The Wide World Magazine. An Illustrated Monthly of True Narrative - Adventure, Travel, Customs and Sport. Volume 55 1925 May-October

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE AN ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY OF TRUE NARRATIVE ADVENTURE “TRUTH IS TRAVEL CUSTOMS STRANGER SPORT THAN FICTION ” VoL. LV MAY TO OCTOBER 1925

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INDEX. PAGE AMAZON, WILD TRIBES OF THE BD ove +. CC. W. Domville-Fife 35, 133 Illustrations by Ernest Prater, and from Photographs. ANTONIO THE COUNSELLOR .. oe Merlin Moore Tavlor 3 Illustrations by Stanley L. Wood, ‘and from Photographs ARTIST ON A TROPIC ISLE, AN oe 7 oa fy Ellis Silas, F.R.G.S. 124 Illustrations by the Author. AZIZUN THE DANCING-GIRL. Major-General Sir George MacMunn,K.C.B.,K.C.S.I.,D.S.0. 461 Illustrations by Conrad Leigh. BEARS, SOME ADVENTURES WITH .. a He oe if +. CV. Trench 349 Illustrations by G. W. Goss. BIRD HUNTER IN THE WILDS, A +e G. L. Bates, M.B.O.U., and Reginald Pound 495 Illustrations by H. M. Brock, and from Photographs. BORNEO, TWO YEARS IN at ¢ Oscar Cook 213, 345, 393 Illustrations by Cyril Holloway, and from Photographs. BUNGALOW, THE HAUNTED ie S. aA =e Mrs. N. de Bertrand Lugrin 359 Illustrations by Conrad Leigh. BUSHRANGERS, LAST OF THE . . oe Mrs. Mary J. Nicholas 230 Illustrations by F. E. Hiley, and from Photographs CANNIBALS ROAM, WHERE aa, as Merlin Moore Taylor 91, 251, 318. 412 Illustrations by John de Walton, and from Photographs. CHINA SEAS, ADRIFT IN THE a oF G. Grant Simons 194 Illustrations by Serge Drigin, and from Photographs. CONGO GAME-LANDS, FROM THE GREAT CRATERS TO THE Illustrations by G. W. Goss, and from Photographs. T. Alexander Barns, F.R.G.S. 78 CROCODILE CHARMERS OF JAVA, THE a oe on . Arnold Mola 521 Illustration by Tom Peddie. CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO, HUNTING THE GIANT Illustrations by G. W. Goss, and from Photographs. F. A. Mitchell-Hedges, F.L.S. 267 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 2 oer ye - on «+ R. Granville Barrow 85 Illustration by Frank Crozier. DOWNFALL OF “THE COLONEL,” THE ne is ne $8 C.N.C. Hayter 433 Illustration by Conrad Leigh. “ END OF THE WORLD” AND BEYOND, TO THE Captain Gault Macgowan, F.R.G.S. 147 Illustrations by Conrad Leigh, and from Photographs. FIRE CAME, WHEN THE S we Bernard Charles 68 Illustrations by W. C. Nicholson, and from Photographs. GOLD, CROPS OF _.. : as aS oe ae as Richard Elliott 21 Illustration by F. E. Hiley. GOLDEN RIVER, THE aie ae a os oe o .» P. Milburn 287 Illustrations from Photographs. HARMON, “TWISTED” .. oe a . oS oe Allan Borders 99 Illustrations by G. P. Carruthers. HOLIDAY, MY NOVEL ve .. Mercer Sherwood Maloney 305 Illustrations by S. Briault, and from Photographs. IVORY RAIDERS, THE .. .. Major H. Rayne, O.B.E..M.C. 48 Illustrations by John de Walton, and from Photographs. JOGI'S CURSE, THE ‘ a oh Se eee is C. V. Hughes 179 Illustrations by T. Somerfield. KING'S TREASURE, MY SEARCH FOR THE oe os oe Olive Lethbridge 309 Illustrations by Ernest Prater.

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ad v ny y INDEX. KNOCK-OUT, THE .. os o oe oe a o . V. H. Methley Illustration by H. M. Brock. LEFT BEHIND aS Ba a oe . o Eve O’ Mahony Illustration by Norman Sutcliffe. LIVING DEATH, THE ee a as oo oe H. Grahame Richards Illustrations by Stanley Lloyd. LOGGING CAMP, LIFE IN A ane Se uA ae aa Sir Charles Piers, Bart. Illustrations from Photographs. LOOKER-ON, THE .. as ee oe: oy eis BS Robert Patterson Illustration by W. Dew ar. : 2 LOST MY JOB, HOW I a ae te on Pa an «. JK. Stuart Illustration by Stanley J. Wood. MAN WHO WANTED A CHANGE, THE oe oy Oe as Frank Cassidy Illustrations by Norman Sutcliffe. MARY CLARK, WHAT HAPPENED TO? Bs ae Charles Anstruther Illustrations by G. H. Davis, and from Photogapis, MOROCCO, A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN . i a6 oe .. FS. Stuart Illustrations by G. Soper, and from Photographs. MYSTERY OF THE POOL, THE .. .. Se a Minnie Martin Illustrations by S. H. Vedder, and from a Photograph. NECKLACE, THE MISSING oe ne .. Lieut.-Colonel Donald Mackenzie Illustrations by Frank Gillett, R. L 4 NEPAL, FORBIDDEN a - ie es a 3 Hugh Walter Illustrations from Photographs. . “NUMBER TWENTY-THREE” .. oe os Harry E. Webb Illustrations by D. C. Eyles, and from Photographs. OASES, IN SEARCH OF THE LOST .. .. A.M. Ha-senein Bey, F.R.G.S. Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville, and from Photographs. “OLD PETER” oe oe. oe ne si te C. N.C. Hayter Illustration from a Photograph. “OLGA,” THE ODYSSEY OF THE ore ah on John Rawson 4 Illustrations by W. G. York, and from a Photograph. OPEN BOATS, FIVE HUNDRED MILES IN oe Sergeant-Major C. N.C. Hayter - Illustration by G. Soper. PERU, LOST IN THE HEART OF oie os G. M. Dyott, F.R.G.S. Illustrations by T. Somerfield, and from Photographs. POLE-CAT, ANDERSON’S .. oe oe -_ on a oe «+ Francis Dickie Illustration by Tom Peddie. PRIVATE SMITH, THE PROMOTION OF era a «. Captain John H. Carson Illustrations by John Cameron. PULAJANS, CHASING THE 7 : os o we Major C. J. Crockett Illustrations by Stanley J. Wood. PYTHON, THE LADY AND THE ate . F.W, Fitz-Simons, F.Z.S., F.R.M.S. Illustrations by J. R. Skelton, and from Photographs. RADIO MAN'S ADVENTURE, THE Be os as «. J. E. Hogg Illustrations by F. E. Hiley, and from Photographs. SANDS OF DESTRUCTION.. oe $2 a0 = as «. William Brennan Illustrations from Photographs. SEAPLANE FISHING TRIP, OUR se re at a ee .. J. E. Hogg Illustrations from Photographs. SEA-SERPENT, THE CASE FOR THE .. o. + Illustrations from Photographs. 956052 iii PAGE 58 477 12 316

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Ww INDEX. PAGE “ SEQUELS” AND OTHER MATTERS .. oe 28 a Be «. The Editor 516 SHAFT, DOWN THE . pi ies BS a5 .. W.Charnley 169 Illustration by T. H. Robinson. SHERIFF, THE TAMING OF THE . oe o +. J. E. Hogg 162 Illustrations by S. Abbey, and from Photographs. SHORT STORIES.--- A SoutH AFRICAN BUSHRANGER ifs a oo ae He «» Joan Dennis 61 Illustration by Fred Holmes. A Sattor Out Back Ba ‘ om os i Captain W. Brooke 63 llustrations by L. R. Brightwell. Tur Fatat Sup é 8 ae ae ay Oy! Arthur Cursham 156 Illustration by Harry Lane. One Up on “ Homi” om ia Be. oo Se «» Jack Elwyn 159 Illustration by reyer Evans. Jounny Mackay's Last Hanp oe a a) att se Francis Dickie 338 Illustration by G. P. Carruthers. Man Versus Lion Captain Geo. D. Haigh 342 Illustration by D.C. A Doun_e EVENT aie oe Hs js «. R. McMahon 425 Illustrations by Frank ‘Gillett, RI. THE MontTREAL HoLp-uP . ae Ms 3: oh 5.5 C.V.T. 428 Illustrations by Stanley L. Ww ood. “ SINBAD THE SAILOR” .. a 2, . a Sergt.-Major C. N.C. Hayter 507 illustration by S. Briault. SMUGGLERS THREE eet oe Oe oe. ate 4 “Onex"" 456 Illustration by F. Gillett, R. 1. SPOTT, WHAT HAPPENED TO .. 35 oe oe oe Ronald Muir Ferguson 261 Illustration by Kenneth Inns. STRANGERS, THE TWO .. . a Dr. C. E. Ellis 525 Illustrations by Stanley Lloyd, and from a “Photograph. TELLURIDE, THE STOI. W Charnley 419 Illustrations by W. THIRTEENTH SAMPLE, THE é we nye H. D. Sterling 489 Illustrations by D. C. Eyles, and from Photographs. THOUSAND MILES FROM ANYWHERE, A .. a a «» R.D.S. McMillan 368 Illustrations from Photographs. THREE INCIDENTS. oe sie J.R. Henderson 30 Illustrations by RH. Brock, ‘and from Photographs. TIGER TALES - py , W. J. Brands 511 Illustrations by E. Prater, and from : a Photograph. “TRAWLER TIDD” . oo ee ae oe L.R. Brightwell, F.Z.S. 118 Illustrations by the Author. TRIAL BY ORDEAL oe ts oe ea ae 25 -. C.L. Harries 399 Illustration by A. Sindall. VOICE IN THE DARKNESS, THE ss . os an cia oe C.V.T. 502 Illustration by Fred Holmes. “WATU WA MITI” ee ae De as R. St. Barbe Bakery 200 Illustrations from Photographs. WHAT WAS IT? a ss ors ee on oe ae Patrick Bowen 518 Illustration by G. W. ‘Goss. WHITE MAN'S MAGIC a7 af ate Es Capt. J.C. McGill-Nutt 245 Illustration by Norman Sutcliffe. “WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE,” SAVED BY THE : .. Hubert H. Arthur 333 Illustrations by G. P. Carruthers, and from Photographs. WONDERLAND, AN UNDERGROUND - v8 fis «. Carl B. Livingston 184 Illustrations from Photographs.

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“THE ROPE OF VINES PARTED AND HE SHOT HEADLONG QVER THE EDGE!” (SEE PAGE 6.)

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a Antonio the Counsellor eee 9 MERLIN MOORE TAYLOR The strange life-story of a man ILLUSTRATED BY cream of the Brazilian army, proving who, becoming an outcast a tragic love drama, went into the wilderness and constituted himself leader of a tribe of Indians, who looked upon him almost as a god. Later, turning upon the whites, he led his savage hordes to hattle against the OMEWHERE = among my _ most treasured belongings is a notebook with a red cover. Its pages are tattered and torn, the writing inside is dim and almost illegible, and there is a jagged hole right through it from cover to cover. Pasted within is a newspaper cutting—a picture of an old man with long white hair that mingles with his apostolic beard. His nose is cruel and hawk-like, and the fiery gleam of the eyes beneath the heavy eyebrows is not entirely lost even in the newspaper reproduction. A long white garment covers him from neck to ankles, and his arms protrude from voluminous sleeves. His hands are resting, one upon the other, on the head of a gnarled staff; the finger-nails are inches long and curved like talons at the ends. Beneath the picture is the simple legend :— “ ANTONIO CONSELHEIRO.” You will find the story of Antonio Consel- heiro (the Counsellor) in any history of Brazil dealing with the middle ‘nineties. It occupies perhaps a page or so of dry and stilted words that fall far short of what the story is worth. For Antonio Consel- heiro, fanatic and pariah, was a god to, several thousand ignorant, untutored children of the South American jungle. Tothem his slightest word was law, his smile a benediction, his frown‘more to be dreaded than a blow from others. To-day his body lies buried in the lonely forests, and his former followers make _pil- grimage to the grave as toa shrine. Rankling under a sense of injustice, old Antonio changed Vou. tv.—t bh STANLEY L.WOOD ® Vetitable thorn in the flesh to the authorities until a bullet finally laid him low. Fate decreed that the Author's path should cross that of the old renegade, with the interesting result described in this narrative. from a benign protector to a devil incarnate, turned upon the people of his own race and colour, and for two years, backed by a horde of naked savages armed only with crude weapons, again and again defeated the cream of the Brazilian army. I saw old Antonio only once—on the night his life was snuffed out by the bullets of avenging soldiers. For me it was a moment of peril, and the passing years have not dimmed the vividness of the scene that tnen registered itself on my memory. But let me tell the story properly, from the beginning. Antonio was born Antonio Maciel, the son of a moderately well-to-do family in the city of Pernambuco, Brazil. In the ‘sixties, while living with his widowed mother, he fell in love with a young woman. Senhora Maciel opposed the match, and used every trick her fertile mind could conceive to prevent a marriage, but all in vain. Antonio was no weak-willed young fellow, tied to his mother’s apron-strings, and in due course he led the girl of his choice to the altar. But the hatred which burned in_ his mother’s heart was unending, and she quietly bided her time to revenge herself upon the girl who, she considered, had robbed her of her son. Antonio’s hot Latin blood made him very jealous of his beautiful bride, and, little by little, the old woman fed the flame. When an opportunity presented itself, Senhora Maciel was not slow to strike. One night business called Antonio away from home. At the house to which he had gone he received a message. It was brief and to the point: “ Your wife has gone to meet another man at the Largo, among the trecs and shrub- bery at the far end.”

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, At once Antonio’s jealousy flamed up white-hot. Borrowing a pistol, he hurried to the place indicated, where, hidden among the bushes, he saw his bride approaching. Another figure advanced to meet her—the figure of a man. Something snapped in the young man’s brain; he raised his pistol and shot them both; then dashed up to their bodies. His wife’s corpse lay across that of the man, and he pulled it to one side and turned the second body over. Then he struck a match and bent down to gaze upon the face of his rival. In the glare of the flame he saw the features of his mother, who had dressed herself in one of his own suits ! Antonio was arrested, of course, but he had influential friends. The sacredness of the home is held high in Brazil, and it was pleaded for the defence that when he fired he had believed his wife to be unfaithful. He was acquitted of the murder charge, and within a year released from prison. Because it was a suit of clothes that had led to the double tragedy Antonio swore a solemn oath that he would never wear stereotyped garments again. He adopted instead the flowing robes of the ancients, and left behind for ever the place which could hold only tragic reminders for him, He went to the State of Bahia, wandering farther and farther inland until, among the Sertio Indians—better known as Jagungos—he found a haven. There he learned the great lesson that in helping others one may find happiness and peace. He became guide, friend, and counsellor to the ignorant savages, and thirty-five years later was their acknowledged leader. It was then that he came prominently under the notice of the authorities, no longer as Antonio Maciel, but as Antonio the Counsellor, the chief of the wild Indians. The Brazilian Government had never pre- tended to control the Jagungos. All their fighting was done among themselves, and they seldom approached the settlements which were the outposts of civilization, so that the authorities were glad to leave them alone. One day, however, a small band made a raid upon Canudos, a place some three hundred miles from the coast. They did no real harm, but a detachment of the military was sent out as a punitive expedition just to give them a lesson, Several miles from Canudos the soldiers came upon some of Antonio’s Indians. Later investigation proved that they were a peaceable crew of timber-cutters, but the soldiers, believing them to belong to the raiders, fired into them and killed several. Antonio promptly assembled a large body of his Indians, attacked the detachment, killed fifty of them, and sent the rest scuttling back to civilization with lurid tales of an uprising. The Government promptly ordered) out another expedition from Queimadas, an inland garrison town. Two thousand men under Colonel Casar Moreira appeared in Canudos with orders to invade the jungle, harass the Jaguncos, and capture Antonio. The hardships which they underwent were terrific. Faced with the necessity of cutting a way through the dense undergrowth, tortured by venomous insects and menaced by wild animals, they were at their wits’ end to maintain communication with their base of supplies, let alone get into touch with the clusive savages and seize their leader. Day after day the Jaguncos evaded them, though all the time Colonel Moreira received reports that old Antonio was not far off, keeping in touch with the soldiers but not seeking a fight. At last, utterly exasperated, the Colonel decided on a forced march in an effort to surprise him. One morning before dawn the troops dashed out of their jungle camp—straight into an ambush which the wily Antonio had carefully laid for them before sending in word of his whereabouts. Those of the soldiers who were not killed in the battle that followed were chased back to the fringes of civilization by the victorious Indians. This was too serious a reverse for the Government to sit down quietly under, so fourteen thousand men, including artillery and cavalry, were immediately sent after Antonio. The campaign that followed was destined to last for several months, That was how it happened that I was in at the finish. Shortly before Antonio burst into the limelight a small party of scientists had penetrated into the interior of Brazil by travelling up the Amazon and then following a tributary south. They intended to stay in the jungle for some time, and then return to the coast by way of Bahia. As they were far inland it was extremely doubtful whether word of the trouble with the Indians would reach them, and the Brazilian Government decided to send them a warning that they must abandon their plan to pass through Bahia, which would bring them right into the danger zone. The errand was entrusted to Captain Edward Alvez, an Army officer who had an enviable record in jungle exploration. Correia and Fonseca, two Brazilians, and myself accompanied him. En route we picked up a handful of negroes to act as bearers and boatmen, for the first stages of our journey lay up the Sao Francisco River. Ten days after the start, having carricd our canoes and equipment round the falls of Paulo Affonso, we were making our slow way up the river. On either bank huge trees, linked by clinging creepers that ex- tended from trunk to trunk, formed a barrier not easily penetrated. Behind them were

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ANTONIO THE COUNSELLOR. - 5 other ipteat trees and more creepers, and beyond these yet others. The air was heavy with the scent of orchids and the stench of rotting vegetation. Gaudy- plumaged birds vied with bright-hued butterflies in lending colour to the scene; animal life was in evidence everywhere, and from the depths of the jungle came the snarls and roars of beasts of prey. We learned to dread the nights. If we were fortunate we found a shelving beach upon which to pitch camp. There we built great fires upon the sand—huge, roaring blazes that circled our tents and were kept up throughout the night to guard us from wild animals and the terrible vampire bats that do not hesitate to attack any living thing with their sharp beaks. Even the ground offered a menace— sandbar ants an inch long, from whom nothing is safe. pests we had only one protection—a liberal use of petroleum, which the arits utterly detest. Even the ends of our tent-poles were coated with it. The black men slept in the canoes, seem- ingly untroubled by the mosquitoes and other poisonous insects which make life a burden for the white men in the jungle. The temptation to plunge our tortured bodies into the cool waters of the river could not be indulged, for there were lurking crocodiles and a _ razor-toothed cannibal fish that leaps from the water, as well as snakes. For the same reason we refrained from letting our hands dangle in the stream, and kept them safely inside the canoes. Of human beings we saw very few along the river. Once, however, we came upon a roomy, comfortable house and a plantation that extended to the water’s edge. Its owner was a cultured Spaniard who had forsaken civilization for the jungle. How a white man could endure it 1 cannot under- ‘stand, and he offered no explanations. He readily agreed to care for our black men when we sent them back a day or so later from the place where we left the water for land. Half-a-dozen of the men were to go on with us, to carry canned stuff with which to vary the game we expected to shoot. We beached the canoes at aspot where the sloping hills came down close to the water, hid one of them among the trees for use when we returned, and sent the men back to the Spaniard’s place with the others. The first week ashore was a sheer torture. Days of sitting cramped up in the canoes ill-fitted us for cutting a trail through the creepers and undergrowth. So rapidly does the jungle spread that within a few weeks all trace of a path is completely overgrown and absorbed again. We cut and hacked away at the growths, taking turns in opening up a road towards the distant Against these voracious: ranges we must cross. We knew in a general sort of way where to find the scientists, but the exact location of their camp we expected to ascertain from the Indians in whose territory they were carrying on their studies. When we came in sight of the mountains, Captain Alvez decided to cross them at a deep saddleback, much lower than the surrounding peaks. We accordingly bent our steps towards it, struggling up a long slope. Then, to our dismay, a deep precipice awned before us—an abrupt descent undreds of feet deep, the rock worn smooth as though in bygone days a cataract had poured over it. Here and there upon its surface, where there were fissures, some kind of a tropical plant, resembling a spineless cactus, sprang up. The bottom edge of the precipice was barely visible from the top and overhung the valley leading up toward the gap in the mountains. ‘ If we only knew what lay below the rim, Senhores !”” mused the captain, gnawing at his moustache. ‘If we try to avoid the precipice we shall have to make a detour until we reach the foot of the valley, or else continue climbing on the chance that we can find an easier way higher up, Water enters into our calculations. In the valley there should be plenty. On _ the mountain ”’ He shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. Eventually we decided to tackle that awful precipice. “I shall go first, of course,”’ said Alvez. Apparently he had planned just how to go about it, for orders flowed from his lips without hesitation. Long, pliant vines were brought and knotted together to make long ropes. One end was lashed to a pack, and each vine ropé tested to make sure that it was strong enough. The order in which we were to follow our leader was arranged. Correia was to go second, then I, and finally our black men. Fonseca was to stay on the top to the very last. ‘Here is the plan,” explained Captain Alvez. ‘‘ You will let me down with a rope about my waist to that big cluster of plants yonder,’ He pointed it out, fifty feet below us. “ If it is deeply enough rooted in the fissure to hold me safely, we may assume that others will do likewise. The second man will then join me. That’s vou, Correia. You will let me down to the next cluster I select and yourself wait for the third man ’—he pointed to me—“ to arrive at the first cluster and let you down to join me again at the second. You get the idea ? We do that all along the line until we are spread out between here and the rim of the precipice. Then the packs will be lowered from one man to another until they reach me. If all goes well, 1 shall be on the ground in safety, below the precipice. If, when I reach the rim, 1 dis- cover the drop is too great, and not to be

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Negotiated, we must then face the task of pulling one another back again, from cluster to cluster, until we are on top once more.” We nodded our understanding, and Alvez turned to Fonseca. “ For you, my friend, is reserved the most difficult of the tasks,” he went on. ‘“ There will be no one to let you down after you have lowered the packs, but you weigh the least of any of us. You will fasten one end of a long vine to a tree-trunk up here, and let yourself down hand-over-hand to the first cluster. Each man as he goes down will take a long vine with him and leave it at a cluster. Unless 1am much mistaken, you will be able to loop these ropes securely about the roots of the plants and so let yourseli down to the next point.” Fonseca waved his hand airily “Consider it done, my captain,” he said. “ Tdo not doubt that of all of us I shall have the most fun.” Fun, he called it ! I did not find it so when, Captain Alvez and Corrcia having reached the second and first clusters respectively, it came to my turn to be lowered over the brink of the first stage of that nerve-racking journcy down the slope. That fifty feet, with death seemingly the penalty if the rope of vines parted and I could not stop mv mad slide down that smooth rocky surface, appeared to have no end. But eventually 1 landed with a soft jar beside Correia and found him grinning. I could see, hewever, that his face had not fully recovered from the pallor induced by that initial descent. I let him down to where the Captain awaited him, and then turned to receive the black man who was to follow me. So, cluster by cluster, we went down, until all the men were in the positions assigned them. Now came the real breath-taking part. Captain Alvez bad shouted up that he could not see below the rim, but judged the drop beyond it to be short. Then he gave the signal and was lowered foot by foot as Correia paid out the vine rope. 3 This last descent he made head first, spreadeagled out upon the rocky slope, his feet twisted into the vine rope. 1 saw his eyes come level with the rim, saw him raise himself slightly on his hands to look the better at what lay below. Then, just as he twisted his head round to shout something, the rope of vines parted and he shot headlong over the edze ! 1 saw his booted feet describe an arc in the air; then I was seized with nausea and sank down weakly against my cluster of shrubs. What had happened to him after he had disappeared from our sight ? Was his mangled body lying far below, his intrepid soul departed ? Were we faced with the Necessity of returning up that frightful precip.ce ? Should we—— Then I heard Correia’s voice shouting my mame and raised my head. his arm. “ He’s all right ! The Captain’s all right ! He says we're to send the packs down.” Down they came, the system devised by the Captain working perfectly, and were finally lowered over the edge by Correia. When the last package had passed I turned to look upward to watch Fonseca make his descent. He reached the first cluster easily, let down the man who was there, saw him lower the next in turn, and himself prepared for the second stage. I could see he was busily engaged with something or other, but the plants of his cluster prevented me from discovering exactly what. Then, abruptly, his body appeared at the end of the clump and shot down the slope to the third station at a dizzy rate. It puzzled me. Why hadn't he let himself down by the vine rope, as the captain had ordered ? There was little time to speculate, how- ever, Soon the man above me was being lowered, and it was my turn to go on to where Correia stood at the last ‘ station” above the rim. Curiosity held me, however, and I sent the other man on and those who followed, and stopped where I was until Fonseca, still scorning the safer method of the vine rope, coasted down the slope from the clump above me seated upon a bushy plant, and landed with a jar against the roots of my cluster. Then it was I learned why he had forsaken the ropes in the first place. The man occupy~ ing the first “‘ station ’’ had forgotten to take with him an extra rope for Fonseca’s use, and he had therefore been compelled to make his first desperate, unchecked slide. The others he had made because they thrilled him and did away with the tedious process of anchor- ing one end of the rope about the roots of the plants. The last stage, however—the one which involved going over the rim—this dare-devil made as he had been supposed to make all the others, with a rope. The drop, however, was only ten feet or so, and it ended on a bank of earth, heavily covered with grass. Captain Alvez, somer- saulting through the air, had landed sitting up—tonsiderably jarred, but quite un- injured. We reached the top of the pass the follow- ing day. A wonderful panorama of jungle- clad valleys and mountains lay before us, but we did not stop to admire it. It might be a beautiful picture, but we knew what lay ahead. That jungle, far from beautiful when one got into it, was weird, mysterious, vast, and baffling. We had to make a path through it, cross another range, and so get to the Tocantins river, some two hundred miles away. There, unless they had changed their minds, were the men we had ccme to warn. There was a possibility that they might He was waving

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7 ANTONIO THE COUNSELLOR. “Their faces broke into grins.”

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. even now be on their way out. We knew they had planned to come in this direction, perhaps to use the very pass where we then were, and descend the valley to the river -up which we had come. Fearing we might miss them, Captain Alvez left Fonseca and ‘three men at the head of the pass with instructions to prepare an immense bonfire ‘of half-dried wood and touch it off if the scientists arrived without us. Late each .afternoon one of us would climb a tall tree ;to see if the fire were smoking. If so, we were to return at once. « Early the next day we came across indis- putable proof that the region through which ;we were travelling was inhabited. That proof took the form of a trail, beaten hard by recent and constant use. -_ “It goes the way we want to go,” said the Captain, consulting his compass. “ We will take it, but night and day we must maintain sentincls. The country is wild and the temper of the Indians very uncertain.” That uncertainty did not long prevail ! That very day, as we cut poles and set about making a raft to ferry our stuff across a deep, swift-running little stream, Correia, standing guard, gave a sharp cry of warning, and we whirled round to see, staring out at us from the jungle a hundred feet away, a score of bronze faces, made horrible by daubs of red and yellow clay. “ Steady!” With that one word of caution Captain Alvez began walking toward the Indians, his hands held out, palms up to show they were empty—a sign of friendship the world over. The savages let him approach within thirty feet ; then they let loose a shower of -arrows that fell all round us, and vanished as mysteriously as they nad come. Night fell soon after we crossed the river and pitched camp. Almost at once a weird, throbbing sound filled the jungle, apparently coming from the east. “A native drum,” said the Captain. ‘A hollow log and a club. The sound carries far. Listen!” The booming was terrific. It was not steady and unbroken, but spasmodic, two or three booms being followed by a pause; then more booms. It required no cleverness to guess that a message was being conveyed, particularly when after a few minutes the booming was taken up to the west, then north, then south. “ That settles it; the message has to do with us,” said Captain Alvez. “ The first drum, unless I’m mistaken, was sounded by those fellows we saw to-day, and they sent on news of our coming. Now there’s not an Indian for miles around who doesn’t know of our presence in the jungle.” Although he insisted there was little danger for the time being, because the fear of evil Spirits would keep the Indians in their villages during the hours of darkness, 1 doubt if any of us slept much that night. As for myself, I was haunted by that signifi- cant, sinister drumming, and even when I wasn't standing watch 1 merely dozed with my back against a tree and my rifle Cross | my knees. 3 We were up before dawn, cooking and eating a hurried breakfast, and the moment it was light enough to see we were on our way along the trail again—two white men infront, the three black men next, and another white man bringing up the rear. 3 Along in mid-afterncon the trail debouched into a small clearing and we halted for a short rest. 1 had just put a match to a cigarette when abruptly, suddenly, the clearing, a moment before occupied only by ourselves, was choked with Indians ! For a moment 1 blinked, unwilling to believe my eyes. It was uncanny. One instant they had not been there, the next they had materialized apparently from nowhere. I was paralyzed by the unexpected- ness of it, incapable even of reaching out my land and snatching the rifle which rested against a tree beside me. From the corner of my eye I caught a kaleidoscopic view of my companions. Of us all, Correia, facing the Indians with his rifle at the ready, seemed the only one prepared for the fight to the death which seemed imminent. Captain Alvez was standing stock still, his mouth gaping ludicrously as he stared at the savages. The black men, squatted beside their packs, were ghastly of countenance—scared stiff, I knew. Then the tension relaxed. In the same instant that the Captain’s hand dropped to his revolver and the carriers snatched at the long bush-knives on top of their packs, I swept my rifle to me and swung the muzzle towards the Indians. Their faces broke into grins and one, evidently a chief, stepped forward with a guttural exclamation and held up his hands. Again I was seized with that odd feeling that it was alladream. They were friendly ! There was no mistaking that. They carried their weapons carelessly, as if to convey to us the idea that they not only had no intention of attacking us but expected no hostilities from us. Captain Alvez replied instantly to the friendly overture of the chief, and they shook hands, There was no way of conversing with them, however, and the situation was grow- ing awkward when the chief came to the rescue. He pointed along the trail and made signs that we translated as an invitation to proceed. We reached for our packs, but his men forestalled us, picked them up, and at a wave of tne chief's hand swung out along the path. We followed, bunched closely together and very wary, fearful lest they were tricking us. After an hour or so, however, we saw the shimmer of water between the trees and

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presently emerged from the forest upon the bank of a small lake. In its middle was an island, and upon that island a large village of thatched huts. Quickly we were led to where dug-out canoes were drawn up along its shore. As if respecting our evident desire to keep together, the chief assigned all of: us to the same dug-out, with two of his men as paddlers. Then the shaky thing was pushed out into the water and with the other canoes flanking us we were rowed to the island. The women and children came down to the water’s edge to meet us, and that was a good sign in itself. Food was cooking, and ‘was at once pressed mus. The next thing would have been an invitation to make ourselves at home in one of the huts, but Cap- tain Alvez was too quick for them and had our fly-tents up in short order. Instantly the Indians became excited. They pointed to us, to the tents, and then toward the jungle with a sweeping motion of the fingers that-seemed to indicate distance as well as direction. We were puzzled, and showed it. Then one of them, more ingenious than his fellows, snatched up a bit of dry grass, held it to his chin with one hand, and with the other began stroking it. Then he dropped the grass and made circles of his thumbs and forefingers, and held them up before his eyes. “1 know, 1 know!” cried the Captain. “He means that off to the west there is a white man’s camp, and that one of the men has a long beard and wears glasses. That should be the people we are looking for.” On the chance that our hosts would understand he sat down, tore a leaf from his notebook, and wrote a brief message. Then he folded the paper, handed it to the chief, and waved his hand toward the west. The chief immediately grasped what was wanted. He singled out two men, epoke to them tersely, and handed them tbe note. They hurried off at once to the dug-outs, scrambled into one, and paddled swiftly toward the far shore. . Two days later—two days during which we lolled round the village and rested— one of them returned with a note. The strangers were indeed the men whom we had come to seek. They were keeping the other Indian to guide them to us, they stated, and would be along iust as soon as they could break camp and get under way. They duly arrived a few days later— The Author’s notebook, with the hole in the cover made by a Jagunco arrow. ANTONIO THE COUNSELLOR. Dr. Cecil Hodgscn, Henry Capps, and Pierce Wilson, the scientists; a boy of sixteen, Wilson’s son or nephew ; and some thirty carriers, with a most amazing lot of specimens, trophies, and so on that they had gathered. Captain Alvez was dismayed at the prospect of trying to get through with so much stuff, but the scientists were insistent. They would take it as far as possible, they said, and if danger threatened we could hide it where they could recover it Jater, when the Jagungos had been quieted. Our return to the Sao Francisco River was unevent- ful, and while some of our men were sent down-stream to the Spaniard’s plantation to get our canoes we camped and rested. Our messengers re- turned in a state of great excitement. The_ plantation, they said, was in ruins, the house in ashes, and dead men lying all round. “The Jaguncgos!”’ exclaimed Captain Alvez. “That makes things awkward. To follow the original plan of returning to civilization down the river is to invite our own murder from ambush.” After some cogitation he decided on a bold course—to strike straight across country for the coast and trust to luck that we should be able to avoid the fighting zone. In a cave among the hills near the river the scientists stowed their collections, and then, as lightly laden as possible, we set out on our forward march toward safety. Ruaning north-east from the city of Bahia, on the coast, is a railroad, and toward this our steps were pointed. Captain Alvez calculated that if our luck held and we reached it safely we should be behind the troops opposed to the Indians, and thus in no further danger. As we pushed on we met occasional Indians, but could get from them no informa- tion of value. We had been out of touch with things for several weeks, and there was no telling what had happened or where the fighting was now taking place. The Indians told us the Jagungos were still on the warpath, but that was all they knew. Then one day there came to our ears a great rumble that sounded like thunder. It was artillery, the Captain said. Later we learned that it was indeed siege guns, mounted on Favella Hill, shelling Canudos, the Jaguncos’ stronghold. We were getting closer and closer to the 9

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1o THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sound of the guns, and presently Cap- tain Alvez called a halt and decided upon making a long detour to the south that hehoped would bring us round the Indians and behind the Government troops. Night found us camped on top of a small hill set ina sort of plain. Its top had a bowl-like depression, a natural place for defence, although we had not the slightest idea that any danger threat- ened. ‘pon one side the jungle came up almost to the foot of the hill ; on the other the flat plain stretched away for a mile or more. About dawn we were aroused by a shot, and lea; to our feet to find the solitarysentinel we chad fet on ard struggling in the dark wih an- other man. Two other figures came charging up, but all three fled when we rushed to the rescue. A ~few minutes later a chorus of angry yells was heard in the jungle below us. Quickly Captain Alvez organized our defences. We were told to lic down round the edge of the depression in the hill so that we could keep all the country round us under surveillance. Boxes of ammunition were opened and laid ready to hand. Then we waited, our eyes peering into the tense darkness, our ears strained to catch every sound. In the jungle there was a noise like the buzzing of angry bees, and we were not left long in doubt as to what it meant. Suddenly the sky some distance away was lit up with a reddish glow that told us something was burning. We did not know then what we learned later—that the troops had driven the Jaguncos out of Canudos, and that the fleeing Indians had set the place on fire. It was pure chance, of course, that our little hill lay in their line of flight and “He stood there in his white flames, bellowing that their scouts, climbing it, had run into our sentinel and discovered us. Why the Jaguncos tarried long enough to fool with us will never be known. Perhaps they were mad with the blood-lust, or perhaps they thought we were an outpost of soldiers. «They are coming! ’’ said someone after a while, and a moment later we saw a mass of black forms climbing the hill towards us. At the Captain’s command our rifles rang out, pouring a point-blank volley into the crawling figures, now scarcely fifty yards away. The attack crumpled, but ‘only long enough for them to rally and come on again. Once more we cut loose, pouring a storm of bullets into them. At my side I had been hearing asteady “‘ crack-crack,” and; pausing to reload the magazine of my rifle, I dis- covered at my elbow the youngster, Pierce

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ANTONIO THE COUNSELLOR. 11 robes, clearly limned against the out his orders.” Wilson’s relative, cooly shooting away with a small-calibre bird-rifle. “Keep it up, boy,” I called out, and returned to the fight with fresh courage. How could a man lose heart when a mere child refused to quit ? Then, at the foot of the hill, a gigantic brush fire sprang into life. The Jaguncos had lit it to throw the hill into relief and make its defenders visible so that they could snipe us from the safety of the forest. That was what I thought then, and I think so now, but Captain Alvez always believed that old Antonio lit it in order that the savage followers could see him and perhaps obey his commands to abandon the attack and continue their flight into the jungle. Anyhow, it was just about then that I got my one and only glimpse of the old fellow. He stood there in his white robes clearly limned against the flames, bellowing out his orders. The second attack, like the third, broke up before it became a hand-to-hand affair between us and the Jagungos. They — stubbornly refused to give up, llowever, and massed for a third assault. But it was never delivered. Dawn __ broke with characteristic suddenness just as the assault was launched, and upon our ears burst the sound of a bugle. Then, across the little lain, came the razilian cavalry at a gallop. It was the finish; the Jagungos broke and fled. We got to our feet and cheered madly, careless of the last rain of arrows that showered about us. But in that instant I felt a thud against my chest and staggered, realizing I had been struck by an arrow. I felt no pain, however, and knew I had not been wounded. Puzzled, I put my hand to my shirt and felt the note- ok in my pocket. That was how it got that ragged hole through its middle. We learnt later that the Indians were completely routed ; their revered leader was struék down bya bullet, and after that they made no further attempt to rally. Old Antonio had fought his last fight. He was buried where he fell, and to this day his people still make the pilgrimage to his lonely forest grave.

