The tree to which I had tethered her stood black and forlorn. I got out quietly and staggered to the spot. The mooring-rope had snapped close u to the trunk. stared at the frayed end of it asa man might stare at a ‘telegram saying he was ruined.- Blan- chette—gone ! Was I dreaming ? A distant hee- haw told me that I was not. It was Blanchette’s voice beyond doubt.. It was a hee-haw of pleasure—and it came from the fields down in the valley. I listened. It sounded again. I climbed up through the drenched bracken to the road and set off down hill. I reached the first field in two minutes, a maize field, and there in the middle of‘it, grazing happily on the juicy, half-grown cobs, was Blanchette.

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“With a wild whoop I sprang up from the roadside.”

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. She had broken down a hurdle to reach them. I stepped over the wreck of it and called to her. She started guiltily and stopped chewing. I called again and drew nearer. She shook herself, turned, and began to move off. I increased my speed. She increased hers. “‘ Blanchette,” I cried softly. She went faster, and reached the hedge, a low one. ‘Ah!’ I muttered hoarsely, “I’ve got you now, you devil.” But I hadn’t. She took that hedge like a trained hunter, brought up on the other side, and made a noise which sounded suspiciously like a laugh. I plucked a thick stick from the hedge. “Just you wait!” I said. She did wait—until I got over and dis- engaged the last bramble from my breeches —and then she started off again. I lost my temper. She was trying to make a fool of me. She had tried to do that before. By Jove! I would show her this time who was master. Fat, old she-ass, that she was, I’d show her how to run! I’d show her that two good legs are as good as four any day. I crouched down low to the grass, and then fairly leapt at her. She stopped, doubled, and galloped off down hill. e field was pasturage and large. I sprinted hard, got my hands on her hind quarters, and then tripped over a mole-hill. When I recovered she had reached the opposite hedge. I sprinted again, and rapidly over- took her. She brushed through the hedge and halted on the other side, laughing at me again. It was a thicker and more prickly hedge than the other. Blanchette was evidently aware of the fact, for no sooner had I got through than she doubled back. If I had had a pistol with me I would have shot her dead! I retraced my steps. She started off instantly, making straight for the maize field. I followed her. She leapt the low hedge, took a quick mouthful of maize, and hurried on to the gateway; then she turned down the road at a steady trot. I paused to extract a thorn from my leg. It was too deep in, however, and I decided to leave it. I could hear Blan- chette’s steps in the road a hundred_ yards down. I crept along the hedgewa: on the field side, got into the Ea: and at last found my- self ahead of her. I waited. She had stopped to chew the maize. She was 379 breathing heavily. I fervently prayed the maize would poison her. I got through on to the road, and then, keep- ing to the shadowed side, started to stalk her. I felt glad as I watched her standing in the moonlight that I knew for certain she was Blanchette, for a more ghostly-looking object could not be imagined. At last I got to within a dozen paces of her. She cocked her ridiculous ears and shivered ; then, very warily, she turned and started up the road. “* Now or never!” said I. If only I could frighten her, I thought, she would gallop straight on up the road, drawing up when the hill became steeper. With a wild whoop I sprang up from the roadside. She snorted like a race-horse and dashed forward. ““ Whoop!” I cried. ‘‘ Whoop!” I had put the fear of death into her, for she galloped like a Derby winner. Evidently she was bound for the hills. Then, all of a sudden, she stopped. I don’t know how she managed it, but she stopped within her own length. Then she took a rapid back- ward glance, saw that I was still a dozen yards away, coolly turned to her right, and trotted into the maize field again! Without diminishing my pace I followed her. She hurried on, leapt the hedge at the identi- cal spot where she had leapt it before, and stood on the other side eyeing me triumph- antly, chewing a fresh cob which she had picked en route. A sudden feeling of lassitude came over me. I was wet through with the dew, and it came to my mind that Billy might wake up and feel anxious at my absence. I thought I had better go back. After all, Blanchette was happy-<and. that would please Billy. ; I went back. “Are you awake, darling?” I cried, pulling back the flap of the tent. There was no answer. , I crept in. Billy had moved, for she was now in the middle of the bed. “Billy, dear,” I said. ‘‘ Move up—do move uP She slept on. I crept higher up and found a vacant spot near my pillow. There was room there for part of my Pedy at any rate. crept a little higher. Then there came an ominous creak, a swaying mo- tion, a scream, and finaliy a crash. Our trap had adopted its third position! (To be continued.)

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One of the innumerable shrines of Mandalay. WE 2 OuL Told by R. WHITING, and OF BUKMA Set Down by H. W. ELLIOT. Il.—(Conelusion.) T Yawnchwe we ~~ 2 ome i | were hospit- The conclusion of this chatty article, | the dealing with the experiences of acamera- | was placed at my ably received by Mr. Brown, in picturesque man British Adviser to the has some good stories to tell concerning = the Sawbe of that dlis- his trip up trict. Here I made “royal barge” of Sawbe — himself ‘Burma. Mr. Whiting , disposal. It was usual clumsy the Lrawadi. native craft, hewn out of the trunk acquaintance with the remarkable native system of leg-rowing. An illustration on the next page shows the manner in which the leg is twined round the oar and the extraordinary way in which the Tower manages to balance himself on the other foot without holding on to anything with his hands. By this method the boatmen get their heavy craft along at a fine pace, and a race between picked crews of these leg-rowers is a very exciting spectacle. After taking pictures of them from the bank, I determined to get “ close-ups " from the boat itself, and for this purpose the of a tree, with a bamboo awning, and so narrow that I could not get the camera tripod to stand. Consequently I had to turn myself into a tripod and, crouching down on my heels, take the picture as best I could—no easy matter in that wobbly craft. The end of the affair was what might have been expected. I lost my balance and went clean overboard, to the huge delight of the natives, who thought it the best joke they had seen for a long time. Fortunately the camera did not accompany me, so the pictures were saved.

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THE TELL-TALE TWIG. At Yawnchwe I got some excellent child studies. They are fascinating little creatures, Burmese babies, very round of “ tummy,” the result of their diet of rice. Their mothers have a delightfully simple expedient for gauging when their offspring have had enough to eat. Round the protuberant lower chest A passenger steamer on the Irawadi with barges lashed along- side. THE SOUL OF BURMA. 381 of the infant is fastened a kind of twig, which stretches as the feeding process goes on. When it breaks the child has had suffi- cient ! I remember one anxious mother eyeing a twig which apparently refused to break. The child went on lapping up the rice until a paddy famine in Burma appeared im- minent. Fascinated, I wondered when the limit of capacity would be reached, but the mother dealt with the crisis in masterly fashion. Giving the child a huge drink of water, she paddy. awaited events veryone, of course, knows the action of water on rice, and before long that twig flew off like a broken bow-string ! Usually these children run about in the garb of nature, but if they think they are going to be photo- graphed they manage to produce the most wonderful clothes from no- where. A suit will clothe an entire family, one wearing the coat, another the waist coat, and a third the trousers. Next day, to avoid jealousy, they will all change round. One member of a

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THE WIDE WORLD 382 family whose photos we took had as a piéce de résistance a pair of brown brogues on his feet! One small mite conceived a violent passion for Miss Webster, who wanted to bring him home and exhibit him on the stage when the film was shown! She gave him her photo- graph, to his great delight, and next day when she was near his hut he dragged her in and proudly showed her the picture on the wall, with a garland of flowers in front of it. I now come to what was in some ways perhaps the most impressive part of our journey—the trip up Burma's great river, the Lrawadi. We had chosen what I was informed was the worst time of the year for getting good pictures—the beginning of the monsoon season, which lasts from June to August. As it turned out, however, this dismal pre- diction was falsified. The photography was certainly done under difficulties, owing to the almost entire absence of sunlight and the masses of heavy cloud which obscured the sky, but on the other hand the peculiar light enhanced the stereoscopic eftect of the pictures. We embarked on the Taping (Captain Hamilton), one of the Irawadi Flotilla Company’s fleet, the last boat, as it happened, to run until the rains ceased. These vessels are luxuriously fitted, with powerful engines to enable them to cope with the fierce current of the river which, especially in the defiles of the upper reaches, swirls down at a tremendous pace. When we = started the Irawadi was already well above its usual level. All along the lower part of its course the flat lands on either bank were about to be submerged, and the inhabitants of the villages were being carried to safety out of reach of the en- croaching waters. The villagers take this annual submerging of their homes very philosophically. For one thing, they know exactly when to expect the rains, and get ample warning immedi- ately the river begins to rise in the hills. Their goods and chattels are easily carried on their backs, and even if their house should be destroyed, being mainly con- structed of bamboo, it is a simple matter to build another one. The waters do not rise very quickly and fatalities seldom occur. FLOATING BAZAARS. The steamers of the Company are more than mere passenger boats ; they are also travelling bazaars. On either side of the steamer is lashed a large lighter filled with merchandise of all kinds. At every important village on the river bank a stop of twenty minutes is made to enable the villagers to come and buy what- ever goods they may be in want of at the moment. Needless to say this visit of the steamer is a great event in the quiet life of Irawadi Flotilla GAZIN the villagers, and one that is eagerly looked forward to. Navigation on the Irawadi is extremely difficult and is only attempted by day. The stream varies in width from half a mile to four miles, and the ceaseless shifting of the sandbanks and islets under the impulse of the rapid current causes the position of the navigable channels to be continually chang- ing. A fresh pilot comes aboard each day, each man having a perfect knowledge of Ins own particular stretch of the river. The steamers burn wood fuel, this being cheaper than coal owing to the abundance of forest-land. It is carried on board mainly by the women, the men of Burma, as has already been stated, disliking intempely any- thing in the nature of manual labour. The work is attended with a certain amount of danger, as the wood piles are a favourite hiding place for snakes—and snake- bite i in Burma is usually fatal. At one of the riverside villages where we had moored for the night we had an adven- ture which had in it all the elements of tragedy. Against the advice of those who knew better, we foolishly made up our minds to leave the ship and take a walk through the village by night. Save for the glimmer of a few feeble oil- lamps the place was in complete darkness, and we strolled along smoking big Burmese cigars, some nine inches long, and feeling that the expedition was not worth the trouble it had involved, especially having regard to the myriads of mosquitoes which felt it incumbent on them to accompany us. All at once. out of the darkness behind us, we heard the stealthy sound of bare feet. We swung round, but could see nothing, se resumed our walk. Again the pad-pad of feet became audible. Once more we stopped. Shadowy, silent figures seemed to be closing in upon us from all sides. Instantly we drew our automatics and without a word pre- tended to examine them. The silent figures melted away into the darkness. It was enough ; we had lost our enthusiasm for Burmese villages after nightfall, and made our way back to the ship without further delay, knowing—though we could see nothing—that those stealthy figures were following in our wake until we set foot on deck again. There is little doubt who they were—men of the dacoit class, probably attracted by our cigars. To obtain our valuables, had we been unarmed, they would cheerfully have murdered us, consigning our bodies to the dark, swift-flowing Irawadi, on whose broad bosom so many mysterious corpses go float- ing down to the distant sea. “Above Mandalay—of which I shall have something to say later—we begin to enter that wonderful series of defiles which giv this part of the stream some of the re wonderful river scenery in the world.

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Women of Notice the curious neck ornaments. On either bank the hills rise up clothed in impenetrable jungle, mostly teak trees, and the water runs swifter and deeper. Powerful as the engines are, the boats are sometimes swept back by the current. Surging whirl- pools cover the whole face of the stream. They are not merely on the surface ones; there are terrible pools where the whole river swirls round from top to bottom, swinging even the big steamer about in its wild eddies. To attempt to swim here is fatal; there is no swimmer alive who could negotiate the whirl- pools of the Upper Irawadi. Here, of course, we were no longer in Burma proper, but in the hill-country of the Shans, a tribe who carry on a considerable trade with China. Above Bhamo the Irawadi is not navigable, and 1 devoted my energies to taking pictures of the native village life. The people in this region are all of the Mongoloid or Chinese type, with high cheek-bones, as distinct from the Burmese proper. The beast of burden in these parts is the buffalo, a curious animal with great horns sloping back over the head. Its milk is excellent, of better quality, indeed, than that of our own domestic cow. The Shan, however, does not drink milk; as a matter of fact he thinks it a disgusting habit. These buffaloes are remarkably tractable when handied by the Shans—a child of six can manage a herd of them—but they hate Europeans and will charge them at sight, being then extremely fierce and dangerous. the Southern Shan States. THE SOUL OF BURMA. 383 A new note It is humiliating for a European big-game hunter to have to fly for his life down the road chased by one of these buffaloes, and to see a tiny Shan child come out and say, “Go away, naughty buffalo,” or words to the same effect, whereupon the animal meekly Tetires. I regret to say that on one occasion I myself was compelled to flee ignominiously before the onslaught of one angry beast. They are amphibious animals also, swim like a fish, and will spend the whole day in the water whenever possible. I remember on one occasion, while it was raining, seeing a Shan unconcernedly leading one waist-deep in a pool, but over his head he carefully held an umbrella to protect him from the falling raindrops !

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384 At one of these buffalo villages I photo- graphed an old woman, for the purpose of showing the enormous ear ornaments they wear, weighing six ounces. The lobe of the ear is pierced and stretched—the longer it is the more beautiful they consider them- selves—and_ the ornaments inserted. At first I had the greatest difficulty in getting her to face the camera. She was quite convinced that an evil spirit lurked in the little black box I pointed towards her, and I had actually to show her the inside of it before she would to sit. When she had done so I handed her in payment a rupee note. She took it, looked at it, and shook her head. Then she handed it round to her friends, who in turn shook their “Picture hats” as worn among the Shans. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. heads. Finally she brought it back to me .-with the intimation that it was no good to her and she didn’t want it. I plied her with other gifts, but all in vain. She regarded -them all with a blasé air, and none of them seemed to strike -her " fastidious fancy. . By and by I sat wn, slightly pulling the leg of my users as I did so, _ and instantly the old -woman was on her knees at my feet, paw- ing at my legs ina very frenzy of excite- ment. At last she knew what she wanted! She had caught sight of my sock-suspenders and was frantic to get them ! To pacify her I took them off and gave them to her. She promptly fastened them on her own legs, wrong way round and with the ends hanging down, and strutted about the village to the admiration and envy of all beholders. It was in this same village that the people stole my alarm clock, which all along they had regarded with a good deal of awe, looking upon it as white man’s magic. a kind. of familiar spirit which told me when it was A Burmese national dance.

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time to get up in the morning. Without it, they were convinced, the white man would be powerless to awake, nor did they believe that, sepa- tated from me, the ““ magic in the clock would work They were badly sold when I awoke at the usual time and they fled in terror when the alarum likewise uttered its cus- tomary shrill alarm. The capital of Upper Burma is Crossing a river on a raft. Mandalay, with -its 182,500 inhabitants, a city of innumerable shrines, and the subject of Rudyard Kipling’s remarkable poem. Its chief claims to distinction rest in the Royal Palace, with its magnificent grounds, and the wonderful Hill Temple. THE GOLDEN IMAGE. In Mandalay I was fortunate enough to be allowed to photograph the interior of a Chinese joss-house. At one end of the temple was a great golden image of a god, its lap full of uncut tubies, diamonds, and emeralds. There seemed to be no one about and so I asked my uide :— “What is there to prevent my going and Vol. L—27- The fire at Bahan. THE SOUL OF BURMA. & Ca wn The beautiful Mamsam Falls, the Niagara of Burma. taking a handful of those gems and making off with them?” He regarded me with slanting, inscrutable Chinese eyes, and his reply was significant. “‘ There is nothing to pre- vent you taking them,” he said, “ but you would never leave the joss-house alive.” And remembering m eerie experience in the caves of Kalaw wit the alabaster Buddha, I was quite prepared to believe him. North-east of Mandalay lies Gokteik, with its marvellous American-engineered girder bridge, sixteen hundred and twenty feet long, the highest girder bridge in the world, which spans a mighty gorge. The Shans havea curi- ous superstition regard- ing this bridge, which contains one silver rivet. They hold that so long as this rivet remains un- broken so long will good fortune smile upon the country of the Shans, but should the rivet break or be destroyed, evil will in- evitably fall upon the land and its'inhabitants. Near Gokteik are the beautiful Mamsam Falls,

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386 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the Niagara of Burma. The water foams down over three terraces, with a total descent of something like three hundred feet. While in Mandalay I took some pictures of the extraordinary Burmese poys or dances. They continue for hours, these dances—in fact, for days—the performers working themselves and the audience up into a frenzy of excitement. A feature of them is the long tight skirt worn by the women, which to our eyes appears a most uncomfortable garment in which to dance. In fact, the whole affair strikes a European as slightly ridiculous ; but so does the European style of dancing appear to the Burmese, who consider it a most immoral proceeding for a woman to dance with a man who is not her husband and whom, perhaps, she scarcely knows. At these Burmese dances the performers take their beds with them to the scene of the dance, and when they are tired lie down and sleep for a while before commenc- ing to dance again. From Mandalay I went down by train to our starting point, Ran- goon, and while there had a real slice of luck. Outside Rangoon lies the village of Bahan, and one day a message came in that some of the houses in the village were on fire. Now when a fire starts in a Burmese town or village there is usually serious trouble owing to the extremely inflam- mable nature of the buildings. In this case a stiffish breeze was blowing, and smartly as the Rangoon fire brigade turned out they coulddo little on arrival except attempt to stay the course of the fire and prevent it spreading I arrived on the scene at the same time as the firemen, and secured a series of unique photographs of the blaze at its zenith. The sight was certainly a magnificent one—great red flames leaping up amidst the green fronds of the palms, with a dense pall of black smoke over all. I doubt, however, whether the unfortunate inhabitants whose houses were burning appreciated the picturesque side of the affair. In fact, when I and my camera appeared upon the scene some of them were extremely annoyed. It was the first fire which had taken place in Bahan in daylight for two hundred years, and some of the THE people were firmly convinced that I had deliberately set fire to the village myself in order to get some pretty pictures ! Some eighty houses were burnt to the ground in this conflagration, and four lives were lost. How it originated is un- certain, but in the dry season the rubbinz of the palm trees against one another in the breeze is sufficient to start a fire, andl it is possible that this was the explanation in this case. Even this disastrous fire was not without its touch of humour. The Burmese is a helpless creature in emergencies, and even if he could would not do much to assist the brigade. I came across one individual, however, whose house was a mass of smoul- dering ruins, the only thi unburned being a short flight of—in the circumstances The Gokteik Bridge, a masterpiece of American engineering. —perfectly useless steps. But he had apparently made up his mind to save them, at any rate, from the flames, for he was running backwards and forwards with immense energy to a water-butt and pouring water upon them from a utensil no bigger than a tea-cup—and even some of that he spilled on the way ! A few days later saw me upon the high seas, once more homeward bound after a trip which from first to last had extended for some eight months. I look back upon Burma and its placid, friendly people with many pleasant memories, and one is glad to know that during the recent Indian tour of the Prince of Wales the Burmese gave him a warm and loyal welcome. END.

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HIRAM P. BAILEY ILLUSTRATED BY GP CARRUTHERS T was the dark, numb week of the British national railway strike —September 26th mid- night to October 5th. ro1g. The district surrounding the docks at X. was full of busy gossip and idle strikers. “To this day,” writes the Author, “ only the two men most intimately concerned, and the writer, know the |, true facts of this story.” | For obvious reasons the engineer rested his head on the palm of his hand. He was thinking—furiously. “Here is this sugar wan- tonly held up,”” he said to himself. ‘‘ Why should the entirely innocent suffer? I sympathize with the strikers The dockmen, labourers, the port have been sup- _ up to a point, but not in wharfingers, and gatemen pressed, but they have | this. Strike or no strike, it were one and all on strike | been supplied to us in | isn’t playing the game.” with the railwaymen. The confidence. : Presently a half-smile stole transport workers alone were ' over his face, and he rang not ‘‘ out.” The city’s cups of tea needed sugar; the jam manufacturers needed sugar: the babies needed sugar; the sweetmakers needed sugar ; the hospitals needed sugar. And there was none ! But stay, there was some—afloat! Lying in a barge in the docks were some hundreds of tons, but the strikers would not permit its delivery. On behalf of the hospitals the city fathers tried with honeved words to induce the leaders to relent. The answer was curt: “ Nowt doin’.” Reluctant to acknowledge defeat, certain of the city fathers approached a certain office in the city, where they interviewed the engineer of the docks. Thev wanted to know if, with his help, something could not be done to obtain this greatly-needed sugar. The engineer listened attentively to their tale of woe, but he declined to commit him- self. He bade them, in the Asquithian phrase, to ‘‘ wait and see."” Also, above all things, to refrain from publishing any state- ment or even mentioning their interview with him. The promise was given. When the civic deputation had left, the his bell. “‘ Send Skipper L—— of the tug Y—— to me,’’ he commanded. A very short time elapsed before Skipper L——,, rough and ready, bowled into the engineer's office. His stubbly _ beard. battered peaked cap, swinging gait, and piercing blue eyes betokened the old sea-dog. “Sit down, skipper,’’ said the engineer, and he turned and locked the office door. ““ Now what about this sugar in the hold of Lighter No. 10?” “It’s there, sir, right enough. The lighter lies in the river off the Z dock entrance.” ““Show me the position approximately on this chart.” A hard, heavy finger rested on a certain spot. Then their voices began to whisper. Question and answer passed backwards and forwards for fully half an hour. At length the old. skipper rose. “ And you want me to lay this lighter of sugar alongside the wharf by No. 18 warehouse ? "" he said. “Exactly. The rest can be managed by others.” “Well, I'll try, sir. The tug is ready; it is the men I’m doubtful about. Only one is a deep-water sailor ; the rest are longshore,

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388 men and a bit unreliable. They are on the side of the strikers, too. However, I'll try.”” “Good,” said the engineer, rising in turn to his feet. ‘‘ And by the way, skipper, don’t mention the matter to anyone. You understand ? ”” “ Quite, sir. I'll be as dumb as a bollard.”” “Ring me up, skipper, as soon as you have arranged your end of the matter,” concluded the engineer. ‘‘ But be careful ; some of the strikers are in a very dangerous mood.”’ “ Aye, aye, sir—and so am I,” returned Skipper L——. A casual clerk who saw the old sea-dog swinging in easy style down the office stair- case reported later that the skipper looked “mighty thoughtful.” Nobody in that big office suspected for an instant that the skipper’s head was filled with hundreds of tons of granulated sugar. There was also a lot of sugar in the head of the engineer just then, mixed up with such things as tides, the rise and fall of water at a particular spot in the harbour, and the depth at a certain moment on the dock sills. The phases of the moon, too, interested him. With his compasses he measured on a chart the exact distance from a certain dock- entrance to a certain lighter lying in a fleet of other lighters, carefully checking over his calculations. “‘H'm,” he said at last. ‘‘ He may just about do it if nothing goes wrong.” Down to his fussy little tug, lving in Dock Z, went the old skipper—thinking, thinking, thinking. He bumped against a half-hidden lamp-post around a corner, mumbled an apology, and passed on. Some- one bade him “‘ good-day,”’ but he returned no answer ; he was too deep in thought. Then, suddenly, as he reached the long street leading to the docks he smiled to himself, flung one mighty fist into the palm of the other, and cried: “Ah!” Skipper L had solved his end of the problen—in theory, at any rate. It was night, with all around pitch-dark. The skipper, on the bridge of the tug, went over certain items in his mind to make sure that he had overlooked no part of his programme. ‘ High tide at 10.15 p.m.,” he muttered. ‘‘ No moon—I must be thundering careful. Moon rises 10.53 p.m. I carry no lights of any kind—I’m a blot. I leave my berth here at 10.25 p.m., ten minutes after high water. I must cast off to the tick. I take two-and-a-half minutes to steam to the lockpit (entrance to dock); swing-bridge across entrance to be already open. If not open, I drop into the arms of Davy Jones— always open! One more minute and I should be outside the dock. Neither strikers nor pickets must suspect any movement of tug. In fact, I must not be missed from my present position. Must be back in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. twenty-eight minutes, and safe in this berth again. Yes; not a second over twenty- eight minutes, else I shall miss sufficient depth of water on the dock-sill and sha'n't be able to get into the dock at all. If I do miss it, the moon will come up, the strikers will come up, and my number will go up as well. Awkward! No; I must do it in the twenty-cight _minutes. Easy enough in the light, but in the dark a rare old job.”” The programme mentally mapped out, Skipper L——'s thoughts wandered to the events that had happened on his little ship since he came aboard. Down forward, in the “ glory-hole’ of the tug, there had been mysterious whispers. Apparently they had started soon after the arrival of the skipper. Said the deck-hand, continuing a con- versation on the strike: “‘ It’s true, mates, that there sugar is a-lying in the middle of a fleet of lighters.” “Aye, it is,” the skipper had rejoined, “and according to what I’ve heard ’’—and he looked around furtively—‘' the transport men, who, as you know, are not on strike, say that they will unload this here sugar from the lighter if they can only get the blamed stuff alongside No. 2 quay.” “And on that there perticler quay, broke in the fireman, who had once been a railway porter, ‘there is a railway siding quite handy to load the sugar up into trucks.” “Ah! I'll bet a glass of beer to this tug that that’s their game,’’ put in the skipper. ““Funny we didn’t tumble to it afore! They'll get the lighter of sugar alongside with barge poles, load it up into trucks, and—well—I did hear a whisper, quite accidental-like, that a engine and trucks was expected to come down there very early in the morning.” “They'll send it all over England, and we shall be done!” cried another hand ferociously, with the air of having arrived at an astounding truth. “ Aye, that’s true,”’ agreed the skipper. “Can’t we stop it ? ’’ demanded the mate. He turned towards the skipper. “‘ Can’t you suggest something ? ‘m game for anything.”’ And he glanced inquiringly at the rest of the crew, who nodded approval. They all looked at the skipper. “Well, now that you put it that way,” said Skipper L——, thoughtfully, ‘I fancy I could suggest something.” The crew drew closer. “Mind yer, it’s risky—very risky. It might cost us all our jobs if we was found out! But I’m game, and I fancy I could take the wind out of their mains’l for good and all.” "i “‘ Let us have your idea aboard, skipper,”’ cried the mate. ‘I offer, for one, to stop their game.” “And me! And me! And me!” cried the crew. :

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“The mate turned towards the skipper. ‘Can’t you suggest something ?’”

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399° “Well, then, seeing as we're all agreed like,” continued Skipper L——, “I was thinking we could take this here tug out of the dock to-night, pass through the lock- pit, pick up the sugar lighter, and—well, we'll see what we'll do with the blamed stuff when we get it in tow. After we have done what we want to do with it, we'll slip quietly back into dock again, and nobody will know anything about it.” he crew seemed quite taken aback at the audacity of the scheme. Through their minds crept visions of stolen tugs, lost jobs, per- haps jail! Nevertheless, they were ready to see the thing through. The mate, how- ever, had an objection to lodge. “But what about the swing-bridge across the entrance, skipper ?’’ he asked. ‘‘ We can’t get through unless it is opened. And then there’s the dock gates.” The skipper turned to him. “ I’m going ashore,”’ he said. ‘‘ I know a man who might open the bridge and shut it after us—some- one who can keep his mouth shut. I fancy I can find the man I want. Don’t ask who it is; he mightn’t like it.” The skipper had then gone ashore, with a last admonition to the crew to allow nobody on board. As he bowled along the quayside he chuckled to himself. Already, in his mind’s eye, he saw sugar going into the hospitals. Arrived among the sheds he looked about him cautiously and finally went to the dock telephone. Through it he conveyed to an anxious individual in a certain office the mysterious words: ‘ Everything O.K., sir! I move exactly according to programme arranged.” “ Excellent ! ’’ came the answer. “JT hope the swing-bridge will be open sharp at 10.27} p.m., sir,’” continued L—, “or else there'll be some strangers landing on the golden shore at 10.28.” “Allright, skipper,” was the reply. “ Say—how is your watch ?... What’s that ? You are exactly thirteen seconds fast. Put it right ; the job is one of seconds!” Then they had rung off. And now the skipper stood quietly on the little bridge in pitch darkness, waiting for 10.25 p.m. Presently he crawled cautiously down the companion ladder amongst the waiting crew. “Time's nearly up,.men,"’ he whispered. “It’s high water. Quictly now ; get to your posts. If you make any noise our jobs are gone—and the man that costs me my job won't want another this year!’ The engine-man and fireman crept below ; the mate stood by; the deck-hand glided ashore to cast off, and the skipper tiptoed back to the bridge and grasped the wheel. There was not a sound anywhere ; every- thing was deathly still. Slowly the engine piston moved, the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. propeller churned the water of the dock, and under cover of the darkness the little tug glided quietly and mysteriously away. She hardly made a sound ; the slow throb of the propeller was scarcely audible in the engine- room. Gently she moved towards the swing- bridge spanning the outlet from the doc! Would it be open ? The skipper seemed to be a superman, apparently able to see in the dark and = sessing an ultra-subtle sense of locality. His ears and eyes were strained to their utmost capacity; his teeth bit into the stem of his empty pipe. His touch on the wheel, however, was almost fly-like in the delicacy of its contact. Presently he gave vent to a deep grunt of satisfaction. The great swing-bridge was just finishing its opening circle as he reached its neighbourhood. He could not see it, but he heard the gentle ‘“ pish’’ as the bridge closed on its pneumatic buffer. This also told him that, a little farther along, he would find the dock gates open. A moment or two more and the tug glided through. They were outside! So far, all was well. The mysterious individual ashore had fulfilled his part of the programme to the second. The skipper now steered to the right, and soon the little tug was absolutely swallowed up in the darkness, while the great swing- bridge moved noiselessly back to its normal position. The dock gates remained open, for just now it was the “ top” of the neee, tide. Although the tide had already turned, they would not be shut for a little time. Over the closed swing-bridge passed two men—pickets of the strikers! They were exactly two minutes too late, and saw nothing. Another man crossed close behind them. He had seen everything, but he said nothing. To himself, however, he murmured very anxiously : ‘‘ Will she get back in time ? The tide is already falling and she's only got twenty-eight minutes to do the whole business in and be back in dock.” With that, this silent individual retraced his steps and vanished into the deep shadow of the e.gine-house containing the mechan- ism that operated the swing-bridge. Outside, on the heaving tug, there was also much anxiety. Shadowy men were swiftly but quictly hauling great ropes about the deck. All of them were a little “ nervy,” for the dull throb of the propeller dinned into their ears the knell of departing. jobs—if heard by railway or dock officials. Their apprehension, however, was some- what allayed by their approach to the scene of their risky exploit. One or two men crawled up to the little bridge of the tug. “ Skipper !’’ they breathed. ‘‘ We be near the lighters. We can make out black lumps off the starboard bow.” “ Aye, aye,”’ returned the skipper. “I

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picked ‘em up a few Get ready!" Presently he turned and spoke down the tube to the engine-room : “ Stop her!” The tug slackened her speed, gliding noisclessly forward by her own momentum. Out went the rope-fenders to take up the shock of impact. ‘Give the old gal half a turn more, Alf,” the skipper whispered down the tube to the regions below. Thud! Thud ! “Stop her!” A moment later the tug grazed quietly along the side of a large dark mass lying low in the water. “ Which is the right one, skipper ? ” asked one of the crew. ‘ There be twenty of ‘em about!" “ Blowed if [ know!” “What shall we do, the man. “Do?” repeated the skipper, hoarsely. “Do? Why, crawl about on the decks of the lighters like rats and taste ‘em! Taste every lighter there is, and when you come to summat sweet you'll know it’s sugar. Now get for’ard!’’ “ Right, skipper, but it’s dark!” “ Dark ? Of course it’s dark; that’s why we came. Do you want a searchlight shone on ye, and a bloke with a tall hat and umbrella to point ‘em out to ve ? Get for’ard. Be sharp ! Tide’s falling ! With that three men jumped like cats from the tug to the deck of the first lighter. On hands and knees they began to crawl, seeking some scent or taste by which they could fern the nature of the cargo. For a moment or two there was no sound, Then there arose a sharp, smothered remark. One man had tasted tar! His two com- panions grinned in the dark. They dared not laugh, for, apart from other risks, families live at the after end of many of these lighters and might make trouble with nocturnal investigators. Passing to another craft, they snaked along like reptiles. Presently one of these reptiles suddenly stopped. Through his eager, groping fingers trickled a granular substance. At last! His heart beat high. He was about to give the arranged signal when self-greed manitested itself. He filled two pockets for home consumption ; then, to carry on nicely, he put some in his mouth. Salt ! Again the search commenced. Hands were scraped, heads were bumped. and shins were barked as they became too closely acquainted with unseen objects. And all the time the inexorable tide was falling ! Presently one of the searchers snaked over on to the next lighter, lying alongside. Eagerly he “ tasted ” ‘the cargo. Sugar! Ina Hearse whisper, almost breathless minutes ago. Thud ! returned L——. then ?"’ demanded UGAR.” 391 with excitement, he acquainted his mates with his good fortune, and silently they scrambled back to the tug. Here they began to uncoil a tow-rope ; then they went back over the lighters again to make the line fast to the precious sugar-carrier. Soon it was fixed and the lighter’s lashings cast off. Once more the men scurried back to the tug. and slowly she began to move away, the huge rope swinging about until at last it became as taut as a fiddlestring. Under the strain the huddle of barges began to move, disturbed by the sluggish progress of the sugar-lighter. “Lizzie! Lizzie! where are ve?’ A loud ery broke the silence of the night. Evidently a bargee was addressing his wife, sleeping below. ‘ Wake up! Wake up! or Ill drop below with a belay pin.” “What's got ver now ? ” answered a thin, peevish voice. ~ “The tide’s got me—come up! The lighters are all moving about. Jiggered if I can quite make it out. Come up here to the tiller, or I'll He never finished the sentence, for sud- denly and mysteriously he was swept by the swinging tow-rope headlong down the companion steps ! Slowly but surely, under the pull of the big rope, the sugar-lighter drew clear of the press and out into the darkness of the stream. The skipper chuckled, looked at his watch, and then down over the side. By the movement of the tug against the water he could tell that the tide was well on the ebb. His watch showed him that a bare twelve minutes was left him in which to do the remaining part of his work and creep back into dock. He became anxious. The silent man far over there near the swing-bridge was anxious too—very anxious. Peering at the tide-gauge. he mentally calculated that unless the tug showed up in thirteen minutes at the most she would be unable to enter the dock. In twenty minutes, too, the moon was due to show her upper rim. It was now a neck-and-neck race between tide, moon, tug—and sugar. The Y-. , however, now had the sugar- barge well in hand, rolling clumsily at the end of a stout tow-rope. “What shall we do with it, skipper?" asked the deck-hand in hushed tones. The extreme riskiness of the adventure was beginning to dawn on all of them except the skipper, though he. too, was anxious, but for a different reason. “Do with it? Do with it? Why, eat some of it, and tow what's left. Go for’ard |” “‘Where be you going to tow it to?” persisted the deck-hand. “We're going to tow the blamed stuff into the river and let it go out to blazes with the tide,”’ interposed the mate. “No, not that,’ returned the skipper,

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392 with artful deliberation; ‘‘ not that, Ted. A drifting lighter solid with sugar might cause an accident to a ship—loss of life, erhaps. Besides, when the moon comes up it might be captured and taken in tow. Very likely it would be brought back to where we took it from! No; we'll tow the bloomin’ stuff just over there against No. 18 ware- house, make it all fast, and leave it. Once there, no blackleg tug can move her; for when the tide goes down—and it’s falli rapidly now—the lighter will rest good an fast on the hard mud, and seeing as how every tide this week is a falling neap-tide, nobody will be able to shift her for over another week.” Now they saw the scheme, and they approved it mightily. “ Good!" broke in the crew. ‘‘ Top- hole! Tow her in, skipper ! ’’ ‘Right! There are no sidings there, so the shore gang can't load it up into trucks. The lighter can rest there until the strike is over—and that suits all of us.” With a gentle, gliding bump the tug touched against the quay wall outside Warehouse No. 18. Two men jumped into the deep shadow of the shore and made the lighter fast with great knots. When all was secure, and the tug backin; away into the river, the skipper look at his watch again. “Three minutes!” he breathed. Round spun his wheel. The tug’s nose, as near as he could sense it, should now point towards the dock entrance. Could he manage it ? There was no telling. Meanwhile the lonely silent man at the swing-bridge, steeped in shadow, waited and hoped, straining his ears to catch the throb of a propeller, but he heard nothing. “Only two minutes more,” he murmured. All around was blackness and a deathly silence. “One minute more,” he told himself, and still there was no sign of the returning tug. A second or two more and, sick at heart, he walked quietly towards the levers that closed the dock gates. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Half a he muttered. Reluctantly he put his hand on the levers. He dared not wait longer. The tide was racing away ; he had already heard the creak- ing of a ship's ropes, strained owing to the ship lowering at her moorings in consequence of the sinking of the water in the dock. He was up against the last second ; the danger- limit was at hand. With a last regretful glance into the inky darkness whence the tug should emerge, the engineer clasped ‘the lever and = ulled it over. Again he looked and listened, oping against hope. But no sound came to m. minute—a quarter!” Full over went the lever, and the gates began to close. At that very instant, how- ever, he fancied he heard the dull throb, throb of an engine. A second orso more, and he was sure of it. The tug was coming at last ! Back went the levers, and -the -gates returned to the open position. Over went the swing-bridge lever, and the great struc- ture started to open. Quietly the tug nosed into the entrance, gliding swiftly into the dock, a blacker blot against the darkness. The gates, with- out a sound, swung to behind her; the swing-bridge also closed. All was over ; darkness and silence reigned supreme once more. he skipper, far up the dock and near his moorings, chuckled to himself. “A mighty near thing!’ he muttered. And the silent man at the gates was chuckling also as he walked away with a twinkle in his eye and a great meerschaum pipe in his mouth. It had been a great adventure. And that is how the hospitals of X—— obtained their sugar. To this day no one in that city—except the two men most in- timately concerned, and the writer—knows the true facts. Even the crew of the tug who carried out the raid remain blissfully unconscious of the part they played ‘in the operations.

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Tr asedy of ‘Miss Miami Y HAT about a flight to Bimini?” Mr. Auguste Bulte looked across at his wife and then glanced round at the Smiths and Mrs. Dickson, the other members of the party, who were staying in Miami, one of the most popular seaside resorts on the coast of Florida. “Sure!” said Mrs. Smith atonce. Her husband nodded assent, and the other two ladies eed. All of them hailed from Kansas City, and they were enjoying a pleasant holiday by the sea. Miami is a fashionable re- sort, and it was fairly full up discussed their propos across the sea to the island of Bimini, in the British West ?”? DAVID rand ic MASTERS Bre es aes accent Illustrated by DUDLEY TENNANT. In March last year a party of American holi- day-makers left Miami, | Florida, in the flying boat Miss Miami for a ph <p to Bimini last March when the a ysts only fe fre. malas away. ‘wo days later the pilot, delirious and that attracted Mr. Bulte and his party, and not the desire to enjoy the hospitality of British rule. The trip to Bimini was one of the recog- nized excursions from Miami. Flying boats had been jour- neying backward and forward for three years, and there had the run of luck would be broken ? The decision arrived at, Mr. Bulte went along and made arrangements with Mr. Robert Moore to pilot them across to Bimini in his flying boat Miss Miami. Moore was in the pink of condition, strong and _ re- sourceful, one of the best ilots in the United States. e@ was twenty-seven, and had a fine war record. | { Indies. Since Prohibition was me phere aig For some months after the made absolute in the United The story he had to tell war he had been engaged in States, Miami has become proved to be one of the piloting one of the U.S. mail- even more popular. The most tragic in the annals Planes tween New York and Teason is not far to seek. of aviation. ashington, but eventually Bimini is only forty-five miles away across the sea. The island is under British rule, and there are no irksome restrictions regarding the con- sumption of alcohol. In Biminia man may drink his whisky and soda or glass of beer and call himself a free man, but it is other- wise in Miami. Wealthy Americans desiring a drink found Miami a handy place to stop at, for they could easily charter a flying boat to take them over to Bimini, where they could consume cock- tails of every imaginable colour under the sun. The expense of the trip was not of much moment to these moneyed people ; it would have cost them as much to obtain the cocktails by ‘‘ underground” methods in Miami itself, so by going over to the island they obtained the flight free of cost. It was, however, the pleasure of the flight arrived in Miami as the pilot of Miss Miami. “* How many of you ? ” the pilot asked. “ Five,” replied Bulte. ‘‘ What time do we start?” “* About eleven,’’ Moore answered. The next morning, Wednesday, March 22, 1922, the pilot went over his machine as usual. He tried out the 400-horse-power Liberty motor and found it was running perfectly. At eleven o'clock Mr. Bulte and his party arrived at the slipway. ‘* Just a- moment,” Moore called, and the visitors smiled as they watched him slip a bottle of water and somerations underhis seat. ““What’s that for?’ one of the ladies asked. “‘ Just for emergencies,” replied the pilot. “ Not that we shall want them, but it’s well to be prepared.”

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39+ The wind was pretty fresh and blowing from the north-east as he helped the five passengers into their seats. He saw them comfortably settled ; then he got into his own seat and opened out the motor. Miss Miami began to glide over the dancing waves. Faster and faster she went until, with a little gasp of delight, the tourists saw the sea fall away from them and realized that they were in the air. Then the pilot set Miss Wrami climbing. He knew the route as well as he knew his own face. For a little while he cruised around to gain height ; finally he set the nose of his craft out to sea. The steady hum of the motor told of an engine correctly tuned, and the pilot sub- consciously noted it with satisfaction. His keen eyes roved over Miami as the shore receded, and he saw that his passengers were smiling with pleasure. So he settled himself down for the forty-five-mile’ flight, his lean “hands resting on the controls and manipu- lating them in a masterly manner. They were barely three miles from the shore when Moore saw something fly from the propeller. Instantly the engine began to roar and race, and he realized that the propeller was broken. With the instinct that comes to the trained pilot, he switched off the motor to obviate any trouble from the engine ; then he looked round to find a ship near which to settle so that his passengers could be picked up and he and his flying boat towed back to Miami. Moore’s calm manner reassured his pas- sengers. He gazed about him, scanning the sea below, and saw a fishing smack about a couple of miles away. He altered his course to cut across that of the smack, and then planed down, keeping the crippled Wiss Miami in the air as long as possible, until he alighted on the sea about a mile away from the smack and dead in its track. “Ts there any danger ? ”’ asked one of the ladies. “Don't worry,” Moore told her. all right. We'll soon be picked up.” It seemed at that moment an absolute certainty that they would shortly be aboard the smack, which was heading in their direction. The flying boat sat lightly on the waves, and as the sea was a bit choppy the motion was none too pleasant. Moore got upand stripped off his jacket. For a second the passengers ceased to watch the smack while they paid attention to the pilot. “What's wrong ?”’ asked Mr. Bulte. The pilot nodded towards one of the floats, and the passengers saw that it had been damaged in alighting and was shipping water. Moore plugged the hole very deftly with his coat and then, as the inrush stopped, he turned to wave to the smack. “ Shout,” he said, and all shouted together. They felt sure that the smack had seen them, and was coming to their rescue; they “We're THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. only shouted to make assurance doubly sure —just to be on the safe side. The distance between the derelict flying boat and the fishing smack dwindled until it was only half a mile. Moote could read the name of the boat; he even knew her captain. ‘ He'll soon get us,”’ said Moore. To their consternation, however, the smack changed her course and began to sail away from them! It was too incredible, too awful. They shouted and waved frantically, but those on board the smack paid no heed. Moore turned to encourage his perturbed passengers. ‘‘ Never mind,” he said. ‘ An- other one will soon be along to pick us up.” Meanwhile the wind was rising, piling up waves until the whole party were drenched. They were quite helpless; they could do nothing at all to help themselves, and every moment the rolling and pitching of the flying boat grew worse. From time to time they cast despairing glances at the shore, still visible in the dis- tance. The sea was now too rough for the strongest swimmer to stand the slightest chance. Even if he could have battied with the waves, there was a deadlier danger that none could escape; the sea was infested with sharks, and anyone who ventured in at this distance from land would most certainly be torn to pieces. : ij Moore noticed with dread that they had come down in the Gulf Stream; which here- abouts runs close inshore." If only they had missed the Gulf Stream there might have been a chance of drifting to the land, but the pilot knew that now they were in the grip of the current nothing could prevent them- being carried out to sea. ike a brave man, however, he kept his knowledge and his fears to himself. As the afternoon wore on, the seas grew steadily worse. The waves were soon running twelve feet high, now hurling the frail boat aloft, now driving her down into the troughs. “Look !’’ cried Mrs. Dickson suddenly, as they swung upward on the crest of a wave. For a brief space they saw a steamer in the distance, but it vanished from sight as they slid down into the trough. They shouted at the top of their voices when they climbed to the crest of the next wave. but the steamer was too far off either to see them or hear them. Shortly afterwards a further disaster befell them: the flying boat hit something that jarred her whole fabric, and presently the sea began to pour through a hole in the hull. Whipping off his sweater, Moore thrust it into the hole, plugging it to the best of his ability. His efforts lessened the rush of water, but did not stop it entirely. Thence- forward he manned the pump and told the others to bale for their lives. They pumped and baled like mad people, but nevertheless the sea gained on them. Women and men alike fought doggedly to

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THE TRAGEDY OF “MISS MIAMI.” 395 “He grabbed her and somehow got her on to the overturned machine.” . keep Miss Miami afloat, but in spite of their efforts she became more and more water- logged. Soon the pilot noticed with misgiving that the tail of his craft was beginning to drag under water instead of riding on the surface, but he said nothing. Why make matters worse when they were already so bad ? Presently he dug out his emergency rations from under his seat, along with the bottle of water. He gave the passengers a morsel of food and a sip. of water apiece, but he would take none himself. Then he replaced the remaining rations and water under the seat. Moore was young and strong, and he kept at the pump in a way that won the admira- tion of the passengers. They were drenched and weary, but still full of courage. Spite of all their efforts, however, the crippled flying boat sank lower and lower. ey were still baling and pumping when a big wave struck them broadside on, and without any warning Miss Miami turned turtle, throwing them all into the sea ! Moore came to the surface just in time to see Mrs. Bulte floating past. He grabbed her and somehow got her on to the overturned machine, but he had barely released his hold when he saw Mr. and Mrs. Smith in the water. Neither could swim, so he dived in and managed to secure the lady. Then he dropped back into the sea and, getting hold of Mr. Smith, hel; him on to the wing of the machine, after which he climbed up himself. Mrs. Bulte sat up, panting for breath. “Good heavens!” she cried. ‘‘ Where's my husband ?” At that moment the pilot saw the body of Mr. Bulte float by. It was only too obvious that he was dead, and there was a great gash in his head, undoubtedly caused by the machine as it turned turtle. Moore stepped in front of the anguished Mrs. Bulte to hide the dreadful sight from her eyes, and tried to comfort her to the best of his ability. Mrs. Dickson, they discovered, was also missing ; she had probably been swept away at the same time as Mr. Bulte

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396 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. For a time Mrs. Bulte gave way to her grief; then, by an eftort, she calmed her- self. ‘Courage! ’’ she whispered to the others. “ Courage! We'll be picked up yet.” “ Of course we shall,"’ said Mrs. Smith, who was clinging to her husband. “We've only got to hold on,” added Moore, and once again he began to lower himself into the sea. “Where are you going?” cried Mrs. Bulte. “‘ To see if I can get some cushions. They'll act as life-preservers,”” he answered. “Don't go,” cried Mrs. Smith, for it seemed to all of them that this cheery, courageous young pilot was their only hope. Moore smiled at them reassuringly ; then he dived under the wreckage, holding his breath as he fumbled about the overturned hull. At last he found a cushion and managed to get it free. It seemed a long time to the anxious survivors before he emerged with the cushion, which he gave to one of the ladies, making her tie it round her. Then he dived again, and after considerable trouble got another cushion, which he gave to the other lady. Two or three more times he went down under the labouring hull, running the risk of sharks, until he had stripped all the cushions, the buoyancy of which certainly added to the chances of the castaways. After these exertions the pilot rested for a while, all of them huddled together on the wildly-rocking wreck. From time to time great waves drenched them. Then came a bigger sea, which swept right over them, and when Moore shook the water from his eyes he saw Mrs. Bulte struggling in the water. Instantly he dived after her and, by a desperate effort, managed to get her back on the bottom of the boat. Several times before darkness fell the waves washed one or the other of the women off, but each time Moore dived in and managed to rob the sea of its prey. Their situation was now desperate. The wind was blowing a gale and still rising, and it seemed impossible that the sorely-battered Miss Miami could last the night. The plucky pilot, however, refused to give up hope. Once more he lowered himself into the water among the wreckage, searching for the anchor rope. If he could find it, he thought, it would serve to lash them to the derelict and prevent them from being washed off in the dark. After a struggle he managed to get hold of the rope and work it free. Then he and Mr. Smith lashed the ladies so that they could not be carried away by the waves, and they passed the night with the women in their arms, comforting them as best they could and praying ter the dawn. What an interminable night that was! The storm raged about them, the seas broke over them, the derelict rolled and plunged, but the women made no complaint. They faced death with a smile on their lips and waited with wonderful courage for the end that seemed inevitable. Dawn found the little band still alive. All were worn out with their ordeal, yet the two women still smiled. “Are you all right ?’’ whispered Mr. Smith to his wife. “Don’t worry about me,’ bravely. “We'll be picked up presently,” said Moore encouragingly. Mrs. Bulte smiled. She was too exhausted to speak. Moore's thoughts reverted to theemergency rations. If he could recover them they might help to pull the party through. He made Mrs. Bulte as comfortable as he could, and then slipped into the sea to seek the remains of the food and water. He dived several times, but was at last forced to give up the search. Undoubtedly the seas had washed the food and water away when the boat capsized. Once more he scrambled up again beside Mrs. Bulte. She was shivering with cold, and it was obvious that she was dying from sheer exhaustion. For an hour or two Moore held her, trying hard to restore circulation, and then, still smiling, she passed away in his arms. Reverently he laid her down, doing his best to screen the dead woman from the sight of Mrs. Smith. Presently Moore saw a smudge of smoke on the horizon and pointed it out to Smith. The latter bent over his wife. ‘‘ There’s a ship over there, dear,”’ he said. Mrs. Smith's lips parted, but no sound came from them. The terrible ordeal had been too much for her; evidently she was nearing the end. An hour or two at most, and her brave spirit would be at rest. In an agony of suspense the two men watched that smudge of smoke until it faded away. “Be brave, dear. Just a little longer. We'll surely be saved presently,”’ whispered the distraught husband. Mrs. Smith closed her eves. and for a time appeared to doze. Then she looked up. “ Good-bve,” she whispered. ‘‘ Kiss me.’” Her husband bent to kiss her as she died. And still, alone on the heaving sea. the derelict drove on with its cargo of dead and living. Both men were now getting weak from exposure. The glare of the sun almost blinded them, and the salt water made their numbed bodies ache all over. Worst of all was the dreadful thirst. Their throats were parched, their lips were cracking. They knew, however, that if they attempted to drink the salt water it would only make matters worse, and so they resisted the temptation. Every now and again great waves washed over them, threatening to carry away the bodies of the dead women, hanging in the she answered

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THE TRAGEDY lashings ; but the men clung to them; they could not bear to sce them swallowed up by the sea. As the day wore on the over- turned craft sank lower and lower. The only chance for the survivors lay in lightening the boat in order to keep her afloat as long as possible. “We must let them go, boy, to Moore at last. Moore nodded and loosened the ropes, and when the next big wave bore down on them both men shut their eyes. They felt the surge and the swell as it passed over them, and when they opened their eyes again they were alone. Somehow they lived through that dreadful day. Once or twice they sighted steamers, but by this time they were too low in the water for the vessels to notice them, Night came and brought them a respite from the heat of the sun. They roped themselves tighter to the derelict and crouched there miserably, waiting for day- break. Their minds were becoming ha they were completely worn out with their sufferings. As daylight crept over sea and sky once more, Smith roused himself from his lethargic condition, and smiled wanly at Moore. “1 don’t see how we can last much longer,” he said wistfully. ‘“‘ Don’t you think I had a brave wife?” The pilot nodded ; himself to speak. * “Promise me that if you return you will tell our boys how brave their mother was,"” continued Smith; ‘tell them the facts, and tell them the truth about me. You will know how I died. Tell them the truth, boy !”’ With that the gallant man fumbled in his pocket and pulled out some notes which he tried to press on Moore. But the pilot would not have them; he flung them from him into the sea. “Good-bye,” murmured Smith a minute or two later, and as he died his muscles relaxed and he slipped through the loosened ropes into the water. By this time Moore was nearly demented. Somehow he managed to bind himself to one of the struts, and thereafter he became delirious and unconscious by turns. His craving for water was so awful that he gnawed the ends of his fingers. Glimpses of ships brought him momen- tarily to his senses, and he raved and yelled at them as they went on unheeding. Seven times that day he was tortured by the sight of passing vessels, seven times he endured the agony of watching them disappear. He was gnawing at his fingers again to quench his agonizing thirst when the mists of his madness were swept away by the sight of yet another ship. He yelled and waved his arms frantically—and the ship altered her course and came towards him ! ” said Smith he could not trust OF “MISS MIAMI.” 397 It was the tanker William Green, and Captain Williams, scanning the wreckage through his glasses, thought he saw a move- ment on it. The next time the derelict swung into view on a wave-crest he detected a figure on it, and gave orders for a boat to be manned. A mile away the tanker hove to and the boat was launched. Moore watched them as in a dream. He heard men’s voices and somebody shouting: ‘Give me a knife, quick. Let's cut him down.” Then he felt himself being lifted. ‘‘ Sorry to give you fellows so much trouble,” he muttered ; then he became delirious again. Quickly the rescuers rowed him to the tanker. The seas were still running high, but they managed, with a great effort, to get him safely on deck. “ Poor fellow!’ said Mrs. Williams, who was aboard. Bearing him carefully below, they un- dressed the pilot and put him into a bunk. He was a terrible sight. His entire body was blistered and burnt by the salt water and sun, and his hps were swollen to such an enormous size that he could only open his mouth with the greatest difficulty. “Oh, he’s blind!’ cried Mrs. Williams, and it really seemed to the rescuers that his sight had gone. For hours Moore raved like a madman. “‘T tried to save them, mother ! I held on as long as I could,” he kept repeating over and over again. “No; I'm not thirsty. Give it to the women.” ~ All the while Mrs. Williams nursed him devotedly, but to those aboard his chances seemed small. “Don’t leave me, mother. Don’t leave me!” he shouted, whenever Mrs. Williams moved away from him. Meanwhile the captain of the tanker sent out a wireless message and got into touch with Miami, and it was not long before the authorities dispatched a submarine-chaser, with two doctors aboard, to take off the sole survivor of Miss Miami. The chaser had nearly a hundred miles to go, and the seas were so bad that all on board the little vessel felt the effects of them. When the chaser finally reached the William Green, it looked as though she would be crushed like an egg against the side of the big steamer. Up and down she swung, up and down, whilst the tanker rolled ponder- ously above her. Then, to make matters worse, the invalid refused to leave Mrs. Williams. “You'd better come, too,” at last. ‘‘ He won't leave without you. Eventually they got the invalid and_ his kindly nurse aboard, and brought him safely to the hospital at Miami, where he slowly recovered from one of the most terrible ordeals a man has ever endured. said the doctor

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SON THE: ‘SPOOR: (OF THE. ELEPHANT | f as i? ( J.Morewood | \ Dowsett # HERE is considerable misapprehen- sion concerning the wild African elephant, which is generally regarded as a mild and inoffensive beast. The truth is, of course, that it is one of the most dangerous quarries a man can find to hunt. i elephants have one sense very strongly developed indeed—that of smell. It is therefore vital, when stalking them, to ensure that the wind is not carrying the scent of the hunter to them; and wind changes very rapidly sometimes, needing & (Photo Blake Studios. Mr. J. Morewood Dowsett. Mr. Dowsett is very reticent concerning his many adventures, but we have suc- ceeded in persuading him to recount the stories from the diary of his companion, Mr. John Deacon, a well-known hunter. continual caution. If they do scent you, they will either charge you at once or make off, and in the latter case they will not stop again until they have covered many miles. If the animals fail to get your scent, how- ever, you may make what noise you like. You may even show yourself, for they will not always recognize you at first as their deadly enemy—man. But once let them smell you, and you may Jook out for trouble. There are few more courageous animals than the elephant ; he is naturally savage, The Author setting out for the elephant country.

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ON THE SPOOR OF THE ELEPHANT. revengeful, v wary, swift: and cunning, and aioe. oF great endurance. He will think nothing of travelling fifty to sixty miles in a single night. A wild elephant is king of the forest and lord of all created animals ; in strength and sagacity he surpasses all others. He feeds on the leaves from the lofty branches, and I have seen him tearing trees up bodily from sheer malice as he stalks forth at the break of day, monarch of all he surveys. “ Rogue” elephantsare usually : foundalone,and are ff exceptionally dan- gerous beasts to tackle. If an elephant gets hold of you he dis- poses of you in various ways—all of them unpleasant. He will, as a rule, trample you to death; but some- times he will kneel on you, or pierce ou with his tusks ; e will also some- times place a foot on a man, and, with his trunk, tear the body in two. Another method is to pick the hapless victim up in_ his trunk and hurl him at a tree, repeating the performance until he is a mere mass of broken flesh and bones. An ele- phant differs from some other animals in that he will hunt you—and persist in his hunt. During a recent journey which took me over all that portion of Africa lying between Italian maliland, Abyssinia, and the Sudan, right through to the Cape, I had some very exciting experiences with elephants. . one occasion I had failed to come into touch with the elephants I was after—the Kabulamuliro herd, in the Mubendi district, and so went on to Singo, sixty miles distant, where the animals were reported to be, and sent native scouts in all directions to ascer- tain their whereabouts. On Monday, June 20, 1921, with a com- panion, Mr. K. Remane, a native chief, and a house-boy, I left at daybreak for Kanyan- goga, where the elephants had been seen. After going about twelve miles we came up with a'portion of the herd, but those nearest were cows, which I photographed. They soon scented us and made off, and we followed them a further two miles into the forest, when we came across seventeen seventeen elephants 399 resting in the shade. Two hundred yards away were another nine, slowly walking forward. These, I believe, were those which had our scent an hour or two previously. The native chief, an old elephant hunter, told me, through my companion, that part of the herd was behind us, and reminded me that they would have to be reckoned with as soon as the others were alarmed. I was now within twenty yards of the elephants, of which I had already taken two Mr. Dowsett about to take a photograph just before the "ged. photographs, and was in the act of breaking small twigs between the herd and myself before taking a third, when my companion told me that the herd had scented the party and were coming straight for us ! As I could not speak Luganda it was arranged that the native chief should touch my arm three times if he saw danger while my attention was given to the photograph. I did not heed the first signal, for I had the seventeen elephants in my view-finder and was just about to ‘‘snap’’ when the chief punched my arm hard three times. Immediately, away went the camera and, picking up my rifle, I shot the leader, a big ull, mortally wounding him. After that elephants seemed to spring from everywhere—there were thirty-five in all. Some stampeded and others surrounded their dying leader to help him away. My companion and the natives retreated along the tracks we had come by, but the chief shouted in Luganda: “Do not go that way; you are running into the other elephants |

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400 Profiting by this warning, they ran away to leeward of the herd and escaped. I, on the other hand, not understanding Luganda, first waited to reload my rifle, as it was the only weapon to protect the five of us, but I was delayed by the breech being very obstinate. Then I ran, as I thought, after the others. . Suddenly, without the slightest warning, a great bull elephant, which had evidently had my scent for several minutes, burst out of the bush and with ears extended and trunk raised, charged me. was only six yards away from me when it appeared, crashing through the bush, and there was no time torun for cover, or even to try to cross his path to get on the right side of the wind. Trumpeting savagely, the great brute swept me to the ground with its trunk. kee TENSE MOMENTS. Then began a few moments that I have no wish to experience again. The furious beast, having felled me, evidently determined .to kill me and, turning in his own length, tried to trample me to death. I had half risen when I saw the brute’s huge foot pressing heavily into the ground by my side, and realized that my one chance of escape lay in getting on the right side of the wind. I therefore made a fiving dive under the monster's belly. The elephant, however, was too quick for me. Turning rapidly after me, he felled me again, keeping me on his windward side, The monster - THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. At the same time his trunk was sweeping the ground in an endeavour to pick me up. Although the point of the trunk was within a foot of my head, however, he did not manage to seize me, nor to trample me with his huge feet with which, in his two attempts, he had made in all eight thrusts at my body. lying beneath him. Getting behind the beast I scrambled up and rushed for cover. I Jooked round to see in which direction the elephant was charging. so as to run to the right or the left, and I found to my great telief that the monster was dashing wildly off in the other direction to join the herd. It was certainly a providential escape, and the native chief, who witnessed it from behind his cover some distance away, told Mr. Remane later in Luganda: “ Except for the fact that God was there keeping him, nothing could have saved him, for no man could help him.’ Truer words were never spoken ! Certainly, though I have had many very narrow escapes in various parts of the world, I have never had such a serious encounter with an infuriated bull elephant before, or one which brought me nearer death. Big-game hunting in tropical countries is undoubtedly a strenuous occupation—I was thirteen stone seven when I began that year's hunting. and only eleven stone seven at the end of it. My friend, Mr. John Deacon, with whom I am arranging a big hunt in the near future, has some very interesting stories to tell con- cerning elephants, and these I have obtained his permission to set down here, with some of his photo- graphs. Elephant shooting, he says, can sypply all the thrills - and _ hair- raising episodes .one requires, but on occasion can be very dull, as. naturally it is not every elephant one hunts‘that argues the point. Real hard work, how- ever, is involved in the shooting of elephants, and one must -keep as fit as possible and be The place where the Author was attacked. and again attempted to trample me to death, but only succeeded in kicking me and rolling me over with his legs instead of pinning me to the ground with his feet. Lying there on my back, I saw the two great tusks just above my head, and con- cluded that the brute was going to pierce me. prepared, and able, to follow the speor until the end. One is often asked, says Mr. Deacon, “What is the best thing to do when an elephant charges you ?"’ and if vou do not give a cut-and-dried formula you are looked upon with suspicion. It is impossible to lay down a hard-and-fast rule, except, of course, “Get out of it somehow!’ as so much

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ON THE SPOOR OF THE ELEPHANT. depends on circumstances. Remember, however, never to turn your back on the beast—that is invariably fatal. One should always endeavour, where one has to move, to go forward diagonally, keeping an eye on the animal all the time, till one has reloaded, It is absolutely hopelessto attempt a Marathon with an elephant. The elephant always wins. Mr. Deacon had a very narrow squeak once when he turned his back on one in_ his attempt to obtain more time to re- load. Luckily there was another man with himwhosaved the situation. On another occa- sion a native gun- bearer, whose nerve failed at the critical moment, attempted to run, but was caught before he had gone ten vards. <A lucky shot in the elephant’s temple saved that situation. Much has been written about elephants’ eyesight being bad, but it does not pay the hunter to pin his faith on that. There is a tremendous lot to be said for moving as little as possible, as even if an elephant is appar- ently looking straight at you, the range of vision is probably above you, and is only attracted to vour level by sudden movements; but of course these are only theories. HUNTING IN THE DARKNESS. Night shooting provides a form of excite- ment entirely its own, and should only be indulged in by real gluttons or those of a suicidal tendency. Of course, by this is not meant the “sitting-up-a-tree’’ kind of shooting, but the ‘‘on foot” way. elephants have a pernicious habit of coming into native gardens in the night, eating the growing crops, and smashing up as much as they can. en it is that the intrepid hunter can go out if he wishes to do battle with them. One or two points are worth remembering. Noises at night are magnified to a high degree. Field-mice sound like herds of heavy-footed beasts: and wild pig are as often as not mistaken for the elephants themselves. A lot of time can be wasted. with one’s heart in one’s mouth, carefully stalking that sound, with eyes searching for that huge bulk one expects to see looming up in the darkness. Then something happens, at your very feet, with an awful clatter that vol. 28: Bull - 401 makes you imagine the next moment will be your last—but it’s only pigs. After this, one hears the elephant scrunching the crops, and moves towards it—to find it not there, though every other animal in creation seems to be making ear-splitting noises. The elephant that nearly caught Mr. Deacon. Elephants hardly make a sound when moving, owing to their spongy, twenty-inch- diameter feet, which presumably squash into silence any twig or branch that they may happen to tread on. Anyway, it is very great odds that, provided the wind is right, you come on to the elephant before you see it, for after all, on a real dark night, it only appears as a bulk a little blacker than the surroundings, and one has: td place? one’s vital shot at once. If the elephant has waited long enough, he may have come to investi- gate on his own account—and then it is awkward ! One often hears yarns of the native hunter shooting elephants with his old muzzle-loader and a handful of black powder. The native is undoubtedly keener of sight and hearing at night than a European; an he is marvellously quick at making himself scarce. He creeps up to the nearest bulk he sees, leans the muzzle of his’ gun’ against some part of the creature’s anatomy. and lets fly from the hip. Then ‘he hutriedly retires—with or without: the ‘gun: that depends on the amount of powder he charged it with—and locks himself in his hut till daybreak. In the morning he ventures out to see if there is anything dead. It is not often that an elephant is found. They generally go off with all the cast-iron shot in them from the old black powder gun, until they finally succumb to the gun of a European. Very few elephants are shot that do not bear scars of old frays with nativé hunters.