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the seaplane on its way to Santa “There is something unr fascinating about human flight, particularly when that flight over the ocean.” Roaring through space over eight hundred miles of ocean, catching a couple of hundred pounds of fish, visiting a without days of travel, and doing it all in the brief space of forty-eight hours! This pene Coast lers, aihed cceeded i in putting a new thrill into deep-sea fishing. : IKE nearly everything else that is really worth doing, the aeronautical fishing- trip 1 am about to describe developed as the result of a casual conversation. The writer happened to be in Avalon, on Santa Catalina Island, off the coast of Southern California. I had gone there to fish, just as. numerous sportsmen from all over the world have done for decades, trying their luck and skill in these world-famous deep- sea angling grounds. Like all the rest, 1 went there by the con- ventional> method of human locomotion in these waters—a motor-boat. After fishing for almost a week, I caught my share of fish, including a tuna that made me eligible for membership of the Tuna Club. 1 got lots of fun out of it, but all the while I was doing some serious thinking. The net result of my cogitations worked out as follows: A week was all the time 1 could afford for a holiday, and deep-sea angling called for a tremendous expenditure of time in proportion to the hours of pleasure one derived from the actual fishing. In other words, I figured out that for every hour spent

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ISHI G TRIP 13 “John Edwin Hogg dragging a flying-fish round over the ocean to tempt the appetite of a tuna or sword- fish, I was spending perhaps four hours trying to locate the schools of fish. Yet other hours went in preparations, and then —well, a man has to sleep and eat. By the time I had reduced the whole proposition to terms of figures on a page in my note- book, I proved to my own satisfaction, and somewhat to my sorrow, that for every four hours of actual fishing I got per day about twenty hours seemed to be evaporating into ocean ozone. With these thoughts in mind, I happened to fall into conversation with Mr. Ellard A. Bacon, manager of the Pacific Marine Air- ways, a passenger seaplane line operating between Los Angeles harbour and Santa Catalina Island. Our talk turned to fishing, and f asked: ‘“ Mr. Bacon, would it be possible for a man to do his deep-sea fishing with a seaplane? Is there any real reason why one should not use a seaplane for getting about over the ocean, landing on the water to fish, ‘ spotting ' tuna, swordfish, or schools of fish from the air, and even trolling with the plane ‘ taxi-ing ’ along on the water ? ” The seaplane man smiled. _“ I know of no logical reason why it couldn’t be done,” he said, ‘‘ except possibly for the lack of some- one to try it. A seaplane in the air is just an ordinary aeroplane, but on the water it’s virtually a motor-boat, capable of any speed up to sixty-five miles an hour. You might experience some difficulty in trolling from a seaplane owing to the fact that they are not exactly designed for such work. But, still, I believe one might sit on the top wing, or the cabanne mast, and get away with it:” This conversation took place in the sea- plane firm’s Avalon office. The telephone rang, and Mr. Bacon answered it. Although I heard only one side of the subsequent talk, I gathered that a motion-picture director was on the ’phone, inquiring about using a seaplane for some kind of “ movie” job. Fen Yes, we can take care of you all right,” said Mr. Bacon. ‘“‘ There won’t be much difficulty about mounting a camera on the turtleback of the ‘plane. You think about two hours’ flying time will cover it? Well, that will cost you a hundred sar fifty dollars, and sixty dollars an hour for each hour in addition. The waiting charge, when the ’plane is not in the air, will be thirty dollars an hour.” I left the office feeling certain that I, at any rate, couldn't afford to do my fishing by seaplane, no matter what advantages it might offer. I was quite sure, moreover, that I had discovered the reason why the majority of pleasure anglers still fish from boats. Returning to my home a few days later, 1 happened to mect a sportsman friend who is blessed with more of this world’s wealth than he quite knows what to do with. He is an enthusiastic fisherman, regards a one-hundred-dollar note very much as most men do a sixpence, and seems to get his greatest pleasure out of seeing other people enjoying themselves by spending his money. This gentleman, whose ever-ready purse has given him the name of ‘ Carnegie,” listened to my seaplane fishing idea with the greatest of interest. “Let’s go out and try it!” he said eagerly. ‘‘ Never mind about what it costs; what good is money if you can’t spend it? Bring Ruthy” (meaning my wife). ‘ I'll get Cornelia and a few others, and we’ll arrange a party.” A ’phone call to Los Angeles harbour, and in a few minutes we had chartered the neces- sary seaplane for a two days’ trip. Two or three more calls arranged the personnel of the proposed aero-marine fishing party. Very early the following Monday morning “ Carnegie ’’ and 1 motored round the neigh- bourhood and collected the aerial anglers— seven of us all told, and all of the feminine sex, with the exception of “ Carnegie ” and myself. ‘ Carnegie’ is a bachelor, so my wife, by mutual agreement, was appointed “ Official Aero-Marine Chaperon.” An hour later we arrived bag and baggage at the seaplane base in the outer barbour, The term ‘ bag and baggage ”’ is used discreetly, for in addition to the necessary equipment for deep-sea angling it must be remembered that we had five women in the party. Any married man can imagine what that meant !

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Our big mechanical waterfowl was riding at its moorings alongside a floating dock— three and a half tons of seaplane, with her ponderous engines all warmed up ready to take the air. Our pilot, an energetic young- ster who was introduced to us as Pat Farris, had an umistakable Emerald Isle accent and one of those perpetual non-removable smiles. A former seaplane flyer with the United States Navy, he was also a gentleman and a diplomat. He opened a hatch in the top of the seaplane’s back, and stowed away into a compartment below suit-cases, hat- boxes, fishing tackle, and what-not, until “Carnegie’s” car had been completely unloaded. He smiled with appropasion: however, when “ Carnegie ’’ and | informed him that we had our toothbrushes and combs in our coat pockets. ; It seemed incredible that any such mon- strous assembly of wings, wires, motors, cabin cruising yacht, floats, and etceteras could ever defy the law of gravity sufficiently to support itself in the air, without men- tioning eight people and their luggage. The pilot, however, confidently declared it could be done, and that he would either take his “ship " off the water or transform the entire air space over the Pacific Ocean into a - vacuum in the attempt. In almost less time than it takes to tell the members of our novel angling party were comfortably seated in the upholstered seats in the seaplane’s cabin. A few orders were given, audible above the dull drone of the engines; then the ’plane swung round, the lines were cast off, and the pilot opened the throttles a little in order to send the “‘ ship *’ out upon the bay. At a speed that would have done credit to most motor-boats the huge propellers blew us down the harbour toward the open ocean. We dodged a big Japanese liner heading out for Yoko- hama, manceuvred past a couple of tankers, and then the pilot gave the motors ‘the gun”! We passengers were glued to our seats by the sheer i force of the ‘plane gaining momentum. | There was a roar like a thousand pneumatic riveting machines, and we went racing over the water toward the open sea at about five times motor-boat speed. There were several violent bumps as we topped the swells that were pounding in from the open ocean. Next instant the water dropped out from under us—we were in the air! There was nothing startling, nerve- trying, or even particularly thrilling about it. We were roaring through space at more than a hundred miles an hour, but as far as human senses are concerned we might have been sitting in Westminster Abbey. At five hun- dred feet elevation the shipping slid swiftly along beneath the ’plane. The lighthouse on the Los Angeles harbour breakwater whirled under our right wing at a dizzy rate of speed, and before us lay nothing but a wilderness of sapphire sky and indigo water. In a very few minutes the harbour, with its shipping, docks, and maze of wharf-buildings, dropped below the “We pivoted on the tip of one wing and swooped | down like some devouring monster over the city of s Avalon.” PR Oe a ee a SOR, Pe mre Se

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OUR horizon, while we swept on through space, seemingly standing still in the air over a monstrous blue bowl of water. The steel- blue rim where sky and ocean met seemed to mark the edge of the world so far as we were concerned. There is something peculiarly fascinating about human flight, particularly when that flight lies over the ocean, whcre the scenery consists of blue sky and bluer water and the immediately visible parts of the aircraft. The seaplane passenger is thoroughly con- scious that his individuality is still intact— and yet he has an odd feeling that he is travelling by a medium that gives him absolutely no relation with the world he has left behind. The earth becomes a sort of foreign thing, as uninteresting as a Press report from some village on the other side of the globe. F Straining our eyes over the distant ho-izon through the windows of the cabin, a tiny fleck of pinnacled land became visible rising out of the sea. 1t was followed by others, which continued to increase in size until they joined one another. In a very few minutes the land had risen until it began to assume the proportions of a small continent, for it was none other than Santa Catalina Island, twenty-two miles in length, and with hills over two thousand feet high. The island seemed to be hurtling towards us at a pro- digious rate of speed, and it looked as if the mountains were about to smite the 'plane a blow that would dash it to pieces like an eggshell. Suddenly, however, our pilot sent the machine nosing upward, and we roared over a range of rugged hills, clearing the highest summit by an easy three hundred feet. A moment later we pivoted round on the tip of one wing and swooped down like some devour- ing monster over the city of Avalon, with its beautiful half-moon bay. In another minute Avalon was fading away into the dim distance behind the tail of the ‘plane. We were heading for the open sea, in the direction of San Clemente Island. Exactly eighteen minutes after leaving Avalon behind we dropped “In another minute Ava- lon was fading away behind the tail of the ‘plane. We were heading for the open sea.” SEAPLANE FISHING TRIP. 15 out of the sky like a load of bricks, from an altitude of two thousand feet, and went skim- ming down the east side of San Clemente’s twenty-five miles of coast-line. Travelling over the ocean at a height of about two hundred feet, all eyes aboard the seaplane began scanning the waters below for schools of fish. The pilot had previously instructed us that if fish were sighted we were to signal him immediately, so that he could manceuvre the ‘plane ahead of the school and drop our big bird upon the sea. We had cleared the southern extremity of San Clemente by about ten miles when we simultaneously espied a great commotion below. An area of water equivalent to several acres appeared to be covered with scale-like waves, while immediately beneath the surface it looked as if some ship had dumped a cargo of sheet tin-foil overboard. lt was a tremendous school of fish, but there

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The nose of the seaplane was a very popular point during the was no need to signal to the pilot. He had also seen them, and was nosing downwards as fast as gravity could pull three and a half tons of seaplane and its dead-weight cargo. We splashed down into the ocean, glided to a_ standstill, and began to wallow over the long swells rolling across from China. The cabin hatch was thrown open and Pat’s voice rang out cheerily. “Come on, you fishermen,” he called. “Break out your tackle and get on deck!” Out came the fishing rods, gaffs, and baits, and out through the cabin hatch swarmed seven aero-marine anglers—some on to the nose of the ’plane, some on top of the cabin, and two on tothe upper wing, almost to the tip of the ‘“ cabanne mast.” Over went the lines and almost instantly fish began jumping and breaking water all about us. All hands were waiting for a strike when “ Carnegie” spoke. “ I move that whoever catches the first fish shall buy dinner this evening for the whole gang at the St. Catherine Hotel,” he cried. is seen to the right, “IT second the motion,” piped a feminine voice from the top wing. The words were scarcely uttered before “ Zing-ng-ng-ng!’ sang ‘ Carnegie's '” reel. His rod bent in a semicircle and his line began flying out. Shouts, laughter, jeers, and cat- calls went up from various quarters of the seaplane, followed by cries such as: ‘“‘ Who buys the dinner now?” and “ Aren’t you sorry you spoke so soon ? ” Fortune seemed to have taken “ Car- negie” at his word, but he took it good- naturedly. “Don’t be too sure!” he retorted. “A fish on the hook is not a fish on the dinner- table. You'll be accusing me of trying to let this fellow get away next, but I won't if I can help it.” For ten minutes the battle between “ Car- negie ” and the fish went on merrily, with Neither gaining any apparent advantage. Suddenly, however, interest in the duel waned, for the reels of two of the feminine anglers had begun to sing. As for me, [ promptly forgot all worldly cares and every- thing that was going on about the ‘plane, for 1 was all but yanked off a wing-strut by a

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OUR SEAPLANE FISHING TRIP. 17 splendid swimmer and had discarded her clothing for a bathing suit, and very soon she and the fish were hauled aboard the | ‘plane again, the fish going to the fore- peak locker and the lady to the cabanne mast, where she could drip herself dry in the warm sunshine. Cornelia’s fish was no sooner aboard before she wilted down on top of the cabin. She had landed a thirty-pound yellowtail unassisted up to the last minute, but went down under the ravages of seasickness. 1 noticed that my wife, too, had flattened out on the nose of the seaplane. She and Cornelia were both deathly pale. “Are you sick, sweetheart ?” I yelled out to her, between the tugs at my fishing- rod. “ W-w-w-well, 1 feel better now,” she replied feebly. At that instant the ‘plane, drifting without .power, scooted sideways up a monstrous swell. and went careening wildly down the other side of the moving mountain of waters, and she groaned dismally. Luckily for the sufferers, the pilot began to get restless. “ This school of fish has passed now,” he said, “so we may as well take the air again.” A few minutes later my fish—a thirty- five-pound yellowtail—was aboard the *plane, and the hatches were battened lown. We took to the air and began hours spent on the surface. “Carnegie” holding up a fish. terrific tug on my line. To all appearances Father Neptune had tied me to a submarine buck-jumper, and it seemed as though either line or rod would have to part ! Twenty minutes after getting his strike “ Carnegie,” with the perspiration streaming down his face, succeeded in reeling his fish to the surface. The pilot swung down the side of the seaplane cabin, reached out with a gaff, and hauled thirty-six pounds of pisca- torial greased lightning aboard. The fish, a huge yellowtail, was promptly dropped down the cabin hatch, where a commotion ensued which gave promise of littering the sea with scraps of seaplane until the pilot went below and stopped it. “ Who buys the dinner now?” went up a chorus of shouts, and “I do!” replied the beaming “ Carnegie.” Simultaneously a second yellowtail was coming aboard, dangling on Cornelia's line and a gaff in the hands of Agnes, another feminine angler. Then there came a heavy splash, and next moment Agnes was bubbling in the sea, hanging on to the fish and the gaff and trying to get back aboard the sea- plane. Fortunately the young lady was a Vou. tv.—2, boring through space in the direction of Avalon. Our two seasick passengers got instant relief as soon as we left the water. I thought of Mr. Bacon’s statement that “a seaplane on the water is nothing but a boat,” and was convinced that he had proved his point. At the urgent request of our two invalids, who were all right on land or in the air, but wished they were dead on the water, we winged our way back to Avalon, landed in the bay, and put them ashore. There they could lounge about among the comforts of civilization while the remaining members of the party flew out to sea for further fishing. Distances shrink to insignificance when they are being knocked off in the air at the rate of over a hundred miles an hour. We lunched in Avalon, reserving ‘“ Car- negie’s scheduled treat for the evening when we returned from our fishing trip. “ See you at the St. Catherine at six-thirty this evening,” we called out as we shoved off for the seaplane in a small boat driven by an outboard motor. A few minutes later we roared out of Avalon Bay and took the air for the open sea and new fishing-grounds. In twenty minutes we had flown round the southermost end of Santa Catalina Island, crossed the outer Santa Barbara channel, and “ parked down ” in the ocean on top of

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18 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a school of mackerel “ spotted ” from the air in the lee of Santa Barbara Island. Tis island is an uninhabited, waterless waste of stunted brush, rocks, and sand. Seals, birds, and a few scrawny old wild goats that have learned to quench their thirst with sea water, com- prise its animal-life population. It would have been very interesting to land there, but no safe seaplane mcoring was available. However, we probably saw more of the island by swooping over it at an altitude of about a hundred feet than any party that ever went there in boats. The fish we had located from the air proved to be not only mackerel but albacore, bonita, barracuda, white sea bass, and pretty -well everything else under forty pounds in weight that swims in the Pacific. The mackerel, no doubt, were responsible for the others being there, for they are the prey of all the bigger creatures in the sea. For two hours on end we hauled fish aboard the ‘plane one after the other. It was the sort of angling that fisher- men dream about but seldom realize. We actually began to grow physically weary of the effort of hauling fish up from the sea bottom. Finally ‘“ Carnegie’”’ broke the spell. “ Ho-Ho-Hum !” he yawned, putting down his rod and stretching his arms. “ This small fry is getting monotonous. Let’s go and find some tuna or swordfish ! ” Imagine a man referring to fish up to forty pounds as “ small fry "’—but that is precisely what they are in waters where monsters ranging from a hundred and fifty to five hundred pounds are nothing un- common. ‘I’ve had enough of these sardines,” he concluded. So we took the air again and began scouring the seas for tuna or swordfish. A few miles off San Nicholas Island, soaring along at about two hundred feet, we “Spotted”? two pairs of great fins cutting the water ahead of us. That is the way a swordfish usually swims—with his dorsal fin and the upper half of his tail out of the water. We dropped down to the surface, “taxied”? the ’plane near them, and then began trailing two lines baited with flying-fish. For practically the whole of the afternoon we “ motor-boated ” round, trying to inveigle those swordfish into taking the bait. Time and again we dragged the flying-fish right past their elongated, javelin- like noses, but they merely regarded the baits disinterestedly and swam away. At five-thirty we gave up in disgust. It was a hundred miles back to Avalon and the sun was sinking low. A forced landing might set us down on the ocean a hopeless distance from land, completely out of the track of any surface craft, and we had no desire to be late for that eagerly- anticipated dinner, so we reeled in our lines and took the air once more. That hundred miles of Open ocean was covered in less than an hour, thanks to a stiff breeze on our tail. We dropped down in Avalon Bay, moored the seaplane to a buoy in the air- craft anchorage, went ashore in an Evinrude dinghy, and had time to spare to wash and make our toilets before the six-thirty dinne1 was ready at the hotel. The second day’s acro-marine angling was much the same as the first, except that we tried some angling-grounds seldom visited by surface craft—the shores along the south side of the Ana Capa Islands, in the lee ot Santa Cruz Island, and out beyond the western end of San Miguel Island. Three ditferent times we sighted fish that were unquestionably tuna or swordfish, settled down on the water ahead of them, and trolled for them, with the seaplane “ taxi-ing ” along on the surface. But never once could we get a big fish to take the hook. At each of these “ landings " we encountered the usual schools of mackerel, sea bass, bonita, and others, but altbough we covered several hundred miles of ocean we never actually sighted another swordfish. Pat explained that owing to weather conditions, fish temperament, or something of the sort, the swordfish had probably ‘sounded ”—gone down into deep water—so there was no use looking for them upon the surface. Re- turning to Avalon that evening we were informed that seventeen fishing boats had gone to sea that day. Many tuna had been sighted, but none had been brought in. A single swordfish, a little fellow weighing two hundred pounds, had been the only fish worth mentioning caught by the surface- craft anglers that. day, in addition to the customary run of “ small fry.” Another splendid dinner at the St. Catherine, and our party went aboard the seaplane again, Then we tore out of the bay for the “ hop-off ”’ of the last leg—or rather “wing ”—of our journey home. It was half- past six o'clock when we bumped over the last wave on the “ take-off” into the air. The sun had already set in Avalon, for it dis- appears early behind the mountains in rear of the city. There was just about enough daylight left to ensure our getting across the twenty-cight miles of open water in the Santa Barbara channel and down upon Los Angeles harbour before it would be pitch ark. We could not have picked a more delightful hour for the trans-channel flight. It was beautiful beyond — description—the _ first occgsion on which the members of our party had the opportunity of witnessing two magnificent sunsets in a single day. About ten minutes after leaving Avalon behind, and at an elevation of about five hundred feet, we were over the channel at a point where the setting sun was no longer hidden behind the island. There was the sun, hanging like a huge ball of red fire down over the western horizon, and the indigo blue of the Pacific

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OUR SEAPLANE FISHING TRIP. - A thirty-six-pound yellowtail coming aboard on the pilot's gaff.

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20 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was tinged with brilliant scarlet, purple, gold, and other indescribable shades of colour. There is always something bewilderingly beautiful about marine sunsets, but this one, witnessed from our unique point of vantage in the air, was glorious beyond all words. Its magnificence was multiplied tremendously by the presence of great banks of cumulus clouds that came drifting in over the ocean just beyond the sunset. These clouds were tinged with all the colours of the rainbow, and were reflected in the waters below. As the tip of the huge red fireball touched the water, a streak of crimson spread across the ocean from horizon to horizon. Slowly but steadily the sun passed from view until nothing was left but a Pinpoint of red fire, which gradually faded from view. Almost instantly the colours vanished ; the blaze of glory became the sombre battleship grey of twilight at sea. Our pilot, however, knew the trick that many an aviator has learned —how to see two sunsets in one day. This is easily understood when one recalls that. the earth is round and that when the sun’ goes down for the person standing on the level it is still in plain view from a higher altitude. Forthwith Farris drove the ‘plane higher, and presently the sunset began to appear again. Big and red, the sun seemed to climb back to the place in the sky where we had seen it a few minutes before. It was literally a sunrise in an evening sky, or a sunset put into reverse ! With wondering eyes we witnessed the whole glorious spectacle again, and later several of our feminine passengers declared they had been compelled to pinch themselves in order to be convinced they were not dreaming. There is, of course, a physical limit to the height to which a seaplane can go, and by this time our big mechanical bird was, as aviators say, ‘on her ceiling.” Her nose was up and her tail down at an uncomfortable angle, but she could go no higher. When we watched the sun sink into the ocean for the second time it was the last sunset for us that day. Then, with nothing in sight but dull grey twilight above and inky black ocean below, we swept on through space for some few minutes before the flashing blink of the Los Angeles harbour breakwater light loomed on the horizon ahead. Then a figurative Milky Way of starlike lights twinkled into view—the maze of lights of the harbour and the great city beyond. In a few minutes we were gliding down to a landing upon the quiet waters of the harbour, mightily refreshed in body and spirit by a two-days’ vacation at sea and in the air. lt was a trip into which had been crowded a whole host of new experiences; we had accomplished a journey that would have taken at least two weeks by the conventional methods of transport. While the ’plane rested on the water, as here shown, a Japanese fisherman arrived, thinking the machine was in difficulties and needed a tow. His boat was used for the purpose of taking some of these pictures. ae ae ne Pe

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2YOPS. of Gold *Richard -| Elliott ‘ HORTY” SMITH halted in _ his tracks and hitched his pack to a more comfortable position before breaking the long silence. “‘ That'll be McNabb’s place, where we stopped coming up.” hey were the first words spoken since the two men had left Ten Mile House several hours before. Carrying .a~forty-pound pack over a rough road is not conducive to much’ conversation, and Jack Neville made no reply as he looked in the direction indicated. ‘What he saw was a patch of cleared land, an orchard, house and barns, the usual sur- roundings of rock and fir trees, and the everlasting mountains for a background. Although he remembered the place and its owner quite well, and as a matter of fact had reasons for wishing to visit it again, he seemed undecided whether to stop or con- tinue his tramp. words, however, settled the matter. “Let’s go in and boil some tea on his stove,” he suggested. “ He can’t mind us doing that.” “Shorty” was always having brilliant ideas, and the thought of tea stimulated his companion to say “ Right-oh ! ” quite chcer- fully. So they turned up through the orchard, where some red apples still lay on the ground among the fallen leaves, half covered by a sprinkling of snow. West of the Canadian Rockies there is still enough free gold, if you know where to look for it, to attract prospectors like Shorty Smith and Jack Neville. They were old- timers, making their way back to the coast after working all the summer on a gold-claim they had staked in the Salmon River district. Andrew McNabb, the owner of the ranch, seemed to fit into his surroundings without adding anything to their beauty. For nearly thirty years he had lived there alone except for hired help. His first greeting to his visitors took the form of Canadian idiom rendered in broad Scots dialect :— “What d’ye ken aboot thect noo? Maister Smith an’ Jack Neville! I’m sure pleased to see ye baith agen, and if it’s gold ye're His, companion’s next. A very amusing little story from British Columbia. The Author—who has spent many years in the country —knew several of the principal characters, and vouches for the authenticity of the facts, but for obvious reasons all names have been altered. ILLUSTRATED BY FE. HILEY after, boys, 1 hope ye’ll find it richt here, for there's been nothin’ doin’ sin’ the Lucky Streak mine closed down last summer, an’ half the folks have quit an’ gone awa’.” “You bet your life we'll take a look round before we hit the trail again,’’ Shorty answered cheerfully. ‘‘ Where there’s been one lucky streak there may be another, and Jack here’s got a nose that can almost smell gold if there’s any to smell—l’ll tell the world he has!” Neville made no comment on this state- ment. He opened his mouth as if about to speak, but for some reason seemed to change his mind. At the precise moment that Shorty was going to ask permission to boil their tea he had one of his brilliant inspirations, so that the original request was never made. Great inventions, great ideas, frequently owe their origin to some outside suggestion. In this case the suggestion came from a flock of turkeys which he caught sight of. His first words may scem irrelevant, but the details of his scheme were already shaping them- selves in his mind with pleasing symmetry. “What figure would you be willing to sell your ranch for ? ” he inquired of McNabb. The question took the latter by surprise, but his native caution quickly asserted itself. Perhaps these fellows thought there might be gold on his property ! : “I'm no’ so sure I want to sell,” he replied, doubtfully. “I’m getting fond o’ th’ auld place, ye see. But if somebody offered me ten thousand dollars—all in cash, mark ye— then in the circumstances 1 might be willin’ to think it over,” “Well, see here, now! Suppose someone came along and offered twenty thousand dollars for the property inside of three weeks. What would you say to that ?” McNabb tried to hide his eagerness by assumed indifference, “Say ? Well, I should say it is not verra likely anybody will.” “Yes, it is. If you'll promise me ten per cent. commission on the sale I’ll guarantee to find you a purchaser within three weeks.

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22 THt WIDE WORLD MAGAZI But you'll have to sign an agreement with me now, because, Whoever the purchaser is, he won't know [ sent him to you. In fact, he’ be full of the netion that he’s dis- covered a good thing for himself. If he finds out his mistake later on—why, that'll be Ars funeral, not ours, What's more, I don’t know his name myself. Inside three weeks there may be a whole bunch of ‘em wanting tu buy your ranch.” “The folks must all be crazy, then,’ growled McNabb. “ Maybe ye'll be telling me how it’s to be done. By way of inducement he went to a cup- board and produced two small glasses and a large tea-cup, also a bottle of alleged whisky. He gave the glasses to his visitors, reserving the tea-cup for himself. “ T'll tell you how it can be done all right,” said Shorty, “ only we'll fix up the agree- ment first, if you don’t mind.” McNabb produced pen, paper, and ink, and Shorty wrote out the agreement, which was signed by McNabb and witnessed by Neville. The document was to the effect that McNabb agrecd to pay Smith two thousand dollars if the ranch sold for twenty thousand dollars within three weeks from date. When the glasses and the tea-cup had been filled for the second time, Shorty pulled out from his pocket a small linen bag of many colours with a draw-string at the neck ——the kind of bag in which certain brands of tobacco are sold and which serves many Westerners as a pouch, From this he emptied on to the table a heap of dull- yellow metal pellets, easily recognized by the others as gold nuggets. They were mestly about the size of grains of wheat, though some were larger. “That's feed for your turkeys, Mr. McNabb,” said Shorty, gravely; and he casually pushed the pile across the table as if it meant no more to him than a handful of corn. McNabb reached out a grimy hand. “Tl be verra pleased to accept all the stuff like that ye care to give me,” he replied. “ But I'll no’ feed it to my turkeys.” “ Then I guess T’'ll have to do it for you,” said Shorty, and with that he began to gather up the nuggets and replace them in his bag, whilst McNabb watched rucfully. “Tf they won’t pick it up with their grain I’ mix some with their mash and shove it down their throats with a force- pump,” Shorty continued. ‘“ We've got to .get it into their crops somehow before you put them on the Christmas market. We want the good housewife, when she cleans out her Christmas turkey, to find a dollar’s worth—or maybe five dollars’ worth—of gold in its crop. Others will make the same discovery, talk about it, and write to the papers, till it makes quite a stir in the town, Then the wise ones, the smart guys, will begin to inquire on whose land these turkeys were raised. ‘It sure must be paved with gold,’ they'll say to themselves, and when they learn that this is the place, you won’t be able to see ‘em for dust. They'll be right over here with wads of money in their pockets eager to pay vour own price. Do you begin to get the idea, Mr. NcNabb ?” It was evident that McNabb did, for he closed one eye, nodded his head gravely, and then poured out a stiff dose of whisky and drained it at a gulp. This time he did not press his visitors to charge their glasses, but Shorty, who was never of a retiring nature, reached out his hand for the bottle and helped himself. “You may have heard of people salting mines,” Shorty went on. “ Well, this is much the same kind of thing, only we salt v , ha! Salted turkeys ! guid one—verra guid!” McNabb slapped his thigh and chuckled, dimly perceiving some suggestion of humour in the idea, Shorty had still some more to say, it appeared, and his manner was suspiciously innocent as he continucd, ‘“ And about that agreement, Mr. McNabb; if you don’t happen to sell the ranch before the ‘three weeks are up, of course, I lose my com- mission,” “It would be too bad an’ a’ if it should happen that way,’ condoled McNabb, though a gleam came into his eye that announced the birth of a bright idea. Shorty made haste to dispel the illusion, and at his next words had the pleasure of seeing the gleam fade out. “ Only, in that case,” he added, “ there is not likely to be any sale at all, because if you don't close with one of the offers you get before the three weeks are up, I’m certain the editor of The Colonist will be tickled to death to get thet story about the salted turkeys!” While he was about it, Shorty felt he might as well make his position quite clear to all concerned, so that there should be no misunderstandings later on. With his face rather red, therefore, and his specch a little thick, he turned to Jack Neville and explained that though they were part- ar as mining and prospecting went, “commission business '’ was something different—more in the nature of a side-line 5 a littl: private deal of his own. Neville smiled a large, expansive smile ; an indulgent, lazy sort of smile. He was a Lig man, and the smile was in proportion to his six “All rigitt, Shorty,” he said. at all interested in this crooked stunt of yours, believe me.” Then he stretched himself and yawned. Lighting his pipe, he strolled towards the door, paused for a moment on the threshold, and then stepped out into the sunshine, his footsteps scrunch- ing ‘down the wagon track that led across the creek, Neville out of the way, Shorty That's a “Tm not

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CROPS OF GOLD. “The birds were caught, and Shorty fed them one by one with a force-pump.”

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24 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. turned his attention again to the business in hand. He and McNabb finished the bottle between them before they drove the turkeys into the barn. Here the birds were caught, and Shorty fed them one by one with a force-pump, as he had threatened to do. McNabb considered it “ sinful waste to use all the gold, but Sho-ty declared that the poor things should have a good meal, seeing that it was their last one. When the feeding part of the business was over and every bird had some of the precious metal in its crop, the “ chore boy ” who worked round the farm was called in to help kill and pluck them; it was arranged that Shorty also should stop and give a hand. “ Bide here the nicht, laddie,” said McNabb, warming to hospitality, “ an’ to-morrow we can drive in wi’ the team. It’s a wee bit early for the Christmas market, but there'll be a sale for turkeys already.” When the two men returned to the house at dusk there was no sign of Neville, though it was cvident he must have been in and gone out again, as his pack was no longer there. ““No doubt he’ll put up at Sim’s Hotel, an’ we'll find him there to-morrow,” said McNabb. It was rather late next day before McNabb and Shorty Smith set off for town in the rig, which was loaded up at the back with turkeys. These they disposed of, without any difficulty, to local store-keepers. Shorty stayed in town to make sure that develop- ments took place along the lines intended, while McNabb turned his team and drove back to the farm. The fuse had now been laid and the match applied. Very soon, in a score of homes, people were finding hidden treasure in their turkeys. Then the first letter appeared in The Colonist. lt was from a Mrs, Peter Green, of 2911, Main Street. She stated that she had found some gold nuggets in the crop of her Christmas turkey, and thought they must be worth several dollars. This letter was followed by one from another householder, on Twenty-sixth Avenue this time, who had also made a find of nuggcts, worth more than he had paid for the bird. The ball was now rolling merrily, and the newspaper office was soon bombarded with letters which raised the size and value of the nuggets to fabulous amounts. These citizens could evidently give points in inventiveness to the writers of stories about sea-serpents and big gooseberries that uscd to appear in, Tondon papers during the “ silly season, Although the poultry dealers were pleased at the brisk trade in turkeys that resulted, they found themselves pestered with in- quiries from purchas wanting to know— just out of curiosity ’—on whose land the birds had been reared. The watchful Shorty made sure they should know vy: giving the information, in strict confidence, to the local gossips. The seeds ot this ingenious propaganda work soon began to bear fruit. Early one morning, when McNab went out to feed his stock, he came across a tough old “ sour- dougi” (p:oneer) putting up posts on the rougnest part of the property, to mark a mining claim. When McNab informed him, not very politely, that all the land was under cultivation and could not be staked for minerals, the trespasser replied even less politely, “ Like it is,” and went on unconcernedly with his work. When he departed to register his claim at the Re- corder’s Office, McNabb promptly removed the posts and planted some young apple trees over the spot, although the ground was rocky and it cost him much labour to dig the holes. Later on Mr. X , of the X Realty Co., drove up to the house in his automobile and told McNabb he had had several inquiries lately from people wishing to buy improved farm fands. He would like McNabb, he said, to list his property with him. Then there was Tom _ Cassidy—who, McNabb remembered, used to be assistant manager of the Lucky Streak Mining and Development Co.—and several others, who called and volunteered the information that they were on the look-out for a ranch to buy, if they could find one that was suitable. For a day or two, however, McNabb got no further than listening to their offers, and he told cach one that he would think it over. Meanwhile Shorty waited patiently, ex- pecting to hear at any moment the news of a sensational deal in real-estate :-— “ OLN-TIMER SELLS HIS RANCH FOR Twenty THOUSAND DOLLars.” That was the sort of headline he looked for each day when he opened the paper, but he looked in vain. He had almost made up his mind to visit the ranch and get a report from McNabb when he was saved the trouble of doing so by the sight of that worthy’s weather-beaten figure emerging from the Land Registrar’s office on Main Street. He was in the company of Mr. sidy. By this time Shorty had got to know most of the leading citizens by sight, and for some reason for which he could not exactly account the association of McNabb with Cassidy, a former official of the Lucky Streak mine, filled him with vague uneasi- This was increased by the fact that McNabb was obviously trying to avoid him. The situation seemed to call for immediate action, so he blocked further progress by stepping up in front of McNabb. Thereupon Mr. Cassidy nodded farewell and walked on, leaving the pair alone.

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“Morning, Mr. McNabb,” said Shorty. “ Been paying your taxes ? ” McNabb laughed nervously. “ Hoots, mon, l|’ve no need to do that,’”’ he announced. . “T’ve sold my ranch to Mr. Cassidy.” Shorty did not like his manner at all; there was something furtive about it. To add to his annoyance, he saw Jack Neville crossing the street towards them. He had met his erstwhile partner two or three times since he had been in town, but Jack had been rather cool on each occasion, which Shorty attributed to Neville’s jealousy of his smartness. “Hello, Shorty!” said the other as he joined them. “I hear that Mr. McNabb as sold his ranch to Tom Cassidy. 1 sup- pose you'll be getting your commission now.” i Shorty looked anxiously at McNabb. “Well, Mr. Neville,’’ returned McNabb, obviously ill at ease, “‘ ye see the contract with Mr. Smith doesna’ exactly cover this deal. 1 sold the ranch for nineteen thousand dollars, and the contract said twenty thousand.” There came a great burst of laughter from Neville. “ You infernal crook!” exploded Shorty, dancing menacingly in front of McNabb. “Vl expose you for fraud—salting your turkeys and selling your land on_ false pretences ! ” Neville raised“a large-sized hand to quell Shorty’s excitement. “Don’t argue, my son; keep cool!” Le CROPS OF GOLD. 25 said. ‘‘ There’s been no fraud in the case because 1 bought the land myself, knowing all about it. At least, Tom Cassidy and 1 put up the money between us, and I got him to make the deal. I knew McNabb here would do you out of your commission if he saw a chance to save a thousand dollars, and that is why we only offered him nineteen thousand instead of twenty. So he has saved a thousand and we have saved a thousand, and your two thousand has ‘gone West.’ Do you see? So that’s that! “The next thing I want to draw your attention to is that the first day we were down at the ranch I suspected it was worth more than the price of agricultural land. 1 first got the idea when we stopped there on the way up, but this time 1 felt more certain. I should have told you about it at the first opportunity if you had not been in such an all-fired hurry to explain that our partnership was a limited one. What I gathered from the general layout of the land 1 proved almost beyond doubt by closer study. The lode, which appar- ently finished where the Lucky Streak mine worked itself out, just south of McNabb’s property, was broken by a fault or displace- ment of some sort in the stratum, but it continues as good as ever in a parallel direction right across the ranch. At any rate, Cassidy and 1 figure on making our fortunes out of it.” Shorty turned his gaze towards the mountains. His lips moved rapidly and silently, but he was not praying. “THE SIGNALMAN HEN we made casual mention of the fact that an anonymous West Indian correspondent had been good enough to inform us that he had “ had enough of our lies,” after reading the ‘ Signalman Baboon’’ story, we did not think that our readers would be so quick to take up the implied challenge on our behaif. From all parts of the world kindly letters have reached us, and are still doing so, assuring us of the writers’ indignation at the uncalled-for attack upon our bona fides and of their own unfailing appreciation of the literary fare which THE W1DE Wor-p supplies. Quite a number of South Africans and others have also sent further testimony, if such were needed, to the absolute authenticity of the ‘ Baboon” story. One cheery gentleman, who exhorts us to “keep BABOON.” smiling and take no notice of anonymous cowards,’”’ tells us that just after reading the ‘Baboon ” story he met a man who had been in South Africa and asked him about the animal, receiving his emphatic assurance that the story was absolutely true, as he had himself scen the baboon manipulating the levers as described. Yet another correspondent, in the course of a long and very interesting letter, says that he has on many occasions verified the truth of THE WIDE Wor Lp narratives. ‘‘ Nobody appre- ciates the magazine so much as those who have travelled themselves,” he adds. ‘‘ Your anonymous critic evidently belongs to the class of people who distrust everybody.” These letters, needless to say are very gratifying and encouraging to us, and we extend our heartiest thanks to the writers.

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26 ©The. MYSTERY of the POOL ee Minnie Martin OF DOUGLAS, GRIQUALAND WEST, SOUTH AFRICA ILLUSTRATED BY S.H.VEDDER About three years ago we published a South African prospector’s account of a monstrous snake which is supposed to live in a pool in the Orange River, and which he tried to dislodge with dynamite. Here, written by a lady who never saw the original article, is a strange and tragic sequel to the story. veteran South African prospector, Mr. Fred C. Cornell, O.B.E., F.R.GS., described an expedition he made into the wild Richtersveld Mountains, in the tar north of Cape Colony. He mentioned the belief of the natives in a monstrous snake, known as the “ Great Thing,” which is said to live in a pool in the Orange (or Gariep) River. Mr. Cornell wrote: “ It is in the Gariep River itself that the ‘Great Thing,’ in which allthe natives believe, and which may possibly be a snake of incredible proportions, is said to make its home. The first white men to enter and describe this region, nearly a hundred years ago, heard of this creature and left a record of it in print, and since then there have been numerous apparently well-authenticated instances of its having taken cattle of unwary natives from the banks, whilst several of the older and more reliable natives claim to have actually seen it. “It was when we were at length forced to abandon a search for a reputed mountain of copper in the Tatas Berg that I first came across the spot where the ‘Great Thing’ was believed to make its home. We had decided to attempt to reach our wagon-base by the roundabout route of the river itself, where at any rate we should be free from the anxiety of thirst, which had hitherto been our worst enemy. One day we came by chance upon one of the loncliest stretches of the river—solitary, almost inaccessible, flanked by steep mountains, whilst the margin of the water was protected by a dense thicket of virgin forest. Here our ‘ boy’ Klaas and some other Hotten- tots who were with us betrayed a good deal of uneasiness and refused to sleep in our camp by the river. After a lot of evasive reasons had been given it transpired that i our issues for rents and May, 1922, a here, in a big cleft rock in the middle of the wide stream, the ‘ Ki-man’ (Great Thing) was believed to make its home. “ Since that first visit I have reached the place on three separate occasions, and each time have made an attempt to dynamite the rock by throwing a charge as far as possible towards it. Until May, 1920, how- ever, | saw nothing. On that occasion, after several months spent lower down-stream, 1 again visited the ‘ Ki-man ’ rock and threw out a charge. Again the big upheaval of the water showed nothing unusual; but an hour later, and a mile or so down-stream, attracted by the yells of the natives, who were in great fear, 1 caught a momentary glimpse of something huge, dark, and sinuous making its way at terrific speed up-stream against thefull forceof the current. What it was I cannot say, but the natives all declared that when they first saw it it reared its head and neck to ‘ twice the height of a man’ above the water, and that it was the ‘Ki-man’! The only explanation seems to be that it is a huge python that has taken to the water—as they sometimes do—but, if it is so, it is of a size incredible.’’ Such was Mr. Cornell’s story. And now comes the sequel, drifting into our offices in the same odd way as most WIDE WoRLD “sequels.” From Griqualand West, Cape Colony, never having set eyes on the previous article, a lady sends us the narrative repro- duced below. We leave our readers to judge how far it goes to support the original account, Some years ago, when I was living in Basutoland, a party of us, neighbours and friends, arranged a holiday camp some fifteen miles up the Orange River at a point where the water, penned in a deep ravine, dashes over half-sunken rocks into an

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THE MYSTERY enormous pool below. Close by was one of those strange Bushman caves which are still to be found in various parts of South Africa. Early on the morning of the appointed day we were all busily preparing for our “trek,” while the children played round the wagon, which stood outside the gate waiting to be loaded up. First came the provisions—quite a goodly variety for such a benighted spot as our tiny Government station in the heart of the wild Basutoland mountains. Then came mattresses and bedding, followed by the guns and fishing impediment. belonging to the men of the party. Kettles, three-legged pots, frying-pans, and a water-barrel were slung on to the wagon, and the twelve oxen were then inspanned and the native ‘ boys ” adjusted the “ trek-tow.” The children and servants scrambled into the wagon, and the heavy vehicle rumbled off to an accompaniment of shouts from the driver. Shortly afterwards our horses were brought round, and in a few moments we grown-ups were mounted and off, leaving the little station without its white inhabitants. Just as the sun was setting in a blaze of OF THE POOL. 27 the wide, swift Orange River, or Senku, as it is called by the Basutos, its banks dotted with stunted shrubs and an_ occasional willow. At the bend of the river a little lower down was the wonderful Giant Pool, into which the water tumbled noisily as it raced past the projecting rocks which strove to bar its passage into the tranquil depths beyond. There is very little twilight in South Africa, and soon the midsummer night had completely enveloped us. After a short stroll we took our rugs and karosses and settled ourselves comfortably a short distance from the wagon, where the ground sloped gently down to the water’s edge. From where we sat we could catch glimpses of white foam and the silvery gleam of the ripples as they broke on the rocks in the rapids above the dark, silent pool. The cool moonlight proved most refreshing after the heat of the day, and a feeling of con- tentment and peace pervaded our little party. Suddenly the silence was broken by a most unearthly shriek. We started to our feet in alarm, and saw John, the wagon-driver, rushing towards us as fast as his legs would carry him. He was coming from the pool, The pool in the Orange River where the mysterious “Great Thing” is supposed to lurk. gold and crimson we arrived at our destina- tion. The wagon was already outspanned and the servants busily engaged in preparing the evening meal, to which, when ready, we did ample justice. The scenery all around was magnificent. To right and left of us soared the rugged walls of the ravine, their rocky summits jutting up into the deep blue sky above, while below us flowed which lay about a hundred yards below, and as he stumbled along he gesticulated wildly and uttered shriek after shriek. Evidently the poor wretch was in mortal agony, or had seen something which had utterly unnerved him. “What on earth is the matter?” we cried as he ran panting and trembling into our midst. For a time, however, he could

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28 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. only gasp the one word “ Afoloi,’ a wizard or evil spirit. “Nonsense, John!” cried my husband, “there is no such thing as Moloit. Pull yourself together and tell us what made you yell.” At length we succeeded in extracting from him a fairly coherent account of what had so terrified him. It appeared that he had been sitting quictly on the bank of the pool when he suddenly caught sight of “ the big snake that eats people,” and had fied screaming. Several members of our party had never before heard of this wonderful reptile, so, after soothing the poor fellow as best we could, with a little brandy to aid our efforts, we persuaded him to tell us its history. In trembling tones, which gained strength as he proceeded, John began his tale, which ran somewhat as follows :— Long, long ago, before the time of the great chief Mosheshue, there lived behind the mountains a wicked chief called Ra- Molo, which means ‘the father of fire.” His’ heart was cruel, and he worked evil upon his people, so that they hated and feared him even more than they feared the reat Molot. No one darcd to disobey him, for to incur his anger meant a death of agony. Every year, when the harvest feasts began, Ra-Molo would cause all those upon whom his displeasure had fallen during the year that had passed to die the ‘black death.”” When the moon was big in the heavens he would come out from his dwelling to gaze upon his victims and listen to their screams of agony. When their last feeble cries had ceased the chief would return to his dwelling and a great silence would descend upon the village. Then the frightencd people, by twos and threes, would crecp away to some quict spot and there offer up prayers to the spirits of their fathers to rescue them from the power of their cruel chief. Many years Ra-Molo_ ruled, and each sa he became morte cruel, until the people’s hearts grew so heavy within them that they ceased to pray to the spirits for protection. At that time Tau (“the lion’), Ra-Molo’s brother, offended the wicked chief, and was tortured to death. The people strove to rescue him, for all loved the brave and good Tau, but in vain. Just before death finally came to end his sufterings Tau raised his eyes to the stars and cricd: “ Oh! spirits of my fathers, reccive me and bring down upon my evil brother the heavy hand of vengeance, so that his power may be destroyed and no more innocent blood be spilt.” When the sun came forth next morning and the darkness disappeared, at the door of the chief’s hut lay an enormous snake, with meaning a head as big as a sheep's. Slowly he uncoiled his great body and, with a loud hissing, began to crawl towards the river. When he reached the bank he raised his head and looked long upon the village and upon the vople standing there; then he plunged into the pool and swam rapidly away. He still lives in that deep pool, but is some- times seen in other parts of the River Senku. Always he watches and waits for someone to devour, and when he is very hungry and the night is very still he can be. heard crying for food.* “Once every year,” John went on, “ when the great star Sclemela shines in the heavens, the snak allowed to rise to the surface of the pool, and it is an evil thing for anyone: who sees him, for sooner or later that poor fcllow will be drawn into the water by the power of those dreadful eves and will never again return to his home. His spirit will cry to his children and to his children’s children for revenge, but until the Great Spirit comes from beyond the sunrise and dries up all the water in the river, the snake will remain in the pool and feast upon the people. The time has again come round, and even now he is preparing to carry off another unfortunate victim. Have not 1, John, this very night seen his terrible shape rise almost out of the water, and did not my heart grow weak with fear? May the spirits of my fathers protect me and keep me from harm!” The narrative was told in Sesuto, and was much more graphic in the native tongue than is the matter-of-fact English I have used here. We tried to laugh away poor John’s fears, but entirely in vain, and long after we had retired to rest we heard him chanting a weird and dolcful prayer to the unseen powers to save him from the hungry jaws of the River Snake. The next day dawned bright and cloud- less, and everyone was in the happiest of spirits. A picnic was arranged in the Aloof, where even the intense heat of an African summer sun could not penetrate un- pleasantly, and where tempting pools of water invited us to bathe. The children’s merry voices echoed from rock to rock, and even John seemed to have completely recovered from his unpleasant adventure of the previous night and entered heartily into the servants’ merriment. At dusk we wended our way back to the wagon tired but very happy, and soon the silence of night descended once more upon the hot earth, As upon the previous evening, we sat about or strolled on the river bank in the brilliant moonlight, enjoying to the full the beauty of the scene around us, and it was almost midnight when one of the party finally suggested bed. We were retracing our steps * This story of the origin of the River Snake is familiar to natives beyond the Zambezi.—Tug AUTHORESS.

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THE MYSTERY OF THE POOL. 29 “He gave one last despairing cry and sprang into the pool.” towards the camp when, with a shriek which still echoes in my ears, John sprang up from behind the wagon, where he had been sitting talking with the other servants. The light from the camp fire shone full on his face as he passed us, showing features convulsed with terror. His gaze fixed straight ahead, he rushed frantically down towards the bend of the river where he had told us the “ Great Snake” lived. With one accord we set off in pursuit, but too late to save him. As he reached the bank he gave one last despairing cry and sprang into the 1. There was a sudden convulsive up- aval, as though some great body had moved swiftly beneath the water, a long streak of silver showed momentarily in the moonlight above the surface, and then all was still and silent ! Horror-stricken we waited, hoping for some sign of the poor fellow, but in vain, The river flowed on as peacefully as of yore; the midnight silence remained unbroken, and only on our faces, as we gazed dumbly at one another, was there any trace of the awful tragedy which had been enacted before our eyes. Thus was yet another victim added to the number already claimed by the mysterious inhabitant of the Giant Pool. What, I wonder, is the real explanation ?

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3° Three | neidents Before the ex- periences here set down, says the Author, his life was uneventful, as it has been since; but he crammed enough excitement into these three adventures to last him for many years. HE three incidents described in the accompanying story all happened within the space of three months. Previously my existence had been rather dull and uneventful, as it has since, but I crammed enough excitement into those three months to satisfy me for a lifetime. Just before the first affair happened my brother and I were operating a water station for the M.K. and T. Railroad at Blue River, a wild spot about twenty-five miles north of the Texas line. The pump had to be operated day and night, and at the time I was on the day-shift. One morning a circus train pulled in for water, and while the boiler was being filled a terrible uproar broke out in one of the animal coaches. The attendants rushed to the car, and when one of them opened a door a huge black beast leaped through the opening, knocked the man down, and disappeared into the underbrush bordering the Blue River. I learnt that it was an African black panther (often mis- called “leo- pard’”’) which had broken out of its cage and engaged in an earnest effort to kill all the other animals in the coach. The black panther, the circus peo- ple told us, is one of the fiercest beasts that roam the African jungles. He is fully as large as the Mr. A J Henderson. oA S2R.HENDERSON ws ILLUSTRATED BY R.H.BROCK . = “I am prepared to swear an affidavit astothe truth of the he has supplied us with a list of resi- dents in the several localities mentioned who can corrobo- rate his statements. American or mountain lion, but much stronger and quicker, and has a most savage disposition. At this time there were only two black panthers in the States, the other having escaped about a year previously in the valley of the Kaw River, near Kansas City. This particular specimen being exceedingly valuable, therefore, the circus attendants set out after-the fugitive with pitchforks, nets, and guns loaded with blank cartridges. There was no side-track at Blue River, so the train went on to Durant and waited there while a small army of men hunted the river bottoms for the escaped panther. The search, however, proved fruitless, for the beast was not sighted, and finally the circus management decided to go on and fill their “ dates.” Nothing more was heard or seen of the runaway for two weeks or more, and then ranchers and farmers in the neighbourhood began to miss valuable stock, such as sheep, calves, colts, and hogs. Prac- tically every night some far- mer lost a calf, a hog, or other animal. At first it was thought that some human thief was at work, for no sign of the missing beasts was ever dis- covered, and it was known that wild cats and wolves were

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not big enough to carry the larger animals away ily. Finally, however, dogs began to disappear, whereupon it was concluded that some large wild beast was the culprit. The escape of the African panther was recalled, and the mystery was solved. There remained the problem of finding and getting rid of the dangerous brute. After much discussion it was decided to offer a reward of three hundred _ dollars for the hide of the panther. My brother Alvin and I, having a little time to spare each day and night when the tank was filled,determined to ‘‘have a try” for the reward. We possessed no gun larger than a little -22 rifle, so we sent to Denison,. Texas, for a No. 5 New- house trap. While we awaited its arrival Alvin ‘ and I took it in turns to inspect the country’from the top of a rocky peak about a mile from the pumping station, using a pair of powerful glasses. On the third evening, just before dusk, Alvin caught sight of a shadowy black form stealing forth from what appeared to be the top of a sheer cliff on the river-bank a few hundred yards down-stream. The panther, for such he concluded it was, carefully inspected its sur- roundings and then stole away down the nver. As soon as Alvin informed me of what he had seen I immediately began preparations for our campaign. I cut a green log about eight feet long—as large as we could carry— and then, shutting down the pump, we dragged this log, with a supply of baling wire, to the vicinity of where the beast had been seen. It was too dark to do more that night, but next day the big steel trap arrived. It was a beauty, and we knew that it would hold the beast if he did not gnaw off his own foot; but we were taking no unnecessary chances. We waited until the panther was again seen stealing down the river; then, with flashlights and the huge ap we started for the place where we supposed the beast’s lair to be. It was bnght moonlight, but we knew the lights might come in handy under the trees. Alvin also carried the little 22 rifle, though THREE INCIDENTS. 31 neither of us knew exactly what for. Never- theless, it was undoubtedly the means of saving my life ! We soon located the panther’s lair, which was in a cave opening from the edge of the cliff above a sheer drop of more than fifty. feet. The place was strewn with bones of various animals, and a fearful stench per- meated the air. It was approached by a “The tiny bullet lodged in the beast’s jaw, stinging it and spoiling the leap.” narrow trail or bench along the verge of the precipice, just wide enough to allow the panther to drag his victims along. Carrying up the log and wires, we placed the mighty trap in a narrow depression in the rocky trail and covered it with leaves and sand. Then we wound strand after strand of the baling wire through the ring on the end of the trap-chain and around the middle of the heavy green log, thus securing the trap to the log, though they were about eight feet apart. Next we lowered the log over the edge of the precipice, letting it down just far enough to hide it from the sight of the panther when he was on the trail above. We secured it with baling wire to a jutting point of rock in such manner that if the trap was jerked away, or much disturbed, the wire loop would slip off and allow the heavy log to shoot down towards the rocks below, pulling the trap and anything in it in its wake. The moonlight shone very brightly on the open cliff-side, so we had no occasion to use our lights. We had practically finished our preparations, and Alvin was inspecting the opening to the cave, while I was stooping over the trap putting a few more leaves over it to hide all signs of the deadly thing under- neath, when my brother suddenly shouted.

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32 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Jump this way—quick!” he yelled, and at the same instant I heard the light crack of the rifle. I leapt towards him, but we discovered afterwards that the movement would have been too late had it not been for the little weapon. The black panther had unexpectedly returned, carrying a small dog clutched between its huge jaws. Seeing the invaders, it dropped its burden, and was actually crouching to spring when Alvin saw it and shouted, firing at the same time. The tiny bullet lodged in the beast's left jaw, stinging it and spoiling the leap, which would other- wise have landed it right upon me. That tiny bullet did more; it caused the terror of the African jungles to jump a foot or more short, landing with both fore-feet squarely between the steel jaws of the monster trap! As the trap clicked shut the panther, with one horrible, blood-curdling screech, leaped to one side, jerking the loop of wire from the jutting rock, and a second later log, trap, and panther hurtled down- ward to the rocks more than fifty feet below. When we finally got down, we found the big jungle cat lying there stone dead, tangled in the chain and wire. [ts neck was broken. We not only received the three-hundred- dollar reward, but were allowed to retain the pelt, which we afterwards sold to a collector for fifty dollars, thus making a good profit on our rather dangerous venture. Our work as pump operators tied us down too much for our liking, and for some time we had been considering the matter of resigning and getting out into the open for a spell, After we had received our reward- money, therefore, we handed in our notices, drew our pay from the railroad company, and left the job. Being now in funds, we purchased a supply of traps and supplies, and, taking the big bear-trap with us, struck out for the White River in Arkansas. It was still early in the season and very warm, but we wanted to locate a good camping ground, and the cane-brakes along White River were said to contain a number of black bear. We found a seemingly good location, put up our tent, and prepared the camp. We soon found signs of Bruin in the brakes near a rocky outcrop of the higher ground, and set our big trap close by, using for bait a chunk of honey we had taken from a bee-tree. While investigating the locality, we saw many rattlesnakes sunning them- selves on the rocks. ‘A regular snakes’ den,” remarked Alvin. However, the snakes didn’t trouble us much, for the plentiful supply of berries and green cane shoots sug- gested that we stood a good chance of securing many bear-stcaks and pelts during the coming winter. Next morning we visited the trap. It was sprung, and the honey had gone, but there was nothing in it. We were somewhat mystified, for if any animal big enougn to pull itself out of that monster trap had once been caught in it, signs of the struggle should have been plentiful. All we could find, however, was a trail that looked as though it had been made by dragging a log endways over the marshy soil. Alvin must have had some suspicion as to what had happened, for next evening, with me helping, he set the trap on the same spot, using honey for bait again, and also a small musk-rat that he had caught in the swamp. We dug a shallow hole, placed a cage made ot wire and tin, containing the rat, in the hole, and then set the big trap with its “pan” or trigger directly over the cage, thus allowing the rat to be easily seen. The following morning when we visited the trap we saw a sight that we never expect to see again. The reeds and cane were beaten down as though a steam-roller had passed over them. Again the trap had been sprung, but this time it had claimed its victim. Lying upon the crushed reeds, its body still moving spasmodically, was the “father of all rattlesnakes ’—a monster that measured eight feet four inches in length, not including the “ rattles,” of which there were twelve. Evidently, on the previous occasion, this monster reptile had passed over the trap. and thrown it, but the jaws had only lifted the snake’s body, sliding along beneath it without taking hold. This time, however, the “rattler” had seen the rat, and when he stuck his ugly diamond-shaped head down to secure the rodent it had touched the trigger and the steel jaws had instantly closed, almost severing the snake’s head from the body. It was the second largest rattlesnake I ever heard of, a woman in Florida possessing the skin of one two inches longer than the one we caught. We after- wards sold the skin for fifty dollars, the rattles for ten dollars, and the head for another five. The latter was bought by a laboratory, the poison to be extracted and made into a drug known as crotalin, which is used in cases of epilepsy and such-like ailments. We made up our minds to stay at this place and put in the winter trapping, but that very same day it started to rain, and never ceased for a fortnight. Heavy rains at the head-waters of the river helping, the stream was soon in flood and flowing over the top of the brakes and even through the forest-clad bottoms, so all we could do was io give up our plans and find another location. After leaving our “ drowned-out ” camp on White River, we went back to our old home in the lead-mining district of Kansas. We worked in the mines for a few days, but soon decided to give it up; the work is. ot

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only hard but very dangerous and unhealthy. So we looked around for something else. We had often heard a story or legend as to how the Indians in the locality ot Atoka —then in the Indian Territory, but now rt of Oklahoma—had worked a secret Fead-mine known only to themselves. It was said that they took the virgin lead from a cave and smelted it into bullets and the like, using very crude tools to extract the metal. We determined to make a search for this secret mine, and took with us not only mining tools and dynamite but also our traps, for we knew the locality to be a wild one and thought it might prove a good trapping-ground. Arriving at Atoka, we were given direc- tions for reaching the supposed location of the old mine. We were also informed that panthers had been seen lately down ‘‘ Muddy Boggy,” a small river that flowed towards our goal. The brutes had even crept into the edge of the town and carried away a number of domestic animals. Dogs had traced them some distance down the stream, but refused to follow them far. We were warned to look out for the beasts, for that section of the country had very little small game and the big cats were undoubtedly hungry and fierce—dangerous beasts to encounter. We finally reached the locality described to us, on the banks of a small stream empty- ing into Muddy Boggy, and made our camp Late that evening we killed a wild turkey and wounded another. Next morning we started out to search for the second turkey. We did not find it, but came across a lot of feathers and, not very far away, the opening to what we supposed was a small cave. This roused our in- terest at once, for the old Indians were sup- sed to have got their lead fromacave. Back we went to camp and— like the two greenhorns we were—left our guns there, taking only a couple of sticks of dynamite, with fuses and caps attached, a = pick, a striking ham- mer, and some short hand-drills. Also, as our flashlights were still packed away, we did not bother to hunt for them, but took instead a couple of resinous wood torches. Then we hurried back Vor. tv.—3. THREE INCIDENTS. 33 to the cave, which was located some three hundred yards from the camp. Only one person could crawl in at a time, but we found that inside was a long, high-roofed, tunnel- Loe cavern. ‘e were soon busily engaged in kin, at the walls and exeninin othe rock for “‘shines”’ of lead, but found nothing. Finally we reached the end of the cave, where we came across a mass of bones and feathers ; the air was foul, and there was a strange, sickly, ‘‘catty’’ smell. It was evidently the den of some large animal, and we decided at once that without guns and with our torches burning low we had better get out as speedily as possible. About fifty feet from the exit there was a sharp turn in the tunnel, and we had just passed the corner on our way out when Alvin suddenly halted, laid his hand on my arm and whispered excitedly: ‘“‘ Stop! Look to the right!” There, ahead of us, were what looked like two balls of fire gleaming in the darkness. “A panther!’ we whispered in unison. Just then the beast emitted a sort of wailing scream, much like that of a terrified woman. Almost instantly it was answered from outside, and the light at the cave entrance “Lying upon the crushed reeds was the ‘father of all rattlesnakes.’”

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34 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was darkened while a second beast crawled into the cave and a second pair of eyes glared at us. Beyond a doubt we were in deadly danger. We had no guns—nothing at all to defend ourselves with except a pick and some short drills, which would be useless in a contest with the hungry brutes. Possibly they would not attack so long as our lights lasted —but the torches, we realized with a cold shiver, were even now down to the last inch of wood and flickering horribly! There is no use denying it; we were scared— horribly scared. I wonder my hair didn’t turn white in that short minute we stood there facing those glaring orbs, not daring to move. It certainly looked like the end of the world so far as we were concerned. Suddenly Alvin had a great idea. ‘‘ The dynamite; the dynamite! ’’ he whispered. Even my befogged brain realized his inten- tion. At once 1 handed him my torch, and then reached into my coat pocket and secured the two sticks of dynamite, to which we had . already attached exploders and fuses. Cutting off the fuse to within an inch of the detonator, I split the end of the fuse to allow quick ignition of the primer, and then we backed slowly and carefully until we were at the sharpturn. Here I stuck the split end of the fuse into the flame of one of the expiring torches. Instantly there was a fizz and a sputter, and the spark started on its short journey to the explosive. As quickly as possible T hurled the deadly thing at the very feet of the crouching beasts ; then Alvin and I leaped to one side round the turn. For a moment the world seemed to have come to an end in one furious roaring crash. Our torches were instantly extinguished, we ourselves were hurled to the rocky floor, and boulders fell all around us, followed by sand and dirt, while a perfect fog of acrid smoke set us choking. We were deafened and half-dazed for some time, but finally struggled to our feet, fortunately unhurt and, by means of matches, reached the turn. Nothing was to be seen, for not only was the air thick with smoke and dust, but the exit had apparently been closed by falling rock and dirt. When we reached the spot where the two panthers had crouched our matches showed us one of the beasts literally torn to shreds. ‘When we managed to rake the dirt from the other, however, we found that not even a scratch marred its beautiful pelt—it had been killed by the concussion. We soon dug away the earth and small rocks that blocked the exit and returned to camp for lights. As stated, one hide was ruined, but we sold the other for a fancy price. We saw no more panthers, although “TI hurled the deadly thing at the very feet of the crouching beasts.” we put in the whole winter trapping. We never found the lost Indian mine, but we made quite a good profit on our catch of pelts. Those three adventures, all happening in less than three months, gave us enough “ thrills ” to last us for a lifetime.