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402 The bulls travelling with the herd do not usually carry big ivory. It is the old bulls that have been driven out by the younger males that carry the best tusks. These old bulls congregate in batches of ten or twelve in number Some travel round THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the men were in want of meat, I fired, but only wounded it, and had to follow on— always a dangerous business with buffalo. Luckily the angry brute missed his first rush when he came for me, but it scared us all considerably before it resumed its flight. After an hour's Two elephants brought down with a “ by themselves; and these nearl always give trouble. At -night time, when they get wind of cows, they join up with the herd until chased out again by the young herd bulls. In the daytime they are invariably found by themselves. When you are in a country with several herds of elephants ranging from, say, half- a-dozen to three hundred a herd, you may get into a very tight corner if the herds are moving and happen to practically surround you. If they think they are cornered they will certainly charge. Herds that have been shot at previously, or have had natives creeping up to spear them, are always ready, when they get your scent, to hunt you and finish you. This, with varying winds, makes the hunter’s position none too enviable. Straight shooting is very essential at these times, for if you remain stationary and hidden your scent will be sufficient to bring the elephant on, while, if you try to get out you may be running into another herd. Having had a spell of bad Juck on one occasion I decided to return to camp and start off again in a northerly direction. The grass was very high and just ready for burning. Going down the Mbanrangandu I suddenly stumbled on a Jone buffalo. As pursuit we appa- rently caught sight of each other at the same moment. The buffalo came for me like an express train, but got a shot in the region of the shoulder, which stopped it. After a pause it came on again and nearly caught one of the natives before it was eventually downed. While the boys were cutting up the meat, the head gun - bearer, who had _ been wandering round, said that he had found the spoor of about four bull elephants. I went to examine the spoor and about II a.m. decided to follow, as the elephants were apparently on the feed. The gs led us through some very difficult bush and long grass. I got up to a warm spoor about 4 p.m., though the animals were again on the move, and I came up with them eventually at 5 p.m., in very thick bush. I could not get a clear vision of the temple shot, but let fly at one beast’s heart. Then the fun started! They all made off, but the elephant shot only went a short The hunter’s morning “ scrape.”

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ON THE SPOOR OF ‘THE ELEPHANT. way and then turned on us, but a lucky shot put it down and out. Ye then followed the others and ran into them by acci- dent in some dense bamboo growth as they were making back towards us again. The two in front simply came straight at us, but ashot at the head turned the leader side-on; the second followed and I was able to bring them both down with a right and left in the temple. The fourth stood over them for a short time, and then 403 decided to turn nasty and fight us. Sakoni, the gun-bearer, ran away and the elephant after him, but I was able to stop it with another temple shot. Altogether it was a very satisfactory and exciting day. I had a hard day in this awful bush and long grass after the three elephants shown in the above photograph. Eventually Icame up to them at 5 p.m. and downed two of them with two shots; the third made off. I had gone to inspect the fallen ones, when suddenly we heard the bushes crashing and all the boys cleared off, leaving me alone. The third, a very small elephant, apparently finding himself alone had come back to look for the others. I had no desire to shoot, but it would not move away, and presently it caught sight of me and dashed at me with uplifted trunk, screaming blue murder. It was useless to move, so I fired for the top of his trunk, which stunned it a bit and made it turn side on, when it presented an easy temple shot. Following a couple of elephants whose spoor we struck, we met another European who had no shooting licence in that country, but who was making his way to another part to get his licence. We spotted the two ele- hants ‘some hundred yards off snoozing ead and tail. Mr. © left me to. go forward on my own, as he couldn't shoot, and made off to the left of the spoor. When I came up within shooting distance I downed the first with one shot in the temple. Simul- taneously with the shot, the second, who was A trio of tuskers. tail on, turned like a flash and came for me with a shriek. I let him have the second barrel, but it didn't stop him. It was useless to side-step, as the grass was knee-high, so I decided to run down the elephant path I had followed them by, so as to gain more time to reload. I failed, however, to get the breech of the gun open ; and looking over my shoulder I saw the beast gaining on me. There was nothing for it except to try and get out of the path, hoping the elephant would over-run me, but in my hurried jump to clear a small bush, the toe of my boot caught and down I went with a last view of the elephant’s tusks, looking very un- pleasant, large, and near. Suddenly a shot rang out; the elephant swerved off, and I found, after it was all over, that Mr. X. . who had seen the elephant, as he thought, getting away, could not resist the temptation and let fly. He had not seen me in my trouble. Undoubtedly his intervention came in the nick of time, as in another moment the elephant would have had me and, as can be seen from the photo on page yor, the tusks look as if there would not have been much left of me. I found later that in my fall I had rammed the gun into the earth and had badly strained the breech. I had managed to reload before I jumped, so it was just as well that I had had no need to fire, as had I done so the gun would have burst and probably blown my head off.

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Short Stories. MY BOA-CONSTRICTOR. By SIR CURTIS LAMPSON, Bart., FR.GS| Iustrated by FRED HOLMES. visit to French West Africa, | one of my objects |_ OME little time re ago I paid a The story of a boa-constrictor that escaped from a box in a crowded hotel, and the terrifying experience that followed. | let me hear of any animals for sale. He wrote that a native who had just arrived from the interior had being to bring back to England a number of specimens of wild animals. Between the towns of Ambedidi and Kayes I was fortunate in obtaining a very fair specimen of a baby lynx, which eventually became a great pet of the camp. At Bamako, the gateway of the French Sudan, I secured a rare variety of monkey, which after a while became on such intimate terms with the lynx kitten that he would mope if separated from his playmate for any length of time. Farther up the River Niger one of my party was instrumental in catching a young civet-cat. Owing to the breeding season of the majority of wild animals not having commenced, my bag when I arrived in Dakar to await a ship to take me home was not a large one. As $o often happens in a port where there is a general = in- going and outgoing of ple, the coors and other tribes from the interior often bring with them various animals which they have caught during their long and tedious treks. Knowing this, and having been informed by the ship- ping company that I should have at least two weeks’ stay in Dakar pending the sailing of my ship, I gave out that I was open to purchase certain varieties of Jocal wild animals. The hot and humid season was just commencing in Senegal, and I had only just descended from my bedroom, after the usual midday siesta, when a native approached and hended me a note. It was from a ship-chandler who had promised to Sir Curtis Lampson with the snake that caused all the trouble. a boa-constrictor for sale, and that I could see it at his office tetween six and half-past six that evening. Though I had not reckoned on taking back snakes, I thought I would at least go and see it, and accordingly told the bearer of the note that I would be at his master's office at six o'clock. The boa-constrictor, though not poisonous, is a very formidable adversary should any- one come to grips with him. I was uncertain as to whether such a common species of snake would be worth while taking back to England, but at the appointed hour presented myself at the ship-chand- ler’s office, where I found the native awaiting me with his snake. After some difficulty the creature was extracted from a sack. He seemed in a very dazed and weak condition—pro- tably owing to his long confinement and lack of food and water. He was not an unusually large specimen, measuring nine feet three inches in length and fifteen inches around the thick- est part of the body, but I subse- quently found out that he was not full-grown. After some spirited bargain- ing, I found my- self the owner of the boa-constric- tor, which I car- ried back to my

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hotel in the sack, little thinking at the time what trouble was to ensue. It was now well past seven o’clock, and all the shops were closed. I had hoped to get a packing-case in which to temporarily house my new purchase, but this was out of the question. I did not feel inclined to disclose to the hotel proprietor the fact that I intended keep- ing a nine-foot boa- constrictor in his hotel, so I quickly slipped up to my bedroom to look for some suitable receptacle in which to place the snake. Looking around my luggage, I found an old tin trunk that I had purchased up in the French Sudan and which, owing to its poor quality, had not stood the journey very well. I decided to house my boa in this trunk for the night. I spread a quantity of wire gauze over the top of the trunk, drilled several holes around the entire top ridge, and fastened the gauze down by ineans of thin wire passed through the holes. Then [ sprnled a quantity of sand and earth in the box, put Mr. Snake inside, and, after tightly twisting up the various wires; left my boa-constrictor for the night, ‘thinking he was well secured against escape. Like so many buildings of any size in tropical Africa, the hotel in which I stayed was a two-storeyed one. The ground floor consisted of a large dining-room, with French windows opening out on to the pave- ments, where there were the usual chairs and tables. This outdoor café was protected from the sun by a roof which was on a level with the floor of the second storey. The bedrooms on the second floor were arranged in two long rows, one overlooking the main street, the other overlooking the harbour. Each of the rooms fronting on the main street possessed a French window which opened on to a Jong narrow balcony running e whole length of the hotel. The continua- tion of this balcony to the line of the street kerb formed the roof that I have already referred to as covering the café. These details are necessary for a proper under- ’ standing of what follows. That night I had been invited to make a fourth at bridge at a house in the town. Accordingly, at eight o'clock, after again The young lady who was attacked by the boa-constrictor. SHORT STORIES. 425 looking at the snake and assuring myself of his safety, I left the hotel. I spent a very enjoyable evening with a very pleasant host and hostess and returned to my hotel a little past midnight. I had undressed myself, and was about to get into bed, when I thought of the boa-constrictor. I had placed the trunk on the balcony near my window and, taking a box of matches with me, I walked out and peered into the box. Owing to the flickering of the match and the thick- ness of the wire gauze, I could at first see nothing but the light sand at the bottom of the box. Even when my eyes grew used to the feeble light I could see no signs of him, and I began to feel nervous. Surely he had not escaped ? Anxiously I felt around the edge of the wire gauze,’ and soon, to my horror, I found a piece which, with marvellous strength, the brute had forced up. Hurriedly I tore the gauze away, to find that my fears were only. too well founded —the boa-constrictor had vanished ! It seemed almost incredible that a snake of his size could have squeezed through such a tin hole, but nevertheless he had gone. Theft was out of the question, for who would attempt to steal a snake ? The brute had had between three and four hours in which to make his escape, and I realized that to attempt a search bevond the precincts of my own room at this time of night would be quite useless. With some faint hope of coming across him I walked along the whole length of the balcony, and as I passed the wide-open bedroom windows I shuddered at the thought of some peaceful slumberer awakening to find himself in the coils of a boa-constrictor My furtive promenade revealed no signs of the snake ; I had little hope that it would I then attempted to climb the railings of the balcony and get up on to the roof in order to search a tall tree which almost touched its edge, but I found that the roof would not bear my weight. Feeling very anxious, I went back to my room and hunted in every corner of it, but entirely without result. There seemed nothing to be done but to wait until the following morning, and so I went to bed, but not without first carefully

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406 searching it and drawing the mosquito curtain tightly around me. I was up bright and early next morning in order to make a survey of the balcony, the roof, and the front of the hotel in general. There was no means of escape for the snake at either end of the balcony, for it extended to the limits of the hotel itself. To reach the ground from the ends of this balcony it would have. been necessary to climb down a brick wall—an impossible feat fora snake. The café roof was supported by L-shaped iron girders fastened into the front wall of the hotel and running out to support the whole breadth of the roof; there were no upright supports at all. I carefully measured the distance between the edge of the roof and the nearest branch of the tree, which was one of many lining the main street, and found the gap to be a little over a foot. Here was a possible means of escape. If the snake had made his get- away by this route it was certain that by this time he had reached the docks and no doubt found shelter under one of the many large piles of ground-nuts awaiting ship- ment, and which harboured scores of rats. If, however, the boa-constrictor had not got away by means of the tree, then it was almost certain that he had secreted himself in one of the many rooms overlooking the balcony. And a boa-constrictor at large in an hotel was undoubtedly going to cause trouble. A ship had reached Dakar the previous day from Europe, coinciding with the arrival of the weekly train from the French Sudan, which brought many Government officials and their families to Dakar, where they would await a steamer to carry them_to France for a well-earned holiday. The hotel was therefore packed, and every room was occupied. I was not at all anxious to reveal what had taken place to the hotel proprietor, for he was an excitable French- man, and would at once have spread abroad the news of the snake’s escape, causing much consternation among his guests. I decided, therefore, after much cogitation, to see if I could not have the bedrooms concerned thoroughly searched, after which I should feel more at ease. I therefore spoke to one of the room boys and, after explaining the situation, promised him a substantial reward for his silence and a thorough hunt. A few hours later he informed me that though he had made a careful investigation of every room, he had found no signs of the snake. Sorry as I was to lose my _ boa-constrictor, I was, nevertheless, much relieved at this news; at all events the brute was clear of the hotel. That day I had occasion to go to the neighbouring port of Rufisque, the train landing me back in Dakar a few minutes past five in the afternoon. It had been vei sultry all day, and directly after dinner THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. retired to my bedroom where, after writing up my diary, I pulled an easy chair out on to the balcony and sat enjoying the cool sea-breeze. I must have fallen asleep, for I was suddenly awakened by a woman’s shriek. I sat up, startled into wakefulness, and a moment later the sound was repeated, apparently coming from one of the bedrooms farther down the balcony. At such moments one acts very quickly. Rushing along the balcony, I instinctively halted in front of an open window—the third away from my own. As I peered into the room, which was in utter darkness, I heard heavy breathing. Inquiring in French what was the matter, I was answered by another piercing scream, quickly followed by “Help me! Help me!” in a woman’s voice. Apparently some terrible tragedy was taking place there in the darkness only a few feet away ! Darting through the French window, I rushed headlong across the room in the direction of the voice. As I ran forward through the darkness I knocked over a chair and bumped heavily into the bottom of a bed on which, I felt sure, lay the woman, whoever she was. Again I asked what was, the matter, but this time I received no reply. Quickly I ran my hand along the figure Iying on the bed until I reached its head. I had no matches with me, unfortunately, and, not knowing the position of the electric switch, I was unable to get any light. I was about to hurry back to my own room, in order to fetch some matches, when, as a last chance, I spoke once more to the girl, at the same time touching her head and the upper part of her arm. And then I suddenly realized what an awful tragedy was being enacted here in this darkened bedroom, for my hand touched the cool, clammy body of a snake! In- stinctively I realized that I had found my boa-constrictor—but in what awful cir- cumstances! Running my hand down the arm of the girl, I found t the snake had thrown several coils around it and that he had at the same time grasped the bed-rail, either with his head or tail. In this way he had_ securely chained his unfortunate victim to the bed. There was no time to be lost, and I tore frantically at the brute, first ing to release the end which was attached to the bed-rail and then attacking the end round the arm, but entirely without success. Meanwhile, like an engine letting off steam, the snake hissed out his anger. Only those who have heard the hissing of an infuriated boa-constrictor can imagine how menacing and uncanny the sound appeared as I heard it then, fighting for the life of an unknown woman in utter darkness. All this took place in a very short space of time, and soon I was glad to hear voices and footsteps in the corridor outside. I shouted

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Le Rs 1) SHORT STORIES. 407 “Though he squirmed furiously, a French officer and myself soon tore him away from the poor girl.” for help, and a moment later the door was thrown open and several people rushed in. The light was at once switched on. and I saw just what I had expected to see. The snake had grasped the bed-rail with his tail, had wound himself around the girl's arm, and then passed his head around her neck in a strangle-hold. These snakes have to get hold of something firm with their tails in order to exert their constricting powers properly. hough he squirmed and hissed furiously, a French officer and myself soon tore him away from the poor girl, who was now totally unconscious. While the officer, having dressed, went off to fetch a doctor,

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408 I carried my snake, with the utmost diffi- culty, back to his box. Cheated of his prey, he fought with enormous strength, twisting and curling his body in every direction in desperate endeavours to escape again. 1 was much concerned as to the condition of the poor girl, which was at first very serious, for my responsibility was great, but to my heartfelt joy she presently com- pletely recovered from her trying ordeal. After all, the harbouring of a nine-foot boa- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. constrictor in an hotel filled with guests is porhaps not a very discreet thing to do, but had felt certain when I housed him in my tin trunk that it was impossible for him to escape. I hope it will not be long before this snake, together with a black viper which was given to me later, will be lodged in the Zoological Gardens in Regent’s Park, where, if he so desires, he can battle with members of his own species and not with defenceless women. PAPER MONEY. By “ AWUDU.” Illustrated by H. M. BROCK, RI. them carried— and jingled — sovereigns and _half- N the days when men who had A funny little tale from West Africa. “The incidents described occurred not very long ago,” writes the Author. mud house with a roof of thatch. He cannot effect insur- ance against fire, nor are there any fire sovereigns in their waistcoat pockets, the Bank of England five-pound note—the “fiver ""—was popular enough. It was the only paper money we knew; it was crisp and clean, and it crackled voluptuously. Fiver, we salute thee ! The war, the disappearance of sovereigns and half-sovereigns, and the infrequency of the “fiver” with most of us, brought us to the “ Bradbury,’”’ variously coloured and labelled £1 and t1os., according to tint. These bits of paper remain unsatisfactory, inadequate, and unconvincing. Five of them. even when labelled “ £1,’ do not make one fee] half so wealthy as a £5 note, showing that there is paper money and paper money. Which brings me to my story. It has been stated in print by persons in authority—the High-Up ones—that the silver coin of West Africa (we had no gold) was, to the value of six million pounds, sent to Europe during the war. In our part of the world a silver shilling used to go as far as a golden sovereign did in dear old Eng- land. I say it used to advisedly, because, with the departure of the silver shilling, there came the paper shilling, the paper two shillings, the ten shillings, and the twenty shillings. The sad result to-day is that a paper sovereign goes exactly as far in West Africa as a ‘‘ Bradbury ”’ of the like amount goes at home. The native who in Congolia, prior to 1900, had lived in a wor'd of (African) ideals— slave raiding, murder, looting, inter-tribal wars—with a currency of cowrie shells twelve hundred to the shilling, did not take at all kindly to paper money. The one shilling currency note, apparently made out of terra-cotta coloured blotting-paper, or wrapping paper, was particularly un- popular. You see, the native lives in a brigades. Towards the end of each dry weather season, annually, a considerable portion of each hamlet, town, and city goes up in flames. On such an occa- sion the native removes, in the order named :— (a) His family, other than wives (they remove themselves, and are usually amongst the first to leave) ; (b) His live stock—goats, chickens, sheep, ducks, etc. ; (c) Relatives too old or infirm to clear out by themselves ; (d) Anything else of value that he has time to save. His paper money, usually stowed away in a two-shilling cash-box (guaranteed to resist nothing, if you frown at the dear thing it bursts open), goes up in flames with the roof. Apart from fires, your native is addicted to travel. Trade, or his health, or somebody else's health, moves him, and off he goes with his money in scrip or purse. Unfortunately, when the fire risk is dormant, the rains bring fresh danger for paper money. Natives do not, as yet, go in for raincoats and umbrellas—leastways, not to any extent. There are terrific rain- storms—“‘ tornadoes’ we call them—and there are also rivers to be swum, because our truly admirable Public Waste—I mean Works—Department has not entirely com- pleted its great and beneficent work of bridging all our rivers. They have already put up several, and there remain only seven thousand nine hundred and eleven to be built. Kain and rivers, un-watertight scrip or purse, and the paper money reverts to its original pulp. Unfortunate, is it not ? Still, there you are. The native mourned bitterly for his lost silver money and con- temned the perishable paper he got in ex- change therefor.

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SHORT STORIES. 409 “The hardy wayfarer might have seen a handcart, pulled by one native and shoved by another, moving along the line of shops.” Last year a paternal Government, listening to the prayers of the native, took action and sent us shillings that looked, for a week, like sovereigns, and afterwards turned black. For the first week in its (Congolian) life each shilling lived nobly. Happily enough, the first issues of the new coinage got into the hands of the “ right ’’ natives—sophisticated ms who had actually seen sovereigns. Frese gentlemen and ladies were at great ins to explain to their unsophisticated Flows who had mot seen gold that these mew coins were gold. And if, in the far distant future, any person enters the farther parts of Trans-Congolia with a real golden sovereign, I want to warn him or her, here and now, that he or she is literally shouting for trouble. Governments work wondrousl: their wonders to perform. One day, for instance, my friend Harris, an Assistant District Commissioner, received a long and entirely unintelligible telegram from Ever-So-High- Up. All that he could make out of it was that it referred to “ new coinage.” and he put it into the basket marked ‘“ Urgent ” that sits at the north-east or farthest corner of his office table. A few weeks later, letters, circulars, special notes, explanatory memoranda, and other literary matter interpretative of the telegram began to roll in on him. His chief clerk duly sorted these, putting one half of them with the telegram into a Minute Paper endorsed ‘‘ Mission Schools, Sites for.”” The rest of this junk the same earnest, conscientious worker (vide Con- fidential Report, fascia) shoved at the end of another Minute Paper marked: “* Cevebro-Spinal Meningitis,” ‘‘ Necessity for Reeping damp all open spaces in connection with.” Mr. Deuteronomy Napoleon Anamaboa, the aforesaid clerk, then placed these minute papers, with others, before his chief. From all this mixed muddlement Harris learned that a new sort of coin was being put into circulation, and he was ordered to inform the quarter of a million inhabitants of his area to this effect. He was further directed

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410 to announce that people refusing to handle the new money, or endeavouring to discount it,would be put into jail. A large printed poster setting all this forth was sent to him to be pasted on the door of his Court House. His quarter-million people knew no English, and could not read ; also they lived scattered over some six thousand square miles of hill and swamp and jungle, so that the poster was not likely to be very useful. Harris did not receive any specimens of the coinage, nor any description of it, but he did his best. North, south, east, and west went forth his messengers with the tidings ; they also did their best. About the same time numbers of wide- awake Africans from the “ sophisticated ” areas moved earnestly across his borders. They brought with them quantities of metal trouser-buttons, tops of cigarette-tins, wash- ers, and similar articles, which they traded to Harris's guileless natives for horses, camels, cows, wives, guinea corn, chickens, and ground nuts, explaining to the venders that the discs, washers, etc., were the new coins which it meant jail to refuse or discount. In cases where the simpler African had no cattle, wives, or chickens to sell, the newcomers took currency notes—the old paper money—that the natives were glad to get rid of. For some days these bright ones did well. Then Harris, hearing of their activities, started out to look for them, and, quitting their enterprises, they discreetly retired across the border. Later, Harris was issued with a supply of the real new coinage, exchanged it for currency notes on demand, and sent these latter—a great accumulation—down to headquarters. Similarly, throughout the districts, all the other Harrises collected and remitted paper money, so that a vast heap of it, constantly growing, disturbed the peace of the High-Up- Ones and injured the amenities of the place of palaces, electric light, ice-plant, soda-water factory, and grass tennis courts, in which these High-Up-Ones live out their beautiful and inspiring lives. So the H.-U.-O.’s took counsel, and a minute paper was started. They and the Not-Quite-So-High-Up-Ones all contributed thereto, each according to his wont, and as expected. The Citv of Palaces referred to is Sogal, the capital of Congolia, which stands beside a lake on the top of a mountain. It was finally decided that a party of the H.-U.-0.’s, with three selected N.-Q.-S.- H.-U.-O.’s should, on the first fine day, go out on the lake in a steamer and voyage round and round and round, burning these can- celled currency notes the while, what time the Best People of Sogal sat about under the awning, drinking in the cool breezes and such other pleasant and suitable things as might be at hand. The selected three were instructed to provide and superintend the serving of these aids to the breezes; that was why they were there. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. And soit befell. One tine morning the paper money, in sealed sacks, guarded by soldiers, was embarked. So were the H.-U.-O.’s; also the three N.-Q.-S.-H.-U.-O.’s and the Best People. Off went the little ship, and turn and turn about the H.-U.-O.’s descended to the engine-room and watched the destruc- tion by fire of the redeemed paper money. The day wore on. The sun grew hot. The breezes dropped. The H.-U.-O.’s, unwarned ‘by the fate of the Unwise Virgins—well, they were not quite so careful, perhaps, as they might have been. Towards eventide the Cunctator, as the vessel was named, made harbour. The last sealed sack of currency notes had been given to the flames, and the H.-U.-O.’s, plus the three N.-().-S.-H.-U.-O.’s, plus picnic baskets, etc., were decanted on to the pier. The moon rose, swimming in golden tropic glory, and all was peace. Two days later, a hot, muggy morning with occasional drifting showers, the hardy wayfarer on San Marino (for so we of Sogal call our lakeside promenade) might have seen a handcart, pulled by one native and shoved by another, moving along the line of shops that look out upon the waters. The dragger was clad in a very grimy singlet and a pair of dungaree trousers, whereof one leg finished half-way down his left thigh, whilst the other piled in many wrinkles round his right foot. About his neck was a hank of cotton waste. The shover was similarly, though perhaps not so richly nor so ade- quately clad. He had, however, a Homburg hat. The man in front was one of the engine- room statf of the Cunctator; the fellow at the back was his friend, or mate, or boy—his “ makee-learn.”” And they were shopping. Whether there was actually on that muggy morning on the San Marino a hardy way- farer, and if there was whether he did actually observe these two gentlemen and their handcart, I cannot say with certainty. What did happen, however, was that the police jumped in. The hand-carteers had accumulated a concertina, two silk hats, some kerosene, and some sardines, and all was well. They met their Waterloo, however, when they attempted to purchase a Ford car from our Number Two garage, offering to pay for same with one shilling currency notes —bundles of ’em, all smoke-grimed and some charred. Then, moved by envy or some other cause, the police, as has been stated, took a hand in the game. There are now, therefore, two silk hats, a concertina, a lot of sardines, and some kerosene in the keeping of the Chief of Police at Sogal. The man from whom (without his knowledge) the handcart was borrowed, has got it back, and has been the recipient of hearty congratulations. And two unhappy adventurers languish in our jail—all through that wretched paper money !

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ma The story of what is surely the most remarkable adven- ture that ever of California, the Author and @ companion plunged with their ine over the rim of @ precipice, falling into a sheer-walled chasm from which they presently dis- covered there was no means of escape! How the two men Caug 7 \t ILLUSTRATED BY W.C.NICOLSON D ath Tra EDWIN, HOGG &. faced this appalling predica- ment, and how, in spite of fur- ther misfortunes, they finally won out, is described in the narrative below—a wonderful record of endurance and dog- ged pluck in the face of seem- ingly overwhelming disaster. logg is well known to our readers as the Author of “Hunting Wild Goats by Sea- plane” and other articles which we have published.* II.—(Conclusion.) means easy. Getting up unencum- bered was no small feat of moun- taineering in itself, and the loads we were carrying made it all the more difficult. It took us three full hours to get the wheels, motor frame, and motor up into the desert to the point where we decided to reassemble the machine again, and those three hours were an eternity of torture from heat, thirst, and backbreaking labour. I failed com- pletely in my effort to get up the cliff with the motor, and we had to leave it on a ledge about half-way up. After getting the other parts up, we lowered a rope, and with both of us on the ledge above we managed to hoist it. By the time we got back to camp our lips were parched and swollen and our mouths and throats so dry that neither of us could speak above a whisper. Reluctant as we were to drink the little water we had left we could get no relief from the torture of thirst sufficient to enable further work until we had consumed fully a quart each. Then, after eating a square of hardtack apiece, we decided to lug out one more load HE task of dragging the motor parts up the face of the cliff was by no of motor parts before giving up the task for the day. On that trip we got out the fuel reservoirs, the sidecar chassis, and a gunny- sack full of screws, drive chains, bolts, the earbox, storage batteries, lamps, and a ew other accessories. The sidecar body and the rest of the “junk,” we decided could be got out with a single trip in the morning, when we would begin the _re- assembling job. After getting this last load out we returned to camp burning up with thirst, our heads buzzing from the heat, and fagged in body and spirit. An inventory of our water supply after taking a last drink for the day revealed that we had only six quarts of water left—so little that we were virtually convinced all our labours had been in vain, for death was due to overtake us before we could ever assemble the machine again, much less make the dash across the desert to Owl Hole. When I discussed this with Fletcher, he said in his characteristic way: “Oh, well, what are the odds? We've got to die some day. I didn't expect to go quite so soon, but in a hundred years from now—who'll ever know the difference ?”” The next morning Fletcher shouldered the * Mr. Hogg writes: “This is the narrative of iny own experience, unexaggerated in any detail, The trip described took place a year ago, at which time the Mojave Desert was sweltering in its normal summer temperature of between 120 degrees and 130 degrees Fahrenheit. The photographs showing myself were taken by means of the automatic camera attach- ment I have already described.”

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412 sidecar-body, like an Indian portaging a canoe, and with me carrying the few remain- ing parts of the machine we made our way out of the chasm. The sidecar-body was an impossible load to get up the cliffs with, so, after getting the rest of the outfit to the top, we hoisted it up with the rope, as we had done with the motor. It was then agreed that I should begin the work of assembling the machine while Fletcher went back to bring out our provisions, camping equipment, and blankets. There was no time to be lost, and as Fletcher took his departure over the face of the cliff he called out cheerily: ‘I'll be back in about an hour to give you a hand at putting the machine together. If we have any kind of luck at all we ought to get on our way to-night. We've still got a chance to win the race!” His head had scarcely disappeared below the ledge before I was busy at my task. 1 set the wheels in the motor frame, put on the sidecar chassis, and then began the work of installing the motor. I worked so intently that I took no account of time, vr even the fact that I was thirsty, until suddenly it dawned upon me that Fletcher was somewhat overdue. I looked at my watch, which 1 had carefully kept running, and sprang to my feet in alarm as I noted that he had been gone more than two hours. Something must have happened to him! Thereupon I reached for my field-glasses, and went to the edge of the chasm. For fully ten minutes 1 combed the rocks and brush at the bottom of the chasm without catching sight of him. “ Surely,’’ I mused, “if he were moving about down there, I would have seen him.’’ 1 continued to scan the gulch with the powerful lenses, and as I swung them round, searching the floor of the chasm, a sight came into my field of vision which well-nigh made me plunge over the edge of the cliff with joy. There, at the base of the ledge, less than six hundred yards away, was a stream of clear sparkling water trickling out of a crack in the solid rock of the wall into a tiny pool! It was invisible to the naked eve, but in plain view with the glasses. A Juxuriant growth of grass surrounded the pool, dispelling any doubt that the water might be drinkable. We had apparently failed to discover it owing to the fact that the water-hole was situated in a crevice in the main wall, completely screened from the floor of the gulch by an almost impenetrable growth of bush, Running along the margin of the cliff, I teached the crevice above the spring, and in another minute was dropping down from ledge to ledge, half falling, half sliding at times in my haste to get to it. In ten minutes I was down the cliff and flattened out on the rocks like a horned toad, eagerly gulping down the water. I just drank enough to convince myself that it was sweet THE. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. water, pure and cool; then I yelled “ Hey, Jack! Fletcher!. I’ve found water!’ and fired my pistol four times in quick succes- sion. I stood there with my hands cupped behind my ears awaiting his reply—but no sound came from the gulch. Where was Jack ? Why didn’t he answer ? I began to count, as a means of marking time, and when I had heard nothing after counting a hundred, I fired four more shots and listened again. Again I counted a hundred, and there was no response. ‘‘ Something’s gone wrong with Jack!’ 1 exclaimed aloud, and I dived into the brush toward the floor of the gulch and began tearing my way through it. “Jack! Jack! Jack!” ? kept yelling, at the top of my voice. ‘‘ We're saved, man! I've found water!” But I received no response except derisive echoes, hurled back at me from the walls of our former prison. The place where I had descended into the gulch was closer to our recent camp than it was to the base of the cliff where we had made our way out, and thinking to pick up Fletcher's trail, or some trace of him, I plunged through the brush and clambered over the rocks as straight toward the camp as it was possible to go. When I reached the camp my worst fears were realized, There were our blankets and our entire outfit, just as we had left them. It was evident that Fletcher had not been, there after he had left me working on the machine. In another instant I was bounding like a wild antelope along the floor of the gulch toward the base of the cliff where we had made our way out. Reaching the foot of the cliff we had climbed I was still yelling “Jack! Jack! Jack!’ when I rounded a huge rock, and all but stumbled over the prostrate form of my companion. He was lying face downward with his head in a pool of blood between two jagged boulders—and to all appearances he was’dead. It was as much as I could do to lift his two hundred and twenty-five pounds of brawn and-muscle from between the rocks and drag him out to a flat place where I could stretch him on his back. Then I tore open the front of his shirt and pressed my ear to his heart. 1t was beating, although somewhat feeble and weak. I rolled back his eyelid and touched his eyeball, and it moved. He was alive, and it was up to me to keep him alive if it was within my power. A glance up the face of the cliff convinced me that he had lost his footing in making the descent —probably only a few minutes after leaving me—and, falling on to the rocks below, he had sustained injuries that might be fatal or otherwise. Fortunately I possessed a fair knowledge of surgical first aid, and imme- diately stripped off the prostrate man’s clothing for the purpose of determining the extent of his injuries. The pool of blood about his head, I found, was from an ugl scalp wound that was undoubtedly painful,

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CAUGHT 1N A DEATH TRAP. 413 “It was as much as I could do to drag him out.” I examined him from head to foot for broken bones, but could find none except under a terrible bruise on his side, where I deducted that he had three broken but not serious. ribs. This injury was undoubtedly caused by his pistol jabbing him in the side in his fall. I covered him with his clothing, and then ran to the camp and returned with our box of first aid requisites. Returning, I found Fletcher still unconscious, but he began to show signs of life when I started to dress his wounds. With a ball of lint

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414 on the end of a twig, I began painting his injuries with iodine. Anyone who has ever undergone this treatment for an open wound knows that it is an excellent remedy, but so.painful as to be almost enough to bring a dead man to life. When I touched his cuts with the chemical he groaned aloud, and just as I put the last of six stitches in the wound on his head he opened his eyes. For the next half-hour I feared that the injury to his head had permanently injured his brain, for he talked like a madman. He broke into a tirade of curses every time I touched him, but, knowing that he was not responsible for the things he was saying, I went on with my work in silence. Even- tually I had all his injuries dressed and bandaged, and by that time he became a little more rational. He ceased his verbal abuse of me and managed to sit up. In the matter of attending to his injuries, I had done the best I could. I had painted him with iodine almost from head to foot, bandaged his cuts, and fastened a tight com- press over his broken ribs. But he was practically helpless so far as doing anything for himself was concerned, and the problem ot effecting our escape was complicated by his condition to almost a greater degree than it had been simplified by my discovery of water. After getting Fletcher's injuries attended to, and making him as comfortable as pos- sible, I returned to camp, and moved the entire outfit back to where he was.- 1 then went to the water-hole I had discovered, came back with a pail of water, and bade Fletcher drink all he wanted. In his bewil- dered condition, I believe to this day that he almost thought he was “ seeing things ” when I brought the water. For several moments he sat there staring into the pail. Then he felt the water, smelt it, and at last shoved his head into the bucket, and drank until 1 feared he would injure himself. Toward the middle of the afternoon Fletcher had so far recovered his reason that I felt I could safely leave him alone. Accordingly, I went up the cliff and spent the rest of the daylight assembling the machine. With all the water 1 needed to drink, the work progressed much more rapidly than before, and by sundown I had the motor installed, and the machine set up with the exception of putting in a miscel- laneous lot of parts that could easily be accomplished during the forenoon of the day to come. I returned to our new camp in high spirits, but only to face new troubles when I found Fletcher raving in the delirium of fever. He had lost every vestige of reason, and but for his weakened condition I should have been powerless to handle him. With the discovery of water the danger of impending death from thirst had vanished, but we had scarcely food enough to last another day, and there was no telling when I would be able to get Fletcher up the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. wall of the cliff. If he did not recover his strength sufficiently to enable him to climb out, I reckoned that he would have to remain in the gulch until he either recovered or died, for there appeared to be little possi- bility of my carrying him up unaided. Of course, with the newly discovered source of water-supply, and the possibility of shooting more rabbits and quail, we might have lived in the chasm indefinitely, but with the extent of Fletcher's injuries not definitely deter- mined I felt that the necessity of getting him out was of paramount importance. It was in attempting to move Fletcher on to his bed, after he had rolled clear of it in his delirium, that I discovered what our short rations of food and water and the mental strain had done to my strength. Ordinarily I should have little difficulty in lifting a weight of two or three hundred pounds, but now it was as much as I could do to move him. With this reminder of my waning strength I felt my face, and was almost startled to feel how hollow my cheeks were, how the bones stuck out, and how my eyes had sunk back in their sockets. Then 1 looked at Fletcher. His appearance was terrifying, to say the least, and I realized that he was by no means the heavy-set, powerful man with whom I had started out from Bakersfield. That evening I cooked from our diminish- ing larder a meal that was prodigal in extra- vagance. It seemed so in the circum- stances, but I had a method in this at least. Fletcher could eat nothing, and without the extra mouth to feed, I ate the heavy meal I had prepared, hoping that it would give me the strength to carry out my plan. In the morning I meant to eat the last remnants of our food, summon up all my strength, and then make a desperate attempt to get the helpless Fletcher up the wall of the cliff. If this could be accomplished, it would take me but a couple of hours more to complete the assembling of the machine, load the injured man into the sidecar, and make a dash for civilization. Whether I would succeed in this rash plan or not depended about equally upon my strength and mere luck. For breakfast that morning I ate a large tin of baked beans, the last three squares of hardtack—the last bit of solid food we possessed—and several cups of strong coffee. Although I offered to share this food with Fletcher, he declined it with a negative headshake, and a grimace to indicate that even the thought of food nauseated him. I had not explained my plan to him, because I felt that in his delirium such explanation was useless. He could not have understood it, and even if he did, I didn’t propose to give him the oppor- tunity to offer any feeble-minded objections. When I shouldered our entire outfit, including the blankets which composed Fletcher’s bed, and started up the cliff with

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. them, he muttered incoherent protests, staring at me in open-mouthed amazement. He was apparently at a loss to understand what I was about. After getting up the cliff, I spent two hours completing the work of assembling the machine, and satisfied myself that it was in serviceable condition by giving it a trial run. The motor could not have worked better, and, returning to the spot where I had assem- bled it, I made one more trip down the cliff, and filled all our empty canteens. Then I packed the outfit, and went into the gulch to begin my task of getting Fletcher out. It took me nearly half an hour to arouse him to the point of attempting to get on his feet. This was accomplished largely by pleading and per- suasion, but partl by pushing and prod- ding. When he did get on his feet his mind was so uncer- tain, and his limbs so wobbly, that I knew any attempt to get him up the cliff by his own efforts would probably result in his taking another fall. There- fore I got in front of him, took hold of his arms, tumbled him on to my back, and began carrying him ““ wounded soldier” fashion. His weight was a load for me, in my weakened condition, under which I could barely stagger, and I knew that before I got to the top of the cliff the task was going to be well-nigh impossible, even if I did not topple off the wall with my dead-weight burden long before I could get there. For the next half hour I struggled up the wall, moving only a few inches at a time before being compelled to drop on to con- venient projecting ledges to rest and recover my breath. It was only the ruggedness of the cliff at this point that enabled me to make any progress at all. The toe-holds in the rock were fairly numerous, otherwise I could not have moved upward a single foot without the use of my arms, which were fully engaged in holding the injured man on my back. Eventually I reached the large projecting ledge which Fletcher and I had previously daged Fletcher as he appeared after the Author had 415 named the “ half-way point,”’ and with the perspiration pouring off me in streams, my throat and mouth almost parched, and my legs quivering, I dropp my burden to snatch a bit of rest. Above this point the wall was next to perpendicular, with scarcely a projecting rock or crevice to offer a finger or toe-hold. In climbing this portion of the cliff previously we had been com- pelled -to hold on with fingers and toes, passing the machine parts along from one to the other over portions where it was impossible to climb without the use of hands. Toget up this last stretch with Fletcher's help- less form on my back was utterly impos- sible. Before reach- ing this point I had hoped that my com- panion would muster sufficient strengen and reason to ize what I was attempt- ing to do, and would be able to help him- self a bit, but in this I was utterl: deluded. _ When deposited him on the ledge he dropped in a heap, and all my efforts to arouse him were fruitless. I could not move him another inch. I even thought of leaving him there, attempt- ing to make the dash through to civiliza- tion, and returning with help, but the success of the journey was so uncertain that such a plan was scarcely worth con- sidering. Besides, leaving Fletcher alone for a period of twenty-four hours or more would undoubtedly seal his doom, for in his helpless condition the first pack of wandering coyotes would undoubtedly make a meal of him. With these thoughts in mind I came to the conclusion that I must either get him out of the gulch by my own efforts, or, failing in that, remain with him until death overtook us both. Groping about for some plan of action, I left Fletcher on the ledge, after placing a large flat rock against him to keep him from rolling off into the ulch again, and climbed up to where I had left the machine. Here I investigated the feasibility of hoisting the prostrate man up the face of the cliff with a rope attached to

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\ 410 the _ side - car outfit. This plan, however, J promptly dis- carded. The machine had the power to accomplish such a task, but the wheel- grip on the ground above was poor, and the failure of the attempt would mean dropping Flet- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. = ] body, taki the rope roun und te his thighs so as to form a sort of a seat, and tying him again under the arms so there could be no i- bility of his dropping off. With thiscrude hoisting-rig set up, I climbed to the top of the cliff to cher into the begin carrying gorge again. out the des- Furthermore, I Se ee, EE A eet oe (Perake plag could devise Mr. Hogg weighting the felled tree that served as a crane which I ew no means of to hoist the helpless Fletcher. must terminate holding the machine, working single-handed, while I removed Fletcher from the end of the rope for after getting him to the summit of the cliff. This idea of using a rope hoist, however, ottered a suggestion, and | immediately went to work with another plan I had thought of— using the force of gravity to pull Fletcher's helpless bulk up the face of the clitt. With our camp axe I cut down a mesquite tree with a trunk about a foot in diameter. This I dragged to the edge of the clitt, and pushed out until the trunk protruded over the wall for a distance of about four feet directly above the ledge on which J had left my injured com- panion. Then I began piling the biggest rocks I could carry on to the branches of the tree, until I had the inner end securely weighted down with fully half a ton of rock. This part of the work completed, I went to the sidecar, got out the hundred and_ fifty foot rope we carried, and hung it over the end of the tree- trunk to dangle into the gulch. Toone end of the tope I tied a heavy canvas sea-bag that we use carry our bedding in, tying it soas to leave one side of the mouth open. Then I went down the wall, and secured the other end of the rope to Fletcher's Fastening Fletcher to the lower end of the weighted rope. either in suc- cess or in a failure that meant instant death my companion on the jagged rocks at the base of the precipice. I began gather- ing rocks from the size of a goose-egg to the size of a man’s head, and the edge of the cliff. Then I led them on gan loading them into the sea-bag. The rope tightened on Fletcher's body, and as I continued to pile rocks into the bag I could hear him groan. This was the psychological moment for me to make a success of the job, and with feverish haste I dumped addi- tional rocks into the bag. Presently the rope slipped a little over the trunk of the mesquite tree, and as ladded one more big rock to the collection already in the bag Fletcher’s pros- trate form swung clear of the cliff. The weight of the rocks in the bag just alittle more than counter- balanced the weight of the man, but was scarcely enough to overcome the friction of the rope against the tree. I gavea pullon the end of the rope from which Fletcher was dang- ling, and, very slowly, up he came, while down went the bag of stones. In another two minutes his shoulders were touching the trunk of the mesquite tree, and I faced the difficult problem of get- ting him over the edge of the cliff safely and at

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP, the same time getting rid of the bag of stones, which now dangled in mid-air. With this much of the task safely accom- plished, I didn’t Propose to take any chances of letting my plans go wrong. The slightest miscarriage meant letting Fletcher fall over the face of the cliff—something that I had taken careful precautions to avoid. I had previously secured a short length of rope to a large branch of the Mesquite tree, and as soon as his shoulders touched the trunk I lashed the free end of this line under his arms to prevent the possibility of his fall- ing back intothe hele. I should have to lift him from the end of the tree-trunk on to the solid rock of the cliff—an_ operation that I could not hope to accomplish. with one hand, while slash- ing the rope with the other. Accordingly, I had a different p! already to put into operation. From the motor - cycle I had withdrawn a cupful of gasolene, and as Fletcher's shoulders came against the tree-trunk, | poured the motor fuel down the rope over the end from which dangled the bag of stones. Then applied a lighted match, took a death-grip upon the rope-ends about Fletcher's body, braced myself for the strain, and waited for position I waited as the slowly - Passing seconds lengthened into a full minute. felt the heat from the fire, and was almost suffocated with the fumes of the burning motor fuel that came directly up into my face. I waited and waited until I was almost to the point of thinking that fire was a useless agent for destroying a manila tope—and then, suddenly, the line parted ! The bag of stones crashed on to the floor of the gulch below, and with a single terrific heave that all but unbalanced me, I threw Fletcher clear of the edge of the cliff and landed him in a heap in the branches of the mesquite tree. We were clear of our death- trap at last, and with the full realization ‘gl. L—29. The Author is here seen filling the bag the line to burn with rocks to counterbalance the weight troubles. There was through. of his companion. nothing to do but In that strained camp for the night, 417 of it 1 shouted for joy as I struck the ropes off my companion with my hunting knife. In another minute I had bustled him into the sidecar, pressed the starter of the motor, and we were roaring across the desert in the direction of Owl Hole! It was nearly three o'clock in the after- noon when we left the edge of the gulch that had come so near to being our tomb, but from that hour until sundown I never once had the motor throttle completely closed. 1 drove over the rough ground with Fletcher bouncing about in the sidecar like a bag of meal. Occasionally he groaned until I could hear him above the roar of the motor. I knew that the ride was undoubtedly causing him untold agony, but there was nothing to do but push on, and just as the last rays of day- light faded away we pulled up at Owl Hole. But for the fact that our headlights had been smashed when the machine plunged over the cliff, should have pushed on to Paradise Spring that night. The pangs of hunger gave me ample reason for wanting to reach the first outpost of civili- zation at the earliest possible moment, but without headlights, attempting to travel would probably only take us into new with only coffee to partially relieve my craving for food. As I was boiling the coffee-pot Fletcher scented the aroma in the air, began to talk more rationally than at any time since meeting with his injury, and declared that he thought he could drink some of the beverage. 1 poured out a tin cup full of it for him, and after drinking it, he seemed to be tremend- ously improved. In the morning we had more coffee, and the light stimulant of it seemed to augment Jack’s strength to a point where he was able to stand without my holding on to him. Later, when we were ready to move, he appeared to be quite rational again, and managed to get into the sidecar unaided. Best of all, I noted from feeling his

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418 forehead that his fever had almost entirely subsided. With Paradise Spring a hundred and twenty miles away, and the desert village of Barstow only thirty-two miles beyond, I drove across the desert that morning, deter- mined to reach that outpost of civilization that day if it were humanly possible to do so. I drove all forenoon without a stop, and on into the middle of the afternoon, until my strength began to wane to the point where it seemed that I could not hang on to the handlebars another minute. The desire to sleep almost overcame me, and several times I was all but jolted off the machine as ° we dropped into cross-washes and deep sand at moments when I believe I was on the verge of dozing off. Realizing that my con- dition was liable to lead us into disaster again, and knowing that we were in no con- dition to face it, I was compelled to slow down somewhat. Accordingly it was nearly six o’clock that evening before we reached Paradise Spring, where a distinct surprise was in store for us. Paradise Spring is located in a deep canyon between two ranges of volcanic hills, and ‘ any vehicles approaching it from the sur- rounding desert must come down the bottom of the wash. With the motor roaring in our haste to get to the spring and on to Barstow, we came rattling down the canyon and around the face of the wall beside the water-hole to come upon a man kneeling there filling a canteen. He had much the appearance of a desert prospector, but was a complete stranger to us. As we came up he looked at us for several seconds with an expression of dumbfounded amaze- ment. Then he dropped his cantecn, and ran down the canyon like a lunatic, or one who had seen a couple of evil spirits, shout- ing at the top of his voice: ‘ They're alive ! They're alive! They're alive!’’ I was just wondering if he was mad when a dozen men came running up the canyon—and I recog- nized the one in the lead as Mark Williamson, the president of the Los Angeles Motor- Cycle Club. Williamson came dashing forward, and, grabbing Fletcher and me by the hands, exclaimed: ‘‘ Good heavens! men, what a joy it is to find you alive! We gave you up for dead three days ago! We've combed this desert over, gave you up for lost, and were on our way home.” Meanwhile the rest of the party crowded around us, and between shaking our hands and patting us on the backs nobody thought to offer us a bite of food ! In the midst of the turmoil a diminutive betrousered feminine figure, with a wealth of golden hair and a blonde complexion that had been bronzed and peeled by the desert sun, fairly tumbled the men aside in her haste to get at me. Utterly unconscious of my filthy condition, and my face, which bristled with whiskers, she threw her arms ‘THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. about me, and kissed me. Then shéburied her head in the tattered shoulder of what had once been my flannel shirt and, with her tears dropping through on to my flesh, murmured, ““My poor old boy! You poor old. dear! I knew you'd come back! I told them you wouldn’t let the desert kill you! You must be hungry—have you had anything to eat ?”’ For the moment I was undergoing all the emotions my wife was experiencing, groping for words to express my delight at meeting her so unexpectedly. I did not find the words, however, until it came to answering her last question. Then I found my. voice, and blurted out like a schoolboy: “I’m hungry as Hades, sweetheart! Isn't there any food with this outfit?” a “ Of course we've got food, and you shall have it,”’ she told me. Then, turning. to the excited crowd of men, she commanded : “ Here you, Mr. Donnaldson! Get to your post, and get these boys something to eat.” Forthwith the man she had addressed broke from the crowd and ran down .the canyon to the motor-lorry concealed just around the*curve, which was the supply vehicle for the entire party of desert searchers, who had come out from Los Angeles and Bakersfield in five automobiles. With Fletcher being boosted along on his own legs between two big men who were helping him, we adjourned to the lorry where Donnaldson, who was the chef of the outfit, was busy preparing a meal. A folding table and chairs were set out beneath a canvas canopy stretched from the. side of the vehicle, and in a-moment more Fletcher and I were revelling in the luxury of bowls of soup that was poured steaming: hot from vacuum bottles. The soup was just an appetizer for the meal that was to follow, and it had a most pleasing effect upon Fletcher. He talked rationally, and_ his normal colour and smile came back to his face. Donnaldson went about his work in silence, and soon had a steaming hot meal set before us. The motor caravan, however, did not move for another hour, for it took that time for lletcher and me to satisfy ourselves. Having acquired a square meal, I felt revived to the point of offering to drive our sidecar outfit through to Los Angeles, but my wife absolutely refused to listen to this plan. There were men in the party, she declared, who were better able to drive the machine in than I was, and she insisted that I should ride into Barstow in the most luxurious car that was to be found in the rescue party. ‘This happened ,to be a pon- derous high-powered mastodon. driven by Deputy Sheriff Underwood, of Los Angeles County, who had been directing the search through the desert for Fletcher and me for the past six days. Thus, in the tonneau of the huge vehicle, cushioned. by deep uphol- stery, and with my head in my wife’s lap, I went to sleep—not to awaken until they set

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CAUGHT IN A DEATH TRAP. me down at a barber’s shop in Barstow. There, while wait- ing for the Transcontinental Limited and the luxury of a Pullman car that was to take us on to Los Angeles, Fletcher was overhauled by two doc- tors, while I had a bath, a hair. cut, and a shave, and emerged in clean clothes generously contributed by the towns- people. We had to wait six hours for the train, and while strolling about the platform of the rail- way station a train from the 419 west pulledin. The clerk kicked.a bundle of newspapers off the mail car, and the station newsagent ran out to get them. He tore into the bundle like a French poodle digging for truffles, and in another minute was run- ning up and down the platform hawking his stock in trade. ‘ Los Angeles and Francisco newspapers ! ’’ he shouted. ‘‘ Two Los Angeles men perish on the desert!” We bought a paper, and read the lurid account of our own deaths—or, at least, the newspaper reporter’s conception of what our fate must have been. The account was fairly accurate in the details of conjecture as to what had happened to us, and went on to say that the searching parties had given up the hunt All hope of finding us alive had been abandoned, and our names were likely to swell the list of victims of unsolved desert mysteries. “With a single terrific heave I threw Fletcher clear of the edge of the cliff.”

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The Odyssey 0 Humbert Rulliére Told by HIMSELF, and Set Down by G. FREDERIC LEES. Illustrated by GEO. SOPER. The amazing life-story of a man who, after becoming a miner, was condemned to banishment for life to the terrible French convict settlements of Guiana. Then followed his escape in a British vessel, some remarkable experiences in the United States, and then the outbreak of the War. He promptly enlisted in a Canadian regiment, went through further adventures, and finally, after his discharge, returned to his native country, where the authorities were confronted with the puzzling anomaly of a French citizen carrying British papers and possessing no French rights at all. He was liable to arrest every day he remained, but the police were apparently reluctant to act, and eventually he received what amounted to a pardon from the French President. “Few people would think it possible,” writes Mr. Lees, our Paris Correspondent, “that a man could suffer so much and survive, but one has only to converse with M. Rulliére to see that Nature has endowed him with the iron constitution and the will-power of that singularly similar forerunner of his in fiction—Jean Valjean. I cannot help thinking that had Victor Hugo been alive to-day he would have been tempted to take inspiration from the life-story of this former ex-convict to make an addition to his immortal gallery of sufferers, Les Misérables.” II1.—(Conclusicn.) HEN [arrived on board the Triumph My words produced a good impression on they naturally asked me for my Captain , who proved to be a good ticket. Myreply was that, having patriot, but he immediately made me under- stand that he was not unaware of my secret. I took good care to avoid giving him any encouragement to continue that awkward subject. However, when dinner-time came, he invited me to eat with him on deck and there was no avoiding his questions. He began by telling me that escaped con- victs often took passage on board his vesscl, but they never had tickets, because tickets could only be sold to persons who were in possession of a passport duly viséd by the Governor of French Guiana. “I should think,”’ continued the honest captain, ‘ that among those men there must be many wrong ‘uns. However, I don’t believe that that can be your case. Any- how, in endeavouring to regain thcir liberty they are quite within their rights, and I could never find it in my heart to prevent them. I know that in these penal settlements ’’— with a wave of his hand in the direction of the Iles du Salut, which we were then passing—"' abominable things are done.” I made very guarded replies, leaving him to suppose what he liked about me. But 1 made his mind clear on one point: that only reached the town that very morning, and learning the boat was about to leave for the Antilles, I had come aboard at once in the hope that I could get to Caracas, Venezuela, where I had important business to transact. I was willing to pay for my passage immediately, and, suiting the action to the word, I pulled out my money. So that point was settled satisfactorily. The Triumph was a schooner belonging to a ship-owner in Barbados. Her captain (whose name, to my regret, I never learnt) was a most amiable and obliging man. He spoke to me for the first time when, stretched on a long chair on deck towards evening, I was looking up at the British flag fluttering from the masthead. “ Do you like that flag?’ he asked, by way of introduction, after he had been watch- ing me for a while. “Most certainly,” I replied. ‘I was brought up with a love for democratic principles, and at an early age I was taught to consider Great Britain as the mother of democracy. Since then everything British inspires me with deep veneration.”