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35 WILD TRIBES Vy = of the CWDomville Hite 23> With only a couple of Indians as his companions, the Author penetrated far into the interior of the vast and little-known region called Amazonia, visiting savage tribes who had seldom or never seen white men before and meeting with many strange and exciting adventures. These articles, describing his experiences in this vast terra incognita, will be found particularly interesting. Ml. FTER a short rest in Mandos, the “Clapham Junction,” so to speak, of the Middle Amazon river system, I decided to make a journey into the heart of the Brazilian wilderness, this time going north to the little-known territory on the frontier of Venezuela. 1 was weary of the twilight tropical forest and desired to see the vast unknown plains which were sup- Posed to exist north of the third parallel. lere there would be Indians of a totally different type from those of the dense jungles, the recently-discovered ‘‘ Rock of Inscriptions,” .the Crystal Mountains, and the unexplored prairies of the Amazon. The river-steamer upon which I embarked was very small and of shallow draught. She was so slow that hours passed on the open, sunlit, and blue-black Rio Negro with little apparent progress. Mandos, with its white houses and towers, dominated by the green- and-gold dome of the theatre, set amid bright tropical foliage and red sand- stone cliffs, glittered in the light of the westering sun, which sank in waves of fire cver the un- known forests of Brazilian Guiana. Slowly we stemmed the swift current, Passing S. Ray- mundo, a pretty A native “balsa,” or raft, on the Amazon. little suburb famous for its native washer- women, the wireless station, and then the igarapé which leads, through submerged forests, to the falls of Taruma. Finally we glided along the starlit river into the night-enshrouded wilderness. Nowhere in Amazonia are the countless points of light in the indigo vault above so perfectly reflected on the placid surface of the river as away out on the black waters of the Rio Negro. At times the effect is curious in the extreme; on a very still moonless night there seem to be stars above, below, and all around one. While the lights of the little steamer shine on the water the effect is lessened, but when these are obscured the impression is one of floating idly in a starry space. On these river steamers meals are served under an awning on the after-deck and, if the food was at all appetizing, journeys on the. more-frequented Amazonian rivers to : and from the limits of steam navigation would often prove quite pleasant and wonderfully in- teresting. The bill-of-fare, which is seldom varied, consists of eggs cooked in cotton-seed oil, black coffee and farina (a chaff-like sub. stance mede from the man- dioca), canned

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36 beef, guava jelly, and dried fresh-water fish. This kind of food for days or weeks, as the case may be, in the great day-and-night heat of the rivers and forests, robs these otherwise wonderful scenic journeys of all charm. They become problems of endurance —good training for the infinitely greater hardships which have to be faced when the mutum-mulum, as the half-civilized Indians call the steamboat, has been left hundreds of miles behind, and one is in the heart of the wilderness, which takes its inevitable toll notwithstanding the most careful forethought and organization. THE “BLACK RIVER.” The scenery of the Rio Negro is entirely different from that of most Amazonian streams, its course lying through a hilly district on the east bank, with flooded forests to the westward. These hills rise up from red sandstone cliffs which jut out into the broad river clothed with the varied green of tropical vegetation. Away to the south and west one gets wide views over leagues of wild, unexplored jungle, the haunt of unknown tribes whose homes and hunting grounds are mostly far away in the dark billows of forest just below the misty blue- grey horizon. Onthis bank there are many long igarapeés (watercourses), and in the far distance can be scen patches of silver sheen which denote unnamed forest lakes. The ‘Rio Negro is one of the few rivers in this huge area of two million square miles where broad vistas of the equatorial forest can be seen by climbing up the hills on one bank. The steamer makes calls at forlorn col- lections of caboclo huts and mud-brick houses—the riverside towns of Tauapersassu and Ayrao—and finally at the sad and sorry little village of Moura, a hundred and seventy odd miles from Mandos. Almost opposite this dilapidated-looking settlement the white waters of the Rio Branco join in streaks and patches the black flood of the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Negro, which is navigable for another two hundred and fifty miles to a place called Santa Isabel, beyond which there are numerous rapids and many dangerous rocks. During the low river season, from December to March, only boats of very shallow draught can reach Santa Isabel. At Moura one leaves the river-steamer for the official launch Amazonia, or else secures a bataloe (boat) for the long journey up the Rio Branco. As the current is strong there is considerable difficulty in making headway against it. Progress is slow, and the lower part of the stream is much encumbered with forest-clad islands, winding furos (channels) and blind lakes. On both sides stretches the equatorial forest, with great trees spreading their ponderous branches out over the river. Even with the aid of map and compass it is difficult to keep to the main stream, hours being lost wandering round winding water- ways which eventually lead back into the main river a few miles distant from their point of departure. The estuary, some distance from Moura, is a magnificent sheet of water covered with forest-clad islets. For over two hundred miles beyond the river is bordered by a wall of evergreen forest through which little is visible except at a point on the right bank about a hundred and sixty miles up-stream, where mountains covered with dense growth break the eternal monotony of the landscape. Then comes the little settlement of Vista Alegre, where the road which is slowly bein, built through the forest from Mandos will eventually join the Rio Branco, This road, although commenced many years ago, has so far only reached Campos Salles, some twenty miles out from Mandos. On the north bank at this point I saw two large trees overhanging the river which were literally alive with orioles, their curious hanging nests being suspended from almost every branch. The entrance to the homes ot these queer birds is at the a passage bottom, leading upwards into the nest, where the female lays her eggs. The orioles are bright little creatures, chatter- ing and whistling allday long. Near by was a tree con- taining no fewer than three huge wasps’ nests, some- what resembling hanging beehives. About twenty miles beyond Vista Alegre the river is broken by the dangerous Cacho- eira Bemqueror rapids, round

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WILD TRIBES OF THE AMAZON.’ | 37 The mysterious “ Rock of Inscriptions.” It contains a huge cave capable of holding a squadron of cavalry, and is believed to have been held in great veneration by the ancient Indians. which, however, there is a passage by the Furo do Cuyubim, as well as a path for portaging over the Serra Caracarahy. When this difficult section has been negotiated the way lies clear to Boa Vista, about sixty miles above the rapids, and the forest thins out until vast rolling plains can be seen in the far distance. The sensation of coming out of the damp twilight of the equatorial forest into the little palm jungles, with horizon- wide expanses of broken prairie visible from the high banks, can only be likened to emerging from a dimly-lighted hothouse into a green and sunlit field. Gladly 1 breathed in the fresh air of the Amazon prairies, which tasted like a sea breeze after a London fog. Although there were clumps of trees and even small jungles, which did not disappear until the Ulima Thule of Amazonia was reached high up on the rivers Parimé and Surumi, the steamy forest, sickly rivers, and malaria-breeding Mosquito swamps had been left behind, and at last my eyes were free to wander beyond the prison-like walls of green. The little settlement of Boa Vista, which is about four hundred and fifty miles from Mandos, consists of a hundred or so ram- shackle buildings huddled together in one long street without either paving or light. It 1s a typical backwoods settlement, and Most of the houses are built of adobe and taipa with zinc or thatched roofs. I only stayed long enough to tranship my baggage to a waiting launch which was to take me to S. Marcos and up the Uraricoera river to its junction with the Parimé, in latitude 3° 20’ N. At the National Fazenda (ranch) of S. Marcos, which is under the jurisdiction of the Indian Service, 1 was met by several officials. Stores were replenished, and we turned westwards into the Uraricoera. Along the banks of this narrow stream there are numerous estates, mostly concerned with cattle-breeding on the wide, open praries around. In addition to the vast Government ranches, where Macuxy Indians provide the necessary cowboys, there are the fazendas of Colonel Bento Brazil and Commendadore Araujo, on the Parimé river. My business in this region was to examine the mysterious ‘‘ Rock of Inscrip- tions.” Afterwards I intended to cut across the open campos to the Alto Surumi. About the voyage up the Uraricoera and Parimé very little need be said. The former river is bounded on both sides by small clumps of palms and other trecs, between which one glimpses broad vistas of rolling prairie and distant unnamed serras. The Parimé is a swift-running little stream having its source in a range of lofty hills, still unexplored, away on the horizon. The stream was not at the time navigable for launches, and so this mode of conveyance was exchanged for horses kindly provided by the officials of the neighbouring fazenda, togetrer with villainous-looking Indian vaqueros (Cowboys) to act as guides. THE “ROCK OF INSCRIPTIONS.” The little-known “‘ Rock of Inscriptions,” which I had come so far to see, stands some way back from the Alto Parimé, and rises from the level prairie like a huge, half- inflated balloon. Its position is sufficiently remote to warrant the assumption that it was the sacred Rock Temple of the great Indian tribes whose hunting ground sur- rounded it six hundred years ago.

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38 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. One finds it difficult to repress a feeling of awe as one rides from the open prairie into the shadow of this enormous stone. Similar in many respects to the weird Matoppos of Rhodesia, but far larger, it is a huge, rounded mass of rock, standing like a sentinel over the level plains which stretch away in all directions. A narrow ledge leads spiral-fashion round the base of the overhanging buttress, and on one side there is a cave capable of sheltering a squadron of cavalry. This dark cavern was evidently the temple of the ancient Indian gods, and on its stone altars human sacrifices have undoubtedly taken place. High up on the outer surface is a narrow platform, obviously artificial, from which there is now no visible means of descent. Over a hundred feet below this curious little platform is a raised terrace of stone. It would seem probable that the hapless victims of the priests were hurled from the upper platform on to the stone terrace in full view of the tribes assembled below. The sides of this enormous rock, which must surely be the world’s largest boulder, are scored and discoloured by the action of the tropical sun and rain during countless centuries, but beyond the inscriptions it bears—cut deep into the rock—little is definitely known as to its history or purpose. That it was a great temple there can be no doubt, and this is substantiated by the legends of the Macuxy, Uapircanas, and Jaricunas Indians, the most powerful tribes «who now inhabit the surrcunding territory. That night 1 camped in the shadow of this great Rock Temple, and throughout the hours of darkness the sky was ablaze with the soundless_ tropical lightning. Beyond the occasional distant beat of hoofs—stam- peding cattle far out on the prairie—not even the rustle of wind in the grass broke the unearthly stillness. Every blue flash which zigzagged to earth along the unex- lored horizon silhouetted this enormous lack mass of stone. It was difficult to prevent one’s imagination from peopling the night-enshrouded levels around us with naked figures performing weird and ghastly ceremonies. I could not sleep, notwith- Loading balls of crude rubber at an up- river settlement. standing the exhausting and very uncom- fortable ride in the great heat of the day, and when the pale crimson streaks of the new dawn flooded the limitless expanse of broken plains I was glad to get up, eat some food, and ride away from that sinister rock. The well-known Amazonian ennui now had me firmly in its grip. Every movement seemed an effort ; one had to use one’s last ounce of will-power to do anything entailing the least exertion. The ground under the horses’ feet seemed to fade away as I dozed in my saddle, only to “ come to”’ with a vicious jerk. Brain and muscles alike seem atrophied, yet of actual pain there was none ; one was only conscious of a feeling of nausea and slight headache. Travellers who emerge from the equatorial forests after inhaling for months the rank, enervating air, and sweating almost continuously, must expect this curious reaction. It matters not whether the exit is made by way of the river and the sea, the lofty Andean passes, or the open prairies of the Rio Branco, the result is nearly always the same—several days of uncontrollable heaviness and weari- ness, mental and physical. This is not parti- cularly serious when it is possible to lounge at one’s ease in a deck-chair, but becomes a . positive hardship when the burning hours of midday have to be . spent in the saddle. When the sun dis- appeared in a fiery glow behind the gaunt- looking hills I hastened the march of my little cavalcade, consisting of three men and five horses, two of which were merely pack animals carrying the tent equipment. We were unable to reach the desired point on the Surumit that night, and once again camped on the cpen campos, with the lightning flashing all night as before. The following day we arrived at our destination—the post of the Indian Service on the Surumi and Cotinga rivers. This little station, far out in the wilds, is peopled by Macuxy, Jaricuna, and Uapircana Indians undergoing the process of being civilized. They are an uninteresting but quite docile crowd. Making excellent horsemen, they are employed by the Federal Government as cowboys, tending the herds of cattle on the open ranges of this great, lone land. Attached to the post is a school a a NS ee i Sed 0 a eee ER el ne, Ns Set

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WILD for the Indian children—queer little crea- tures who for the first time in history were now feeling the restrictions of clothes and lesson-hours. Beyond this last outpost of semi-civiliza- tion lie the unknown ranges of the Serra Pacaraima, on the frontier of Venezuela. This low range of undulating hills, which seldom attain a height of more than fifteen hundred feet, is practically covered with scrub, but in all directions there are thousands of square miles of campos, or open prairie country. It is a vast, unpeopled land of boundless possibilities. The few wild Indians who in- habit it are seldom seen except when the range has been crossed and the forests on the Venezuelan side entered. Here the fierce Punabi and Howling Monkey Indians still guard the mysterious approaches to the unexplored source of the great Orinoco and, farther north still, other equally warlike tribes surround the sacred mountain of Sipapo. It was while passing the mouth of the Uraricoera, on my return to the Rio Branco, that | spent one night in the camp of Raoul Rabeque, the famous “ R.R.” of French exploration. He had finished his investiga- tions on the Uaupés river and had come up to the Rio Branco before going back to his beloved Jura Mountains. He had been extremely ill with malaria, contracted when two hundred and eighty miles from the last outpost of civilization on the upper reaches of the mysterious and little-known Uaupés. While the Amazon itself is quite healthy, and there is nothing to fear in such towns as Par4 and Mandos, the more distant rivers and swamps are exceedingly malarious, especially when the waters are receding from the flooded forests. This comparatively young explorer had remained too long in the fever districts, and, although still bright and vivacious, bore unmistakable signs that he had all but run his race. He died at sea, about six months later, after a visit to Rio de Janeiro. Rabeque gave me some interesting parti- Culars concerning the Uaupés Indians, with whom he had come into close contact during his eight months in the forests. The Savages of this remote and rapid-broken The Author and his Indian guides. 39 stream, which is a tributary of the Upper Rio Negro, are often very tall, and have light copper-coloured skins and black hair, which they wear cut short in the front but twisted into a long tail at the back. Their huts are the largest communal dwellings in the world, some of them being a hundred and sixty feet long, eighty feet broad, and forty feet high. The roofs are supported by smooth, round tree- TRIBES OF THE AMAZON. trunks, and their curious form of worship, known as Juripari, is carried on in one of these huge maloccas. As ‘many as forty families live in one hut, each with their own fire and utensils, but subject to the orders of one sub-tribal chief. They sleep in net and feather hammocks and cultivate small planta- tions of mandioca, yams, and_ tobacco. Their canoes are made of hollowed logs, frequently thirty feet in length and almost unmanageable inswift- Tunning water. Although the men sometimes wear a kind of apron, the women, who are by 10 means ugly, go about completely naked. Round the neck of all Uaupé braves is a chain of black beads carrving a cylindrical white stone which varies in size according to the standing of the wearer. The Uaupé nation, or Uaupécare, as it is called, is divided into twenty-one sub-tribes speaking fifteen different dialects. Each of these has been given a name in keeping with its principal characteristic or custom. There are thus Tapuras (tapirs), Tucunderas (ants), Banhunas and Cubeus (cannibals), Tucanos (toucans), Piriacurus (fish), Pesas (net), and other branches, all inhabiting the malarious valley of this long, winding river. There is a custom that forbids inter- marriage among themselves, and when a bride cannot be obtained in battle against a neighbouring tribe the would-be bridegroom is compelled to seek a mate from certain branches of the Uaupé nation which are known as “ intermarrying’”’ tribes. These live in peace and are agricultural, while the warlike tribes live by plundering each other and neighbouring Indian races. Both river and Indians apparently obtained their name from a small bird called the uaupé, or “ shining face,’’ because of its bright-coloured head. When a Uaupé dies

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40 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the body is exposed to the birds of prey until the skeleton is picked clean. The bones are then powdered and mixed with an intoxicating drink which is imbibed by all the relatives, the idea underlying this repugnant custom being that “it is better to be inside a friend than an insect or reptile.” Their weapons consist of lances, blow- pipes, bows, poisoned javelins, darts, arrows, and clubs. In some respects they appear to resemble the Ocainas, whom I met later on the Putumayo, because, according to Rabeque, they also wipe themselves all over with certain leaves two or three times a day. DEVIL-GOD WORSHIP. Perhaps the most interesting and unique characteristic of the Uaupés is the worship of Juripari, which has no counterpart in the reli- gions and mythologies of other Amazonian tribes. They have witch doctors, or payes, to whom all are subservient ; and even the chil- dren are closely watched and taught a kind of catechism, which is merely a recital of facts concerning the observed workings of nature. The crude rites centre round a species of “ Juripari’”’ music, flee into the woods and there await the signal to approach. In the meantime the young men are assembled and a certain secret operation is performed upon them, When this has been done the older men and women proceed into the forest and collect the unmarried girls. These are often of other tribes, and are practically captives. They are led into the malocca and, after being inspected by the payes, are allotted to their respective husbands in accordance with certain rules. The bridegroom, before seeing the prisoners, details exactly the type of gil he desires to marry, much in the same way as a European might express a liking for tall, short, fair, or dark women. If there is no girl captive who exactly fulfils requirements the particular bridegroom must await the next festival, or search for himself among the “intermarrying '’ tribes and bring back his captive foranotherceremony. Any unmarried woman who beholds the sacred ceremonies of Juripari, performed before the mask of the devil-god, is doomed to a cruel death. It was related some years ago in the London Times that two missionaries who thought that some of the unnameable horrors of Juripari could be dimin- ished by exposing thesacred symbols and knives of the cult before an as- sembled _ tribe, succeeded by stratagem in hold- ing aloft the ob- jects of tribal veneration. The women promptly fled in panic, and after a consulta- tion between the paves it was de- creed that, inorder Dragging a canoe through the rapids. devil-god called Juripari, and the whole religion is based upon occultism. About six times a year a festival is held in one of the huge maloccas. Enormous quantities of intoxicating liquor are made from various fermented fruits, into which powdered human bones are introduced. The paves assume their grotesquely-painted masks and proceed in a_kind of procession through the forest, playing bamboo flutes and making weird noises and movements. All the unmarried women of the tribe, upon hearing the to placate the wrathful gods, one out of every ten of the anmaarried women who had seen the sacred symbols must be poisoned! This terrible order was immediately carried into effect, and the bodies were sealed up in huge earthenware pots and buried under the mask of Juripari. There are, of course, several symbols of this queer cult, but so few white men have witnessed even a part of the cermony that very little is known about it. The ritual of Juripari is still in large measure one of the unsolved mysteries of the great forests. (To be concluded.)

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4E The Author with his horse, “Headlight,” and the bob-cat which figurés in this story. Number Iwenty Three The Author is a Federal hunter, em- ployed by the U.S. Government Bureau of Biological Survey to trap and destroy the predatory wild animals that infest the State of Nevada. In the course of his duties, naturally, he has to make long and arduous trips into the wilds, and OR the past few seats I aoe been employed YY the Federal Government Bureau a Sichogieal Survey to hunt the predatory animals which infest the State of Nevada. ’ This work is part of a national war on all creatures believed to be active carriers of the dreaded rabies. The exact source of the terrible outbreak of rabies that occurred among the various wild animals some years ago is, I believe, Harry "E Webb ILLUSTRATED BY D.C.EYLES it was on one of these expeditions that the ex- citing experience here described befell him. For many years the number “23” has figured prominently in Mr. Webb’s life, and on this occasion he thought it had turned up for the last time. “Every detail of the story can be verified,” he writes. unknown, but the general opinion is that the disease came to us from South-Western Idaho. The coyotes were wreaking havoc among the numerous flocks of sheep up there, and it was unofficially rumoured that one rancher, in sheer desperation, inoculated several coyotes with rabies germs. By so doing, he believed, the affected animals would bite others, who would in their turn attack their fellows, and so the disease would spread until the coyotes eventually

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42 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. exterminated themselves. But like the fabled farmer who set fire to a rat, thinking it would rush frantically about among its fellows and scare them off the farm, this Idaho sheep- man failed to anticipate how his rash experiment would work out in actual practice. The burning rat set fire to every building on the farm, and in the same way the inoculated coyotes plunged the entire country west of the Rockies into a terrible epidemic of rabies. Directly the menace was under- stood the stockmen held an inquiry, and through the efforts of Senator Key Pittman an appropriation was made by the Govern- ment to assist in combating the disease. Very soon hundreds of hunters were in the field bent on stamping out all animals likely to carry rabies. Each succeeding year it looked as though the trouble was at last under control; then another violent outbreak would occur in some isolated district and soon the plague would be raging merrily on again, at a cost of millions of dollars in livestock and many human lives. During the first four years of the epidemic hundreds of persons were bitten by rabid coyotes or bob-cats, and many and varied were the adventures experienced by cowpunchers and sheep-herders, who were forced to sleep on the ground most of the time with no protection whatever against these crazed night marauders. Slowly but surely the disease spread far to the south, and worked its way over into the Middle Western States. Something must be wrong somewhere, the authorities decided. Either the process of extermination was inadequate or else the hunters, in order to make a good job last (as the “ higher-ups”’ believed) were taking the work easy. Then, after eight years of relentless work with gun, ison, and traps, there came a perceptible lull in the disease, together with a marked shortage of predatory animals. The time was now ripe for a “ big push” before another bumper crop of pups and kittens came along, and Mr. E. R. Sans, our inspector, sprang to his guns. With a determination to spur the hunters on to redoubled efforte, Mr. Sans, ever “‘ on the job”’ for the betterment of the depart- ment, issued early in 1924 an ultimatum warning usto buckle down to our work. It was apparent that the coyote family was getting at low ebb, and he urged us to jump in and give them the coup de griéce, so to speak. “Tt is a well-known theory,” Mr. Sans went on to say, ‘‘ that a Government job is a ‘pension.’ But let anyone entertaining any such ideas come under my notice and super- vision, and out he goes, regardless of his former record.” So that was that ; and it was while trying to produce the required results that I met with the crowning adventure of my life. It had been a month of blizzards, making trap-setting impracticable and an average catch impossible. Riding my trap-line one day to dig my traps from under their two- foot blanket of fresh snow, I crossed the trail of a large bob-cat and decided, if possible, to get him. The big cat had passed on hours before and had taken to the rugged slope of a high mountain, but putting my faithful Airedale “‘ Dixie’ on his trail, started in pursuit. Now a bob-cat rarely goes far in search of food, and after catching a rabbit or grouse and having a meal he will curl up under a convenient tree or overhanging rock and sleep until sundown, when he will again fare forth to seek his supper. Should he be looking for a mate, however, an old male will travel swiftly and sometimes forget to stop. This proved to be the case now, and as the day wore on into afternoon it began to look as though our chances of overtaking our quarry were slight. During this time we had made a bare five miles, owing to the snow being stirrup-deep except on the ridges, where the wind kept it swept off; the cat, however, was still going strong. Up, up we climbed, through snow-laden mahogany and pine trees, picking our way over lava rock-slides and twisting ledges, with the Airedale barely able to keep ahead of my horse owing to the necessity of struggling through the fluffy snow. Still, far up on the mountain range, I could at times make out the trail of our quarry. Up among some overhanging precipices, ‘where a deep canyon had been cut into the mountain by some giant upheaval ages ago, the snow had melted off a jutting ledge, and here the cat had apparently decided to rest for a while. As we drew near I caught a fleeting glimpse of brown and black spots as he leapt to his feet and dashed away. Just at this moment a sudden gust of wind and snow whipped down on. us, and the dog scented him. With a deep moan she scrambled up the cliffs and went after him. It now became necessary for me to dis- mount and lead my horse, but after a time we again reached fairly good going, and soon I heard the staccato voice of the faithful dog echoing across the canyon walls, telling me that the cat had turned at bay. On coming up to the Airedale I found to my disappointment that the cat had“ treed,’’ so to speak, in a massive slide of lava rock, where it would be almost impossible to get at him. Pulling the dog away from the small opening he was watching, I thrust my head in to listen for signs of life near enough to the surface to warrant me in trying to dislodge the cat. After listening for some time I was rewarded with a long-drawn growl apparently coming from about six feet farther in. I determined to add his pelt to my monthly catch, so, leaning my carbine against a convenient boulder in case the cat decided to come out unexpectedly,

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- “NUMBER TWENTY-THREE.’ 43 “Before | could fully take in the situation the pair of them were down on top of me.” Digitized by Google

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44 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 1 soon had several tons of broken rocks slowly grating along to the edge of a cliff just below me, there to drop a sheer fifty . feet and go booming and roaring on down the canyon. It was a fairly easy task to move rocks of enormous weight, for the slide was only clinging precariously to the mountain-side at a very steep angle, but with each rock I dislodged the cat shifted his position to a deeper stronghold. While I worked, the dog watched a small hole farther up the slide; she seemed to know we were at a disadvantage and apparently anticipated a leap for freedom from that quarter. Finally I had removed so many rocks that I could see a pair of eyes flashing green from out of the darkness. Hearing a deep- chested growl, followed by a furious snarl, which indicated that the cat was about to charge, I jumped toward my carbine. As I did so, the slide—now somewhat under- mined—gave way with a grinding crash. Realizing my danger I tried to leap to one side, but slipped on the icy rock and fell flat on my back. Before I could move a muscle to save myself the piled-up rocks had slipped just far enough to be upon me. I was temporarily stunned by the impact of my skull against a boulder, but an instant later my head was somewhat cleared by a rock that bounced down into my face, loosening several teeth. Above the noise made by an avalanche of large and small stones that whizzed all round me as I hung there head downwards, I could hear a desperate battle taking place directly above. With the giving way of the slide the cat had made a leap for it, and he and my faithful Airedale were now fighting tooth and nail. Before I could fully take in the situation the pair of them were down on top of me. I had just time to notice that one of the cat’s hind legs was swinging uselessly ; no doubt it had been caught in the first rush of boulders. Then a growling, spitting ball of vari-coloured spots went tumbling over the cliff, accompanied by some falling débris. Next moment everything became quiet, and T knew that unless both animals had been killed when they struck bottom my faithful Airedale had got her throat-hold. It was now high time to look into my own predicament, which I found to be awkward enough. What I had supposed to be a mere temporary catching of my foot in the jagged rocks turned out to be a very fair imitation of a permanent trap, for I discovered that a tlat boulder weighing perhaps a ton was resting on my leg. On first secing this 1 felt sure that the limb must be crushed, although I could feel no pain. Examination showed, however, that the leg was wedged in between two smaller rocks which were keep- ing off the crushing weight of the larger one. Finding it impossible to pull my foot out, I dug my hands into the débris around and pulled myself up to an uncomfortable sitting posture. Then I tried to unlace my high boot, but found the task impossible as there was not room enough between the rock and the boot to get my hand in. Being unable to keep my back stiffened any longer, I fell back again, and with my head hanging down tried to solve the problem of escape. At the end of ten minutes or so I was still no nearer a plan of action, and my head was roaring like a waterfall. Once more I tried to squirm into an attitude of ease, and, bracing myself as best I could, pulled with all my strength in an effort to free the foot. But to my horror the huge slab, as though balanced on a pivot, swung round and hung almost over my body! A thousand aches were shooting up my spine, and I endeavoured to ease them, only to stop abruptly when a second slight shifting of the rock made me realize that another such movement would probably bring the whole mass down on my head. Had it been possible for me to move my head and body to one side, so that the falling rock would have sufficient room to pass without crushing me, I would have taken a chance, for once free I could crawl to my horse and somehow manage to make my way home, but I was too firmly held. Only a few feet beyond old ‘‘ Headlight ” stood dozing away the afternoon, and for once in my life I wished my horse was not quite so well “ rein-broke.””. He might then have got tired of waiting and gone home to the ranch, which would have aroused the folks there to action. But I knew only too well that this old fellow, who had carried me over many thousands of miles of trap-lines, would never leave the spot until he was actually starving. So I could not hope for help from that quarter. Even should I live for several days— which was not at all probable, since I was almost hanging by the heels and the night temperature ranged somewhere about twenty degrees below zero—I should not be found ; the canyon was too rugged for anyone to be likely to happen along. I often found it necessary to remain away over-night, so that the folks at the ranch would not become alarmed ; only that morning I had casually remarked that if I came across a mountain lion track I might trail him for a week. No; it was up to me to help myself. And then the Airedale came back! Blood was flowing from several decp cuts in her sides, where the bob-cat’s one good hind foot had got in its terrible work. She at once scemed to sense the trouble I was in and, unmindful of her own injuries, began licking my hands and face. As I was practically helpless, owing to the fear of moving on account of the rock, she made a thorough job of it. Suddenly it dawned on me to try a trick

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“NUMBER TWENTY-THREE.” I had many times read about with much pcapiicie Senin her for help. With much effort I got out my field diary, which we were supposed to carry at all times to record daily happenings, and though my pencil had dis- appeared a 25-35 soft-nosed bullet answered my purpose, and I scrawled the following message: Come. Head Mill Canyon. Tearing out the slip of paper and placing it in my handkerchief, | tied it with many knots to the dog’s collar. “Get home, Dixie,” I “Home!” ‘ But she only wagged her tail ; it was plain that I must resort to other and more drastic expedients. At times, when I was stacting commanded. “*Get home, Dixie,’ out on perhaps a thirty-mile round of my traps, and the snow was deep, I would not allow her to follow. If, as occasionally happened, she did steal away and_over- take me, a good scolding never failed to send her home. Perhaps this would work now ! I yelled a stern order to her to “ Hike!” and at the same time struck her with a small stone. But she merely cowered down and snuggled up against me whimpering. Nothing doing! Then I tried another ruse. “Hunt the baby, Dixie! Go find the baby!’ I cried. With this she was up and alert, looking up and down the canyon as though undecided in which direction to start. I commanded. ‘Home!’” 45 “Go home, Dixie! "’ I coaxed. ‘ Find the baby!” With a whine she trotted round a jutting ledge, and it looked as if she was going to obey orders, but presently I saw her standing still as though awaiting further instructions. “That's a good girl, Dixie,” I cried, encouragingly, “ hunt him up!” This time several joyous barks greeted me, and for some seconds | waited breathlessly and listened, every moment expecting to sce her come back as she tried to smell out the trail of the imaginary ‘“ baby.” As the ringing barks grew tainter and fainter, however, I realized joyfully that she had struck the old trail for no.ne. It looks foolish, I'll admit, sending the dog to “find the baby,” but I was willing to try almost anything. From puppyhood “ Dixie" had always been eager for a game of hide-and-seek with my youngster, and would play for hours nosing out his trail and dragging him from his hiding-place. It was almost too much, however, to expect her to go five miles in search of him. Neverthe- less, she had at least started, and during the hours that I feverishly awaited developments I found much time for reflection. Suddenly it occurred to me that the date was the twenty-third of January. That doubtless conveys nothing to the reader, but to me it meant much, since for many Digitized t G oO Og | e

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46 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. (eae past the most important events of my ife had been linked up with the number twenty-three, to such an extent that both my wife and I had come to regard it as a harbinger of good or evil. Yes; I could see through it now. I had long felt there must be some sinister meaning to all these “ twenty-threes ’’ crossing my path. This one must be the finale ! The first time the number twenty-three was brought to my attention was when I was leaving the “‘ M Bar’ outfit in Wyoming to join Buffalo Bill's Wild West show in Trenton, New Jersey. That was on the 23rd March, 1910. The next time it cropped up I was with the Show in Madison Square Garden. We had just arrived from Trenton, the Show’s winter quarters, and the press agent was taking us cowhands on a tour of “little ol’ New York.” The date coincided with the day of my departure from the “‘ M Bar ”’ ranch, and we had only just entered the 23rd Street subway when an accident occurred. Later I met the girl who subsequently became my wife. We were married in Philadelphia on the 23rd of June, 1911, both of us being twenty- three at the time. For three years we res ded at No. 2323, Twenty-Third Street, an. then moved to 2347, North Twenty- Second Street. On coming to Nevada we moved on to our ranch on the twenty-third of the month. These and many, many other instances where the number had unexpectedly cropped up now came floating to my mind, and I could not help asking myself the reason for it all. Already the light in the canyon had turned to a purple and violet gloom, and the nine- thousand-feet peaks of Bald and Pine Mountains were losing their caps of gold. The bluish-grey sy beyond told me that the temperature would drop to thirty below that night—and I wondered if I should see the dawn. Suddenly “ Headlight ’’ threw up his l.ead and looked back over our trail. moment later I heard the panting of a dog, and the sound brought the agonizing thought that my one and only chance of rescue had failed. Soon Dixie came into view—and what a sight she presented ! Her nose, mouth, and throat were literally filled with porcupine quills. “So this is the way you went for help, is it ?’’ I growled. “‘ Been chasing porcupines!’” The handkerchief, badly torn, was stil) hanging to her collar. [ had stiffened my backbone enough to sit up to observe this ; then I lay back, utterly heart-sick, and ceased to think. Presently, with my head buzzing, I found myself leaning against a substantial boulder, while Eddic Meyers, a young man who was visiting our ranch, was talking and looking me over for broken bones. At first I thought my brain was playing me tricks, but when I heard Eddie asking, with some real American cuss-words, just what had hap- Pened to me, I knew that everything was all Tight. A Saltice it to say that my explanations were very brief. Eddic had already freed my leg, and now he assisted me to mount. For once in my life the ride home through the darkness and biting cold was a pleasure jaunt. About three o'clock that afternoon, I learnt, Dixie had been seen cofning up the toad leading to the ranch at a run. Turning in by the barn, she crawled up on a hay- stack, and thinking she had either picked up some poison or gone mad, Meyers hurried down to investigate. The mass of quills in the dog’s face attracted his attention to the bit of paper sticking out of a torn Some of the country through which the Author trailed the bob-cat. The arrow indicates where the beast went to ground.