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. never had I transgressed the laws of honour and probity. A_week later the Triumph anchored in the Bay of St. Lucia. Before being able to land, however, we were informed we must remain a week longer on board because of the quarantine imposed upon us. This did not astonish me, for I had already been led to ex) it before leaving Cayenne, where an epidemic of yellow fever was raging. When the week expired, after expressing my gratitude to the good captain, I pre- pared to leave the schooner. Then a thought occurred to’ me. “Captain,” I said, “if I invited you to dine with me at an hotel in the town, would you do me the honour to accept my invitation ?” E To my great joy his reply was in the affirmative. The same day I discovered a Swiss hotel and made all arrangements for a good dinner there. Then I went back to the Triumph to fetch my guest As soon as we sat down Captain —— said he thought it his duty to express his apologies to me for thinking that I was an escaped convict. I begged him to say no more. ‘“ Wait until you have heard my story,’ I said Then, as we drank our excellent Bor- deaux, I told him my history. The captain listened without once interrupting me, SO com- pletely absorbed was he “Do you like that flag?’ he asked, by way of introduction.” 421 in my narrative. When I had finished— that is to say, when I described how I came to set foot on the Triumph—he took my hand in his and pressed it warmly. So overcome was he that his eyes filled with tears. ‘‘ You are a fine fellow,’ he said, huskily, ‘‘ and I love you like a brother.” The next day I bade him farewell and the Triumph sailed for the Barbados. I had landed at St. Lucia with the object of getting a ship bound for New York. Someone had told me that it would be easy to embark there on one of the cargo boats which call for coal. St. Lucia is indeed a bunker port, but though steamers left daily en route for the United States, not one of them dared to take me as a passenger, owing to the new American immigration laws. I waited for a fortnight, seeing my small savings steadily dwindling, and in constant fear that I should not be left with the fifty dollars which one must have in one’s posses- _sion_ on_ landing wy in the United States. One day, just in the nick of time, a fine vessel of the Quebec Steamship Company arrived. Going on board, I found that the captain was a British subject and a most obliging man. When I had explained my case to him, and my fear of being left without the neces- sary sum for land- ing in New York, he replied that his ship’s destination was indeed New York, but that before returning to the United States he had to continue

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422 his voyage to Georgetown, in British Guiana. He advised me to come on board and travel with him to Georgetown, and thence to New York. I accepted this proposal with alacrity and, after paying for my tickets, deposited fifty dollars in the hands of the purser. Then I went to fetch my modest luggage, and a few hours later was again on the ocean. Six days after our departure from Trinidad, at about three o’clock in the morning, some- one on board cried out: ‘‘ Land!” I could sleep no more that night, so eager was I to set foot on the territory of the great American Republic. When the ship finally came to anchor in the middle of the Delaware River, which divides Philadelphia into two parts, the sanitary, customs, and immigration officers came on board. The examinations took place in the first-class saloon. I cannot tell you how proud I felt at being able to reply in good English to all the questions which were put to me. I have said that I replied to all the questions which were put to me, but there was one to which they did not give me the trouble of replying, namely : ‘‘ What are your means of existence?’ The kindly captain answered for me. ‘‘ He has deposited fifty dollars and has still a good deal of money in his pocket,’’ he said. That good captain was exaggerating; I had only a few dollars left, but he firmly believ what he said. I had, I suppose, the appearance of being wealthy without being so, as we say in France. IN THE LAND OF FREEDOM. In due course I arrived at New York, just about two months after leaving Cayenne. low keen was my satisfaction at feeling I was in a land of freedom, where I knew that I should find many good and sympathetic friends. After my liberation from the Iles du Salut penitentiary I had corresponded with a Parisian publicist, who gave me the names and addresses of a num- ber of his New York friends, in- cluding a M. Etienne Brossard, a maker of artificial flowers. So about ten o’clock in the morning of the day THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. . after my arrival in New York I called ata French boarding-house and asked to see M. Brossard. A woman told me that he was not there at the moment, but that her husband would give me all the informa- tion I desired. A very few minutes later a most sympathetic man, a Frenchman, the owner of the house, came in and said :— “ You are the gentleman who wishes to see M. Brossard ?” “* Yes, sir,’’ I replied. “Well, he has been away for several days past on business, and will not be back belore the middle of next week. But will you tell me where you come from?” “From South America.” “You mean French Guiana ? ” “ That is so.’’ “Then you are Rullitre, in which case I can easily replace M. Brossard. I am glad to see that you have arrived safe and sound. Make yourself entirely at home here.” After spending a few days with this generous-hearted man—who, I discovered, was well acquainted with my story and had assisted to collect a sum of money to be sent to me to aid me in. escaping from Cayenne—M. Brossard returned; and he and other friends at once began to interest themselves in my future. Thanks to them, I obtained a minor situation in an hotel, which enabled me to get through the winter . without much inconvenience. Six months later, in the spring, I left New York for St. Louis. Here I found employment in the work- yards of the great Industrial Exposition of 1904. From St. Louis I went to San Francisco, where I earned my living as a translator and teacher of French. Then, having made the acquaintance of some Colorado gold miners, I was so fascinated by their description of life in the mining camps that I threw in my lot with them and spent some months in Colorado. On my way back to California I stopped in Utah, where I visited a colony of French and Belgian miners, and remained with them for ten months before returning to San Francisco. It was here that I made my début in journalism, for it seemed that I was destined, after being a miner and a manual labourer, to change my work entirely and henceforth earn my living by brain and pen. My first venture was a little weekly paper in the English language called The Emancipator, in which I set forth my political ideas. Lack of funds finally prevented me continu- ing the publication of The Emancipator. A French review having asked me to write a series of articles on the life of the workers of the United States, I set to work to put down all I knew concerning the various trades I happened to be acquainted with, including that of mining. en I came to write about the wood-workers, however, I

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. ° 423 had to confess my ignorance regarding those large classes who are known in the United States as migratory workers. 1 decided that 1 would study the life of these wanderers on the spot. I began by being a woodman in Hainault County, in the north-west of California, helping to cut down some of the biggest trees in the world. the State of Washington to work in various tree- felling camps. Thus, drifting from one place to another, I came into close contact with various classes of migratory toilers, whose manners and customs I got to know most intimately. Little did I think at that time that this rough existence, which I followed with a certain pleasure and enthusiasm, was going to be the very best training I could have had for the still more strenuous life I was destined to live when I passed through the third inferno of my life, the Great War, in which I was to fight as a British soldier ! Having heard that in British Columbia very high wages were being paid, I decided to embark for Vancouver. Before I set foot on board the Canadian_ immigration officers informed me that, being neither a Canadian nor an American, I could not be admitted to British Columbia. However, I had made up my mind to go there all the same, and the next day, without encountering the slightest difficulty, I obtained a ticket and went on board an American vessel. After an uneventful voyage we reached our destination, where I found myself, of course, face to face with the immigration officers. Not wishing to be questioned, I frankly set before them the object of my coming to British Columbia. Showing them a hand- ful of bank-notes and other papers, I added : “Here are my American papers.” They were indeed American papers, but not exactly of the kind the authorities required. It was with great relief that I heard the words: “ All right!” Whilst in British Columbia I worked for some months in a quartz mine; then at a tree-felling camp. But as neither the con- ditions of work nor the pay came up to my anticipations, I decided I would go back to California by rail. En route I stopped in Shasta County to work for a couple of months in a copper mine. On the occasion of my second return to San Francisco I once more took up my pen. This time my journalistic venture was of a more ambitious character than the little Emancipator. 1 undertook to bring out nothing less than a weekly newspaper in French, entitled L’Echo de l'Ouest. My success with this publication was most encouraging, so much so indeed that I Thence I travelled to “I began by being a woodman.” became convinced I was at last on the high road to fame and fortune. A CAMPAIGN OF CALUMNY. I put all my energy into the production of my paper, and its influence spread far and wide. But alas! it caused jealousy and opposition on the part of our political oppo- nents, and these presently began to attack me with a virulence which was only equalled by their unscrupulousness. They brought against me the unfounded charge that I was an Anarchist, a man of the most dangerous character, an ex- convict ; in brief, they did everything they could to blacken my character in the eyes of my readers and the world in general, and to ruin me both morally and_ financially. Naturally I did what I could to counteract this cowardly campaign, but, nevertheless, the libels did me much damage. Finally I decided to sell the Echo de l'Ouest and seek fresh fields and pastures new. I may add that the newspaper I founded has since developed into a prosperous daily. When I left the Echo de l'Ouest a well- known member of the French colony made me the following proposition : ‘‘ Would you care to accept a post the duties of which would be those of a miner, an accountant, and a translator ? You would have to work for no more than eight hours a day.” I found that the work to be done was at a small mine in Southern California, near Death Valley. It belonged to three French miners who had worked it for a long time with their own resources, but who had finally been obliged to obtain financial assistance from a French bank. I was very well treated at this mine and remained for a long time, returning to San Francisco twice a year, at Christmas

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424 and in July. It was whilst I was on my summer visit to the great city that the Great War broke out. Needless to say I took part in the never- to-be-forgotten demonstrations in favour of France and the Allies; demonstrations in which young and old, patriots, anti- militants, deserters, and fugitives from justice engaged with an enthusiasm such as 1 should never have believed possible. Whatever their political views might have been, these Frenchmen and Frenchwomen had but one thought—" France, the home- land, is in danger; we must go to her tescue.”” And they began to troop off to the French Consulate to offer their ser- vices. I also went to the Consulate as soon as hostilities began. M. -Mounet, the Consul- General, received me and listened patiently to a full explanation of my case. 1 explained to him that my plan was to send a cable- letter to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs asking to be allowed, ex-convict en rupture de ban though I was, to return home and, unmolested, join a French regiment. M. Mounet welcomed my _ proposal. “France cannot refuse your services,’’ he said; ‘‘she has too great a need of them, alas!’’ He himself undertook to send the cable-letter at his own expense; and this was accordingly done, but not before he had modified the text I had brought him. What I had written did not seem to him to be imbued with a sufficient spirit of humility. “If we want to be certain of success,’’ he said, ‘‘ we must say nothing which may offend the susceptibilities of the gentlemen at the Ministry.” REFUSED! The reply was most unexpected and dis- appointing. Couched in that cold and inhuman language which characterizes the French bureaucracy, it was a_ resolute refusal of my offer, followed by reasons for the decision which were as superfluous as they were badly inspired. This reply, and the tragic events of the early days of the War, resulted in my going back to the editorial staff of the Echo de VOuest. I began to write propaganda articles—the best way in which, for the time being, I could serve the cause of France and her Allies. One day I wrote an article in which I set forth the idea that those Frenchmen who were unable to join a French regiment might go to Canada, where French-Canadian units, commanded by officers speaking the French language, were being formed. This I fol- lowed up by publishing the letters of corre- spondents who carried out my advice. Thus I gradually became a sort of recruiting officer for the Canadian army, thereby once more being guilty of a ‘‘ crime ’’—that of * THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. violating the neutrality of the United States. During my early days on the staff of the Echo de l'Ouest 1 made the acquaintance by correspondence of Dr. Villecourt, of Mont- real, a medical man with a Parisian degree. When I left the journal in the circumstances already outlined, I wrote to him and told’ him the whole story. His letters in reply showed much sympathy. Later he advised me to come to Canada, where, he assured me, I should be made welcome ina French unit. At the same time he’ recommended: me to Lieutenant-Colonel le Duc, the A.A.G. of the 4th Military District of Montreal. This was most encouraging, but I did not at once avail myself of the offer because there had just arrived from Frarice, on a lecturing tour, a gentleman with whom I had already been in correspondence, M. Ferdinand Buisson, the President of the French League for the Defence of the Rights of Man and the Citizen; -and I thought I would make one more last attempt through him and the Consul-General to get back to my native country. The Consul-General now was M. Julien Neltner, who had succeeded M. Mounet. When: consulted, M. Neltner thought he had solved the problem by asking the French Government to grant me a safe conduct of forty-eight hours, on reaching the shores of France, to join the ranks of the Foreign Legion. But when the reply came it was just the same as before. I was regarded as an outlaw, excluded from French territory, and therefore could not be allowed to con- tract a voluntary engagement in any French unit, regular or irregular. That decided the matter, and five days later I was in Montreal. 1 JOIN THE BRITISH ARMY. Dr. Villecourt introduced me to Lieu- tenant-Colonel le Duc, a veteran of the South African War. I signed my army engagement, and in the presence of a Justice of the Peace took an oath of fidelity to His Majesty George V., his heirs and duly com- missioned agents, and undertook to serve in the British Army until six months after the termination of hostilities, or until I was legally liberated. I quickly became what is called ‘“‘ a smart soldier.” They handed me a manual of instruction for N.C.O.’s, and I remember being much struck by the following passage in the preface; ‘‘ Remember that you are a citizen of the British Empire.” On reading these words my soul was filled by a feeling of pride. To think that I was a soldier of the greatest Commonwealth of ancient or modern times! I, an ex-convict, a French- man, banished from the country of my birth! And now, though every obstacle had been put in my way to prevent me returning home, I was going to set foot on French soil,

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THE ODYSSEY under the protection of the British flag, and help to overcome the common enemy ! inally I became attached to the 256th Regiment at Halifax, commanded by Lieut.- f W. A. MacConnell. After a week in the Wellington Barracks we went on board the transport Missanabie, and, with an escort of cruisers, made the crossing under excellent conditions. On reaching Liverpool trains were waiting to take us to Purfleet, where we were to complete our training. Never shall I forget the enthusiasm with which we were received en route, especially by the women of England. Then the day arrived when we were ready for service at the front. The 256th Regiment had now become the roth Regiment of Canadian Rail- way Troops, our duty being to construct those light rail- ways which were to keep the front lines well supplied with provisions, ammuni- tion, and men. We crossed from South- ampton to Havre in the dead of the night. How well I remember the thrill of joy which went through me when, in the faint light of early morning, I distin- \ guished Ste. Adresse, which it Z, eS, had become the political capital of Belgium. That feeling of elation was no- thing, however, compared to my sensation when we marched from the ship on to French territory. To right and left of us French soldiers were drawn up to render the customary honours. I could not resist the temptation of glancing about me, and I realized that these poilus had nothing in common with the soldiers who had stood on guard when, so many years before, I embarked for French Guiana as a wretched, heart-broken convict. Hardly had we finished our supper that night than the order came to be ready to leave at once for the front. We had three miles to go to reach the Gare Anglaise, where we entrained in cattle trucks. By six o’clock in the morning we were in Picardy. Amiens was our first stopping place, but after that we did not know where we were going. On and on we travelled, until at last the train stopped and the mystery was at an end; we were in the station of Mont St. Eloi, with the noise of the guns in our ears. “‘ Where are we going, Sergeant?” we asked. “To take part in the Battle of Vimy,” was the reply. ‘‘ It has lasted for the past two days, and the Canadian army is going to cover itself with glory.” I was about to enter on the third inferno of my dolorous life ! “He gave me a friendly smack on the shoulder.” OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. 425 GOING INTO ACTION. When they handed us out our ration of rum — new thing to us— we understood that the supreme moment had come. I had already taken my bearings. A sign-post told us that Arras was ten kilometres away in a south-easterly direction. Vimy Ridge was therefore some eight kilometres away, straight in front. There the battle was raging, and on all sides the blood of the children of Canada, as well as the heroic sons of England, Scotland, and Wales, was pouring on to the glorious soil of France. We were all silent as we marched forward. Ambulances passed to and fro on all sides of us. Wounded men with white and haggard faces came towards us on their way to the dressing-stations. Heroes that they were, we ‘) saluted them. Crossing a road we reached Villeneuve St. Vaast, whence, the day before, the offensive for the conquest of Vimy Ridge had started. Then we halted. I was with Corporal Freyssel, a veteran who had already been under fire, and ws in whom I places every confidence. e had said to me, as he gave me a friendly smack on the shoulder: “ Frenchie, we'll both return or we'll both of us remain there!”’ I wrung his hand as a sign that the compact was made. Well supplied with cartridges, we finally moved towards the summit of the hill. The guns were roaring on both sides of us, and shells fell and burst in all directions. Our artillery worked splendidly. The whole of the summit of the Ridge, it appeared, had been ours since the previous day and our guns were already in position there. Our object was first of all to cover com- pletely the area between Souchez and Notre ame de Lorette, which formed what’ was known as the “ Labyrinth,” and then to obtain possession of Lens. Proceeding along the communication trenches leading to the front line, we came opposite Hénin-Liesard, which we could not see on account of the darkness of the night, and finally got beyond a big trench in course of construction. Only a few dozen yards away from us our men had come to close quarters with the enemy, who were carrying out a violent counter-offensive. The tide, apparently, was turning against us. Corporal Freyssel explained to me what was going to happen. “« Our men cannot remain where they are,”’ he said. ‘‘ That would be too costly. Soon they will fall back. The enemy will follow,

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426 but we shall be here to stop them. We shall recommence the offensive and push them back as far as possible.” Our machine-gunners had already installed their guns in the shell-holes and craters with which the district was completely nddled, and my companions and I took cover in similar holes. The order had gone forth that we were to remain there until told to advance or withdraw. Presently a few sharp whistles were heard—the signal to the men in front of us to fall back. We were ready, waiting impatiently for the moment to make the acquaintance of the Germans. “‘ As soon as our fellows have passed on or have reached us,” said Corporal Freyssel, “we shall open fire.” A few moments afterwards our men had bounded to the rear and were on a level with our line. That was the moment for our intervention. Our machine-guns began to vomit streams of bullets, whilst we riflemen fired incessantly, almost point blank. Every shot told amidst the solid masses of Germans, who were surprised to meet with this stub- born resi ce. They had little idea that fresh troops, determined not to relinquish an inch of ground, awaited their onslaught. Presently the order to charge with fixed. bayonets was given and we leapt forward. The Huns began to give way, and were soon in full flight. Just as we were about to follow the order came for us to stop. It was at that moment that I noticed Corporal Freyssel was no longer near me. The idea that he might be wounded or even dead caused me great distress. I began to shout : “ Freyssel! Freyssel !” A plaintive voice cried: ‘“ This way, Frenchie. 1’m wounded.” I rushed in the direction whence the voice came and succeeded in finding my friend Tying in a hole amidst dead and wounded. He received me with the friendly and touch- ing words: ‘ And you, dear friend, are you safe and sound ?” “Not a scratch,” I replied, “ which sur- prises me greatly.” Corporal Freyssel told me in a few words what had happened to him. A bullet had sed through his right arm and another ad almost carried away his left ear. He was not suffering much pain, but complained of an inexplicable weakness in his legs, which refused to bear his weight. So I took him on my back and carried him into an old trench, where I set about giving him first-aid, which consisted in stopping the bleeding and then disinfecting the wounds. My friend was greatly relieved, so I once more hoisted him on to my back and carried him to the big trench which was in course of construction, there to put him down and await assistance. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. VICTORY! Later, when 1] rejoined my comrades, I ° heard that the battle of Vimy was definitely won. The Canadian troops, with the col- jaboration of those from the United King- dom, had gained a victory of the greatest importance. : hen we were relieved and I went to have breakfast in camp I learnt that Corporal Freyssel had been taken towards the evacua- tion hospital near Mont St. Eloi. Meeting some motor-cars, filled with wounded, which were going in that. direction, I scribbled some words on a sheet of paper and asked one of the drivers to convey it to my friend, who I knew would be glad to hear that the battle was won and that “ Frenchie’ had come out of the ordeal unhurt. It is not my intention to set down here all the incidents of the Great War which came under my personal observation. All I can hope to do in the limited space at my disposal is to summarize the remainder of my war experiences. After the battle of Vimy I was almost at the extreme right of the British front at Roisel. Then we entrained for Belgium and served in the Nieuport sector. ater we fought in the famous Ypres salient, and when, after eighteen months’ service, my turn came to go on leave, I was back again at Vimy. Before leaving I got a letter from Corporal— now Sergeant — Freyssel, who, completely recovered from his wounds, had been decorated with the Military Medal. MY VISIT TO PARIS. One day about noon I reached the Gare St. Lazare in Paris. Arrayed in full war- paint, I walked out of the railway station and stood for a few moments on the cause- way like aman in adream. Again I could not help thinking of the ‘‘crime” I was committing in making my appearance in the streets of the French capital, where, had it been suspected that I was an ex-convict “‘out of bounds,” I might be placed under arrest by some zealous detective. ‘‘ What shall I do and where shall I go?” I asked myself as I stood there like a provincial or a foreigner. A few people began to stop and observe me. “He’s an English soldier who doesn’t know where to go,” said one. ‘‘ One of those brave Tommies who come to spend their leave in Paris because they cannot cross the Channel through lack of ts.” “Nay; he’s not English. He’s a Canadian,” said another. “‘ Don’t you see the badge on his uniform ? He’s a Canadian volunteer who came all the way across the Atlantic to defend France.” 2 “* Ah, that is fine indeed |’ ejaculated an elderly gentleman in the now gathering circle of Parisians. ‘‘ Can we do anything for you?”

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427 THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE. ee oe ee eee Se ee Ce ee ee “*Why, he speaks French,’ piped a little seamstress. ‘He is one of us.’ ’

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428 I thanked them for the kind thought. ‘Why, he speaks French,’’ piped a little mademoiselle of the seamstress class. ‘‘ Then he must be a French-Canadian, in which case he is one of us.”” , And immediately half-a-dozen hands were on either side of me, leading me towards one of the numerous cafés facing the station. When free to explore the capital, like a schoolboy on a holiday, I wandered on to the main boulevards and into the Rue Mont- martre. Suddenly I caught sight on a third floor of a large sign bearing the words: ‘“ La Victoire.” Trembling with joy I imme- diately entered the building and ascended the stairs leading to the editorial offices of the journal founded by M. Gustave Hervé. This great Parisian editor was away from the office on that particular day, but I was welcomed by M. Louis Maffert, one of his chief collaborators. I explained my case to him and the object of my visit—to be able to spend my leave in Paris without being troubled by the police. “If I feared you would be so troubled,” replied M. Maffert, ‘TY would take you immediately to the President of the Re- public and explain our ition to him. ut I am convinced you will be aHowed the greatest liberty. Besides, to-morrow yon will see M. ervé.”” On the following day, indeed, M. Hervé received me. Healso reassured me, declar- ing that the French Government would never dare to order my arrest so long as I wore a British uniform. “For the time being,” he added, “ we will sy. nothing, so long as they leave you alone. After the war we will take up your case and urge the Chief of the State to exercise his powers in your favour.” I also saw M. Jean Finot, the editor of La Revue Mondiale, to which I had contri- buted articles. After welcoming me most warmly, he said: ‘‘ We shall need men like you in France after the war. When you come back we will do everything necessary to put you in a legal position.” At last, on November 11th, 1918, we heard the trum; announcing the Armis- tice, and the victory was at last declared to be ours. Finally the day came for my Tegiment to be sent back to England to embark for Canada. Simultaneously I re- ceived a letter from M. Jean Finot, of La Revue Mondiale, asking me to come to Paris to discuss the question of a he had to offer me. I obtained twelve days’ leave and went to Paris. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The post M. Finot had in view was that of a regular contributor and administrator on his magazine, and with a letter in my possession to that effect I returned to my unit with the certainty that my ‘icati to be demobilized in England would be granted. At first, however, it looked as though I should not succeed in getting my way, for the Canadian military authorities in Liver- pool, where I went as soon as possible, raised objections to letting me go in Europe. “Have you a wife or d ents in Canada ?’’ they asked. ‘‘ Manifestly, if there is anyone who has a claim upon you there we cannot let you stay away from home.” “No; Tam not a married man,” I replied, “and there is no one dependent upon me on the other side of the water.” F A few days later I was granted a renewable and very liberal leave, though the authori- ties did not think I should be able to go to Paris, as a pass) was necessary. On leaving Liverpool for London an obliging officer said to me: ‘‘ Listen to me, Rulligre. When you get to your destina- tion go to the Cana- dian Headquarters. out, for the authorities declared they had not the slightest objection to my going to Paris ; only I should need a , and this I could doubtless ob- tain from the French Consulate. “I’m afraid not,” 1 told the officer-in- c e. ‘‘ You see, they don’t know me, and I’ve nothing to prove my identity but these Canadian military papers, which are not sufficient.” “In that case,’’ said the officer, ‘‘ I must tefer the matter to the War Office. I'll give you a recommendation.” With this document in m possession I proceeded to Whitehall, wie was imme- diately received bys. captain who, after asking me a num! of questions, said : “All right! Wait a quarter of an hour whilst I prepare your aie In less time than that he was back with a permit for Paris and a letter of recommenda- tion to the Foreign Office. At the Foreign Office I filled in the usual large form of application, which I had signed by the Canadian Commissioner. Then I took it to the Passport Office and waited m: turn to receive the precious document whic! was to serve as a talisman on my return to France and Paris. After waiting for some time 1 was told

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THE ODYSSEY OF HUMBERT RULLIERE that the head of the Passport Department wished to see me. The official began by complimenting me on the part I had taken in the war. Then, as he grasped my hand on parting, he added: “ Although you are French this passport will enable you if ever you are in difficult circumstances, to appeal to the British authorities for protection.” BACK IN FRANCE AGAIN. On getting to Paris, where I was expected, I began my work at once at the office of La Revue Mondiale. But my leave had hardly expired before I received a telegram from Liverpool ordering me to report at the Canadian Discharge Depst in order to be demobilized. On March 15th, 1919, just before noon, I received my liberation paper, a good-conduct certificate, the balance of my pay, and a demobilization bonus with which to buy myself a suit of mufti. The same day I got my passport viséd at the French Consulate and next morning took the train for Folke- stone en route for Paris again. As M. Jean Finot had promised, he imme- diately set to work to put my affairs in order. He began by obtaining a private interview with M. Poincaré, President of the Republic. The Chief of the State, after hearing all the facts of my case, promised that he would do everything he could in my favour; but before signing a pardon he would have to see my dossier. At the same time the Ligue des Droits de VHomme et du Citoyen never ceased to make application after application on my behalf. The Confédération Générale du Travail also intervened in my favour. Never- theless, despite all these efforts, I still re- mained an ex-convict who had committed the crime of being out of bounds, and, there- fore, legally speaking, liable to instant arrest and transportation to French Guiana, there to stand my trial before the Special Maritime Tribunal. Towards the end of the summer of 1920, M. Julien Neltner, Consul-General for France at San Francisco, was on leave in Paris, where he encountered M. Jusserand, our Ambassador at Washington, whom I had met in the States.- These gentlemen, after discussing the matter, decided to make an application on my behalf to M. Millerand, who had recently been elected President of the Republic. They saw the Chief of the State at the Elysée, and pleaded in my favour. Thereuvon M. 429 Millerand gave orders that my _ record should be immediately handed to him. He found that my dossier contained very com- plimentary notes from the French diplomatic a'.thorities in America, as well as from the Canadian military authorities. On the other hand, the penitentiary administration insisted on having its pound of flesh, demand- ing that I should forthwith be handed over to the police. They said, as before, that being under the obligation to accomplish my sentence in full, I could not in any circumstances be accorded a measure of clemency. M. Millerand, however, with that inde- pendence which he has shown on so many occasions, decided to cut through all this bureaucratic red-tape by signing a decree which henceforth made me a free man. The Leagne for the Defence of the Rights of Man and the Citizen announced this decision to me in the following letter :— Paris, October 15th, 1920. Sir,—We have the honour to inform you that our President, M. Ferdinand Buisson, has received the following letter from the Presidency of the Republic :— Monsieur le Président,—We have called the benevolent attention of the Chancellor to the recommendation to mercy of M. Rullitre, Humbert, sentenced on March 28th, 1895, to eight years’ hard labour by the Assize Court of the Loire for attempted murder. I have the honour to inform you that, by a decree of the President of the Republic, dated October 4th, 1920, this convict has been released from the obligation to reside in the Colonies. (Signed) Tue DirEcTOR OF GRIMINAL CASES . AND Parpons. To celebrate this welcome piece of news I published in La Revue du Travail, the editor of which I became on leaving La Revue Mondiale, an article in which I set forth in brief the story of mv ‘“‘crime,’’ and the clemency which M. Millerand had exercised in my favour. Whilst expressing my grati- tude towards the President of the Republic I did not fail to mention all those faithful friends who had supported me in my appli- cation to be received back to the arms of my mother country. Once more, in the pages of this magazine, let me renew my heartfelt thanks to all concerned. THE END.

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MILLIONS IN OIL The Marvels of Mexia, America’s Latest Field. By B.C. UTECHT. HE new oil-field at the doors of Mexia, Texas, probably pos- sesses more unique features than any other field ever ‘brought in”; it is in a class by itself. Although the first well was only discovered a year ago, there are now three hundred wells developed and drilling ; the population of the town of Mexia has grown from two thousand five hundred totwenty-five thousand, the production is already a hundred and fifteen thousand barrels daily, and the principal Some of the hundreds of producing oil-wells The whole world is thirsting for oil, and “mushroom growth” is a slow process compared to the marvellous development that takes place on a successful “strike.” Mere spots on the map become ‘crowded townships overnight, formerly worthless land changes hands‘ at fabulous figures, and the humble labourer of yesterday becomes the millionaire of to-morrow. In the frenzied rush for liquid wealth the “coming in” or “giving out” of a well may mean fortune or ruina- tion for the speculator, and ordinarily cautious folk find it difficult to keep their heads. This article gives some astonishing facts and figures concern- ing Mexia, not long ago an obscure village in Texas, but now America’s latest oil-field. in Denver twelve years ago, he went down upon his knees and prayed that he might recover, promising if his life were spared that he would use all the money he made in religious work. The Colonel has already established a chain of missions in West Virginia, Ohio, and Indiana, and has given large sums of money to churches and libraries. “Big deals” are arranged in Mexia with such frequency that no one seems to think any- thing of them. For instance, no fewer than owner, Colonel A. E, Humphreys, has publicly announced that he will devote the millions he makes from his wells “to the work of the Master.””, Humphreys has twenty-five pro- ducing wells and as many more which he will operate as soon as pipe-lines reach Mexia. Experts estimate that he could easily obtain ninety million dollars for his properties. The Colonel recently said that, when seriously ill seven pipe-lines, costing twenty million dollars, are being laid to carry the oil, and it is estimated that a fresh ‘“ gusher”’ is tapped every day. The Sinclair Oil Company has announced that it will erect a hundred and twenty-five tanks, each of fifty-five thousand barrel capacity, costing five million dollars. The Standard Oil Company has contracted to buy three hundred million barrels of oil

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from Colonel Humphreys—the biggest trans- action in the history of the industry. Side by side with these deals goes the fact that land once worthless is now leasing for three thousand to five thousand dollars an acre ; an oil firm, for example, bought a tract one day and next sold it at a million dollars profit. When Colonel Humphreys was twenty- seven years old he failed for two hundred MILLIONS IN OIL. 431 Mexia sprinkler, and he did not quit even when a good oil well was “ brought in ”’-on his land. Sherrer’s wife is still working as a stenographer. She loves work and does not let the things that money can buy prevent her from making good use of her talents. Sherrer was a house-mover in Mexia, and in the little town—as it was until only a few months ago—there was not much_house- moving to be done. Mrs. T. B. Mills, his mother, is regarded as the in Caddo-Ferry Lake. thousand dollars, but paid it back. Years later he again found himself ‘ broke,’ but once again paid his debts in rm 1 just before coming to Texas to look for oil. He doggedly kept on drilling for oil at Mexia while people who thought they knew laughed up their sleeves at his efforts. Now he is reaping his harvest and the field will be the luckiest individual in Lime- stone County. On her pro- perty are two of the t wells in the entire oil-field, giving a total production of twenty thousand barrels a day, and yielding her approxi- mately two thousand dollars in royalties daily. She wasa poor woman, and her forty- acre tract barely returned a living for the family. Jesse McLendon, former! a real estate dealer, J. K. Hughes, F. R. Smith, and Blake Smith—all these men have made considerable for- tunes in the new Mexia field, and many _ other citizens will find the cash pouring in before long, when the pipe-lines are ready to relieve the field of its oil. The largest part of Mexia’s oil wealth has not been realized yet. There are forty wells in the sand, for in- stance, which have not been “ brought in,” there being no means of storing the oil produced, but when the tanks are ready and the pipe-lines ex- tended, they will be’ largest in the United States, for when the Temaining wells are “brought in” the pro- duction will reach half a million barrels daily. Just think of it, readers—half a million barrels of oil a day ! The birth of this new oil-field has widened many people's horizons. Two Mexia citizens, for instance, have abandoned their old jobs. ‘‘ Bud” Mills does not ride the water- sprinkler any more, and John Sherrer has abandoned his mule wagon. Instead, both men have bought the most luxurious automobiles that money can buy. Until very recently, Mills drove the Colonel A. E. Humphreys, one of the leading figures on the Mexia field. tapped almost simultaneously. The lucky folk who own oil land and oil wells are not the only people who are prospering as a result of the success of the new fields. Owners of stores, hotels, cafés, laundries, and newspapers have suddenly found their facilities entirely inadequate to fulfil demands. New stores, hotels, cafés, lodging-houses, icture theatres, and news-plants have been uilt, but still they cannot cope with the business. Building in Mexia is as active as oil development. In the last four months the amount of building passed the two

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432 million dollar mark, and new structures are being projected daily. Every train entering Mexia is packed, and obtaining a room is just like a game of hide-and-seek. The streets and sidewalks are always crowded. _ You see strange sights and hear strange words in Mexia—things you never heard of in any other city. While newsboys else- cwhere yell out: ‘‘Man murdered by burglar!” or ‘‘ Million dollar mail robbery !’’ they don’t bother with such trifles in Mexia. Instead, you hear the news- boys shouting at the top of their voices :— * Colonel Humphreys to look over Ellis County!” ‘Smith No. 2 brought in!” “* Jones No. 3 a twenty-thousand barrel sher !”’ ee: “All about New Currie Field!” The upper floors of practically every building are given over to oul business of some kind. In the Ross and Green building -small squares are partitioned off as offices, and not an inch of space is wasted. There are offices in the hallway, offices on the mezzanine floor, and offices within offices. Not long ago, an oil man went to Ross and wanted to rent his office, which takes up the lower front of the building. “I can’t do it. I need it myself,” said Ross. “Yes, but 1’ll make it so interesting that you won't refuse,” persisted the visitor. “I’m_afraid you can’t do it, brother,” replied Ross. “Well, I'l pay you a thousand dollars a month for that office and give you twelve bettie rent in advance. How’s that?” sd the expectant operator. “No, no, 1 just can’t do it,” said Ross, without hesitation. “All right, then. Good-bve. Two fools THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. have met,” said the operator as he left the , building. Before the oil boom property went begging at Mexia. One citizen was just about to sell out and move to Dallas, if he could find a purchaser. He owned two lots he considered of no value, and one building which he rented for twenty-five dollars a month. Now he is getting two hundred dollars a month rental for the lots and three hundred and fifty dollars a month for the building. Two long lines of men and women stand all day at the Mexia post-office calling: for mail. The windows are fifty feet back inside the building, but the two lines always extend to the door and out on the sidewalk. On Saturdays there are still longer lines inside and outside the banks, where oil workers and others line up to get their cheques cashed. The bank employés are the hardest- worked people in the whole city, with their business ten times what it was a year ago and thousands of strangers ing to cash cheques. The danger of fraud is great, and, despite much caution, a bad cheque now and then gets by. This has its amusing side. Some of the old citizens, well-to-do and honourable men, have had their cheques returned marked “ No funds.” A short time ago one Mexia man gave a cheque for one thousand five hundred dollars for an oil land lease, and the cheque came back marked “ No funds.” The citizen and the sellers went to the bank, where the president laughed as he gave his assurance that there were plenty of funds to cover the cheque. The men who sold the lease pre- sented it once more—and for the second time it came back with the same old legend : ‘No funds.” Thereupon the deal was made in cash. The town, including Juarez, has at least Wagons hauling supplies to the oil-wells.

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MILLIONS IN OIL. 433 A street scene in Mexia. a hundred cfaés, and they have all the odd names that one would expect in a ‘‘ boom ” oil town. Here are some of the signs over the eating-places: ‘‘Mutt and Jeff,” ‘‘ The Gusher,” “Snappy,” “ Happy,” “' Nifty,” and “ Unique.” Juarez, which is just west of the H. and T.C. and T. and B.V. Railroad tracks, is entirely new. Its one and two-storey buildings are all of new pine lumber, and none of them are painted. Here the oil workers can get cheap meals and lodging. Fifty cents is the lowest rate for lodging, although this consists of only cot and blanket. Mexia has been enjoying summer- like weather, and scores of people have been. sleeping on the railroad station lawn. If there is any “ toughness "’ in Mexia and uarez, one fails fo see anything that would indicate it, although several of the new Texas oil towns have rivalled the early goldfield camps in violence. When thousands of strangers pile into a small town, there is bound to be a certain amount of lawlessness, but there has been no violent trouble at Mexia, which speaks well for the control the authorities exercise. At first there was “wide open” gambling at Juarez, but . this was speedily suppressed. For one thing, * oil is no game for “ pikers,” and there have been so many thrilling developments daily _ that. no one tive ‘‘ toughness.” The crowds that continuously fill the streets of Juarez are explained by the fact. Vol. L—30. as had time tor unremunera-. that the oil men work in three separate shifts, giving them plenty of time to visit the town. Few people outside Texas know how to pronounce the name Mexia, but the citizens and all but newcomers in the State call it “‘ Whair,” giving it the musical Spanish twist. The town was not named after Mexico, as many suppose, but after a Mexican general of that name who sided with the Texas colonists in their fight against Santa Anna. Towns near Mexia are sharing in the rosperi and growth brought by oil. osse, Teague, Wortham, - Corsicana, and Currie are merely extensions of the field. A few months ago the H. and T.C. passenger trains rushed by a certain spot five miles north of Wortham. Passengers looking out of the windows saw only com and cotton fields. The spot had a name all right, but it was so nearly a minus quantity that the name was always omitted on maps and in railroad guides. It is still the same spot, but its importance has increased about a million times, and the trains now stop to let off and take on passengers, but mostly to let them off. is spot is Currie, a budding oil field north of Mexia. Currie sprang up overnight, so to speak. Fort Worth oil men going down to Mexia a short time ago would have seen nothing when passing Currie. But returning to Fort Worth a glance out of the window would have shown them a three- storey brick office building, a sixty-room

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434 THE brick hotel, and countless new cafes, stores, an.l offices. The work of a magic wand ? A: modern- day miracle? Aladdin and his wonderful lamp come back ? No, none of these. Just oil, plus a hundred per cent American encrgy. The oil and the energy accom- plished what the magic wand and the wonderful lamp never did. Big companies have leased most of the land around Currie, and derricks are going up daily. The Humphreys-Texas mpany owns most of the wells. More interesting than even the great oil field itself is the personality of its discoverer, Colonel Humphreys. Giving to the world valuable ore-beds, mines, timber tracts, and oil fields has been his life-work. His greatest bonanza, of course, is the Mexia find. Before the Colonel became a capitalist, he was a school teacher near Sissonville, West Virginia, at a salary of twenty-five dollars a month. But Humphreys’ days as a school teacher dil not last long, and he went back to his father’s home at Sissonville, where he helped to run the store, the mill, and a lumber business. His father took him into partner- ship. and by 1887 Humphrey owned lumber camps all over the State, and was doing a Lig paying business. Then a Cincinnati company associated itself with Humphreys, failed, and the crash left Humphreys two hundred thousand dollars in debt. * 1 well remember the morning after my failure,” said the Colonel. ‘ The world looked mighty dark to me. Everything seemed against me, and I hardly knew where to turn. I felt that every man would look upon me as a bankrupt and a failure, in whom nobody could place confidence. Frankly, I would just as soon have the word ‘criminal’ branded on me as_ the word ‘bankrupt.’ But the only thing for me to do was to go to work and get the money together to pay my debts. The first man I called upon was C. C. Lewis of Charles- ton, a wholesale grocer. I owed his firm one thousand three hundred and_ sixty-seven dollars, and hadn't a dollar to pay it. ‘Don't worry about what you owe this Lewis told’ me. ‘If we have anything ain the way of funds or friendly tance, or if we can help you to secure funds to rebuild your business, remember we are your real friends, and all you have to do is to command u “For four years,” said Humphreys, “I trix to ‘ beat back’ in my home country. I would secure options at from two dollars to five dollars an acre on land containing tuable timber, thick veins of bituminous cal, and with oil and gas possibilities. I tried to interest Charleston citizens in d oping these rich properties, but their only answer was a sceptical smile and advice “to Tet such wild-cat speculations alone. I ‘to them for assistance, WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. found I could not pay my debts if I remained at home, so I went to the north-west—to *~. Duluth.” Ten years later the Colonel returned to Charleston determined to develop the pro- .perty in which he had failed to interest his townspeople. But this time he did not go advice, or funds. With his own money he bought a tract of coal land on the Norfolk and Western Rail- road, built a short line into it, and then leased a large section to a Lynchburg syndi- cate. After nineteen years of mining the syndicate now realizes that it has barely scratched the surface of that coal land. The Colonel also opened up another big coal area on Cabin Creek, by purchasing a small railroad and getting the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway to extend its line. This gave the country two hundred and fifty thousand more acres of coal territory. This land is supposed to contain the richest coal- beds in the United States. Humphreys’ experience in Oklahoma was in the Boynton field, in 1914. This field was looked upon by oil men as practically worthless, but Humphreys refused to be discouraged. He drilled many ‘“‘ dry " holes, but would not give up the fight. His Boynton wells finally developed twelve hundred barrels daily, and tha ae soid out to the Carter Oil Company for four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. The Carter Oil Company got more than one million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of oil from the Humphreys wells. Humphreys was also interested in the Blackwell pool in Oklahoma, his company “ bringing in’ two wells, one of which made one hundred and cighty-five barrels an hour. It was while living in Denver that Humphreys was stricken with an_ illness so serious that the physicians gave his case up as hopeless. To use the words of the Colonel: ‘1 heard the doctors in the next room say that I was through, that I would never sign my name to another contract. “T got down on my knees and asked the Tord to spare my life, promising to turn all my activities to His work. My life was spared, and I am keeping my pledge.” Some of the institutions which the Colonel has materially aided during recent years ide the Union Mission at Charleston, which he founded, the Salvation Army Citadel, the Humphreys and Boyd Memorial Churches, and the Public Library. The Union Mission requires the services of eighteen persons, involving a pay-roll of thirty-five thousand dollars a year. The Mission accommodates seventy-five homeless children and a large number of men and women. lf John D. Rockefeller, back in the ‘nineties, had not wrested the great Mesaba iron range in Minnesota from the hands of Colonel Humphreys and the Merritt brothers

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of Duluth, the Colonel might never have gone to Mexia and the oil- field might not have been discovered until some man just as daring and wealthy came along—a possi- bility, but not a probability. Humphreys went to the Mesaba country soon after the dis- covery of the range and, while stopping at a small frontier hotel, overheard two lumber- jacks discussing the value of a piece of property on which ore had been discovered without the owner’s knowledge. Next day, Humphreys hurried to Duluth, found the owner, one John McKinney, and ob- tained an option on twelve forty-acre tracts, worth sixt} thousand dollars, for which he gave his cheque for a thousand dollars. After engaging a mining engineer and two men to establish a camp, Humphreys dashed back to his old home at Charleston, West Virginia, in an effort to beat his cheque there, so that he could raise the money to meet it, as well as the fifty-nine thousand dollar's balance. He duly raced the cheque, got together twenty-five thousand dolars, and effected a compromise with McKinney. During the next few years he became an ore operator on a large scale, paid off a debt of two hundred thousand dollars which stood against him in 1887, and opened up mines valued at one hundred million dollars. In the meantime, a Rockefeller emissary had gone to the range. He lent large sums to the Merritt brothers for developing, and Humphreys co-operated with the Merritts. When the panic of 1893 came, Rockefeller, it is alleged, seized the opportunity to make the Merritts pay back large loans. Not having the necessary money, they were compelled to turn over their valuable properties to him. Humphreys sold his ore interests to Rockefeller for six hundred MILLIONS IN OIL. “*You see him right now, then,’ returned Humphreys.” thousand dollars, and to-day this is said to be worth fifty million dollars. After this deal the Colonel turned his back upon Mesaba, said good-bye to the Merritts, went to British Columbia, and built the first concentrating mill in the Kootenay district. He spent two years there and then, longing for home, sold his interests and started to return to West Virginia. But Fate intervened. On his way out, he stopped at a landing known as Trail Creek. He took a walk down the shore, admired its appearance as a town site, and looked up the owner, a man named Topping, who also owned the hotel. ‘‘ How many acres have you here?” he ingpired. “Oh, between three hundred and four hundred.” .

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436 ‘Why don’t you build a town site ?”’ “Well, I surveyed it once for that pur- pose, and sold six lots at ten dollars each, but they didn’t pay the expense of the eae as “Why don’t you give someone half of it to build a smelter here and a railroad to Rossland ?’’ persisted the Colonel. “I have been looking for that man for some time,’’ said the hotel man. “You see him right now, then,” returned Humphreys. After supper, the two men drew up an agreement and Humphreys continued on his way to Spokane. Hardly had he reached there when he found a message from Augustus Heinze, a big copper man, which said: ‘‘ Where can you meet Jim Breen ?” Breen was engineer for Heinze, and the Colonel wired the copper king that he had better come himself. “ As it happened,” explained Humphreys, “Jim Breen was already at Rossland, a mining camp near Trail Creek. Heinze had made a contract with one of the largest mines to smelt seventy-five thousand tons of ore. Heinze appreciated the fact that it would be necessary to build a smelter close to the mines. When Breen went down to Trail Creek the day after I left, for the purpose of buying the only available smelter site in all that country for that particular camp, he found that Topping had sold the site to me. Hence my wire from Heinze. “Heinze duly arrived in Spokane a few days later, and his first question was : “Humphreys, what are you going to do with that town site?’ I replied: ‘ The Province of British Columbia will issue a handsome subsidy of three thousand five hundred dollars in cash per mile and twelve thousand acres of selected timber land to anyone who will construct a railroad. I expect to get some of my friends to help me build that road, and I'll take as my profit a half-interest in the town site, as well as an interest in the rvilz oad." “«Give me an interest ia the town site and I will build the smelter and the rail- road,’ said Heinze. “So we entered into a deal whereby Heinze took a third and myself and Topping a third each. Within four months we had four hundred men working on the smelter and railroad, and town lots were selling at from two hundred dollars to six hundred dollars each.” Colonel Humphreys is an enthusiast over oil. Thirty-five years in the game has only increased his zest. He exudes an optimism that is contagious. The money part of it has never appealed to him so much as the game itself. The Colonel is not opposed to a little THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. drama, a little sentiment, and a little fun along with his work. For instance, when one of his last wells ‘came in” on Armistice Day: ‘ We were all out in the field and the well was about ready to shoot,” said the Colonel. ‘‘ When it approached twelve o'clock we knocked off to have a little service, as best we could, for the gallant boys who died ‘ over there.’ Everyone laid down his tools, and some- one said alittle prayer. It wassuggested that we should siag a hymn, and we sang one all of us knew: ‘ Let the blessed sunshine in.’ We sang the hymn through, and just as we reached the last words of the last chorus that old well came in with a rush and a roar that was an Armistice Day celebration in itself. Not a barrelless than five thousand a day! “Take my word for it, as an oil man who has been following the trail for thirty-five years in every field in the country, oil is going to be top dog within the next few years. The man who has got a paying well doesn’t need to worry much. Mexico is petering out and its oil-fields are running to salt water. Our consumption of oil is now greater than our production; you will soon see the reserve stocks in storage slowly coming down as they are drawn upon. ‘We plan to take fifty million barrels of oil out of the Mexia field during the next cighteen months, and for every barrel that is sold, three barrels will go into storage to await the demand that is bound to come when the people of this country realize that our national supplies are fast dwindling, and that a barrel of oil in the tank is worth more than the present market price. “ That discovery well cost me a hundred and twenty-five, thousand dollars before it turned up even a quart of oil. It takes a lot of capital, together with patience, persever- ance, and other things, before you strike paying oil.” There was a touch of humour to the “ bringing in ”’ of the discovery well, known as ‘‘ Rodgers No. 1,"’ but some of those who lost on the deal might prefer to call it a touch of pathos. When the well got down to three thousand feet, there was every indica- tion to those concerned that a good tlow of oil would bz reached. Then Humphreys stopped drillint, and he and his associates quietly leased all the land round about that they could get. The property owners were ready enough to lease their lands, but they rather pitied Humphreys. “« Providence will have to take care of Humphreys, for we can’t,” they said, laughingly. Then, when all the available land had been secured on favourable terms, and rival drillers had become discouraged and left the field, the well was ‘‘ brought in” strictly according to schedule !

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b ITH his ; funds very low, Dave Madison had arrived in San Francisco. Behind him were years of hard work and poor Ttewards. Now, at the edge of the Pacific, he mused on the possi- bility of realizing the e competence he so ardently longed for. ABRAHAM HERS CHIN ILLUSTRATED BY #7. MBROCK. R.1. seeing that Dutch Harbor was visited by late northbound ship- ping, seeking fuel or water, the outlook did not appear at all un- promising for the last lap to his destination. So Madison shipped out, as did many others. Among them was a little Cockney, of whom Madison made a chum. For this he had ~ The ship made an “‘hoboed ” his way unusual story from far-away Alaska. uneventful though across the continent. “It is a faithful account of the experi- pleasant run up_the Alaska was his objec- tive -— Alaska, with the mad rush of ‘98 Not so far in the past. Nome was the town Pacific. Unimak Pass was negotiated, and, shortly after entering he wanted to get to. Direct travel between San Francisco and Nome, however, was impossible, since no ship lay in harbour to take him there. It was July, hence regular traffic was at an end; and what casual departures might impend was a matter beyond Madison’s Imowledge. o Presently a gleam of hope came into his eyes, for in front of an employment agency he beheld a large banner. It announced a free shipment to Dutch Harbor, Alaska. Five dollars a day and board were offered and, as a further inducement, the job was proclaimed to be one of long duration. The nature of the work, inquiry revealed, was the shovelling of coal, and engagement was 1 be secured by the payment of a moderate lee. “Well,” reflected Madison, “‘here’s a start, at least. Why not ship up and earn a little money and be that much nearer Nome, as well as having something in my pocket when I get there?’’ Moreover, his integrity.” Bering Sea, anchor was dropped at Dutch Harbor. Of the work for which they had come so far, nothing much need be said. It consisted of unloading colliers. For Madison and several of his companions it lasted just one month. Not that they could not have re- mained longer had they chosen; but they simply did not choose. They unanimously reached the conclusion that while no man need be ashamed of handling coal for a living, the business is one to be carefully ayol led by all save those born with a talent for it. Thereafter they idled about the harbour, waiting for Nome-bound craft—waited until Madison and his four companions were down to about fifteen dollars apiece. By that time it was mid-October. The Arctic winter was uncomfortably close, and the men from a milder clime felt it keenly. Not a ship had come in, neither north- bound nor south. True enough, the colliers had come often, were discharged, and put

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438 back to sea—but not toward Madison’s foal, S Very soon all hope of getting to Nome was abandoned. “It’s just another pretty pipe-dream busted,” said Madison to his fellows. ‘‘ We might as well beat it home, boys—that is, if anything ever does show up,” he qualified gloomily. To this the others agreed. So, when a steamer finally put in, the party of six hastened down to the dock, but they failed to stow themselves away. Not for them a berth in the bilges—a vigilant skipper guarded his ship too well. Two days later another vessel pulled in; evidently the movement south had begun. This ship was a big steamer, by name Adrian Gage. Seattle-bound she was, and in addition to her crew she carried a large passenger list, among whom was a party of Indians retuming from Nome to Unga Island. Again the men attempted a get-away. That is to say, Madison and the Cockney did. As for the rest—well, they backed out. This was due to the assurance given by one of their number—an ex-sailor—that he ‘did not like the looks ’’ of the Adrian Gage. “* Better wait, Dave,” urged this authority. ‘There's sure to be another pretty soon. They're coming south fast now.” But Madison and the Cockney were not to be dissuaded. They had had their fill of the north and were determined to leave. “Yuss,” declared the Cockney, “‘it’s ’ome for us. And we'll go in a bloomin’ row-boat if we must!” Thus it came about that in the dark of the night, the exercise of some clever strategy won for the two men a place in the chain- locker of the Adrian Gage. About midnight the ship steamed out of Dutch Harbor. Bad weather prevailed, and the men in the chain-locker remained there for twelve long hours. Certainly they felt far from well, what with the close confinement and the smells around them. Yet, knowing they were safely headed for Seattle, they deemed themselves equal toa meal. They therefore emerged from their con- cealment and took up places in the steerage mess. There the mate discovered them. Brought before the captain, they were allowed to explain themselves, and in retum were favoured with some very instructive obser- vations on the way of the transgressor. ‘Then they were put to work. Indeed they worked! They scrubbed decks, they peeled spuds, they coiled rope, and then they scrubbed decks again. Withal, they gloated. Why not ? Wasn’t Seattle a cinch ? Well, then, what mattered a few blisters, or raw skin? They were eating, weren’t they? And going home. Could they but have read the skipper’s Taind | THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The rough weather continued ; the storm became a hurricane. The Gage made very bad going of it; and on the second day out every soul aboard—crew and _ passengers alike—were fed from the ice-box. This was because the unhappy vessel heeled over so far as to cause the hot food to jump the guards and go plunging into a hopeless mess with the ashes on the galley oor. On the third day the weather moderated. Out of the Bering they had rolled into the Pacific, and ahi lay Unga Island. No docking facilities existed on the island; therefore the party of returning Indians were sent ashore in small boats. Then, under the able direction of the skipper, Madison and the Cockney took the centre of the stage. First of all a Boat was lowered. Into it dropped four oarsmen. Then came Madison and his friend. Last came the mate—with a shot-gun. “ Ditched ! ” growled the Cockney. “You said it!” replied the mate. As for Madison, he said nothing. What was the use? But the Cockney objected. He objected vigorously, and at length. The oarsmen rowed on implacably, and still the Cockney objected. ie mate eyed him steadily and began to finger his gun— and the objector subsided. All this occurred about mid-morning, so that when the two men were at last set free on the rocks, in spite of the day being cloudy . and drizzly, it still appeared feasible to undertake a little exploration. For the present, however, they simply stood there mute and morose, watching the boat pull away to what seemed to be another world. The boat hadn’t gone far, however, when all of a sudden the Cockney resumed his lurid appreciation of sailors, ships, and Arctic places in general. . Shaking his bony little fist at the grinning oarsmen, he shouted his sentiments, desist- ing only when the want of breath compelled him to do so. Through it all Madison had offered little comment. Though by no means lacking in self-assertiveness, he realized the futility of verbal resentment. With him it was merely a case of the fortunes of war—and the war had gone against him. Consequently he reacted to the predicament in a more prac- tical manner than his emotional friend. And probably it was from Madison’s calmer bearing that the Cockney got the idea that things were not so desperate after all, for he had fully recovered from his anger when he turned to Madison and said :— ‘* Blyme, Dyvie, ‘ere’s a go! Wot’s to be done ? Go ’ungry and freeze, or wot ?” “Oh, I guess not,’”” answered Madison, with a confidence that was not altogether Teal. “‘ The first thing we'll do, though, is to start right in and look up a shelter. , if

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we have time, we'll ramble around and see what this fairyland looks like.” “ All right, old chap; just as you say,” agreed the Cockney, almost cheerfully. Now Unga Island, though not always to be located save on a large map, is one of the smaller units of the gr2at Aleutian group, and lies off south-western Alaska. It numbers a few inhabitants, whites and Indian, and pos- sesses a Government school for the clildren of both races. There is also a small gold mine and the trapping industry, but Unga can boast of nothing to attract the seeker after natural wonders and beauty-spots. Rocky, isolated, and dreary, itis a decidedly uninviting place on which to find one’s self marooned. No wonder, then, that depression seen seized evem the adaptable Madison. But it did net last long. Relief was near at hand ; and it came from an unexpected source. “Hullo, boys!’ hailed a voice to the tear. They turned in astonishment. Peering closely through the mist, they made out a little cabin at the foot of a hill a few hundred yards from where they stood. In the door- way of the cabin stood a bearded old man. lighted to find human companionship so near, Madison and the Cockney responded to the greeting and broke into a run for the cabin. Without any further remarks than to ‘nvite the strangers in, the old man bustled i.bout and soon put before them a fine hot meal. While the two men ate, they told ium their story. The meal finished, the men cleared the table, washed the dishes, and put them . away. “Shaking his bony little fist at the grinning oarsmen, he shouted his sentiments.” Then the old man, having lit his pipe, put a proposition before them. He began by saying that he was a hunter and trapper by trade. All his life he had travelled; and now, in his declining years, he had _per- manently taken up residence on Unga Island. Far from being a recluse, he said, he enjoyed human companienship; but inasmuch as the white population was too scattered for frequent visits, he thought he would like to have men of his own colour near him— men like Madison and his chum, for instance. “So, boys,” said the old man, in con- clusion, ‘‘ here’s an offer. Suppose you stop here with me. If you do, I guarantee to keep the table supplied with fresh meat in exchange for your company and your share of the housework. You're free, of course, to refuse, but in that case you'll find Unga Island a harsh place for a tenderfoot to hibernate on. What do you say?” They accepted—and gratefully. For some time the naevelty of it all appealed to them strongly ; then, little by little, life settled down into a groove. Short excursions were taken in the cold outdoors after fresh meat, and then a hasty return was made to the cabin. Once or twice Madison and his chum went with the old man on his rounds of the trap-line, or drepped in on their nearest white neighbour. Such efforts, however. were a trial to both men, owing to their inexperience with snowshoes. As to their vanished dreams of wealth, the Cockney was quite incensolable. Instead of forgetting it, as the days went by, he

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440 brooded more and more, so that at length he could hardly keep his mind off the subject. Often he would sit up long after the others had retired, brooding with much muttering over the rottenness of things in general, breathing maledictions on those he held responsible for his plight. Madison, more philosophical, permitted himself no such indulgence. On the very few occasions when his reflections inclined that way he merely shrugged his shoulders, and, with a cynical smilg, dismissed the whole affair from his thoughts. Accustomed as he was to the world’s rough edges, this latest development was no unendurable hardship. In this way the weeks went by. Heavy snows piled up and the days grew shorter and shorter. The three men stayed by them- selves now, for the social and intellectual resources of Unga Island were difficult of negotiation in foul weather. Not much conversation was attempted. All topics were exhausted; past experiences and future prospects alike were worn ragged by almost endless repetition. Of reading there was little, and card-playing became a bore. So the Cockney brooded and muttered, Madison ruminated, and the old trapper sat silent and smoked his pipe. Theirs was a stark, savage world of snow and ice and gnawing cold. And many a time even that was blotted out in a howling blizzard. At such times the little cabin would tremble and groan and appear to be near collapsing. But the builder had wrought well, and they always came through safely. For five solid, weary weeks the men remained there. Then came a wonderful day. x ship had braved the storm, and had anchored off Unga Island! She was a collier, and her presence was accounted for by a cargo of winter coal for the inhabitants of Unga. Madison and the Cockney took part in the work of discharging her, and when they had finished they were offered a passage back to Seattle on condition that they worked their way. Madison accepted before the offer was cold, but the Cockney refused! This same Cockney of the black moods and dolorous THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. lamentations, the man who had once talked of putting to sea in an open boat! Madison was speechless with astonish- ment. Finally he asked for an explanation. The Cockney obliged. He began by saying he was going to become a trapper—not this season, but the next. Watching the old man, there had lately been excited in him a desire to pursue the same calling. It wasn’t a ‘bad move, either, because Unga Island boasted of many fur-bearing animals. At any rate, he .proposed to engage himself at the mine when it re-opened in the spring, and by this means earn a “ stake ” for the following winter. In this fashion the odd partnership termi- nated, and that is why Dave Madison went out to Seattle alone, and alone shambled down the gang-plank some days later. Bitterly, cynically, he contemplated the future. Gone was the dream of Id t Gone, too, the chance of work—for Rings stand still in the cold, wet Decembers of Puget Sound. Aimlessly he crossed the water-front. A short walk took him among the employment agencies, but their boards were bare. He swung acorner and ran into a tall man. He stared at Madison as if paralyzed, slack- jawed, and white-faced. The man was Danny O’Doul, one of the men who had refused to ship on board the Adrian Gage. He spluttered, trying hard to speak, and at last he managed to stammer out :— “Glory be, Davie! Ye—ye ain't a ghost, are ye?” “No,” replied Madison, dryly; “ but I shall be, if I don’t eat pretty soon.” ‘No jokes, Davie dear! "’ said the other. “Tell me—how ever did ye escape?” “ Escape ?”’ said Madison. ‘‘ There was no escape. They ditched us at Unga Island.” “Well, all I can say is ye're the luckiest man alive! Listen, my bo After leaving Unga Island the ‘ Adrian Gage’ went down at sea with all hands! Not a stick of her was left, saving a bit of one of the lifeboats bearing her name. Ye lucky divil!” He put an arm across Madison’s shoulder. “Come with me, Davie,” he ordered. “ The newspapers will be wanting your yarn.” Dave Madison did not reply, but gazed thoughtfully into space.

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“THE PILOT AND MACHINE-GUNNER SCRAMBLED OUT AND CAME TOWARDS ME.” (SEE PAGE 445.)

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DBDBDBREEEIS Here is one of the most re- markable personal narratives we have ever published. Seeking a job after the War, in which he served as an officer in the Royal Naval Reserve, the Author literally tumbled out of one adventure into another, never knowing what was going to turn up next. At the present moment, still hoping for the best, he lies in a French prison, laid by the heels at last after a series of daring escapades. The manher in which the manuscript reached us— smuggled out of the jail in small sections under T the outbreak of the Great War in 1914 1 was chief engineer on a mercantile marine steamer, of some three thousand tons. I offered my services to the Royal Naval Air Service, and was granted a lieutenant’s commission, very soon passing for my pilot’s certificate. However, my stay with that unit was destined to be short, for owing to the fact that I was a certificated officer of the mercantile marine, I very soon found myself back at sea with the R.N.R., and was sent out to the Dardanelles, where I saw quite 4 lot of service. I remained there until the forces were recalled, afterwards serving in pretty nearly all the theatres of war, so far as the Navy and mercantile marine were concerned, right up to the Armistice. Then came demobilization—and with it my real adven- tures, A few weeks after my return to civil life I managed to get a billet on a ship in the Prince Line, the War Jackdaw. I received a telegram to report to her captain at Cardiff, and in due course was signed on as third engineer. Vol. 1.—3!. Fortune “ 4 | ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD ELCOCK ~ and made several trips. Jf the very noses of the authorities — constitutes a story in itself if we were at liberty to relate it, but its disclosure, or the revela- tion of the Author’s identity, might subject him to the risk of severe punishment. All we can say is that he has furnished us with official certificates and other documents which appear to establish the authenticity of his statements. This striking narrative will prove once again to stay-at-home readers that adventure in plenty is still to be found in this workaday world of ours. We made a few trips to the States and France, in the ordinary way of ocean tramps, and then I had a stroke of bad luck. While working on the main engines in port at Philadelphia, my greaser on the upper latform let fall a large wooden wedge which hit me on the side of the head, causing me for a time a great deal of trouble. However, a few days saw me fit for duty again. We sailed for La Rochelle, France, and met with some very dirty weather and lots of trouble in the engine-room. Two days before we arrived in port, I had another accident, falling down and seriously damaging my knee. I was put into hospital; my ship sailed without me, and I returned overland to England, a sick man out of a job. Shipping was then at a very low ebb; owners were selling their vessels to foreigners, and there were thousands of British seamen un- employed. I got “fed up” hunting for ships, so I returned to the bench ina fitting-shop for a time, and saved a little money to take me up to London. Here I managed at last to get a good berth with a well-known line of steamers After a short time

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444 with this company, I was promoted chief engineer of a smaller ship and granted a hohday. To cut a long story short, 1 fell in with some old messmates, got on the drink, missed my ship, and lost my job. This happened on June 7th, 1920, and from that date onwards adventure came to me literally by the bucketful. 1 never seemed to know from day to day what was going to happen next. The end of June found me in London, tapidly coming to the end of my money. I did not care to ask for a loan from my people ; I had always managed to pull through some- how in the past, and J still believed that something would turn up to set me right. Something did turn up, in the shape of an old friend, an engineer-lieutenant, R.N.R., a former shipmate of mine in more than one company before the War. ‘Old John,” as we used to call him, came into the club about 6.45 p.m. one evening, wearing his merchant service uniform. He bawled out my name and commanded me to come into the smoke-room, as he had some- thing important to tell me about a job. J followed him into the smoke-room, where he called for a whisky for himself and a bottle of Bass for me. Then, turning round, he said: ‘ Look here, E , you are a fellow who has served an apprenticeship in turbine engineering. I can put you wise to a good job—to take a ship out to Siam for the Siamese Navy. I am going to dine to-night with an officer who has come over from Siam to go through an engineering course at Newcastle. He speaks good English and would like to meet you. I have been with him the best part of to-day and have had a jolly good time.” ‘So it seems,” I replied. In accordance with his request I donned the standard uniform of the mercantile marine and went off with ‘Old John” to meet the fellow who I hoped was going to give me a job. We duly dined with the officer from Siam, who seemed to be a fine fellow. He made an appointment to mect me the next morning at a house in Maida Vale belonging to a well- known captain of the R.N.R. In due course, the foilowing day, I was introduced to the British captain, who informed me that he was in charge of the affairs of a large and up-to-date destroyer that was being sold to Siam by our Govern- ment. He glanced through my papers, told me that I was the man he was looking for, and I there and then signed a contract between the Prince of Siam and myself. I was to take the position of chief engineer and work the ship from Southampton to Bangkok, Siam. T then proceeded to Southampton to Sir John Thornycroft’s yard to “stand by” the destroyer, which proved to be H.M.S. Radiant, one of the “ R”’ class thousand- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ton vessels, well fitted and armed, which had done forty-five knots on her trials. We sailed for Siam from Southampton Water on July 22nd, 1920, calling at Lisbon, Gibraltar, Malta, Port Said, Aden, Bombay, ete., en reule. On arriving at Bangkok we duly handed over the ship and paid off the ex-naval men who had signed on to bring her out. When I landed in Siam I made the mistake of my hfe. I could have remained in the service of the Siamese Government; but I had married a few days before we sailed, and was anxious to return to my wife. When we were paid off, I took passage to Bombay, where I remained for a few weeks. My former partner and shipmate, “Old John,” was with me. Bombay suited him, and he made up his mind to remain in India and get a job as chief engineer in a coastal company there. 1 therefore said good-bye to him and took a passage home, arriving in Glasgow in November, 1920. I remained there a few days, visiting friends and relations, and then moved on towards the Tyne to look for a ship. But things were still very slow, and there was ‘' nothing doing.” From South Shields I went to Southamp- ton and took a trip over to France. But matters were even worse there; so I pro- ceeded to La Linia, in the south of Spain. At this time Spain was having trouble with the Riffians in Morocco, and as this might mean transport work I crossed over to Gibraltar and spent a few days there looking for a ship, but no opening presented itself. My money was now getting low, and I knew that unless something turned up very soon I should be at the end of my resources. One afternoon I saw some fine, strapping fellows wearing smart Spanish uniforms. They were over in Gibraltar for the day from Spanish territory, and were apparently Britishers. I asked them who they were, and they told me they were sergeants of the Spanish Foreign Legion, and that some of them had joined in London. I quickly made friends with one of the soldiers, a Nova Scotian. We had several drinks together, and he told me something of his affairs. 1 reciprocated, and then we discovered that we were brother Masons, and the fact cemented a friendship that was destined to endure through many hardships and strange adventures. That night I returned with my new friend to his quarters in Spain, and the following morning found me a recruit in the ranks of the Spanish Foreign Legion. For twenty-two days I was a common soldier. I was then ordered to appear before the General. He spoke English well, and talked with me for a long time about the Great War, inquiring about my knowledge of aeroplanes and flving work generally. Then, to my surprise, he told me I was not to return to my quarters

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again, as he had been pleased to grant me a commission as lieutenant in the Spanish Air Force ! Behold me, therefore, a full-fledged officer under the Spanish flag. I was quartered in a good hotel, and sent to the best tailor to be fitted out with uniform. I began to think I had fallen on my fect at last. For a few weeks after my enlistment I had a very enjoyable time, as my sergeant friend and I could meet each other frequently over the way in ‘“‘ Gib.” and spend a few hours together. The Spanish garrison town of La Linia, I should explain, is only twenty minutes’ walk from Gibraltar over the neutral ground. I think the sergeant was rather upset when I left him to take up the com- mission, but he told me that he had expected it. He had known of other ex-British and French officers who had joined the Legion, and as soon as their service had become known at the Spanish-War Office they had been raised to the rank of lieutenants and sent across to Morocco to get to business. As transports for the infantry and mounted troops were now in the harbour, I had a feeling that we should start in the course of the next few days. We of the Air Service did not need to trouble about transports, as we could fly over there. It was only a few miles; in fact, one could see the opposite shore from Gibraltar. One night my sergeant friend and I agreed to meet at the Bristol Hotel in Gibraltar to have a sort of farewell dinner and a game of whist with a few English friends. We had just settled down nicely when a well-known local gentleman, Mr. Charles Adams, approached us and informed me that the police were looking for me. The police looking for me! What had I done? Mr. Adams told me that he had been instructed by the chief of police, if he came across me, to tell me to ’phone up my head- quarters, as I was wanted there. I duly ‘phoned as instructed, and was told to return not later than 10.30 p.m., as we had orders to leave Spain the following morning. I returned to my unit about 9.45 p.m., set the mechanics at work to tune up, and at 6.30 a.m. the following morning took my biplane into the air and set a course for the base of operations, M , in Spanish Morocco. A few days later I saw my Canadian friend march in with his regiment. We were now in the war zone, and as far as we could learn things had not been going too well; our infantry had lost a number of men and had had some severe reverses. The Spaniard, in my humble opinion, is not a good soldier; he cannot “ stick it’ like the Britisher and the Frenchman. The result was that the /égionnatves—mainly British and French—had all the hard fighting to do, and we speedily got “fed up,’ especially as Spain did not keep her word to A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 445 us. We had difficulty in getting our pay and any new clothes required; the food was bad ; and we could see that the whole army was going to rack and ruin. One day, when things were slack, I made a flight over to Spain on some excuse or other and spent two hours in Gibraltar on the quiet. Here I got some food and a few bottles of red wine, so that the sergeant and I might have a decent feed that night. The: : next day I was due to take my turn at bombing the Riffians, and I wanted to have a happy evening, for I knew [ might not: - come back on the morrow. My bombing excursion passed off without 3 accident, and two davs later the sergeant: returned to the line for his spell of duty. Duty in the trenches and military earth- . works out in the desert under an African . sun, with a highly-trained enemy in front: . of you, is no joke, for the Riffian is a good fighter and fears nobody. They took a very heavy toll from the Spanish troops, and as enemies I learned to respect them. My next experience was a combat in aids air with one of the Riff ’planes. It may. surprise you to learn that they possessed such things, but they did, the being handled, in every case, by soldiers of fortune of various European nationalities. Both of us got away far behind the lines, and owing to the damage we had inflicted upon one another had to make a forced landing. We alighted quite close to each other, and 1 certainly thought my number was up. When the Riff ’plane landed, the pilot and machine-gunner scrambled out and came towards me. My machine was out of action, I was down behind the enemy's lines, and, to save my skin, ] put up my hands in token of surrender. To my amazement, the Riff airman and his machine-gunner were both Englishmen! We exchanged greetings and had a yarn. We decided that it was a thoroughly rotten war, and that we needn't make it more uncomfortable for one another than necessary. Anyway, they didn’t want it on their consciences that they had handed me over to the tender mercies of the Riffs, so they assisted me to get my machine in order. I, in return, gave them what English cigarettes I had, shook hands with them, and rose into the air to return to my lines, promising the Riff airman to drop a few tins of Capstan cigarettes in a few days’ time at a certain spot over his lines. You may laugh at this extraordinary incident, but it is absolutely true, and the people concerned are alive and well to-day, and can verify my statements. The following morning I went up again and flew over the Riff lines for fully half an hour, then turned and made for the country behind their lines. It was not long before an enemy ’plane came after me. They fired a few shots at me, which went wide of the mark, and then made for a landing. I soon machines: -

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446 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. discovered it was my two English friends in the Riff service, so I also made a landing and met them again. 1 gave them some cigarettes and a few English papers and took some telegrams to send off for them on the quiet, as they meant to terminate their job with the Riffs and go back to their old ever, luck was with me, and I succeeded in getting my machine home safely, putting her into the repair shop. I was then given a splendid new machine fitted with a Liberty engine. Now for it! I looked for that German for many days. In due time I encountered him, and after a good twenty minutes’ manceuvr- ing and potting at one another, I got him, and he came down behind the Spanish lines ; his tank had been hit and his propeller badly split. Owing to his propeller being “We had just settled down nicely when a well-known iocal gentleman approached us and informed me that the police were looking for me.” work in West Africa. later on. Shortly after this encounter I had a stiff fight with a Riff two-seater. I found out afterwards that the pilot was a German, and he certainly gave me a pretty rough time of it. He put my Lewis gun out of action, and nearly settled me into the bargain. How- I heard from them broken, he took the ground with a bump, putting the finishing touches to the damage. I had a long chat with him afterwards ; he gave his parole, and we often had a quiet chat over a bottle of wine. Some time later, as my friend the sergeant was very discontented with life in the infantry, I managed to secure his transfer

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to the Air Service. He was a fairly good mechanic and a first-class machine-gunner, and I was extremely pleased to have him with me. After a good deal of trouble I secured a double-seater ’plane, and took the sergeant with me as machine-gunner. We had a good many “scraps” in mid-air, and my friend was wounded twice in the shoulder, but not Senicuslys: By this time both of us were utterly sick of the Spanish army. We tried hard to obtain leave, but the authorities would not grant leave to Spain. Things looked pretty bad. How were we to get away from this hateful life and this miserable, never- ending war ? We thought out all sorts of lans, but dismissed them as_ useless. esertion meant death, and we knew that the Spaniards would have no hesitation in carrying out the sentence. At last things became utterly unbearable ; get away we must, cost what it might. For the dozenth time we got out our maps and studied the frontiers closely. ‘A twenty- A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 447 minutes’ flight, we calculated, would bring us to a place within ten kilometres of a town and railway station in French territory. We talked it over and decided that we woul make a landing in Algeria and chance what happened afterwards. We waited for our turn of duty; then we flew across the frontier and landed. In order to prove that I had been forced to come down I broke my magneto, but nevertheless I think the French smelt a rat. However, they took possession of the ‘plane, marched us off, and interned us for several days, when we were released. We then joined their Foreign Legion—the famous Légion Kirangére—and were given two thousand francs for doing so. We signed on on May 24th, 1921, and from then until October, 1921, we experienced numerous exciting adventures, ‘The Spaniards, of course, were now a lieutenant and a sergeant short, to say nothing of a fine two-seater biplane, which they might some day get back— or might not. I doubt . very much whether the captain in charge of the frontier control-post reported our arrival to the Spaniards, and they probably wrote us off as casualties. I thought I had had some pretty eventful times in the Spanish Foreign Legion, but soon found that my experiences there were a mere rest-cure. All I had seen of the French Foreign Legion so far was the frontier company, but a few days after joining we were sent to the first regiment at the dépét of Sidi-bel-Abbes. After two days in the train we arrived at Sidi-bel-Abbes, which, from the railway station, seemed to be a nice, clean little town, On the platform we met a few more recruits. An officer with a strong German accent commanded us to “Fall in!” and we marched out of the station. Outside, six soldiers with fixed bayonets were waiting to escort us to the barracks, which we reached about seven o’clock in the evening. Two sentries were posted on either side of the large iron entrance gate, which the corporal of the guard opened to admit us. It was still light enough to reveal the

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448 handsome building beyond, with its large parade-ground bordered with orange trees, and a huge clock over the main arch. An officer came out to inspect us, and at once noticed that the sergeant and I were still wearing parts of our Spanish uniforms. After questioning us, he sent us to the recruits’ quarters, where we enjoved a hot dinner and a bottle of good Algerian wine, which we were able to buy for a franc. After dinner we were introduced by our new companions to the regimental canteen. There seemed to be no raw recruits: all the men we saw ranged from twenty-five to fifty, with big moustaches and even full beards. As for decorations, the /égionnaires wore the medal-ribbons of every nation. My sergeant friend soon made himself at home, for he spoke excellent French, of which language I also had a fair knowledge. Early next morning we were roused by the music of bugles and drums, and after washing ourselves and making our beds we indulged in some good strong coffee. We were then taken to the orderly-room, asked a tew questions, and given our regimental numbers aid military books—little volumes which are often in demand. Then came a brief examination by the doctor, followed by a smoke, a bath, and the donning of new military clothing, including a blue overall suit made in America. Two o’clock found us on parade with the other recruits. Drill and dinner followed, and then freedom until bedtime. The next morning we were given our uniforms, equipment, and arms—all of the very best. At the pay office we received the first instalment of our bounty, one thousand francs, which led many légionnaires to wish to be friendly with us. The sergeant and I, however, kept to ourselves, and for a full week spent our spare time in viewing the sights of Sidi-bel-Abbes. The outskirts of the town were dreary and uninteresting. Desert lay north, south, east, and west ; and at every turnpike stood a guard who warned you that if you attempted to pass him he would be compelled to shoot you, which he . did not wish to do, as it would mean the trouble of cleaning his rifle. After serving as recruits for fifteen days, having had previous army experience, we were made first-class soldiers and transferred to the first regiment, qnartered in another part of the barracks. We were now full- fledged légionnair Three weeks later found us on the list for a draft that was to proceed to a lonely desert outpost. We drew our helmets and khaki cotton uniforms, and with an officer, four N.C.O.'s, and a small detachment of twenty- four men marched off to the station for a month's tour of duty in the desert, After a day and a night in the train we arrived at the rail-head, and then tramped for fifty-two hours into the desert. 1 thought THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. - we were never going to get to our post, but at last a fertile spot loomed up in the distance. This was our destination—a lialting-place for traders and caravans from all parts of the desert, even from far-away Timbuctoo, Our duty was to act as a kind of police, having sometimes to escort these caravans for a day or two until we could get in touch with the next patrol. Our quarters were mud huts, well made and very com- fortable, but infested with insect pests. There were also thousands of. snails, which some of the /egionnaires seemed to enjoy as food. I summoned up courage to try some, and found them very palatable. Part of my duty when on patrol was to guard the water-hole and the camel-house. A string of forty camels kept me pretty busy long after the sun was down, for water- ing a camel is a lengthy process, the brute having an insatiable thirst and an alarming capacity. On one occasion, hearing a great noise in the camel-house, I went to ascertain the cause. It seemed that the drivers were kneeling at prayer when a newcomer, in entering, trod upon one man’s hand. The result was a free fight between them. I threatened to shoot, and lowered my rifle, but someone tripped me up and I fell to the ground. I managed to hold on to miy rifle, and speedily regained my feet, but I was too late ; they had cut the offender’s throat. I fired two rounds to alarm the guard, and we got the unfortunate Arab away as soon as possible, but found that he was dead. Some of the fighters were arrested and brought before the Sheikh and the French officer, but they decided that as the Arab was the first to draw his knife the others had only acted in self-defence. When our spell of duty terminated we marched back to the rail-head, which we reached without any eventful happenings, and returned to our headquarters. We were now free for a week, so my sergeant friend and I decided to take a trip to Oran. There were some British ships in the harbour, and when we saw the good old Red Ensign flying from their sterns we felt a little homesick. But there was no chance of escape, for the légionnaires are closely watched, and there is a standing reward of a hundred francs for anyone who catches a deserter from the Legion, or any of the other French North African regiments, This is a large sum to an Arab, and it is a well-known fact that only one in a hundred of the poor wretches who desert ever get away. We were strongly advised by the Consul at Oran, whom we called upon, not to attempt to escape. We therefore went back to our regiment, though we longed to be free. Four days after our return I had a few words with a corporal, and was put in the guard-room for answering him back. Brought before the C.O., 1 was found “ guilty ’’ and

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A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. 449 Ae ee 2 ee “ Someone tripped me up and I fell to the ground.”

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450 sentenced to eight days’ imprisonment. Now eight days in the “ mill’? at Sidi-bel- Abbes is like eight years elsewhere. You are placed in a stone cell, with a stone bed and a stone pillow all in one; you are allowed one meal a day and two pints of water. You emerge from your cell at 7, a.m., in full marching order, but instead of your kit heavy stones are placed in your knapsack and haversack. You then start off on an all-day march, with only a hard biscuit and a little water by way of sustenance. When you return at night you have your meal and go to sleep on your stone slab, wrapped up in a blanket. Without doubt the French /¢gionnatre is the toughest soldier in the world. Three- halfpence a day, bad food, and the hardest possible conditions of service make up his lot. Yet there are many men who put up with it for fifteen years in order to win a life- pension. The Légion Etrangéve is surely the most romantic corps on earth. In it vou find ex-criminals from the slums of Montmartre giving orders to the ex-captain who has fled from Russia to save his life, the Italian who has been mixed up in some political intrigue, the German deserter, and now and again the American adventurer. The Englishman, however, is a rare bird. The first regiment of the Legion is well over a thousand strong, but the sergeant and I were the only Bnitishers in its ranks. The second regiment, stationed in another part of Algeria, con- tained, I believe, four Englishmen; and there was another man elsewhere, making seven in all in the four regiments. On my release from prison, the sergeant and I were once more told off for duty, being instructed to stand by in active service order until midnight. Midnight found us formed up in the square —twelve men, one senior N.C.O., and one lieutenant. We were marched off at 12.45 a.m., and made our way to the civil prison. Entering, we remained in the guard- room until 3.30 a.m., when we fell in again. An Arab military prisoner was brought in and handed over to our officer. We then marched to the drill ground, some half mile away. The first signs of sunrise were just appearing. When we halted the voung Arab soldicr was fastened to a post and a bandage was tied over his eves. We were placed twelve paces from him, ordered to load, aim, and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fire. In this fashion the Arab paid the penalty for a military crime that civil law would punish with a few months in prison. As soon as we had fired and the prisoner had fallen to the ground, the officer in charge drew his automatic pistol, walked over the body, and fired a bullet into it. Scenes such as this, I discovered, were very common, but the thought of it still makes me shudder. War I can understand, but it went sorely against the grain to be used as a public slaughterer, and I decided, once for all, that I was going to leave the Legion. My friend the sergeant entirely agreed with me, and we determined at the first oppor- tunity to make for a seaport whence, if lucky, we could reach England, home and beauty. We had still a few hundred francs between us, and we began to look about for an Arab we could bribe to obtain for us two suits of civilian clothes, and then get us tickets to Oran. On the Sunday, after a very hard week’s duty, we rested and wandered about the town. Meeting a Greek, I entered into conversation with him, which led to argu- ment and finally to blows. Two military gendarmes came up, and I told them my version of the story. One of them looked at the British ribbons on my tunic; then he shook my hand and, in good English, asked me to come and have a drink. He had, he told us, been attached to the British army during the War. We quickly became friends, and before many hours had passed he had obtained civilian clothes for us, purchased our tickets, and set us on our way to Oran to catch the midnight mail train. Here was a Gilbertian situation, if you like—two deserters put on the road of freedom by one of the very men whose duty it was to keep us in bounds ! Naturally we did not return to the barracks, but got a thirty-five-mile ride down the line in a motor hired from the Arab hotel-keeper. The military policeman came with us, and remained in our company until the train arrived, thus protecting us from any inconvenient inquiries. We entered a first-class carriage, which also assisted to divert suspicion, and were treated with much civility by the ticket collector. <A few hours later saw us in Oran, where we “hoped to turn our backs once for all on Algeria, and bid farewell to the hateful life in the Foreign Legion. (To be continued.)

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Scutari, looking towards the mountains that form the gateway of Albania. Very few people know just where Albania is; still fewer A WOMAN UNKNOWN ALBANIA o> IN In these fascinating articles Mrs. Lane describes her adventures among the remote northern mountains —a pic- turesque country where the tribal blood-feud still flourishes and where the rare Western visitor finds himself back in the Middle Ages. Illustrated by R. CATON WOODVILLE. ae IVE weeks in Serbia and only five days in Albania!’ said Betsy Cleveland passionately. ‘‘ Oh, it’s not fair! It's wicked! You don’t know the Albanians. Nobody knows the Albanians. Nobody cares about the Al- banians |" She flung the words like a bombshell into the twilit stillness of the garden. “ Betsy!" said Alex in astonishment, opening her blue eyes wide. “TI don’t care!’ said Betsy, knocking the ashes from her cigarette with such violence that she put it out. “ It is a crime! Nobod: anywhere understands my wonderful "AL banians |” I had been four hours in Scutari, that city of wandering, narrow streets, cream-plaster walls, and leafy gardens. A ragged gipsy boy with four words of English had hailed me at the boat-landing and taken me straight to ‘‘ the American house.’’ I stepped from the carriage to find a smal curved stone bridge crossing a wide gutter filled with flowing water; at the other end of the bridge an intricately-carved gate twelve feet tall under a stone arch. Interested and curious, I pounded upon it with the wrought- iron knocker, and the gate opened on a large arden riotous with hundreds of children. ft was like the entrance to a fairy-tale. I had only an impression of colour and light and

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452 clamour, and in the foreground a very aged man, quite six feet tall, white-haired, white- bearded, benevolent, in a white turban, a black woollen jacket incredibly fringed, a red and green sash stuck through with a silver-hilted knife, and black-braided white woollen trousers. He gazed at me in surprise ; 1 gazed at him in awe and _ bewilderment. Then | heard, of all things, the shrill scream of an American police-whistle ! Down an archway of green branches above a gravelled path a girl dashed toward me, seized my hands in quick boyish grips. A thin, athletic, sun-browned girl, so radiantly full of energy that her very finger- tips seemed to crackle electrically. ‘‘ We heard you were in Montenegro; we hoped you were coming down this way. When did xe get in? Did you bring any butter ? ever mind, we're just as delighted. Wait just a minute—where’s Kol ?” The Arabian Nights guardian of the gate had stepped back respectfully; at her imperious gesture he stepped forward and she spoke swiftly to him in a language en- tirely unlike any I had heard in Europe. He hastened away. She turned to the children, gone mad again with all the excitement of play in a place that looked like an American city playground, silenced them with a second shriek of the police-whistle, addressed them in the same strange tongue. Another girl now appeared, a fair-haired girl. This was Miss Alexander, otherwise “ Alex.”” In two minutes what appeared to be a complicated programme of activities was re-arranged and Betsy Cleveland bore me off to the carriage and another house. This was a large, barrack-like place of echoing wooden floors and stairways, shut off from the street by an iron gate and a garden. Upstairs, in a bare room furnished with two hospital cots, 1 unpacked my bags, bathed in a folding cauvas tub commandeered from unseen quarters by Betsy Cleveland’s ener- getic voice, and marvelled at the strangeness of travel nowadays. A tap at the door, and Betsy Cleveland’s twinkling brown face appeared in the widening aperture. “ Here’s a book for you. I must go back to the school. Dinner at eight in the garden. Yes, we dress for it; keeps up morale, Ill be back earlier if I can. We're crazy to talk to you!” We had been talking for two hours. when she startled the garden quiet with that protest. Coffee-cups stood empty on the white table, roses and iris and flowering shrubs were losing their colours in the twi- light, three spirals of cigarette smoke rose toward the feathery branches of the willow tree above our heads. From outside the garden walls came a thin sound of wailing music in the coffee house down the street. In my plans, Scutari had been merely a way-station between Podgoritza and Con- . stantinople. I had the vaguest notion of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Albania. I knew it was the youngest and smallest member of the League of Nations ; 1 knew it had begun the Balkan wars that were the smouldering fuse to the explosion of the Great War, and I knew that recently the Albanians had driven out the Italian army of occupation. The Albanian moun- taineers are such marvellous shots that they had brought down aeroplanes with their rifles, neatly shooting the pilots from their seats when they came within range of the highest peaks. I had asked Dr. Fox in Podgoritza what he knew of the Albanians. He had lived for years in Serbia, as near to Albania as the average New York business man _ to his office. He said that, so far as he could make out, the Albanians were the scum of the Balkans, descendants of bandits driven out of the other Balkan countries; a bad lot, morally and physically. I had read in a French Socialist journal a lurid tale of the wickedness of the Serbs in deporting their Communists into Albania, “ the Siberia of the Balkans.” And I had a note copied from a learned, impressive book on Balkan politics. ‘‘ Al- banians, descendants of the ancient Illyrians, were affected by the supremacy of the Latin language, from which a quarter of their meagre vocabulary is derived. Though driven northward by the Greeks and southward by the Romans, they have remained in their mountain fastnesses to this day, impervious to any of the civilizations to which they have been exposed.” My notebook lay temptingly beside my coftee-cup, and I read these words to Betsy Cleveland. “Oh, how they lie! How they lie!” There was personal rage and pain in her voice. “It’s propaganda, nothing else. Oh, will no one ever tell the truth about the Balkans ? ‘ Impervious to civilization!’ They've been impervious to two thousand years of armed invasion. Do you know that the Albanians are the oldest Aryan people in Europe ? Do you know that they've held these mountains against the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Mongols, the Serbs, the Turks, and kept their own language and customs and laws since before the beginning of history? Do you know that the Greeks got the names of their gods, their oracles, ‘and lots of their mythology from the Albanians?, Do you know that the mother of Alexander the Great was an Albanian woman? Do you know that Albanians have been Pashas of Turkey, tulers of Egypt, statesmen of. Italy ? No, you don’t! You don’t know anything about Albania; and you're like everyone else— you won't stay long. enough .to. learn any- thing.’ “ But I’m on my way to Constantinople.” “Everyone goes to Constantinople,” said Alex, " Constantinople’s nothing,” ‘said Betsy.

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A WOMAN “If you don’t see Albania you’re missing the chance of a lifetime. Up in those moun- tains—right up there in those mountains, a day’s journey from here—the people are living as they lived twenty centuries ago, before the Greek or the Roman or the Slav was ever known. There are prehistoric cities up there, old legends, songs, customs that nobody knows anything about. No American’s ever been there. Only one foreigner's ever seen them. Great Scott, woman! And you sit there and talk about Constantinople ! ’’ ‘* But if nobody ever goes there, how can we manage it ?’’ I said. “How does anyone ever go anywhere ? Simply hire horses, get qn them, and go,” said Betsy.. “Carrying our own guns?” “Oh, we'll be safe enough. We may run into a blood-feud or two and get our guides shot up. But nobody ever harms a woman. Nobody even shoots a man in her presence.”’ “‘She means no Albanian ever does,’’ said Alex. “ Bless ’em!’’ said Betsy, and added in Albanian, “ Glory to their feet.” She leaned across the table, holding a match to my cigarette, waiting for me to decide. “‘ Allright ; I’m with you,” I said at length. “‘ T’'ll see about horses in the morning, and get an escort of gendarmes to guard our packs,’’ said Betsy, beaming. We were to start in three days’ time, and one can easily spend three days in Scutari, especially when one of them is bazaar day. Then it seems that half the narrow, twisted Streets are carpeted with squatting mer- chants and heaps of merchandise; woven blankets of goats’ hair, tissues of thinnest silk and gold, and sheets and pillow-cases checked red-and-white with vari-coloured five hundred years ago. "A picturesque bridge across the Kiri River, built by the Venetians IN UNKNOWN ALBANIA. — 453 crocheted borders. Then there are thin, firm cotton towellings, red-striped, and table- cloths of brilliant colours, sold with the ten yard strip which, passing around the table in the laps of all the guests, is the common napkin. All these things are hand-woven on home-made wooden looms. - There are purple velvet jackets and purple velvet cuffs for ladies’ trousers, heavy with embroideries of solid gold, and there are the trousers themselves—enormous squares of Tichest silks, with the gold-encrusted cuffs three yards apart at the bottom corners. In and out, stepping carefully among the heaped merchandise, presses a throng whose brilliance bewilders the eye with coloured sashes and gorgeous aprons, turbans of many colours, stockings knitted in bright designs, and purple slippers and red slippers and a glint of silver everywhere. In the midst are veiled Turkish women all in black, like crows in a flower garden, and, by way of contrast, the Catholic Scutari women, white-veiled, with vests of scarlet and silver, full-gathered coats of silver and black, and bunchy trousers that make them walk pigeon-toed. When you change your money you see again for the first time since the War an abundance of gold and silver coins. The five dollar American gold-piece is between your fingers again, and with it coins of Italy, Austria, Turkey, and Greece and Persia, a Napoleon of the first French republic, a silver piece of Louis the Eighteenth, and— incredible sight !—a coin of the old Roman Empire, given nonchalantly in change by the sharp-eyed gipsy woman who sells hot chestnuts, and with it another coin of copper, oblong and curved, with strange almost effaced marks upon it. Somewhere in Asia Minor that was made, only collectors know how long ago. But it is “ good” in the markets of Albania, having no national debt, has no paper money, and, having no mint, no metal coins of her own. Leave the bazaar and stroll along the narrow, unpaved and muddy streets of the merchants, for Scutari does not depend upon the bazaar alone for her commerce. Here are the— -what shall one call them? Shops? Factories ? Clubs ? They are rows of tiny rooms, three- walled, open to the street, where the merchant, who is also the clerk, sits utari, for

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454 .making the articles he sells, pausing occa- “sionally to smoke cigarettes and gossip with the friends who squat beside him. Here is the man who makes wedding-chests—that piece of furniture surely as old as marriage itself. They are large, beautiful boxes of satiny wood, painted all over with the tiniest . designs in bright colours. On the left of this shop sits the maker of babies’ cradles, shallow affairs with bumpy rockers and high head-boards and foot-boards, painted in the same gay style, and to the right of it there is the maker of coffins equally joyous with elaborate colour. Birth, marriage, death, all in a row—and the merchants need not advertise nor bestir themselves to entice customers, for all Scutari will come once to each of them. Then there is the fez-maker, surrounded with raw wool, clipping the new-made felt .with his scissors ; the saddle-maker, sitting amidst shavings and piles of hides, with the huge saddles of wood, padded underneath with sheepskin, stacked behind him. And the copper-smith and the brass-smith and ithe iron-smith, pounding and riveting their wares—trays, kettles, long-handled tiny bowls for making Turkish coffee, and intri- cate coffee mills, all shining in the sun or glowing red on the anvils. And the belt- makers, squatted in a row, holding twelve- inch-wide strips of sole-leather, into which with little taps they drive thousands of tiny silver nails—their mouths are filled with the nails ;, they cannot speak—evolving as they work the patterns that brides will choose. These belts are worn by all married women, and the merchants look at you curiously, wondering by what sign American women show that they have passed from a father’s possession to a husband’s, and not knowing that in the West the belt has dwindled to a ring worn on the third finger. It is worth while to stop and watch the maker of cigarette-holders. Beside him in a jar stand dozens of his completed products, two and three feet long, looking like a bouquet of weird flowers with their strips of brilliant paint, their ornamental rings and ' slanting thimble-size bowls, no two of them alike. He squats and works intent. A slender three-inch piece of wood is held suspended before him by long pins in each end. In his right hand he holds a curved bow, strung with a soft cord that is wound. around one of the pins. He moves his right hand up and down, the pin revolves, the bit of wood whirls. With a thin knife held in his left hand he gouges and shapes the spinning cylinder. Tiny shavings fly. The work is so swift. that your eye cannot follow it. In an instant there is the beautifully-shaped thing. Then he bores the lengthwise hole through it and shapes it at either end so that it will join other pieces, and swiftly he makes four, five or six companions for it, fits them to- gether, and lays the completed holder aside THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to be painted when he feels like painting. You can buy one of them for two kronen, which is about ten cents, and when you have done so he leans back, lights a cigarette, and enjoys the incidents of the street for a time. Need one make inquiry to know that there are no labour unions, no Chambers of Com- merce, no Bolshevism, and no eight-hour laws in this benighted land ? ‘Oh, but everything’s spoiled in Scutari now,” mourns Betsy Cleveland. ‘‘ Wait until we get into the mountains, where they know nothing of foreigners !’’ The waiting was not long, for my third night in Scutari seemed hardly begun when 1 was awakened by the first clamour of our starting. An uncertain flare of torches and a movement of grotesque shadows besieged the gate, in an uproar of voices, and in the midst Betsy Cleveland was rapidly issuing orders, like a general directing a dog-fight. When the sun rose over the blue, snow- crested mountains that form the southern- most slopes of the Dinaric Alps, it made, on the Scutari plain, a pattern of our shadows —the shadows of four small wooden-saddled ponies, each led by a mountaineer with a Tifle on his back, of two tall, ragged gen- darmes, and of a small trudging boy in a red Turkish fez, all moving in single file across an interminable plain shaggy with blossom- ing white cactus. The wooden saddles were like three-sided boxes made of peeled straight branches ; padded beneath with sheepskins, they fitted over the ponies’ backs. On top of them our blankets were packed, and saddle-bags hung from the four corners. Enthroned in the midst we rode, comfortable as in an easy chair, sitting sideways, our knees crossed, smoking cigarettes and rocking gently with the ponies’ pace. There were four of us, not counting our retainers. No; five—for at the last moment small, chubby-cheeked Rexh, in his red Mohammedan fez, had gravely engaged Betsy Cleveland in argument as to the desirability of his accompanying us. Twelve years old, a staunch Mohammedan, self- adopted father of seven smaller refugee children for whom he maintained a family lite in a hut he had “ found,’’ he had made all arrangements for the trip without con- sulting us. He said that he had never seen the mountains, and that he thought it necessary to learn about them as part of the education of a good Albanian. He pointed out that he spoke excellent English, and that he would be valuable as an interpreter. It was true that we had one interpreter, but there were six men and many saddle-bags ; he would keep an eye upon them all. The care of “ his children ” he had arranged for ; as to the Mohammedan school in which he was a pupil, it taught him nothing; . he would take a vacation from it. He would

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A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN ALBANIA. 455 be of use to us upon the trip; the trip would be of value to him. Having said this, he gravely awaited Miss Cleveland's de- cision. When she || said, “ All right, Rexh,”” he per- mitted himself to smile and looked |} over the packs, || suggesting some | changes that would make us more comfortable. He now walked behind Miss Cleve- land's pony, a istol and a knife in the belt of his American Pyjama-coat. Our interpreter was also a friend —Rroc Perolli, secre’ to the Albanian Minister of the Interior. He was on a vacation, he said, but as the northern interior tribes were antagonistic to the new Government, it might be as well not to mention who he was. We were going very near to the Serbian lines ; he had recently escaped from sentence of death in a Serbian prison ; there was a price on his head in Serbia. It would be easy for one of the tribes to hand him across the line. They could not kill him in our presence, of course, but once out of our sight they could in ten minutes find Serbians who would gladly do it for them. He was a care-free young man, black- haired, dark-eyed, dressed in the smartest of English tweed suits, with a business-like revolver and one of the handiest of daggers swinging in leather holsters at his belt. His father was a merchant in Ipek, rich territory now held by the Serbs; the son had been educated in London, Berlin, and Paris, and spoke their languages as well as his own Albanian, also Serbian, Italian, Turkish, and Greek. He enlivened the morning with songs in all these languages. Fourth in our party was Alex. She had sunshiny hair, softly fluffed ;_ wide blue eyes, and that complexion of pink and white, like roses painted on a china plate, that drives a dagger of envy into every feminine heart and founds the fortunes of cosmetic- makers. She wore a purple Tam-o’-shanter, a leaf-brown sweater with a purple tie, and the trimmest of riding-trousers. She looked like a magazine cover, but was in reaiity the most hard-headed, soberly sensible of girls. She and Betsy were going into the mountains The Red Cross house at Scutari where the Authoress stayed. to decide where to establish three schools. They had themselves collected the mone for them in America, and this was their vacation from Red Cross work. About noon we left the plain, and almost at once our ponies began to stand up like pet dogs begging for cake, their hind legs sup- porting their weight while their front hoofs pawed for footholds on the stair-like, rocky trail. An Albanian held each of us tightly by elbow or knee, ready to save us from a squashy death if the pony lost its balance, and as the little animals strained, clanibered, or gathered their feet together for desperate leaps, a sudden long, high wail broke forth ahead. The two gendarmes wete singing. Walking easily up a trail that I could have overcome only on hands and knees, carrying their rifles and twenty pounds of canned goods on their backs, they were merrily singing. With thumbs pressed tightly against their ears, to prevent the air-pressure of their lungs from bursting their ear-drums, they sent far over the crags the long shrill high notes, like nothing human I had ever heard. Betsy Cleveland, lying almost per- pendicularly along her pony’s back, her chin on what would have been the saddle-pommel had there been one, looked downward at me, similarly extended. “ They're making a song to the Chafa Bishkasit, the Road of the Mountaineers,” she said. ‘‘ That's the Chafa up there. We're going over it to-day, and then we'll be in the mountains. Aren't you happy ?” I could find no word emphatic enough for reply as I gazed up at the tiny notch in a

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450 wave of snow-crest that curled against the sky five thousand feet above us. The sun swung to its highest and sank again while we climbed. It was low in the sky—it seemed on a level with us—when we made the last interminable hundred yards up into the Chafa Bishkasit. We were in the sky ; therc is no other way to put it, and no way in which to describe that sensation of infinite airiness. Forty miles behind and below us Lake Scutari lay flat, like a pool of mercury on a grey-brown floor. At each side of our little gay-coloured cavalcade a grey cliff rose perhaps two hundred feet, too sheer to hold the snow that thickly crusted its top. These cliffs were the posts of a gate- way through which we looked into the country of the hidden tribes. I had never seen nor dreamed of such mountains. Like thin, sharp rocks stood on edge, they covered hundreds of miles with every variation of light and shadow, and we looked across their tops to a far-away wave of snow that broke high against the sky. The depths between the mountains were hazy blue; out of the blueness sharp cliffs and huge flat slopes of rock thrust upward, streaked with the rose and purple and green of decomposing shale, and from their tops a thousand streams poured downward, threading them with silver-white. A low continuous murmur rose to us—the sound of innumerable waterfalls, softened by immeasurable distances. Suddenly, clear, distant, and thin, a call came out of the spaces. It was like a fife, and yet not like it. Instantly our guides were still—attentive. A moment of silence, and then, farther away and even thinner, hardly to be heard above the beating of the pulse in our ears, there came an answer. Then the first note began again and went on and on; there seemed to be a pattern to it, not a tune. Could it stand for words ? 1 looked at the others. Rroc Perolli was motionless, a cigarette between his lips, his hand arrested in the act of striking a match. Little Rexh, his round face intent beneath the red fez, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and blank, was an image of concentrated listening. The two gendarmes stood alert, like dogs straining at a leash, scenting something. Our four guides, in their long white trousers, black jackets, coloured turbans and sashes, were like men frozen in attitudes of interrupted talk. The uncanny call ceased, and the other came back like an echo, so faint that I thought at first 1 had imagined it. Then —Bang! Bang! Bang! The very mountains lifted up their voices and roared. It was like the cataclysm at the end of the world; mountain striking against mountain. Rroc Perolli lighted his cigarette; the others shifted their rifles, tightened their sashes, said ‘’ Hite!’ to the horses, and we started THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, on. <All around us the echoes were still contending. ‘* What was it ?”’ I cried to Perolli, whose horse was slipping down the trail ahead, only kept from going headlong by its owner, who held it by the tail, bracing his bare feet on every foothold. “‘ Telephoning,’’ replied Perolli. “ It’s the way they send news through the mountains. A man on one of the peaks calls, and another one somewhere hears him and answers. You've seen ’em hold their ears and throw their voices. That's it. And the three shots were to show that the talk’s ended.” “‘ What was he saying ?”’ “Something about Shala. Shala and Shoshi are in blood, evidently.” “‘ Do we go through those tribes ? ” My horse slipped just then, and a man snatched me from the saddle. The animal, held by the tail, floundered on the rocky trail, striking sparks from his hoofs, which were shod with solid thin plates of steel ; the packs went over his head. My man set me on a shoulder-high rock and dashed to the rescue. It looked for a moment as though they would all go down upon Perolli below, but finally the horse recovered his footing and stood trembling, his head covered with streaming blankets. I decided that 1 would walk—but it was not walking; it was jumping, scrambling, dropping. Those mountains were evidently created to be looked at, not to be walked upon. _Bathed in perspiration, 1 stopped from time to time to eat a bit of snow, and twelve-year-old Rexh looked at me with compassion. He had walked nearly twenty miles that day and was still gay and fresh ; the men were still singing. “In a minute, Mrs. Lane, we will come to a resting-place,”” he told me, encouragingly, and in perhaps half an hour my trembling legs brought me around a boulder to see the two gendarmes halted on the trail, crossing themselves. A wooden cross, blackened by storms and years, leaned forward above them, on a small grassy knoll, supported by a pile of stones. Alex and Betsy dropped from their ponies to lie panting beside me on the grass, while the guides, smiling at our whim, stopped also. Each of them crossed himself before sitting down, for the moun- tain tribes have been Catholic almost ever since St. Paul preached in the Balkans, and missionary priests have put the Cross at each resting-place on the trails, to bring thoughts of God to weary men. Below our feet the clitis fell away down into blue haze; above us were forested slopes, and above them again great rock- faces throwing shadows across a dozen valleys. Our knoll was white with daisies and fallen petals from a blossoming apple tree that arched above the cross, Our men lay at ease, beautiful, graceful animals, their rifles laid ready to their hands.

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457 A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN ALBANIA. sae eM ae oe OER ES Dateer na enn oe CPS wishes Ss wk. “*Long life to you!’ ‘And to you, long life!’” Vol. 1.—32.

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458 ‘Why are Shala and Shoshi in blood ?”’ asked Betsy casually, biting idly at the stem of a daisy. Perolli did not know; he had only gathered the fact that there was a feud. “Do we go through both tribes?’ I wanted to know. “Through Shala. Shoshi’s farther down the river; we'll go around it.”” “ Are our men Shala or Shoshi ? ” Perolli glanced at them. “ Shala, by the pattern of the braiding on their trousers,” he said, “ So we sha’n't have any troub—— Hello! That's a Shoshi man coming up the trail now!" It was Alex who acted quickest. She was sitting on a rock beside me, her arms clasped about her knees. She rose instantly, flinging out a hand in the gesture of grecting and cried in her most feminine voice those Albanian words that sound like “ Tune yet yetta !’’ and mean, “ May you live long!" The Shoshi man’s hand was on his rifle but his step had not faltered. He replied, coming on steadily, and the appropriatcness of the greeting struck me, for if it had not been uttered by a woman he would at that moment have n dead. Our Shala men, with perfect courtesy, went through the formalities of greeting on the trail. This is the ritual, translated to me by Rexh :— “ Long life to you!" “ And to you, long life! ”’ “ How could you ? '’ meaning, “ How did you get here?” ‘* Slowly, slowly, little by little.”” No one who has ever seen those trails can doubt it! The Shoshi man sat down, our men offered him cigarettes, and up the trail came a woman of Shoshi. She wore a tight, bell- shaped skirt of horizontal black and white stripes, made of cloth heavier and thicker than felt, the twelve-inch-wide marriage belt of heavy leather, studded with pounds of nails, and a jacket covered with three-inch- thick fringe. Two heavy braids of black hair hung forward on her breast, a coloured handkerchief was bound round her head, and her face, smoothly weather-browned, large- eyed, and delicately shaped, was the most beautiful that 1 had ever seen. On her back, held by woven woollen straps that crossed her bosom, was a cradle tightly covered with a thick blanket. In one hand she held a bunch of raw wool and from the other dangled a whirling-spindle. Her feet were bare, and as she came up that terrible trail, which had completely exhausied me, she sang softly to herself, dexterously spinning thread from the bunch of wool. Cheremi, our gayer gendarme, rose quickly and went to meet her. He took her by the hand and laid his cheek caressingly against hers. He was like a child, Cheremi, with his happy face, deep-wrinkled with laughter, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and his bursts of wit and song. But he looked all of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his forty years as he gazed tenderly at the woman of Shoshi. “She is a woman of my people,” he said, leading her gallantly to us. “Are you a woman?" said Betsy Cleve- land in the correct Albanian phrase. “Tam born of Shala, married in Shoshi,’’ she answered. Her voice was soft, and her hands and feet would have been madness to a sculptor. In any Paris restaurant those slender fingers, almond nails and delicate wrists, aristocratic, well-bred, would have caused a sensation. We admired the baby, excavating it from five folds of blankets to do so. ow they live beneath the smothering I do not know ; a Western baby would die in three hours. We asked the mother how old she was. Eighteen, she said, and she had been married three years. “‘ And have you been home since ? ”” “ Ah, no,” she said with a wistful smile. “ Born in Shala,"’ said Cheremi. ‘ But she was married in Shoshi, and in Shoshi she will die.” “‘T wonder what she thinks of us?” I said, for though she must have felt great curiosity about these strange beings, dropped apparently from the sky upon her well- known trails, she did not reveal it by the flicker of an eyelash, and she asked no questions. It was we who were so rude. “ How old do you think we are?’ Betsy asked her. She looked at us candidly be neath her long lashes. “How can I say?” she answered. “I cannot read or write. I am stupid ; I gather wood.” The Shoshi man now rose, slinging his rifle back on his shoulder, and said farewell. “‘Go on a smooth trail,’’ said our men, his blood enemies, who would have killed him at sight if no woman had been there. He went on up the trail without turning his head, the woman following him. “Well, we must be getting on,” said Perolli. ‘‘ We've a long way to go, and we ought to get in before dark.” He showed us, far away across the darkening valley, the white dot that was the priest's house where we were to spend the night. Darkness was creeping up the slopes from the valleys like a rising flood, and it had engulfed the trails long before we made the descent into the village of Gjoanni, which I may as well say at once is pronounced Ziwanee. Not that we were thinking about such far-away things as written words. Everything that made up our ordinary lives was already as far from us as another planet. It was as though we had dropped through a hole in time and fallen into the days when men were wild creatures in the forests. One reads in books of dizzying trails twelve inches wide, on which travellers cling precariously between the sky and sudden death. Long before dense darkness had risen

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A WOMAN IN. UNKNOWN ALBANIA. to meet the shadow. of the mountain-wall between us and the rest of the world we would have welcomed a twelve-inch trail as though it were the Champs Elys¢es. We were in a land where a twelve-inch trail is to the people what the Twentieth Century Limited is to America. My memories become incoherent at this point. I recall a thousand-foot slide of de- composed shale, the colour of an American Beauty rose. The flakes of it were as large as a thumb-nail, and the mass of them tilted at surely thirty-five degrees, sloping to a sheer cliff that dropped | cannot say how far. The stone houses at the bottom of it looked like children’s blocks. Across this we made our way on foot, and at every step a .considerable quantity of the shale sped away beneath the pressure and plumped over the edge. The fourth time I slipped I remained on my hands and knees ; it seemed simpler. And for something like a century I had the sensation a squirrel must have in a revolving cage—steadily clawing upward, and making no progress in that direction. But sideways, crab-like, I did eventually come out on the other side and so into a waterfall. . The waterfall was called a river. It, was about two thousand feet long, and stood on end... About every three feet it struck a boulder. as large as an office desk, and leaped into the air until it hit the next one. The shale was. wet with spray for several yards. The water between three boulders, where we crossed, was a little more than knee-deep, and..there was nothing whatever leisurely about its progress. I try to be calm about it ; I tried to be calm then. :The horses went across first, four men to each horse. . One gripped a rope tied about its neck, one held the tail, two stood down- stream and leaned their weight against the saddle. Then the men carried across the packs and their trousers, which they had taken off so that they should not get wet. Then they simply picked us up, slung us across their shoulders, and took us over. I\dt is a strange sensation, being a bag of meal over a muscular back, clutched firmly around the knees, green water roaring at our toes and chin, white spray choking and binding you, and a thousand feet of hungry boulders waiting below for your bones. In the middle my man stopped, braced himself, and shifted me to his other shoulder. Then he. shouted, and another man came out above us and held his free hand to steady him through the worst of the current. _.After we were all over, the men clasped their ears, and sent an exuberant call out through the twilight, were answered from the far distances, fired all their guns several times in joyous unison, and then, slinging them back on their shoulders, went on plithely. . They .had_ walked only sixty kilo- woetres that day, and they apologized to 459 Perolli for it ; they would have done a full day, they said, if the American ladies had not spent so much time idling at the resting- places. ' After the waterfall, we went for two hours straight down a slide of shale, slipping at every step and clutching the air. We thought that when we reached the bottom we should be at the priest's house. But no; there was a large river to cross, and this time the men put us on the ponies, and the ponies crossed by jumping from boulder to boulder. It seemed sheer cruelty to animals, but we were too weary to protest, and already we had become Albanian in one thing—an absolute indifference to danger. When, an hour later, one of my pony’s hind legs went over the edge of a crumbling trail and only my man’s grip on his tail kept him from going clean over, the incident interrupted only for a second my enjoyment of the wild, werd scene—a hundred miles of mountain-tops fighting with their shadows the light of the moon. At ten o'clock we fell from our saddles in the walled courtyard of a ghostly white house, and a tall figure in the hooded robe of a Franciscan father lighted us across it with a flaming pine torch. And now we really were in the Middle Ages, or in some century perhaps even earlier. An hour after our greeting by the Bishop of Pultit, we had forgotten even to realize it. So adaptable are human beings that we quite forgot that modern civilization had ever been.. The hooded priest lighted us with his torch up a flight of worn stone stairs and into.a low, beamed room on the second floor of the Bishop’s house. There, the Bishop himself, rising from a wooden bench, wel- comed us in Albanian and Latin. He wore a rough homespun woollen robe, his bare feet were in wooden sandals, a rosary of wooden. beads hung on his chest. He was a man of perhaps fifty—rotund, jovial, dig- nified. Perolli bent one knee and, kissed the espiscopal hand ; little; Mohammedan Rexh, in his red fez, gravely saluted ; Cheremi, the tagged gendarme, put his rifle in a corner and knelt for the Bishop’s blessing. We sat, Alex, Betsy, and I, in a row ona wooden bench in the chilly bare room. A servant came in—bare-armed, bare-legged, clad in one piece of brown cloth that reached his knees—and the Bishop gave orders ; the servant returned with a hammered copper tray holding an earthen cup and a wooden bottle of rakejia. Now vakejia is a cousin to vodka, and one of the strongest drinks that ever turned the imbiber’s blood to liquid fire. We girls had debated about it; what should we do, when courtesy required us.to drink it ? We had decided that Perolli should explain that we came from America and that in our tribe it was forbidden to drink intoxi- cants. After sixteen hours of travel in the

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460 Albanian mountains, however, we did not hesitate. One by one we took the cup that the servant filled, and drained it dry. From that time onward we drank the stuff like water, and it had no visible effect upon us, though in a Paris restaurant one glass of mild wine will make me realize that a second would be unwise. I don’t explain this, [ simply note the fact. We sat there, talking, for an hour or more. The Bishop said that he had never been out of the mountains, except for a trip long ago to the Vatican in Rome; he had been there a year, and had conversed with his brother priests in Latin. Then he came back to the mountains and had lived there ever since. His diocese included all the northern tribes, and he visited them from time to time, riding wherever a donkey could carry him and walking where it could not. Ten years earlier he had had another foreign visitor, a Miss Durham, of England; he had heard that she later wrote a book in which she told _ about the visit, and if he could have atforded it he would have liked to send for that book. No; the Church had not very greatly altered the ancient customs of the people. They were all good Catholics, and attended mass. But they still buried the dead un- coffined, with three apples on the breast, and when they put a stone or a wooden slab above the grave they often carved on it, not only the cross, but also the sun. One would note, too, that at the rising and setting of the sun they made the sign of the cross to it. He was not too intolerant of these things. After all, beyond the sun was always the good God. It was not strange that what I had heard of the marriage customs had ” baffled me, he said; I should not look for traces of marriage-by-capture or marriage- by-purchase ; the basis of the tribal cere- monies is fire-worship. On the day of the wedding the bride, elaborately dressed, is carried screaming and struggling from her father’s house, and delivered by her brothers to the husband's family, at a place midway between the lands of the two tribes. Since each tribe is technically a large family, claiming a common prehistoric ancestor, it is forbidden to marry within the tribe. The bride carries with her from her home one invariable gift—a pair of fire-tongs. When she arrives at her husband's house she takes a humble place in the corner, standing, her hands folded on her breast, her eyes downcast, and for three days and nights she is required to remain in that position, without lifting her eyes, with- out moving, eating, or drinking. “Though I believe,” said the Bishop, smiling, ‘‘ that she takes the precaution: of hiding some food and drink in her garments, and no-doubt the mother-in-law sees that she is allowed to rest a little, while the household is asleep.’’ He explained that this custom remains from the old days when THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘ the father of each house was also the priestly guardian of the sacred fire, and anyone coming to ask for a light from it stood reverently in that position, silent before the hearth, until the father-priest gave it to him. The bride, newcomer in the family, is a suppliant for the gift of fire, of life, of the Mystery that continues the race. On the third day she puts on the heavy belt that means she is a wife, and thereafter she goes about the household, obeying the commands of the elders, always standing until they tell her to sit, and for six months not speaking unless they address her. It is her special duty to care for the fire, and with her fire-tongs to light the cigarettes smoked by any of the family, or by their guests. Sometime, when it is convenient, she and her husband will go to the church and be married by the priest. Usually she has not seen her husband _ until she comes to his house, since she is of another tribe and the marriage is arranged by the families. “‘ We have tried to prevent the betrothing of children before they are born,” said the Bishop, smiling ruefully, ‘and in many centuries we have had some effect. Children now are usually not betrothed until they are two or three years old. Even that we combat, of course, yet I cannot say that the custom makes much unhappiness. Husbands and wives are good comrades; they practically never quarrel, and they are devoted to their children. But you will see all that for your- self. Yet occasionally there is something like this Shala-Shoshi affair, which I fear will lead to much bloodshed. But the dinner is ready, and my servant will show you your room and bring water to wash your hands.” The servant led us to the Bishop’s own bedroom, furnished by a mattress. laid on a raised platform of boards. Our saddle-bags and blankets had been piled on the rough wooden floor, and Rexh held the torch while the Bishop's servant poured cold water from a wooden bucket over our hands. Then he offered us a beautifully hand-woven towel of red and white striped linen, and when we had dried our hands he led us down a stone stairway, through a kitchen crowded with villagers, where an old woman tended cooking-pots over a fire built on the earthen floor, and so into the dining-room. There was a long, rude table covered with hand-woven linen, and rough benches on each side of it. The Bishop sat at its head, on a stool, and served the soup. The Fran- ciscan brother and a meek little priest in black sat humbly near the foot of the table, and did not speak. There was nothing in the stone-floored, plaster-walled room except the table, the benches, and a rain-stained photo- graph on the discoloured wall—a picture of a gathering of Albanian priests taken many years ago in Tirana. “ The feud between Shala and Shoshi looks very bad," said the Bishop. “I fear there

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462 THE WIDE WORLD will be many deaths. We do what we can to prevent it, and all the authority of the Church is used against these feuds, but He shrugged his ‘shoulders. ‘It is their way of enforcing their law, the Law of Lek, which has come down to them from pre- historic times. And the Albanians are very tenacious of their own customs.” He filled our glasses with red wine. ‘“‘ You must not mistake my people,’’ he went on. “The blood feud is bad, very bad, but it is their only way of enforcing laws which are, in general, admirable. “The blood feud is not a lawless thing, as strangers sometimes think. Nor has it any- thing to do with personal strife or hate. It is a form of capital punishment, such as all nations have, and it is governed by very strict laws. “You must remember that in these moun- tains we have never been conquered by foreign Governments. The Roman Empire claimed to have overpowered Albania, it is true, as later the Turks did, but neither Rome nor Constantinople was able to send_ its government into these mountains. The people live as they did before the days of Greece, except for the intluence of the Church. It is a simple, communistic society, without private property or any organized govern- ment. he only law is the moral law, en- forced by tradition, custom, and common consent. The father of the family becomes the chief of the tribe, but he has no power that conflicts with the moral law, the ancient Law of Lek. There is a tradition that all this greup of tribes was once, long ago, given this moral law by a man named Lek, but that is doubtless a myth added to through the ages. “This Law of Lek is based on personal honour, which is also the honour of the tribe. A man or a tribe must punish an insult to honour by killing the man who has given it. Thus, if a member of a tribe is killed unjustly by a man of another tribe; if a woman is stolen, injured, or affronted ; if any part of the tribal property is stolen; if a man ora tribe fails to keep a Besa, or word of honour, in a matter of land, or war, or marriage, or irrigation, then the crime is punished by death. But if these crimes are committed against a member of the same tribe, then the house of the guilty man is burned, and he is cast off by the tribe and must go into the wilderness and live alone. “You will see this law working out in the case of Shala and Shoshi. Last week a Shala man, crossing the lands of Shoshi—the two tribes having some time ago sworm a Besa that they would keep the peace between them—saw a woman of Shoshi on the trail. He Said tu himself that he would like that MAGAZINE. woman for his son, who was unmarried, though of marriageable age, because his betrothed had died in childhood. So the man of Shala took the woman of Shoshi to his house for his son, and there she is now. “ Apparently,”’ said the Bishop dryly, “‘ she did not make any outcry, for her husband was in their house only a few yards away, and it is a question whether she and the son had not previously arranged the abduction. However, the husband was, of course, obliged to avenge his honour, and he went at once to the heights above Shala and shot the son, This was, according to the tribal law, an unjustifiable murder, since he should have killed the father, who was the actual abductor. Therefore the father waited on the trail above Shoshi and shot the husband. “The affair ought to have stopped there, but Shoshi’s honour is involved so long as a woman of the tribe is held unlawfully in the hands of Shala. So a hot-tempered Shoshi man has shot a man of Shala, and it has become a blood feud between the two tribes. As the woman was born in Pultit, some say that Pultit’s honour is also involved. So you see that the affair becomes complicated ; I have been told by wise men that no fewer than sixteen deaths will wipe out the insults on both sides. You perhaps heard telephon- ing about it as you came in ? The mountain- sides have been ringing with it. But what can one do? There is excommunication, of course, and at every mass I tell my people that the anger of the Church will descend on all who take part in the killings, but the Law of Lek holds them, and it is, after all, their only civil law.” It took time to tell this, what with filling the glasses, serving the food-platters of delicious stewed rabbit, and bowls of macaroni, a dish the Bishop had grown fond of in Rome—and then there were the cups of syrupy Turkish coftee to be ceremoniously served and drunk, and for hours, struggling with an agony of sleepiness, we had implored Perolli in English to make our excuses and let us go to bed. But he sternly refused, since it is the most terrible breach of moun- tain hospitality for a guest to grow sleepy so early as midnight. But at one o'clock, seeing Alex's desperate eyes stony with the effort to keep them open, and myself beholding at times two Bishops, very small and far away, and at times one, who loomed like a moun- tain, 1 managed to suggest in Latin that we were tired. We had, I said—calling upon vagrant memories of Czsar, and using both hands to illustrate—been walking and riding over the trails since five the previous morning. Then, after a time, we were permitted to retire. (To be continued.)

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é aes % ELECTION AT RODEO ON EDWARDO was decidedly in a very bad temper. He spat savagely on the ground and then uttered sotto voce a stream of soft Spanish ‘ imprecations directed partly upon a retreating horseman and partly upon the heads of those who had sent him with the unwelcomed message Don Edwardo now held in his hand. eee Culbrandsen ILLUSTRATED BY £.PRATER English syndicate whose offices were in London —which city was also Fergersen’s birthplace— and the work which would a be further delayed was the 3 construction of a long j canal and the erection of a new hydro-electric power station. During the evening meal Fergersen mentioned the matter of the election to his assistant, Challoner, informing him It was, in fact, an official notification from Although we sometimes get excited that he proposed to close down the work from the local authority, in- forming him that as the Presidential election of the Argentine Republic would be held on the following Monday, his attention was called to a certain law enacting that over elections in this country, our emotions are mild indeed compared to those displayed elsewhere. Here is an account of the happenings at a town in the Argentine on the occasion of the Presidential elec- tion of 1914. “ The story is true,” writes the Author, “but I have disguised a few of the names.” Saturday until Wednes- day. Challoner agreed that it would probably be the best thing to do, especially as he had heard that the election would be fought more bitterly than before, and any employer of labour “restraining, preventing, or otherwise hindering" any employe eligible to vote from exercising that privilege would be mulcted in a heavy fine. The message went on to say that the polling station for that district would be the Intendente’s house in Rodeo. Don Edwardo knew from experience that this meant further and serious hindrance to his work, which, from unpreventable causes, was already much behind. He was natu- rally annoyed. The appellation “ Don Edwardo”’ had been given to Edward Fergersen two years before, on his first visit to the Argentine. It is the custom there, as with most Latin peoples, to alter the Christian name in conformity with their pronunciation; the title or prefix “ Don ’’ was added merely by courtesy. Rergersen was the engineer of a silver mine situated in that part of the Andes which forms the western boundary of the Province of San Juan. The mine was owned by an consequently the bribery and corruption would be on a larger scale than usual, so that the independent, free, and enlightened peons would be drunk, and enabled to remain so, for a far longer period than was customary. The order suspending work was posted alongside the official notice of the election, and by Saturday night the camp was practically deserted. On Monday morning (the election day) Challoner suggested that they should ride into Rodeo and view the proceedings, and also get the mail from England which was then due. Fergersen, who had nothing else to do, agreed: the horses were saddled, and the two, with a groom, started .on their twenty-mile ride. Their road passed the house of a widow who was the largest landowner in the district, and etiquette forbade them to pass without calling. She had several grown-up sons who were influential in local affairs, and these had become both friends and _ business acquaintances of Fergersen; so he readily

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464 assented to the widow’s requcst that he would take a letter to one of them, named Adolfo, who she thought was then in Rodeo. Rodeo was reached shortly after noon. Although dignified both in conversation and. by the map-maker with the name of ‘‘ town,” it was nothing more than a collection— perhaps a hundred all told—of single storeyed ‘adobe houses, scattered for three-quarters of a mile on each side of the main road. To reach the post-office they had to ride the full length of the town, and when they were about half-way they suddenly heard a loud command to halt. The summons was too peremptory to be disobeyed, especially as it was backed by a squad of soldiers with rifles at the “ ready.’’ They were questioned as to their business, and, as their replies were considercd satisfactory, were allowed to ptoceed. ‘Country towns in the Argentine never wear an air of liveliness or superabundant gaiety except on fiestas and similar occasions, but to-day the place appeared entirely deserted ; not a soul was to be seen. Even the rambling pigs, dogs, and chickens, the South American scavengers, seemed to have vanished. Fergersen couldn't understand * it, particularly as it was election day, when ‘the ‘road should have been filled with gallop- ‘ing horses, urged by half-frenzied and drunken riders. Thev received their letters and were preparing to mount when Fergersen thought he would question the post-mistress as to the reason for the unusual quietude of the place. She seemed somewhat nervous in ‘replving, but said sufficient to indicate that there had been a little trouble in the town that morning, and that she had heard firing. He inquired if she knew where Don Adolfo— ‘the widow’s son, for whom he carried the letter—could be found. She replied that she did not know. However, on returning through the town, they met an old man who evidently knew Fergersen, and, when ques- tioned, told him in a furtive whisper that Adolfo was at Don Henrique’s farm. He knew the place, it was about a mile away, and thither they rode. They were almost there. when both Challoner and Fergersen suddenly ducked their heads, for they heard the whine of a rifle bullet passing between them. Before they had recovered, there came another. Looking up, they observed two men, half hidden by an adobe wall, reloading their rifles. Fergersen did not relish this, so he stood up in his stirrups and shouted, asking why they had been fired upon. Whether they recognized the speaker from his voice or his shockingly bad Spanish, Fergersen never knew, but the summons had the desired effect. He was called by name THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and told to advance, which he did, and presently came up to the two men, who were smiling broadly. They were peons, and one, with that thin veneer of politeness common to them, said that “ they regretted having fired, not recognizing who it was, but would Don Edwardo kindly say why he was there ? " Thereupon, Fergersen told them he had a letter for Don Adolfo, whom, after a little parley, they agreed to fetch. Don Adolfo soon appeared behind the wall, and after exchanging the usual greetings, Fergersen gave lum the letter. Adolfo read it; looked up, and then asked him abruptly which side he was on. Fergersen was not quite sure, and replicd that he did not understand him, nor did he understand why he had been stopped by soldiers in the town, and fired upon by the peons. “Don Edwardo, * repliéd Adolfo, “you are a caballero like myself, and will under- stand that which I shall tell you. To-day the Presidential election is held throughoat the Republic. We here are quite satisfied with the retiring one, who is standing for re- election. His presidency has been marked by no repressive or unyust laws, and during his term everything has - gone ~ well ..and smoothly. But the enemies of the country —curses be upon them !—have put forward as their candidate a man whose sole.‘ aim is personal enrichment. My friends “and I knew that our opponents had taken what they thought would be more than sufficient Precautions to prevent the vote here being in our candidate’s favour.. But ‘I'did not know that they would refuse me my vote. Would you believe, Don ‘Edwardo,”’ he continued, excitedly, “ that when I'went to record my vote this ‘morning. they fefused to let me cast it, saying that I had not paid, mny taxes—a most uncalled - for insult {7 Does anybody here pay them? Did “ever an Angostino pay taxes? Did my father—or my forefathers? Never! But I was calm; the situation needed finesse and diplomacy. I retired quietly, saying that the’ ‘arrears would shortly be paid.” : s He paused. Fergersen could see. that he wanted to be questioned, so he said,.‘ And did you pay them, Don” Adolfo 7 well knowing that Adolfo would rather, have his teeth out. “Yes, sefior,” replied Adolfo, “ I paid them—not the taxes, no; but the’arrears of insults that my friends and I have suffered. Yes! I gathered a few of our. party "— Fergersen heard afterwards there were about eighty—‘ and rode up to the’ Intendente's house, disarmed the soldiers, and removed the ballot-box, which we now have here. It was the only thing to do to ensure a fair election. It was simply upholding law and order. Do you blame us, Don Edwardo ? ”

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THE ELECTION AT RODEO. 465 ae Os 7" Nat. Scares... | “The summons was too peremptory to be disobeyed, especially as it backed b; squad of soldiers with rifles at the ‘ready.’” iia =

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406 During this recital Challoner had ridden closer, and he now remarked in English to Fergersen that he ‘ wondered if they had any beer.” It was a blazing hot day; they had not had a drink since leaving camp, and after a twenty-mile ride over dusty roads they were naturally very thirsty. The tew cantinas, in common with the other stores, were all closed, and Fergersen, having his thirst recalled in such a tantalizing manner, would at that moment probably have parted with his birthright for a bottle of beer, let alone throwing in his lot with the apparently successful) party. It might increas his influence with labour, he thought ; anyway, it decided him. So he answered Adolfo's query very diplomatically, saying that naturally he was on the side of law and order At the same time, he added, he could not see in what manner he could serve Adolfo. “Come inside, senor,” replied the young man, “and I will explain more fully.” Thereupon one of the pickets who had fired upon them was told to lead them round to the main entrance, and very soon they were inside the huge wooden gates of the enclosure. Before dismounting, Fergersen took a good look at the surroundings from the height of his saddle. He was in a completely walled-in space, nearly six acres in extent. The adobe walls were thick, some seven feet high in the vicinity of the house, and five feet in other parts. About three hundred men were assembled, nearly all armed, and with the most diverse weapons. Many had smooth-bore muskets, a few carried Win- chester rifles of both ancient and modern types, two out of every three men had either pistols or revolvers at their waists, some had machetes, and all wore one or more of those murderous-looking knives common to the peon class. If their arms were varied their clothing was more so. The leaders had the soft, high boots, the others either protected their feet with the native a/pargata or went bare- footed; but bare-footed or not, every man wore immense spurs. With their ponchos slung over their left shoulders, their dingy and dirty sombreros, brown faces, and dark, flashing eyes, they looked as picturesque a crowd of bandits as ever stepped on the stage of grand opera. Fergersen recognized many of his own men amongst them, perhaps fifty or more, and doubtl there were many he did not see There were quite two hundred horses and mules loose in the corrals, and about twenty standing saddled, and tethered to posts. In another corral was a herd of cattle, with sheep and goats, and here and there in the press wandered the inevitable collection of pigs, dogs, chickens, and children. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The place looked capable, if necessary, of withstanding a siege. Bales of hay and grass and sacks of maize were in plenty, a recently- slaughtered builock was being dressed, and at several small fires men were grilling portions of meat and joking with a few women who were preparing bread. He noticed also that the wall was well guarded, sentries in pairs being stationed at close intervals. After they had dismounted, and seen their horses cared for, Adolfo came up with two or three other local men of the better class, and after introducing them, announced that lunch was waiting. In the middle of the enclosure was a small vineyard to which Adolfo led the guests, telling them that as the house was full and overtlowing with women, this was the next most comfortable place for them to stay in, and so it was; the leafy shade was most welcome, and so was the lunch—lamb chops grilled native fashion-- with its con- comitant wine, and—to Challoner's delight— beer. During lunch Adolfo related what had happened after his party had secured the ballot-box and voting papers. They were practically certain that an attempt would be made to recover these, so they retreated, as previously arranged, to this farm (owned by a connection of Adolfo's) and waited to see what action the other side would take. It was not long in coming. The Comisario had ridden down with a dozen men and demanded the return of the box under pains and penalties. High words followed, and somebody, either accidentally or purposely, fired a rifle. It was enough; it started the row that the half-breed Argentino dearly loves. They were too close and mixed-up to do much shooting, so the: m/ée becarre a hand-to-hand affair. The upshot was that Adolfo’s people drove oft the troopers, who lett four of their number behind. “Tt is these, Don Edwardo,”’ continued Adolfo, ‘‘ that I wish you to see, if you will come with me.” Fergersen consented and went with him. The district around.. Rodeo, like other sparsely-populated areas, was far too poor to support a qualified doctor, consequently those who required medical aid had either to rely on their own meagre knowledge of simple remedies and worthless patent medi- cines or, if their ailment was severe, to die, through the lack of proper advice. Now Fergersen had acquired a certain amount of medical knowledge, and invariably kept a stock of the more common drugs, so that he could do more for accidents and injuries than most people. This had become locally known, and he had—quite undeservedly— obtained the reputation of being a good doctor. This will explain the reason of

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THE ELECTION AT RODEO. Adolfo’s eagerness to have Fergersen with them. They had nearly reached a corner ot the enclosure when Fergersen noticed several men lying stretched out—basking, as he thought, in the sun. Adolfo turned to him and said, ‘‘ There you are, Don Edwardo ; there are the men I spoke of. Tell me, please, if they are dead!’ He spoke lightly, and Fergersen was not astonished at his tone of levity; he knew how little value was placed on human life. It was a country where ‘death before dishonour ” was a practical formula, and not the empty phrase of the novelist. The engineer knelt down to examine them. It needed but little knowledge to tell that three of the bodies would never move again; the stiffness of death was there. The other he was not sure of, though all the signs of death were present. Adolfo, therefore, instructed some women to take the body in under the shade. Fergersen saw it afterwards ; the man had been shot four times. He was told that it was the Comis- ario himself, which probably accounted for the numerous wounds; the peons had evidently remembered to pay off old scores, real or imaginary. Whether he was dead or not Fergersen did not know, and it was impossible—even if he were alive—to do anything until the man became conscious, so, after leaving a few instructions with the woman who had been sent to watch, the engineer went back to the vineyard. Adolfo’s party had suffered little injury and required practically no attention. Nothing of note took place during the afternoon, but from some men who had recently joined them they gathered that their opponents had sent to neighbouring villages for reinforcements, and possibly an attack would be made that night or on the morrow. The evening came and went, but nothing more than occasional rifle shots disturbed them. Extra sentries were posted, however, to guard against a possible surprise. Fergersen and Challoner slept upon the ground that night, with their saddles for pillows. It was a glorious night, and through the clear mountain air—Rodeo lay at an altitude of seven thousand feet—the starry sky appeared more magnificent in its inde- scribable grandeur than ever, and Fergersen wondered to himself how, with so much beauty around them, men could engage in such sanguinary disputes over such trivial matters. He knew well enough that no matter which President was elected, things would not alter one atom ; nobody would be a centavo richer or poorer. As to upholding the dignity of the law, that was only a frothy excuse of Adolfo’s; Fergersen doubted, if the motives actuating both parties were 467 fully known, whether one could decide which side possessed the most rascality. - He awoke, according to his habit, at the break of dawn. The intermittent firing seemed to have ceased; the animals in the corrals were not yet stirring, and the whole place was apparently asleep. A little distance away he could hear cattle coming along the road outside, apparently being driven to the river bank. He had almost decided to turn over and sleep for another half hour, when a most fearful medley of firing, yelling, and lowing of bullocks broke out; it came from the front gates. He pulled on his boots, and without waiting to lace them, rushed up to see what the trouble was. By reason of the number of men around the walls, it was quite impossible to get there, so he went a little farther down and, standing on a barrel, looked over the wafl. The light was not yet strong enough to enable him to distinguish things clearly, but he was able to see a crowd of men and bullocks. Spurts of flame came from amongst them, the fire being returned from the wall. Then came a moan of pain from one of the bullocks which had been hit by a bullet. Suddenly the mass started to dissolve, and the terrified cattle stampeded back in the direction they had come. As they rushed away, Fergersen could see one big beast at the rear, with something on its back, which it was trying to dislodge by bucking.. As the animal passed him he saw that a man was clinging to its back, holding on with bis spurs; he did not ride far, for the infuriated animal rushed against a wall and the man had to tumble off or have his leg crushed, but the ride carried him out of danger. The other men clambered over the low wall opposite and got away; they would have been pursued had it not been for the firing now heard at the rear of the enclosure, It appeared that the attacking force had divided themselves into two portions, the first approaching under cover of a herd of cattle; the second were to assault at the rear after the first party had engaged. This second onslaught was far more dangerous than the one at the front had been. The sentries on the rear walls had left their posts to join their comrades at the gates, and so left the wall unguarded. About twenty of the enemy were inside the enclosure before they were noticed, and others were quickly climbing over. The din was frightful; the vociferous shouting of the men, the whinnving of the horses and mules, and the bellowing of the cattle, combined with the grunting, barking, and cackling of the smaller animals, created such a terrific uproar that it was almost impossible to distinguish the firing. It was dangerous, though; Fergersen had already heard the impact of two or three

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468 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bullets as they hit the wall near where he was standing. Before long the attacking party were beaten back again over the wall; the odds against them were too great. One man was captured ; he had been shot in the leg and could not get away. The casualties in front were two bullocks, which provided meat for the men’s breakfast. On questioning the wounded prisoner, who was a man from an adjacent village, they learnt that the scheme of the double attack was evolved by the leader of the opposing party. About twenty soldiers were sent amongst the cattle, and the civilians composed the rear force. The idea was that the cattle should be sent to Don Henriques for him to buy—this was his business—and the gates would be opened to admit them, no one suspecting the presence of soldiers among them. Unfortunately for the success of the scheme, one of the sentries on the gate thought he saw something gleaming among the cattle, and also noticed that the beasts were not in so compact a herd as usual. He half raised “ As the animal passed him he saw that a his rifle as if to fire. It was enough: the soldiers must have been both watching and waiting. They stood erect and fired from behind the cattle, and the fight began. It was afterwards discovered that three of the soldiers had been wounded. Later on, a few mounted peons were sent out to scout, and returned with the news

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THE ELECTION AT RODEO. that the men gathered from near-by villages had gone back to their homes, disgusted both by their lack of success and with their leaders, who had failed to pay them their promised rewards. The officer commanding the soldiers had taken his men away, possibly for similar reasons. A little before midday, therefore, Rodeo was re-peopled with its own 469 Adolfo sent off a thousand-word telegram to the President—at the Government’s ex- pense—assuring him of Rodeo’s loyalty. The wounded Comisario showed slight signs of life in the morning, whereupon Fergersen had him removed to the house of the local Justice of the Peace, and gave directions for his treatment. He saw no more of him, nor did he expect to, but one afternoon some seven weeks after he happened to be in San Juan, and while strolling round the plaza someone clapped man was clinging to its back, holding on with his “spurs.” population, and the interrupted gaiety started again. The election was duly held—a day late— and the ballot-box contained no adverse vote ; Adolfo’s people saw to that! It was a full poll ; even those who had long been deceased managed to have their votes recorded by one method or another. him on the shoulder. He turned and saw a big swarthy man whom he did not recognize. The stranger, however, evidently knew him. “Ah, Don Edwardo,” he cried, heartily. “You are the saviour of my life! Come; let us drink!” It was the wounded Comisario, miracu- lously recovered, and they duly drank.