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“NUMBER TWENTY-THREE.” 47 Teens Mr. Webb with “ Dixie,” the Airedale that saved his life. He is seen holding the bob-cat, with “Headlight” on the left. place in the handkerchief. After he had read it, needless to say, it took him only a moment to catch the fastest horse on the ranch and head at full speed for the canyon, with the faithful Dixie, despite the pain of the quills, following at his heels. When we got back to the ranch we spent half that night and several hours the next morning in pulling out quills from poor old Dixie with pliers. Then we started out to discover what. the result of the fight with the bob-cat had been and to find the Porcupine. About half-way to the canyon we came to a spot a few yards off the main trail where the snow was all beaten down, and there lay a big boar porcupine—dead. The tell-tale marks in the snow that form the trapper’s encyclopedia told us plainly just what had taken place. ‘ Dixie ’’ had crossed the fresh trail and followed it to a pine tree where the porcupine was feeding. After Setting a slap in the face from the animal’s powerful tail Dixie had no doubt become enraged, and pulled the old fellow off his perch, A deep impression in the snow showed where he had tumbled out of the tree and started to bolt when the dog Pluckily returned to the attack. After * Ihave never known of a dog killirg a porcupine before, nor have mony p op that we could not extract gradually worked out of various parts of Dixie's body for months aft-rwar wrestling him over on his back she had then choked the life out of him.’’* On arriving at the canyon we soon found the stiffened corpseof the bob-cat. Apartfrom the broken leg, there was no sign of injury excepting a small icy spot on his throat. As to whether the dog knowingly helped me out of my predicament I cannot say. Perhaps she started out to do my bidding and then became so absorbed in her own special hunt and subsequent pain that she entirely forgot her original errand. But at least she went home, and thus helped me once again to outwit the ‘‘ twenty-three ” hoodoo, so I give her the benefit of the doubt. The only thing that puzzles me is how 1923 got the dates confused and let the accident happen in ’24. At the end of the month, when the bob- cat pelt—which was the finest I had ever taken—started on its way to Reno and then on to the international fur sales in St. Louis, it bore its proper label and the weekly itinerary recording in brief sentences the day's work. This, in its terse uninteresting manner, read :— “Jan, 23.—Rode Mill Canyon trap-line. Traps snowed under. Bob-cat. 923. Male. Stomach contents: Empty.” 1. Some of the quills e Lhave q Tur AurHor,

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48 ( 74 e \ RAIDERS Wen Rayne ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN DE WALTON IVORY This exciting narrative deals with a region of which very few people have ever heard—Turkana- land, a wild district of Central Africa bordering on the western shores of Lake Rudolf. Here un- scrupulous Swahili elephant-poachers and bloodthirsty Turkana warriors, who may not marry until they have killed a man, IV. (Conclusion). E are now on the shores of Lake Rudolf, at our advance base, Kobua camp. All the troops have arrived, and there are twenty-four Europeans in this camp, the largest number that have ever at any one time gazed on the waters of the lake. The: come from all parts of the Empire—Wal- fisch Bay, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa; there is even a man from South America. As for the native soldiers, they are indeed of many tribes. In this British camp, incredible as it may sound, you may hear twenty-seven different languages spoken. The soldiers form picturesque groups as they go about their work—tur- baned Arabs from the Soudan, King’s African Rifles, askaris of many shades of colour, in khaki-covered pill-box caps ; coal- black Soudanese soldiers in straw slouch- shaped hats looped up at the side. We camp in hollow-square formation, as is the custom on expeditions such as this. The lines on three sides are faced by groves of doum- palms from which the undergrowth has been cleared to afford a clear field of fire; on the fourth side is the lake. And _now the combined force is to move from Kobua camp; the last important caravan, with grain for the Soudan horses, has arrived. The machine-gun carriers have been trained; ammunition, officers’ kit, tents, medical and other stores, and the thousand and one things an expedition requires lie ready, and the transport arrange- ments are complete. In addition to the troops we have a large personnel of donkey- combined to make things lively for the scattered handful of white officers responsible for main- taining law and order throughout the country. Major Rayne has had twenty years’ unbroken experience of Africa, and paints a vivid picture of the dangers and difficulties of suppressing the ivory-raiders and their fierce satellites. drivers, interpreters, stretcher-bearers, officers’ servants, and other followers to feed. Fortunately our soldiers are blacks and their food requirements simple. Were it necessary to employ whites we could not compete against the northern Turkana and their allies, whose commissariat—meat and milk—walks on its own four legs. For hundreds of miles back we have caravans guarded by soldiers stringing along the track, carrying food that is being eaten while it comes. And when these empty caravans return they must take back for the journey some of the food they have so boriously transported here. There has been so much delay since we first began. to make our preparations that the northern savage deludes himself we are afraid. His behaviour during the past year has simply screamed for correction, and the longer this has been delayed the more daring and bombastic he has become. Parties of his raiders have penetrated south of our military posts and, owing to their superior mobility, have escaped with little punishment. The southerners who are in touch with the one or two Government stations have been consistently loyal to their own kinsmen. Not a word concerning the doings or inten- tions of the men from northern Turkana and the Soudan has ever reached us in time to be of any use. And now we move at last to interview the northerner in his own home where, hampered by cattle and women, he will find it difficult to evade our force and a long-overdue reckoning. Our administrators are averse to shedding blood, but their hands have been forced and

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as a last resort rifle has been called in to answer rifle. Our force, accompanied by the thousand pack-donkeys, crawled out of Kobua along the lake shore, ‘and coming to Lomogol, formed a small base there. The expected rains had not fallen and the country was ravaged by drought. Patches of green grass (placed there by Providence, according to the Supply and Transport Officer) were found in shallow basins from which the waters of the rapidly falling lake had re- ceded ; without these the transport animals could not have survived. At Lomogol—which place we found deserted—White decided to alter the original plan of campaign. The two Soudan Equa- torial Battalion companies, under White himself, marched along the lake shores until they came north of Lorusia. Here the two companies separated; one driving south through the valley—called the Katome Valley—betwee1 Lorusia and Lakwanimur, and the other driving down to the west of qokwannmur. brick, of the East African ‘orce, accompanied the Soudan companies “with a couple of his Lewis guns. Holland, of the K.A.R., stayed in Lomogol with his company. My orders were to take the remaining company (the Somalis under Cleverly) of the K.A.R., and the transport, to the southern end of the Katome valley and there intercept the cattle which, it was hoped, would be driven south by the Soudan companies. To save the pack-mules of the Sou machine-gun section and the horses of the Soudan M.1., these units were to accompany my column, which was carrying ‘both their rations and fodder as well as supplies for White’s party. “green grass—or any ot THE IVORY RAIDERS. 49 On the 2nd May, 1918, I left Lomogol and marched along the dry bed of the Lomo- gol River, now quite deserted, to Kalin, where we arrived on the 4th. Providence having forgotten to provide patches oi er kind—over this stretch, the transport animals, weakened by hard work and short commons, soon fell into a precarious condition. On the 5th we swung north to close up the Katome Valley where, in accordance with our orders, we were due to take up position on the 6th. That night we camped at the usual dry stream in which we hoped to find water by digging. Again we discovered no grass and, worse still, only a few cupfuls of water at a time could be procured from the wells we dug. The country was literally desolated by drought ; the animals went thirsty. During the day two prisoners—one a small boy, the other a young warrior—had been captured. From them we gathered that a large party of northern Turkana riflemen and outlaws were waiting for us on the Katome River, a few miles to the north. The warrior was a'fine specimen of man- hood, and as he stood before us—his wrists manacled with handcuffs fastened to a chain held by a soldier—I could not but admire his bold demeanour. The C.P.O., who interviewed all prisoners, did not finish with this man until dusk, when the soldier led him towards the quarter-guard on the main entrance into the thorn zareba we had built round the camp. A minute later there was a shout, followed by a couple of shots, The prisoner had escaped ! He had been long enough in our camp to realize the dire straits we were in for want of water and that our transport animals were

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5° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on their last legs. I was annoyed at his escape; it seemed certain that the hostile riflemen to our front, when possessed of the information this fellow could give, would attempt on the morrow to hold us off the water it was vital for the sake of our suffering animals that we should secure without delay. I need say no more about our condition ; over. What a splendid adventure, he rumi- nated, and how the girls at his encampment would crowd round to hear the yarn ! An hour later he entered the encampment and told his story again and again, enlarging on his own prowess as only a savage warrior can. Meanwhile the elders had ordered the On the march along a dry river-bed in Turkanaland. Iet us follow the fugitive to the Turkana camp. Helped by information gleaned later by the Chiet Political Officer, my own know- ledge of natives, and, to be quite frank, a little imagination, I can render a fairly accurate account of his proceedings. Whilst talking to the C.P.O. he tested and found his handcuffs could easily be slipped. Later, by the zaveba entrance where the donkeys were being driven in, he noticed that many of the herdsmen were, like bim- self, innocent of clothes. It was almost dark; the chances were all in his favour. 1f he could but dive in amongst the donkeys it would be easy to crawl through the mob, pop up on the other side amongst the svces, and make good his escape. He decided to try. His guard was temporarily stunned by a pair of handcuffs thrown with considerable violence into his face, and before the soldier regained his senses the prisoner was into the herd, through it, and running free. In the gloom, and the confusion that followed the escape, the other guards could not pick out the fugitive from the herdsmen who had given chase. The askaris dared not shoot until they had worked through the donkeys, and they had only fired a couple of shots when | stopped them. Rightly or wrongly T could not bring myself to see an unarmed man shot down. Knowing it was hopeless, 1 soon stopped all pursuit. Hearing none, the fugitive slowed down and thought things signal fires to be lit. On hill and rise they sprang to life, a chain of twinkling lights, and in response, the whole night long, riflemen in twos and threes came in. When morning broke several hundred rifles, backed. by many spears, were concentrated at the encampment. The outlaws in the vicinity were not so keen, and would require to be bribed to help the savages. During the day more natives would arrive, hastening to help prove that the Turkana riflemen is a different roposition from his brothcr the spearman. What confidence they had in their weapons —the confidence of a small boy in his first shot-gun! And to what a rude awakening the poor simpletons were coming ! Presently the scouts returned to report that the British column was moving slowly across their front and only a few miles away. It was strung out for some considerable distance, evidently in serious difficulties. The older men conferred and advised an immediate attack, but, failing to draw in the warriors, who were busy showing off before the women, they left events to take their course. There was no big leader to order decisive action. It was decided to move neither the cattle nor the women ; the latter could line up to sce the troops put to flight by the riflemen and stabbed down by the spearmen as they ran. No one had any doubt in his or her mind as to the ultimate outcome of the approaching combat.

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THE IVORY RAIDERS. 51

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52 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. And now let us go back to the British column, moving exactly as reported by the Turkana scouts. The C.P.O. and the small boy-captive of yesterday are at its head, directing the way to a camp near where we know from our scouts that the riflemen are waiting. Every available spare animal has been sent to the rear to pick up the loads of others that keep falling out. We have barely ninety infantry to protect our linc, now some six miles long ; the forty odd mounted men must guard the Hotchkiss gun and the machine-guns. The horses, though well rationed, still require water, and I am saving them all 1 can. Of what avail to halt and close up when the leading transport animals, if stopped, only lie down and refuse to rise again? Here is a situation that makes a civilized man weep tears of blood, but only calls up all the latent brutality of the African syces. We are dragging our procession of practi- cally dying animals across the enemy front when a scout reports that there is no water at the point for which we are making. “Then why not make for the Katome River?” asks the C.P.O. ‘ There can be no doubt we must halt on water, or else you'll never get this circus in motion again.” “It’s the only thing to do,” 1 answer. “Let us_go and drive the enemy off the water. Right wheel ! ’’—and the procession heads straight tor the Turkana camp. The man from Walfisch Bay is guarding the long line of transport, with posts of men moved forward from time to time. He has a have not counted on another officer, nick- named the ‘ Ulster Rebel,’ who, removing the bullocks from his Hotchkiss, and with a scratch lot of followers inspanned instead, now comes rumbling up with all the dash of a battery of field artillery. “‘ I’m in this show with Ermyntrude (the gun), or 1 bust!” 1 hear him remark to the C.P.O. as the Gras rifles begin to splutter. “* What the devil do you mean by bringing that gas-pipe-on-a-wheclbarrow up here ? ” I shout angrily. “You never ordered me not to, sir,” replics this undefeatable Irishman. As we draw near the Katome River (it tums out to be a few mud-holes) the young warriors are still lining out for the fray under the admiring eyes of their women, Behind the enemy we can see a large herd of cattle which the Turkana, at this eleventh hour, have decided to drive off. ““M.L., covered by the Hotchkiss and the machine-guns, attack!" is the order. “ Seize the cattle; the Turkana will try to recover them. Thus they will be too busily employed to pay any attention to our transport and so delay it getting to the water.” The “ Rebel” has his gun barking in the twinkling of an eye. As the first shell sings through the air I hear him muttering: “There, you divils, is a fine present. 1 wonder what you'll think of that now?” The shell bursts in a clump of scrub from out of which dash some two dozen riflemen wearing clothes. “ Habash! Habash! The “Ulster Rebel” bringing up his gun. machine-gun, too, and when he is apprised of what is afoot assures me he can manage alone. “ But why the fools have not attacked this long line,” he says, “ is beyond my comprehension.” The M.1., with two machine-guns, the C.P.O., his eyeglass and his body-escort of five police, form my striking force. But we (Abyssinians) ” someone shouts. .And now the machine-guns open up, and the Rebel is getting off shells as fast as he can load. The M.1. dismount like clockwork and come into action at close quarters. They advance in short rushes, always advance—and, by all the witch-doctors of Turkana, how splendidly they shoot !

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r Oh, ye foolish warriors! To play with a trifle at a dance is quite another matter to using it here to-day under a hail of well- aimed bullets, It is harder to kill the askaris—see! not one is down—whose messengers of death crackle on the stones behind which you lie, with jarred nerves, than to murder de- fenceless Suk women and children. - The Turkana women have gone. The beaten warriors follow, pass, and leave them to their fate, knowing well we shall not harm them. The M1. soldiers have captured the cattle. The C.P.O. and his body-guard dash forward to relieve the M.1. of their cap- ture so that they may pursue. The “ Rebel,” Steeped in military tradition, calls: ‘‘ The un! The gun! here’s no escort left for the gun!” “Who on earth’s going to run away with ur fowling-piece ? ’’ shouts the C.P.O. as e gallops off on his mule. But our friend the prisoner of yesterday, what has happened to him ? This morning he arose witha head quite turned by the Proceedings overnight and a firm resolve to enhance his newly-found reputation. When the main body of the warriors fled this man must needs tarry, because he could not bear to let the women see him running away. At a spot where he and a few of the bolder spirits put up quite a gallant little stand, we found his body lying face downwards on the sward. Late in the evening the man from Walfisch Bay stands before me, his lips cracked and blistered by the sun, a look of ineffable weariness on his tanned face. This man has not tasted a bite of food the whole day, although his servants have had a hot meal waiting ready for hours—hours he has em- ployed in watering animals and taking back ads of water for the 1 collapsed brutes lying on the veldt. Now he calmly reports every animal safely in camp and watered. The C.P.O. nods at me. I understand ; it is clearly an occasion on which the C.P.O.’s last bottle of whisky, the only one in camp, might justifiably be opened. “Have a drink?” says the C.P.O. casually. “No, sir. We are on the edge of a good Patch of grass, and, with the Major’s per- mission, 1 pro to graze the transport animals all hight. 1 should like to arrange The Irishman and his beloved “gas- pipe on a wheelbarrow.” THE IVORY RAIDERS. 53 a strong Brazing ard and then, if I may, 1 shall come back later for a drink.” “And dinner, too,” says the C.P.O. gruffly. | ; The tired officer's eyes sparkle (the C.P.O. is the only man in Tur-_ kana to-night who can produce a meal that is worth talking about). “ Thank you, sir,” he saysquietly, and moves’ off. If you should ever happen to meet and recognize this man you will find he is rather a rough diamond, but remember this: to-day he has sweated blood succouring and doing all in his power to alleviate the sufferings of a thousand miser- able donkeys. And to- night his head will not touch the pillow until he has dressed the sores of some scores of girth-galled animals. And now I sit with the C.P.O. as he makes notes from the state- ments of prisoners we have taken to-day. I, too, make notes—mental ones, material for this chapter. Our trim Somali sentries stand on the scene of last night’s dance. The discomfited dancers are hiding in the bush, and it is just beginning to dawn upon them that the arm of the British Serkal is strong enough and long enough to reach even into wild Northern Turkana, there to avenge the murdered women and children of the south whom they thought had been forgotten. We stayed at Katome River camp for some days before the Soudan force from the north arrived. Bimbashi Yardley’s detachment came first. It had met with no serious opposition until entering the northern pass between Lakwanimur and Lorusia. Here the Turkana and a number of outlaws—possibly the same people we had driven off the water —lined the pass against Yardley and were severely defeated in a sharp fight. He captured just under a thousand head of cattle. White, with the remaining Soudanese company, met with no opposition at all, and made practically no captures. He reported the country to the west of Lakwanimur to be almost waterless, and on this account impassable for transport. Owing to the complete failure of the rains White felt that the best move for his force would be a home- ward one. He proposed to march from Katome camp direct on Loyoro and thence back to his headquarters in the Soudan. The Soudan political officer and our own

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54 THE C.P.O. came to the conclusion that it was necessary to patrol Lorusia Mountain from every side before the troops retired. Doubt- less our C.P.O. hoped that by so doing we should recover more cattle for his people, who claimed they had lost many thousands of head, of which we had recovered up to date only a small percentage. To meet the WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. settled the last of the animals down in camp. 1 then dispatched three Somali soldiers, mounted on mules, with a letter to Holland, in Lomogol, asking him to come out with a strong patrol to meet the cattle and trans- port. These men, riding direct to Lomogol, would arrive that night, and Holland, 1 new, would march at once. Before the politic il officers’ wishes a drive of the moun- tain was planned. Bimbashi Yardley with three sections of his company (about ninety tifles) was to move to the north-east of Lorusia. 1 was to take post at the southern end, and White, with Bimbashi Wolfe’s Soudanese company, was to move to the north-west side. Once the three parties were in position they were to scale the mountain and meet on the summit. In accordance with this plan Yardley moved. off one morning at 3 a.m., meaning to pass south of Lorusia and reach his position by the road between the mountain and Lake Rudolf. I had offered to lend his partya pair of Lewis guns, but, unfortunately, owing to transport difficulties, they were not accepted. I followed at 7 a.m. and having not so far to go moved Icisurely. I was responsible for the transport and the captured cattle, which were returning to Lomogol under a subaltern of the Ning’s African Rifles. As I could only spare this officer a very few rifles as escort, I instructed him to march with me as far as possible. All that day, finding no water, we kept the now lightly-laden transport animals moving. They were practically grazing along the edge of a belt of dead grass that ran from our cam) to the base of Lorusia; the cattle came behind the transport. It was nine o'clock at night before we Burying the dead aft_r the fight. men departed 1 cautioned them it was possible they would blunder on to Yardley’s camp, and that it was advisable to avoid so as they might be mistaken for inian marauders and be fired upon. As it happened, they did approach a camp brightly illuminated by wood fires, and whilst endeavouring to work their way quictly rounl were shot at. Taking no notice of this incident, they continued on the way and delivered their message safely. Soon after the messengers left our camp I lay down and fell into a deep sleep. A little later the C.P.O. and the orderly officer heard a sharp burst of rifle-firing. Concluding that the Somali messengers had been mistaken for the enemy by Yardley’s men they decided not to awaken me. At three o'clock next morning they reported the incident and, although I was of the same opinion as they as to the origin of the shooting, 1 decided to run no unnecessary risks by moving the animals in my charge before daybreak, as I had intended. At six o'clock punctually the sun peeped up and we began to move forward. A little later a couple of scouts found a Soudanese soldier alone on the veldt and brought him to me. This man said he belonged to Yardley’s company. On the previous day, whilst the company was just about to form camp, it had been met by

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a large force of Abyssinians, many of whom were mounted, and in the battle that ensued he himself had been cut off. He had not been able to rejoin his comrades or to ascertain how the fight had gone, as the Abyssinians held the ground. Before us stood a rough kopje, so small and low that a man standing at the base could call to another on the summit. Under this we promptly parked our animals, and the ‘‘ Rebel” swiftly hauled his Hotch- kiss to the top. With the machine-guns on the flanks we now held an impregnable position. Before us, nearly a mile away, we could see a number of men moving about. These, the Soudanese soldier thought, might be Abyssinians, and the “ Rebel ’’ promptly trained his gun on them. Beyond these men we could see a cloud of dust which all of us were convinced was caused by a rapidly retiring body of mounted men.. If this were so then the “ Rebel” was aiming at Yardley’s party. However, until we were clear on this point no pre- cautions were relaxed. Scouts were sent out, and we watched them cautiously approaching the men in front. Presently they met, and three men returned with a note which read as follows :— “We got into something more than mild at 4 p.m. yesterday and fought a sanguinary show until 10 p.m. I saw over two hundred riflemen myself and my men say there were five hundred. Last night I sent my colour-sergeant off to get to any camp. He carried report to White. I wanted to hammer these ——- some more, but was too weak to hold the camp and take them on as well. They nearly had me yesterday. Rushed the camp twice before any zareba was made. Your letter was a great relief. Am giving your men some tea.” Soon after re- ceiving this letter, when I entered the writer’s camp and saw with my own eyes his splendid dead lying surrounded by heaps of the enemy, | realized that “there had indeed been fought a ‘ san- inary show.” ardley had evidently halted to form camp directly in the Path of an ap- Proaching body of marauders, e Abyssinians com- posing it promptly hurled them- selves with incre- dible ferocity on THE IVORY RAIDERS. 55 the small party of British askaris, seeking to wipe them off the earth. a The affair speedily developed into a hand- to-hand fight, as witness some of the dead lying locked in each other's arms. Men did not pause to reload their rifles, but hurled great stones at the askaris, who held them back at the bayonet’s point. At ten o’clock both sides, thoroughly exhausted, threw themselves on the ground where they had fought to rest. A little later my mounted messengers rode up and were fired on by the Abyssinians, passed round, and continued unsuspectingly on their way. Yardley’s messengers saw my camp, but not expecting it to be so near their own, mistook us for Abyssinians and gave us a wide berth. Doubtless the Abyssinians meant to renew the combat in the morning. Had they done so it might possibly have gone hardly with Yardley, who was running short of ammunition, if help had not been near, for the odds against him were five to one. However, the approach of our party decided the enemy to clear off. The dust we saw from the kopje was caused by a number of mounted men the Abyssinians had with them. Cleverly now pursued with the Somali company and the machine- guns, but could not overtake them before they crossed the border. Of the three native officers with Yardley’s company two were killed and one mortally wounded. The marauders, however, had been terribly mauled, and 1 doubt if a party of outlaws in Northern Turkana will ever again stand up to trained and disciplined troops, however inferior in numbers. White arrived whilst we were engaged in the sad task of burying the dead. Water was scarce and we were now hampered with The force homeward bound.

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56 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. many wounded. The political _ officers expressed themselves as well satisfied that nothing more could be done under the terrible drought conditions prevailing. We accordingly packed up and returned together to Lomogol. We are marching southwards along the lake’s shore, our noses pointed straight for home; but that means little, for in all probability many of the noses will be deflected off the home- ward course. Still, it is pleasant to be moving in the right direction. Cnests are thrown out, backs held straight, and hearts are full of joyful anticipation of well-earned leave to come. Some, of course, must stay behind, yet there is not a man amongst us but believes he will be one of the lucky ones. And now we leave the lake and come back again to Mueressi. Here the combined force will break up, and the parting must be celebrated by the best dinner we can_ provide. Fresh stores have arrived, and there is no dearth of those commodities that find their way into tins. It is a jolly company that sits down to partake of this meal, prepared over the camp fire round which squat the dusky servants. They, too, have formed friendships with one another and to-night will eat their last meal together. “Boy! Boy! Bah-ov!” The eternal cry of Africa rings out. ““Indiyo, Bwana!” “Dinner ready ?” “ Indiyo, Bwana!” “Serve it up.” Our camp tables have been placed side by side under a great mimos1 tree, so that they form one great dining-board with innumer- able legs through which we threal our own as we settle in our places. The tablecloths and napkins have been washed spotlessly clean; the cutlery and spoons shine in the moonlight—we feed like civilized men. The servants, who have donned their white kanzus, pass from diner to diner dealing out plates on which repose the “ first toastis,” dear to the African cook's heart—sardines on buttered bread decorated with snips of tinned beetroot and tinned green peas. Now comes the soup, a wonderful con- coction of mutton broth seasoned with soup squares and one or two tins of oxtail soup, followed bard by the entrée, concerning which we shall ask no questions. It bears some resemblance to a mince cutlet, and let us hope the hands of the cook that moulded it were clean. Roast partridges next, flanked with tinned peas and sauced with brown gravy. Afterthe puddings (you may choose “Eighteen commissioned officers of His Majesty’s Army from tinned fruit-pie or tapioca if you are a guest; you have no choice but tapioca if you are not) comes the ‘ second toasti ” (fried sardines on toast) and a bottle of port which the C.P.O watches narrowly as it passes from hand to hand—these aluminium mugs are not wine glasses, and the subalterns like port. But to-night they play the game and the bottle comes back to the C.P.O. with an ample tot in its heel. “Gentlemen! The King!” “ The King!) The King! God bless him!” The mugs clash on the table, the chairs are pulled back, the bors clear away, there is a hum of conversation. “Let’s have a sing-song! Let’s have a sing-song! Holland, where’s your banjo ?” The banjo is brought and trickles forth a ce aaMedie “> Sesae Semcon tastier.

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melody. Someone grabs a spoon to beat time upon a table, and that starts the ball rolling. Until long past midnight eighteen commissianed officers of His Majesty's Army solemnly beat empty tins, mugs, pieces of board, and sing to the strains of ‘ Dixie,” “ Coal Black Mammy,” ‘‘ Swanee River,’” and othes favourites. On this occasion we are letting ourselves go. To that grand old air—the King’s African Rifles’ march :-—‘‘ Men of Harlech,’”’ we troop behind the banjoist, singing at the solemnly beat empty tins, mugs, pieces of board, and sing.” tcp of our lungs. Then we form a circle and, joining hands, sing “ Should Auld Acquaint- ance Be Forgot?”’ . At last the banjo is put away. There is a subdued stir in the camp. The Soudan force is quietly falling in. “ Move to the right in fours ! 7 “Form fours!” (Thud! Thud !) “ Right!’ A startled bird flies screaming from the trees. “Quick march!’’ A rhythmic tramp of marching feet : the Soudan force is going home. I seek my couch. Camp-beds creak as other sleepy officers turn in for an hour's Test. But I lie gazing at the wonderful THE IVORY RAIDERS. 57 African sky. I listen to the “ rum’m'p vum'm'p”’ of the marching Soudanese soldiers, symbolical of Britain’s might, until it fades away. And the old witch-dcctor Lowolel still sits on Lorusia. What fairy-tales is he concocting in his fertile brain to placate his savage followers, I wonder ? year hence, should he live, he will be at it again— of that 1 am certain. Meanwhile his hands are full at home. The mail has brought me good news— leave to England. Late in the morning ten mules are ready: one for me, two for the packs, and seven for the native escort. “ Good-bye-e-e-e! Keep to the shade in the river bed!” calls my relief. “The track saves barely half an hour.” As the sun sets we top the edge of the steep escarpment. 1 feel chilly, and remember we have climbed three thousand feet from the wells below. 1 gaze back across a vast plain intersected by sharply defined, tree-lined water-courses—-the stage on which I and the men beside me have played for a time our allotted parts. We leave behind there two years of lie. We carry away nothing but memories —the sharp scream that startled the night as the spear went home, the fight at the pass from where—a flash of blue through the rocks— we first glimpsed Lake Rudolf. There are others, but those we will try to forget. The dying sun blazes across the sky, and soon the darkness falls. The full moon peeps up. “Ride on!” And now, bathed in silver light, Mount Moroto towers above us. “Halt for the night!” Cheery camp- fires spring up. 1 stretch full-length on Mother Earth, and my thoughts turn to the leave that lies ahead. The Uganda Rail- way is only six days’ journey south, England is not so ver; far away—just four weeks. Meanwhile that hot soup the orderly is pouring into my plate smells very appetizing to a hungry man. THE END.

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KNOCK-OUT gTHe VM. Methle ILLUSTRATED BY oY H.M BROCK Judkins and Bunney were the bullies of the battalion, and always causing trouble; but they were very careful not to fall foul of one another. The Adjutant and the RS.M. for the good of the regiment, concocted a little scheme to bring about their undoing—a scheme which, owing to an entirely unforeseen event, worked out amazingly well. “The narrative is true,” writes the Author, “and is vouched for by an officer who was present, but I have been asked to suppress the name of the unit concerned.” -ST! Don’t let them see you, sir!” The Regimental Sergeant- Major made a tense gesture and the Adjutant subsided into his office chair, whilst the other reconnoitred cautiously, with one eye, round the angle of the window. “If they catch a glimpse of either of us, it may frighten them off,” he whispered. “‘ And that’s the last thing we want.” “What are they doing now?” Adjutant inquired. “ Walking round each other snarling, like a couple of terriers. And the other chaps are watching ’em. My word, they look an ugly pair of customers, too!” “* What's the trouble ? ” “ As far as 1 can make out, Bunney trod on the tail of Judkins’s dog and didn't beg its pardon. Anyhow, as long as there ts a row, sir, it doesn’t matter what makes it. 1 only hope it comes to a fight, and it won’t be me who will raise a finger to stop it.” But the Sergeant-Major’s wish was not to be gratified. A few minutes later he gave an exasperated exclamation. “Ah, look at that, sir! If the beggars haven’t funked it at the last minute!” The Adjutant rose and surveyed the hot dustiness of the barrack square. A little knot of soldiers was gathered in a streak of shade, watching, as though fascinated, the slow and stately exodus of two others. One huge, loosely-built figure, red-headed and red-faced, was slouching off to the tight ; in a diametrically opposite direction departed another man, equally big, with a black-browed, lowering face. They disappeared, and the Sergeant-Major brought his fist hard down upon the window- sill in exasperation. “ That’s what's happened again and again, sir!’ he exclaimed. “ They get right to the edge of a thundering row, but they pull up before they fall over.” “ They're afraid of each other, I suppose,” the Adjutant said, meditatively. “That's it, sir. They’re so equally matched in size and strength that they don't know which would win—and neither of ‘em the will fight without knowing. I've often noticed bullies are like that; and if ever there was a pair of bullies it’s Judkins and Bunney!” “ There's no doubt about it, most of the trouble in the battalion comes from those two, Sergeant-Major—and_ there's been rather more trouble than is wholesome lately.” ‘ That's true, the Sergeant- Major agreed. “ Judkins fairly terrorizes ‘A’ Company, and Bunney does the same for ‘B.’ Company. Both of ‘em need a thorough good thrashing—but who's to give it? There’s not another fellow in the regi- ment big enough, or with pluck enough, they've succeeded in knocking all the spirit out of the lads.” “It comes to this, then ’—the Adjutant summed up the matter judicially, leaning back in his chair—‘' the only man who could lick Bunney is Judkins, and the only man who could lick Judkins is Bunney. " “ That's it, sir! And they won’t ! Heaven knows I've given them rope enough to hang each other. I've winked at things a hundred times that 1 oughtn't, and shut my eyes a hundred times more. to try to make ‘em said the Sergeant-Major bitterly. “ They’ ve had fighting chances again and again, but the beggars don’t want them. They'll scrap with any man in the battalion except one another. Even when they're drunk they never get beyond back-chat !”’ “Well, then, what’s to be done ?’’ The Adjutant surveyed his-subordinate officer in the sublime confidence that he would find a way out of the difficulty. “Ab, that’s asking something, sir.” “Of course, we could get rid of the beggars. “Td rather settle it in the family, as it were, if it is in any way possible, sir,” the Sergeant-Major said firmly. “ And I believe that the only way is to make them fight.” “ But you've just been saying “1 mean officrally, sir, Let's get up a pukka boxing-match between Bunney and Judkins, str. That’s the idea!” “But will they fight?” the Adjutant asked doubtfully,

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“If we make it worth their while by offering a really good prize, | think 1 can work it,” replied the Sergeant-Major con- fidently. “ Phey're both mad keen on money ; always bullying it out of the other men. Yes; I think it can be managed, sir, and a thundering good fight is our only chance of peace. When one of those two has given best to the other, we may be able to go ahead a bit.” “Except that the one who is top-dog may be more of a nuisance than ever. They can't both be licked, unfortunately.” “That's true, unless someone could work a real, copper-bottomed miracle,” replied e sono = bau, the Sergeant-Major. “ Anyhow, one bully will be easier to tackle than two.” With that he departed optimistically, and his optimism was justified by results. Not that either Judkins or Bunney were at all keen on an organized boxing match, not that they leapt at the bait. But that bait was large enough and juicy enough to Overcome all their scruples in the end, and the big fight was duly arranged, under the immediate auspices of the Sergeant-Major, who carried out the preliminary skirmishing with tact and skill. The battalion simmered with suppressed excitement, and the betting on the com- batants was fierce and eager—especially THE KNOCK-OUT. — 5y amongst those who had felt, in their own sons, the weight of the fists of either Judking or Bunney, and betted in the light of that experience. The Adjutant and the Sergeant-Major had decided to make an event ox the fight. “They'll not have the face to pack out, if we do,” said the latter. “And it will certainly be worth seeing, if they once get well started. They can both fight—the scoundrels ! We'll have an Inter-Kegimental Loxing Competition, and Bunney and Judkins shall be the star turn.” aAlmosc any.hing can be made into an Ever, with a big x», at a small nill station “Each made a terrific lunge towards the other—a mighty left and right together in the same instant of time.” in India, where life is not, as a rule, of nearly so stirring and effervescent a nature as fiction would have us to believe. On the night of the boxing match, there- fore, an audience, both European and Indian, assembled in force, and the hall was crammed. The day had been unusually hot and oppressive, even for the place and the season, and the heat and oppressiveness seemed only to increase as the evening advanced. “It’s about as heavy and muggy as it can be, sir,” said the R.S.M., mopping his wet forehead and speaking to the Adjutant, who was one of the judges. ‘‘ And Bunney

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60 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and Judkins are muggy and heavy, too—a sulky pair of brutes! Now, I do like to see aman who enjoys a good fight |!” Indeed, as they faced each other in the ring, it cannot be said that either Bunney or Judkins showed any trace of the joy of battle. They glowered at each other sullenly from their respective corners, a fine, big pair of men, extraordinarily well-matched, to all appearance—Judkins as red as a fox and Bunney as black as a thunder-cloud, There had already been a series of rather tame and uneventful combats, mostly between novices and thirteenth-rate boxers. But the very tameness of the previous events had been skilfully stage-managed by the: Sergeant-Major to lead up to the Big Fight of the evening, and there was quite a buzz of interest as the judges, seconds, and other officials took their places, and the contest began. It was not exactly scientific boxing, but the combatants put plenty of force into it, each in his own way. From the first, it was easy to see that Judkins had a wonderful right and Bunney a magnificent left. This evened matters, so that there did not seem to be anything to choose between them, and the betting grew hotter and hotter—as hot as the evening, which is saying a lot. ““My word—it’s the father and mother of a fight, now that we have got them at each other’s throats!’ the Sergeant-Major mur- mured, with a glow of honest triumph; and he was right. It was a fight. For five rounds it was all jolting, close- range fighting and counters. After the second round, Judkins was bleeding from a cut over the left eye, and Bunney from one on the right, and that seemed to rouse them from their sulkiness, for they lost their heavy air, and looked more ‘like men—or devils. Hotter and hotter grew the atmosphere ; it was so stifling that the paraffin lamps flickered sideways, as though a solid hand was pressing them over. But the fighting was now so hot and so close that everything else was forgotten. The combatants were sledge-hammering away, with heavy, dull thuds, now and then, There was scarcely another sound, save for the scuftling and stamping of their feet in the sawdust, and their snorting breath. Several knock-down blows were given and taken on either side, but the men were always up before time was counted against them. More and more tense grew the excitement. And then came the end of the fight—so suddenly that afterwards not a soul was able to describe exactly how it came. There had been a kind of pause, a snatched breathing-space, whilst Judkins and Bunney glared at each other, swaying on their feet. Then each made a terrific lunge towards the other—a mighty left and right together in the same instant of time. A thud followed. It is of little use to try to describe the violence of that impact, although the attempt must be made, at the risk of inevitable unbelief. It seemed as though that double blow shook the very foundations of the earth. The shock of it sent the R.S.M. flying back- wards oft his stool, to lie sprawling and half- stunned, his mouth full of the dust which choked the air. After a few moments he managed to sit up, unsteadily. There was a taste and smell in his mouth and nostrils as if he had been buried alive—of the earth, earthy. The Sergeant-Major looked round, dazed and bewildered, upon a scene of amazing chaos, only seen dimly as- yet through the dust-laden air. The paraffin lamps were swinging so vio- lently that several of them had gone out, and the members of the audience seemed to be piled in cursing, heaving heaps. The plat- form had partly collapsed, and the judges had been sent sprawling; the Adjutant was just picking himself up, with a big lump on his forehead and a cut on his lip. As for Judkins and Bunney, they lay as flat and lifeless as two corpses, both with all the breath driven from their bodies by the same knock-out blow. For Judkins’s stupendous right and Bunney’s mighty left had got homesimultaneously—with the force of the -miracle which the Sergeant-Major had inadvertently prophesied behind the blows.* “You can't reckon with earthquakes,” said the Sergeant-Major pensively, as he studied the Adjutant’s copy of a news- paper, which reported extensive “ seismic disturbances ’’ at certain hill stations in the neighbourhood of Simla. ‘‘ I never remember such a thing before up here. No; we couldn’t count on the earth taking a hand in the fight, as it were, and giving us all a knock- out. But it was lucky, sir—very lucky.” “How do you mean, Sergeant-Major ? ” the Adjutant asked irritably, for his lip and forehead were still stiff and painful. “ Why, Bunney and Judkins area muddle- headed pair, sir, and they were both knocked silly. They'll never be able to grasp what happened exactly. Each of ’em will always believe that he was knocked out of time by the other, and it’s just the lesson they wanted. They'll be the better men for it, believe me, sir. Yes, that earthquake was all for the good of the Regiment.” * Major J. T. Gorman writes: “I can vouch for the truth, of the events described. ‘The incident took place in 1903, and [ was present when the match was interrupted by the earthquake."