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oe Offes SEARCH FORTHE “GROSVENOR* a ‘ EB.Dawson ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES PEARS A hundred and forty years ago the East Indiaman Grosvenor, laden with a rich cargo of gold, silver, and precious stones, was wrecked on the lonely coast of Pondoland, South Africa, The contents of her strong-room were valued at close on two million sterling, and many attempts have been made at various times to salve the treasure, but without success. Now, however, a syndicate using the latest scientific methods is endeavouring to tunnel imto the old wreck from underneath the ocean floor, and by the time this article is in print the result of their labours may be known. Mr. Dawson gives a moet interesting account of the wreck of the Grosvenor and the operations of the treasure-ceekers. N the rugged coast of Pondoland, about a hundred and seventy miles off Port Natal, engineers are slowly but surely blasting a passage under the sea-bed towards the wreck of the old East Indiaman Grosvenor, which is believed to lie in a natural gully a hundred yards or so out from the shore. The Grosvenor was a treasure-ship, richly Jaden with gold and gems, and she has proved a lure for fortune- hunters ever since white men first drifted into this part of the country. Many deter- mined attempts have been made to get at the precious stones and bullion which were stored in her strong-room when the vessel left India a hundred and forty years ago, but the forces of Nature have combined to protect the old ship from the treasure-seekers. The golden hoard of the Grosvenor has been variously estimated. Extravagant stories have naturally grown up about it, but without relying on wild legends as to fabulous value, it is known that the prize is rich enough to warrant great efforts for its recovery. The syndicate at present operating is satisfied, from official records which still exist, that the present-day value of the contents of the strong-room exceeds £2,000,000, According to her manifest and other documents, the ship carried precious stones—diamonds, rubies, and emeralds—in nineteen boxes to the value of £517,000; gold bars to the number of seven hundred and twenty, valued at £420,000; fourteen hundred and fifty silver bars, unvalued, and coin to the value of £717,000. The Madras Government reported that the invoice of the ship amounted to Star Pagodas 162,378, and her register of diamonds to Star Pagodas 24,444. The “Star Pagoda” in those days was worth 8s. 2d. to 8s. 6d. The whole consignment was estimated to be worth £1,714,710 when the vessel sailed. The story of the Grosvenor’s fatal voyage takes us back to the stirring days of the eighteenth century, when sailing the high seas was a hazardous undertaking and Piracy still prevailed. It was in 1782 that the Grosvenor, one of the finest ships in the East India Company’s fleet, bade farewell to the shores of India. In command of the vessel was Captain Coxon, a tried and trusted officer, and her passengers were mostly people of position—army officers returning to the old country, high officials of ‘* John Com- pany,” and their wives and children. Alto- gether there were one hundred and fifty passengers and crew on board. The crew were fighting men as well as sailors, and the ship carried some fifty guns, as well as numerous blocks of pig-iron which were used to repulse piractical boarding parties.

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THE SEARCH FOR THE ‘:GROSVENOR” TREASURE After leaving Fort St. George (now Madras), the Grosvenor called at Trincomalee, in Ceylon, and then set out on June 13th, 1782, on her long and tedious journey to the Cape of Good Hope. t was not until the ship passed Mada- gascar that the people on the Grosvenor teceived the first intimation of trouble. On August 2nd the sky became overcast and the vessel was overtaken by a strong breeze which was accompanied by a thick mist. At dinner time on Saturday, Captain Coxon is reported to have told the passengers that he considered the ship was at least a hundred leagues from the nearest land. Neither on Friday nor Saturday could observations be taken owing to the fog. The gale prevailed throughout Sunday night, and at four o’clock on Sunday morning the ship was lying to under a foresail and mizzen-staysail. The Grosvenor, although nobody realized it, had been driven perilously near the African coast. Land was first sighted by a seaman named John Hynes, who was engaged with several others in sending down the fore-topgallant mast. Discerning breakers ahead, Hynes asked the opinion of his companion as to the presence of land. Both agreed there was definite cause for alarm and immediately hastened to the deck and reported to the officer on duty. This gentleman was at first incredulous, but suddenly the men on deck, peering through the murk, saw land straight ahead, and the captain was quickly sum- moned. THE WRECK OF THE GROSVENOR. One can conjure up a picture of the plight of the vessel in the cold dawn of an African morning ; the consternation which prevailed amongst the passengers as the news spread, confirmed by the booming of the breakers on the rocks. Once the danger was realized there was little, if any, confusion. Captain Coxon gave the order: ‘‘ Wear ship!” Instantly the helm was put hard-aweather, sails were run down or loosed, and every- thing was done to save the vessel. Her head was nearly round when, with a terrific crash, she struck the rocks. Here we rely on the narrative of an old chronicler, to whom the scene was described by one of the survivors—the John Hynes who first caught sight of land. “In the first place Captain Coxon ordered the carpenter to sound the pumps. This was done, but no water was to be found in the hold. The stern of the vessel lying high on the rocks, and the fore part being consider- ably lower, all the water had run forward. About ten minutes after the ship had struck the wind came off-shore, a circumstance that gave additional strength to the apprehen- sions of those on board, for they were now afraid that they would be driven out to sea and thereby lose the only chance they had 471 of avoiding the death which seemed to await them. ‘‘ The gunner was ordered by the captain to fire signals of distress, but upon his attempting to go into the powder-room he found it so full of water as to prevent all access. The captain was no sooner informed of this circumstance than he ordered the main mast to be cut away, and after- wards the foremast. These orders were carried out, but without any effect, and the ship being then a cable’s length, or about three hundred yards, from the shore, all hopes of saving her were at an end.” The situation was now desperate, and some of the passengers gave way to panic. Yet, despite the poignant scene of mothers crying and lamenting over their children, practical efforts were made by the officers and crew to save their own and the other lives that were in peril. Crowds of natives had been attracted to the scene, and could be seen assembled on the shore, but they were powerless to render any assistance. Between the stricken ship and the shore was a maelstrom of rock-studded waves. The yawl was launched, but was im- mediately dashed to pieces, and the _jolly- boat quickly shared the same fate. To the passengers it must have seemed that nothing living could win through the tumultuous surf, but with feverish energy some of the male passengers and crew set about the con- struction of a raft. Meantime two Italians and a Lascar, all powerful swimmers, went over the side with a deep-sea line in an endeavour to reach the shore. One of the trio perished, but after Herculean efforts the other two fought their way to land, and by means of a small line they had taken with them, a larger one was dragged ashore, and afterwards a hawser. Fortunately the natives proved friendly, and assisted in dragging the hawser ashore. During this time the raft had heen completed and launched, Four men got on to it, but they had scarcely taken up their positions when the violence of the surf snapped the line connecting the raft with the ship, and the raft was driven on to the rocks, where it upset, three out of the four men on it being drowned. The hawser which now connected the Grosvenor with the shore offered a chance to the more athletic, and several men accom- plished the feat of going along it hand-over- hand. A number, however, found their strength insufficient. They dropped into the sea with heart-rending cries and were drowned. The plight of the unfortunate people on the wreck seemed well-nigh hope- less. A dozen or more had already perished, and the remainder were crowded together on the poop and quarter-deck, awaiting the inevitable. When all seemed lost, however, Providence took a hand ; the deck on which they had gathered broke away from the ship

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472 and drifted ashore practically intact. In this manner most of the passengers and crew got safely to land. “ By the time they had all got says the chronicler, ‘‘ the day far spent and night came on apace.”” The natives, who had retired to their kraals to gloat over the plunder they had obtained from the wreck—hoops from the masts and other prizes that had drifted ashore—had_ left Behind them the embers of a fire. With these the castaways lighted three others, and “having got together some hogs, geese, and fowls which had been driven on shore, they supped upon them.” Before dusk had completely fallen, men who had been wandering along the shore had found a cask of beef, a cask of flour, and a quantity of arrack. These were all handed over to the commander, who served out a ration to each person. Two sails which had been washed ashore were also recovered, and with these the men erected two tents to accommodate the ladies. Worn out with their struggles, but grateful that their lives had been spared, the ship- wrecked people spent the first night ashore within sight of the grand old ship on which they had been so happy, but which now presented a sorry sight. On the following day they gave a decent burial to the bodies of their less fortunate shipmates. A TERRIBLE MARCH. The survivors then commenced a weary trek along the coast with the object of teaching the European settlement at the Cape of Good Hope. According to old records some of them eventually reached their destination, but not without under- going terrible hardships, inseparable from a march of hundreds of miles through un- known country. Long detours inland had to be made to cross the rivers along the coast, and the castaw: led a hand-to-mouth existence, subsisting chiefly on clams and other shellfish gathered from the shore. Frequently — harassed by — unfriendly savages, they were gradually dispossessed of the few valuables they had ‘managed to save from the wreck, and although it is not stated that any of them were actually killed by the natives, there were many deaths. Before proceeding very far the party split up into smaller bodies with the object of escaping attention from the blacks, and some of these parties were never heard of again. Many attempts, as already stated, have been made to recover the Grosvenor treasure, but they have all failed. Apart from recorded expeditions, there have probably been numerous individual efforts to reach the strong-room, Early pioneers undoubtedly surveved the wreck with covetous eyes, while a few of the more daring swam out and actually reached her m shore,” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. deck. It is said, for example, that an old Natal colonist, Bazley by name, often made trips from his home at Port Shepstone to the scene of the tragedy and actually gained the deck of the vessel, then under water, but was never able to penetrate below. Two prospectors, favoured by an exceptionally Jow tide, are also stated to have waded out to the wreck. These men, it is said, recovered coins and other relics, but they never got near the strong-room. In more recent vears people who have found themselves in the vicinity have scoured the shore, most of them without success, but others have been rewarded by discovering coins and other telics hidden away in crevices. As early as 1787 a serious attempt was made to reach the Grosvenor and break through to the treasure, but it failed for want of sufficient gear. The Admiralty had a try in 1842, placing a naval captain in command of an expedition which spent over ten months in the vicinity of the wreck. This expedition had with it Malay divers who spent many days in diving down to the wreck (now resting on the sea bottom), but they could not approach the treasure. Getting down to the deck was an easy matter for these swarthy swimmers, but they had not the strength to remove the hatches, which had become firmly fixed. Captain Bowden, who was in charge of the operations, reported his failure to the Lord Commissioners of the Admiralty in the following terms: ‘‘ Since my last letter none of the valuables have been re- covered from the Grosvenor, which is now rapidly settling. I, however, took the cross- bearings of the wreck, which I have entered in the log for your approval. No less than thir- teen trips have been made to the wreck with no result. I shall continue for the next month here and make every possible attempt.” In after years the graves of the unfortunate men who were drowned or battered to death on the rocks when the Grosvenor was wrecked were opened up, but whether this was done for identification purposes or in a vain search for treasure it is difficult to say. Anyway, the remains were re-interred on a small knoll south of the wreck, and there they remain to this day. In 1905-7 salving operations on a big scale were undertaken by a_ syndicate floated in South Africa. By this time what remained of the Grosvenor had found a resting-place in a natural basin under water, and had been surrounded by sand. The ship entirely disappeared from view, even from directly above. The 1905 syndicate attacked the salvage problem with great determination. A dredger was hired and, striking gocd weather, the treasure-hunters were able to moor it above the ship. The dredger got to work and removed all the sand from the wreck. Then a diver was sent down, and actually

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THE SEARCH FOR THE “GROSVENOR” TREASURE. “The raft was driven on to the rocks.” reached the deck. The syndicate appeared to be on the brink of success; everyone was optimistic, and the shares soared to an unthought-of figure. ON THE BRINK OF SUCCESS. Once again, however, human ingenuity was baffled and the searchers were given Vol. 3. 473 a grim reminder of the latent power of the sea. On descending the next day, full of hope, the diver was engulfed by the collapse of the walls of sand which had been created on either side of the wreck. Desperate efforts were made to rescue him, but although his body was recovered life was extinct. The operations of this syndicate were Digitized by GOORe Cc

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474 not confined to the attempt from the sea side, for on the shore they had constructed a rough platform of rocks on which was placed a powerful crane. Commencing from the foot of the crane and extending towards the wreck a gully had been blasted out of the rocky foreshore. The exact plans of the syndicate have never been divulged, but it is evident that they thought of attaching chains to the hulk with the inten- tion of dragging it, or part of it, up the gully by means of the crane. The tragic end of the diver and a period of rough weather, combined with the fact that the arduous work of dredging had been completely undone in a few minutes, finally led to the operations being abandoned, + and the syndicate which had been so near success collapsed. Standing like a sentinel on the rocks near the wreck are the remains of the crane, now almost unrecognizable. Though the 1905-7 syndicate failed in their main effort, they succeeded in achieving certain material results, for Mr. R. Wright, the engineer in charge of the operations, recently stated that some two hundred and fifty coins were recovered in the course of the shore operations, and also a lot of odds and ends in the way of silver brooches, a silver wine decanter label, or tally, with “* Madeira” engraved on it, and bundles of brass pins, with riveted heads, which had formed into a conglomerate mass of rust. Amongst other finds, the syndicate also accounted for thirteen of the Grosvenor's guns. Mr. Wright says: ‘‘ Cecil Rhodes, who was very keen on salving the Grosvenor from an archzological interest, took two of the guns, which were lving ’twixt high and low water-mark, up to Umtata to the head- quarters of the old Cape Mounted Rifles.” Mr. Wright also describes how the hull was discovered and located under the six to ten feet of sand and eighteen feet of water which covered her, the discovery being confirmed by boring down and securing a sample of the wood from the deck with a wad-cutter. The present Grosvenor Bullion Syndicate, Limited, was floated two years ago, and commenced operations in November, 192% One of the prime movers in the scheme is Mr. M. L. Webster, a consulting engineer of Johannesburg. Mr. Webster did a tre- mendous amount of spade-work before he promoted the company; he secured docu- ments and charts giving the exact position of the wreck, obtained copies of the in- voices and ship’s manifest to convince him- self that the treasure had actually been placed on board, and visited the scene of the wreck and made careful preliminary surveys. The Government was naturally interested in treasure-trove—it claims fifteen per cent. on all treasure recovered—and before com- mencing work Mr. Webster had to inter- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. view members of the Government, secure a lease of the foreshore, and put up a deposit of £1,000 as a guarantee of good faith. Having made all the necessary arrange- ments and satisfied himself that the prize was worth the trouble, Mr. Webster floated his company, taking the position of managing director. An engineer, miner, and other workers were engaged and transported to the site, and as soon as sufficient capital had been subscribed work was commenced. The shares were issued at a nominal price of a shilling ; once the operations were under way they were raised to two shillings, and later to four shillings. People all over the Union took shares, and the result of the enterprise is being awaited with keen interest in most of the towns and villages of South Africa, while there are individual shareholders farther afield who are no less interested. A prominent British shareholder, for instance, is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the famous creator of Sherlock Holmes, who wrote as follows: ‘‘ Distance prevents me from taking a more active part in your enterprise, but it seems to me to be approached in a very workmanlike manner and to offer every prospect of success. . . . There are obvious risks, but the stake is a large one, and it seems to be a good specula- tive venture.’ Another shareholder over- seas is Colonel Coxon, a relative of the com- mander of the ill-fated vessel. A definite plan had been thought out before the company was floated, and, curi- ously enough, it was on somewhat similar lines to a scheme suggested by Lord Headley, in the course of a presidential address to the British Society of Engineers. His idea was that the Goodwin Sands might be searched for treasure ships by sinking a concrete tower in the sands and tunnelling out from it in ditferent directions, AN INGENIOUS SCHEME. The Grosvenor Syndicate’s task was simplified to the extent that the exact posi- tion of the wreck was known, and that it was not a great distance from the shore. It was therefore decided to sink an inclined shaft well below the floor of the sea and then to tunnel directly out towards the ship. There were a lot of initial difficulties to be overcome before work on the tunnel actually commenced. To appreciate these difficulties properly it should be realized that the wreck is a hundred and thirty miles from the nearest railhead, twenty-five miles from the nearest village, and about fifty miles by indifferent roads from the small harbour known as Port St. Johns. The nearest village is named Lusikisiki, and lies on the route from Port Shepstone to St. Johns. From Lusikisiki the tracks which led to the beach had to be widened, and a fair amount of time has been spent in improving the road

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THE SEARCH FOR THE “GROSVENOR” TREASURE. at the beach end. In these circumstances the transport of materials was a tedious job, either from St. Johns or from the nearest railhead. Most of the carting was done by wagons, and in some cases they took three months to travel between the railhead and the camp. The early arrivals found the site of the camp a very inhospitable spot, and one of their first tasks was to erect huts to live in. These were built in the form of rondavels, with dagga walls and thatched roofs. The 475 the cluster of huts, but my ideas were soon dashed to the ground. There was none of the suppressed excitement which one expected to encounter; none of the camp workers talked of treasure unless it was mentioned by visitors, and there was no sign whatever of a wreck in the swirling waters beyond the camp. One gained the impression of a small band of men engaged in some ordinary engineering task, concerned only in getting through a good day’s work. The engineer in charge is Mr. C. D. Chap. The remains of the crane erected by the ill-fated 1905 syndicate. European residents are few in number, for Pondoland is practically a domain of the native in his raw state, and the number of trading licences granted to white men is restricted. Fuel is difficult to obtain, as forests are few and far between and are rigidly protected, the natives and settlers being only permitted to make use of dead wood. Despite all these obstacles to rapid pro- gress, the work has been pushed steadily ahead, and by the time this story is pub- lished the Grosvenor Bullion Syndicate should have solved the mystery as to whether the treasure remains intact or not. Late in July last I was given an oppor- tunity of visiting the Grosvenor camp. It lies well off the beaten track, and it was only after two days’ hard going in a Ford car that the place was sighted. The last few miles are over hill and dale, and before descending the final slope one catches a glimpse cf the huts and machinery, nestling amid beautiful surroundings. Like others who had made the trip, I was full of preconceived notions on approaching man, and on emerging from the engine- room, his first thought was for the comfort of the visitors rather than of the hidden treasure which had brought them to his camp. On becoming acquainted with Mr. Chapman one discovers that he is a man who has been tackling difficult problems for many years. A mining engineer with wonder- ful experience gained in the gold mines of the Rand and in pushing tunnels through hills and mountains in various parts of the country, he was one of the men chiefly responsible for successfully completing the great Steenbrass tunnel in the Cape—the tunnel through which water is conveyed to the city of Cape Town. The camp is a simple affair, with no unnec appurtenances. A little way back from high-water mark are two boilers in full blast. One supplies the power for the sharp-toothed saw which cuts into handy blocks for the boilers the wood gathered from the fringes of the surrounding forests, and also hauls the ‘‘ cocoa pan ”’ which runs down to the end of the under-water tunnel ; the other pumps the compressed air for the

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476 drills. These drills, handled by a miner named Enight, from the diamond fields of Kimberley, and a_ stalwart native who acquired his knowledge on the gold mines, are mercilessly piercing neat circular holes for the explosive charge which blasts away the solid sandstone separating the workers from the hull of the treasure ship. An ever- growing dump extending out towards the sea indicates the entrance to the tunnel. DOWN THE TUNNEL. A trip down the tunnel is faced with trepidation by those unfamiliar with the work of miners, especially as this one runs under the sea. I did not feel too comfortable at the outset, while one of my companions who had accomplished doughty deeds in the Great War was only prevailed upon to descend after much persuasion. First, there is the inclined shaft, a hundred and twenty-seven feet long, which goes down well below the floor of the sea. From the bottom of this shaft the tunnel proper runs in a straight line towards the gully in which the wreck has been lying for decades. The tunnel is of substantial dimensions, providing ample room for a full-sized man to work in ; but the atmosphere is stuffy and it is neces- sary to carry candles to pick one’s way. All this tends to enhance the eerie feeling which overcomes the visitor. In the distance can be dimly discerned the miner and his native assistant, hammering away with pneumatic drills at the face of the rock. It is very interesting to watch these drills at work. Conversation is almost impossible owing to the clangour caused by THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the drilling, but in momentary silences the miner explains what has to be done. In the first place it is necessary for the safety of all concerned to keep a “‘ leading drill,’ about twelve feet long, always ahead of the workers. The working drills penetrate to a depth of from four feet six inches to five feet, and with the “ leading drill '’ embedded in the rock it is therefore always known that the miners can proceed on their next section without fear of encountering water or treacherous soil. Quite a num of holes are drilled for the blasting charge; there is a central series of four, and further holes at the top and bottom. The work of the drillers completed, the miner inserts the explosive and time-fuses, applies a match, and retires. The fuses are set so as to give him plenty of time to reach the open. is isvery neces- sary, as when the explosion takes place the full force is felt at the mouth of the tunnel, which is the only outlet, and pieces of rock come flying through the air. After the explosion time has to be allowed for the poisonous fumes to clear, and then the miner and his “ boys "’ again descend—the miner to re-start his drilling and the natives to set to work on the task of clearing away the débris. This is done with a “ cocoa pan,” operated by a small overhead gear at the entrance, In this way steady progress is being made towards the wreck. By the beginning of September last the syndicate had completed two-thirds of the tunnel and only about a hundred feet of rock separated them from their prize. Altogether, it is estimated that the tunnel will be about four hundred and thirty feet long. It is a tedious job, but the Some of the huts occupied by the treasure-seekers. ce

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THE SEARCH FOR THE “GROSVENOR ” TREASURE. directors of the syndicate and the engineer realize that it is the only way in which the problem can be tackled with any chance of success. Hitherto all attempts to reach the wreck have been made from the surface, and their failures demonstrated that if the treasure was to be recovered it would have to be by strictly scientific methods. The strata hereabouts consist of hard sandstone, and it is through this that the miners have had to tunnel. Drills are quickly blunted, but they are - promptly re-ccnditioned in an improvised blackstnith’s shop on the surface, and the nature of the coast is an advantage, because it has not been found neces- sary so far to use a single timber prop in the tunnel, and no water has been encountered. A certain amount of water filters down from the surface, and water is also used to cool the drills, but no diffi- culty has been experienced in dealing with this. Up to the present the tunnel work has been quite straightforward, but when it nears the wreck all the skill and ingenuity of the engineer and his staff will be called for. Mr. Chap- man believes that the hull of the Grosvenor rests on solid rock, and if this is , so the tunnel will be | diverted downwards, so that it will come up through the rock into the wreck. This would simplify mat- ters, as there would not be so much seepage, but in any case the syndicate is prepared to have to force a way through loose sand and to keep the water out with compressed air. KEEPING OUT THE OCEAN It is this of the work that puzzles the layman. What will prevent the waterruching in when the tunnel leaves the rock? How will the connection be made to the wreck, and what will keep the ocean out ? These are questions which are best answered by technical men. It seems they 477 —— — om ots, Sy A ‘The ‘entrance: tothe’ tansel: which is being: driven: through. the rock beneath the have all been solved before in different parts of the world, although not with the same object, and the directors of the Grosvenor Syndicate, and the engineer in charge, are confrdent that they will not be confronted by any insurmountable difficulties. Airtight compartments are being built in the tunnel; compressed air will be employed to overcome any pressure of water, a process known as liquid cementation will be used to strengthen the drive and prevent seepage of sand and water. It is an accepted principle that by creating a

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478 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “false atmosphere ’’ and overcoming: the pressure of a given volume of water, the latter can be kept out. Breathing is affected in such a false atmosphere, of course, but in the case of the Grosvenor tunnel, it is not anticipated that the depth of the water above the wreck will render it necessary to have an excessive atmospheric pressure. As already indicated, the work has pro- gressed very favourably. Blasting is done regularly, and each charge displaces rock to a depth of about four feet six inches. I have already said that the wreck is not visible, but the shore in the immediate vicinity is not without signs connecting it with the once proud East Indiaman. Lying on the rocks below the tunnel dump is one of the old cannon which she carried to defend herself, and a few yards away is one of the blocks of pig-iron previously referred to. Both relics are greatly corroded, but it is still obvious that the cannon is one of the ancient muzzle-loaders found on ships of the eighteenth century. Altogether fifteen of the guns carried by the Grosvenor have now been accounted for. There is the one lying on the rocks ; another has been located by a diver on a rocky ledge under water, close to the wreck ; and others have been salved and taken to various towns in the Union. Durban has one, and there is one in the Cape Town Museum. Another Grosvenor relic which has found its way to Durban is a substantial piece of old British oak. This is believed to have formed one of the deck beams ; it was washed up many years ago and recovered by Mr. George Carter, who has presented it to the Grosvenor Syndicate. The men in camp lead a somewhat lonely existence, but they are all shareholders, and therefore intensely interested in their work. Provisions and mail come down to them from the village of Lusikisiki, from which visitors often arrive to see what is being done. Mr. Webster, the managing director, is a frequent visito1 to the camp, motoring all the way down from Johannesburg. It was from Mr. Webster that I learned the syndicate’s future plans. If successful, they will rake the old hulk fore and aft, and will not rely solely on the contents of the strong-room to recompense them and their shareholders. The bullion and precious stones are the chief objective, of course, but Mr. Webster believes that there will be much of value elsewhere than in the strong-room. Precautions will be taken to safeguard the treasure should it be recovered. The Government has sent down inspectors to see that the tunnelling is done in accordance with the mining regulations, and the syndicate has undertaken to notify the authorities when the treasure is likely to be reached, so that Customs officers may be on the spot ready to assess the value. police camp will also be established at the camp when necessary. There must always be a risk in a venture of this sort; the very nature of the under- tolgng. res at npeculatives and although the syndicate has done everything possible to satisfy itself that the hull Wishes Ghavaner is there and that the treasure is intact, one must be prepared for surprises. Who can say what the forces of Nature have accom- plished in so many years, or what will await the miners when they push their tunnel through ? The directors and engineers of the syndicate, however, have done everything possible to assure success, and it will not be their fault if in the near future men are not passing to and fro in the tunnel under the sea laden with precious metal and wonderful gems and emeralds—the long-lost treasure of the ill-fated Grosvenor. A general view of the treasure-hunters’ camp. re sas eee eee, ies eines

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THE & - TERROR OF TRAE Vs RAI WO thousand feet up on that great mountain rampart of India, the Himalayas, a group of buildings nestled in a wooded horseshoe. Three white picket towers, a few iron- roofed bungalows, and some single-storeyed stone barracks enclosed by a loop-holed wall made up the lonely outpost of Buxa Duar, where a couple of British officers and two hundred sepoys led an isolated life guarding the passes leading from Bhutan into India. From their eyrie they looked down on a dark sea of foliage stretch- ing for thirty miles and more into the plains of Eastern Bengal to the south and running east and west for hundreds of miles along the foot of the mountains. This was the Terai Forest, that marvellous jungle where the rhinoceros is still found, where wild elephants and the great bison wander, where tiger and panther prev on beast and man, and where lurks the deadly king-cobra, poisonous, aggressive, and often over sixteen feet long. But even more than aught else the menace of the “‘ rogue ”’ affrights the human dweller in the jungle. White man and brown dread it more than all the other perils of the Terai —more even than fever. For malaria and blackwater, deadly as they are, hold sway only in the rainy season; but the “ rogue ” elephant is a danger all the year round. Ordinarily, the great beasts, moving in Lieut a Gordon Casserly INDIAN ARMY (RETIRED) ILLUSTRATED BY W. H HOLLOWAY. The story of what is probably one of the most remarkable elephant hunts on record—a twelve days’ chase after a man-killing had made himself feared through- out a wide district. again and again the dangerous beast was seemingly invulnerable to bullets, and his pursuit through hundreds of miles of forest was full of thrilling incidents, herds fifty to a hundred strong, are not aggres- sive, and the white- tusked bulls are more harmless than the cows when the latter have their young calves with them. But here and there a male wanders away from the rest and takes to a solitary life, some- times from choice and a naturally surly temper, somctimes because the herds are scattered by the close pursuit ‘of kheddah- parties — men on trained elephants following them up in order to capture the calves. These solitary males become hermits —and ill-tempered ones atthat. Human beings become the “ rogue’s”’ pet aversion, and often he not only kills them on sight but even hunts “rogue” that them down, unpro- voked, to a most ter- Though hit rible death. I was commanding the outpost of Buxa Duer—not an enviable post for anyone who liked social gaicty and the companionship of his kind, for our nearest white neighbour was thirty miles away, but a paradise for the man who loved sport. There were three trained female elephants there at my orders —nominally for transport work, but more often used for shooting from. And at our feet lay a sportsman’s heaven. As most of the Terai jungle is Government forest, elephants, bison, and rhinoceros are “ preserved ” and not to be shot unless they wantonly attack men or else destroy culti- vation. But the bears, the tigers, and the panthers were at anyone's disposal; and

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480 fine sambhur and cheetul stags and the more toothsome little barking-deer abounded. When I first went out shooting in the forest, seated on an elephant’s shoulders behind the mahout astride its neck, with a heavy °470 high-velocity cordite rifle across my thighs, I thought that the jungle held no dangers for me, except, perhaps, the poisonous snake that I was told often lay along the branches of the trees and might drop off on me as I passed. I never saw one, however ; though on the ground I have killed a venomous king-cobra fifteen feet two inches in length, and seen even longer ones. Yet in the first fortnight of my residence at Buxa Duar I was attacked when on foot one day bya wild elephant, and only stopped it by a bullet in the head at fifteen paces from me. After that experience I was ready to believe any story about the ferocity and daring of ‘“‘rogue”’ elephants; and all the Natives and the few white men of the district were full of them. I heard of an engine on the narrow-gauge line down in the forest below being derailed by a charging ‘‘ rogue,” and of another such brute attacking the Tailway station at Kajahbhatkawa and besieging its small staff in the station-master’s office. I was told of cunning elephants who discovered that carts passing along the roads cut through the jungle towards tea-gardens in the heart of the forest usually bore loads of grain to feed the coolies, and fell upon them, killed the bullocks drivers, too, if they could not escape—and feasted on the grain. But they did not interfere with the carts going out from the gardens, for they seemed to know that these were loaded only with tea. I learnt, too, of a worse brute that assailed the coolie villages on the estates and burst his way through the frail huts until he reached the shop and store of the grain-dealer, which he pulled down bodily to reach the supply of food within. Woe betide man, woman, or child who got in his way, for their doom was death under his ponderous feet, or from his one tusk—the other had been broken off. Other “ rogues” there were that seemed to kill human beings from mere lust of blood ; they hid beside the jungle paths and rushed out on any wretched passer-by, or stalked woodcutters and forest guards at work. And terrible indced was the fate of their victims. The murderous brutes im- paled them on their tusks, knelt and trampled on them, or placed a foot on their bodies and literally tore the poor wretches to pieces. I had ocular proof of this one day and saw what a terrible fate I had escaped. I have said that I had three trained elephants attached to my post for transport- ing supplies from the little railway miles THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. away in the forest below to our fort in the mountains. One of these, out grazing in the jungle, was attacked by a sifigle- -tusker * rogue and badly gored, her mahout escaping by flinging himself off “and hiding in the undergrowth while ~ his ; terrified animal fled, pursued by its assailant. «"* I went out at once and searched the jungle around for days, but could not meet the “rogue.” Months passed and he came back<-at least, jungle-dwellers reported being chased “by a single-tusker and escaping by scaling trees. They were fortunate in finding climBable ones, for most have no branches for some distance above the ground. I went out to search again and found the remains—I purposely do not say body—of a Gurkha who had not been able to escape. His head and trunk were stamped into a horrible pulp, and the torn-off legs had been hurled twenty yards away. But the murderer still eluded me, and I soon gave up the hopeless search. Yet Fate decreed that we were to meet. In the winter months my detachment was bivouacked in the forest, constructing a jungle fort. One day, when some of the men were clearing the site, and the rest, in scattered parties, were cutting down and collecting bamboos, I took my rifle and ordered Khartoum, the elephant which I generally used for shooting, to be got ready. Her mahout made her kneel, then, with help, lifted the great, straw-stuffed, mattress- like pad on to her broad back and fastened it with a rope passing surcingle-wise around her. On this I clambered up over her tail, followed by my sword-orderly, Draj Khan, while Bechan the mahout got astride her neck. Howdahs cannot be used in tree- jungle. “ Uth! (Rise !),” he cried, and she heaved up her colossal body. Across my knees lay my rifle, loaded with cartridges with soft-nosed bullets, while in my pocket were others with steel-jacketted bullets for big and dangerous game like wild elephants, bison, or rhinoceros. I was out to shoot a sambhur—the big, fourteen-hand stag—for my Mohammedan sepoys and followers. The Hindus would not eat the flesh of any such cloven-footed _ beast, thinking them akin to the sacred cow. Behind me my orderly nursed a light Martini- Metford -303 carbine. Under the dense canopy of leaves that shut out the sun Khartoum pushed her way through the undergrowth of matted bushes, tore down obstructing networks of creepers, or lumbered knee-deep in bracken through forest glades like an English park. Jungle-cocks crowed unseen or fluttered from under her feet to perch on high branches

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THE TERROR OF THE TERAI. of the great teak trees. We passed several sambhur hinds—safe from us by forest law—graceful animals with bright russet hides and ever-twitching ears, but never a stag. We were moving through a part of the jungle unusually free from ground vegetation when through the tree-trunks I saw a tusker elephant standing dozing with drooping head. Bechan saw it at the same moment and silently checked his animal. We stared at the great beast, which was broadside on to us. My fingers itched on my rifle; my excited orderly whispered :— “‘ Shoot it, sahib, shost it!” But Bechan held up a warning hand, and I did not wish to fire if it were a harmless member of a herd. Only if it were solitary —and so presumably a dangerous “ rogue ”’ —should I be justified, according to the regulations of the Forest Department, in shooting it. But I changed my cartridges and put in a couple with steel-jacketted bullets. The elephant’s right side was towards us, showing a thick but rather short tusk. I looked all round to see if it were really alone, in which case I could claim that it was an outlaw. Suddenly it awoke, raised its droop- mg head and turned it towards us—and with a thrill I saw that it had no left tusk. It was in all probability the murderer that I had searched for in vain, the dangerous single-tusker. “It is the rogue, sahib!’’ cried Bechan. And, as if to prove that he was right, the beast swung round to us and with trunk curled and ears and tail cocked, charged us ! An attacking elephant, seemingly all giant head and ponderous legs, is an awe-inspiring sight to a man on foot, as it bears down on him, towering high over him. But, seated on Khartoum’s back and confident from my former experience that a bullet, from my rifle would stop it, I watched calmly as it came on at a swift run. I did not trouble to raise my weapon, for the intervening trees prevented a clear shot at its head. I intended to wait until I could get one. But I reckoned without Khartoum. To my dismay she became terribly alarmed. She plunged and backed and tried to bolt, squealing and ducking her head as Bechan hammered her thick skull with the heavy iron goad that he carried. Her violent efforts to stampede nearly flung us off her back, and Draj Khan and I clung to the surcingle rope for dear life. If she bolted we should certainly have been swept off her pad by low boughs, and terrible indeed would have been our fate had we been thrown down in the path of the pursuing “ rogue.” The mahout, barely able to keep his seat 481 on her neck, velled in Urdu, ‘“‘ Fire, sahib, fire! Khartoum will not stand. I cannot hold her.” 1 threw up my rifle and, unable to get a good aim at the head, fired at the “ rogue’s ” shoulder to try and lame it. But the bullet had little effect, and the brute came on. However, the report of the rifle had a marvellously calming effect on Khartoum. With the wonderful instinct of trained elephants she recognized that her men had taken the matter in hand, so that there was nothing to fear, and she instantly stood still. I was therefore able to aim steadily with my second barrel and fired at the ‘ rogue’s”” head. An elephant’s skull is extraordinarily thick and, frontally, almost proof against bullets, except at one spot in the forehead through which the small brain can be reached. If the brain is not attained, however, a head wound is seldom fatal, and the animal, although stunned and even knocked down (as had happened in my previous encounter), will usually recover, and get away. So my second shot did not stop the “‘rogue,”’ but it caused him to swerve off and, as he passed us forty yards away, I reloaded quickly and gave him a third bullet —this time in the ribs. But it had no more effect than the first two. He rushed away through the trees and disappeared. Now docile and unafraid, Khartoum swung about at a touch of the mahout’s foot under her ear, and followed. Four hundred yards farther on we came upon our quarry— not, as I almost expected, lying dying, but standing broadside on in clear forest. I was certain that I had it at my mercy now, for it was hardly forty yards away. It took no notice of us, from which I concluded that it was hard hit. I bade my orderly not to fire unless it charged, and even then to only aim at its knee to lame it, for his smallbore bullet was unlikely to inflict a mortal wound. I trusted to my heavy rifle for that, and, taking careful aim at the orifice of the ear, hoping thus to reach the brain, I fired. To my intense surprise the elephant swung round and charged. Draj Khan sent a bullet into its knee, while I sighted on the bump on the forehead and pressed the trigger. But the apparently impervious beast turned and fled, and was lost to sight in the under- growth before we could reload. We saw, however, that it was limping badly ; and we pursued with elated hearts. The ground vegetation was taller and denser now, and, while it hid our quarry, betrayed the traces of its passage. We came upon it a quarter of a mile farther on. It was standing

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482 behind the huge trunk of a giant tree and seemed about to collapse. When it caught sight of us, however, it swung out and charged again. Draj Khan and I fired together, aiming as before. I stared in amazement as it turned off and limped away into the concealing under- growth. I was so astonished at its apparent invulnerability that I almost forgot to give it my second barrel, which only seemed to quicken its movements. But as we followed in its track the sight of the grass and the leaves of the bushes, splashed freely with blood, cheered me. Surely with all those bullets in it the animal could not go far! The bushes through which it had forced its way were smeared with red, and crossing the dry bed of a small stream we found in the sand the impressions of three feet and the marks of the fourth dragging uselessly. The trail was unmis- takable among the many other tracks of wild elephants. Through the dense undergrowth that walled us in Khartoum plodded on patiently, while Draj Khan and I kept a sharp look- out, with rifles ready, lest the ‘“ rogue’ might charge upon us suddenly out of hiding. But we had covered two miles before we came upon it again. It was standing listlessly under a low thorny tree, the drooping branches of which hung like a screen before it. Thirty yards away we halted Khartoum. ‘ : At the sight of us the “ rogue ” seemed to gather its remaining energies for a final charge, and while the orderly in sighted on its knee I aimed steadily at its immense forehead, and fired. The shock of the bullet drove the animal back on its haunches, and I thought it was about to fall. To my intense disappointment, however, | it - re- covered itself and fled into the dense under- growth behind it. : I felt unreasonably angry at its perversity and astonished at its tenacity of life. But to put it out of pain I must kill it, so we pursued. All that day we followed the trail, sometimes losing it, but not for long, yet never catching up with our quarry, until the setting sun warned us that we must retrace our steps if we did not wish to be benighted in the jungle without blankets or food. Indeed, darkness had fallen on the forest before we reached the spot in the foothills where, in a camp surrounded by cut thorny bushes, my sepoys were bivouacked under the trees, in two of which a frail bamboo hut was built twenty feet from the ground for my junior British officer and myself. Next morning the mountain peaks above us were barely touched by the first rays of the sun when, fully dressed and ready for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the hunt, I looked out of the window of our elevated hut. Down on the*ground’' below the mahouts were binding the ‘pads on two of my clephants, for Khartoush was to have a companion and I was to be accompanied by one of my native officers, a gallant old Rajput sbahdar (native captain), Sohanpal Singh, and his orderly, mounted on Dundora, our largest transport animal.” *° Our blankets were fastened on the pads and we carried haversacks filled with food ; for I was prepared to follow the ‘‘ rogue ”” for two or three days, if necessary, | bi- vouacking in the. jungle ‘wherever night overtook us. But I did not really expect. to have to do so, for I was almost sure that the ten bullets that we had’ put into him must have brought death to the brute in’ the night. So certain of it was I that I carried my Kodak camera to photograph the huge, lifeless carcass when we found it. As we moved off from camp my junior officer wished me good luck’and the sepoys gathered to give us a parting cheer. We kept to jungle-paths at first and then struck a fire-line, a broad ride cut through the forest, meant to serve as a check to the fires that swept through it in the hot Weather. Presently we saw a group of animals a few hundred yards ahead and, when we drew nearer, found them to be a sambhur hind and her fawn attacked by the terrible wild dogs— ‘small red, fox-like creatures that hunt in packs and strike terror in the heart of evén.a tiger. The devoted mother was trying to interpose herself between her off- spring and their assailants, ready to sacrifice herself for her young. But while several dogs engaged her attention the others rushed at the fawn and mutilated it so badly that, when our arrival put the attackers to flight, and the hind fled, too, thé poor little animal was unable to move and we were obliged to put it out of its pain. The mahouts did not let it go to waste, and, when we moved on again, the carcass was slung up on Dundora’s pad. On the previous night we had stopped the pursuit at a dry river-bed on the sand of which the “ rogue’s” tracks were plainly visible. We now reached this spot a couple of hours after we had started out, and picked up the trail once more. My companions were almost as eager as I was. Before long we came to a glade in the forest in which the grass, pressed down and smeared with blood, showed where our quarry had passed the night. The sight filled us with hope. Our prey could not be far ahead. We pushed on, and suddenly, towering above the low undergrowth, there stood an elephant in our path. My rifle went up to my shoulder, but- Bechan said, calmly, “That is not our animal, sahib. See, it

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THE TERROR OF THE TERAI. 483 “The mahouts beat their animals over the head to try and stop them.” has no tusks. It is a muckna—a tuskless male.” The animal stared inquisitively at Khar- toum and Dundora and then, probably realizing that they carried men, swung about and crashed noisily away. We held on, and not long afterwards came upon another wild elephant. Again a disap- pointment, for this one was a female. She paid no attention to us; so, halting, I took her photograph. Then, as she turned away and moved off slowly, we proceeded on our way. The jungle grew thicker. A_ tangled confusion of twisted creepers and dense undergrowth delayed our progress, and often forced our animals to quit the trail in order to find an easier line of advance; for, en- cumbered with their pads and passengers, they could not slip through the jungle as easily as a wild elephant. That we were not far behind the “ rogue ” was evident from their increasing nervous- ness and their inclination to baulk at every sound. And suddenly a crash in the silent

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484 forest ahead startled them so much that they both swung round and stampeded wildly back in their tracks. It was a terrible experience. Over and over again we all narrowly escaped being brained or swept off by low boughs or torn from the pads by swinging creepers. The mahouls beat their animals savagely . over the head to try and stop them, while we, the hunters, believing that we were being pursued by the ‘ rogue,”’ pads and pointed our rifles over their tails. Khartoum had been leading in the advance and so was now in rear, and we on her back were unpleasantly conscious that two very excited men on Dundora had the muzzles of their weapons aimed in our <lirection. Luckily, the stampede soon ended and . the mahouts got their animals in hand again. We retraced our steps and, on reaching the spot whence the noise had come, were exasperated to find that it had been caused by the “ rogue,’’ which had been lying down, getting up and bolting away from us, evi- dently having heard us approach. On we went, full of excitement. And, at last, we came upon our prey. Standing ina dense thicket of high and very thorny bushes was the ‘‘ rogue,’’ so well hidden that we could scarcely see him at all How he had contrived to force his way into the heart of this tangle of creepers, twigs, and thorns we could not discover, and when our elephants had made several vain attempts to push in after him, circling round the thicket and attacking it from every side, we were obliged to draw off and hold a council of war. Our deliberations were suddenly ended by my native officer. The gallant old Rajput was utterly fearless and, unfortunately, ignorant of the dangers of meeting a wild elephant on ground. of its own choosing. Declaring it a shameful thing that we who were men should be afraid of a beast, he slipped down from Dundora’s pad and, followed by his orderly, advanced towards the thicket. They were armed only with -303 rifles—about as useful as popguns against such an antagonist. It was sheer madness, and in vain I ordered them to come back. There was nothing for it but to go too, as I could not desert them. And, since I was the only one with a rifle of any stopping power, my place was in front ; so I dismounted and ran to get ahead of them and enter the bushes first. To their credit be it said that they tried hard to prevent me; for the native soldier generally secks to place himself between his British officer and danger. But, insane as I knew the whole proceedings to be, I felt, of course, that I must lead the way. So into the matted confusion of thorny plants I dived, and in a few seconds realized more crouched on their - . saved us. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. than ever the folly of the enterprise. Pliant twigs and thin creepers bound my-arms and legs, strong curved thorns hooked my clothes and flesh and held me powerless. I could neither advance nor retire, and the men behind me were soon in almost as bad a plight. ok And the ‘‘ rogue’ chose that moment to charge us! Crashing through the under- growth it came, but not swiftly; for so nearly impenetrable was \the vegetation that even the great weight of the massive body could not force a passage-quickly. . I gave myself up for lost, for I could not move. I could hear, but scarcely see, the approaching monster. I~ was’. absolutely helpless. I could not defend myself, for I was unable to raise my rifle through the tangled bushes that wrapped me up as completely as if I were rolledtm nets: And the ““rague ’cameon. Death—a terrible, agonizing death—was almost: upon us when the courageous -mahkouts Unarmed, they drove their re- luctant: elephants into the matted under- growth after us, and their action proved our salvation. For it alarmed and_ stopped the oncoming “ rogue.” Fearing:‘an attack from others of his kind, he began to back away. E The men behind me drew their kukries— heavy-bladed curved knives carried in leather sheaths in their belts-—and hacked a passage out for themselves, and then, as I struggled to tear. myself--free, they- gripped me. and dragged -me out backwards until we all stood on clear ground, shaken and trembling. Our elephants backed out and we mounted in turn, the others keeping guard and facing the thicket with raised rifles lest the “ rogue.”” should charge out. I had to remain the last afoot, and, when I did at length find myself on Khartoum’s back again, I was a very much happier individual. I ordered Bechan to circle the thicket and try once more to find an entrance. Then the ‘rogue ”’ charged. We heard it coming and, when it was almost clear of the undergrowth, I fired straight into its forehead, barely ten yards from the muzzle of my rifle, while Sohanpal Singh and his orderly and mine sent three bullets into its side. f The shock of the blow from my heavy weapon drove the elephant back on its haunches, and I thought, as it half-fell inte the tangled vegetation behind, that-we had it at last. Ee But, incredible as it may seem, the brute staggered up and, turning, dashed away out of sight. We followed at once. Hour after hour, never stopping to eat, we kept on the trail, but the sun went down without our catching up with our elusive quarry.

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we awh 7}. ARe BR ERB OH BR THE TERROR OF THE “The ‘rogue’ chose that moment to charge us!” TERAI. 485

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486 At the approach of darhness we turned away to look for water and an open spot on which to bivouac. We reached a dry river- bed and headed up it to the north until, close to the foot of the hills, we found water. Here we took the pads off the elephants, shackled their legs to trees on the bank, and lit fires around us. This was a very necessary precaution against visits from wild beasts during the night. The worst danger lay in wild elephants being attracted by the presence of our tame ones and trampling on us in our sleep. So, after we had had our food, I told off aman to keep watch by turn and replenish the fires. The others were soon aslcep, but for a long time I lay on the pad thinking of the exciting events of the last two days and wondering if the morrow would bring the chase to a successful end. Outlined against the starry sky the mountains raised their dark bulk above us. An eerie, wailing cry rang through the night as a giant owl circled above the tree-tops, and the sudden harsh bark of a khakur ante- lope gave warning of the near presence of a tiger. But no other sound, save the crackling of the fires, disturbed the silence. Yet all the jungle was awake, except the monkeys and the birds in the trees; for during the dark hours most of the dwellers on the ground, hunters or hunted, must be on the alert. At last I slept. Of all the moving life above us not even the solitary watcher by the fire saw anything ; but it was writ plain in the sand for us to read when the sky paled at the coming of dawn. We breakfasted frugally, my companions on a handful of parched grain, and I on the remains of a tin of bully beef washed down by a drink from the cold stream. Before the sun rose we were off again down the bed of the river, Dundora following Khartoum in single file and stepping in her footprints, as is ever the way of their kind, although there was room for a couple of hundred elephants to march abreast. The trail that day led us far from the hills and down into the southern portion of the great forest, where the water of the mountain streams that disappears into the soil on first reaching the level rises again to the surface ten or twelve miles away. This is the true Terai—for the word means ‘‘ wet.’’ And in the damper soil the vegetation becomes more luxuriant, more tropical. Great tree- ferns, their fronds studded underneath with longcurved thorns, dense canebrakes through which even elephants could scarcely force a passage, and a mad riot of in- terlaced creepers between the trees, made it more difficult than ever to follow the trail. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. But we never wholly lost it, and once we came very near our quarry where a broad river-bed, dry, save for patches of wet and small pools of water, cleft the forest. Our animals were reaching it down a path through a belt of tall elephant-grass twelve feet in height, with feathery plumes six feet higher still. Our two orderlies led the way on foot, bending down to search for the marks of the “‘ rogue,” difficult to distinguish on the track here trodden hard by the feet of many beasts. A sudden noise ahead scared the two men, and they turned and ran back towards us. Trained elephants are as sensitive as horses to the feelings of their men, and the panic of the orderlies communicated itself to Khartoum and Dundora. They suddenly swung about and bolted in mad_ flight, despite their mahouts’ angry blows and frantic efforts to restrain them. Fortunately, on this path there were no overhanging boughs; but we hunters faced about with rifles pointed towards the rear, while the orderlies ran their fastest after us, crying out to us to stop. On this occasion, too, the panic was un- called for. Again it was occasioned by the “‘rogue,”’ which had been lying down as before, bolting in alarm when it heard us coming. When, at last, the mahouts got their animals in hand and turned them back, we found in the river-bed his unmistakable marks—the tracks of three sound feet and of the fourth trailing uselessly, the nails of the toes scraping along over sand and gravel. Had Khartoum and Iundora held on their way we should have seen the animal limping across the nullah. We pressed on, but could not overtake it. The approach of night found us emerging from the dark forest into a wide clearing planted with orderly rows of trim bushes, where, in a village of mud huts and a white bungalow near a group of ugly tin-roofed buildings, lights were beginning to twinkle. It was a tea-garden. We hailed it with relief, for it meant food and shelter to us all. Although I did not know what garden it was and who were the European residents on it, still, since they were planters, I was sure of a welcome, for no other class of men in the world is more hospitable. On this occasion, however, I found that I had previously met the one Englishman on the estate. To cut a long story short, we pursued that elusive “ rogue '’ for ten more days, covering in all at least two hundred miles in zigzags through the forest, occasionally turning back on our tracks, sometimes heading for the hills, sometimes for the denser jungles to the south. Near the foothills parties of sturdy brown

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THE men, bareheaded, barelegged, barefooted, clad in a single woollen garment shaped like a Japanese kimono and bound by a girdle from which hung a long knife in a brass or silver sheath, bolted off the path at un- expectedly meeting with our elephants. But when they found that these were not wild ones they came back and gave us cheery greetings. Bhuttias these, from the moun- tains above. Once, to my astonishment, we came upon a group of blue-clad Chinamen astray in the jungle. How many weary leagues they had traversed since they set out on foot from their homes in far-off Southern China to journey through unknown lands, over high mountain-passes deep in snow, through Tibet and Bhutan, in the hope of one day reaching the fabulously wealthy city of Calcutta, where great reward awaited hard-working Celestials ! Strange men, strange animals, strange vegetation, we saw, but never again the TERROR OF THE TERAI. 487 sought-for and almost familiar bulk of ou quarry, the “ rogue.’’ For, on the night ot the twelfth day since our first encounter, I yielded at last to the entreaties of my companions, wearied and worn out by the long and arduous pursuit, and reluctantly gave the order to turn homewards on the morrow. We had learned that day that the “‘ rogue ’’ had crossed the swift and wide River Torsa, the deep and rushing stream of which had no terrors for such a wonderful swimmer as an elephant is. I tried to console myself for my dis- appointment by the thought that I had freed our district from a terrible menace and made the jungles there safe. Yet barely three weeks after I had given up the chase that unconquerable brute was back in them once more, as daring and as murderous as ever ! And, though I sought for it at once, never again was I able to level my rifle at it. Per- haps a century hence it may still be the terror of the Terai ! A VENETIAN FUNERAL. wealthy being very magnificent. The il- lustration represents the funeral of a high official of Venice. The barge, which is fifty feet in length, is pro- pelled by four gon- doliers in uniforms of black velvet. From end to end it is lavishly decorated with gilded mouldings of floral design, skulls and cross bones, and so on. At the stem is an angel with out- stretched wings lean- ing on a broken pillar, and at the stern is another gilded figure of Time with his sevthe and hour-glass. The canopy in the centre, covering the coffin, is supported by gilded angels, and at the corners of the roof burn four candles. Re- Photo by| A VENETIAN funeral displays that picturesque and romantic character which has always been associated with the ceremonies of the city, which still remains one of the most religious places in Italy. The grandeur of the special funeral barge varies, of course, with the means of the family, those hired by the versing the customary usage. the relatives and mourners precede instead of following the body, which is conveyed in the funeral barge across the half-mile of water to the cemetery island, the only burial ground of the city. It is a small place, as the gondoliers say, but with room enough for all Venice. [Donald McLeish,

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Three Asses inthe yrenees A JOYOUS JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF ADVENTURE. No lover of real humour should miss this delightful narra- tive. Recently re- turned from a big game expedition to Central Africa, utterly bored with the “ everything - supplied- by-the-stores” atmos- phere that surrounds the modern traveller, the Author yearned to test his wife’s theory that romance and adventure still linger in the by-ways of old Europe for those who seek them diligently. Her idea was to go on tramp with a donkey- E were not hurt when the cart tipped up. Billy, how- ever, seemed startled. I sorted her out of the tangle of bracken, blankets, and tent, and gave what I thought to be a reason- * able explanation of the catastrophe. “‘T must have upset the balance of the cart,” I told her. ‘‘ I’m sure that was it. Blanchette broke loose, you know. You wouldn’t move up, and I got too far forward. She’s down in a field eating maize. I tried to wake you up.” ‘““You succeeded,” said Billy succinctly. ‘* | woke up at once. And now what are you going to do?” I spread the blankets on the ground and ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD CLEAVER cart, camping out at night, and avoiding all such latter-day luxu- ries as hotels, trains, and motor-cars. Finally Mr. Walmsley came to us, and we commissioned him, with his wife and the donkey, to wander through the Pyrenees, writing up his experi- ences exclusively for THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, His breezy account of the trials and tribu- lations of the “Three Asses” will amuse our readers for months to come. she sat upon them. The night was still fine, but the moon was so low that the valley was_ thrown into shadow. The cold was intense. Even the trees seemed to be shivering. I walked across to the fireplace and stirred . the em . The dew had soaked them ; they were dead and cold. “Come on,” I cried huskily. ‘‘Let’s put the cart upright again and go to bed.” ‘“What’s the use?” Billy replied. “ What’s the use of anything ? ’’ I was about to reply when I suddenly became aware of something white moving among the trees higher up the bank. ‘Good heavens |’ I shouted. ‘‘ Look!” Billy looked, and gave a cry of alarm.

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. ‘What is it- O-oh ! what is it ?”’ She stood up and clasped my arm. “What is it? ’’ I echoed. “It’s Blan- chette, of course. I’m going to murder her.” I grabbed my heavy stick—a stick I had specially purchased as a protection against the fierce sheep dogs that are found in the mountains—and, crouching low into the bracken, prepared to stalk her. To my surprise, however, she came straight down towards us, and even when I suddenly stood up she showed no alarm, but whinnied in- gratiatingly. ° I cannot repeat what I said to her, but when I had finished I led her back to the tree, adjusted the rope, and made her fast. Then I rejoined Billy. ‘* Why were you swearing at Blanchette ? ” she demanded of me. “ I do think you might control yourself better.” “IT am controlling myself,” I replied, seizing the upraised shafts of the cart and bringing them savagely back to earth. ““My self-control is splendid. One of these mornings I'll let myself go, and then you'll notice the difference. That donkey—that donkey- Be “Oh, don’t start again, please. Let’s fix up the things and go to sleep. I’m tired.” It was now three o'clock. We set to work on the wreckage ;_ bracing the cart well down against any possible repetition of its late manceuvre, refilling the body with bracken, and arranging the tent to cover us from dew. By four o’clock it was ready. “ Get in, darling,” I said. “‘‘ Get in care- fully.”” “I don’t want to get in, “T’m hungry. I want breakfast. you?” “ Idid. We searched among our belongings until I found a dry newspaper and with the help of that and my lungs I got the fire to burn. Doctors tell us that at this hour of the morning one’s vitality is at its lowest ebb. Mine was. I felt weak and ill. Blowing at the fire made me giddy ; the ashes made me sneeze. Billy, on the contrary, was bright and full of health, so I allowed her to make the coffee and boil some eggs. The sun rose as we breakfasted, and quickly changed the dew into a cold, clammy mist. Blanchette started to cough con- sumptively. ‘“She’s got a cold,” said Billy. “I’m sure she oughtn’t to be out in the open air all night. Poor thing !” “‘ She’s got nothing of the sort,’’ I answered. “It’s the husks of the maize she stole last night tickling her throat. I hope that they will choke her! Let’s go to bed. I want to sleep and forget we’ve got that donkey.” We went to bed and slept until half-past ten, when a human voice without caused me to rise hastily. The voice, I discovered, Vol, 1.34. ” she answered. Don’t 489 belonged to a little man in baggy trousers, blouse, shirt, and a harvester's hat. His face was long and narrow, and he had beady brown eyes full of anger. : “ Bonjour, monsieur,” 1 desire something ? ”” He pointed an accusing finger at Blan- chette who, evidently sensing calamity in the air, was staring hard at her feet. “‘ That she-ass,"’ he cried in French, ‘ does she belong to vou? Did you permit her to enter my field of maize > Did you break down my hedge ?_ Did you——’” One of the chief failings of our good allies the French is that they wish to learn too many things too quickly. So I interrupted him. “The she-ass is mine,” I said. ‘“ I am ashamed to admit it, but she is. I bought her at Bayonne, from a butcher who deals in horse and ass-flesh. She is a very pretty donkey. She has fifteen years. Her intelli- gence, however, is phenomenal. If I were asked how much I would take for that she- ass——"’ ““Say,”’ interposed our new friend, with a rich American drawl, “‘ are you a Britisher ? ” If Blanchette had suddenly changed into a Ford car I could not have been more flabbergasted. I stared at him open-mouthed. “Well, look hyar,’’ he — continued, “you've gotter compensate me for that there field, and no mistake. I guess that’s only right, ain’t it? It’s your donkey, and you Ict it shove through that there gate o’ mine and do goodness only knows how much damage. That’s right, ain't it?” “Good heavens !’’ I gasped. an American ? ”’ “No, I ain't," he replied. ‘‘ But I was domiciled in the States fo’ mighty long time. Now what about this compensation, mister ? Whatcher goin’ to do about it, anyway ? You've got to put me right somehow.” “You wouldn't like to have the donkey as compensation, I suppose ? ”’ I suggested. ‘‘ A nice donkey and cart and a little tent— all for a thousand francs. Just think what you could do with an outfit like this! That donkey alone is worth——” “If I had an animal like that,” he went on, ‘‘ I’d shoot it!’ “So would I if I hada gun!’ I told him; ‘only that would be too merciful an end. Have a cigarette, Monsieur, and let’s talk business.”’ Billy emerged at that moment, and smiled so sweetly on our little Americanized French- man, that he raised his hat and bowed. “Say, this beats me,”’ he remarked. “ It puts me right out. I don’t get it nohow.” But he did in time. Billy made some coffee and we all sat down in the shade of the cart (the sun was now blazing hot) and talked. He was an interesting man. He had emigrated to America as a boy, made a pile of sorts on a cattle ranch out West, and come home said. ‘“ You “Are you

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4yo shortly before the War and invested in the little farm in which Blanchette had carried out her disastrous nocturnal expedition. “Say, it’s real fine t'get a chance t’talk English again,”’ he remarked, a little later. “Real fine! I reckon that there donkey didn’t do no harm. I was just a bit cross when I see'd the field. I guess it’s nothing —that compensation. We'll call it off.’’ We thanked him sincerely. “Nix,” he said. ‘‘ It’s worth it, meetin’ some real live people agin. These folks here isslow. I guess they think you people mad. I don’t,” he added. ‘‘ The joke’s on them.” There is a queer satisfaction in knowing that after all there is someone in the world who believes you to be sane. It gives one new hope. An hour later, when I had got Blanchette harnessed up, and everything ready for moving off, that confounded donkey utterly tefused to stir, in spite of threats, per- suasion, and blows. Thoroughly exhausted I went and sat down. ‘“‘ Billy,” I said, ‘“‘ I’ve come to the con- clusion that it’s time we settled down; I’m getting old. I should like to buy a little cottage in Devonshire. I’d like to have an armchair by the side of the fire. I'd like to see you sitting opposite me—a sweet old English lady, knitting socks. I want a peaceful atmosphere.” Billy put her arms round me. ‘‘ Darling,” she said softly, ‘you can't make her go if you can’t, can you ? ” There is nothing like the cold douche of a woman’s reasoning to bring a man to his senses. I got up “You're right, dear,” I said. ‘ We shall just have to wait until she decides to move. Let’s have lunch ; it will occupy our minds.”” We unpacked and, leaving Blanchette standing like a pillar of salt by the road-side, went back to our late camping-ground. It was very hot, and we were obliged to unroll the tent and fix it on the tree-branch again. “ After all,” I remarked, a little later, “‘ there’s no hurry. We've got a fearful climb before we reach the top of the valley. The sun is desperately hot and we’re both tired. Let us rest until the afternoon.” “ There'll be a moon to-night,” said Billy thoughtfully. ‘‘ Why couldn’t we travel by moonlight and sleep by day ? We never seem to have comfortable nights. It would be delightfully cool and too romantic for words. We simply must do it!” When Billy talks about romance I usually become cautious, yet here was an idea that had much to commend it. The more I thought of it the more it appealed to me. But would it appeal to Blanchette ? | She had not moved a muscle since we left her. “It’s worth trving,”’ I said at last. ‘‘ If she won’t go then we'll just leave her and walk.” The moon was up, the night was still, the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hills loomed black against a cloudless sky. From the valley below, sharp and clear, came the rattle and jingle of the last hay wagon, turning from the road into a farmstead, and the sleepy singing of the men. Wisps of woolly mist were creeping up from the stream ; the bracken glistened with dew. Blanchette shivered and pawed the ground testlessly. I unmoored her and led her to the cart. She seemed unusually willing to be off. ‘* | think she’s going to like it,’’ cried Billy. “* She’s as thrilled as we are.”’. We had left her harness on her back throughout the day, and it was a simple matter to make the essential connections with the shafts. No sooner was the last strap buckled than, without a word of command, Blanchette started up the road at a brisk trot. We ran after her, hanging on to the sides. “Good heavens!” I gasped. ‘‘ She's moonstruck ! I'll have to put the brake on.” I put it on, but beyond making the night hideous with noise it had no effect—and this despite the fact that the road ascended at a terrific gradient. Could this be Blanchette —she who had refused to stir an inch but six hours ago ? Both Billy and I were quickly out of breath. I climbed on to the cart and pulled her up after me, but our weight made not the slightest difference to the speed. Blan- chette actually Balloped. “ Billy,” I shouted suddenly, standing up from my seat and waving my stick in the air, ‘‘ she is moonstruck—and so am I. Im intoxicated. I’m going mad. Whoo- hoop !”? There could be no doubt about it. Blan- chette had gone mad; the moonshine had got into her brain. It had got into mine—it had got into Billy’s. We shouted and sang. Blanchette brayed ; I brayed myself. Be- low us the valley was now a sea of cloud, mystic as adesert. Above, gaunt pines stood out against the sky-line. That magic moon- shine soaked into us like champagne— intoxicating, maddening—and Blanchette, our staid, fat, elderly she-ass, was the mad- dest of the three. She leapt up that steep hill road as though her muscles were of steel. She cared not for turns in the road, nor the izzy cliffs that flanked it. Her steering 7 miraculous, her strength of wind astounding. She took a pile of road-makers’ stones with the off-wheel, and sent the cart heeling up at an angle of forty-five degrees and Billy flying into my arms. She whisked my hat clean off against a branch, and came near to whisking my head off with it. But she didn’t stop ; she didn’t care. It was a solitary goat, standing spectre- like in the middle of the road, that at last brought our moonstruck ass to a standstill ; and after we had ‘‘ shooed ” the goat away, she lapsed into her sober old-time walk.

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. . 491 “He pointed an accusing finger at Blanchette.” By half-past twelve we entered an oak spell of the night had gone, and we felt wood, dark and forbidding. A drift of cloud instead a strange sense of depression. had come across the sky and veiled the moon. ““Good heavens!’’ I said. ‘It’s like A cold wind whistled through the trees, the waking up from an Arabian Night’s dream,

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492 znd finding yourself in Bayswater on a Sunday afternoon. Billy, are you sane now?” “‘ |_I—feel awful,” she replied, with chattering teeth. ‘‘ C-can’t we have some coffee ?. How long will it be till morning 7” ‘ The sun ought to be up at five,” I said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. ‘‘ Just four hours. Sit down; I’ll try and make a fire.” I did not succeed. My electric lamp failed, and I could not find a sufficiency of dry wood. ** We'd better get on,” I said at last. “ It doesn’t do to stop if you’re cold. One must keep up one’s circulation, you know. Come on, darling—let’s sing again.” I started to sing, but my voice spluttered out like a damp match. We pushed on in silence for another hour. Then it started to rain—an ice-cold drizzle that the wind whipped into our faces. “Are vou sure we're on the right road ? ”” asked Billy, suddenly. ‘‘ Where are we going to?” We stopped and, striking a match, I looked at the map. It did not help us beyond indicating that we were on one of three roads which branched from the last village. “* It doesn’t really matter,’ I said. ‘‘ We're bound to get somewhere if we follow this road long enough. There’ll be a village, and we can find an inn, most likely. The sun will be up at five, remember. Things are nothing like so bad as they seem.” We pushed on. The road dipped into a wooded valley, then climbed again to a bleak moor, across which the wind howled most dismally. The rain came down in heavy squalls. Our boots squelched, and as Buy had only a straw hat, and I had none at all, cold rivulets trickled from our heads and necks to otherwise protected places. Blanchette toiled on valiantly. I am sure some instinct told her we had in mind an inn, which spelt a stable for her. Aninn! The very thought of it was heaven's delight. As a thirsty man_ sees visions of babbling fountains so did we dream” of a white bed and feather mattresses, of warmth and dryness and the blessed protection of bricks and mortar. Two o’clock found us still on the hill-top, but cultivated fields on both sides of the road gave some promise of coming habita- tion. The weather had not improved, and now that the cloud-hidden moon had sunk the darkness was intense. Suddenly the barking of a dog caused us to halt. “A farm or a village!’ I said. ‘‘ We’d better get into the cart. If the dog’s loose it will be better if we're up.” I am very nervous of dogs—particularly at two o'clock in the morning in the Pyrenees where, according to the guide-book, they are specially trained to be fierce. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. This one, however, proved to be locked up in a large house on the right-hand side of the road. There were other houses beyond it. Undoubtedly we had reached a viilage of some size. There were no lights, however, and nothing to tell us where the village inn was, or whether the place had an inn at cll. After walking the length of the hamlet, I decided to try a smallish-looking house, from the front of which there swung a creaking sign-board. I knocked at the door, and after a while a window rattled, and a masculine voice—cross and husky—bawled out something in Basque. ‘‘ Speak French,’’ I answered. “‘ Is this an auberge 2”” “It is not.” “Ts there an auberge here?” “It is not.” “Pardon me! I ask if there is an auberge in the village.” “It is not,” came the answer once more. “Tt is not. It is not. Do you not under- stand ? It is not!” The window closed with an unkindly noise, and the wet wind howling under the eaves of the house screeched at us derisively. I wrung the rain from my hair and moved along to the next house. Here, even before I knocked, an upper window was opened. “ What is it that you desire, eh ? ’’ shouted someone. ‘‘ Who are vou? Why do you make the noise like this ’ Why do you not go to the auberge ?”” “‘Monsieur,”’ I bawled back. “ It is the auberge that I seek. Be good enough to direct me.” “You are travellers, eh ? You have missed your road ? You have an automobile, eh ? ’”” “All those,” I answered. ‘‘ And more. If there exists an auberge in this place, for the love of. ie “‘ Wait,” the man interrupted. ‘‘ My wife will permit you to enter, and I shall make her arise——” “But the auberge ?”’ “‘ This is the auberge. uhe window closed. ‘“ Billy,” I said, turning to m Tr, shivering wife. ‘‘ Please Pinch an Km'i dreaming this, or not ?” “T don’t think you're quite well, dear,’’ she answered. ‘‘Oh, 1 wish she’d be quick!” The door opened a few inches, and we had a glimpse of a scraggy-looking female wrapped in a shawl and holding a guttering candle in her hand. “You have an automobile, yes?” she asked, in a scared voice. “An ass and a petit voiluve, Madame,” I answered. ‘“‘ You have a stable?” The stable was round at the back of the house, I was told. Madame, my wife, would Have patience.” do well to come in from the rain. But Madame, my wife, refused. “* She looks too terrible for anything,” she

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES. whispered. ‘I'd rather travelall night. Don't leave me!” But those who travel with an ass by night in the wilds of the Pyrenees cannot choose their lodg- ings. The wind had strengthened to a gale ; the rain beat hard and cold. Taking a lantern » that our shivering hostess offered me, I led the way to the stable, while Blan- chette, nothing loth, followed. We had her unharnessed and into a stall in no time, and she showed her delight by letting out with her hind legs and smashing the lamp to smithereens. “You are mer- chants ?”’ the lady of the shawl inquired, as we stepped inside the inn and shed our drip- ping waterproofs on to a rickety table. “ Or do you desire a good room ?” ‘ Evidently merchants were not particular. [ hastened to assure her that we desired only the best. “Our accommoda- tion is but rude,”’ she answered, bolting the street door. ‘‘ You see we are poor. This room, for example, is not elegant.” It was not. In addition to the rickety table there were half-a-dozen wooden chairs in various stages of decrepitude, a long, black chest which looked uncommonly like a coffin, and a sideboard with several cracked and dirty wine-glasses upon it. The walls were grimy with smoke, ceiling ran awry and was festooned with cobwebs, and the fireplace, innocent of fire, gaped like the mouth of a sepulchre. The air was damp and flavoured with stale garlic and tobacco. Hopeful, however, that this was no criterion of the upper apartments of the house, we followed her up a crazy staircase to a landing, at the farther end of which a door st ajar. “‘ Enter,” she said. We entered. Billy grasped my arm ner- vously. The room was no less forbidding or evil-smelling than the one downstairs, but it contained an_ infinitely greater number and variety of things. There were three enormous beds. In one was a man with a large black beard, a wide. open 493 “She took a pile of road-makers’ stones with the off-wheel, and sent Billy flying into my arms.’ mouth, a nightcap, and what apparently was his wife, a smallish female whose hair was in curling papers, and whose mouth also was agape. In the next bed, not a foot away, was another man, snoring lustily. In the third was what at first glance appeared to be a corpse, about the same size as the black chest downstairs. We were relieved, however, to observe movement under the swathing of blankets, and a large projecting masculine foot with twitching toes. lasses of clothing, boots, packages, wet umbrellas, harness, and empty Wine-bottles littered the floor, and the only piece of furniture, a worm- eaten sofa, was occupied by a family of cats. “ Tt is not elegant,” our hostess remarked. “‘ Thev are merchants. They han and sleep like pigs. But then, one must live. e But we cannot sleep here,’’ I said firmly. “But no,” she replied. “ There is no bed available. Forward! I will show you. She led us across to the farther side and unlocked a door, revealing a small, clean

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494 chamber with two polished mahogany beds in it. “‘ Voila !’’ she cried, with obvious pride. “This is better, yes ? Only last week I had two priests here. Holy men. They were on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Lourdes. Holy men—they slept there.” She pointed to the beds triumphantly, as though these holy men had conferred a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I leapt to my feet. Billy screamed.” rpetual blessing on the furniture. The inen, at any rate, was spotless, and the mattresses were as soft and comfortable as those we had seen in our late visions. My spirits rose. Here, at any rate, one could sleep. ““ Wonderful, isn’t it? ’’ I said to Billy. “Calm after the storm. No stag beetles here, no sudden collapsing of the bed.”

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THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES, The lady retired, and Billy rushed to bolt the door. “Oh,” she cried, “isn’t it awful! I’m scared to death. That box—that awful thing in the bed. How soon will it be day- light ? ”’ . “Don’t be silly,” I answered. ‘ You ought to feel thankful—finding a spot like this. Listen to the storm! Here are nice clean beds, slept in by the holy men— no insects to worry about, no— Why, it’s just heaven. Let’s get to bed. Which will you have?” > ‘‘T don’t want either,” she cried tearfully. “T’ve got a horrible premonition. Some- thing’s going to happen—I feel it!” “‘ Nonsense, dear -’ I said kindly. ‘‘ You’ll be asleep in two ticks. The door is locked —and I’m here to protect you.” My words had the desired effect. Billy smiled happily, and in a few minutes we had changed our wet clothes and were in bed. _ Oh! the luxury of a pillow and a feather bed ! I lay back and gloated. ‘‘ Just listen to the storm!” I said. ‘“Isn’t it just like a night in a novel—the rain beating on the panes, the wind howling cheerlessly under the eaves ? ‘Did you ever see so white a counterpane as this? Wonderful people the French. Now who would think 2 “Look! "’ Billy interrupted, with a startled cry. “‘ Look /?’ And she leapt straight out of bed. “Look at. the counterpane!’’ she went on breathlessly ‘‘Oh! there’s another!” Oh, get-up, get up!”’ I got up—and looked. “ Tsay,” 1 said. ‘‘ I say. It looks like——” “It as," cried Billy, “I’m certain it is! Let’s.get out quick. I can’t stay here another minute.’’* . It certainly’ was. I should say, they certainly were. - The virgin whiteness of the linen showed them up only too well. I turned up my: own pillow. There were more—whole armies, in fact, massing to the attack. “ Never mind, dear,’’ I said, “ I’ve brought the blankets up. We’ll sleep on the floor.” ““No—no! They’ll come after us st “No, they won't,’’ I said. ‘‘ Don’t forget I’m an old soldier. Now this particular animal, which bears so striking a resemblance to—er—the insect family, is—er- Well, [ll fix ‘em, anyway. Leave it to me.” 495 : With that I unrolled the blankets and spread them on the floor. Then very carefully I sprinkled a trail of a certain powder— not talcum nor yet gunpowder—around the edge of them. “Now, darling,’’ I said, ‘‘ there’s no more need to worry. We're completely entrenched. There’s not an insect known to science that would brave that barrage. Come on; look how comfy it is."” I lay down. ‘‘ It’s quite all right,”’ I went on. ‘ Good heavens!” I leapt to my feet. Billy screamed. I seized my stick and made a rush at it. It had run straight over my legs into the farther corner of the room—the most enormous rat I have ever seen! ... it doubled back and got under Billy’s late bed. I stirred it out. It took sanctuary under the haversack. I approached it warily, gave the baga shake . . . and felled the brute as it made a lightning dive back to its hole. Unfortunately I felled the washstand with the same stroke, and the candle as well. The room was plunged in darkness—but almost instantly there came a rattle on the door and the gleam of a light through its chinks. With Billy clinging feverishly to my arm I opened it. The man with the beard and the night- cap stood in front of us, looking very angry. ‘“ What is the matter, eh?’’ he cried. “Do you think one can sleep with such a noise ? It is outrageous! Pray to be silent. What is the matter?” I borrowed his candle and showed him the dead rat. “Is this then the time to hunt rats?” he questioned. ‘‘ Can you not hunt in the daytime?” I intimated that there were other things that made us restive. “Pooh!” he said, ‘“‘ what are they that you should disturb our sleep? Are they not customary ? I pray you to be quiet.” I lit our candle from his and, bidding him good-night, closed and bolted the door. There were chairs in the room. We pulled them close together and sat down. I lit my pipe. Billy put an arm round my neck and her feet on the legs of the upturned table. Suddenly she began to laugh. “What is the matter, dear ?’’ I asked. “T’m thinking of the two holy men,” she answered. (To be continued.)

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The Amoy under sail. © 000 0% cross the Pacific ¥ Across the Pacific * in a Chinese Junk: ARCHIE WILLS Illustrated by FRANCIS G. HILEY. APTAIN GEORGE WAARD had had enough of China. | He was home- | sick! As hestood | on the dock at Amoy, gazing eastwards, his The story of a wonderful feat—the voyage of a twenty-three-ton junk from Amoy, China, to Victoria, British Columbia, a distance of approximately six thousand miles. This is the first time on record that a Chinese junk has crossed the North Pacific, and the account of Captain Waard’s record trip will be found both interesting and exciting. rung clearly in his ear. He made in- quiries of the steamship com- panies as to a pases but when e told them that he had a Chinese wife and family they expressed thoughts began to wander. He saw naught of the feverished activity in the harbour close by: he was looking beyond, scanning the broad bosom of the Pacific and gazing in fancy upon the evergreen coastline of British Columbia. The call of home had reached him. It came from afar off, across many thousands of miles of boisterous water, but he longed to answer it. This was not the first time that Waard had heard the call. Two years before it had 7 doubts as to whether he would be able to gain admis- sion to Canada. They were not, in fact, anxious to do business with him. Waard, however, was undaunted ; if the steamship companies would not carry him, he decided, he would get a vessel of his own. At Shanghai he purchased a forty-foot schooner, and, looking about for a partner, found a man who thought the experience would be wonderful. The little schooner duly sailed on the long, perilous voyage with

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= ACROSS THE PACIFIC IN A CHINESE JUNK. 497 a crew of four souls—Captain Waard, his wife and son, and the partner. Then Fate intervened. The partner’s nerve failed him, and by the time the Japanese coast was reached he backed out. Waard made an effort to carry on, but, failing to secure another partner, he was compelled to sell the schooner and return to China. Now it was December, 1921, and the home- call had again reached him. Waard was a Dutthman by birth, but after cruising all over the Seven Seas, he finally allied himself with Canada, and took out naturalization papers. That was many years ago, when the sealing industry was at its height on the Pacific and Waard was sailing out of Victoria. He had now passed his fiftieth milestone, but was still sound of heart, staunch of limb, indomitable of spirit, and nimble of foot. For the past nine years he had been in China, piloting craft in the upper reaches of the Yangtse and sailing in coasting vessels, but Fortune had at last favoured him with a comfortable berth on shore—supervising the construction of a dock at Amoy for the North China Government. How long this job would last Waard did not know for certain, but he had an idea it would soon be finished. With the call upon him once more, Waard began to work at a scheme which he hoped might be successful. One night he hit on a plan and decided to place it before his wife. Mrs. Waard, as already stated, was a and Mrs. Waard native of China. She had met the Captain on the Fraser River during the salmon season and they later married in Vancouver, B.C. In 1913 they went to China, and the following year their only son, ‘‘ Bobbie,” was born. “What say if we cross the Pacific in a junk ?”’ Waard asked his wife, proceeding to outline his plans. ‘‘ It is a long way, but I think a junk can make it just as safely as a steamer. Perhaps it will be slower, and a bit tiresome, but when we get across we shall have our home with us. We can take our time looking round for a place to settle in, and when we see something to our liking— say a nice little twenty-acre farm—we can throw our mudhook ashore and move in at our leisure. No Chinese junk has ever crossed the Pacific before, so our craft would be quite a curiosity, and we might be able to exhibit it to our financial benefit; those people over there are great sightseers. I don’t think the immigration officials will offer much trouble, seeing we have both been in Canada before, though Bobbie hasn't. We can only try it. What say?” Mrs. Waard acquiesced. She was as fear- less as her husband, and though she well knew the dangers.and hardships of the trip outlined) she ad no eae as fo nares ability to get his ship across the t Pacific. ° : ak Thereupon the Captain busied himself with plans, for there was no time to be lost. His junk must be ready for sea by the beginning of April, and it was important that they

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498 should be clear oi the China coast before the dreaded typhoon season set in. He decided that his craft should be of the Amoy fishing- junk type. It would be forty-five feet on the waterline, and sixty-nine feet over all, with a beam of ninetcen feet and a moulded depth of five feet. Her tonnage would be 23°13 tons. Captain Waard decided to commence assembling his material at once. He would not wait until his Government job became a thing of the past, but would fill in his spare time getting the junk together. Suitable timber for ship-building was scarce in Amoy, so Waard had to send buyers to the interior to obtain the camphor wood and Chinese fir he needed. These buyers proved to be his first source of worry. On many:of their trips they fell victims either to Chinese pirates or Chinese soldiers —rather worse, sometimes, than the pirates. Severaltimes they came back to the ‘‘ boss ”’ exhibiting holes in their pockets through which’ the money had been extracted by soldiers while they slept. Sometimes the buyers escaped the soldiers, reached the mills, and were actually on. their return journey with the lumber when they were beset by pirates and relieved of their burdens. What with one thing and another, it was a Jong and tiresome business to get the timber together. 7 Early in the new year, however, Captain Waard had the satisfaction of laying the keel of the junk. This was a big piece of wood, thirty-two feet long, six inches thick, and eighteen inches deep. Then the frames were placed in position, and by easy stages - . work on the junk: he also, began to look the work progressed. ODD CRAFT. Junk construction is an art of its own. The originators of British ideas in ship-con- struction must have seen a Chinese junk and decided to reverse the whole scheme. With the Amoy tvpe the flat, broad nose resembles the stern of most Occidental craft, while the well-fashioned, flaring, high stern would almost serve for the bows of most of our sailing craft. In order to provide the acme of comfort inside, the beams and knees forming the vessel’s framework are placed on top, and the deck planking is spiked on underneath, thus providing a smooth surface without any nasty protruding beams to crack one’s head upon when one is down below. Loose boards are placed on deck to revent anyone from tripping over the Fein and as junks are not supposed to ship water if properly handled, these boards Never get adrift. Waard decided that he would have three masts in his junk. The one amidships was stepped upright, while the foremast, in conformity with the general design, was given a sharp tilt over the bows. The THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mizzen-mast, following the. Chinese rule was stepped alongside the starboard rail, in order to allow for the great sweep of the tiller. Though the vessel was only designed to draw five feet of water, the rudder went down a distance of eight feet, thus providing good control and making the ship quick to answer her helm. The first of April arrived, and the jynk was still not far from the skeleton stage, but an extra spurt by the carpenters helped to appease Captain Waard’s perturbed state of mind, for he had hoped to be at sea by this time. Working men in China, however, are no more anxious to toil than those of any other clime. A shower of rain in the morning is sufficient excuse for a day’s holiday. It was the first of May before Captain Waard was able to send for his caulking gang. Like all the other workers, they proved to be very slow. A Chinese caulker likes to make a thorough job, and scoffs at a quarter- inch seam. He wants plenty of room to work, and he gets it by chiselling away the planks until he is able to.push his ‘hand through. Then he starts to fill in.. The full- fledged caulkers were assisted by .twenty- five boys, varying in ages from seven to nine years, who gathered large quantities of .old- fishing-net: and stuffed it into the seams. Then they came along with a mixture of limestone and oil and tapped away for days, driving the composition wellin. The caulking set almost as hard as cement, making the seams absolutely watertight. - : Captain Waard’s Government job ter- minaied early in May, and he was then able to give all his time to the supervision of round for seamen to help him on the voyage. Eventually he induced three Chinese, none of whom had ever been over the harbour bar, to sign for the six-thousand-mile voyage. When the men arrived to put their dunnage aboard, the junk was in the water and had been named the Amoy. To their dismay they noticed that a great oversight had occurred. Thev rushed to apprise Captain Waard. “Junk no eye—no see!” they informed him, in their native tongue. The skipper soon tumbled to their trouble. He had forgotten to provide the ship with eves so that it could see in the dark, and immediately procecded to rectify his mistake. Two picces of camphor wood about sixteen inches in diameter were cut, rounded on the outside and with cavities hollowed inside. The exterior was painted with a black ball for the pupil, while the remainder was painted white. Ships’ eyes, according to Chinese ideas, can only be placed in position on certain days. There are lucky days for the ceremony, just as there are lucky days for marrying and burying. The Chinese carefully selected their day and ordered a joss man, or priest, to be in attendance.

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ACROSS THE PACIFIC IN A CHINESE JUNK. PLACING THE “EYES.” The ceremony was quite interesting. In the cavities of the eyes were placed little papers, bearing Chinese characters, and several Chinese coins. The papers asked the gods to be good to the ship and keep it safe ; the money was in payment for services to be rendered. Then the joss man produced some liquor and, dipping his finger, anointed the eyes. Those attending then sipped the liquor until it was consumed. Finally, with great 499 When Captain Waard’s friends found that he remained firm in his purpose, they decided that the least they could do would be to give him a good send-off. Accordingly they gathered in large numbers at the docks at 6a.m. on the morning of May 17th, and watched the reckless mariner hoist sail, cast off his mooring lines, and head out to the open sea. “‘ Guess that’s the last we’ll see of them /"’ remarked one optimist. When the Amoy got outside she beat about Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford on board the junk after her arrival at Victoria. care, the joss man adjusted the eyes and nailed them to the bulwarks, about fifteen feet from the bow. The Chinese always blame any accident to their junks to faulty work in adjusting the eyes, and as soon as they reach port make all haste to have the cause of the evil removed. With everything shipshape, Captain Waard told his friends that fe intended to set sail on May 17th. The announcement was the signal for an avalanche of criticism and protest. “‘ You must be crazy to try such a thing!” they told him. ‘‘ The typhoons will gobble you up before you get clear of the coast.” Waard, however, had made up his mind. He was determined to sail, and felt certain he would reach his destination in safety. He knew that no junk had ever crossed the Pacific Ocean before, but that was no proof that it couldn’t be done. He was going to show the sceptics that most things are possible to the man who really means to succeed. for three or four days without making much progress. The wind held in the east, and the current was setting to the south-east, and Captain Waard soon became convinced that he would not make Shanghai as early as he had expected. He had counted on ten days. Two or three miles south of Fuchau the Amoy was almost becalmed. Captain Waard made for an anchorage before the wind died out and let go his anchor in thirty fathoms of water. Having arranged his look-outs, he retired early, as he was anxious to get a good rest. When under way Waard was always on deck, being unable to trust the handling of the junk to any of his crew. Chinese look-outs are not over-endowed with qualifications for the job ; they are, for instance, easy victims of somnolence. On this occasion the look-out was soon asleep, and the only thing aboard that was awake was the little Chinese chow dog. At one o'clock in the morning Captain Waard was awakened by the violent yapping

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500 of the chow. He immediately suspected pirates, as the dog would only bark at strangers. Seizing his +38 revolver, he cautiously opened the door leading from his cabin into the saloon. : What a sight met his eyes ! + THE NOCTURNAL VISITOR. Slithering .down the companionway was a great snake, which Waard at once recog- nized as a python. By the dim light of the hanging oil-iantern he could make .out the beautiful blue lustre on the wriggling body and note the formidable jaws. Not four feet from the python his little son “. Bobbie ” lay soundly asleep. : apes Captain Waard acted quickly. His revolver spoke, and the aim, con- sidering the bad light and the moving target, was good. The bullet tore a gaping hole in the python’s body about eighteen inches from the head. The wound incensed the creature, and it lashed out violently, snap- ping at the chair and table legs. Little ‘‘ Bobbie,”’ awakened by. the report, huddled against the side .of the junk, trembling with fear. . i Waard waited for another good chance ; then he fired two more shots, both of which took effect. E Aroused by the firing the Chinese sailors, also fearing pirates, tumbled out of their cramped quarters aft, bringing with them their long knives. Looking through the scuttle, they saw the snake and immediately pounced upon it, slashing at the body with their knives. .When the danger was over Waard ordered them to stop, for he wanted the skin. He was only able, however, to save the tail half, some six feet in length. The python measured eleven feet in length and was as thick round asa man’s calf. : The Chinese took great care not to injure the flesh of the python, and lived in luxuty* for several days on python steaks and stews. Snake-meat is as white as snow and as tender. as chicken, and the Chinese believe that any- one who eats snake-meat will never die of leprosy.” 3 s no unusual thing for ships to be visited by snakes, but it is seldom that the nocturnal visitor turns out to be a python. The snakes, in trying to cross rivers or flooded areas, get carried out to sea in: the freshets, and always make for the first thing they see. In this case the python, having crawled on board, evidently made for the cabin, secking warmth after its long sojourn in the water. One night the Amoy overtook a fleet of lumber-laden junks at anchor. Waard intended to pass on, but a_ police-boat started to circle the vessel, evidently suspecting her to be'a pirate. Waard promptly lit a big flare, which illuminated his craft and proved that he was a peaceful mariner. He THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. then shouted to the police-boat that he was a European, whereupon he was asked to join the lumber fleet, and thankfully accepted :the protection. This made the fleet all the stronger, as the pirates do not like to get tangled up with Europeans. -They have, however, little fear of any.trouble from Chinese gunboats, and.as a consequence prey. almost exclusively, upon their kinsmen. The Amoy kept company with the fleet, anchoring every night, until Ningpo was reached. Waard then found that he could make better time than the timber-carriers, and so parted company with them. ~ PIRATES! | The next night pirates attacked the Amoy. They sneaked: almost alongside before: they were discovered, and endeavoured to heave a ‘‘stink-pot ” or bomb aboard. ..Captain Waard was on deck in an instant, bringing with him his: Winchester. -Shouting to the Pirates to make off, he promptly opened fire. The Chinese.found the shooting too hot for comfort,~and speedily sheered off and dis- appeared... Pie Ve oS Favourable winds hel: the little. Amoy the rest of the way to Shanghai, where. she arrived without incident: on. June roth. Here provisions, stores, ropes, .blocks, tackle, and charts were taken aboard,- and Captain Waard again experienced much, chaff apd . criticism as to his temerity. in attempting such a hazardous voyage.:, An- enterprising newspaper man and his wife wanted to make the trip with him, but Waard-felt it his duty to refuse, and instead signed-on a Swede . to help him handle the ship,.for he found the y strain of running her alone rather too much + for him. At 5 p.m. on June 20th the Amov de- . parted from Shanghai. After drifting about for two days, she picked up a good breeze, and Captain Waard decided to run for Hakodate in order to secure charts of the Aleutian Islands and get fresh water. In the Japan Sea heavy waterspouts were encountered, and several small ones passed quite close to the ship, rushing by with the noise and speed of express trains and causing the Amoy to tremble* Waard, needless to say, was very arixjous for his little craft, for if one of the spouts -had struck the Amoy it would: probably have wrécked or dismasted her. Good fortune favoured the junk, however, and she escaped damage. Captain Waard had no sooner weathered one narrow shave than. he was confronted with something else. Out in the Japan Sea he ran head-on into a typhdon. The light south- east wind freshened and then veered to the south-west, with strong squalls. The glass fell speedily and the wind kept rising until it was blowing with typhoon force. At 9 p.m. Waard decided to run for an anchorage, as his little ship was dancing

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502 about like a cork, and managed to get in behind the Oki Islands. The anchorage was open and the bottom rocky, but the Amoy was sheltered from the wind, except for the puffs tat came through the hills. The seas kept rolling in, and the Amoy tugged madly at her anchors, but Captain Waard had no chart of Sigo Harbour, the nearest refuge, and decided to remain where he was, as it was better than being outside at the mercy of the typhoon. Next morning the wind hauled around to the westward and exposed the Amoy to the full sweep of the typhoon, so that Waard was compelled to weigh anchor and get out. He got clear and shaped a course for Sigo Harbour, where he dropped anchor at 11 a.m. The people at Sigo expressed great surprise that a ship the size of the 4mov could have survived such a storm, and hundreds of residents went aboard to inspect her. They brought aboard, much to the joy of the crew, a supply of cuttlefish and flying fish. Captain Waard and his family were later entertained by the merchants of the town. After two days the wind eased up, although the sea was still heavy, and at 3 p.m. the .4moy hoisted sail and proceeded towards Hakodate. THE MIRACLE. On July 7th the weather again looked threatening and there were indications of another typhoon. Captain Waard decided to run for the nearest harbour, but, while head- ing in, the wind suddenly shifted to the westward, putting the junk on a lee shore. The outlook was gloomy in the extreme ; it seemed as though nothing but a miracle could save the Amoy being dashed to destruction. And then the miracle happened ! Just as the anxions skipper was prepared to see his craft cast ashore, she fetched up. Her course had been arrested as though by an unseen hand. She was not ashore, because she was not pounding. What on earth could be holding her? Greatly puzzled, Waard looked over the counter and made out some- thing afoul of the rudder. This proved on examination to be a fishing net made of grass rope. After the storm had died down a big Japanese fishing boat, manned by about thirty-five men, each pulling an oar, came off and accused Captain Waard of damaging their nets. The skipper was a match for them, and replied that he would report them to Tokyo for obstructing the fairway and nearly causing his ship to go ashore! A peaceful settlement was finally reached, and the Japanese fishermen towed the Amoy out and gave her a good offing. After that favourable weather enabled the junk to make a good run up to Sangar Strait and through to Hakodate, where she dropped anchor on July 12th. The port THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. authorities came aboard and expressed their surprise at the appearance of such an unusual craft, so far from its home port. When Captain Waard told them that his voyage was only just beginning they were amazed indeed. The Captain and crew were hailed as brave seamen, and were later invited to a banquet. In order that his men might have good footwear for the voyage across the Pacific, Captain Waard sent them up-town to purchase sea-buots. They returned with pumps, silk stockings, and other useless articles, having been over-persuaded by the wily Japanese merchants. As a result they trod the decks in bare feet for the remainder of the passage. At 4 p.m. on July r4th the Amoy lifted her anchors in readiness for the greatest adventure of all—the trans-Pacific voyage. Henceforth there could be no dodging into friendly harbours when storms threatened her : she would have to fight her way unaided across the world’s mightiest ocean. We will let Captain Waard describe this part ofehe trip in his own way. When we got out into Sangar Strait the wind sprang up from the north-east, causing a high and very dangerous sea, so that we only just managed to get through. Out in the Pacific we met heavy ground- swells with light westerly winds and thick fogs. Several steamers passed close by us, but though we could hear their sirens we could not see them. This weather continued for several days, when we picked up strong westerly winds, and I sha: a course to the E.N.E., with the intention of getting well offshore and gradually working up to forty- two north and crossing on that parallel. I was hoping, with favourable winds, to reach the Oregon coast in about thirty days, when I would run north to Victoria. A series of southerly gales kept driving me in a N.N.E. direction, until I was within fifty miles off Atu Island, about six hundred miles off my course. <A strong S.W.: gale lasting for forty-eight hours gave us quite a dusting, and then it hauled around to the westward and allowed me to steer to the eastward again. On August 6 we sighted the S.S. Empress of Canada. She looked like one of the Aleutian Islands adrift as she swept along through the fog. I tried to semaphore her, but it was too thick for her to see us. Just before midnight on August 6th the glass dropped and a strong gale with a high sea sprang up. We were crossing the meridian, so the next day was August 6th also. At 4. a.m. in the morning the wind came on from the S.W. with typhoon force, causing a very heavy cross sea. The ship was labouring heavily, and just at daybreak the rmidder carried away. We made a jury-rudder out of a coil of rope, hung over the port quarter with tackle to the starboard quarter, and

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ACROSS THE PACIFIC IN A CHINESE JUNK. tried to steer towards the eastward. In the meantime we hauled on deck what was lett of the rudder, cut up the fore-boom and a spare plank, and commenced to build a jury rudder, which we shipped at 11 a.m. I found we could steer fairly well if not too much canvas was carried aft, but in light airs it did not act well. I couldn’t rely upon it, so I decided to make for a harbour in the Aleutian Islands in the hope of picking up some drift-wood with which to build a new rudder. I accordingly altered course to the norti- ward and made a landfall at Kanaga Island, where we came to an anchorage between the rocks on the southern shore of the island. Next morning at daylight a strong westerly wind sprang up, so that I was compelled to leave and look for better shelter. REPAIRING THE RUDDER. We finally ran back to English Bay, on the S.E. coast of Athka Island, where we found good shelter. There were lots of drift-wood and fresh water, so we filled our tanks and started to make repairs. It was a tiresome job, and it took me a whole day to cut one plank from a log. With this plank we fixed the jury rudder again, and found the ship steering fairly well. Although it wasn’t perfect, I knew it would last till we could get some better material. We met a little Indian schooner from Athka Village, on the N.E. coast of the island, and they told us of a good harbour and a store at Nazan Bay, so we proceeded towards it. On our way we had to pass between Athka and Amlia Islands. I had no chart of the place, and when I got inside I found the sea breakimg clean across, There was a southerly wind with a strong current setting to the northward, and I had no option but to run for it. I found a hole in a reef on the east side of Athka Island and managed to sail through, and at noon we reached the Indian village. When the natives heard that we had come through that passage they were greatly surprised. They never used the channel we came through, they told us, as it was too dangerous. Luck was evidently with us again. At the village we found nothing available but provisions ; there was no suitable wood to be had. During the night a United States Revenue cutter came in, dropped anchor, and threw her searchlight on us. She suspected us of being a Japanese poacher, and sent a search-party aboard. Next day I visited the cutter and was advised to go to Unalaska, about four hundred mites distant, for my repairs. The next morning we saw a beautiful sight. The Island of Four Mountains loomed up, the snow-capped peaks looking dazzling in the strong sunlight. The wind died out and left us becalmed for three or four days. We were accompanied by schools of whales, 593 black fish, and killer whales, and saw quite a few battles between these great monsters. Then two whaling steamers showed up, and the whales at once disappeared. A favourable breeze drove us towards Unalaska, where we arrived on August 24th. We sailed right in and dropped anchor half a cable’s length from the wharf. The whole population rushed down to witness our arrival. They had not seen such a strange craft before, and we were royally treated. As soon as possible we took the rudder ashore and started to make a new one. I managed to get five iron bolts and some planks and within four days we were ready for sea again. : We left at 9 a.m. on August 28th and made fairly good progress. After passing through Unimak Pass and getting well clear of the land, the wind and sea increased. All night we made a fairly good casterly course. About a hundred and fifty miles from Unalaska our rudder gave way again, the iron bolts being too light for the heavy planks. The vessel went right up into the wind and I hove her to and hauled out the remains of the rudder. I rigged an emer- gency tiller on the jury rudder with tackles from each counter, and we found that the ship was steering fairly well. The wind was blowing strong and the sea was high, but we made progress, and I decided to run her in this manner until the weather moderated. A few days later the wind died ovt to a calm, and we hove the rudder aboard and reconstructed it. One of the Chinese sailors had had enough of it by this time, and he went to the cabin, prostrated himself before the Joss we had there, and made a solemn vow that if he arrived safely in Victoria he would return as fast as possible to China and never leave again. The Swede had left me at Unalaska, so that I was now carrying on with my original complement—my wife and son and three Chinese sailors. Light breezes sprang up and we found the rudder working satisfactorily. When we approached the west coast of Vancouver Island, however, contrary winds forced me to run south along the coast instead of north as I had originally intended. I felt much relieved when I saw Cape Beale, and reckoned that my voyage would soon be at an end. In order to have the Amov spick-and-span when we arrived I took advantage of the calm weather and splashed about a bit of paint. We only had odd lots of paint, but the greater blaze of colour you can get on a junk the better, so we dabbed a bit here and another bit there, till the Amoy looked like a floating rainbow. When we got into the Strait of Juan de Fuca a dense fog shut down upon us. [| was blowing my hand foghorn continuously, and could hear the whistles of many big ships passing close by.

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504 A NARROW SHAVE. At 7 a.m. on September 19th, after all our adventuring, we came very near being sent down to Davy Jones’s locker. About a hundred yards ahead I made out the high steel bow of a big craft bearing down dead on us. I jammed the tiller over and waited. The big ship, which proved to be a Japanese steamer, came steadily on, and I got every- body on deck ready to jump for life. Thanks to the swift turning capacity of our junk, however, we swung out of the course of the 2 and she brushed by not four feet away. had had my heart pretty close to my mouth several times before on the voyage, but this time I believe it nearly jumped out. It would have been a sad end- ing, after getting so far, if the steamer had piled into us. I saw the Japa- nese skipper on the bridge, and he waved _ his hand to me. I didn’t do any waving in return, but told him to be careful in future. We then pro- ceeded up the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. don’t forget, Daddie, you better shave, too.”” Captain Waard rubbed his horny hand over his stubbly chin and was surprised to find how rough it was. “T haven’t had time to think about a shave,’’ he said, with a laugh. “ Bless your heart ; I never gave it a thought.” Mrs. Waard, dressed in her native garb, sturdy and smiling, sidled alongside her husband. She, like ‘‘ Bobbie,’ con- cluded that a shave would _ greatly improve Daddie’s appearance. Then Cap- tain Waard turned to the crowd of visitors and admitted that if it hadn’t been for his good wife the little Amoy would never have completed the trip. “* She took her trick at the tiller like the rest,” he declared, “and if the Chinese _ sailors ot troublesome just called mamma on deck and she said a \ few words that ‘sent ’em back to work.” Much admira- tion at the bravery and determination / of the Amoy’'s Strait, and crew was ex- when we essed On every rounded Race : Pand, and Cap- Rocks the sun a tain Waard had broke through the satisfaction the fog. At 10 of being able to a.m. dropped enter Canada anchor at the with his wife William Head and son without quarantine : any trouble. station and The Amoy arriving at Victoria, B.C., after her The only man obtained my bill memorable voyage. aboard who was of health, after in any way which we sailed on to Victoria. A pilot perturbed was the Chinese sailor who had boarded me and took us right up to the steps of the Empress Hotel, where we tied up. Our long voyage was over, and I was very glad. ‘‘ Now for a couple of days and nights of real honest-to-goodness sleep!” I said; but I reckoned without the crowds of curious sightseers and the newspaper men and photographers. Just as Captain Waard was going below to make his final entries in his log-book, his young son came rushing up to him. “ Now we here, Daddie,”’ he cried, “ can 1 get what you call ice cream cone? And made his vow to Joss. Seeking out the immigration officials, he inquired, through an interpreter, the quickest way of getting back to China. The advice was readily given and the sailor sailed for home on the first out-going steamer. Having got rid of the first rush of visitors —there were to be many more—Captain Waard made his way below and ted up the final entry in his log-book. It read as follows :— “‘ Arrived Victoria, B.C., noon September 1gth, 1922, one hundred and twenty-four days from Amoy. All’s well.”

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OUNG Tracy swung through the long corridor of the Administration Building with a consider- ably lighter heart than when he had passed through it half an hourearlier. That morning he had received a summons from his chief, instructing hiin to report immediately. Now the interview was over and he was free of all the unpleasant misgivings that had spviled his breakfast. Although his twenty-first birthday had not yet passed into obscurity, young Tracy was already gripped by the lure of explora- tion. His heart was in his survey work, and he ploddes at it diligently and conscientiously, apparently enjoying its hardships and dis- comforts. Yet, for some reason, his merits had hitherto, apparently, gone unrecognized. He supposed it was because he spent most of his time in the obscurity of the forest, and seldom came into the bright light of head- quarters. Promotion had at least once passed him by and gone to another, and in consequence of this he had been feeling a slight resentment. At last, however, acknow- ledgment had been made. The chief had actually complimented him on the closeness with which all his traverses had checked out with the triangulation work, and though his salary had not yet been increased, he was to have a trial in a higher branch of the service. The moment for which he had long waited had at last arrived. He would show them ! Although the commission on hand might seem exceptionally stiff and unusual, it was a feather in his cap that he, one of the junior men, should be chosen to tackle it, when it was unquestionably a job for a senior engineer. The scheme, as presented to him by the chief, was briefly this :— He was to proceed to the isolated rock Soldado, so named by Columbus, situated half-way between the south-western corner of Trinidad and the Spanish Main, in the neck of water known as the Serpent's Mouth. Here, on Soldado, he was to establish a triangulation point, from which he was to “ TRAV ILLUSTRATED BY G.SOPER a ERSE An terrible experience that befell a young surveyor on a lonely rock o: the coast of Trinidad, B.W.L “It is a true story in all essentials, with the exception of ! the names of persons concerned,” writes the Author. measure the angle made between the light- house on the north-west point of Trinidad, and a mountain in the central part called Tamand. As the distances between those two points and Soldado rock were consider- able, over seventy-five miles in each case, heliographs were to be provided at the points of observation, so that he would be able to sight the flashes through the strong telescope of an eight-inch theodolite. He was told that the job was a “rush” one and should be commenced immediately ; all details were left for his own arrangement. Next morning found Tracy, with his com- plete outfit, on the first train bound for San Fernando, where he would connect with a coastal steamer that would land him at the village of Cedros, on the extreme southern tip of Trinidad. Once arrived at Cedros he transhipped toa shore boat which dumped him and his bag- gage on the glistening, sandy beach. Thread- ing his way through the little village, he commandeered the Government native school-house wherein to sling his hammock for the night ; then he strolled back down to the village to make his final arrangements for the morrow. Before dusk he had hired a fishing-boat to leave next morning at five o'clock. The two natives with whom he made the arrangement seemed quite willing to try to get to Soldado, although they admitted that they had never been there. The following morning he sorted out his things. He would not need his hammock, as he expected to return that evening ; besides it was very improbable that there would be any means of slinging it on the tock. He decided to take the small canvas fly angle. Then there was the heliograph and the theodolite. He contemplated what food he should take and decided to carry

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506 a few extra rations. His water-bottle he carefully filled. A coil of rope, purchased the previous afternoon, completed his equip- ment. The two natives were punctual, and before sunrise the gentle breeze was taking the little sailing-boat out of the bay. Once outside, Soldado rock was in view about ten miles away. It appeared to be a sharp pyramid-sided rock, dark grey in colour. He was glad that he had thought of procuring the rope, for the flanks looked unscalable and there were the heavy instru- ments to be hauled up. By eight o'clock the wind dropped. For an hour they waited, but it did not return. During that time they had been drifted by the current several miles from their proper course, so Tracy insisted upon the men using the oars. It was a hard pull, for the currents in the Serpent’s Mouth are most conflicting. At last, after long hours of perseverance, the little boat arrived below the tall, jagged cliffs on the north side of Soldado rock. Waves were beating furiously against the rock, and landing there was quite out of the question. They accordingly rowed round to the leeward side, where they found that the cliffs made a more gentle slope, and, although there was a considerable swell, the waves were not so formidable. Tracy decided to try to land here, dis- regarding the combined efforts of the two natives to dissuade him from so doing. It was ticklish work, and called for nice judg- ment, but at an opportune moment he leapt on to a rock and with a scramble reached the sloping face of the cliffs. With instruc- tions to the men to hold off till he returned, he proceeded to make the ascent. It was a hazardous business ; he could get no foot- hold, the surface being covered with a loose running bird-lime which shifted under his feet and nearly made him slide back into the water below. Eventually he found a deep, vertical cleft in the rock, and by means of this somehow succeeded in reaching the top, which he estimated to be about a hundred feet high. As he had expected, the islet was shaped like a pyramid, the base being about fifty yards in diameter, and the top, though not absolutely a point, was very nearly so. It was covered several inches deep with guano, similar to that which plastered the sides, dazzling in its intense whiteness in the blazing sun. Tracy was satisfied that the pinnacle was large enough to set up the tripod of the theodolite, and his two points of observa- tion seemed favourably clear: he therefore descended for the instruments. Hauling them up was a tedious business, but it was finally accomplished with one of the two men helping, while the other stayed in the boat and kept it from being dashed on to the rocks. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then the young surveyor sat down for a mouthful of food—it was eight hours since he had eaten. He noticed that heavy clouds were accumulating over Mount Taman4, and the fear seized him that the heliographer there would be unable to use his instrument. This would prevent any observation being made until the clouds in that locality had dispersed. Quickly he thrust his meal aside and hastened to set up the big theodolite. His fears were well founded, for as he peered through the powerful telescope he saw that Mount Tamand was hidden by heavy rains. Fixing up his heliograph, he set it at the mountain and played its flash upon it, but, alas! there was no response. Then he tried the lighthouse to the north, and a response came dotting back at once. That was all right, but without his point on Tamand4 he could not take his angle. There was nothing to do but wait. These tropical rains were sometimes soon over. Hailing the men below, Tracy told them that it would be necessary to wait longer than he had anticipated. It did not surprise him that they were displeased at the news, for a wind had sprung up and the little boat was fairly dancing. Unfortunately, the dark clouds over Tamand4 showed no signs of dispersal. To make matters worse, the wind got stronger and stronger ; already it was nearly blowing the instruments over. He could hear the men calling, and on looking down saw by their gestures that something was amiss, so he scrambled down to them. Their craft, it appeared, was in danger of being smashed up. There were numerous submerged rocks all around, upon which the boat was being constantly driven by the heavings of the swell. Tracy suggested that they should keep farther out, to which they replied that the waves were too high. They implored him to return at once, before the sea became worse. Tracy considered just long enough to decide that he was not going to fail in his mission after all the difficult he had ex- perienced in getting to Soldado. He there- fore told the boatmen that if they wished they could return to Cedros and come out again for him the following day. The natives readily agreed to this, set their jib, and the little craft fairly flew away. When they were out of sight, Tracy ascended to the top once more and, by means of the rope, hauled up the canvas fly and his rations. For the rest of the afternoon the wind whistled its mournful tune to Soldado peak, while Tracy took what little shelter he could by arranging the fly around him. Before doing so, however, he swept off all the guano, leaving the naked rock exposed. Behind his.,little shelter he sat and smoked, happy in his thoughts of the future.

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If he had been at all dubious concerning the success of his mission, his doubts had now vanished. It only remained for the clouds to disperse on Mount Tamand and the thing was done. How much easier this observation work seemed than the tedious traversing that he had been doing—at less salary, too ! He looked at his watch. It was half-past six. The sun was setting over the fiat, purple-hued pampas of the Spanish Main on the one side ; on the other the full moon was rising over the palm-fringed coast of Cedros point. The wind had almost dropped, and he judged that the boat had safely reached shore. He stood up, stretched his legs, and looked about him. The air was thickly studded with flocks of sea-birds of all varieties. There “The ascent was a hazardous business.” FORGOTTEN ! 5°7 were large gulls, small gulls, pelicans, frigate-birds, and many others. Presently they began to circle round, evidently some- what disconcerted by his presence. Soon he realized that his temporary lodging was also theirs, as, after a little delay, they swooped down on the rock in thousands. “Well, I never expected company out here !”’ he soliloquized. He was hungry now, but carefully made an inventory of his food before eating, to satisfy himself that he had sufficient to last him through the next twenty-four hours. His half-gallon water-bottle was still more than half full. After his meal, he folded his fly into four and laid it on the rock, took off his boots and jacket, and rolled the latter up under his head. Soon he was asleep. Several times during the night he was awakened by small white gulls, which crowded over and around him. So tame and devoid of fear were they that they even settled on his body, and it was only by force that they could be persuaded to move. Indeed, the only successful method was to grasp them by the feet and vigorously hurl them out into the darkness, at which pro- cedure they would fly away, vehemently protesting at such presumptuous and unprecedented treatment. While the pale yellow streaks of dawn were mpening into a roseate hue, and before the cool dewy morn had been tobbed of its fragrant fresh- ness by the

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508 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. approaching sun, Tracy set up his instru- ments again. The atmosphere was as clear as crystal—perfect for telescopic observation. As the myriads of diverse birds trooped off to their extensive hunting-grounds, the surveyor eagerly flashed his two points, and then pressed his eye to the telescope. to watch results. His period of waiting was not of long duration, for soon afterwards a bright star twinkled at each of the stations. He tumed to his own heliograph, trans- mitted the signal of attention, and the scintillating lights changed to stead’ luminous specks. It was merely the wor! of an hour, and he had the angle series com- pleted. Joyfully he sent forth his message of “ Finish,” and the two lights were suddenly snuffed out. Their mission was accom- plished. Tracy speculated in his mind upon which of the Rellographers was in attendance at the two points. They were educated negroes, possessed with a knack of travelling fast. He guessed they would not be long in getting back to headquarters at Port of Spain, so the chief would very soon know that he had been successful in doing the job. Carefully and methodically he packed away the instru- ments into their respective boxes. To while away the time that must elapse before the fishing-boat could arrive, he decided to take a swim in the sparkling sea below, so he made yet another descent down the narrow gorge. The waves, however, proved to be too rough for pleasant swim- ming; besides, there were one or two unmistakable and ominous-looking fins flashing here and there, which persuaded him to refrain from further indulgence. Before noon, the intense heat from the sun, on that unsheltered peak, was fairly grilling him. Never had he experienced such scorching before! He consoled himself with the thought that the fishing-boat might be expected to make an appearance at any moment. He did not expect them to arrive as early as they had done on the previous day ; he knew the easy-going native tempera- ment well enough for that. To pass the time more quickly, and to ease the cruel sting of the merciless sun, he set up his telescope once more and peered searchingly eastwards over the blue gulf. There was no sign of the little white sail, however, nor anything else that might suggest a boat. The whole of that long afternoon he spent with his eve pressed anxiously to the tele- scope. By sunset he was forced to arrive at the conclusion that the boat would not come until the next day. He ate sparingly of the contents of his cone remaining tin of sardines, and finished the last inch of chocolate. The sun, however, had made him terribly thirsty, and, alas! there was less than a cupful of water left. Sill, he consoled himself with the thought that the boat would surely turn up on the morrow. The returning colonies of birds now thronged the rock and once more he settled down under the bright moun. Sleep did not come to him as readily as usual, perhaps on account of the temptation to finish off the two sardines which constituted the balance of his food. They were so seductively accessible ; he could reach them from where he lay without rising. His hand went out furtively, but he quickly withdrew it. ‘‘ Not now,” his saner judgment told him; “ they will taste all the better to-morrow.” And he was right, too; they did. On awakening next morming Tracy found the sun already burning his face. The birds had long since departed, and the rock seemed more lonely and deserted than ever. He resolved to cheer his drooping spirits by eating one of the remaining sardines; the other must be kept until the boat was in sight. Once more he set up his telescope and took up his vigil. Ugly bulbous blisters marred his neck and face; the sun had never played such tricks with his skin before. ‘By Jove! that sardine has given me an intolerable thirst !’’ he cried. Frantically he tilted the bottle to his parched, cracked lips, and slowly let the tepid water trickle into his throat and rest there for some moments before swallowing it. Another day passed, but there was no sign of the boat. That night he devoured the one sardine that remained, but not so much as a single drop of. water was left to allay his burning thirst. A great pampas fire raged somewhere over on the land. He sought distraction from his discomfort and troubles by watching the tall curling flames illuminating the western skies, and the reflection in the expanse of water below. But soon he found it made him feel his thirst more acutely, so he lay on his back and studied the stately frigate-birds silhouetted in the silver moon- light. How beautifully they danced their quadrilles in the air! If only it would rain! But with no cloud in the clear tropical sky there was little chance of such good fortune. Worn out, he fell asleep. The following moming his eyes alighted on a few glistening beads of dew that studded the edge of the canvas fly. He passed his tongue along it, and in so doing freshened his parched mouth. He could hear his tongue scratch on the rough canvas. All through the long hours of that terrible day the sun biazed and burned and the rock blistered his feet through the soles of his shoes. The heated metal of the telescope, pressed continuously to his eye, had taken the skin off his brows and eyelids. But there was no boat, nor any sign of it. He realized

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FORGOTTEN! — 509 “He was lying on his back, with a helmet over his upturned face.” now, with a’sinking heart, that there was no ‘hope of the natives returning for him. QOnce this unhappy conviction had come to-him, he took out his heliograph and set its flash playing.on Mount Taman4. He réasoned that his only hope of communica- tion was with that mountain station, owing to its being a central point in the triangula- tion system, and, as such, more frequently observed than any other point in the island. Certainly it was i quite possible that no heliographer would dispatched there for

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510 some time—a week perhaps, or even a month—but he knew that by keeping the flash playing on that point it would be seen sooner or later. From that time onwards, his sole objective was to keep the light signalling ‘‘ S.O.S.’’ continuously with his feeble fingers. Further- more, he knew that a flashing light would be noticed more quickly than a steady one. All that afternoon his fingers mechanically rattled the mirror as he lay with his aching eyes fast closed, his hat covering his smarting face. At nightfall he puckered up the corners of the fly and lay alongside it, instead of reclining upon it as previously, because he knew that if he did not get water during the night, he could not last out the next day. During the night he grabbed a white gull, but on this occasion he did not throw it away. Instead, he wrung its neck and plucked the ‘feathers with trembling hands. The flesh was repulsively warm and soft in his mouth, and its smell was horribly fishy, but he managed to chew a mouthful. There was nearly a cupful of dew in the bottom of the canvas to greet his awakening next morning. He saw with repulsion the white feathers and the remains of the gull. He shuddered as he threw them away, realizing that his mockery of a meal was not a mere dream of the night. Another day of burning torture ensued, but nevertheless, his weak fingers played unceasingly with the mirror. His stomach seemed to contract until he groaned with the pain. How scorchingly parched were his lips and tongue! Yet not until the following morning would there be any relief. At one time he contemplated crawling down the narrow cleft to the water's edge, but found the attempt impossible; he was too weak even to stand. He looked with apprehension at the Sail-like fins of the sharks slowly circling round and round the rock. He knew why they were waiting there. Some uncanny instinct must have made them cognizant of his hapless predicament. No! the sea might lure and beckon him incessantly, but he was not going down there, whatever happened. The fire-flies had just begun to twinkle their fairy lamps in the cool mountain air on the top of Mount Tamandé when a tall, intelligent-looking negro panted up to the summit. Slipping his heavy pack from his aching shoulders, he dropped it on to the ground with a sigh of relief. The summit was reached at last. It was a long, weari- some pull—two days’ trek from San Fer- nando—and Lee was very tired. Gathering a handfut of dry twigs, he soon kindled a fire. While the coffee was boiling, he proceeded to sling his fibre hammock between two trees. After his meal, he lit up a well-seasoned THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. clay pipe, and soon the strong smell of crude tobacco mingled with the night’s scented air. He had to be up at sunrise next morning in order to heliograph one of the triangulators who were making observations from a moun- tain in the northern range. For the past month he had done nothing but trek from one mountain station to another, and conse- quently he was glad to think that this was the last item in the programme allocated to him, and that afterwards he would be going in to headquarters for a short spell of rest. At noon on the following day Lee received his dismissal signal from the triangulator, and sat down to eat a last meal before . commencing the descent. It was a bright, clear day, and the scenery visible from the top of Mount Taman4 was some of the most beautiful in the whole of the island. The negro’s keen eyes roamed casually over the surrounding country. He could see right across to the southern coast, the sparkling sea beyond, and even the mainland. He began making a mental speculation as to how far distant were the numerous mouths of the Orinoco river, which were plainly visible in the translucent atmosphere. Suddenly his eyes ceased their aimless roving, arrested by some object. “Thought I saw a light over there,” said Lee, aloud. ‘‘ Must have been a sun-flash on the sea.” That small dark spot over there must be Soldado rock, he guessed. Ah! there it was again—that sudden flash! He bent forward staring intently ; then he caught and recog- niet the unmistakable twinkle of a helio- ph. “Now I wonder who- ’’ muttered the negro, and concentrated his gaze..... “$.0.S.". . . “S.0.S.”". He could read it plainly ; he knew the Morse Code thoroughly and had eyes like a hawk. Lee never finished his meal. He realized instantly that that signal of distress could not be read anywhere else excepting there on Mount Taman4 by him. So he hurriedly packed up his kit and ran. He knew the trail down the mountain unerringly, and along it he fled. Within two hours he had reached the broad, level, heavy- forested plain that extended for thirty miles before it met the road which led into San Fernando. All that hot afternoon and through the long night he stumbled, scrambled, and shuffled onwards through pitch dark, oppres- sing forest. Before the first streaks of dawn he struck the road. Not a moment did he lose, but hastened doggedly on, and by seven o'clock he had reached the quay, and was pounding vigorously on the Harbour- master’s door. “Well, what the devil is the matter, man?” bellowed the old captain, in a voice

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that could only. have been developed by many years at sea. Lee briefly stated what he knew. “Now you tell_ me this,” said the official, “T recall hearing about a fortnight ago that one of the Survey men had gone, or tried to go, out to Soldado-—younk Tracy, I believe it was. It looks as if he’s there yet!” “There’s no doubt about that, sir,” replied Lee, ‘‘ and in a bad way, too, or he would not send out the ‘S.O.S.’”” ‘All right. I'll see te this at once. You go round to my kitchen and tell the cook to give you a good breakfast. You've done well, but you badly need a good feed and Test.”” In a very few minutes the old skipper had his fastest launch ready. He thoughtfully gathered a supply of food, water, and a flask of cognac. “Let her out for all she’s worth, Tom,” he told his engineer.* ‘‘ See if we can’t make it in five hours ; it’s not more than fifty miles.’’ . “ Right, sir; she'll do ten knots if I make her.” And she did. jest after midday the daunch lay off the leeward side of Soldado rock. “Here, Tom, you come ashore with me in the skiff ; the boy can stay in the launch,” ordered the skipper. If they experienced much difficulty in landing, it was as nothing in comparison with the ascent. Fortunately, however, the old sea-dog was wonderfully agile for his age, and he eventually arrived at the top with black Tom at his heels. : On the hard rock summit lay a thin, wasted figure, surrounded with white feathers and small fragments of bone. He was lying on his back, with a helmet over his upturned face. One arm was raised list- lessly and rested on.a box; the fingers of the hand mechanically fiddled with the mirror of the heliograph, the tripod of which was spread wide so that the instrument was sufficiently low to be within reach. Beyond the feeble movement of the fingers and the mionotonous ticking of the instrument, there was neither movement nor sound. FORGOTTEN ! 511 Fmt ag BA Siocon " LL ee et Serer earN TAN This diagram shows the location of the places mentioned in the narrative. Gently the old helmet. : “Poor boy!” he muttered, quietly. ‘Here, Tom, get busy; he’s in a bad way. We'll have to be careful. Don’t touch the skin of his face or hands on any account.” It was not an easy matter to get the limp, unconscious body down that cliff, into the skiff, and, finally, into the launch, but they succeeded at last. Once they were under way again, the old captain applied diluted brandy to Tracy’s bleeding mouth as gently as a woman. The boy opened his eyes for a moment, but closed them again quickly—they, too, were mere running sores. And all the while his fingers kept twitching ‘‘S.0.S.”— “$.0.S.” Six months afterwards he was released from the hospital in Port of Spain, reported back for duty, and took his orders for another trip as of old. It would occupy him for nine months in the cool, restful forest— and he was glad to go. skipper removed the

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Short Stories THE WITCHING OF M’BUMBO. By T. S. MILLER. Mlstrated by JOHN DE WALTON. A curious little story of native witchcraft and trial by ordeal in Nigeria. WAS corresponding recently with Stefansson, the explorer, on the remarkable similarity between the tabus of West Africa and the Eskimo, and thus it was I came on the subject of ‘‘ sympathetic magic,” of which Stefansson says in his book on the Eskimo :— “Her mother pulled out Nogasak’s milk teeth with a piece of sinew, but did not throw them away, but put them carefully inside meat and fed them to the dogs. It is a matter of wise forethought to do this, for were some evilly-disposed person to get hold of one of your teeth, he could practise magic on you by practising it on the tooth. This is the sympathetic magic known to primitive peoples. You freeze a man’s tooth, or the parings of his fingernails, or a lock of his hair, and you give him chills; you put these, or any other parts from his body, near a fire, and he burns ; you let them drop and he is likely to have a fall in the mountains and kill himself. Some Eskimo will therefore burn a tooth, or put it in a marmot-hole, or throw it into the sea: but the Mackenzie River Eskimo believes the safest way is to feed it to a dog.” When I read that I thought instantly of the witching of M’bumbo’s legs, and wondered if sympathetic magic was the explanation of his weird experience. M’bumbo was the steersman of my dug- out. He stumbled when he came on board —a mere misstep, I thought, but the placid, mask-like surface of M’bumbo’s ebony face was suddenly contorted with the three cardinal passions of the African—fear, suspicion, hate. He glowered darkly at the porpoise-shiny backs of the giant paddlers: then he snatched a wooden spoon from a mealie pot and broke it in halves, which was his simple African trick to cause the paddlers to turn their heads so that he might read their faces. He searched the guileless countenances one by one, up the starboard side to the bows, then back along the ten faces on the port gunwale—twenty innocent faces that told him nothing. Then, silently, he took his stand on the stern poop, notched the steering paddle in its groove, and we were off again. M’bumbo’s face did not relapse into its usual repose, however, but glowered in a settled, brooding, watchful, sulky suspicion in which fear was the dominant force. The white man on the Niger soon learns the utter futility of inquisitiveness concern- ing the dark mysteries. For one thing, the blacks have a simple way of tuning their replies to what they think acceptable to the whites, partly to be rid of the questioner and artly from reluctance to expose their inner liefs to ridicule. I might have asked my boy, who went under the ridiculous name of One O'clock, what was the matter with M’bumbo—what he feared—but it is not likely that he would have given me a true answer. We were sailing along to the usual rhythmic tom-tomming and guleurel chant when, with our craft on a per! lectly even keel, without sense or reason, M’bumbo fell overboard. The wise white man learns not to laugh at the savage, for the man-child does not like it, and often bad trouble will-come of it. Anyway, it was too near crocodile'tragedy to be a laughing matter, and too’ near, some- thing else—something sinister and horrible, so plainly evidenced in the furious, workings of M’bumbo’s face when he clambered back aboard. M’bumbo would not resume his steering: Neither coaxing nor threats could get him to trust himself again to his legs, and he could not steer without standing. He crouched at the bottom of the canoe, more animal than human being in the terror that possessed him. All the time he glowered at the backs of the paddlers with a searching, ferocious suspicion. He grew depressed, and apparently he could not move without stumbling. He would go to join the circle

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around the Supper pot and stumble; and then the ghastly fear would grip him anew and he would Tose appetite. He could not lie down on his reed mat without stumbling. Either something was wrong with his legs or he imagined something was wrong with his legs. All the time he muttered charms, and continued that searching stare at the paddlers. I now know that he suspected one of them of practising sympathetic magic on his legs. At last his suspicions seemed to focus on a young fellow named Oodla, a man with a cataract film over his left eve. M’bumbo seemed to find something darkly significant in a clay water bottle that hung from Oodla's loin-cloth. _He would watch it for long brooding periods, and soon Oodla began to exhibit a nervous knowledge of the scrutiny. The others avoided them both, though watching them furtively, as a gang will watch two of their numbers known to be in deadly enmity. It happened that we were in the neigh- bourhood of I]luni, whose wizard was reputed to possess a most powerful ju-ju. It is the British policy to interfere as little as possible with native institutions and beliefs, leaving it to the missionary to enlighten the people, so the wizard of Illuni still receives fees in the shape of chickens, yams, and so on to exorcise evil spirits, try witchcraft suspects, and read auguries in the entrails of spitted chickens. Illuni was not in my schedule, but the paddlers insisted o1 turning into the Iluni stream, and I saw they had settled among themselves to give the afflicted M’bumbo the dubious benefits of the wizard’s ju-ju. Anyway, the chance of witnessing ju-ju palaver stilled any objections T might have raised. One O'clock, in answer to my pressing questions, lifted a tiny corner of the curtain of the mystery by saving that: ‘ Dat M’bumbo done say dat Oodla done witch his legs. De wizard done find out if dat am so.” M’bumbo sent a dash (present) to the wizard consisting of a yam, an empty salmon tin, and a handful of leaf toba Had Oodla been wise he would also have sent a present—a bribe to the judge. But Oodla seemed to have lost his head. His despair was even greater than that of his accuser. This is not to be wondered at when one considers that according to native belief one can practise witchcraft though quite innocent of intention ; one is possessed by a witch, and it is the witch inside one that does the mischief. It is a terrible thing to be suspected of witchcraft, as terrible in West Africa to-day as it was in New England in the days when it kept the hangman busy. There is no mercy in the heart of the African for the one found guilty of witchcraft, so great is the terror it inspires. The wizard was the usual article, wearing SHORT STORIES. 513 a five-foot head-dress of bark and hen’s feathers, his painted body hung all over with charms. With portentous gravity he went through the hocus-pocus of the ju-ju ritual. Notwithstanding the general notion among whites that these wizards are conscious frauds, to one who has witnessed their deep gravity, their utter absorption in their work, the notion of pure charlatanism is incon- ceivable. Some jugglery there may be, but in the main the wizard is as much the dupe of his own necromancy as are his audiences. I frankly confess to a sheepish feeling that the wizard knew what he was about, and that perhaps there was more in the witching of M'bumbo’s legs than this sceptical age credits. Then, too, the setting of the ju-ju trial was deeply impressive, taking one as it did back to the primitive—the dark shapes of the men, distorted by the dancing light of smoky torches, the grotesque-looking wizard, the giant mahogany trees in the background, the terror of M’bumbo and Oodla, and the solemnity of the proceedings. The evidence against Oodla was exactly of the same kind that figured in the old-time witch trials. M’bumbo’s legs were bewitched, and somebody must have done it. Now it happened that Oodla had bought the clay water-bottle from M’bumbo, and_ that established the first link in the chain of evidence, for to work magic on a person one must get possession of something from that person's body, or, failing that, something that has been in contact with his body. With his suspicions focused on Oodla, M’bumbo began to look around for what we would call motive, which he discovered in a quarrel back in their village over the boundaries of their respective yam patches. It was flimsy evidence, but the mere suspicion of witchcraft was enough. The wizard applied certain tests to the water- bottle for magic, going to work as assiduously as an analytical chemist testing for posion. He made charms and muttered incantations, but in the end he fell back on that last resource of the Dark Ages—trial by ordeal. Two pots, one of boiling water and the other of cold oil, were brought and set before accuser and accused, both of whom were required to plunge the right hand and fore- arm first into the boiling water and then into the oil. It may be that the fearless plunge of conscious innocence into the hot water and then the quick dip into the pore- closing oil combined with the mental attitude —the power of mind over matter—to save the innocent from a bad scalding. Contrari- wise, the hesitant plunge of the guilty may assist the scalding process. Anyway, if a man is badly scalded, that is the ju-ju pronouncement on his guilt. Oodla, however, did not wait for the ju-iu judgment, but bolted for the bush, scattering the surprised audience in his head-

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514 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Oodla did not wait for the ja-ju judgment, but bolted for the bush, scattering the audience in his headlong flight.”