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61 Short Stories A SOUTH AFRICAN BUSHRANGER. JOAN By DENNIS. Mlustrated by FRED HOLMES. An exciting story of a policeman who turned highwayman, and the merry dance he led the authorities. “I lived for many years in Filabusi,” writes the Authoress, “and most Rhodesians know the history of the man I have called ‘Mahon.’” ERENCE MAHON, a trooper in the British South Africa Police, was stationed at Filabusi, at that time an important camp some sixty miles from Bulawayo and twenty-one miles from the railway station of Balla- Balla. He was a happy-go-lucky young Irishman, a smart and plucky policeman, but he suffered from a fatal drawback: he could not brook discipline. One bright summer morning the little post-cart, with its team of six mules, came rattling along the dusty road on its way from Filabusi and the neighbouring mines to Balla-Balla. The driver, a middle-aged native, was calling cheerily to his beloved “ little horses with the long ears”; his assistant, a young Matabele boy, was lolling beside him half asleep. One of the two passengers was the secretary of the Killarney mine, and he had with him two gold bricks which he was to deposit in the bank in Bulawayo. Presently the team swung round a corner and slowed down preparatory to crossing a narrow drift which cut the road at this point. As the cart rounded the bend two men with levelled revolvers sprang out from behind a thick bush which grew on one side of the road. The foremost, who was no other than Trooper Mahon, fired at the leading mules, killing one of them instantly and halting the team. The two men then approached the coach, calling upon the occupants to throw up their hands. The mine secretary, who had jumped to the ground directly the first man fired, turned tail and fled up an adjoining kopje, leaving the precious bricks behind. The other passenger, less fortunate, remained where he was, and it was afterwards rumoured that the shock of the hold-up mentally unbalanced him. The luckless driver begged for his life, much to the amusement of the bandits, who, ignoring him utterly, contented them- selves with seizing the gold bricks, with which they speedily disappeared. Meanwhile the secretary, observing the departure of the bandits, returned to the coach, where the terrified driver was busily engaged in adapting the harness to the remaining three mules. When this task had been accomplished he drove post- haste into Balla-Balla, some thirteen miles from the scene of the robbery, and at once gave the alarm. A hue-and-cry was immediately raised and the whole country was scoured for the renegade policeman, his late comrades being eager to avenge the slur cast on the good name of their corps. One of the gold bricks was found near the scene of the robbery, but for many months nothing was heard of Terence Mahon and his companion, whose identity was still unknown. At last it was discovered that directly after the hold-up Mahon had fled to a neigh- bouring British Colony, where he had actually enlisted in the C.I.D. of one of the principal towns ! But, alas! once more he found the bonds of discipline irksome and silently departed, leaving no trace of his whereabouts. Some time later the police at Livingstone

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62 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE were informed that the fugitive Mahon had returned to Rhodesia, and was actually in the neighbourhood. The chase was promptly renewed, but once again the outlaw outwitted his pursuers. Then, one day, a mounted man rode up to the store of a Jewish trader, situated to the north of the Zambesi river. He dismounted and, having tethered his horse to a tree outside, entered the store. The little Jew in charge appeared startled, but was relieved when the newcomer announced himself as a plain-clothes detec- tive in search of the now-notorious Mahon. The Jew confessed that at first he had feared the stranger was the outlaw himself. He had not slept well, he said, since he had heard that Mahon was in the neighbourhood, and he begged the policeman to stay with him for a few days until the owner of the store arrived to collect the three months’ takings, which were at present in the safe. To this proposition the detective, who was a pleasant, well-spoken fellow, con- sented, and he remained at the store for three days. The owner was expected on the morrow, but the policeman’s duty made it imperative for him to proceed on his way without further delay. Before leaving he gave the Jew a detailed descrip- tion of Mahon, impressing upon him that the fugitive was a man of guile and would undoubtedly try to bluff him. Concealing a knob-kerrie behind the counter of the store, he advised his interested auditor to pretend to be misled by Mahon, “When he had completed his task he suggested that | the Jew should try to break loose.” and to await his opportunity to stun him with the club. He was then to tie him up securely in a chair and send for the police. “ But, remember, he is a slippery devil,” warned the detective, ‘‘so be sure to tie him up tightly. The little Jew shrugged his shoulders hopelessly. What did he know about tying a man in a chair? he asked. He had heard of men who could get free from chains. Perhaps this rogue of a Mahon was clever in that way. The detective i ughed scornfully. “ I'll bet he wouldn't get loose if J tied him up,”” he said. ‘‘ There's a trick about it. Look here, suppose I show you how to do it? It’s very easy.” : The little Jew acquiesced eagerly. ‘' Right- oh,” said the detective, taking a coil of rope from a shelf. ‘‘ This chair will do. Your man is stunned, so it’s easy. Sit down in the chair. That's right. Now you put his arms so, behind the back of the chair, and tie them up like this. Now, if he tries to get his arms free, he can quite easily break them.” The detective then proceeded to truss the trader up securely.

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“There, now,” he said, standing up to admire his handiwork. “ There’s only one thing. That bit of rope over his shoulder is an important part of the tying-up, and he may be able to reach it with his teeth. To prevent that you must gag him. That's easy, too.” The detective went on to demonstrate how it was done, and when he had com- pleted his task he suggested that the Jew should try to break loose. All the struggles of the little shopkeeper were in vain, and a pleased expression shone in his eyes. He felt himself a match for the outlaw. Suddenly the detective burst out laughing and, bowing low, said ironically :— “Allow me to present Mr. Terence Mahon, Mr. X- ! Now I’H trouble you for your keys.” The Jew, securely trussed and gagged, could do nothing but stare in affright at the pseudo-detective as the latter calmly abstracted the safe key from his victim’s pocket and proceeded to empty the safe. he rascal, bidding his host a cheerful farewell, rode away, leaving the Jew in his uncomfortable plight until his native servant released him the next morning. Many other robberies are credited to Mahon and at least one foolhardy escapade. The police at Livingstone are said to have received a note one day stating that the writer knew where Mahon was hiding, SHORT STORIES. 63 and that if a few troopers would meet him at a certain spot, he would assist them to capture him. A small detachment went to the appointed place and there found a man who did not in the least resemble the official description of Mahon. He led them to a drift in a wide, swiftly-flowing river, and assured them that Mahon had crossed shortly before their arrival at the rendezvous. Rather foolishly, the policemen allowed their guide to fall behind while they boldly plunged into the river and swam their horses across. When they were safely on the other side they turned to look for the stranger, to find that he was still on the opposite bank. He threw back his head, laughed long and loud ;_ then, shouting that they had missed their quarry again, he dug his spurs into his horse and galloped off post-haste. Mahon was never caught, and was not again heard of after the outbreak of the Great War. Perhaps—who knows ?—he enlisted and returned to Europe to take a gallant part in the fight for freedom and right. Maybe he found a legitimate outlet for his insatiable love of excitement in the Great Adventure. Anyway, he has never been heard of since, and in case he atoned in this way, and perhaps made the supreme sacrifice, 1 have suppressed his real name, although most Khodesians know it. A SAILOR OUT BACK: To.d by JOHN MANNING, and set down by CAPTAIN W. BROOKE. Ilustrated by L. R. BRIGHTWELL. Seeking a change of occupation, a sailor got a job on an up-country farm in Australia. This amusing story describes his first day’s experiences. in quest of a berth; yet 1, John Manning, after eight years of sea life, having left my ship at Melbourne, made up my mind that by way of a change I would see something of life ‘‘ out back.” T took train for Willanga, a township near the head-waters of the River Murray. Bridge-building was in progress in that district, and I felt assured of finding a job of sorts. A long slow journey brought me to Willanga early in the morning. On HE interior of Australia may seem a strange place for a sailor to visit disembarking from the train, I ascertained that Toombarra Crossing, where the bridge was in course of construction, lay forty miles to the northward. 1 also learnt that a coach bound for my destination would pass a point on the Murray called White Bluff during that afternoon. Setting out afoot, I left the township and followed a rough track through the scrub for several miles, until at length 1 came to White Bluff, a curious-looking promontory with tall gum trees growing on its summit, and the stecl-grey waters of the Murray

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64 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. washing its chalky base. My road from this point lay beside the river bank; but as the day was hot, I resolved to rest beneath the shady trees and wait for the Toombarra coach. S After a time I heard the creak of slowly approaching wheels, and presently, round a bend of the bush road, a bullock wagon crawled into view. The vehicle was loaded with sawn timber, and as it creaked up abreast of where I sat, the driver halted his team, and propping himself against the near front wheel, wiped the perspiration from his sun-baked visage. - “ Hello, mate,”’ said he, “ got a match on yer?" ‘‘Yes, here you are,” I replied, and produced a box. The newcomer jerked him- self into a perpendicular position, and, leisurely crossing the road, took the matches and lighted his pipe. ‘““What time does the Toombarra coach pass here?" I asked. “Any time ‘tween now an’ midnight,” replied the team-driver; “ but I say, mate, you ain’t goin’ there, are yer?” “Yes; why not?” . “Well, there ain’t nothin’ doin’ at the bridge. The men are on strike, an’ the contractor’s lettin’ the job stand till next season.” “Hard luck,’”’ I exclaimed, rather taken aback. The teamster, who was a tall, angular young fellow, seated himself beside me on the stump of a tree, while his sleepy-looking bullocks took a standing doze in the roadway. “Tf you want a job,” he went on, “ you'd better see my boss. There's too much work on his selection for me an’ him. I told him last night that he ought to get another hand.” ‘Where's his farm, or selection as you call it?’ 1 queried. “ Over there, behind that patch of scrub,” replied the teamster, indicating the position by a jerk of his head. ‘ I shouldn’t wonder if the old beggar’s up on the roof, squinting round to see if I’m takin’ a rest. Jem Dunn is a suspicious old fellow.” It occurred to me that Farmer Dunn had solid grounds for suspecting his bullock driver of loitering, but I passed no remark, and my companion became quite communi- ative. He told me that his name was Spreader—Bill Spreader. He also informed me that he had only worked on Dunn’s selection for three weeks. House-painting was his trade, but that sort of work was slack in the towns, so there he was, on a selection. Furthermore, he com- plained that farm life had its drawbacks. “ Rakin’ hay an’ chasin’ cows ain’t much of a game,” he grumbled, “ an’ driving them blanky bullocks spoils a bloke’s temper. They ain’t like ’orses, because ‘orses ’as got sense ; but a bullock’s just contrary. But come along, mate,’’ he added ; ‘‘ come along an’ ['ll introduce you to my boss.” “ All right,” said I, “a job on a farm will suit me for a bit.” Mr. Spreaderroused hissomnolent bullocks, and we followed the track to Farmer Dunn's residence. Patches of yellow corn and clusters of fruit-trees amid the undulating bush and grass-lands now gave evidence of a farm- house in the vicinity, and on topping a rise we came in sight of the homestead. A sun- dried man of fifty was at work nailing up paddock rails. This was Dunn the selector. “ Hello, Spreader! ’Ad a good sleep on the road, eh ? "’ he inquired sarcastically. “There ain't no satisfyin’ you,” retorted Spreader, in an aggrieved tone; ‘I nearly busted the valves of me ’eart stackin’ them ‘eavy planks on the wagon. No matter how I work, you’re bound to sling off at me.” Farmer Dunn ignored his henchman’s remarks, and glanced at me. ““He’s looking for a job,” Spreader. “You ain’t prayin’ that you won’t find one, are you? "’ queried the selector, address- me, whereupon [ replied hotly that I wasn’t atramp. I added that Australia was a free country, and if Dunn didn’t need my services, he had only to say so. “You needn’t get huffy,”” answered Dunn, hastily. ‘‘ There’s no offence meant. But I want a man who ain’t afraid of work.” After some bargaining, it was agreed that I should start work at once, and receive one pound per week with board and lodging. My first job was to help unload the wagon. Later on all three of us had supper together. Dunn was a bachelor, the cooking and house- work being done by a Chinaman. After the meal we sat awhile and smoked. “We'll start work at four in the mornin’,”” remarked Dunn; ‘‘ I’m goin’ to brand them calves.” When Spreader and I had retired to our bedroom, I remarked that a four a.ni. start meant a long day. “ Yes,"’ replied Bill, ‘‘ the boss is an early bird, but he ain't a bad sort at bottom. There’s plenty to eat at meal times, an’ we don't alw: tart so early. Me an’ the boss often growl at one another, but we don’t bear malice.” Spreader and 1 were sleeping soundly when Dunn called us, and we awoke to a dark, chilly morning. Notwithstanding the early hour the boss seemed quite energetic. While dressing I looked through the window and saw him moving briskly about the farm- yard with a lantern. ‘ Come along an’ get to work,” said he, when we appeared. “‘ Go down to the paddock an’ get them two black calves with white spots.”” Spreader took a cow-rope, and together we groped our way to the cattle paddock. It was very dark, and I fell over the shafts of a cart. explained

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“To blazes with this farm work!" I exclaimed, as I gathered myself up. “Tt ain't much of a job,’ assented Spreader; ‘‘ but here’s the fence.”” We climbed over among the cattle. Through the gloom I could dimly see about a dozen animals lying on the grass. “ How does the old fool think we're goin’ to find spotted calves grumbled Spreader . “ Strike a match,” I suggested. in the dark?” “Brolga got up—on his hind legs—while I clung to his mane with tenacity.” “ Right-o,” he answered, as he gave his match-box a preliminary rattle. “ They're a bit damp,” he continued, as he scratched for a light. ‘“‘I say, mate! You said last night you'd been a_ sailor ’’—scratch— “wouldn't you sooner ’’—scratch—‘‘ be lyin’ rocked in the cradle of the deep than searching for cows with matches in the ce bush ? ’’—scratch—‘‘ Hi! Whoa oo a An instant later, Spreader cannoned into Vou. Lv.—8. SHORT STORIES. 65 me with force sufficient to send me reeling against the fence. One of his hot, sizzling match-heads had flown off and alighted on a recumbent bullock; and had [ not been in the way my unfortunate com- panion would have been kicked over the slip rails. Spreader’s body was hard and angular, and so was the fence-post with which I came in violent contact, but I was not seriously hurt, and _ hastily climbed out of the paddock. re IT escaped just in time. The snorts' and plunges of the af- frightedanimalstartled the others, and pre- sently the whole mob were careering round the paddock like mad creatures. Poor Spreader, apparently, had been less fortu- nate than myself, and presently I heard him give an agonized yell. “Spreader!” I shouted. “‘ Where are you?” From the darkness came Spreader’s an- swering voice in a flood of lurid lan- guage, which proved to my relief that he was very much alive. “Where are you?” I asked again. “I'm on the roof— the roof of the cow- shed.” “How in thunder did you get up there?”’ “Dunno quite,’’ answered Spreader; ‘I remember tryin’ to climb the waterspout, but one of them bloomin’ cows must have given me a 'elp- ing prod, because 1 hit the roof in a ‘eap.”” Hearing the com- motion, Dunn now ap- peared with his lantern. When he learned what had happened, he waxed grimly facetious. “T'll bet you never moved so quick afore in all yer life,’’ said he to Spreader. “Don’t try to be funny,” retorted the elevated one. ‘ You won't sce no joke if I sue you for damages.” By this time the cattle had quieted down again; so, bruised and shaken, but with no bones broken, Bill Spreader came off the roof. Then, under Dunn's supervision, we caught the calves and branded them. When

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66 THE this job was finished, the sun was well up, and we went to breakfast. After our meal the farmer told me to go to the stable and bridle up his two horses. Now I only possessed a very slight knowledge of horses, and bare-back riding being a bit out of my line, it was not without mis- givings that I obeyed Dunn's instructions to mount a big, raw-boned animal called “ Brolga.” ** You take old Brolga an’ come along with me,” said he. Then, having clambered on to our barebacked steeds, we set forth together. The selector cantered briskly forward, evi- dently assuming that I would follow at the same pace. I endeavoured to do so by using the same methods as those employed by the boss. With the slack of the reins I whacked my horse on the neck. ‘‘ Tck! Get up,” said 1. Brolga got up—on his hind legs—while I clung to his mane with tenacity; and Spreader, who was at work close by, broke into loud and raucous laughter. “Ha, ha! Chuck the main deck over- board, Capting!’’ he roared. ‘ Leggo the anchor. Ha! Ha! Haw!” : Brolga dropped to an even keel again, and stood snorting. While still clinging to the mane, I remarked tartly that if Mr. Spreader would close his unhandsome mouth and hide himself behind a tree, I might be able to get my horse past him. The selector now looked back, and seeing that I was in difficulties, he wheeled his horse and returned, “What ver been doin’ to him?” he demanded. “T’'ve done nothing; but he’s been dancing on his hind legs like a performing bear, and now he won't move.” “You must have belted him across the neck,” said Dunn, who seemed well aware of Brolga’s failings. ‘‘ He won't stand that. Bang him in the ribs with your heels, an’ he'll go all right.” I obeyed instructions, and Brolga started down the track at a gallop. Dunn, who was a good horseman, rode beside me, which gave me confidence; so I let Brolga go at full speed, and managed somehow to stick on. Despite his preliminary capers, the old horse was not fond of hurried movement, and he soon slowed to an easy canter. On reaching a clearing not far from the river Dunn called to me to stop. We alighted near a piece of ground which the sclector called his fruit-patch, where he set me to the work of irrigation, and then departed. The water was pumped from a well; then it flowed to the farther parts of the orchard along a line of portable wooden troughs. Brolga, who quite understood his duties, was harnessed to the end of a thirty-foot pole, to the other end of which cog-wheels and cranks were fitted, and by walking in a circle the horse worked the pump. WIDE WORLD MAGAZID E. It might be considered that I had merely to stroll about like a circus ring-master, and watch the horse go round, but such was not the case. I was kept busy shifting the heavy troughs, so that all parts of the fruit patch should be watered. Sometimes, while I was thus engaged, Brolga would stop. 1 would shout at him and hurl clods of earth, but not one step would he move until I approached within close firing-range. Then the sagacious animal would resume his labours. Evidently he was an old hand at the game. At noon I returned to the homestead for dinner. As we took our meal Dunn remarked that meat for dinner every day didn’t agree with his stomach, and that Spreader would help me to finish my job in the fruit-patch so that we could catch some Murray River cod by way of a change of dict. He inquired, furthermore, if 1 knew how to use a fishing bomb. “Yes,” 1 replied. “I’ve often seen fish stunned and caught that way.” “All right,” said Dunn; “I've a fishin’ bomb in my bedroom, but [ don’t care about usin’ it meself. I'll bring it down to the river about four o'clock. If there’s any fish about you can light the fuse, and throw the bomb ; then me an’ Spreader will wade in with landin’ nets to pick up the fish.” With Spreader’s assistance the irrigation job was soon finished, and we proceeded to the river-bank, where we sat and smoked while awaiting the coming of the boss. Several goats were browsing in the vicinity, and one of these—a big, horned he-goat— wandered in our direction, “| don't like that beggar,” remarked Spreader, as he pointed at the goat. “What's wrong with him? ” I inquired casually. “Oh, plenty. To begin with, he’s a bit of an ostrich. He'll swallow anything he can find, from a plug of tobacco to a door key. Last week I washed me shirt an’ laid it on the grass to dry; then along comes Mister Goat an’ eats it, buttons an’ all. He did the same the week afore with a shirt belongin’ to the boss. That blessed goat takes in washin’ like a steam laundry. “ He’s sly an’ bad-tempered, too,” con- tinued Spreader. ‘‘ He won't never go for you if you face him ; but when he sees a chance of catchin’ a fellow on the blind side, he'll do it. A while back our Chinese cook was scrubbin’ the kitchen doorstep, when that goat butted him inter his own dough- trough. The Chink got up covered with flour an’ whacked 'im with a broom-handle ; but I don’t suppose the whackin’ altered his disposition.” Farmer Dunn now appeared on the scene, and carefully handed me a fish-bomb. As 1 proceeded to examine the arrangement of the time-fuse, Dunn and Spreader edged cautiously away.

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“Don’t be scared,” I said; ‘it won’t go off till I light the fuse.” “Maybe not,’ answered Spreader doubt- fully, ‘‘ but I ain’t takin’ no chances; not for all the fish in the Murray, I ain’t.” Then, as a tipple on the surface _ of the rivet be- tokened the presence es “ ing shoa! ae fish, the cautious pair edged off an- other step or two. The shoal of fish came nearer, and I stooped to light the fuse. Just at that identical mo- ment the goat scam- pered up be- ind and charged me full-tilt, send- ing me slith- ering down the bank. Of course, I dropped the Bomb ¢ had not grab- bed the stem of a supple- jack, I should have slid feet first into the ye I gath- ered myself up I saw Spreader and the boss sprinting away along the ‘bank as if trainin for the half.mile record. Then I glanced found for the lighted bomb. It had vanished, and that infernal goat was close beside me, munching vigorously. A glance showed me that he was trying to eat the explosive ! y word! I made a quick jump for safety! There are thrilling moments in the lives of many people. I experienced two as I sprang to get behind the trunk of a giant gum tree—a momentary thrill of hope that I'd reach it, a momentary thrill of fear that 1 wouldn’t. SHORT STORIES. 67 Then came a crashing explosion. I felt myself describing a parabola in the air, and then all was blank. When I came to, Dunn was splashing my Tace with a hatful of river water. ““No bones broken, Jack?” he queried. “Don’t think so,” 1 answered, as he helped me to a sitting position. : “That’s good,” said the selector. “ Spreader’s gone for the brandy-flask. Ah, here he comes. Take fa I or a good nip, which re- vived me consid'er- ably. Except that my neck felt as if it had been broken and. badly mended, I was by this time _ fairly normal. “I'm glad you ain't broken up, mate,” re- marked Spreader; “an’ I’m glad that goat’s _fin- ished. ‘He won't eat no more shirts!”’ I glanced at the spot where the explosion had occurred, but failed to see any sign of the carcass. “‘ Most of him was blown into the river,” explained Spreader; ‘‘ but his horns is up that gum tree, an’ I reckon ‘is ‘oofs might be somewhere in the ’ome paddock.” Up-country life in Australia is often dull and monotonous; but as I returned to the homestead, still feeling somewhat shaky, | reflected that my first day on Dunn's selection had been the reverse of uneventful. “The goat charged me full-tilt, sending me slithering down the bank.”

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08 pent the — Came ILLUSTRATED BY Ww. C.NICOLSON “This story,” writes the Author, “deals with some incidents which occurred last summer, when a big bush fire swept the Matawai district of New Zealand. The narrative is strictly true in detail,-but the names of the people concerned have been altered.” quite fair to Jack, Doris. You’ve never given him a chance to make an explanation, and I’m sure he cares for you very deeply.” “Don’t be absurd, mother! There’s only one explanation when a man associates with a fellow like ‘Kid’ Tarne. You know the old saying—‘ birds of a feather.’ ” ‘Well, dear, I suppose you know your own business best, but Jack Britten seems so straight and honest that I can’t believe he really likes a young rascal like Kid Tarne.” “‘ He’s never volunteered any information, then—and I hale him. I’m never going to speak to him again!” Doris Wendle and her mother were taking afternoon tea on the veranda of their little homestead at Mangaka, New Zealand, and the talk had tured to Jack Britten, their neighbour, who lived at Moturoa, some seven miles away. Mangaka itself is rather a charming little spot, and on this midsummer afternoon, early in January, the scene was pleasant in the extreme. A few hundred yards away from the house ran the Motu river, its blue waters tumbling and splashing over the boulders on their way to the great Pacific. Farther up the valley could be seen the white cascade of the Motu Falls, which had been harnessed to provide power for the growing needs of the fertile district. The house itself faced away from the river towards the Rakaroa hills, which formed a pretty picture, browned by the summer sun but dotted here and there with patches of greener bush. To the right of the house, looking towards Motu and the Waioeka mountain, the view was even more magnifi- cent, range upon range of bush-covered hills stretching away to the horizon. The steepness of the hills beyond Mangaka had deterred the pioneers from felling the bush and putting the ground to practical I MUST say 1 don’t think you have been ‘use, and therefore Mangaka itself was practically the last outpost of the clearcd country. The hills behind the house and on the opposite side of the Motu river had been partially cleared, but the gaunt trunks of many giant trees were still scattered on the hillsides, though they had been killed when the first fire burnt the lighter bush. Moturoa, the station where Jack Britten lived, was about seven miles away as the crow flics, but separated from Mangaka by two distinct ranges of fairly steep hills. Some of the rough ground was utilized for grazing sheep, but the bulk of the land in the vicinity was used for dairying, and there were hundreds of cows at the various farms along the fertile valley. The milk was carted by road to Matawai, a little village on Poverty Bay, near the centre of the North Island, whence it was sent on by rail. The Mangaka homestead was the last place served by the winding road that led to Matawai. The Wendle farm, consisting of some eight hundred acres, had been taken up seven years before, but as yet only four hundred acres of bush had been felled and burnt, the remainder of the property being still covered with heavy rimu forest. Only a few years previously the whole countryside had been covered with dense forest. The smaller trees had been cut down and burnt and the fire, carrying all before it, had killed the remaining standing trees, leaving the hills dotted with dead giants. Many of the heavicr trees had not been completely burnt and in many places the ground was littered with their fallen trunks. ‘Lhe months of November and December, 1923, were two of the hottest ever experienced in the Matawai district, and it is therefore not surprising that at the time this story opens—early in January, 1924—the only green left in the landscape was the forest behind Mangaka, which spread away towards the confines of the wild and unbrokenUrewera country. The long and luscious grasses for

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which the valley is noted had long since dried up, and had it not been for the fact that the river ran through the properties the cattle would have been very short of water. As it was, there was plenty of dry grass, and as most of the settlers had planted small areas of alfalfa the animals were still in good condition. “No, ll never speak to him again,” tepeated Doris, vehemently. ‘‘ And now, for goodness’ sake, mother, let’s talk of some- thing more interesting.” Gradually the long summer afternoon drew to a close and the bush-clad hills became less and less distinct, until at last the blood-red sun sank behind the distant ridge and night fell with almost tropic suddenness. Various small tasks around the farm occupied the attention of Doris and her mother till close on eight o’clock and then, with Joe Black, the station hand, they sat down to supper. Mr. Wendie was away in Auckland on business and was not expected back for several days. A little while later the three said good-night, Joe retiring to his whare behind the house, while Doris and her mother went to bed. As was her wont, Doris woke early the next morning, and some sixth sense, warning her of something unusual, sent her to the window. Away in the distance behind the Rakaroa hills a dull, red glow was visible. “Oh, mother, do come and look at the hills,” she called out. | Mrs. Wendle joined her at the window. “They must be burning the bush out towards Tuparae,” she remarked. ‘‘ From the look of that reflection the fire is a long way off.” The two did not waste much time in speculating as to the probable location of the fire, which they took to be an ordinary “bum " lit for clearing purposes, but set to work upon their household duties. Towards ten o'clock Doris had occasion to go out to the garden in front of the house, and she Noticed, from the brightness of the reflec- tion, that the fire was apparently spreading. A fleeting thought as to the probable con- Sequence of a serious conflagration passed through her mind, but she brushed it aside. It was over twenty years since a really big bush fire had occurred in Poverty Bay, she told herself, and the present blaze was Probably many miles away. As the day advanced, however, it became evident that the fire was spreading rapidly. Away towards Motu, behind the dense bush of the hills, a dull glare was apparent, while to the south thick clouds of smoke could be seenrising. The air was frightfully oppressive; the summer sun, hotter than ever, blazed down as though determined to parch every Particle of green remaining on the earth, and hour by hour the increasing volumes of smoke made the conditions more unpleasant. Ere WHEN THE FIRE CAME. 69° long Doris was startled to see that another fire seemed to be in progress in the direction of Moturoa, and she began to feel appre- hensive regarding the safety of Jack Britten, for, despite her protestations, she was really very much in love with the good-looking young station-owner. Towards evening the three people at Mangaka held a council of war. Joe Black, the ‘‘rouseabout,’’ not long out from England, had little idea of Colonial condi- tions, and did not appreciate the dangers of the situation. Mrs. Wendle, though some- what nervous, recalled other occasions when big fires had occurred, but had not spread near Mangaka, and she came to the conclusion that there was no real necessity for flight. “ We should look awful cowards,” she said, “if we left home, went down to Matawai, and then found that the fires were not in the least dangerous.” “ Something tells me that we are in for a big fire,”’ said Doris, thoughtfully ; ‘ but as you say, mother, there’s no real danger yet. Let’s see what to-morrow brings forth and then, if the flames appear to be spreading, we can think about shifting. There's practically no wind, so it’s not likely that the fire will spread very rapidly.” The atmosphere that evening was well- nigh unbearable, and in an endeavour to get a little fresh air Mrs. Wendle and Doris sat out on the veranda. The scene that met their eyes here was a weird and wonder- ful one. The heavy pall of smoke that overhung the horizon was illuminated by the reflection of the flames. In places the colouring was light, but farther along the hill a deep, red glow was visible. Away to the north, behind the Waioeka mountain, an irregular line of colourshowed that the blaze was only just breaking out in that direction. The scintillating points of fire, visible practi- cally all round the horizon, made a display reminiscent of the wonders of the Aurora Australis. Listening intently they could hear a dull crackling sound, but as the night was very still they knew that the fire might still be a long way off, even though they could hear the noise of its progress. Behind the houses, in the direction of Moturoa, a faint reflection showed that a fire was also in progress in that locality, but this gave no cause for alarm, as in all probability it was a clearing fire started by one of the settlers. When the women went indoors again, Mrs. Wendle suggested to Doris that she should ring Jack Britten up at Moturoa and find out whether the fire was on his property. “No, mother, I won't,’”’ said Doris, who, truth to tell, was dying to do just that very thing. ‘If there’s anything wrong, Jack Britten can ring me/ And even then IL don’t know whether I shall have anything more to say to him,” she added, obstinately. When morning broke the two women dis- covered to their dismay that a howling gale

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7° THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. was raging outside. Loud and ominous crackling noises could be heard, and it was quite apparent that the oppressive heat was not in any way due to the sun. Every now and again a loud crash indicated the fall of some giant of the torest not very far away. Doris was almost atraid to look out of tne window ; that raging gale told her only too lainly what she might expect to see. Why dn’t they cleared out to Matawai the night before ? Just then Joe came in at the back door. “‘ Miss Wendle,”’ he called, excitedly, “ I’m afraid we're done for! The fire is raging on every side and we are completely cut off. Wherever you look there’s nothing but a seething mass of flame, and the smoke is so thick that it seems to blind you.” “What does it look like towards Moturoa ?”’ asked Doris, her thoughts in- stinctively going out to Jack Britten. “It's just as bad there as anywhere,’ replied Joc. ‘‘ You’ve only got to go out of the back door and listen, and every now and again you can hear the big trees falling all along the hills. Even down the valley fires are burning, so there's no possible chance of our getting out.” With Joe beside her Doris went out of the house. The sight which met her eyes was one that no pen could adequately describe. As far as she could see in practically every direction the hills were nothing but a roaring inferno of flame and smoke. What had only the night before been verdant bush was now nothing but a charred waste across which the all-consuming flames had swept. The wind, momentarily increasing in violence, raged ceaselessly up the valley, and the on- coming flames seemed to be sweeping to- “Hour by hour, while the trio watched helplessly, the conditions became worse. They were trapped—trapped iike rats.” wards them at breakneck speed. Over every- thing hung a heavy pall of smoke, choking and _ blinding. The view across the river and towards Moturoa was no better; all along the hills fires were visible at various points, and it was evident that flying cinders from the burning bush behind had started fresh out- breaks among the manv dead trees that were scattered in the paddocks. Therein lay a very real danger to all at Mangaka. How long would it be, Doris asked herself, before similar fires would be spcinging up near the homestead ? Hour by hour, while the trio watched helplessly, the conditions became worse, and Sa a aD aD

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Doris and her mother were beside them- selves with fear. They were trapped— trapped like rats; hemmed in on all sides by seething masses of flame which, fanned by the wind, were now roaring onwards across the dried grass towards the home- stead itself. The bills in front of the house were ablaze by now, and the valley echoed with the crashes of the falling monarchs of the bush. The smoke rolled down in thick clouds, obscuring everything but the onward sweeping flames, which presented a terrifying picture. = Towards ten o’clock Mrs. Wendle noticed to her horror that a fire had sprung up in the paddock near the milking shed, and soon WHEN THE FIRE CAME. 71 the shed itself was alight. There was no time to be lost if they wanted to save their lives—but whither could they turn? It was too late to make for Matawai; the road thither wound in towards the burning hills and there were numerous fires farther down the valley. Nor was there any possibility of getting across to Moturoa, for the con- flagration effectually cut off their escape in that direction. Every moment the sound of the falling trees was coming nearer and nearer, and the very hills seemed to rever- berate with the resounding crashes. - “ There's nothing we can do, mother,” said Doris, quietly. we've just got to die.’ “Fate is against us;

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72 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Not without making a fight for it!” cried Joe, who kad just come in again. “ [’ve been out to the river, and it’s not quite so bad down there. We might be able to dig ourselves in and wait till the fire burns itself out.” “It's a pretty forlorn hope, but it’s our only chance,” said Mrs. Wendle. “ Let’s get some food together and make the attempt.” When the two women arrived at the river they found that Joe had already been at work, and had begun the construction of a rough dug-out in the bank. Once this was completed the worst of the fire would sweep Tight across the top anl the smoke would not drive in on them. They improved and enlarged the cave as best they could, and then Joe carted down a quantity of food sufficient to last them several days, and they crawled into their shelter, Although they all maintained a cheerful front and pre- tended to regard the matter as a joke, not one of them really believed that they were going to escape alive. With characteristic British pluck, however, they determined to fight to the last. Jack Britten was one of those quiet, hard- working Englishmen who, without fuss or bother, “ make good”? wherever they go, and his farm was known as one of the model places of the district. Jack himscli, by reason of the fact that he was a “ white man.’ to his finger-tips, v deservedly popular, and .there were several girls in the locality who would have been willing to take the place of Doris Wendle after that somewhat headstrong young lady had decided she would have nothing more to do with him. The sudden quarrel with Doris had been one of the hardest blows that Jack had ever had to face. He had come to New Zealand a few years before with only a modcrate amount of capital, and by hard work and careful saving had managed to acquire his present holding. He had greatly improved the land since taking it up, and now had every prospect of making an excellent liveli- hood from it. Then he had met Doris, and after a few months they had become engaged, and Jack had looked forward to the dav when she would be the mistress of Moturoa. There followed the ridiculous dispute over “ Kid ” Tarne, who was now working for him. Doris had objected strongly to his having anything to do with the boy. It would have mn very easy to explain the situation, but he had not done so because her attitude hurt him; she seemed to doubt his honesty. Some months before Jack had become aware that his cattle were being “ rustled.” Keeping his own counsel, he maintained a close watch, with the result that he had cauglit a man named Bayly and “ Kid” Tarne in the very act of re-branding some of his ‘ weaners.” A heart-to-heart talk had followed, and, after some excellent and pointed advice from Jack, Bayly had taken a single tichet to Australia. Jack had pointed out that according to the law he could take action at any time within: five years, so there was little likelihood of Bayly troubling the neighbourhood again. Young Tarne was in a different position, and Jack had not known exactly what to do with him. He had an invalid mother who adored him, and it seemed a shame that the boy, who was not really bad, should get mixed up in crime. Jack had therefore decided to give him a job on Moturoa and try to keep him straight. He had succeeded in doing this to an even greater extent than he knew, and “ Kid.” Tarne, grateful for his chance, had grown to worship the very ground upon which Jack trod. That was why the quarrel had seemed so needless. Still, if Doris could not trust him now, what was the use of going on with the engage- ment 2? And so they parted. On the morning of January 4th Jack was up betimes. Tarne was away in Gisborne, #od he had perforce to do the milking single- hhacivded. Wnch he went out to the paddock to round up the milking herd he at once noticed the dull reflection away in the dis- tance. It was too far away for him to judge accurately as to the position of the fire, but he surmised that it must be somewhere behind the Rakaroa hills. There had been no rain for some cime, and he thought that probably one of the farmers had fired the felled bush with the intention of clearing his prope ‘ty. Later in the morning, after he had finished the milling, Britten saw, on looking out, that a second fire was in progress on the hills between Mangaka and Moturoa. Just how it had started was a mystery, but from the way it was spreading over the dry paddocks it was cvident that the situation was becoming dangerous. Jack began to feel somewhat apprehensive regarding the safety of his stock. It would, of course, be impos- sible to save the sheep if the flames spread rapidly, but he could at least drive his valuable dairy herd away and take them to ty at Matawai. He would wait an hour or two, he decided, and then, if the fire showed signs of spreading, round up the cows and start on the journey. The plight of the folks at Mangaka came to his mind, but, after considering the position, he came to the conclusion that there was no immediate risk to them from the distant fire, and certainly no danger at all from the blaze on the near hills. The manifold duties of the farm claimed his attention for some time, but every now and again he cast anxious glances at the distant hills. As the day advanced the scene became more and more alarming.