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long flight. Apparently he preferred to take ghastly chances of death from wild animals and unfriendly spears rather than face that terrible trial by ordeal. It may have been conclusive proof of his guilt, or it may not. Thereupon the wizard solemnly cursed him SHORT STORIES. 5:5 by the bell, book, and candle of ju-juism, Then he ringed M’bumbo’s legs with sacred chalk, exorcised the witching, and once again we went on our way. One thing I can vouch for—M’bumbo did not stumble any more. OUR UNLUCKY DAY. By “F. W. H.” Illustrated by W. E. WIGFULL. HOUGH theevery- day life of befell a steamer a sailor may appear some- what monotonous An account of -a sequence of disasters that in the Gulf of Mexico, providing those on board with enough excite- ment to last them for a very long time. | Soon, pressed up in the weather | corner, _ seeking the semblance of | shelter _ offered, and with his nose to those more fortunate beings who remain at home, it often happens that a slight mishap at the beginning of a sea passage causes, or has the appearance of causing, a succession of mis- fortunes which will dog a ship for days or even weeks. It happened that the S.S. Z——, after being twelve months out from home, was ordered to Tampico. Arriving there, she came upon the first of her misfortunes and had to have a bow-plate repaired. The repairs having been effected, the ship had to haul off into the Panuco River and remain there a whole month waiting for a revolution, which had broken out ashore, to ease sufficiently for her to haul back alongside the quay and take on a cargo of crude oil. However, at the end of a month of idleness orders were received for the ship to proceed to the oilfields of Trinidad, procure her cargo there, and sail for Calais.‘ The next few hours after these orders had been promulgated were fully occupied by those aboard. A few hands » had to be taken on for deck and stokehold, stores procured, and sundry other jobs attended to. All being in readiness, the anchor was hove up and the Z. proceeded down the Panuco and over the bar with a fresh westerly breeze behind her. The barometer had been falling steadily all day and the sky had assumed that leaden appearance so well known to sailors in the Gulf of Mexico. As the sun set, unseen behind the murk, the tanker began to feel the swell which was fast making up from astern, and _ this, together with the heavy rain, made the night particularly dismal. Thus it happened that when the third mate, Harris, took over the watch at 8 p.m. the bridge was a well of chilly darkness sunken between taut and dripping weather- cloths. over the top of the dodger, Harris strained his eyes in an en- deavour to penetrate the darkness, at the same time keeping his attention on the erratic steering of the Mexican at the wheel. Each time the ship fell off her course on either side the seas caught her and caused her to roll alarmingly, and the Mexican stecrsman could not be persuaded to keep within six points of his course. Instruction was worse than useless, and all orders were received in the same nonchalant manner. Dismallv, as he stared ahead, the third mate reviewed the events of the past few months. Thirteen months out from home, and probably another thirteen to go, the ship manned by ‘ Dagoes” without any seafaring knowledge—revolutionaries who had tired of guerrilla warfare and come to sea ‘for a change.”’ The only Britishers aboard were the officers, engineers, and chief steward, and upon them fell practically the whole of the working of the ship, in addi- tion to keeping their watches, navigating, greasing and tending the engines, and occa- sionally stoking to keep steam, while the steward had almost the whole of the cooking to do. It had been a particularly trying voyage, and the British crew had deserted en bloc at Port Arthur, Texas, six weeks before. With the darkness, the howling of the wind and the wash of the sea, Harris was not aware of the oi!skin-clad figure which struggled up the bridge-ladder till that figure slithered into his back, shouting above the gale - “Harris, the Chief's dead!” Bending low behind the dodger, the third mate could just hear the agonized voice of Dawes, the mate, telling him all about it. As the pair crouched in the darkness the captain came up and, stumbling between them, caused all three to slip with the next roll of the vessel and finish up in a huddled

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516 group in the corner of the bridge, each feeling glad of the others’ company, though they could not discern the outline of one another’s faces. Both the captain and the mate were much shaken at the sudden tragedy and, after standing silent for a time, the former bawled :— ‘‘ Harris, you go along and see the old Chief and make sure, will you? I can’t go back there.” Not over-eager, the third mate turned ‘and descended the bridge-ladder, heading towards the poop where the engineers had their quarters. The after-deck was a veri- table death-trap on a night like this, and notwithstanding the life-line stretched fore and aft Harris was knocked down twice by the heavy seas which lopped over the weather gunwale. He arrived at the door of the messroom aft saturated to the skin, his oilskins as wet inside as out. The second engineer, in his cabin wide awake, though it was his watch below, eagerly grasped at the companionship of the other. The mess-:oom, not a particularly cheerful place at the best of times, now resembled a dimly lit, oscillating dungeon, creaking and groaning with every motion of the ship, while the electric light occulted dim and bright, casting just sufficient light to enable Harris to avoid the mess stool which had cast adrift and was rushing from side to side with each roll. “‘ Tsay, Jones, this is bad about the Chief, isn’t it ?” asked the third mate. “Yes,”’ replied Jones, the second, ‘TI came up to call him at eight o’clock and he was dead, lying on his bed; I wouldn’t have gone near him if I had known, but I shook him and found he had gone. I wish I didn’t have to stay in this room next to him! I’m a bunch of nerves, and it gives me the creeps.” “Well, I'm going in to see him,” said Harris. ‘Coming ?” “Jove! No!” was the reply. seen quite enough.” Harris, left alone, paused at the Chief’s door to pluck up courage ;_ then, opening the door, he found the cabin in darkness. Switching on the light, he speedily ascer- tained that the poor old chief engineer had stood his last watch. Returning to the bridge, Harris reported to the captain that the “ Chief” was past all aid, and a mournful silence fell upon the three officers. They had been standing thus for some ‘minutes when the labouring vessel gave a tremendous sweep to port and, falling into the trough of the sea, rolled alarmingly, at the same time taking a heavy sea right over the bridge. Picking himself out of the lee corner as the water cleared a little, the steersman yelled incoherently and spun the wheel, “Tye THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. putting the helm hard a-port. Notwith- standing the efforts of the mate, who had also sprung to the wheel, the ship hung off her course and refused to answer her helm. ‘‘The rudder’s smashed!” shrieked a voice in the darkness, sending cold shivers over those who heard. It was the high- pitched voice of the second engineer, who, drenched and only half-clad, had rushed forward to the bridge. Hurrying aft, the captain and the mate found to their mortification that the stock of the rudder had snapped clean off above the packing box where it passed through the stern of the ship. Down below, outside the hull, the now useless rudder could be heard banging about from side to side with the wash of the seas, causing the ship to quiver from stem to stern with the force of the blows. Being a tank steamer, handling only oil in bulk, the Z.- had no derricks or spars aboard suitable for the construction of a jury rudder. She was therefore completely help- less, drifting and wallowing at the mercy of the gale, and with an extensive reef barely twenty miles to leeward. Awning spars were useless; they would not last long enough in such a sea to be of any use. Good seamanship is a wasted commodity in such circumstancés. The only saving feature about the whole situation was the fact that the ship, having her engines aft and her bows flying high -in the air, was caught by the wind and kept end on to the heavy seas—stern on; certainly, but even that eased the destructive rolling. The hours between the discovery of this new disaster and daylight next morning were occupied in a desperate endeavour to secure the rudder, not for .the- purpose of steering the ship, but to prevent it smashing itself from the pintles on which it hung, or otherwise damaging the stern and so endangering the ship to a greater extent. Wire ropes, large bolts, and even steel scraper-files were used and consumed by the grinding fracture, all without avail ; nothing could resist the tremendous pressure exerted by the waves on the rudder, unless a wire hawser could be secured to the rudder itself. In the struggle with the broken column of steel, which was a clear foot in diameter, the fourth engineer managed to lose two fingers off his left hand and required immediate surgical attention. The wound had to be sewn up—a duty undertaken by the mate and the second mate—and no sooner was the operation completed than news of a fresh disaster arrived. The Mexican bo’s'n's mate had fallen down the forepeak and broken his neck while hunting for a wire rope to secure the rudder ! Daylight appeared at last, revealing a sea white with broken crests, windswept and desolate, with a dull nimbus overhead from which rain emanated in veritable sheets.

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SHORT STORIES. 517 “A few good pulls, and the boat shot clear of the vessel's stern.” The remains of the chief engineer having been sewn up in canvas, with firebars at the fect, arrangements were made for the burial, and a wooden bunker hatch was brought aft to act as bier. Next, the body was carried up the after-companion, covered with the Union Jack, and placed upon the hatch, one end of which rested on the top rail of the poop, while the other end was supported by hand. A mournful little group of oilskin-clad and dripping Britishers gathered round the remains of their comrade, each head bowed with genuine grief, each mind troubled with thoughts of the near future. The body of the unfortunate Chief having been committed to the deep, and the burial entered in the log-book, they sought for the dead Mexican, only to find that his superstitious companions had flung his body into the sea with haste, considering that by so doing they were ridding the ship of an evil spirit which had dogged them all the way from Tampico ! The gale now showed signs of abating somewhat, the glass had risen ever so little,

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518 and the waves were not breaking quite so heavily. It was therefore considered that in a few hours a boat might be launched and a wire hawser secured to the rudder so as to get the ship under control once more. Time was growing precious, however, and those few hours might see the vessel piled up on the deadly reef now only four miles to leeward. All aboard were forced to realize the urgency of the situation, and the second and third mates, having conferred together, finally approached the captain and volun- teered to go out in the smallest jolly-boat and endeavour to secure the wire to the rudder, if one other volunteer could be found. The captain was loth to allow them to attempt such a forlorn hope, but had to admit that the case demanded prompt action. It was truly a case of now or never, for that threatening reef was drawing closer every minute. It was not easy, however, to obtain another volunteer-—not because the others funked the job, but solely because it ap- eared quite impossible for a small boat to live in the sea which was running. “It’s our own suggestion anyway ; we'll go alone,” said the two officers at last. “We're both single men, and we’ll have a shot at it.” All being in readiness the two, after one clasp of tne hand, climbed over the rail and into the boat, wnich hung on the davits over the port quarter rail. The boat safely launched-—a_ ticklish business—a long and tedious struggle com- menced for the two men, for wind and sea soon carried them some distance from the ship, and only by tremendous exertions were they able to pull into a suitable position astern, where they had to wait their oppor- tunity to rush in under the plunging stern and secure the ends of two wires to the shackle on the rudder. As the seas caught the ship and caused her to dive, the stern rose and fell a matter of fifteen feet, and the overhang of the counter became a real menace when it crashed down with the force of a steam hammer. After many futile attempts, during which the bows of the boat were badly torn by contact with the plunging rudder, the ends THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the wires were secured and one turn given to the shackle pin. A few good pulls, and the boat shot clear of the vessel's stern, while those on board led the wires to the after winch to test the steering under the new conditions. All was not well, however; the wires slipped through the shackle of the rudder, and the whole task had to be undertaken afresh. This time success attended their efforts. The almost exhausted pair brought the boat alongside, and by the time they had been raised to the level of the deck the ship was under way. Time had indeed grown precious, for the breakers—now barely a mile to leeward— bore ample testimony to the fact that one half-hour's delay would see the ship piled on a reef from which no escape would be possible. It was therefore imperative to get the drifting vessel in hand and headed away from the danger without the loss of a moment, With the greatest caution the helm was put hard over and the engines started full speed astern, and soon the Z. gained speed and a more favourable position. Then slowly, with engines going ahead and a vast amount of yawing from side to side, the coral reef was dropped astern. No words can express the tremendous relief felt by those aboard as it was brought home to them that the wires on the rudder held firmly and that the vessel was once more under control, steered by the steam- winch aft, to which the wires had been secured. As the sun set that evening the anchor was dropped a quarter of a mile north-east of Tampico breakwater and urgent signals sent through to the lighthouse for two tugs to assist the crippled vessel into harbour. These arriving after some delay, the anchor was weighed and the tanker pain- fully dragged her way over the bar and back into the Panuco, where the final misfortune befell her—a gust of wind caught her and drove her on the mud just above the light- house. The mud being soft, however, it was decided to leave her there till repairs could be effected to the damaged rudder. And so ended one day—just a bare twenty- four hours—in the lives of those who go down to the sea in ships.

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IDDEN away in the hills behind Paler- mo lies the little village of Piana dei Greci. For three hundred and sixty days in the year it has — outwardly, at any rate—little to dis- tinguish it from other Sic‘lian villages; the inhabitants show no greater fondness for soap and water than thousands of other Sicilians ; the autho- tities (if any) respon- sible for cleaning the streets are no more mindful of their duties than others of their kind, and there are no mosaics or ancient temples to illa Se of - festa, it may not go e rec S at all. In any case the road is not safe OS | £.D.WARD ILLUSTRATED BY &.PRATER quired what public conveyances went to Piana dei Greci. “Well,” he replied, “there is a mail-van ; sometimes it leaves 4.30 am. and sometimes at II a.m. —one never knows. To-morrow being a because of bandits.” This was thoroughly Sicilian, and so we decided to dispense with public transport and indulge in the luxury of a_ hired motor-car and chance the bandits. Here the hotel porter was more helpful and the matter was arranged without attract tourists. But ‘ on certain days of the year, notably St. George’s Day, Piana dei Greci asserts her- self. She is Piana dei Greci, the “ Village of | the Greeks,’”” and the whole wortd shall know that she is superior to any mere jealously Tucked away in the Sicilian mountains is a tiny hamlet inhabited by the de- scendants of a community of Greek- speaking Albanians who settled in the island five hundred years ago and have je Preserved their own manners and customs ever since. describes a visit to this village on the occasion of the quaint annual festival. undue trouble. The early morn of St. George’s Day saw us depart with great pomp in our hired automobile, well stocked with cameras, Thermos flasks, sand- wiches, and spare tyres, and we rumbled off down the street Mr. Ward Sicilian village. The name “‘ Village of the Greeks ”’ is in itself alluring. Why should a village of the Greeks be thus set down in the heart of Sicily ? Natural curiosity led us first to ‘avestigate the origin of the mame and svhcequently to attend the famous festival cn St. George’s Day. Researches into various books of reference revealed the following interesting informa- tion as to the origin of the village. In 1488, when the Mohammedans overran Albania, a few Albanian families emigrated to Sicily Tather than submit to the conqueror, and formed a little colony of their own in an alien land. With them they brought their mother tongue, their national habits and costumes, and the observance of certain Greek festivals. All of these, we learnt, had survived to the present day, and since the 23rd of April was close at hand, we decided to visit the place and see for ourselves this curious offshoot of medizval Greece. The works of reference were informative enough as to the character and origin of the place, but concerning the means of getting there they were silent. We consulted the hotel porter—always a stand-by—and in- amid a chorus of good wishes from the hotel staff, coupled with sage admonitions as to our course of action in the event of meeting the dreaded bandits. The city of Palermo is entirely enclosed by a semicircle of rugged grey limestone hills some twenty miles in diameter, enfolding in their embrace the most fertile tract of country in all Sicily. This region is known to the inhabitants of Palermo as the ‘‘ Conca d'Oro ”’ (Shell of Gold) for reasons that will later be apparent. To reach Piana dei Greci it is necessary to break through the cordon of hills and get away into the flat country behind them. Once clear of the city the road begins to ascend, and we were soon over- looking the famous ‘‘ Conca d’Oro,”’ and the aptness of the name was at once self-evident. he whole of the area enclosed by the guardian hills was a vivid mass of golden yellow. At this season of the year—late spring in Sicily—the lemons, for which the island in general is famous and this part of it particularly so, are in their prime, and every tree bears a heavy burden of golden fruit. The cumulative effect of the deep blue sky, the rugged grey hills, and the wonderful

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520 golden carpet of this sheltered valley was marvellous — an unforgettable scene of beauty. The road wound upwards and onwards, revealing at each turn new vistas of delight, until suddenly and entirely unexpectedly we shot into a village, clinging precariously and, as it were, by its eyebrows to the steep flank of the hill. The main street, just wide enough to permit the passage of the car, appeared to our nervous eyes to be ubickty populated with pigs, fowls, and children, all more helpless and bent on suicide than any other existing pigs, fowls, and children. Side streets there were none; the lie of the land did not permit of them. In their stead were long flights of shallow steps, quite impassable to wheeled traffic, and serving as a refuge for the children and animals as yet unused to motor-cars. The turns and twists in the narrow main street were amazing; there were no pavements, and at one moment the car appeared to be on the point of entering a church. A sudden turn saved us, but only to put the car in a direct line for somebody's front garden. Again we escaped by a miraculous turn, and then went through the whole performance anew. It was with a heartfelt sigh of relief that we eventually got clear of the village without having damaged our neighbour, or his ox, or his ass, or anything that was his, and were able to continue the pilgrimage in peace. Village girls in festal attire. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The roads were jpracteally deserted. Occasionally we would meet a donkey sub- merged under a load of faggots, only its head being visible. Beside it would walk a gentleman closely resembling a traditional bandit chief, even to the gun slung over his shoulder. But his pleasant smile and courteous greeting soon dispelled any such illusion. He was merely a Sicilian peasant going home with a load of wood and carrying a gun in the hopes of adding to the family meal. After passing through several villages similar to that already described—surely the infantile and animal mortality in Sicily must be abnormally high !—we at last broke through the hills and rolled over a flat and well-cultivated tableland towards Piana dei Greci. Even from afar it was obvious that the village was en féte. The red, white, and green banner of Italy, always much in evidence on such occasions, had broken out in a violent rash on every house, in spite of the Greek ancestry of the inmates ; the mingled strain of numerous bands, the metallic jangle of apparently every barrel organ in the world, and a confused roar of human voices came out to meet us. Slowly we entered the village street from which the children and live stock had been temporarily removed and were greeted with loud cheers and volleys of confetti and flowers. Our Anglo- Saxon dislike of display could stand such progress for only a few hundred yards, and we were very pleased to find a convenient stable in which to garage the car. We then proceeded on foot, trying to look like anybody else and to escape embar- rassing notice. Vain hope! We should have been less conspicuous walking down Bond Street at midday in fancy dress ! he entire community appeared to have gone back some five hundred years and had carefully dressed for the part. The ladies were clothed in bright skirts and bodices of contrasting colours, of a fashion unknown to this century; their

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THE VILLAGE OF THE GREEKS. heads were draped in most beautiful veils of lace and net. The men wore short little velvet jackets, tight trousers with leggings, and pill-box hats—in gence appear- ance not unlike the Montenegrin national costume. The whole scene was one of intense vivacity and colour, and we unemotional Northerners, in our drab tweeds and with the trappings of civiliza- tion in the shape of cameras and Thermos flasks, cut a sorry figure. However, although we say it who should not, we appeared to meet with some favour in the eyes of the local belles, who were very attentive with their gifts of flowers, and we were all glad— especially the married member of the party—to escape into a café, where the kindly proprietor accom- modated us with seats on his private balcony, from which we could watch the festa with a greater degree of comfort and privacy. Our host was bi-lingual in that he spoke Sicilian as well as Greek. As a matter of fact, most of the inhabitants have perforce to speak Sicilian as well as their mother tongue in order to maintain com- mercial and social relations with the neighbouring villages as well as with Palermo itself. It is even to be feared that the purity of their Greek would not, after four and a half centuries of banishment, pass a very severe test. ‘rhe steep, cobbled village street was ankle- deep in confetti and flowers, and the gaily- dressed throng momentarily thickened. Raucous-voiced hawkers of indigestible- looking sweets, and drinks that harmonized in appearance with the prevailing colour scheme, were doing a thriving trade. At intervals brightly painted Sicilian carts would attempt to force a way through the crowd, only to give up the struggle and vanish down a side street, amid roars of laughter from the happy crowd. These Sicilian carts deserve a paragraph to themselves. They are unlike those of any other nationality, and their makers may lay claim to be real artists. They are all of the same pattern, though varying in detail, and in design are very similar to an English two-wheeled farm cart, or tumbril, though smaller and more graceful. They are painted bright yellow, with red bands and _ green spottings. Each side of the cart is divided into two panels, with all sorts of historical and legendary subjects painted thereon. In the historical class we find subjects such as scenes from the life of Charlemagne, the landin of Garibaldi at Marsala, the Retreat . Lae. A street scene in a mountain village. from Moscow, and various other incidents in the life of Napoleon. The legends com- monly represented are the burning of Troy and the Trojan Horse. The harness also is extremely gorgeous and is embellished with woollen pompons, copper discs, and little tinkling bells. The collar rises to a point about two feet above the horse’s neck, and is crowned with a large scarlet plume. It may seem strange that, in a country such as Sicily, where the standard of education among the lower classes is very poor, the asants should have such an extensive nowledge of history and mythology, but the explanation is not far to seek. Both public story-teller and the marionettes still flourish in the island. The first may be seen in any village plying his trade before an enthralled audience outside the local café; as for the second, the marionette show is extremely popular and does big business among the peasant and labouring classes. The Charlemagne epic is often represented. The afternoon wore on, and we were etting pleasantly sleepy in the warm iciian sun, when a new diversion presented itself. At the head of the street appeared a

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gentleman clothed in the prevailing fashion, but more gorgeous than anyone we had yet next. “ Sure-footed as goats, without a slip seen. He was armed with a large bell, of which he made full use to obtain silence, and a printed sheet, from which he gabbled a few hurried and unintelligible sentences. He repeated this performance every few hundred yards, and even gave a special exhibition for the benefit of us strangers on the balcony. Our host had vanished into the jostling throng, and we were considerably intrigued to see what would happen It was noticeable that the street was emptying rapidly, and that its human - a ee re _

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they raced up that cobbled street or a stumble.” contents were transferring themselves to the neighbouring roofs and balconies, leaving the street thickly carpeted with confeti and trodden flowers. In due course our host re-appeared, and informed us that the horse-racing was about to begin. . Seeing our bewilderment, he explained that the race-course was the village street, and, as he naively put it, “It did not do for people to be in the way.” We fully agreed with him, but hazarded the opinion that the jockeys must be brave men indeed if they raced horses up a narrow village street slippery and cobbled. His smile deepened. “We of Piana dei Greci,” he said (and oh! the pride that lay behind the words), “ have no need of jockeys ; our horses are trained to race without them.” We gasped, and settled down to watch events. This was going to be ‘“‘ some ”’ race. Amid terrific cheers the horses, gaily decked with flowers and seemingly conscious of the great part they were to play, were led down to the post. They were small and wiry, not unlike polo ponies, and in splendid condi- tion. The bookmakers were w= bawling the odds from the house-tops. The chief of them, and apparently the wittiest, was a large fat priest in an amazingly dirty cassock and with a three days’ growth of beard. He did a flourishing trade. We were much interested to know how the start was effected, but our host was deep in badinage with the fat priest, and we never solved the problem. One can only suppose that the horses were slipped, like greyhounds. A furious clanging of the bell from the lower end of the street—tantalizingly hidden from view by a slight curve—and a roar went up from the crowd, presumably the Greek equivalent for “‘ They're off! ’’ For a while the curve hid the horses from view, but of a sudden they burst into sight. There were four runners, and considering the state of the course they put up a remarkable per- formance. Sure-footed as goats, they raced

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324 up that cobbled and treacherous street without a slip or a stumble. No flowers or gay trappings now—it was deadly earnest, and each animal knew it. A nice-looking chestnut led throughout and won by about four lengths, a popular winner. The laughing and chattering broke out afresh. The favourite had won, and every- one, with the exception of the fat priest, whos jovial smile seemed a trifle faded, was de- lighted. But in such a cheerful atmosphere even a hard-hit ‘‘ bookie’? could not long remain despondent, and our stout friend was soon hard at work again making his ‘* book ’” on the second race. There were five races in all, four heats, and a final made up of the four previous winners. | The races were all somewhat similar ; in each case the winner was never hard-pressed. We trembled to think of what might have happened had four horses raced up the narrow street abreast. The ultimate winner was the chestnut that won the first heat. To the accompaniment of terrific cheering, he was led slowly up the street by his proud owner, preceded by the ubiquitous gentleman with the bell. Both men—to say nothing of the horse—were obviously fully aware of the importance of the occasion, and were crowned with flowers. Awaiting them in the little piazza at the head of the street stood the Mayor, his raiment outshining even that of the bell-man. He solemnly embraced the winners, first the horse and then the man, and presented the latter with an enormous cup. And so, with the bridle over one arm, the cup under the other, and his crown of flowers over one ear—the Mayor's embrace was more fervent than discriminating—the hero of the day vanished from our sight in a blaze of glory. Once more the excited crowd poured out into the street, discussing the day’s A typical Sicilian cart. They are painted most brilliantly, and the panels are ornamented with pictures. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. racing with animation and a wealth of gesture, but it was time for us to go. The shadows were lengthening, and_ there were still the twenty miles of hilly road between Piana dei Greci and Palermo to be negotiated. We had to leave the semi-privacy of our balcony and make our way down the crowded street to the stable in which we had garaged the car. Once again we were the cynosure of all eyes, and once again we were pelted with confetti and flowers. But all good things come to an end, and eventually we got the car clear of the village and safely on the homeward way. The return journey was naturally very similar to the outward, but the beauty of the scenery was, if possible, enhanced by the glorious sunset hues. We looked clear down the length of the “ Shell of Gold "’ to the deep blue of the Mediterranean. The lower slopes of the grey hills were delicately-tinted with the pink of the sunset, while the crests were still bathed in sunlight and clear-cut against the evening sky. And so we descended, once more passing through the precipitous villages. It was not such a nerve-racking experience as earlier in the day, for the children had gone to bed and the fowls to roost—a circumstance which no doubt gladdened the heart of our driver, although the gathering darkness must have made it even more difficult to avoid driving the car in at somebody’s front door. In the half-light the gnarled olive trees assumed strange and sinister shapes, and our minds reverted to the bandits about whom the hotel people had been so eloquent. Ye were much relieved to enter the out- skirts of Palermo, but even there a shock was in store for us. A gruff voice hailed us out of the darkness and peremptorily ordered us to stop, . but it was only the Cus- toms guard, intent on see- ing that we were not smuggling country wine into the city. Once free from his suspicions it was not long before, with a_ final triumphant blast on the horn, we drew up before the door of the hotel — back again in the twentieth cen- tury.

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THE GOWER AFFAIR. . By CAPTAIN F. W. BUTT-THOMPSON. Mlustrated by A. W. SINDALL. os NOTHER three years, Momo!” ” “Another three years, and then. A vision of the | An odd story of native “black magic” on the West Coast of Afri told to me,” writes the Author, “by a well- known Freetown merchant whom I accom- panied on a trip to Porto Lokkoh. It ” was confirmed by poor Gower’s successor. Only the names of people are fictitious.” succeed in getting away. Enfeebled ica, “ The tale was health, native dis- trust, slackness of markets—all sorts of set-backs—kept him despairing. Then came business that proved he had served Egremont side of Birkenhead came with the words. Trim, tree-lined streets, modern villas, gardens with real grass, postmen, policemen, newspaper-boys . . . Gower removed his shoulder from the post against which he had been leaning whilst his imagination had turned “ bush ’’ into suburbia, and found that his “ chop’? was ready. He made himself a cocktail, and then tackled the problem of eating. Although he was in a good temper, the food did not appeal to him. He persevered with the dishes, however, meanwhile continuing his conversation with himself, a habit that saves his kind from madness. “Must eat. Must sleep. Must not drink,” he muttered. The meal over, he settled into his rocker and transported himself again in fancy to home and health and retirement. There would be the Club. Maybee and Cruttenden, who had sold out two years ago, now spent most of their time at the club. Let’s see, someone had said that Cruttenden had married; there might be a wife as well as a club—and children. Children? Well, home might mean a wife and children for him as well—at all events it meant civili- zation, comfort, and content. ‘‘ Three years more! ’’ he said ; and there was a note in his voice that would have set all the ‘ boys "’ in his compound wondering if they had heard it. . .- Gower was a trader on the Rokelle river, West Coast of Africa. For nine long years he had lived and laboured there, his nearest white neighbour being more than five miles south. The loneliness was broken spasmo- dically by the passing of other traders, now and then a soldier, and his brief visits to Porto Lokkoh. Once in those long nine years he had taken a holiday, going by leisurely travel in a native boat down the river, and staying three weeks in that huge and historic city of Freetown. All the rest of the hundred odd months it had been trade and money, natives and fever, solitari- ness and—hope. At one time it looked as if he never would his probation and had_ been accepted by the tribes as their medium of communication with the outer world. Steadily that business had increased, because steadily the native confidence in him had become established. Now he was just back from opening his second new branch, having left in charge a man of his own anne, a Susu whom he knew would play fair. “Only three years more and then— Home!” Gower was justified in letting this thought make his days easier and his nights calmer. It had taken Maybee twenty years and Cruttenden nearly as long. When he first came out and prospected for a site to dump the stuff he had spent his all upon, the traders of Porto Lokkoh had not been en- couraging. ‘‘ Higher up,”’ they said, and when he went higher up he found that every likely place had its established posts. “Lower down,” said the owners of these. Being of that disposition that desires to prove its luck, he continued prospecting, and at last, when he had reached the limit of this flat, muddy arm of the great river, he was able to build. The nine years had not passed quickly. The only thing that showed movement was the decrease in his strength. Every danger seemed determined to finish him. He did not now count months, but the time spent in shaking off the fevers Africa engendered, time wasted whilst recovering from snake-bite, and the short spells between when he was able to personally supervise his transactions in ground-nuts and his specu- lations in timber and kernels and piassava. If his calendar had been marked by him it would not have contained saints’ days and seasons, but the shooting of crocodiles that resented his small slipway and the leopards that took toll of his staff. Yet, after all, here he was with a fair bungalow of grass and palm and bamboo, a large iron-roofed store, a compound of several acres with many huts for his ‘‘ boys’ and their families, two native houses—one

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526 five and one a dozen miles inland—as branch depots, and a steady stream of commerce flowing through his hands and leaving him the richer for its flow. “One time big chief wanta palaver, Sah.” Gower saw a tall, blue-robed figure, with followers of varied degree, seated patiently awaiting him. The face was not a familiar one. This puzzled him, for he thought be knew everyone of any importance in the district—Susu, Foulah, Mandingo, Temne, Mende, or Sierra Leonean. As a result of that confidential palaver, Gower changed so considerably in character that his “ boys’ grew afraid of him. No longer did he hum tunes at his work, nor did he apologize for his temper, nor stop to play with the piccans, nor give a genial, “How do, Mammy ?” to the women. Day after day he was fretful or fuming, irritable or raging, inconsiderate or cruel. His native friends kept away, his customers grew bewildered, and he forgot his third command- ment—“ Must not drink.’”” The local King, Pa Bo-sarbah, an aged but upright chieftain of mixed Mende and Man- dingo origin, made attempts to understand the change and suggest a remedy. After many visits, however, he retired disappointed. Gower spent all his spare time looking through his ledger. With a whisky-glass at his finger tips, bountiful replenishment flanking it, and the book open, he would sit at his figures checking and counter-checking. When the totals satisfied him, he turned to the task of writing letters. His hammock boys lost the feel of the weight on their heads, so long was it since they had been called upon to carry their master. They had become messengers to and from Porto Lokkoh, carrying letters and returning with answers. Suddenly, one day, Gower resumed his former manner. He joked and laughed even when struggling with his latest bout of sickness. His curses became harmless. He put a curb upon his temper and tried man- fully to put one upon his ever-ready thirst. Once more his native friends sat in circles about his compound, and customers stayed longer than their transactions warranted. Iinally he sent for Pa Bo-sarbah. It was evening when the King arrived. Commotion and native confusion took pos- session of the compound. Some of the retinue commenced to build the barrie for their monarch’s slumber and the cooks made ready for the meal, for the King never took the same food as his friend the trader. The drummers squatted, the household lounged, and the children of the place shyly walked amidst it all, bolder than their elders, yet not brave enough to play under the eye of majesty. Mats were spread, and upon them the stern-faced but kind-eyed old monarch sat. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE His turbanned fez was a fitting crown to the white beard that failed to hide the delicate features. He came of one of the most ancient and aristocratic races of that country, and was the stately descendant of a hundred kings. Behind him rose the worked palm-leaf walls of the store, whose roof was nearly hidden by far-flung sprays of flaming colours, cooled by the greens of the palms at the edge of the clearing. So clear was air and sky that high-hanging tiny orchids flashed like birds of gorgeous plumage. Gower stretched himself at his ease on his veranda, Pa Bo-sarbah sat in the shade of the shed. This was the usual procedure. There had been talk of trading, general affairs, and matters of domestic import. Then the conversation shifted to local Tumours. Something in this may have reminded Gower of the reason for the inter- view, or he may have been seeking an opportunity. “ You have not been seen much along here lately, Pa.” rry. It was my fault. I ought to have known better.” “Yes.” Gower took kindly the condemnation in that single word. le recognized what he owed Pa Bo-sarbah. But for him and his, he would have been dead long ago, and if not dead—well, ruined, and so worse than dead. His thought rapidly surveyed the hosts of kindnesses he had received through their friendship. “It was not the first break, but it will be the last. You heard it was over?” Ves.” “Yet I had to send for you!” The statement was a question also, but it re- quired no answer. Gower continued : “ You have been a good friend to me, Pa.’ “You have been a good trader.” “ Thanks. I sent because I wanted you to be the first to hear the news. I have. ff “T know.” “ The devil you do!’ The words inter- preted the thought. Then Gower remem- bered how fast and far news travels in Africa by the ‘ wireless’ of native methods that Europeans have never yet been able to understand. “Ah! You are usually well informed, but I did think this was a secret. Perhaps you know why I have sold out and am going home ?”’ oO Ve5,"7 The word came suddenly, full of—was it menace? It seemed so charged with meaning that the trader found himself looking everywhere save straight in front of him. “Listen!” said the old man. “I came, not because you sent for me, but because I have something to say to you. You have

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been a good trader. Your word has been your bond. We have known the other kind. We have been glad that you were not like them. You have become my friend. As a friend | now tell you what I have come to say.” After a use he continued: ‘ You ave sold guns to Abu Kan Klea.” “* You know that?” “You have sold guns to Abu Kan Klea. Guns that will be used against vou— if you are still here—and against your friends.” “No. There you are wrong — altogether wrong. Your messengers have brought you the wrong story. I sold them for a little war that is presently to be started up the Kabba Tiver.”’ “They are to be used against us.” In the silence Gower thought hard. He knew the King spoke truth. What a fool he had been to believe Abu! But had he believed him ? This dis- trict lay so near the border of French Guinea, and there were so many tribal disturbances over the boundary line, the com- peting customs, the rival trade routes, and the nebu- lous ambitions and insecure loyalties of the chiefs, that it was easy to assure oneself that the guns were wanted for a border fight. Abu was the next in importance on the British side to Pa Bo-sarbah. Gower had heard it stated that his : ambition was to be King “‘ from river to Tiver.”” That would mean over Pa’s territory as well as his own. “T think you knew,” the chief went on. “* But you have been my friend, therefore I tell myself you did mof know. I am here because you have always treated my people fairly. You have still a chance of stopping those guns. If they come, they mean an end’ to my family and my people. You know now. Will you stop them? Do not answer at once,” he continued, watching Gower’s face. ‘‘ The moming comes. Think and sleep.” The barrie was finished, the meal prepared. The King was served. He sat long after the trader’s light had disappeared, gazing into THE GOWER AFFAIR. 527 “© Your money will be your death,’ he went on. ‘ When it comes it will bring danger.’” that night world. A tropical moon merged everything into a silvern glory. “You have determined?” he queried, kindly, when Gower appeared—long after his usual time—the next morning. The question was only one of courtesy, for already the old man knew. “You will break the transaction?” he asked, still with that fatherly inflection. There was no answer. He rose to his feet, his voice changing. “Do not answer,” he went on. ‘I know. You have weighed going home now and going home in three years’ time. You have said to yourself: ‘I have already sold my business. With that and the money for these guns I have now enough.’ You have

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528 not remembered that we could have given you another business ; you have not valued our friendship. You have not remembered that the guns will kill all those from whom you have made your money.” Walking to and fro, his eyes noting every- thing, his hands dismissing the last of his followers, he seemed changed. He was a warrior, fierce and dominant. He was a seer, fateful and challenging. He tured to the limp and weary figure above him. “Your money will be your death,’’ he went on. ‘‘ When it comes it will bring danger. When it is counted it will bring death near. When it is ready for the river it will rest on your dead body. Farewell!“ The story of Frederick Gower would be the usual one of so many of the traders of Sierra Leone who have died at the moment of being free to return home, if it were not for the exact fulfilment of the prophecy of Pa Bo-sarbah. A month after, Gower handed over to his successor, and went down to Porto Lokkoh. There he made his headquarters with Jarnold, the man who afterwards joined Bateman and set up in Freetown. A year ago their business was turned into a Company, and “J and B’’—as they are called by all who know them—retained at a tremendous yearly figure as directors. It is from Jarnold, a mine of information upon trade and traders in the Colony, that the rest of this story comes. At Porto Lokkoh, Gower took things easy. His affairs almost wound themselves up, so careful had he been in his accounts. The evenings were spent amongst his less fortunate brethren who had still the struggle and stress before them, and who made no secret of their admiration for a fellow who in nine years had made a sufficient pile to bring him in seven or eight hundred a year. He was féted and feasted, yet he kept his head and refused to go beyond his limit. There were rumours of trouble in the hinterland, but that did not much trouble these town traders. The money for the guns reached Gower on a day when the streets were more than usually full of swaying, screaming people hey seem to be recruiting,’’ said Gowe., as he came in from a stroll. The messenger who brought the money had had great dithculty in getting his convoy through the town, Jarnold's house being on the Gulf side, looking east. Gower listened to the story, but without paying much atten- tion. He vaguely thought it unusual, chatted to Jarnold, and then told the house-boy how to dispose of the boxes. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. As he turned to dismiss the messenger, he suddenly fell from_his chair. Not a sign preceded his fall. One moment he was gaily bidding farewell to the man; the next moment he was lying senseless. Some weeks after he was pronounced convalescent. He had told Jarmold the story and had been advised (although none can accuse “J ’’ of being superstitious) not to have anything personally to do with the money. One of the traders would run it down to the Freetown bank for him, said Jarnold. Gower agreed, but for some reason the money still stayed in the house. Soon after he had begun to pull himself about with the aid of sticks—Jarmold was away that day—he set himself to the task of checking what the boxes contained. He was found by the house-boy, an hour before his host’s return, lying on the floor, twisted in body and jabbering like a monkey. Every endeavour was made by Jarnold that the rest of the prophecy should fail. He took some of the others into his confi- dence and asked their advice. The money was sent to the ‘“ B.B.A.,” without the sick man being informed, and the credit note held for him. His friends, rather shame- facedly but none the less sincerely, sent a message to Pa Bo-sarbah asking him to forget and forgive. The messenger arrived the day after that brave old monarch had been killed in a battle against Abu Kan Klea. The rains had come and gone before Gower’s strength was restored. He made rapid progress then, and was often congratu- lated upon a miraculous recovery. His face rounded, his eyes brightened, and only a slight dragging of his right foot was left to remind himself and others of his ordeal. They gave him the usual roistering farewell on the evening he was to leave for Freetown and thence Home. Several of his friends came to see him off. With jaughter and the best of wishes they stood about him. He opened his handbag and looked in it as though he had forgotten what was inside, hesitated, put his hand in, and took out a thick wallet in which lay his wealth. With a smile he shut the bag and gave it to the nearest boy, who im- mediately put it upon his head and walked otf whistling. Something in_ the boy's attitude of importance made the group of white men laugh again, long and loud. Gower patted the bulge in his coat made by the wallet, and called another farewell. Then he trip; and fell. When his friends stooped to lift him they found that he was dead. <a

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wonderful new method Illustrating, Cartooning, or Commercial Art. are now making splendid incomes. drawing pencil before they studied with u The simplicity of this method will astound you. You will be amazed at your own rapid progress. You learn by mail—yet you re- ceive personal instruction from one of America’s foremost Commercial Artists. Get into this fascinating game NOW. You can eas qualify. A few minutes’ study each day is all that is needed. Crying Demand for Trained Artists Newspapers, advertising agencies, mag- azines, business concerns—all are looking for men and women to handle their art work. There are hundreds of vacancies right this minute. A trained commercial artist can command almost any salary he wants. Cartoonists and designers are at a premium. Dozens of our students started work at a high salary. Many earn more than the cost of the course while they are learning! YOU—with a little spare-time study in your own home—can easily and quickly get one of these big-paying artists’ jobs. No Talent Needed This amazing method has exploded the old idea that talent is an absolute necessity in art. Just as you have learned to write, this new method teaches you to dr: We start you with straight lines, then curves. Then you learn how to put them together. makes it possible for anyone to learn Hundreds of our students And most of them never touched a 1s. Now you begin making pictures. Shading, action, perspective, and all the rest follow in their right order, until you are making pictures that bring you from $50 to $500 or more! Many artists get as high as $1,000 for a single drawing! Write for Interesting Free Book Mail coupon now for this interesting free book, “How to Become an Artist.” Explains about this amazing method in detail. Tells of our students—and their wonderful pro- gress—and how we can qualify you cor a high-salaried artist’s position. Also tells of our free arti outfit to new students and special low offer to a limited number of new students. Mail coupon NOW! Washington School of Art Room 1866, Marden Bldg., Washington, D.C. FREE COUPON WASHINGTON SCHOOL OF ART, Inc. Room 1866, Marden Bldg., Washington, D. C. Please d me, without cost or obligation my part, your free book, “How to Become Artist.” on an Name Address

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There is such an urgent demand for practical, trained Drasftsmen that Iam making this special offer in order to enable deserving, ambitious and bright men to get into this line of work. I will teach you to become a Draftsman and Designer, until you are drawing a salary of $250.00 a month. You need not pay me for my personal instruction or for the complete set of instruments. a Starting salary 4 > 250 a wan, 8 ~ | Chief Draftsman agreement an 7 3 guarantee. Drafts. Will Train You Personally ont men’s work is | on practical Drafting- << %. ,. Pleasant and | room work Until you are profitable. Positions are open paying competent and Until you $3,600.00 a year in the best surroundings. « . They are open everywhere. Thousands of are In a permanent_ posi- men are needed who have just the kind of tion at a salary paying at training I will give you. You can get this least $250 per month, This is an training during spare time in your own home. exceptional opportunity for a few selected ambitious men, be- 2 tween the ages of 16 and 50 Mail the Coupon | vn rs8 at for my valuable book: — “Succesful SendtheCoupon Draftsmanship.” It explains how can be- come a Successful Draftsman in a short time. | Oraletterandlet me tell The book is free at present, so write ATONCE. | you how you can be- come a Draftsman in your spare time and earn a good salary. Don’t delay —send the coupon at once. FFREE-this*25% | raitsman’s Working Outfit m Theseare regular working — || instruments, the kind I use my- self. I give them free to you if you f enroll at once. Send the Free Coupon today. — Earn While Learning You can be earning a handsome in- come while learning at home. This isa special offer Iam making. Absolutely no obligations of any kind in sending coupon. But you must write at once, as I limit the number of my students. Free Course Offer Coupon Chief Draftsman Dobe 4001 Broadway, Div, 1511 Chicago | Without any obligation to me please mail your book, “Successful Drafts- manship” and full particulars of your liberal “Personal Instruction” offer to a few students. It is understood lam obligated in no way whatever, Chief Draftsman Dobe 4001 Broadway, Div. 1511 Chicago, Ml, TTL Ly g L; f é = | 2 3 2 i

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TRUE STORIES OF ADVENTURE FEBRUARY, 1923 a \ »cEe ¥ CAUGHT IN A fAT RH TOAD

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$80 Drafting Course Free There is such an urgent demand for practical, trained Drasftsmen that I am making this special offer in order to enable deserving, ambitious and bright men to get into this line of work. I will teach you to become a Draftsman and Designer, until you are drawing a salary of $250.00 a month. You need not pay me for my personal instruction or for the complete set of instruments. $ Starting salary a according to my agreement and guarantee. Drafts- on men’s work is | on practical Drafting- .,. Pleasant and | room work Until you are prep Positions are open paying | competent and Until you $3,600.00 a year in the best surroundings. ie They are open everywhere. Thousands of are in a i sa posi men are needed who have just the kind of tion at a salary paying at training I will give you. You can get this least $250 per month. This is an training during spare time in your own home. exceptional opportunity for a few selected ambitious men, be- tween the ages of 16 and 50 Mail the Coupon whom I will train personally. for my valuable book —“Succesful | SendtheCoupon Draftsmanship.” It explains how YOU can be- 4 come a Successful Draftsman in a short time. oraletterandlet me tell The book is free at present, so write AT ONCE, you how you can be- come a Draftsman in your spare time and earn a good [®" salary. Don’t delay — send the coupon at once, pei 9255 Draftsman’s Working Ou These are regular working B:' instruments, the kind I use my- self. Thive them free to you if enroll at once, Send the Free Coupon t allaalaallallala lalla ny = Free Course Offer Coupon ff Chief Draftsman Dobe 1951 Lawrence Ave. Div. 1513 Chicago Without any obligation to me please mail your book, “Successful Drafts- manship” and full particulars of your ' liberal “Personal Instruction” offer to a few students, It is understood lam obligated in no way whatever, Basti While Learning You can be earning a handsome in- come while learning at home. This isa special offer Iam making. Absolutely no obligations of any kind in sending coupon. But you must write at once, as I limit the number of my students. Mail the FREE Coupon = Se teeediiiacnnadl anemia book—‘‘Successfal Draftsmanship,’ anship,”” also li list of open Dositions and for the free offer to be earning good money at once while learning at home. This offer is limited and in order to benefit thereby — act at once. Chief Draftsman Dobe 1951 Lawrence Ave., Div. 1513, Chicago, MI. en Address ——-——---—--~--~~ ~~ —-_____-_-_—__-_—_ Digitized by Google A

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TRUE STORIES OF | ADVENTURE } APRIL, 1923

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f= 21 Jewel Burlington Adjusted to the Second Adjusted to Temperature Adjusted to Isochronism Adjusted to Positions 21 Ruby and Sapphire Jewels 25 Year Gold Strata Case Your choice of Dials (including Montgomery R. R. Dial) New Ideas in Thin Cases OW, ‘JOO ‘Down Only One Dollar Down, will buy this masterpiece of watch manufacture. The balance you are allowe: to pa Watc that of in small, easy monthly payments. A 21-Jewel —is sold to you at a price much lower than other high-grade watches. Besides, you have the selection of the finest thin model designs and latest styles in watch cases. Write for FREE Watch Book a nd our SPECIAL OFFER today. The Burlington “Petite” This exquisite little 17-jewel ladies’ wrist watch. A perfect timepiece. Beautiful, 14K Solid Green Gold case. Illustration is exact size of Burlington “Petite”. Send for this wonderful little bracelet watch. See how beautiful the dainty green gold case looks on your own wrist. Write While this Special Offer Lasts’ Get the Burlington Watch Book — write today. Find out about this great You will read this special offer which is being made for only a limited time. know a great deal more about watch buying when you book. You will be able to “steer clear’ of the over- priced watches which are no better. Write for Watch Book and our special offer TODAY | lease Yame Burlington Watch Company Dept. [5-14 19th St. & Marshall Blvd., Chicago Canadian Address 62 Albert St., Winnipeg, Manitoba ook on watches with full explanation of your $1.00 down ffer on the Burlington Watch, orn send me (without obligations and prepaid) your free ¢ Tas Digitized by Google

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE eee ly | Making More Money Than The Boss If you think it can’t be done then there is a sur- prise in store for you. "THERE is one profession, and only one, in which the Boss often makes less money than some of the men un- der him. And you can—but read this remarkable letter received a short while ago by the National Salesmen's Training Association from a Sales Manager who was investigating this Bystem of Training with a view to increasing his own efficiency. In part his letter ran as follows: than my own. is _imoreased earnings made me Question him and it was then he admitted he was studying with you. The fact that he continued to succeed in such a big way caused me to write to you. “T dd not envy this man in the slightest degree, but I do want to say that if your training could develop this particular man into high-class salesman, as it has, then your course could almost make s wooden Indian into a saleaman, The record of this student is in the Association files, but it is no different than hundreds of other really amazing records of inexperienced men who have stu- died this wonderful System of Salesmanship Training. Why Salesmen Are Well Paid How would you like the opportunity to make more money than the man who employs you? Sounds almost foolish, doesn’t it? Yet, the seemingly impossible feat of making more money than the Boss is it done regulerly in the selling field. Many salesmen earn more money than the man or men above them. In some cases, they earn far more than the President of the Company. ‘There is a good reason why the same ability will command a larger income in the selling end of business than in other departments. The men in the shops making the goods, and the men in the office handling routine Accounts and credits, can never be as vital to a business ss the man out selling—for their efforts actually deter- mine how much goods shall be made. Irving T. Bush, Founder and President of the Bush Thermical Company, in an article in the AMERICAN MAGAZINE, said: “Go through any industry and you will find the same grade of intelligence ts better paid in the selling force than it is in any other department. To those men who must make money to take care of responsibility and support of family. I again say: ‘GO BELL.’ And opportunities for selling jobs are ten to one in other fields." Secrets That Make Master Salesmen teaches the real seeret of Salesmanship. For example; Charles Beery of Winterset, Iowa, stepped from $18 a week to a position making him $1,000 the very first J. P. Overstreet, Denison, Texas, was on the Capitol Police Force at a salary of less than $1,000 a year. He took up this study and very shortly after he earned $1,000 in six weeks as a salesman, F.. Wynn, "01 ex-service man, never thought he was cut out for selling, but this Association of Master Sales. men and Sales Managers convinced him he could sell, taught him how; and in one week he earned $554. George W. Kearns, of Oklahoma City, was making $60 a month on a ranch and then earned $524 in two weeks as a salesman. Warren Hartle, Chicago, spent two years in the railway mail service. ‘Then jumped into selling and multiplied his earnings six times the first year. Previous Experience Unnecessary Tt doesn’t matter what you are doing for a living. If you can read and write and have average intelligence, ere is a wonderful future awaiting you in the selling field. If you must make more money, if you want to attain @ measure of financial independence, if you want to accomplish worth-while things, then let us send you all the facts about this remarkable System of Salesman. ship Training and Employment Service, including a big. FREE, illustrated book, ‘Modern Salesmanship.”” Send Now For Proof and Free Boo! ‘To fill out and mail the coupon below may prove to be the turning point in your carcer as it has for thon, Rood idea to get it into the mail right NOW. NATIONAL SALESMEN’S TRAINING ASSOCIATION Dept 27-D Chicago, Tl. 's Training Association, ept. 27-D, Chicago, tt. Please mail me Free Proof that I can become a Master Saley- Part ad atallfy for a good sales position, Also send your ius- {ited Book, ““Modera Salesmanship.”” and particulary of member- pip in your association and its Free Emplament. Seven This Ja all free of cost or obligation, Name

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Vol. L. No. 300. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, Vol. L. CONTENTS FOR APRIL, 1923. No. 300. “THE PILOT AND MACHINE-GUNNER SCRAMBLED OUT AND CAME TOWARDS ME” 38 . . 6 se a 2 bi +. Frontispiece. PAGE A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.—L . . “ . a a “ED 443 Mustrations by Howard Eleock. A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN ALBANIA.—L Pe “ “ «« Rose Wilder Lane. 451 TMlustrations by R. Caton Woodville, and from Photographs. THE ELECTION AT RODEO .. “ is . “ . “Gulbrandsen.” 463 IHustrations by E. Prater. THE SEARCH FOR THE “GROSVENOR” TREASURE _.. . E. B. Dawson. Llustrations by Charles Pears, and from Photographs THE TERROR OF THE TERAI o « on Lieut.-Col. Gordoa Casserly. LWostrations by W. H. Holloway. THREE ASSES IN THE PYRENEES.—IV. .. ” +» Leo Walmsley, M.C., F.R.G.S. Mustrations by Reginald Cleaver. ACROSS THE PACIFIC IN A CHINESE JUNK.. . ” + Archie Wills. Ubestrations Photographs. by Francis G. Hiley, and from FORGOTTEN! + . . * * . * “ + Traverse.” Utustrations by G. S28 83:3 SHORT STORIES -— THE WITCHING OF M’BUMBO _.. - ” - ” ” «. T. S. Miller, 512 Mlastration by Joha de Walton. OuR UNLUCKY DAY .. . instration by W. E. Wistull. THE VILLAGE OF THE GREEKS .. a ” . . ” . E. D, Ward. 519 Mustrations by E. Prater, and from Photographe THE GOWER AFFAIR 7 es ia F. W. Butt-Thomptoa. 525 Ifestration by A. W. Sindall, See . . ” ” . « “FLW. 515 The Editor invites Travellers, Explorers, Tourists, Missionaries, and others to send in any curious or remarkable photo- graphs they may have. For these, and for True Stories of Adventure, liberal payment will be made according to the value of the material, Every narrative must be STRICTLY TRUE IN EVERY DETAIL, and a WRITTEN STATEMENT TO THIS EFVEOT must be furnished. The author must also, if possible, furnish portraits of the leading character or characters (eves if it be himself), together with any other available Photographs and portraits of places, Persons, and things which in any way heighten the realism and actuality of the narrative. All MSS. should be typewritten. Every care will be taken of contribu- tions, but the Editor cannot be held responsible for accidental loss or damage. All communications should be plainly addressed to the Editor, WIDE WorLD GAZINE, 8, Southampton Street, London, W.C., England. The American Edition of THR WIDE WoRLD MAGAZINE is published monthly for George Newnes, Ltd., of London, by The International News Company, 83-85, Duane Street, New York City. Price 20 cents. Yearly subscription, §2.00 post free. Subscriptions may be commenced at any time. Entered as second-class matter March 23, 1899, at the Office at New York, N.Y., under the Act of March 3, 1870. Entered as second-class matter at the Post Office Department, ttawa, Canada, z + Sole Agents for Australasia: Gordon & Gotch (A/asia), Ltd. Sole Agents for South Africa: Central News Agency, Ltd. YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL FAC But Your Nose! N THIS DAY AND AGE attention to your appearance is an absolute necessity if you expect to make the most out of life. Not only should you wish to appear as attractive as possible, for your own self satisfac- tion, which is alone well worth your efforts, but you will find the world in general judging you therefore it you looking sion you con- failure or success of your life Which is to be your tly, if not wholly, by your ly improved superior Nose-Shaper,""TRaD0s MODEL . corrects now all ill-shaped noses, without operation, comfortably and permanently. Diseased cases excepted —_/, me/. ne latest in Nose Shapers and surpasses all my previous Mod- c large margin. It has six adjustable SEFORE AFTER polished metal, is firm and fits | manufacturing Nose Shapers 1s at your disposal, which guarantees inside is upholstered with a fine chamois you entire satisfaction and a perfectly shaped nose. metal part: Being worn at _ (Above illustration represents my ‘*Trade-Mark"’ and shows my night it does not interfere with your daily work. Thousands of un- first and oldest Nose Shaper It is not a replica of my latest super- solicited testimonials on hand, and my fifteen years of studying and ior Model No. 26.) Write today for free booklet, which tells you how to correct Ill-Shaped Noses without cost f not satisfactory M. TRILETY, Face Specialist 1788 Ackerman Bidg., Binghamton, N. Y. Alao For Sale at First-Class Drug Stores

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE |... . 3 KED BLOODED, BANG-UP STORIES! ——— 12 GREAT BOOKS DON QUICKSHOT OF THE RIO GRANDE Stephen Chalmers A thrilling story of life among raiding Mexican bandits, train robbers, Texas rangers, and a prairie ‘fire. LOADED DICE Edwin L. Sabin A romance of Texas, of the early days, when lives depended on quickness of dri A tale of men who were jugglers with dea’ SONTAG OF SUNDOWN W. C. Tuttle An exciting story of the question of ranch ownership—which promoted bloodshed and a war of no mean caliber. SPAWN OF THE DESERT W. C. Tuttle A tale of Calico ‘Town: Where men lived raw in the desert’s maw. and Hell was nothing to shun; where they buried ‘em neat, without preacher or sheet and writ on their tombstone, crude but sweet, “This jasper was slow with his gun.” ARIZONA ARGONAUTS H. Bedford-Jones Three adventurers whose fortunes lead through @rought and danger to the golden goal they sought. THE LURE OF PIPER'S GLEN Theodore Goodridge Roberts It was the lure of the North, of plentiful game and of the clear wind from the great plains Young Jim Todhunter heard it, and found adventure a-plenty, APACHE VALLEY Arthur Chapman A story of a cattle war in the Southwest, with all it means—terror and blood feud: alarms by night and day; rustling and stealthy murder. THE CHALLENGE OF THE NORTH James B. Hendryx This is a story of the call of tha great North- land; of purposes and cross purposes: of true men and of “bad” men; and of big deals and pioneering triumphs. THE SECOND MATE HH. Bedford-Jones Peril and mutiny on the China Seas. Two white women at the mercy of a villainous crew. Jim Barnes realized the desperate chance he had taken when he became mate of the Sulu Queen. THE DEVIL'S PAYDAY W. C. Tuttle A sky of brass, the sun a flame, And the land no place to dwell; Every One a Ripsnorter! Exciting? You'll say so! i2 red-blooded tales. Real thrills on every page. Smashing, unexpected endings make you gasp. Never a slow evening if you own these books. Just like being a cowboy, a prospector, a dare-devil adventurer yourself. Every story a “ humdinger.” Live the life of the big open Western world—among hairy- chested, hard-fighting frontiersmen who tramp, ride, camp, scheme, love and hate—yes, and sometimes shoot to kill! These gripping stories will pick you up, and whirl you bodily into the “ gun-toting” life of the West—the bad old, glad old West. Every book will make you “ hold on to your chair.” SEND NO MONEY You can get this whole library of 12 fascinating, nerve-tightening books for about 16c¢ each. The whole set sent to you right now—without send- / ing @ penny in advance. But listen! ‘The night these books come you won't sleep! You're just bound to finish the one you start—if it takes till 3 A. M. You can’t be out of amusement while you have these 7 smashing sto in your home Yet EVERY STORY IS CL AND WHOLESOME—nothing that should not be read by any boy 4 or girl . GARDEN Get this whole library right away. Don’t send any money, 4 Just, your name and address on the handy coupon, and mall CITY PUB. it. The whole 12 of these splendid books, each. printed on / CO., INC. 8, ph Dept. w- 244 Piha Garden City, N.Y. tho A hunk of earth, so doggone hot ‘That it still belongs to Hell. THE CANYON OF THE er fgg os . R. Buel Who were the devils in human form whe haunt was the lost barranea? Invisible, ter- rible, they brought the young officer of the law e) on delivery. “it is to a strange dilemma. yom take pi ipythia offer Fight no books, it 1 desire, within tive days SKY-HIGH, CORRAT, ey, Ralph Cummins ot be repeated ia magazine. Send the and receive my money back promptly, yarn of the unending feuds between cattlemen Leorsakos 5 and forest rangers: of the forest fires, grazing GARDEN CITY PUB. C0., INC, 7 Name---sseeeeeeeeeeeeeeseees : herds and bitter fights at timberline. Yet forest conservation won—through fire and blood. Dept. W- 244 7 Address... Garden City, | New York City

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THE ‘AGENTS Looks Like $5°° Worth Gives You Si.10 Profit! $12 AN HOU W. H. Marion, a teginner, sold 36 WIDE WOR/.D MAGAZINE Some Seller at $900 “Nitty Nine” Introductory Ass meortments in three hours, first day, $36 profit duce oor pi Our representatives intro- facta with m iret, sale of beautiful combin- ation sete of Toilet Articles, Soaps, etc. You sell at halt store prices, no fanc: talk, eales aay with $1. $8 pro sell on ‘sight, Make 20 to $0 fit on each. Easy to average #100 a week. Could you ack more while Sptrocaey: _, establishing a Permanent business for yourself for nother plan ealls no deliveries, no investment, no delays, You bank immediate proats. Also plan with winning premium toeach sale. rite quick for details, po FREED isin ora Gar absoitely Gilet ODAY Yor Mloecentsd circalags are aglalnion © our “Usiews Pans incteding 90 otose peckad E. M. DAVIS CO. Dept. 8504 CHI IF YOU CAN TELL IT FROM ftir foal SPECIAL ‘ADVERTISING Beir ‘a8 GENERAL PRODUCTS Co. 1338 Fulton Street Dept. 10 CHICAGO D ws of 48 atyieny onaepproval. to Xo can bave your oles of 46 Style ygolors and sizea of the famous RAI Express prepaid. LaMont Prices 50! on 10 Soe i on Zour. rplcree a ney nak mba oath Sere Feats Mead ois come [5 GO INTO BUSINESS yours Get out of the salaried class. ur Fa elect th Write today for complete details of are doing. ICAGO dent of your Ibilt- Ex; ric machine protect you. fe geoor, SURF. MACH. CO. Teledo. Ohio VictorRecordNo.18,767-A,asawsoloplayedon ¢ “Musical Saw”. You, too, can produce wonder- ul, soft, sweet music from a carpenter's cross-cut saw with violin bow or soft hammer, if you know how. No musical ability required — you need’not know one note from: an- other. Successfully instruct- omeunte. hy our "Take at Esay toLearn in Three Weeks We absolutely guarantee to. Soke and quartottes for Gl Legion P #85 SELF-CONSCIOUS? Embarrassing in company; lacking in self-control? Let me tell you how you can ove reome these ‘troubles. VERITAS, 1400 Broadwa: New York City. Your Boy’s. Happiness. is one of your first considerations, Get THE BOYS' ZINE for him. He needs this great boys’ them clean. interesting MAGA. | ‘ pertodicad. Parents owe . it to their sons togive - instructive: reads - and ing that will make them eelf-reliant, manly and ageous. An 8 Months’ Trial Subscription for Only 50c (This is way below the regular price) Esch issue of THE BOYS’ MAGAZINE contains from two to four splendid serial stories and from twelve to twenty: thrilling short ttories, besides special departments devoted to Radio, Me- chanics, Electricity. Popular Sclenooe, Athletics, Physical Train» Ing, Stamp Collecting, Outdoor Sports, Atateur Photography, Cartooning, ete. Beautiful big pages with handsome covers in colors. Profusely illustrated throughout. A big lot of Jokes and Comic Drawings. Eight issues equal 20 big volumes, which would cost, as’ books, at least, $20.00. A special feature is the award of $220.00 in cash prises for the best amateur work in many subjects, There imo reason why YOUR ‘boy should not win some of these prises. Remember, only 50 cents for eight months. If you are not satisfed we will refund your money promptly, and without question. Remit in stamps if more convenient. (On sale at all newsstands 100, a copy.) —-—-— — — —TEAR OUT HERE-~ ~ — — — THE SCOTT F. REDFIELD CO., INC. 9234 Main St., Smethport, Pu. I accept your special half price introductory offer and enclose ~ 50 cents, for’ which send THE BOYS' MAGAZINE for eight months to (Write name and address plainly) Name

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THE iVWIDE WORLD MAGAZINE $80 Drafting Course There is such an urgent demand for practical, trained Draftsman that I am making special offer in order to enable deserving, ambitious and bright men to get into this line of work. I will teach you to become a Draftsman and Designer, until you are drawing a salary up to $250.00 a month. You need not pay me for my personal instruction or for the complete set of instruments. Cony this Shetch Draftsman's Pocket Rule Free— z be Eveerone To every person of 16 years or older send: a sketch Tam goin to mail free and Fabony com the Draftsman’s Ivorine eee ere. Phi wil come entirely my hak youhaveor master Cys Ivorine 27 Pocket Rule R : e be edt to fit these itions. Ni hope to Shave in the great Coming properity ka manufactaring — — and Get an lvorine J this $25 Draftsman’s Pocket Rule Absolutely Free! ‘king Outfit Ambitious men interested in drafting hurry! Don’t Wor 1 wait This is your Qpportunity. to get into this great These are regular working instruments—the kind fession. Accept the offer which J am mal now. myself. T I give them free to bat dehy enroll st once. Bind n ur akgich or request for tree book and ies Don't delay. Send for full i Wworine Pocket Ru Chief Draftsman, Engineers’ Equipment Co. } Co. Destin cos

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE . : ig ADAGRAMS 9CENS A WoR : BUSINESS OPPORTUNITIES. AGENTS WANTED. 33 GREAT MONEY MAKING PLANS FREE. UNIVERSAL Bureau,-G, Boston (XI), Mass. PATENTS—TRADE-MARES. INVENTIONS COMMERCIALIZED, PATENTED OR UN- patented. Write Adam Fisher Mfg. Co.. 129 St. Loula, Mo PATENTS PROCURED—SEND SKETCH OR MODEL TODAY for examination, prompt report and advice. No charge for pre- liminary advice. Write for free Booklet and blank form on which to disclose your dea. Highest references. Promptness assured. Clarence O'Brien, Registered — Patent Lawyer, 527 Southern Building, Washington, D, C. INVENTORS SHOULD WRITE FOR OUR GUIDE BOOK, “How To Get Your Patent,’ tells our terms and methods, Send model or aketch for our opinion of its patentable nature. Ran- dolph & Co., Dept. 54, Washington, D. C. PATENTS—WRITE FOR FREE GUIDE BOOKS AND RECORD of Invention Blank. Send model or sketch and description for free opinion of its patentable nature, Hightest references. Prompt attention. Reasonable terms. Victor J. Evans & Co., 807 Ninth Bt. Washington, D. C. REAL ESTATE PROPERTY OWNERS_GET CASH FOR YOUR REAL ES- tate, business, invention or other property. To quickly sell, exohunge or buy property any kind anywhere write Western Security Co., 101 Hannibal, Mo. SGELP WANTED. AGENTS—OUR SOAP AND TOILET ARTICLE PLAN 18 A wonder. Get our free sample case offer. Ho-Ro-Co.. 108 Locust St, St., Lous. TREMENDOUS OPPORTUNITY FOR AMBITIOUS AGENTS, ‘The indispensable, rapid selling Speedy Dish Washer. Price $3.50. No competition. No investment. Easy selling plan, Convenient sample. Commission daily. Make application today Prag reer fait Shepperd-Luth Mfg. Co., 16-T, Hudson » New Yor! BIG MONEY AND FAST SALE8.—EVERY OWNER gold initials for his auto. You charge $1.50; make srs Tee orders daily easy. Write for partnulars and free samples. American Monogram Co., Dept. 135 East Orapge. N. J. AGENTS—NEW DISCOVERY MAKES ALL JELLY “JELL.”” Big profits, constant repeater. Sample free, Joy-Jel Conigeny, 815 Grand. St. Joseph, Mo. = AGENTS WANTED—PORTRAIT AGENTS AND OTHERS. Get big profits. Sell Perry Photo Medallions, You charge $2.98; make 400 per cent profit. $10 daily easy. Big, excludve Ine. 4-day service. Perry Photo Novelty Corp., 360 Bowery, N. Y. r $60—$200 WEEK FREE SAMPLES GOLD LETTERS FOR store windows. Easily applied. Liberal offer to general agents, Metallic Letter Co., 439 North Clark, Chicago. AGENTS WANTED EVERYWHERE TO SELL THOSE WO! dorful California Herbs for Rheumatism. People from all over the U. S. have written us the last five years about the extra- Herbs, BE A DETECTIVE. EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY, GOOD PAY, | ordinary results from these marvelous Send for,, free ea Write to C. ‘T, Ludwig, 140 Westover Bidg., Kansas J booklet, Pound $1 yospaid: d City, Mo. Rheumatism Herb Company, Sawtelle, California. FIREMEN, BRAKEMEN, BAGGAGEMEN, SLEEPING CAM, 1 agents tl train porters (colored). — $140-3200. Experience unnocessary. each, Thaee wnat hs AF ipaindeis cots Pentucter ae aout $99 Railway Bureau, East St. Louis, [lL GOV'T RAILWAY MAIL CLERKS START $133 MONTH; expenses paid. Specimen examination questions free. Columbus Institute, W-2, Columbus. Ohio. EARN $25 WEEKLY, SPARE TIME, WRITING FOR NEWS- papers, magazines. Experience unnecessary; details Free. Press Syndicate, 4455 St. Louls, Mo. DISTRICT SALESMEN WANTED—ALL OR SPARE TIME. Earn $750 to $2,000 yearly. We train the inexpertenced. Nov- elty Cutlery Co., 70 Bar St, Canton. Obio, $35 WEEK EASILY EARNED. LEARN ORESSMAKING- Destgning at home, Learn while earning. Big spring demand. Sample lessons free. Write Franklin Institute, Dept. P-546, Rochester. N. Y. DETECTIVES EARN BIG MONEY—EXCELLENT OPPOR- tunity. Travel. Great demand, Expertence unnecessary. Par- ticulars free, Wrlte, American Detective System, 1963 Brosdway. NewK York. immediately. BOOKS, &c. CONFESSIONS OF A YOUNG GIRL 25c. CONFESSIONS OF Trene 50c. Song of the Underworld 75c. Girl photos, best quality, clear and distinct, post-card size, any number 5c each, H. J. Mertz, Greenville, Pa. PLAYS, MUSICAL COMEDIES AND REVUES, MINSTREL music, blackface skits, vaudeville acts, monologs, dialogs. recita- tions, entertainments, musical readings, stage handbooks, make- up goods. Rix catalog tree. T. S$. Denison & Co. 623 So. Wabash, Dept. 113, Chicago. THE MASTER KEY—WONDERFUL BOOK TO SUCCESS FOR Business and Professional men and women Cloth, 410 pages, $2.50. Phipps Studio, 1014 Belmont. Chicago. 1,000,000 BOOKS, ALL KINDS FREE. brary, 224-G, Tremont, Boston. UNIVERSAL Cte “TRUTH” ON HANDSOME DOUBLE MAT 6x10. BEAUTI- ful art work, French model. Ife pose: full lenxth, 250. pre- paid. Wauropreas, Wauregan, Conn our wonderful pure all virgin wool made to order suits, retailing at $29.50. None higher. Finest selection of fabrics —sergea, worsteds, cassimeres and flannels of superb quality. Fit, style and quality unexcelled. Satisfaction guaranteed. This ts line that-will bring repeat business and big money. A big, op- portunity for hustlers. No experience needed. W teach you. Write today. State territory destred. Inc., Dept. 520, 831 W. Adams St., Chicago. $5 TO $15 DAILY, INTRODUCING NEW STYLE GUARAN- teed hosiery. Must wear, or replaced free. No capital or expe- rience required; just show samples, write orders. Your pay in advance. We deliver and collect. Elegant outfit furnished, all colors and grades, including silks. Mac-O-Chee Mills Co. Square 2544, Cincinnati, Ohio. $75-150 WEEKLY ASSURED IF YOU HUSTLE. SELL _AT- tractive gold slans to stores, offices, Unltmited demand. Exper- fence unnecessary. Free Samples. Acme Window Letters, 365 W. Superior, Chicago. oo _—_—$—— SELL US YOUR SPARE TIME. YOU CAN EARN FIFTEEN to Fifty dollars weekly writing showcards at home. No can- vassing; pleasant profitable profession easily, quickly lsarned by our simple graphic block system; artistic ability unnaces- sary; we instruct you and supply work. Wilson Methods, Limited Dept. 21. Toronto, Ont. Fi BE INDEPENDENT—PAINT SIGNS AND SHOW CARDS, easily learned. M. E. Clarke Co., Ottawa, Kansas EARN $20 WEEKLY SPARE TIME AT HOME ADDRESSING mailing music circwars. Send 10c. for music, information, etc. American Music Co, 1658 Broadway, N. Y. ee WANTED TO BUY ue CASH FOR OLD GOLD, PLATINUM, SILVER, DIAMONDS. Liberty Bonds. War, Thrift, Unused Postage Stamps, False Teeth. Magneto Points, Jobs, any valuables, Mall in today. Cash ‘sent, return mail. Goods returned in ten days if you're not satisfied. Ohio Smetting Oo, 311 Hippodrome Buliding, Cleveland, Ohio. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE «.° er: _ GLASSIFIED ADYERTISEMENTS—{ Continued) MATRIMONIAL LONELY WIDOW WITH HOME AND ORANGE GROVE worth $20,000, wishes to correspond with Christian man. Object matrimony. Write Mrs, Lee, care of People’s Club, Box 94, Lus Angeles, Calif, * LONESOME WIDOWS—GET BUSY. WRITE ME, MARRY wealthy. Mr. Hyde, Box 120, San Francisco, Calif, LONELY LITTLE “FLAPPER,” TIRED LIVING ALONE, very wealthy, wants marriage. I dare you write! B-120, Mis- sion Unity Club, San Francto, Calif, (Stamp please.) MARRY RICH—WORLD’S LEADING CORRESPONDENCE Club for lonely people. Many worth to $400,000, Quick Re- sults Guaranteed. Confidential lst Free. Honorable Ralph Hyde, 120 San Francisco. T~ ing. Send stamped emelope, Diamond 8. Club, 590 South 4b St., Portland, Oregon. DO YOU WANT NEW FRIENDS? YOU NEED NOT BE Jonesome. Write and ask all about it. Betty Lee Inc,, 4254 Broadway, New York City. Stamp appreciated. MARRY—MANY RICH. PARTICULARS FOR STAMP. HAP- piness Iles in married life. Confidential, reliable, 3. Morrison, N-3053 W. Holden St. Seattle, Wash. GET MARRIED—BEST MATRIMONIAL PAPER PUBLISHED. FREE for stamp. Correspondent, Toledo, Okla, FRENCH, BRITISH, GERMAN, OTHER EUROPEAN GIRLS want correspondents. Paper addresses three months $1. Year 92. Y. Deleavefer, 282-G d’Entraigues, Tours, France, WINTER IN FLORIDA. WRITE CHARMING WIDOW worth $40,000. Box 55, Oxford, Fla. JOIN THE CLUB OF JOLLY INTERESTING PEOPLE AND exchange letters and make real friends Eva Moore, Box 908, Jacksonville, Florida, Send stamp, WOULD YOU WRITE A WEALTHY PRETTY Stamped envelope please. Lois Sproul, Cleveland, Ohio, GIRL? ANYONE DESIRING MARRIAGE, PLEASE WRITE R. CHAM- ders, Beulah, Manitoba, Canada. MARRY—FREE PHOTOGRAPHS, DIRECTORY AND ODE- scriptions of wealthy members. Pay when married, New Plan ©o., Dept. 44, Kansas City, Mo, LONESOME? MEET YOUR FUTURE LIFE COMPANION. Our methods are new, confidential. Information free enclosing stamp. Harmony Club, 949 Montana St. Chicago. ‘WOULD YOU MARRY A PRETTY MAIDEN WORTH $20,000 ex a Charming Widow worth $40,000? Write Mrs. A. L. Hill, Forsyth St., Jacksonville, Fla. MARRY IF LONELY; FOR RESULTS TRY ME; BEST AND most successful ‘‘Home Maker; hundreds rich wish marriage soon; strictly confidental; most reliable; years of experience; de- ecriptions free. ‘‘The Successful Club,” Mra, Nash, Box 556, Oakland, Calif. MARRY—MARRIAGE DIRECTORY WITH PHOTOS AND DE- seriptions free. Pay woen married. The Exchange, Dept. 84, Kanvas City, Mo. IF YOU WISH A WEALTHY YOUNG WIFE, WRITE, closing envelope. Violet Itay, Dennison, Ohio. MARRY! FREE DIRECTORY WITH DESCRIPTIONS AND photos. Bonafide Co., Dept. 6, Kansas (ity. Mo. MARRY—HUNDREDS WEALTHY. LARGEST, BEST CLUB: quickest resulta; write, he convinced, Relable, confidentia'. Descriptions Free. Mrs. Budd, Box 753, San Francisco, Calif. AGE 28, WOULD LIKE TO MEET WEALTHY lady; no agency. Write CW. K., 123 4th St, Union N. J., care of Cigar Store. DOCTOR, youny Nu, MARRY RICH—BEST PAPER PUBLISHED, NAMES, AD- dresses, descriptions, pletures, 25e, Box 3317, Boxtou, Mass, ZWASTIKA CLUB FOR THOSE DESIRING EARLY, WEAL. thy, happy marriace. Confidential. Stamp appnwiatd. Bex 1223. Detroit, Mich, to Make 6 I ’m More Money!” “I'm tired working for a small salary. I know I have just as good a head on meas Fred Moore and Bob Roberts, for we used to work side by side. But they’ve gone far ahead of me. “Why? Because they saw the value of special training, and I didn’t. “But I know better now. If the Inter- national Correspondence: Schools can raise the salaries of men like Fred Moore and Bob Roberts, they can raise mine, too! “If they have helped others to advance, they can help me. Today—right now—I’m going to send in this coupon and at least find out what the I. C. S. can do for me.” -——— — — — TEAR OUT Beg — — — — — — INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE SOHOOLS ‘Scranton, Penna. Bex 3725-C, lease tell me how fore which t have marked an X:"" ‘Without cost if the position erin the. susjoct isa BUSINESS TRAINING DEPARTMENT ness jement Manas Salesmsnship i jement, Business Law pens Taw Typing Ni ison {including C.P.A.) epeteon, Cost Accounting ‘Mail Clerk Cartooning TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL DEPARTMENT bal jcal jineering Architect Electric Lighting Glue Print Readi pechanteal Encinecr ctor and Builder ~ Feo me JAxriculture and Poultry thematics City... Occupation. Persona residing tm Canada should send this coupon tern. tonal Correapondence Achools Canadian, Fitton Montran, Ca Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisére,

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENT S—(Continued) MATRIMONIAL, AUTHORS, SONG WRITERS. CUPID’S BULLETIN, CLASSY, oer Bp Magazine, 10c copy. Conn. MANY WEALTHY LADIES DESIRE MARRIAGE. IF SIN cere, write The Nu-Way System, 127 North Dearborn, Chic! MARRY—MANY WORTH $1,000 TO §200,000 WAITING chances; attractive new lists with particulars in plain seaicd envelope sent for stamp, Smith, Box 3125-S, Portland, Ore. SUNDRIES TOBACCO OR SNUFF HABIT CURLO OR NO PAY. $1.00 IF cured. Remedy sent on trial. Superba Co., ST. Baltimore, Md. FREE—FORMULA CATALOG. LABORATORIES, BOYLSTON Building, RELIABLE, ILLUSTRATED, Box 178 New Haven, SHORT STORIES, POEMS, PLAYS, ETC., ARE WANTED FOR buntication. Literary Bureau, 116, Haunibal, Mo, WRITE PHOTOPLAYS—$50 EACH. EXPERIENCE UNNEC- essary. Details free to beginners, Producers’ League, 316 ®t. SONG WRITERS—HAVE YOU POEMS? | HAVE “REAL” proposition. Ray Hibbeler, D-103, 4040 Dickens <Ave., EARN $25 SEERSEY SEARE TIME, WRITING FOR NEWS- papers, magazines. Experience detalls preaitrsrarrge ye ae unnecessary; Free. Presg Puzzies, Jokes, Wigs, Mind Reading Acts and Sensational Escapes. Big new Illustrated Cata- logue 10c. Oaks Magical Co., Dept. No. 508 Osh- TRICK kosh, Wis. EAT GLANDMARO ON TRIAL FOR (0 DAYS AT OUR RISK and pay nothing if fails to restore pep and youthful vigor; state male or female. sample booklet, etc., Free. Bor 584 W., Los Angeles, Calif. ARE YOU OLD AT FORTY? on page 14 of this issue. The Electro Thermal Steubenville, Ohio. FREE TO MEN—INFORMATION OF SCIENTIFIC NATURE that has brought physical vigor and happiness to thou-ands, No charges no obligation, Enclose stamp for reply. Dr. C. J. Wood, S51 East 47th St., Chicago, Il. ADVEHTISE—NEWSPAPERS, MAGAZINES. quest. Pennell Company, Covington, 27,000 RECORDS GUARANTEED WITH ONE EVERPLAY phonograph needle, new, different. cannot injure records; $10.00 daily easy. Free sample to worksrs. Everplay, Desk 411, Me- Clure Bidg., Chicago. BUY GLADIOLUS BULBS NOW. LOW PRICES FOR EARLY orders, No. 1 Standard mixed sorts. 100 tor $2, or 40 for $1; also all the new named rare and beautiful colors, 100 for $3 or 80 for $1, postpaid. R. J. Gibbins, Mt. THREE BOOKS OF REAL MERIT The Vest Pocket Book-keeper A simple and concise method of Practical Book- keeping with instructions for the correct keeping of books to take off a and finally account leatherette paid The Real Estate Educator The Edition conta ains the Federal Farm Loan How to Appraise SEE OUR ADVERTISEMENT Company. LIST ON RE- Holly, N. J. of account How trial balance and b ges, artistic $1.00 post- ystem, Available U. for Homesteads, The Realty and other use- ful information 208 pages cloth THE VEST POCKET LAWYER This elegant work just published contains the $2.00 postpaid kind of information most people want. You can know the law—what to do—what to avoid. It is a daily guide—a manual of reference for the business man—the law student—the justice of the peace—the notary public—the farm clergyman—the merchant—the banker—the tor. 360 pages printed on bible paper. Cloth $1.50. Postpaid. SPECIAL OFFER—All 3 books prepald $4.00. tion guaranteed or money back—C, 0. D. 1 F. X. CAREY & COMPANY 143 WEST 96th ST. NEW YORK Descriptive Catalog FREE Satisfac rod WRITERS!—HAVE YOU A SONG POEM, 87 play. to seh? Submit ‘MSS now to Music ‘Asice Ce, 100. Se, WANTEO= Bex AND WOMEN auolrious TO MAKE ey writing stories and Dhotoplays. Send for wonderful free Look that tells how. Authors’ Press, Dept. 159, Auburn, N. ¥. ee YOU CAN WRITE SUCCESSFUL STORIES, NEWS ITEMS, boems, for profit. Our six books tell how, 400 pages complete, $1.00 postpaid. McQueen Agency, Box 724, Cincinnati, Ohio, SONG WRITERS—I HAVE DIFFERENT PROPOSI Lester G. Blain, 3208 40th St., Sacramento, Calif. mye: WRITERS—GET CASH FOR SONG-POEMS, STORIES OR itera Submit MSS. or write Music Sales Co., 100, Bt ouls, DOGS, RABBITS, &e. DEERHOUNDS—IRISH AND RUSSIAN WOLFHOUNDS, NOR- banat bear dogs, foxhounds, coonhounds, bloodhounds; big im- terestii hly illustrated catalog, 10 cents. Lexington, Ky. POSITION GUARANTEED! ‘The Finger Print Profession wants men immedi- mie Day. i ee gesting work, no lay-offs or il teach you quickly to become s ‘Ser decid te lienited. Write at eace. jCHOOL OF FINGER PRINTS, 7008 Me. Clark Street, Chicege. gpa i ING NEW DISCOVERY pFREE TRIAL Sextet One Cent Justsend your namefor this startling new discove that has at last put an end to all bunion suffering. don’t care how many remedies you have tried withous success —nor how discouraged you may, be— L will prove to you FREE, asl. have to thousands of others, that this new amazing discovery absolutely ends the oldest, most stubborn bunion. Nothing like it was I ever before conceived. It is entirely different. | FAIRYFOOT ye : ing twin, and soren: ing is quickly dispersed. uffer another day. Send name at once for Free Trial before this liberal offeris withdrawn, Foot Romedy | Co. YW 2207 mili

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 9 “I looked through the keyhole Love, mystery, intrigue, pure reason—all fascina ting and wonderfully written -will thrill you throughout the ten vol- umes which the coupon alone brings to your home prepaid, —and recoiled in horror!” STRANGE house, full of mystery; shadows and dampness that sent shivers along one’s spine. Ina room on the top floor, a miser —locked in a room with his treasure. Yet there was no sound from within, no answer to the knocking that raised a hollow echo through the empty corridors. e windows were fastened. The door was locked from within. And yet in that room a dreadful crime had been committed—and the criminal had escaped. Here, in the eerie glow of the moonlight, the great detective brought the force of e reason to bear. The rest is an ad- venture it moves 80 quickly and so thrillingly that it could never have been written by anyone but the master of mysteries— A. CONAN DOYLE You know Doyle already as the author of hun- dreds of fascinating stories of crime and detection, His Sherlock Holmes has gained for him a high place which noother writer hasattainedin thisfield. But do you know that he is as versatile as any writer who ever put pen to paper? Some of the finest love stories the world has ever known are his; and a prize-fight tale that is without an equal. The business villainies of Ezra Girdlestone, the battles of the chivalrous Sir Nigel and his White Company, theone-eyed fiend of Sassassa Valley and the Man-Eating Plant of Fly- pGulchareamong the fascinating things in his collected works. In these splendid, gold-stamped volumes there is fiction—wonderful fiction—enough to last a year. And, if you act quickly, before our offer is snapped up, you will receive FREE—In Addition—FREE The Master Tales of Mystery, in 3 Volumes Among all the mystery stories that have been written, these thirty-eight will live: Anna erine Green’s ‘‘Room No. 3”; R. Stockton’s “Three Burglars"; ‘‘The Poisoned Pen”; ‘The Silent Bullet” and the “Invisible Ray" that challenged Craig Kennedy's genius; the fearful “Cell Thirteen” of Jacques Futrelle;—bot why name them all? Only by examining them can you appreciate them and you may examine all thirty-eight; dix into them and the ten volumes of Doyle to your heart's con- tent. But you must act at once; the offer is good only as long as the two sets last. Send No Money—Just The Coupon It is s0 easy to own these books, You need not send ur a penny. The coupon will bring the complete works of Conan Doyle to your home. We expect you todo nothing but look through them, read all you can of them—and decide whether you want to own them. We leave them in your carea week. At the end of the week you may return the books at our ex- pense if you do not want them in your library. You merely receive, read and pass ment. The famous COLLIER PLAN OF FREE EXAMINATION has placed millions of the world’s best books in countless homes. Let the coupom bring Doyle, the Prince of Entertainers, to your door. Maié the coupon now, before the FREE SETS OF MASTER TALES OF MYSTERY are exhausted. P.F. COLLIER & SON COMPANY, 416 West 13th Street, New Yo: City. Send me on approval, charges paid by you Cons Doyle's works in ten volumes. Also the three volume set of Master Tales of Mystery bound in cloth. If I keep the books I will remit $1.00 within a week and $3.00 a moath for eight months for the Conan Doyle set only, and retain the Master Tales set without charge. Otherwise, I will. within a week, return both sets at your expense. For the Conan Doyle, beautifully bound in three-quarter leather, simply add three more monthly payments; that is, elevem instead of eight. Check binding desired. Cloth 0 % Leather O 10 per cent discount for cash. § Occupation... 20... eee eee e eee cece cette ee eeeenmeceetee : Persons under 2: should have parent sign order. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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10 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Latest Model 9 shot automa- tic. Shoots standard cartridges~ lies flat in the pocket—$12.95, 32 cal. $13.98 — World's fa: $ Lager 30 cal, $20: i linder_ 32 cal. $16:95 38. cal. $17.95. cal. au brand new latest models-guaranteed genuine imported. on delivery Pin Foage” SEND NO MONEY sepifetin Cuegestet es Meu Povey eles 25 cal. Pocket Automatic be! Maney, French Aato- 11.65 Eaciaten oor amy 8.45 | enyanes fee $! 32 cal. Army Automatic - 10.45 | ierewer, trees | 8.65 Ottigeris, Automat. 11.95 | ss0u. Tepereck. » 8.95 Universal Sales Co., 141 Broadway, Dept. J-4 New York WILLIAMS THURS 25 YEARS’ EXPERIENCE OF EUROPEAN TRAVEL Attention is called to eur two SPECIAL EDUCATIONAL TOURS Visiting France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium She Found A Pleasant Way To Reduce Her Fat She did not have to go to the trouble of diet or exercise. She found a better way, which aids the digestive organs to . *, and England, including the World War Battlefields. turn ood Eto muscle, bone sinew. Sailing about July ist, returning Sept. Ist. For teach. ers and students, PRICES $200 LESS than our regular first-class rates: but only first-class hotels and autos used. Parties absolutely Iimited to 18, 90 booking must be made carly. Write for booklet. The Egerton R. William | Co, 220 Devonshire Street, Boston, Mass. She used Marmola Prescription Tablets, which are eg from the fasnoue: Marrnots ae id t igestive sys. tem to obtain the f full nutriment of food. will allow you to eat many kinds of without the necessity of dieting or exercising. Thoussnde hare: found that ake tancer Prescription Ta give complete reli from obesity. And when the accumula- tion of fat is checked, reduction to normal, healthy weight soon follows. ’ All good drug stores the world over sell Marmola Prescription Tablets at one dollar a box. Ask your druggist for them, or Learn Cartooning At Home—in Your Spare Time from the school that has trained so many of the successful cartoonists of today earn- ing from $50 to $200 and_more_per week, The Landon Picture Chart Method of teaching makes original drawing easy to learn. Write for full information and chart & test your ability. Please state age. B J HE LANDON SCHOOL | 149, National Building, Cleveland, Ohic —~ |S Master Keys} ‘Work like magic in emergencies or prove your door or padlocks are burglar-proof. Open and test thousands of different looks. Recom- | mended by users tn ten different nations. Most wonderful and only keys of their kind. ok Send $1 today. Novel key chain EREE’ with set. MASTER KEY CO., 5-M Manhattan Block, waukee, Wis, — Wrestling Book. FREE world's marvelous Undefeated champlon acl bic trates FREE Wonderful Book Learn by mail. lovers. ae met NorthwesternSchool of Taxidermy, 2003 Elwood Bde, Omaha, Neb. Gotch and Farmer aot : —— a a Wi i er ot fe cae Do You Want 7 Eeeees eetetes Rares A Better Job. — parimfature? “Then be elve mil- an Auto Lariat FS ae ee ._ tract ‘ rei Fond expert repairing. Fifty million sites: Ped repay. a twelve million batteries to keep up. Unlimit oppo! tunities at $2,000 to $10.00 yearly. st td ieee Net | |WANTED! / Frarikln inate pooaes fi i . aa Dent. thee ros for bg ay 99 ie, Cite auto newer fe oe | |$133 to $1922", Smale uum cue. iness. jet roi the ie i: ) samole Halla, ; place to learn pointy tends of graduates mai | [A MONTH $ covrnnont ih aims” ait Sh era endorse our school. | TIEREE booklet about the op-| | Send cLoupon Smo how T can get a position Dortunities in. the automobile business. Don't wait: wat aap ie _ te ea eGAN BT! SCHOOL Cos fee MICHIGAN STATE AUTOMOBILE SCHOOL, 104 Auto Bldg.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 11 “NERVES?” 2:stiec\ snes “NERVES”’—We hear it everywhere. The physician tells his patient—“It’s your Nerves.” Sensitive and high-strung women complain of their “Nerves.” You see evi- dence of “Nerves” everywhere—in the street, in the cars, in the theatre, in business, and especially in your home—right in your own family. : We Americans are a nation of nervous peo- ple. This is known the world over. Our own Nerve Specialists admit it. It is caused by our “Mile-a-Minute” life; the intenseness of our Natures in everything we do. It is making us the most progressive nation on earth, but it is also wrecking our people. Our crowied in- sane asylums prove it. Medical records prove it. Millions of people have sub-normal Nerve Force, and consequently suffer from endless organic and physical troubles, which make their lives miserable. Paul von Boeckmann sca e and scores of other ea ete oN eies Brenthing: Hygiene and kia- dred subjects. Over a million of his various books thave been sold during the last 25 years. Prof. von Boeckmann is the scientist who ex- plained the nature of the mysterious Psycho-physic Force involved in the Coulon-Abbott Feats, s prob- lem that had baffled the leading scientists of America and Europe for more than thirty years. p What is meant by “Nerves”? By “Nerves is meant Nerve Exhaustion (Neurasthenia), lack of Nerve Force. What is Nerve Force? We do not know. It is the secret of Nature. We do know that it is the vital force of life, a mysterious energy that flows from the nervous system and gives life and energy to every vital organ. Sever the nerve which leads to any organ and that organ will cease acting. The wonderful organ we term the Nervous System consists of countless millions of cells, These cells are reservoirs which store Nerve Force. The amount stored represents our Nerve Capital. Every organ works incessantly to keep the supply of Nerve Force in these cells at a high level, for Life itself depemis more upon Nerve Force than on the food we eat or even the air we breathe. If we unduly tax the nerves through over- work, worry, excitement, or grief, if we subject the muscular system to excessive strain, or, in any way, consume more Nerve Force than the organs produce, the natural result must be Nerve Bankruptcy, in other words, Nerve Ex- haustion, Neurasthenia, or “Nerves.” There is but one malady more terrible than Nerve Exhaustion—its kin, Insanity. Only By PAUL von BOECKMANN those who have passed through a siege of Nerve Exhaustion can understand the meaning of this statement. At first the victim is afraid he will die—it grips him deeper—he is afraid he will not die—so great is his mental torture. He becomes panic-stricken and irresolute. A sickening sensation of weakness and helpless- ness overcomes him. He becomes obsessed with the thought of self-destruction. Nerve Exhaustion is not a malady that comes suddenly. It may be ‘years in developing and the decline is accompanied by unmis' le symptoms, which can readily be recognized. The symptoms of Nerve Exhaustion vary ac- cording to individual characteristics, but the development is usually as follows: FIRST STAGE: Lack of energy and endur- ance; that “tired feeling,” especial! ly in the back and knees. SECOND STAGE: Nervousness; sleepless- -ness; irritability; decline in sex force; loss of hair; nervous indigestion; sour stomach; gas in bowels; constipation; irregular heart; poor memory; lack of mental endurance; dizziness; backache; headaches; neuritis; rheumatism, and other pains. THIRD STAGE: Serious mental disturb- ances; fear; undue worry; melancholia; dan- gerous organic disturbances; suicidal tenden- cies, and, in extreme cases, insanity. How often do we hear of people, running from doctor to doctor, seeking relief from a mysterious “something the matter” with them, though repeated examinations fail to show that any particular organ is weak or diseased. How often do we hear of people racking their brains, trying to discover the reason of their failure in business, in a profession, love, or any undertaking.. They would give anything to lay their finger on the stumblin, block of their lives—the door that locks out their ambi- tions, the wall that blocks their progress. The answer is: Lack of Nerve Force. In short, Nerve Force means Life Force—Brain Force— Vital Force—Organic Foree—Dynamic Force —Personal Magnetism—Manliness and Wo- manliness. No man WITH in a bread line. No man WITH Nerve Force has ever been down and out. No man WITH Nerve Force has ever ac- knowledged_ himself “licked.” No man WITH Nerve Force has ever failed to attain success. This, of course, applies to ‘women as well as men. And, on the other hand, WITHOUT Nerve Force no person of either sex in any walk of life has ever reached the top, has ever achieved success, or has ever gotten the fullest en joy- ment from life itself. WITHOUT an abundant supply of Nerve Force our lives are wrongly adjusted, we fail to utilize our full powers and we cheat ourselves of our birthright of health and vigor. “A sound mind in a sound body” depends upon sound nerves. And to be a WINNER, Nerve Force has ever stood

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12 (THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE even in a small way, demands, first of all— NERVE FORCE. If your NERVES have reached any of the three stages of depletion, you ought to take immediate steps to aevermine the cause and to learn what to do to bu.td up your Nerve Force. I have made a life study of the mental and physical characteristics of nervous people, hav- ing treated more cases of “Nerves” during the past 25 years than any other man in the world (over 90,000). My instruction is given by mail only. No drugs or drastic treatment of any kind are employed. My method is remarkably simple, thoroughly scientific, and always effective. I shall agree to send you further informa- tion regarding my system of treatment FREE and without any obligation on your part. Everything is confidential and sent sealed in a plain envelope. You should read my 64-page book, “NERVE FORCE.” The cost of this book is only 25 cents (coin or stamps). The book is not an adver- tisement of any treatment I may have to offer. This is proved by the fact that large corpor- ations have bought and are buying this book from me by the hundreds and thousands for circulation among their employees— Efficiency. Physicians recommend the book to their patients—Health. Ministers recommend it from the pulpit—Nerve Control, Happiness. Never before has so great a mass of valuable information been presented in so few words. It will enable you to understand your Nerves, your Mind, your Emotions, and your Body for the first time. Read the book at my risk, that is, if it does not meet with your fullest expectations, T shall refund your money PLUS your outlay for post- age. My advertisements have been appearing in this and other standard magazines for more than 20 years. This is ample evidence of my integrity and responsibility. The following extracts are quoted from let- ters written by people who have read the book: “T have gained 12 pounds since reading your book, and I feel so energetic. I had about given uP hope of ever finding the cause of my low “T have been treated by a number of nerve specialists, and have traveled from country to country in an endeavor to restore my nerves to normal. Your little book has done more for me than all other methods combined.” “Your book did more for me for indigestion thar two courses in dieting.” “My heart is now regular again and my nerves are fine. I thought I had heart trouble, but it was simply a case of al nerves. I have re- read your book at least ten times.” A woman writes: “Your book has helped my nerves wonderfully. I am sleeping so well and in the morning I feel so rested.” “The advice given in your book on relaxation and calming of nerves has cleared my brain. Before I was half dizsy all the time.” A physician says: ‘Your book shows you have scientific and profound knowledge of the Nerves and nervous people. I am recommending your book to my patients.’ PAUL von BOECKMANN _ 110 W. 40th St., Studio 396, New York, N. Y. Dear Sir: I desire to Investigate your method, without obligation of any kind. (Print name and address plainly.) Name Enclose 25c if you wish the book IN 37/2HOURS A. Barton, Indiana, made that amount— making and selling Candy Floss. Others 7 mall, id $125 busine on Wi endel, Kansas, w’ 2104PROFIT om raged $1 28, day for 3 weeks."” Ganiner reports, ma a3 tol ‘sacks of candy sold from 11a. et Money in Candy Flos: leaned iP $225 in 4 ni ‘A. T. DIETZ 47 Sayso Bidg. FRE] = ‘CANDY SUCCESS” Pimples Your skin can be quickly cleared of Pimple: heads, Acne Eruptions on the face or ‘body, Barbers Itch, Eczema, Enlarged Pores, Oily or Shiny Skin. F Write today for ‘my FREE Booklet, “A CLEAR-ToNe SkIN,” telling how I cured siaae myself after ter being afflicted for 15 years. ES.GIVENS, 108 Chemical Bidg., Kansas City,Mo. TALFORD’S HERB PILLS Give permanent relief in cases of constipation, stomach troubles, headache and Kindred ailments, Price, whole box 50c.; half box 25c. THE TALFORD HERB co., Dept. A, 1435 Nostrand Ave,, Brooklyn, N. Y. DEAFNESS IS MISERY I know because I was Deaf and had Head Noises for ower 30 years. My invisible Antiseptic Ear Drums re- stored my hearing and stopped Head Noises, and will 1do it for you. They are Tiny Megaphones. Cannot be seen when worn. Effective when Deafness is caused by Catarrth or by Perforated, Partially or Wholly Destroyed Natural Drums, Easy to put in, easy to take out. Are _ i Inepenelte. ‘Write for Booklet and my sworn stat of how I recovered my hearing. A o LEONARD New York City Sulte 349, 70 Sth Avenue, HYPNOTISM -... ..- Mind =Power—Persona] Magnetism. Paychotogy —Eaay 1 lersons, Send 4 cents stamps for booklet explaining system. Fernando, Dept. 60 Springfield, Masa. FREE TO WOMEN fretisent “Remedies Specialties, used by thousands of Encl stam} ACME SALES CO., empire Pheae . Home- and Dept. W, Empire Bidg., UNLUCKY? spirite, sicenean pela ea ore pe bol of good luck in love, business, games. Heay, weird and atartling ND Genuine 14-Karet gold shell, =o \ Pond uarantee, Men and Women z “formula for luck" free Send measure (string tled round finger), All X, Baba, Box §5. 716 ee. Sta, New York. Pay $2.27 to postman. Then you need this Mylo Berpent, Hin ES for. oureent if alty Candy Fa feng” Moceyexaiot fig Gandy Bookiet GREIDER'S FINE CATALOG offinebredpouitry andincubstorsand brood ers for 1923; choicest breeds illustrated and described:howtomake henslay, grow chicks pall fsets. Low priceonbreeding stock and hatching eggs.80 yearsin business SHEP onlyi0¢,8.H.Greider, Box 75)! Rhadms, Po:

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ey THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 13 ECZEMA CAN BE CURED Free Proof To You <All I want is your name and address so I can send you a free trial J.C..HUTZELL R. P. treatment. I want you just to try this treatment—that’s all— DRUGGIST Just ty Jt, That’ 2 my only argdment. the Retail Drug Business for 20 years. I served four years as a member of the Indiana State Board of Pharm: and five years as President of the Retail Druggiste’ Association. Nearly every one in Wayne Knows me and knows about my successful treatment. Over wenty-F fe Thou ind Men, Women and Children outside of Fort Wayne have, accordi pant ll tatements, been cured by this treatment since I first made this offer public, If you have Eczema, Itoh, Salt Rheum, Fett r-never mind how bad-my treat- ment bas cured the worst cases lever w—givo one ance to prove my cl: im: Send me your name and address on the co" pu pon na et the Pateresrment ‘< want tosend you FREE. The wonders accomplished in youre own ase will be proof. oneenoceooooocoeooooooooeeeeeen §=OUT AND MAIL TODAY seseeeeooooooconoceooooooonees J. O. HUTZELL, Druggist, No. 10s West Main St., Fort Wayn Please send without cost or obligation to me your Free Proo: Treatment. Na Ee. Post Office. Stat Street and No.. Dit a Se as Sa ee eS Don’t Wear a Truss BE COMFORTABLE— Wear the Brooks Appliance, the modern scientific invention which gives rupture sufferers immediate relief. It has no obnoxious springs or pads. Automatic Air Cushions bind and draw together the broken parts. No salves or plasters. Durable. Cheap. Sent on trial to prove its worth, Never on sale in stores as every Appliance 1s made to order, the proper size Mir. C. E. Brooks PERSONAL APPEARANCE is now more than ever the key-ncte of success. Bow-Leoged and shape of Air Cushion depending on the nature of each and Knock-Kneed men and women, both young ond old, will case Bewa of imitations. Look for trade-mark bearing be glad to hear that I have now ready for market my new portrait and signature of ¢ E. Brooks which appears on appliance, which will successfully straighten, within @ short every Appliance. None other genuine. Full information time, bow-leggedness and knock-kneed legs, safely. quickly and booklet sent free in plain, sealed envelope. and permanently, without pain, ration er discomfort. Will BROOKS APPLIANCE CO., 217-K State St., Marshall, Mich not interfere with your daily work, being worn at night. My new “‘Lim-Straitner,"” Model 18, U. 8S. Patent, is easy to adjust; its result will save you soon from her humilia tion, and improve your personal appearance 100 per cent. Write today for my free copyrighted physiological and anatomical book which tells you how to correct bow and knock-kneed legs without any obligation on your part. Encl; a dime for postage. TRILETY, barf IST 421-L Ackerman Buildin AMTON, N. HYPNOTISM FR E Success in life can only be obtained through personal influence, Will send absolutely free a 55- page book which tells in fascinating style how you may acquire the influence or secrets of personal magnetism, hypnotism, magnetic healing, etc. The book explains how through the marvelous power of suggestion (which is the foundation of personal influence) diseases and bad habits may becured, The book also tells how to win and hold the love and respect ofothers. Anybody can learn ina few da: athome. We positively guarantee succes: Write today before you forgetit, as thismay be your ‘golden opportunity."” Book is FREE receipt of 10c for postage. Address COLLEGE, 402 Beckman Bullding, Dept. 502 Cleveland, Ohio. TOBACCO | Habit Cured or No Pay Any form, cigars,cigarettes, pipe, Prob Sati 8 Ge teed Herel les -omplete treatment sent it cures. Nothing if it fails. its $} SUPERBA €or E42 BALTIMORE: MD. PILE DONT BE CUT Wonderful Treatment My internal method of treatment is the correct one, and is sanctioned by the best informed physicians and surgeons. Ointments, sal and other local applications give only temporary relief. If you have piles in any form, write for a FREE sample of Page’s Pile Tablets, and you will bless the day that you read this. Write today E. R--PAGE 346-G Page) Bldg,, Marshall, Mich.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Standard Tire Prices Smashed Again! —and some sensational cut, too! Think of it—two tires for almost the price of one and a FREE inner tube with each tire. No double treads or s: Hires. Thousands of customers are getting maximum mileage out of these tires, and you, too, can get up to 10,000 MILES Here's your opportunity—if you act at once. This is a special lot selected for this record-breaking sale. Order today—right now. They’re going fast. Compare These Amazing Reductions on Two Tires of Same Size 1TRE 2 TIRES $10.65 $17.49 11.85 19. 83x4 BAxt Prices on larger sizes quoted onreaue We ship subject to SEND NO MONEY! Jos rno Scfare pupmwont at charge, or by Parcel Post alter payment of ©, O, D. charge. Examine d Wf not absolutely aatiefied, Funded. “Specify ROCKWELL TIRE COMPANY 1506 S. Michigan Ave., Dept. 320-D Chicago, I. DEFLEXOGRAPH Fits Any Phonograph % Stops Scratch and Surface Noises $1 Al] Use any steel needle. Soft, Postpaid Mellow tone. The Deflexograph filters sound oscillations, prevents scratch and surface noises entering sound box. GUARANTEED Gold Plate, $1.50 Nickel Plate, $1.00 Sent upon receipt of price. VANTONE CO., Dept 435, 110 W. 16th St, N. Y. Here’s your only opportunity to get this elegant de thin model watch with choice of , radium or fancy engraved dial or only $3.30 C.0.D. Open face, stem wind and set, Adjusted. Fully tested. Guaranteed pertect timekeey A watch you'll be proud to own. FREE 1209 srite at once—beautitgi waldemar knife nnd chain with your oder. Send No Money. Pay, postman on arrival only $3.30 and the watch. ee = chain are yours. Satisfaction Guarantes If Order today nu Fitst National Watch Co., Dept. 311, 19 S. Wells St, Chicago rompt service for the protection Booklet of information, advice and free on request. Richard B. Owen, ., or 2278-1 Woolworth Bulld- A comprehensive, experienced. and development of your i form for disclosing your id 67 Owen Building, Washington, D ing, New York. WRITE THE WORDSFOR A SONG Our Chief of Staff We compose music. Submit your wrote many big song hits. song poem to us at once. NEW YORK MELODY CORPORATION 408-B Fitzgerald Bldg., New York “73 Years Young is my age, writes H. B, Ruth, Col- orado man, yet for years Mr. Ruth! suffered with prostate gland disorder. medicines with no av about » hope until a Doctor recommended your “Used Pi like Mr, Ruth are Ith and vitality thru @ sciat feet Statesmes .awyers, Doctors, use and indorse this method. Yet you can use it right in your own home—no drugs, electric rays or book- a simple but instantly effective new hygienic principle. No mat- ter what your age—or what you have tried, find out about this discovery at once, ‘‘Why Many Men Are Old at Forty” is the FREE BOOK tle of an. interesting book that will be sent absolutely free. You can find relief from these distressing conditions the same as thousands of other men. Write at once to THE ELECTRO THERMAL COMPANY, {219 Main St., Steubenville, Ohio. FORD RUNS 57 MILES ON GALLON OF GASOLINE A new automatic vaporizer and Decarbonizer. which in actual test has increased the power and mileage of Fords from 25 to 50 per cent and at the same time re- moves every particle of carbon from the cylinders is the proud achievement of John A. Stransky, 3502 South Main Street, Pukwana, South Dakota. A remarkable feature of this simple and inexpensive device is that its action is governed entirely by the motor. It is slipped between the carburetor and intake manifold and can be installed by anyone in five minutes without drilling or tapping. With it attached, Ford cars have made from 40 to 57 miles on one gallon of gasoline. Mr. Stransky wants to place a few of these devices on cars in this ter- ritory and has a very liberal offer to make to anyone who is able to handle the business which is sure to be created wherever this marvelous little device is demon- strated. If you want to try one entirely at his risk send your name and address today.—Adv. 4c Doughnut - Maker makes Automaig pournout be fast for 30c. it, ban seaatbl In profit. 3176 20, ity, le. _ Ran rede $47.25 1p four hours Put machine 1 indow. At- n tract crowds. jeune Setisteser toner fect BUSINESS Batler & Bate, 5650 W. Lake St, Dept 44 Chica, If. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 15 Deaf Can Hear Says Science New Invention Aids Thousands Here’s good news for all who suffer from deaf- ness. The Dictograph Products Corporation announces the perfection of a remarkable de- vice which has enabled thousands of deaf per- sons to hear as well as ever. The makers of this wonderful device say it is too much to ex- pect you to believe this, so they are going to give you a chance to try it at home. ‘hey offer to send it by prepaid parcel post on a ten-day free trial. They do not send it C. O. D. —they require no deposit—there is ‘no obli- gation. x They send it entirely at their own expense and risk. They are making this extraordinary offe> well knowing that the magic of this little in- strument will so amaze and delight the user that the chances of its being returned are very slight. Thousands have already accepted this offer and report most gratifying results. There's no longer any need that you should endure the mental and physical strain which comes from a constant effort to hear. Now you can mingle with your friends without that feeling of sensitiveness from which all deaf pesons suffer. Now you can take your place in the social and business world to which your talents entitle you and from which your affliction has, in a measure, excluded you. Just send your name and address to The Dictograph Products Corporation, 1886 Candler Build- ing. New York, for descriptive literature and request blank. Deafness now being restored in every every, copa hi "deafness oF defective hearing from causes such as Catarrbal Deafness, Relazed or deat F seforoted, belly og Partially Destroy WILSON EAR DRUM CO., incorporated 1026 Inter-Gouthern Bid; LOUISVILLE, KY. You Are Not Fit To M Do you look forward confidently to the day when you will wed the girl you cherish? Do you see in your dreams a loving wif a happy home and healthy children of your own flesh and blood. ‘This is the vision that every man should realize. But you may be one of those who fell victim to Youthful Errors due to Ignorance which has under- mined your Lacy g and made you hope- less of ever being fit to marry. You hesitate to propo: est you ruin the life of some pure, innocent girl. You know that if you are hot physically fit, your children will be ckly, defectives, and you may ruin your wife's’ health. It looks hopeless to you— but cheer up. I can help you. STRONGFORTISM—The Modern Science of Health Promotion will aid Nature in re- storing your flanging Powers and Manhood and fit you for Marriage and Parenthood. 1 guarantee it. Mark the subjects on the free consulta- tion coupon on which you want special confideatial information and send with 10c o,help pay postage, eto... on my free, book “Promotion and Conse Health, Strength “and. "Mental Energy.” Send, for it Right Now, stroncrort LIONEL STRONGFORT ‘The Perfect Men Physical and Health Specialist Dept. 242 Newark, New Jersey Cut Out and Mail this Free Consultation Coupon Mr. Lionel Strongfort, Dept. 242 Newark, N. send me your book,"Promotion and Conservation of Health, Strength and Mental Energy,” for postage on which I en close @ 10¢ piece (one dime). I have marked (X) before the subject in which I am interested. Colds soe Ines Rheumatism Catarrh +... Lmpotenoy sthma ata 8 -- +. Falling Hai lay Fever - Blackheads ses Weak Eyes ‘Obesity see Insomnia +... Gastritis Headache Short Wind -Thinness Flat Feet J.—Please Heart Weaknesy ----Poor Circulation +++ Skin Disorders -. Despondency Round Shoul Lung Troubles Ti Stoop Shoulders Indigestion Muscular Nervousness Development Poor Memory --Great Strength Mame... -..ceccecceececccncsseees MORPHINE Ea BS; (| ereames Je US MAIL BECOME A RAILWAY MAIL CLERK No strikes. No lock EARN $1600 to $2300 everybody else is worrying about his job or looking for work, the U Civil Service Employee z good, steady pay in a pleasant occupation of his own vet me train you to pass the U. S. Civil Service Examin: so you can get a position quickest at $1600 to $2300 a year as a Railway Mail C ction ion with high rating rk or in Customs, Internal Revenue, Departmental, Immigration, Postmaster, Post Office and Rural Branches. have trained thousands to successfully pass the examination. Mon Mail coupon for cessful in securing a position. Write today refunded if unsu PATTERSON CIVIL SERVICE SCHOOL Rochester, N. Y. Kindly mention thi. = ine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE . A New Profession That Pays from $3,000 to An enormous untouched field. No competition. A tremendous demand. No capital required. Can be learned in from four to six weeks! O you want to get,into something new where there is no competition—and yet a big demand? Every man who looks back upon the past few decades in the industrial history of Amer- ica can see at a glance that each new wiscovery of Science has brought into existence a countless number of new pro- fessions, each with their highly paid specialists. And now come other important discoveries in an entirely new field—discoveries which have brought into existence the need for men trained to a new profession which renders a great and appreciated service to the public, and a service for which the public is willing and glad to pay high rewards. In fact, men who are already practicing this new profession are making from $60 to $300 a week. And the profession can actually be learned and mastered in from 4 to 6 weeks! Why Such Opportunities Are Possible The idea back cf this new profession is briefly this: It is conservatively estimated that over $2,000,000,000 property, crop and stock lose is occasioned annually from insects and rodents that infest offices, ships, ware- houses, farms, private houses and buildings of all kinds. Practically nothing has been done to combat this damage save the efforts of the U. S. Department of Agriculture and Forestry, whose skilled entomologists and scientists have waged war on the Gypsy Moth, the Boll Weevil, and other national menaces. The private individual has been left to his own re- sources. Property owners, farmers and householders have had to rely upon ineffective “sprays,” “insecti- cides” and “powders.” But Modern Science has dis- covered secret formulas and methods by which crops, trees and private property can now be saved with the same degree of certainty and safety as germs and In- fection are exterminated by the skilled methods of the physician and surgeon. America Needs More Men for this New Profession These new discoveries in the field of Exterminating Engineering have created a tremendous demand for men trained to this work of sanitation and public service. Those who have already taken advantage of this new field of opportunity are highly respected profssional men in their communities. And their earnings are equal $15,000 aYear ! to, or even greater, than the average remuneration re- ceived by experts in other professions. Exterminating Engineers have no difficulty in getting business. It comes to them as soon as it is known that they can get results when other methods fail. But thc man who chooses this new and lucrative profession 1¢ not dependent sulely upon his individual efforts. ‘The Exterminating Engineers of America—a co- operative organization whose membership consists of men trained in this new proession—maintains ite headquarters in New York City, where they teach men BY MAIL and graduate them in from 4 to 6 weeks as Exterminating Engineers. Then they help finance them in business, appointing them their representatives in their own communities. No capital is required. The purpose of the Exterminating Engineers of America is to maintain representatives in all parts of the coun- try who by practising these exclusive methods can GUARANTEE satisfaction to customers and _ thereby render a great and humanitarian service to mankind. Send for This Free Book Full information about the opportunities of Exter- minating Engineering will be sent free of charge to anyone who inquires. Ask for our Free Bgok—"A Profitable Business Over Night'’—which describes the unique advantages to be gained in this brand new field of opportunity, which pays profits of from $8,000 to $15,000 a year. Simply tear out the coupon and sign your name and address, or drop a postcard asking for our FREE BOOK. “A Profitable Business Over Night.” Address Dept. 144, Exterminating Engineers of America. 43 West 16th Street, New York City. EXTERMINATING ENGINEERS OF AMERICA Dept. 144, 43 West 16th Street, New York, N. Y. Please send me, without obligation, your Free Rook, “A Profitable Business Over Night,” which tells how I can earn from $3,000 to $15,000 a year as an Fixter- minating Engineer. v

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tobacco is not hurting you. Tobacco is lowering your efficiency. It slows aman down. Makes it harder for you to concentrate your mind on your work. You haven’t near the amount of ‘‘pep’’ and energy you would have if you stopped using it. There’s many a man twice as old as you in years who's twice as young in energy, simply because he lets tobacco alone. Some day you will realize to what an alarming extent tobacco has undermined your system. Jong, waiting for results. C o7 "3 marvelously quick, scientific and thoroughly reliable. nerves and make you feel better in every way. should fail to banish the tobacco habit completely. bome treatment. ‘ Redeemer will free you from the habit than the evidence we will fend on request. Just mail the coupon—or a postal will do. NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. Dept. 966 Tobacco Is Hurting You Look at the facts square in the face, Mr. Tobacco User. That is because you haven't as yet, perhaps, felt the effects of the nicotine poison in YOUR system. For you know that nicotine, as absorbed into the system through smoking and chew- ing tobacco, is a slow working poison. Slow, yes—but sure. Tobacco Habit Banished Let Us Help You It dosen't make a particle of difference whether you've been a user of tobacco for a single month or 50 years, or how much you use, or in what form you use it— whether you smoke cigars, cigarettes, pipe, chew plug or fine cut or use snuff— ‘Tobacco Redeemer will positively remove all craving for tobacco in any formin @ very few days. Not the slightest shock to the nervous system. Your tobacco craving will usually begin to decrease after the very first dose—there's no bacco Redeemer contains no habit-forming drugs of any kind and is It is in no sense a substitute for tobacco, After finishing’ in the treatment you have absolutely no desire to use tobacco again or to continue the use of the remedy. It helps to quiet the Asingle trial will convince Results Guaranteed #2:'6.""icruSinaie 2 joney~ back guarantee with each full treatment. We will refund every cent you pay for the reatment if after taking. it according to the easy-to-follow directions, it St. Louis, Mo. 5 You may think When your hands begin to tremble— and your appetite begins to fail— and your heart seems to “‘skip a beat” now and then— and slight exertion makes you short of breath— then you have a right to suspect that TOBACCO is getting the upper hand. Any well-informed doctor will tell you that these are only a few of many symptoms of tobacco poisoning. And YOU know that the use of tobacco in any form is an expensive, utterly useless habit. You know you ought to quit. \\ Free Book Coupon NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. Dept. 966 St. Louis, Mo. Please send, without obligating me in any way, proof that Tobacco Redeemer will positively free me Let e fi i i SEND Coupon for ie sa send or py onnis B your free booklet regarding the tobacco habit and Free Proof thci,with testimonial ietters from from the tobacco habitor my money will be refunded. they have been absolutely freed from the tobacco babit by this simple i You could not ask for stronger proof that Tobacco 5 i gladly g Name...... Street and No. . Town... Digitized by

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“BIGGEST SUMMER SELLER (Ever “Have my quota job and ositior WwW. tunity like this may never come. you again in a lifetime. You don’t need to be a high powered jles- man or even a good talker, Every demonstration means a sale. Wom- en call the Oliver a “God Send.” They actually sell themselves, Oliver Gives Fords Away Thousands of dollars are spent euch month, advertising Oliver Burners to housewives. ‘Live wire salesmen are taking advantage of this opportunity to make a Summer's work yield them more money than they ever earned in a whole y OLIVER | Oil-Gas Burner & Machine Co. ! . ! 2103-POLIVER BLDG. J ST. Lous, MO. I | Canad 2103: ProRonro ef how I can make $5,000 or more a year rej Also tell me about can get a FORD F ‘Territory and our special Free Sample Cas Offer. We are iving away Fords 13 - ducers—no contests, ie. ¥ Mail the coupon at once—every Walt means money lost. Cash ia money-making summer proposit ing the coupon right now. Oliver Oll-Gas Burner & Machine Co., [| 21035P Oliver Bidg., Si » Louis, Mo. Without obligation on my part, please send me saeek you, and t your Free Sample Case Oller we iT REE. er ake | | ofa staan Rens tie eae vette nets eee . STATE... eee ees —_ = :

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