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The ranges which lay between Mangaka and Moturoa blocked his view towards Rakaroa, but from the increasing smoke and glare visible behind the Waioeka mountain he surmised that the conflagra- tion was still spreading. On the nearer summits, between his homestead and Man- gaka, fires were burning among the scattered logs, but were only spreading slowly, as there was little wind. The afternoon wore on and a faint breeze stirred the simmering fire on the hill to greater proportions. Farther and farther along the ridge flames could be seen, and at length Jack reluctantly decided that his only safe course was to round up his cows and make for Matawai by the mud track which wound its way between the lines of hills. And how were they faring at Man- gaka? He would telephone them and advise them to go down to Matawai—if they had not already done so. They were probably in no immediate danger, but if a sudden gale came up the fire would spread with startling rapidity and would perhaps cut off their line of retreat. Going into the homestead, Britfen gave the three short rings which called Mangaka, but received no reply, and after trying vainly for nearly half an hour he concluded that the Wendles had gone down to Matawai, a thought which relieved him considerably. How was he to know that even while he was trying to ring up Mangaka the telephone posts all along the line were blazing fiercely, and that the line had long since been put out of action ? Once; he. had decided to abandon the house and-drive his cattle to the village, Jack lost.‘no time. He saddled his horse, rounded ‘up. his herd from the alfalfa pad- dock where they had been grazing, and shortly ‘before ‘sunset, driving the animals before him, began to ascend the winding hill over which the track led to Matawai. The cows, fresh: from the luscious pastures, moved but slowly, and by dusk they had not got very far down the road. The smoke was so thick that night seemed to come on much more quickly than usual, although the fires on the hills illuminated the horizon. About eight o’clock Jack concluded that it was not much use driving the cows any farther that night, so, dismounting, he ate his supper and, tethering his horse so that it would not return to the station, essayed to sleep. Somehow or other, no matter how hard he tried, slumber would not come to him, and so he lay awake thinking of all the mis- fortunes that. might befall him if the fire continued to spread. It was well that he Kept awake, for with startling rapidity southerly buster,” of a type that occurs periodically in the district, was upon him raging, tearing, and canying everything before it. Within a few munutes, as it WHEN THE FIRE CAME. 73 seemed, the whole aspect of the hills had changed, and roaring fires were spreading in all directions. The scene became as light as day, and the terrified cattle began to move about in a restless fashion. It was the time for quick action, and without more ado Jack remounted his horse and drove the beasts on towards Matawai. Gradually, as he cane to the clearer country, which had long been laid down to grass, the fires were left behind him, but it was easy to see that the conflagration would sweep many miles of countryside before it completed its devasta- ting course. Had he not decided to leave the farm when he did, he retlected, he would have had to abandon his stock and ride for his life. Daylight found Jack on the top of the Otoko hill, some four miles from Matawai, and from this elevation he was able to command a good view of the surrounding country, although he could not actually see Mangaka or the houses up the valley, which still remained hidden by the inter- vening hills. What he saw, however, made him realize how fortunate had been his escape. The bush on all the hills behind was well alight and great clouds of choking smoke drove past continually. Away below him, close to Matawai, was the junction of the Moturoa and Mangaka roads, and here mobs of cattle could be seen being driven along both roads towards the village. All the houses which he passed were empty, and the absence of the animals indicated that the owners were taking no risks. By eight o’clock Britten reached the junction of the roads, and found himself mixed up with a conglomerate mass of horses, cattle, and settlers, all the latter having had to abandon their holdings. He got into conversation with some of the men on the Mangaka road, but none of them could give a clear account of the location of the fire, nor could they tell him definitely whether or not the Wendles had come down to Matawai. The one small street of Matawai was lined from end to end with carts and buggies of all descriptions, while hundreds of head of cattle wandered up and down, as though amazed at all the commotion. Groups of settlers were to be seen here and there, all discussing the catastrophe which had so suddenly befallen them. A number of tents had been pitched, but for the most part the families had remained close to the carts and buggies, which con- tained all the worldly goods they had been successful in saving, and from which they seemed loth to part. In the midst of all this confusion Jack left bis cows and rode hither and thither endeavouring to find the Wendles. At last he located the Jackson family, who owned the farm next, to theirs, and, riding across, called out: ‘‘ Have you seen anything of the Wendles down here ? ”

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Mrs. Jackson went up to him and looked sadly into his face. “Oh, Jack,” she said, “we're afraid they haven't come out! We tried again and again to get them on the ‘phone betore things got too bad, but we couldn’t get an answer, and so we thought they must have come on down here. But Harold has been all over Matawai and can’t find a trace of them. It’s awful, Jack, just awful!” This news, needless to say, cut Britten to the heart. Bitterly he cursed himself for saving his stock instead of riding across to Mangaka to investigate. “If only I had gone,” he thought, “they would be here in safety now.” Further investigation proved that Mrs. Jackson fears were only too well founded. he Wendles were nowhere to be traced, and all the refugees who had come down the Mangaka road were positive that they must have perished in the flames. Tom Blake, one of the oldest settlers in the district, who had once before seen a fire sweep right across the countryside, went over to try and comfort Jack, who was looking terribly wan and miserable. “It’s hard, laddie,” he said, gently, “ but there’s nothing to be done. Fate is at times too strong for all of us. I know how you feel,” he added. “‘ My only child was burnt to death in the ninety-nine fire.” “*T must do something !’’ Jack burst out. “T can’t stay here without finding out the best or the worst.” “ Do you think anyone or anything could live in that?” asked Blake, pointing away up the smoke-shrouded valley. “ [don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” “Don’t be mad, laddie! There’s no sense in throwing your life away. You can never reach Mangaka now.” “Ym going to try,” replied Britten, doggedly, and, spurring his horse, he rode off towards the outskirts of the village. Scientists often assert that there is only a thin line of division between sanity and insanity. There was not one of the refugees who saw Jack's departure who did not regard his action as that of a man who was undoubtedly brave, but certainly crazy, for no sane man would have deliberately faced that inferno of flame and smoke on such a hopeless quest. Powerless, however, to dissuade him, they watched him in silence, fascinated by the reckless daring to which his love had prompted him. As he reached the junction of the roads, and trotted round the corner leading to Mangaka, Mrs. Jackson turned to her husband with a sob. “ That, my dear,” she said, “is the last we shall ever see of a very brave but foolish man.” ack’s brain, as he rode away from the village, was ina tumult. Sheer impulse had started him off towards Mangaka; he had not formulated even the haziest of plans for effecting a rescue. When he looked ahead and saw the apparently solid wall of fire he realized that the project upon which he had embarked was wellnigh impossible, but no thought of turning back entered his mind. As he neared the cross-roads, and the dangers became more obvious, he began, almost unconsciously, to work out a definite plan. The road, he could see, was being swept by the fire. Trees were falling across it here and there, and it was absolutely impassable. There was only one route that offered the slenderest chances of success— the river—and he decided that he would attempt to reach Mangaka by keeping to its shallow waters, which would afford some slight protection from the vicious flames. He was getting nearer to the fire now, and the pungent smoke came driving down upon him in dense clouds, blinding him and terri- fying his horse, which snorted and reared every time a crash ahead indicated the fall of another forest giant. The river bed was rough, and the animal had difficulty in picking his steps among the big boulders. This difficulty was accentuated by the blinding smoke which constantly rolled down upon them, and after floundering along for some time Jack realized that he would have to let the poor brute* go and make his way on foot. He estimated that the distance from Matawai to Mangaka, by the river route, was roughly six miles. He had come about three miles with the horse, and now had another three miles to go. Dismounting, he left the animal to his own devices, with a farewell rub of the nose, and then began to stumble up the river towards the menacing flames which crackled and spluttered angrily, as though daring him to defy them. The heat was now becoming unbearable. Fires were burning among the prostrate trees on both sides of the stream, and red- hot embers kept blowing across and alight- ing on his hands and face. It was impossible to see far ahead owing to the denseness of the acrid smoke, but the hissing and crackling seemed to be growing louder and louder with every step he took. Bending down, he saturated his clothes with water. Even this, he noticed, seemed to have been warmed by the intense heat of the fire. On and on he stumbled, blinded and choked by the smoke. Blazing trees were falling quite close to him now, and the narrowness of the river at this point rendered it impossible to dodge the showers of sparks. Ahead there seemed nothing but an endless avenue of flame, and with a sinking heart he realized that even if he succeeded in getting through it would, in all probability, be too late to save those at Mangaka. As he got farther up the river, continually stumbling over projecting boulders, more and more of the fire became revealed, and through

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WHEN THE FIRE CAME. 75 “Huddled together in one corner were three motionless figures.” the smoke he could dimly make out the blazing bush on the hills around. Time and again red-hot embers fell on his flesh or clothes, and once his coat, which had quickly dried in the great heat, caught alight, but he put it out by throwing himself full lengtb in the shallow water. Slowly but surely the pungent fumes from the burning timber were having their effect upon him; it became harder and harder to keep on the move. Almost unconsciously his steps began to grow shorter and he stumbled more and more frequently. At last he fell in a heap, completely overcome by the smoke. Lying close to the running water he was able to breathe fresher air, and gradually he recovered. Then, with a start, he realized how near he had been to death, and after bathing his aching head he tied a wet handkerchief over his mouth and nose, rose to his feet, and moved steadily forward again. Surely he must be getting near where the homestead used to be? There was unfor- tunately no possibility that it still stood intact amidst that fiery furnace. Clamber- ing up on to the bank, he stared ahead, trying in vain to pierce the veil of smoke. Faintly he made out the shape of the hills, and gradually it dawned upon him that he was within half a mile of Mangaka. Without a doubt he would be too late to rescue the Wendles, but he felt he must go on and satisfy himself that the worst had happened. At last he reached a bend in the river which he instantly recognized, and there

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om 76 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. before him was all that remained of the Mangaka homestead. The fire had long since swept over the paddock by the river, and the fast fragments of the fallen house were burning fiercely. ‘Too late,” he muttered. ‘‘ Too late!” The logs lying in the paddock were ablaze, and the bush-patch close to the house had been partially burned out. He could see where the milking-shed had stood, but now only the engine remained. How and where had the Wendles perished ? he asked himself. Had they stayed in the house till the last, or had they made for the patch of standing bush, thinking to find refuge there ? As he looked around, half stupefied, he became aware of a rough-looking dug-out in the bank of the river. He did not remember ever having seen it before, and went over to investigate. Huddled together in one corner were three motionless figures— Doris, her mother, and Joe the rouseabout ! “Smothered by the smoke!” he cried bitterly. ‘While I was busy saving m stock they were trying to save their lives ! ” There came a slight convulsive movement of one of the prostrate forms, and with a startled exclamation he sprang forward. All the pent-up worry and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours found relief as he bent over the unconscious Doris and dis- covered that she was still breathing. “ Alive, thank God!” he said hoarsely. “ I’m in time—but only just!” One by one, fetching water from the river, he revived the three of them. Weak, dazed, and Del sere pened by the smoke, they were hardly able to grasp the fact of their salvation. Doris was the first to size up the situation. ‘‘We might have known you'd find a way out, Jack,’ she said. ‘ But we gave up all hope and just lay down here to die” “ T've found a way in, dear,” he told her, gravely, ‘‘ but we shall have to fight to get out again. The whole valley is afire, and the blaze may last for weeks. If the wind .changes the flames from the other side will blow right across here and roast us for a certainty. I came up the river, and that’s how we must try and get out.” “We never thought of being able to get down the river,” said Joe. ‘‘ There seemed to be a solid wall of fire ahead and no possible chance of escape.” Some little time later, when the trio felt stronger, they made their way out of the dug-out and, guided by Jack, com- menced the perilous journey to Matawai. The fire was still raging fiercely on both sides of the river and, as Joe had said, there seemed nothing ahead of them but a solid wall of flames. Every now and again the terrifying crash of the falling trees unnerved the women, but, reassured by the calm demeanour of Jack and Joe Blake, they continued to struggle onwards. Re- membering his own experience on the upward journey, Jack made the other three husband their strength and frequently applied wet handkerchiefs to the heads of Doris and Mrs. Wendle. The suffocating smoke was the chief source of trouble, and both the ladies suffered agonies owing to the lack of fresh air. Little by little, however, they fought their way onward, and Jack at last began to believe tnat they would all get A bush fire “in action.”

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WHEN THE FIRE CAME. 17 After the fire-demon had passed. A view in one of the valleys near Matawai. safely out. An instant later, however, a huge branch of a burning tree broke with a resounding crack just above them. There was no time to spring clear, and it appeared as if the branch would fall right on top of Doris. Without a second’s hesitation Britten flung her aside, and the blazing branch, missing her by inches, fell heavily, catching Jack’s arm on its downward path. “Oh Jack, Jack, what have you done ? ” she cried, dimly realizing the narrowness of her escape. “It’s nothing at all, dear,” replied Jack, but his voice was hoarse with pain. Doris insisted on examining the arm, although he protested that there was nothing wrong with it. From the elbow downwards there was a livid burn, where the fiery stump had caught him, and the bone of the arm was broken in at least two places. Doris bandaged the broken limb as best she could and Jack, though wincing at the pain, bore up like a brave man. On and on they went again, fighting their way inch by inch out of that inferno of heat and smoke. Sheer dogged pluck was carry- ing them through, but it was well that they were rapidly nearing safety, for Jack’s arm was causing him intense pain and he felt as though he could keep up no longer. “Look, Jack, look! We've reached the edge of the fire!” cried Doris, excitedly. ut Jack did not hear her. Worn out with the worry and anxiety of the day, and suffering agonies from his broken arm, he had quietly fainted away. The blaze was now behind them and, though the smoke still hung heavily all around them, they knew they were safe and that they would be able to get Jack taken to the little cottage hospital at Matawai. A shout from the road, a little distance off, attracted their attention. A search party from Matawai had determined to remain near the edge of the fire in case Jack Britten was able to effect his purpose and save the Wendles, but none of them expected he would meet with success, and they were astounded at sight of the four blackened and begrimed people who came staggering out of the fire-zone. Three wecks later Doris sat in the front room of the little cottage hospital at Matawai. In bed, looking wonderfully bright and cheerful, was the ‘ hero of the fire,’ as Jack was now called by the Matawai people. From the wide grin on his face it must be presumed that the darkened room had not affected his spirits. Perhaps it will suffice to say that the ‘‘ Kid” Tarne episode had been satisfactorily explained, and Doris had characterized herself as ‘a thorough little beast ” for ever doubting Jack's probity. The nature of the discussion that pro- ceeded directly the misunderstanding was put right may have had something to do with the following paragraph, which ap- peared in the Gisborne paper some little time afterwards BRITTEN-WENDLE.—At St. John’s Church, Matawai, by the Rev. Samuel Williams, Doris, only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. J. Wendle, of Mangaka, to Jack, second son of Mr. and the late Mrs, Britten, of London, England.

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78 CHrom the GREAT II.—(Concluston). FTER the gorilla-. hunting episodes related in my previous article I gravitated by easy stages to the Luvua Valley, in the Belgian Congo, where the Belgian Government had granted me a licence to shoot four elephants. As a matter of fact, I actually shot three bull elephants, wounded one which I never found, and came across one that had died after being wounded by someone else. To start by exploding a fallacy, let me say that there is no immediate possibility of the African elephant being extermi- Gow. CRATERS to the [Alexander barns ILLUSTRATED BY GOSS become extinct. It is still true to-day, and is likely to be so for many years to come, that one can, if one has a mind to, cross Africa from sea to sea, east to west, travelling all the way along elephant tracks. I left Pweto in high spirits at the prospect of making a good bag—a feeling shared equally by my men. In these hum- drum days of Govern- ments who forbid all the old customs and diver- sions, life to the average African savage is dull in comparison with the old slave-raiding times, and it was on this account that my men looked forward with uncommon zest to nated. On the contrary, their numbers have in- creased prodigiously of *s late ear they Bee in Journey to fact, becoming in many places a menace to life | and property. The close, preservation of the his The story of a most interesting the teeming game- country of the Congo. instalment Mr. Barns describes elephant-hunting adven- tures. the excursion before us. This was a great adventure for them, and so nothing could damp their spirits. They were like a lot of big schoolboys out for a lark, and, doubtless, liked In this animals which has taken place throughout the continent has had its effect, and another contributing factor to this desirable state of affairs has been the establishment of sleeping-sickness areas, into which neither whites nor blacks are permitted to go, and virtually amounting to immense game sanctuaries. One of these areas takes in the greater part of Northern Rhodesia, lying north of the twelfth degree south of the Equator. Elephants exist here in great numbers, especially in the Luangwa Valley, and in and around the Mweru Marsh. The African elephant, moreover, is very free from diseases of all kinds, thrives at all elevations from sea-level up to thirteen thou- sand feet (the equatorial snow-line), and can obtain nourishment from a greater variety of vegetation than any other animal. He is found both in desert country, where other animals would die of thirst, and in marshy districts, where only semi-aquatic creatures can live. For these reasons, and also on account of his intelligence, which is of a very high order, the African elephant (if not the Indian) will survive on our globe long after many other great game animals have to imagine they were back in the good old ruga-ruga days, when they would have started off on a warlike raid in the same way, singing and shouting joyfully. The Luvua River, along the east bank of which 1 travelled on my way to the elephant country lower down, has, rather curiously, formed a gap for its outtlow in what appears to be one of the highest portions ot the mountains that flank the northern end of Lake Mweru. It travels in a series of rapids and cataracts between imposing cliffs of pink rock (known as the Kwikuru Gorge), which gradually widen out into towering wooded blutfs until the stream debouches from its rift-like confines into the great prairies of the Lualaba. The river, which is four to five hundred yards broad in places, is navigable only below the settlement of Kiambi. Our first trek was a short one to Chongo’s village, and then, following the river, I came on the third day to a place which is best described as a ‘‘ stamping ground ” of game—such a place as one finds now and again on the banks of big rivers, where animals of all kinds collect to feed and drink,

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FROM THE GREAT CRATERS TO THE CONGO GAME-LANDS. 79 and, in this case, to cross to the opposite bank as well. Amongst the litter of spoor was that of a very large bull elephant —the first I had seen since leaving Pweto, and not more than eight hours old. This decided me to camp, but I put mytent ona small hill overlooking the river, so as not to disturb the game around. The neighbour- hood of a really big tropical African river, somehow, always gives me a feeling of satisfaction ; its wildness and savagery have an irresistible appeal. . The mere smell of the place, with its surroundings of mimosa thorn, palms, and feathery grass, is soothing. The murmur of the water, the cries of the wild-fowl, the hippos’ grunting, and the lions’ moaning call are sounds that strike a sympathetic chord within one and are, maybe, not unconnected with man’s remote ancestry. At nightfall this camp was still more redolent of the brooding spirit of the river. A camp of the expedition on the fringe of the weird-looking euphorbia forest. A Wambulu homestead. From my tent on the hill 1 looked out into the darkness, speculating as to whether the big bull would return and, if so, what part of the river, up or down, he would visit. As we were only on the fringe of the elephant country, | decided it would be down-river, and judging from the remarksof my followers, who argued the point around their camp- fires, they thought so also. Morning brought the news that this solitary elephant had fed along the river below camp and, in the early morning, during a rain- storm (elephants often choose the period of a heavy storm in which to lie down and sleep) had slept on the side of an ant-hill, close to the track that leads to Kiambi. After that his trail led away into the hills. 1 am always a little afraid, when I come across the track of a large solitary elephant, that the animal may be_ tuskless (an ntondo, as the natives Call it), as I have been dis- appointed several times in this way. However, on this occasion, the old warrior had a mighty big pair of

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80 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tusks, for when I came to the ant-hill on which the great beast had laid down, the impressions of his tusks—first one and then the other, where he had turned round and lain on both sides—were deeply imprinted on the wet clay. When elephant hunting in the rainy season, in a country I do not know well, [ usually take my tent bed and plenty of food, both for my followers and myself. It is best to be quite independent of villages or food supplies, and so be ready for all contingencies. A wounded elephant may give one a long chase, and even then may have to be aban- doned if the food runs out. When I started on the spoor it was about eleven o’clock in the morning. With me were five men—two trackers and three others— with my two rifles, cartridges, etc. Behind were twelve men carrying my camp gear and food, in light thirty-five pound loads, with instructions to follow some distance in the rear, quietly and slowly. After an hour’s sharp walk through the forest, the first thing of interest we came to was a large mud-hole, where the old gentle- man we were following had first well stirred the mud and then plastered himself with it until none remained. He had left this spot only a short while before, and in half an hour we were up with him. It was in an open bit of forest, bor- dering a stream, that I first sighted the great beast. I was in luck. The wind was favourable, and although the animal stood tail on to me, the surroundings were ideal for a successful shot. However, as neither the head nor the shoulder shot was possible, I took the large-bore rifle, and fired at the ov : : : vy A fairyland of lobelias and giant groundsel. elephant’s spine, getting in three or four more shots as the ani crashed down the bank and through the stream to my left. Following the spoor was easy enough— the rainy season being only just over—and there were few other tracks to mix one up. It took a very long time, however, for this elephant proved to be a very hard and tough nut to crack, and it was five o’clock in the evening, after hunting him all day in the long grass, before I brought him down with a shot through the brain. He proved to have a fine pair of tusks, weighing seventy-five to seventy-six pounds apiece. This being my first elephant, 1 counted myself lucky, especially as the local Baluba natives told me that not only had several black hunters attempted to bag the beast for years past, but quite a few white men as well. There is nothing in the world of sport that will quite equal the intense feeling of gratifi- cation that comes over one after a long and successful chase of a big African tusker. 1 suppose it is the primal instinct of the savage within us, added to which is a certain satisfaction at one’s own prowess and at the value and size of the trophy. To my fol- lowers, of course, it meant full: stomachs— the same instinct, only in a still more savage form! The hyenas and vultures were also pleased, let alone the myriad and one other small animals and. insects that were going to feast on the remains for months to come. Not one atom of that gigantic carcass was wasted. An _ ele- phant does not die in vain in Africa— it merely passes from one embodi- ment to another. Besides a small herd of cows, there was only this one solitary bull in the vicinity of Kaseba’s (the name of the nearest village), so I moved on down the Luvua to Kala- mata—a place, so I was told, that had a great at- traction for ele- phants by reason of the salt-pans that exist there. On the way, however, 1 came to a village under a chief named Kasongo. Here 1 was told that two ele- phants had been feeding in the gardens the night before, and 1 decided to stay a day or two to hunt them.

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FROM THE GREAT CRATERS TO THE CONGO GAME-LANDS. 81 ‘The chief Kasongo turned out to be a disagreeable old rascal who would give me no help at all; in fact, for some reason of his own, he seemed to resent my staying near his village. Later on, as it happened, I bull with a very meagre pair of ivories that gave me an exciting chase and a lot of trouble when I next went out from Kasongo’s. It was another all-day hunt, and not content with charging me twice, the An odd “bureau de change” at a native market. Twenty fibre bracelets equal five centimes! : turned the tables on him, for 1 believe the reason he disliked my presence was because he wished to hunt the elephants himself, and I am practically certain that the dead tusker I found later was one that he had wounded. The morning after my arrival 1 went out into the forest, and, coming on the tracks of two elephants, followed them for miles through mountainous country, but did not succeed in coming up with them. I slept out, returning the next day to Kasongo not quite empty-handed, for I shot a sable antelope on the way home. I find that it is usually the younger bulls and the cows, amongst elephants, that are likely to charge and therefore the most dangerous. I have seldom had much diffi- culty with a really old bull in this respect. I imagine that his years have taught him that discretion is the better part of valour, and so he usually avoids a battle. With the others, however, itt is different, and it was a young OL. LW. : animal fought to the very end by kicking me some yards when, by rights, he should have been stone dead. It occurred like this: Leaving Camp caily. 1 went out along the . banks of the Luvua with my trackers. Coming on the fresh spoor of a single elephant, we had been following it for a few hundred yards when we saw the animal a short way ahead. I could not see its tusks, as it was moving away stern-on; but with the idea of finding out what they were like, I ran after it, manceuvring round so as to have a look at its head. Getting my wind, the animal soon out: ced me over the tangled grass and bush. However, I stuck to it and kept the elephant in sight. Finding himself pestered in this way by such an insignificant “ in. sect ” as myself, he turned in his tracks with a resounding trumpet, and came thundering back in my direction. I now saw his tusks— perhaps a little too well. They were insig- nificant, but in face of this unprovoked

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82 attack I had to shoot to save myself, and so I planted a * 404 bullet in the animal's face, fortunately turning him. Knowing now that I was after a bad- tempered and dangerous young elephant, the chase that followed in the thick bush was exciting enough for anybody. The second THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. women with them, and all were soon at work cutting up the dead elephant and drying the meat to send back to their villages. “What you can’t eat, take away with you,” was the order of the day, and there was little left at the end of it. After this we left the mountains behind and moved out on \ " eae as a The end of a successful lion time we got up to our quarry it again charged us, scattering in all directions the natives who were with me. As the animal was not seriously wounded and had, moreover, such poor tusks to offer, I might have left it, but my men were in want of meat, so 1 decided, if possible, to bring our ferocious young friend to book. It was a long chase, but fortunately for my legs I finally rounded up the elephant in a swamp of fifteen-foot grass close to camp and, as I thought, finished it off with several shots through intervening foliage. At any rate, the beast was down on its side, so, thinking it safe to approach, I cautiously did so. Peering through the matted grass, I made out its back legs, and judging this a safe place in the circumstances, | was in the act of stepping on to one of them to look over in the direction of the animal’s head when he Ict out a mighty kick and, catching me full in the stomach, sent me, rifle and all, flying backwards, with the wind knocked right out of me. The animal then made an ettort to rise. However I managed to pull myself together and fire another shot, before giving way to that painful spasm of gasping so well known to the days of our youth. Many of my carriers had brought their j % to the plains | around Kalamata to look for yet a third “ phunt.”” I was lucky enough, within a few days, to pick up the spoor of a good bull round the salt-pans. I chased him back into the hills and shot him in a deep ravine where he was lying up dur- ing the heat of the day. He had a fine pair of straight white tusks of beautiful ivory, long and heavy. It was just after 1. shot this ele- phant that one of my porters was bitten in the ankle by a snake. Snakes are fairly “ numerous in Africa, but not often seen. 1 think I may say 1 hardly know of a single case of a white man being bitten by a snake, although I have known men to be temporarily blinded by “spitting ’’ ones. Owing, however, to the fact that the natives go about barefooted, they often suffer from snake-bite, but it is by no means always fatal. In this case, the carrier was bitten on the instep—two small punctures that bled slightly. As it happened, I was just behind, and having a box with me containing some permanganate, 1 went to work on him at once, by first fixing a tourniquet above the knee and then making two fairly deep incisions over the place with a razor blade, into which I rubbed the pure crystals. His friends, meanwhile, gave him some leaves and bark to chew and afterwards pounded the bark, rubbing it all over the leg. Finally 1 fixed the man up in an impromptu hammock, and had him carried into the nearest village, where he was left in charge of the chief. When we came round that way again a week later, the man—to the disappointment of everybody, for your native dearly loves both a sensation and-a “wake "had recovered sufficiently to walk about slowly. On the plains around Kalamata, and up in hunt.

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FROM THE GREAT CRATERS TO THE CONGO GAME-LANDS. 83 the surrounding hills, there were any quantity of elephants, but mostly cows. The big bulls wandered about from one herd to another in twos and threes, travelling great distances up and down the Luvua Valley and, as I said before, even as far as the Mweru Marsh in Northern Rhodesia. My journeyings in search of a fourth tusker presently took me across the Luvua River, over into the country on its west side, and up one of its western affluents called the Lukete. The old saying that “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good’ may be sarcastically applied to my next brush with the ‘‘ phunts.”’ On tracking up a troop of four on the Lukete, the wind was so shifty—blowing first one way and then another—that instead of the taint on the breeze giving the animals my position, it had exactly the opposite effect: they became completely confused. The first thing I knew was that the four elephants which I had been fol- lowing, and which I had just caught sight of for the first time, were turning in their tracks and coming straight in my direction as if the devil was after them! There was only one worth shooting at, however, and although I put several bullets into it as it d me, 1 never came up with it again. his elephant took me a long way into what is known as the Kalumenbali district, half- way between the Lukete and Lake Kabamba —a wonderful elephant country from what I saw of it, although “ fly ” infested. The prevalence of ‘ By *’ in most elephant districts, and the possibility of the hunter- contracting the dreaded sleeping sickness, is an added risk that he has to run. This fact, as I have intimated before, is no mean factor in the preservation of elephants and big game in general, although it is perhaps necessary to add that with the new German cure, “ Beyer 205” as it is called, sleeping sickness has lost some of its terrors. Whilst on the subject, it is worth noting that, in my own “He let out a mighty kick and sent me flying backwards.”

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84 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. experience, some constitutions, both black and white, appear to be immune to the bite of “fly” infected with sleeping sickness, an observation that seems worth close investigation. From the Lukete camp a herd of elephants 1 was following led me back to the neigh- bourhood of Kasongo, and one day I had the good fortune to find, lying dead in the bush, quite a big tusker, with a pair of ivories that went well over forty pounds apicce. It is not everyone who has the luck to.pick up a trophy of this kind, and it gave a pleasant ending to my hunting jaunt on the Luvua. On this occasion I had been out in the morning with my trackers, but finding no fresh spoor of any kind, we were returning to camp late in the afternoon when we caught sight of several vultures perched on some trees close to a small marsh we were approaching. Knowing these birds to be a sure indication of a dead animal of some kind, both the natives and myself were at once Trophies from the Luvua Valley. alert and interested, though we did not dream that so big a prize awaited us. On getting closer, we made out a black-and- grey mass which, as a matter of fact, we first mistook for a block of grey granite stone, but which soon resolved itself into a dead elephant. Almost at the same moment that we realized what we had found, two lionesses showed themselves beside the carcass, and bounded away into the grass, followed almost immediately by a big-maned lion, who growled loudly at being thus disturbed. From an examination I made of the carcass, I judged the animal to have been dead four or five days. Finding dead elephants puts me in mind of an unknown black robber who once found one I had shot. It was a cow with beautifully long and slender tusks. I killed it late one evening, and as it lay some distance from water in a remote part of the Luangwa Valley, I just left it where it was, going on to the river bank to pitch my camp, reckoning on cutting out the tusks in the morning. When my men went there, however, for this purpose, they found both tusks hacked off close to the lip with an axe and the tail gone! On several occasions 1 have found lions feeding on elephants I have shot. Their method of ripping open the tough skin to get at the flesh beneath is peculiar. They appear to spring at the dead beast with their claws extended, landing on it with all their weight, and ripping a piece out with a jerk. On another occasion, when I returned one morning to cut up an elephant that I had killed the night before, I found another elephant (possibly the dead one’s brother) standing beside it and prodding it with its tusks, as if to wake it up. My rifle was be- hind, and the animal got our wind and went off without a shot being fired at it, which was unfortunate, as it carried a fine pair of ivories. Mention of dead elephants reminds me of that myth about “elephants’ ceme- teries "’ —surely by this time dead and done with! There are no elephants’ ceme- teries, of course, as such, but there are places where animals go to die when sick and wounded. The first thing a sick animal wants is water, and if there is a re- mote pool in an other- wise waterless stretch of country frequented by elephants, naturally, in the course of time, many will die there, leaving their bones around the water. Years ago elephants were far more numerous than now, and weapons in those days far less effective ; consequently, many more wounded elephants escaped to die a lingering death near such pools as I have pictured. In this way, no doubt, was started the “ elephant cemetery ’’ idea. I will not weary the reader with an account of my return to Pweto. Suffice it to say that my carriers made an occasion of it, and with the negro’s usual love of display and adula- tion, each man, of course, made himself out to be the hero of the day, if only to his credulous womenfolk. THE END.

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ar’ DIAMOND ‘CUT 85 DIAMOND ., a : PGeaville Revtow ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK CROZIER Hoping to maké money, the Author and some friends took on the job of of sunken steamer, bat soon found that they had to reckon with =} ing the carga jous cials of a South American Republic, who meant to get handsome “pickings” out of the results of the Britishers’ labours. As things eventuated, however, the salvagers managed to get the best of the deal. sinking in the Orinoco River of the freight and passenger steamer Whitey after being rammed by the Venezue- lan gunboat General Gomez. The Whitney was owned by an American who carried on a small trade between Bolivar and Port-of- Spain, Trinidad, in such cargo as hides, balata, and cattle, the balata and hides bein, re-shipped to London by the Royal Ma Steam Packet boats. 5 The humorous part of it was that at the court of inquiry, held at Caracas, although the gunboat only sustained small damage— a slight twist to her bows—the owner of the steamboat, Mr. R:- . was solemnly fined {£5,000 for having damaged the Republic's warship, although the said warship had hit the Whitey on the port quarter and sunk her within fifteen minutes ! Poor R—— had to skp out of the country penniless, and went to live at St. Lawrence, Barbados, where I met him and received information as to the location of the sunken steamer, as I had a scheme in my head for salving her cargo. With my friend B—— I went over to Trinidad, where 1 met three other men who agreed to join as partners with us in an attempt to salve the Whitney's cargo. We got divers and diving apparatus from Barbados, and picked up other helpers in Port-of-Spain. Then we chartered the schooner Pretoria, stocked her with supplies, and started for the wreck on the morning of June rst. _ AS some of my readers are aware, the island of Trini is situated at the mouth of the River Orinoco, only a few miles from the mainland of South America, the dividing strait being called the ‘‘ Serpent’s Mouth.” The day after our arrival at the scene of NE day in March, 1904, I saw in the O newspapers an account of the operations a Venezuelan official came along- side and informed us in his politest manner that the Commandante at Caracas (a small town some ten miles higher up the river) had instructed him to collect from us the sum of five hundred pesos (roughly £100) for the right to dive in Venezuelan waters. We paid this fee without any demur, having already located the wreck by drags ging. She was lying in seventy-five feet of water, and we hoped to do well out of her. Having built shelters on the river-bank to house our men, we sent the divers down and discovered to our dismay that the wreck was lying on its side, with the deck as perpendicular as the walls of a house. In this position it was a physical impossi- bility to get at her hatches, for the current ran at four miles an hour and the water was very dark; in fact, it was so thick that with a cluster of electric lights of nearly a thousand candle-power there was no penetrating the underwater gloom. As we had never contemplated such a contingency as the ship being on her side, we had not brought any proper steel-cutting tools or dynamite with us. It must also be remem- bered that we were not professional salvers, but merely ordinary fellows of an enter- prising turn of mind who had taken on a sporting ten-to-one chance of making a little money. We held a consultation, and as a result I was left with three men to “ hold the fort” whilst the rest went back with the schooner to fetch the requisite appliances and also to discharge some of the divers and crew who had proved useless. On the return of my friends from Trinidad, after four weeks’ absence, they brought a man who had been a pearl diver in the Gulf of Maracaibo. He never dived with us, however, for, after seeing the conditions, NAN NES,

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86 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. he became frightened and had to be pre- vented from trying to jump overboard, so we were compelled to send him back the next day. Luckily for us there was a boat passing from Bolivar, and it was cheaper jor us to pay his return passage than keep him, After I had blasted a hole in the side of the wreck with a hundred and twenty-two pounds of dynamite we resumed the delayed salving operations. The next day the Venezuelan official arrived again, this time bringing bis hammock and trunk. He was superlatively polite, but informed us that he had been instructed by the Setior Com- mandante to billet himself on us in order to supervise the salvage and sce that no gold was appropriated, as any gold found would belong to the Government. The Whitney had sunk so quickly that the pissengers were unable to save anything, and as the majority of them were gold- diggers returning home from the upper reaches of the tributarics of the Orinoco, they were believed to have had a good deal of gold with them. The official added that we should also be required to hand over five per cent. of whatever balata we recovered. This was a very nasty jar for us, for we had imagined the fee we had paid entitled us to everything we found on board the sicamer, except, perhaps, for a small ad valorem duty, but to save trouble we agreed to pay the five per cent. under protest. ‘With regard to the gold we said nothing, Lat we privately made up our minds that i. we did find any, the officials should know nothing about it. The Customs officer soon settled down, and we found him to be a harmless individual who gave himself up to the smoking of innumerable cigars and the drinking of many glisses of beer daily—all at our expense. diowever, we thanked our stars that things were not worse. We soon had our hands very full in getting the balata out of the wreck and storing it on board the schooner, During our diving operations an accident occurred which at one time looked lise becoming a tragedy, but happily ended otherwise. I was down in the hold of the wreck sending up the balata, which is shipped in oblong blocks. I had been below about three hours when I gave the signal that 1 wanted to be hauled up. They lifted me some ten to twelve feet, and then, apparently, could not get me any higher. I felt my head strike against metal, so 1 promptly signalled to them to lower me again. Once on the bottom, I sat down to consider things. As 1 had not come in contact with any object whilst being Ict down, it seemed to me that I onght to go up equally easily. Yet why had 1 struck my head against metal ? After a few minutes I signalled to be hauled up again, and once more I collided with some part of the wreck. Three times I tricd it, each time with the same result. 1 was now getting pretty nervous, and I sat down once more to reason things out. Owing to the murkiness of the water all our diving work had to be done by touch; one could sce just as much by closing one’s éyes as by keeping them open. After a while I grew a little calmer, and came to the following conclusions. ‘‘ My friends will pump air to me to-day, to- morrow, and to-morrow night ; after that, if I am not raised, they will have to cut me away, as by that time I shall be “ all in.’” The pump is only intended for one diver, so no other diver can come down to my assistance. If 1 am to get out, therefore, it must be by my own cfforts.”” Finally I decided to try my luck once more, and gave the signal for hoisting. Again I struck the mysterious obstacle, and this time I went back to the bottom in sheer despair. But my chums on the surface were not to be beaten; they sent down a naked diver, who hauled himself below by means of my life-line, investigating as he came. Presently he gave the signal to hoist, and when I once more collided with the obstruction he promptly freed my helmet from a_ four-inch pipe—under which, all unknowingly, I had passed— and I was clear! When 1 landed on deck my friends crowded round me joyfully, and we unanimously agreed “ All’s well that ends well,” “ We finally got out of the wreck a couple of bronze figures, four feet high; the liquor stock of the bar; a small iron safe contain- ing some useless papers and a couple of hundred pesos ; and about fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of gold-dust and nuggets. The worthy Commandante and his representa- tive, however, never knew of this. We presented the Customs officer with a gold- mounted walking-stick and a watch-chain made of gold nuggets, both of which were found among the passengers’ belongings, and he was highly delighted. Last, but by no means least, we recovered about ninety thousand pounds of balata. The hides were not worth salving; the water had ruined them. Having gathered all we could from the sunken steamer, we received a third set of instructions from the Commandante. He ordered us to proceed to Bolivar, eight v miles farther up the river, deliver to the Govern- ment its share of the balata, and take our clearance from that port. This naturally annoyed us greatly, as it meant an extra hundred-and-sixty mile trip, and we had never agreed to deliver the balata so far aw Our port of entry had been Barancas, only ten miles or so distant—why could ni that also be our port of departure?) We speedily found, however, that it was useless

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87 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. “My friends crowded round me joyfully.”

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88 to argue, and so we proceeded to Bolivar to carry out our orders. When we arrived one of President Castro's secretaries sent a warder with a gang of prisoners to take delivery of eight thousand pounds of balata—ten per cent. of our total instead of the five they had demanded at first! This was the last straw, and we determined we would not be bled any further. The order for the balata was stated in kilos, and when I noticed this I saw my chance to get even with the officials for the various tricks they had played upon us. A kilo is two and a half pounds, and so I weighed the balata on our Fairbank scale and gave the unsuspecting warder one und to the kilo, which he signed for. Then I hastened to the hotel, where my artners were entertaining the secretary in lavish style, and showed him the receipt. He was in high good humour, and caine aboard the steamer El] Delta—on which we had already booked our passages, and which was sailing that day—and wished us bueno voyage. Presently the ship got under way, leaving our schooner working her way down the stream with only her crew aboard, while the gorgeously-uniformed secretary stood THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 7 unsteadily on the Bolivar water-front waving us good-bye. On our arrival at Trinidad I caught a steamer for Barbados. My friends were left in Trinidad, where they disposed of the balance of the balata for eight thousand pounds. By the next mail I received a letter from them telling me that the Sefior Secretary had come to Trinidad swearing that he had been cheated over the balata, for when he weighed it it scaled less than half the amount signed for! My fricnds told him bluntly that we had never agreed to give ten per cent., and that if the quantity fell short of the agreed five per cent. it must have lost weight by evaporation. This answer did not please the official at all; he became furiously angry and vowed vengeance on all of us, particularly on myself if 1 ever dared to set foot in Venezuela again. Thereupon B—— helped him down the stairs with a hearty kick, and we heard no more of him. All things considered, I think we were lucky to do as well as we did out of our little salvage enterprise, for if we had not been particularly wide-awake the greedy officials would have reaped practically all the profit of our arduous and dangerous work. AN UNEXPLORED TREASURE-CAVE. Woutp any adventurous reader of. THE ‘WIpE Wor -p like to investigate a mysterious cavern, never before explored, and said to con- tain a vast treasure of gold? If so, here is an opportunity. The photograph reproduced on this page shows the entrance to a gredt cave situated in the awe-inspiring Grande Canyon, in the Comanche Mountains, Brewster County, Texas. The opening is two hundred feet in diameter, writes a correspondent, and looks almost as though human hands had been at work upon it. It leads into a subterranean labyrinth of enormous dimensions which, accord- ing to local tradition, contains a golden treasure smuggled out of Mexico during the Spanish occupation. Spite of this attraction, no one, apparently, has ever troubled to explore the cave, which is situated in a very remote, unsettled part of Texas. Our photograph, owing to the difficult nature of the country, was taken with a telephoto lens at a distance of two miles, and gives a good idea of the grim surroundings of the treasure-cave.

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“HUMPHRIES DASHED INTO THE CIRCLE SURROUNDING THE MAGIC-MAKER, PUSHED THE OLD MAN OVER, AND TOOK THE BAMBOO AWAY FROM HIM.” (SEE PAGE 92.)

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=~ gr WHERE NNIBALS ,RROAM waz won rineeeriatnace | © Movlin Moore Laylor 4 ‘ forward account of an eventful journey into | ’ the unknown interior of Papua, a land of wild ; ‘mountains and wilder savages. Mr. Taylor { has the knack of making one visualize the ILLUSTRATED BY scenes he describes, and his story of his | UOHN DE WALTON: H adventures will be found most absorbing. 4 » Those who know their New Guinea HERE were three of us white men will realize what this meant. on this expedition into the heart of Two years before, Humphries had Papua— Richard Humphries, a ¥ clapped the sorcerer, Mira-Oa by magistrate, who was going up- name, into jail for practising blac country to inquire into a vendetta between magic. When he picked out the carriers, the ple of two native villages; Harry from men the police had rounded up, he Dowling, a young Australian photographer, found Mira-Oa among them, and in a tower- and myself. There was also, at first, a fourth ing rage. The police had not been impressed man, but he with the magi- collapsed after cian’s _ import- two days’ easy ance in his home walking in the village; they level coastal had laid violent country and hands upon him went back to the and brought him coast vid canoe, along with the horse, and the common people. supporting arms “Twill not of a couple of go! I will not natives, go!’’ screamed A hundred Mira-Oa, before and twenty car- anything was ners and about said to him. In a dozen native view of his age police completed it is doubtful if the party, and he would have the expedition been asked to go cannot be said to inthe first place, havecommenced but his defiance Frebitiously, for made it neces- umphries dis- sary to teach covered that a certain native Sorcerer had given the party the “ evil eye” him a lesson and impress others if we were to avoid mutiny later on. The Govern- and that all the ment does not Carriers were Left to right: Mr. Humphries, the magistrate; the permit its offi- aware as bh a Author; and Mr. Dowling, the photographer. cers to strike the OL. Lv.—7,

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92 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Then the sorcerer really let himseli go! ‘All right,’” said Humphries calmly, “I did notintend to take you, but now that you have put a curse on us I’m going to make you carry a load. If your curse is any good, you had better set to work making magic to undo the spell, otherwise you will suffer as well as us. As he was led A native sorcerer’s fee, paid in sprouting coconuts. natives, so Humphries merely told the police to pull the old sorcerer out of the line and make him stand with the men chosen to go. Then Mira-Oa got really cross. He threw himself on his back and yelled and screamed just like a naughty child. It impressed the natives, but we ignored him and let him rave on. When the last of the carriers had been chosen and the other men told to go back to their villages, Mira-Oa was among those whom the police herded down to the beach for a big meal of rice, corned beef, bananas, and coconuts. Mira-Oa_ stood apart in wounded dignity and refused to eat any of the food we supplied, but ate sparingly of some tit-bit which his wrinkled, toothless old wife had brought from the village. We were to start early the next morning, and retired early. During the night, how- ever, one of the policemen awakened us with the information that Mira-Oa had stirred up his fellows with tales of perils they were to face, had laid upon us the most awful curse in his repertoire, and was even then engaged in some elaborate hocus-pocus calculated to make the curse stick. When we got down to the beach the sorcerer was humped over a fire chanting some weird ditty and making passes over a length of bamboo. Humphries dashed into the circle of natives surrounding the magic- maker, pushed the old man over on his back, and took the bamboo away from him. The end was sealed up with mud, and in it he had put one of my discarded cigarette-ends, a pencil which Humphries had dropped, and a bit of tinfoil from a roll of film for Dowling’s camera. The old man had taken pains to pick up some article each of us had handled so that the curse would affect us all. Humphries tossed the whole thing into the water and then told Mira-Oa that he would spend the rest of the night in the jail-house. off to the jail Mira-Oa turned and made some kind of pass in our direc- tion. Whatever it meant, it struck terror into his fellows, for they fell upon the ground and gave way to their fears in fits of weeping. “That old fool is going to make trouble for us,"’ predicted Humphries as he went back to bed. “ I'll keep him with us for a day or two.”” When the order came to pick up the loads Mira-Oa stood with arms folded across his naked chest, looking straight ahead. He snarled when a policeman prodded him with a stick, but did not look around. The Papuan Policeman is quick-thinking, how- ever, and two of them promptly seized old Mira-Oa, laid him flat upon his stomach and bound a fifty-pound sack of rice to his shoulders. Then they helped him to his feet, shoved him back into the line, and got behind him with a bayonet. When Hum- phries sang out the order to start moving, Mira-Oa took one glance at the bayonet and then started of his own accord, without wait- ing to be jabbed. But the look he gave us as he passed was tense with hatred and vindictiveness. For five days our trail lay through dismal sago swamps, knee-deep in mud and water, or fighting our way through thick saw-edged grass higher than a man’s head. The sun beat down fiercely, and because we were all trail-tender we suffered intensely. As soon as we left the lowlands and got into the foothills we should be out of civilized territory and rapidly getting into country that had never been explored, where the people live in the same primitive style that their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. Meanwhile we were in no danger. Fear of the white men’s police and jails keeps the Mekeo district, which we were now traversing, under effective control. Old Mira-Oa, so far as outward appearances

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went, seemed to be resigned to his fate. It was no longer necessary to throw him down and fasten a load to him, and he ate as heartily as any of his fellows. But he didn’t mingle with them much, sitting apart, wrapped in the blanket we had furnished to each of the carriers. His eyes, however, gave him away; when he looked at us there was a venom and hate in them that was unmistakable. Humiliated before those whom he had hitherto dominated through the fear he was able to inspire in them, forced to carry a load, and shown no special favours, he was cut to the quick, and he brooded continually over the manner of his revenge. In spite of this, we thought he had decided to ‘ give us best,” and Humphries was almost ready to relieve him of his load, lecture him on the folly and uselessness of pitting his will against the white man, and send him back home. Then something happened that revealed the deep cunning of the old man’s mind. Api and Kauri, our cooks, were pottering around over the evening meal when Mira-Oa came stalking by. He stopped for a moment, flashed a keen glance at us where we were changing our sweat-sodden garments for pyjamas, and then came boldly forward. Speaking in the Motuan tongue, which is the dialect used between white men and these coastal natives, he offered to spread the clothes out to dry. It was astonishing, almost unbelievable, but we tossed them to him and he laid them out on the sloping roof of the fly. Then WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 93 he departed, without saying another word. The next morning, when our orderlies brought the garments to us, each of us three white men made the same discovery. The big khaki handkerchiefs we wore about our necks had disappeared. During the night someone had taken them. We did not at that time associate Mira-Oa with the theft, nor did we dream that the offer to hang up our clothing and the stealing of the handkerchiefs was an essential part of his plot to gain his revenge. Neither did we have the slightest suspicion that the old sorcerer intended that vengeance should take the shape of the most horrible death his wicked old brain could conceive. That he failed was due entirely to the fact that loyalty and devotion overcame superstition and tradition in the brain of a black man who five years before had been as wild and untamed a cannibal as ever stalked another. ‘ The first attempt was made the night we camped in the village of Oriro Petana. As soon as he had dumped his load the old man hurried to the far end of the village and entered a hut which stood by itself, surrounded by a tiny fence. It is thus that the home of the village sorcerer may be picked out. We saw him go, and Humphries chuckled and made some remark about his hunting for sympathy. Then in our many camp duties we forgot Mira-Oa. In some of the villages the Government picks out one of the leading inhabitants and makes him village constable; the constable at Oriro Petana was a rather The expedition arriving at an inland village.

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94 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. portly old chap called Wiali. We heard m talking outside the tent, and Humphries, emerging, found him holding in his hands three coconuts with the ends lopped off, and trying to find out who had sent them from the youngster who had brought them. For some reason the village constable always takes upon himself the task of supplying white men with coconuts so that they may refresh themselves with the milk. It gives him a chance to stand stiffly at attention, snap up his right hand in a salute, and then, with a flourish of his knife, whack off the end of the nut and tender it to his visitors, Kiali had been away when we reached the village and so had been deprived of this privilege. Naturally he was annoyed when the urchin came to the tent with three opened nuts. “The boy seemed tongue- tied with awe, and Wiali wasn't getting on very well with his inquisition, when Humphries stepped in, Give me a nut,” he ordered, “ The boy should be praised, not chided, for bringing them.” Kiali we anding well within the light of a hurricane lamp fastened to a tent pole, and he held each nut in turn where the light would reveal the amount of milk within. Probably his idea was to give the magistrate the best nut. Suddenly, however, he became excited, and hurled all three to the ground. “Why did you do that ?" cried Humphries angrily. It looked like a case of insubordina- tion, in which case Kiali would have been in for severe punishment. The old man’s bare heels came together, he stiffened abruptly, and his fingers touched his forelock. “ Master,” poisoned |!” And so it proved when we picked them he said, “the nuts were up and examined them. To the meat within were clinging infinitesimal bits of bamboo fibre, pounded almost into a powder. This is the Evourite method of murder employed by the Papuan sorcerer. Mixed with food or drink, the tiny slivers pierce the intestines, set up intlammation and a high fever, and prove fatal in a few days. Mira-Oa!” cried Humphries, suddenly inspired, and forthwith he sent the police corporal to seize the old sorcerer and bring him to us. But Mira-Oa had disappeared, and when we resumed the march next day another man carried his load. Dowling and I were properly horrified by the incident, but Humphries dismissed it with a shrug of the shoulders. A man who has been a magistrate in New Guinea for ten years usually becomes a fatalist ; he expects such things. The second attempt upon our lives took place some twelve hours later. We were on the trail, with Waimura, one of the police, in the van, Humphries behind him, myself next, and Dengo, my orderly, behind me. Suddenly Waimura leaped over sometiing in the path Letween the high gra-s that rose on every side of us and yelled. I did not know the meaning of the word he shrieked over and over again, but be- fore Humphries could cry out a warning. Dengo had seized me by the shoulders, spun me around behind him, and leaped in front of Humphri Then it was that I saw, coming straight towards us, a snake. It was betwee three and four fect long, and plainly it we very angry. It did not swerve to either side in fright, but seemed bent on attacking us. “Good heavens ! come away!” yelled Humphries, and, seizing me by the wrist he started torun, It seemed rather childish to tlee from such a small snake, but his grasp on my wrist forced me along. Hiz eyes and those of the police had seen some. thing that I, a tenderfoot in New Guinea, had overlooked. As we fled Humphries called back ove: his shoulder to Dengo to kill the snake. Jo, taubada (yes, master),” replied the policeman, and a moment later the report of his rifle rang out. How much mental anguish it cost Dengo to fire that shot it is eusy to guess, for to him the snake repre- sented the lord of all things. But Hum- phries was his master, and he obeyed. The man’s action speaks volumes for the training which the Government of Papua gives its police. Recruited from savage life, with its freedom and absence of heavy work, and turned into a_hard-fighting, competent, loyal upholder of law and order in six months, Dengo in one instant had violated a tradition bequeathed to him by generations of his ancestors—simply because a white man had ordered him to do so, “T thought so!’ said Humphries, as he turned over the dead snake with the toe of his boot, He pomied out a noose of pliant vine tightly fastened at the back of the snake’s head. The free end of the vine was several feet long. “ Mira-Oa,”” he said once more, although how he could tell there was the old man’s finger in the business puzzled me. But he refused to satisfy my curiosity, and insisted. on going on, after Dengo had _ tenderly borne the snake’s carcass off the trail and laid it in the grass. “Unless I’m mistaken, I can show you better than I can tell you,” Humphries told me. A few yards farther on, round a bend in the trail, we found the other policeman standing beside a bed of hot coals. On the fire was a deep earthenware pot, and beside it a piece of wood and a stone—evidently the cover of the pot and the weight ‘which held it down, In the dust about the fire

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WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 95 “He hurled all three to the ground. ‘Master,’ he said, ‘the nuts were poisoned !’”

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96 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE were the prints of naked feet. To one side a peg had been driven deep into the ground, and fastened to it was another length of the same kind of pliant vine which had been tied to the snake. It was all very mystifying to me. “Look inside the pot,” said Humphries, although he had not done so himself. With the stick I carricd I turned the hot vessel over and fished inside it. 1 brought to light a khaki-coloured handkerchief, unmis- takably one of those which had disappeared two nights before when the old sorcerer had hung up our clothing to dry. “ l'llexplain it as we go along,”” Humphries promised, and after he had given orders for the pot to be thrown into the grass, the fire put out and all traces of it re.noved, and the peg pulled up and tossed away, we struck out again. “If those carriers had been close to us we should have had a nice little mutiny on sur hands,” the magistrate told me.“ That is one of the favourite methods used by a sorcerer to get rid of an enemy whom he cannot poison and dares not face. Old Mira-Oa did steal our handkerchiefs after all. Probably that one you saw in the pot was mine, as he would want to get sid of me most of all. “It isn’t hard to guess what happened. Mira-Oa fled from the village last ni he when his powdered bamboo | trick discovered and crossed the river to this siue, Early this morning he took the handkerchief and put it and the snake in the pot, after fastening a noose abcut the snake and tying the other end of the vine to the peg. Then he put the lid on the pot, weighted it down, and built a fire under the pot. “ The snake, tortured by the heat, asso- tiated its suffering with the smell that was closest to it—that of the sweaty handker- chicf. When we drew near the sorcerer tilted the lid off the pot and let the snake out. Then he cut the vine, knowing that the snake, infuriated by its agony, would make straight for anything that had the same smell as the handkerchief which he blamed for his pain. In other words, that snake was bent on attacking the person whose scent was on the handkerchief. In this case I believe it was me, but it might have been you, so when I ran I pulled you along as well.” It sounded preposterous then. It sounds that way now, even though I have seen similar cases narrated in official Government reports. But that marked the end of Mira-Oa so far as we were concerned. We made inquiries fom him when we got back to the coast weeks later, but he hadn't been seen for several days. Probably word of our return reached him when we were still a long way off. Such messages travel very rapidly by means of the mysterious “ bush tele- graph,” and Mira-Oa no doubt decided that a short exile from his village was preferable to facing us. -At the village of Rarai, farther along the trail, we had an addition to our party in the person of a native boy, Payeye, the nephew of Fornier, the village constable. He was attached to Dowling as camera boy, and followed his new master with dog-lixe devotion. After Rarai we left the level ground and entered the foot-hills, following the course of the Aikafoa river towards where Mount Yule rears its head ten thousand feet above sea-level. On the banks of the Aikafoa lies the village of Maipa, where Humphries proposed to get our last batch of carriers, having meanwhile sent back such of the Waima and Kivori men as had shown them- selves unequal to the work. At Maipa disappointment stared us in the face, however. Semi-mountaineers them- selves, all the men and most of the women had gone off to the mountains to join in a feast and dance. “We'll start, anyhow,” said Humphries. “ We shall meet them coming back.” We did—and sooner than we expected, for our advance party reported a large body of men and women coming in our direction. It proved to be the Maipa villagers returning home in haste, and bearing the marks of battle. | Cannibals, apparently, have a low sense of hospitality. The mountain folk had duly provided the usual pigs for the feast, but when the guests arrived they had been scized with the desire to top off their gluttonies with a bit of human flesh, and accordingly attacked one of the visitors, His life was saved by his fellow-villagers after a free-for-all fight, whereupon the mountaineers, although disappointed, in- sisted on a resumption of the feast. The Maipa people, however, had lost confidence, and as soon as their hosts had eaten themselves into a stupor, they slipped quictly away. The readiness with which the men agreed to return with us was suspicious. In New Guinea all mountain hamlets are built upon the tops of peaks which offer a good view of the surrounding country, so that our approach was seen long before we got to Kepolipoli, the place where the feast had been held. The Kepolipoli people, naturally, being none too easy in conscience, thought so large a body must be an avenging party from Maipa, and accordingly we walked into a neat ambush. The reception committee consisted of not only the Kepoli- poli warriors, but all their friends from near- by hamlets. We had descended a small ravine and were following a well-defined trail along it when the trap was sprung. One moment we were alone in the jungle; the next the

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CE banks on each side of us were covered with armed natives, For- tunately for us, they did not attack without warning, or our situation would have been hopeless. Probably the sight of white men stayed their hands. For what seemed ages, but in reality was only a few seconds, the savages held counsel among themselves. | shudder to think of the shambles that ravine would have become had the decision gone against us. Suddenly a tall man darted for- ward from the throng. He was long of limb, powerful of body. His hair hung in plaits from his head, and was decorated with the feathers that are the insignia of a man-killer. He was naked, except for a soft bark loin-covering, and hishands were empty. He bounded across the space between us and clasped Humphries in his arms, murmuring _ de- lightedly in his ear. They had met before some- where, and the embrace was the token of friend- ship. - When he released the magistrate and made for me, I stood my ground. | did not know then that all Mountain natives eschew baths, that they live in The net bag, made of vines, | in which the Mekeo women | carry their babies. WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 97 A typical hut. little low huts and cuddle close to their pigs and dogs at night for warmth, that the grease and grime and soot of their fires cling to everything and everybody. So the chief of IKepolipoli embraced me—the first and last time I ever gave any native the opportunity, That embrace assured us of one thing, however—peace and plenty of food When we reached the village the chief sent the women hurrying off to the gardens, and they returned laden with sugar- cane and sweet potatoes. In ex- change we gave them a_ few spoonfuls of salt and a handful of

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98 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gaudy beads, more precious to them than great wealth. Our coastal carriers had been showing discontent for several days. The prospect of the unknown mountain country abead terrified them, and the threatened hostile reception at the hands of the people of Kepolipoli provided the finishing touch. In vain Humphries argued and threatened ; they announced they were going home. If they did, our situation was desperate. Around us were at least a hundred mountain savages, armed with bows and arrows and spears. If the carriers deserted, it meant we had to go back with them or lose all our food and equipment. To stay with our dozen police and try to induce the mountain men to carry for us was to invite a massacre at the first favourable opportu- nity. Somehow the carriers had to be held—but how ? While Humphries was haranguing the malcon- tents a Maipa man stood near. There was a smile on his lips at the carriers’ announced intention to de- part. With elaborate care- lessness he joined the throng of mountain warriors, and talked earnestly with the chiefs. What they were scheming we did not know, but it looked very sinister, and still more so when in the darkness of the ensuing night the mountain men began an eerie chant. The boy, Payeye, who himself was mountain born, trans- lated it. ““Master,’’ he said, “they sing they hungry along man and quick time they eat!” A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. If our hosts’ craving for human + flesh had reached the stage * ~ when they were singing about it, we were in ex- treme danger. Yet time dragged on and nothing happened until, in the dark hour before the dawn, a police- man dashed up to the tent. “Master, master! ’’ he carriers are leaving!" They were; they had let down the cried. ‘ The _ .. ma” Constable Dengo, the Author’s the faithful bodyguard and friend during the journey. police tent on the heads of its occupants, and were even now surging out of the village. I tried to cut them off, but tripped and fell, and when I got to my feet they were running pel mell down the slope in the direction rom which we had come. It was not long, however, before a perfect babel of sound broke out and we saw them coming back even faster than they had departed. They were obviously terror. stricken, and well they might be, for swarm. ing a bare fifty yards behind them came the mountain men, brandishing their weapons and giving vent to the most blood-curdling cries ! The police dashed out with us and got between the carriers and their pur- suers. The mountain men stopped when they saw us lined up. It is doubtful if they knew what our rifles and revolvers were, but there was one man with them who did. It was the Maipa villager who had held such an earnest confab with their chiefs the night before. He came forward to us now, and he was laughing as if at some great joke. “Master,” he cried, ‘‘ I heard the carriers say they were going, and I planned with the mountain men to frighten them and make them come back.” The savages had come up now, and they too grinned ingratiatingly, so we laughed with them. The carriers were quite chast- ened and set about putting their loads together in a meek and repentant + manner, Still, I am not satisfied to this day. Did that Maipa man really plot to foil them, or was it an ambush to kill some of carriers and = carry them off to be eaten ? Remembering the song they sang the night before, I am inclined to believe that the Maipa man was simply quick-witted enough to think out a plausible yarn. 2 All the same, it got us out of an awkward hole. es) (To be continued.)

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‘TWISTED A very remarkable narrative, showing how an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police— formerly the famous “North- West Mounted”-— hunted an escaped murderer for five long years, only to find him at last, thousands of miles away, under the protecting wing of the German secret service. Spite of this, he secured his man HE identity of ‘ Twisted’ Harmon was never established with any degree of certainty. Pretty well all that was known about him was that he came to Macleod some two years before the events here recorded and engaged, ostensibly, in the cattle business, buying up the fine Herefords and Jerseys of Western Alberta and British Columbia and shipping them into the States. The Mounted Police, however, suspected that this was but a blind to conceal operations of a more sinister nature, and that Harmon was in reality the brains and leader of a band of daring, resourceful outlaws who were opera- ting between Macleod and the Little Bow. Weight was lent to this suspicion by the series of murders, hold-ups, and train robberies that began almost coincidentally with Harmon’s arrival at Macleod. Why he w alled ‘* Twisted ”’ was one of the puzzles attaching to the man which | was never able to fathom—unless the appel- lation referred to his character. He was a big, powerfully-built fellow, whose ue. lithe movements irresistibly reminded one of some giant cat. The level, utterly cold were mercilessly penetrating. His s thin and sharply hooked. A coarse, scraggly moustache did not entirely conceal ahard, cruel mouth. He had an unpleasantly suggestive habit of walking with his thumbs hooked over his trouser-tops, and his fingers sing the ugly, murderous butts of the guns’ peeping from underneath his The police—vigilant, watchful, all but certain of their man—kept Harmon under the closest observation. It was not until lyty, however, that he finally betrayed his hand. In the spring of that year a long series of robberies culminated in the cele- brated ‘ Consolidated Hold-up ’’—one of the most daring and sensational train-robberies that ever occurred in Western Canada. More than half a million dollars, which the Con- 4 Allan : Borders writes; “bet T hove book com: 5, ILLUSTRATED BY G.P. CARRUTHERS HARMON and took him back to Canada. Mr. Borders was dragged into the business in very curious circumstances, and his account of the affair will be found extremely exciting. “The story in every detail,” he pelled to make numerous changes in dates, places, and names of people concerned.” solidated Mining Company was_ shipping to its branch bank in Vancouver, were stolen in the haul. The hold-up was carried out by four men, one of whom was killed by the guard, who, in his turn, was instantly shot down, Keeping the passengers huddled inside the coaches by the simple but exceedingly etfective expedient of shooting at every head that appeared, the bandits cut the telegraph and telephone wires, disabled the engine by drawing the fires and smashingin the throttle- box, and then rode off to the southward, secure in the belief that hours must elapse before news of the robbery could reach any of the towns, Fate, however, played them a_ rather scurvy trick at the last moment. Hardly had they disappeared in the drab grey of the dun-coloured plain when time freight Eighty-Four, thundering west ahead of schedule, came upon the marooned train. “Gabby ” Jordon cut his engine loose and made the run into the little station of Orkney in record time, with the result that when the outlaws neared Iron Springs, late in the evening, they found a thin line of armed men deploying in the dusk to intercept. their flight. The surprise was almost complete ; the bandits rode straight into the trap. Three of them were captured, but the fourth —the leader, and none other than ‘‘ Twisted” Harmon—managed, by quick manouvring and some accurate shooting, to make good his get-awa.- among the cou Not only did he escape, but he took vy ith him in his saddle-b: all the loot. The police promptly started in hot pursuit, at the same time notifying the stations to the south- ward. Captain John Macdougal, of the Macleod police-post, ordered his men to leave their regular patrols and = work towards the boundary, it being almost a foregone con- clusion that Harmon would make a break for the States. Such being the case, he

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boo THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. might be expected to reach the border shortly after daybreak. It fell to the lot of Corporal “ Burky” Owens to first sight the fugitive. Seeing a lone horseman approaching from the north, the Corporal rode behind a clump of alders that skirted the trail and waited in conceal- ment until the other man galloped past. Harmon had discarded his mask, and _ there was no mistaking his face. Covering his man, Owens made the arrest easily enough. <A hasty search revealed two revolvers of heavy calibre, some money in American currency and, in the saddle-bags, the huge shipment of the Consolidated people, banded and intact ! Owens, veteran though he was, was perhaps just a little dazzled by the magni- tude of the wealth that lay in his hands, and his good fortune in capturing such a notable criminal. He must have momentarily taken his eyes from his prisoner, and in that instant Harmon’s right arm flashed down- wards and a derringer concealed in his coat- sleeve fairly leaped to his hand. There was a jarring report, and Corporal Owens went down like a felled ox. Hardly had he touched the ground than Harmon bounded forward and wrenched the money from his nerveless fingers. Dragging the body of his victim back among the alders, the bandit quickly transferred the saddle from his own jaded horse to the Service mount, and rode off southward, his path to freedom now unobstructed. It was an exhibition of cold, brutal calcu- lation, blinding speed, and merciless ferocity —but it was the biggest mistake ‘‘ Twisted ” Harmon ever made. For Corporal Owens died—and in such a case the Mounted Police never forget and never forgive. The man who raises his hand against them can hope to find no refuge on the American continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, from the Arctic Circle to Cape Horn. Il was ranching down in Montana at the time all this happened and the affair was of peculiar interest to me, for I had spent several years in the cattle country to the west of Macleod and was well acquainted with the police at that post, many of them, including the murdered Owens and Captain Macdougal, being warm personal friends of mine. | was only able to glean such details as the newspapers gave, but a rather extensive knowledge of the methods of the “ Royal Mounted ’”’ enabled me to read between the lines, and I was far from sharing the general belief that the murderer Harmon had made good his escape. Then came the War. Long trains began moving eastward; my old friends in Alberta and British Columbia were joining up, and presently the fever got into my own blood, ana I left my ranch and enlisted with the Canadians. The next two years were rather too crowded to admit of my taking any great interest in train-robbers or their probable escape or capture. I was lucky, though, till at the Somme a “ Big Bertha ” hoisted me out of the trenches, sent me to Blighty for five months, and finally back home. I returned to ranching in Montana just at the time the United States entered the war. The American army could not use a man with a shattered leg, but they could find a place in “ Limited Service” for one with my knowledge of cattle. 1 was assigned to the newly-created purchasing division of the Commissary Department. First of ali linspected cattle, was then attached to head- quarters, Western Division, and finally, the pinch becoming acute in the summer of 1918, was sent to South America with a roving commission to buy cattle that were free from disease and “ otherwise suitable for food purposes.” When | reached Buenos Aires I found that the European markets had almost depleted the great herds of Argentina. It being virtually impossible to obtain cattle in sufficient quantities from the ordinary sources, I resolved to go to the remoter regions of the interior. I booked passage on one of the boats plying on the Parana, bound for a city I will call La Penza. The long river voyage was maddeningly tedious as, traftic being heavy, I was forced to travel on a chugging old side-wheeler. It was wretchedly slow, the heat terrific, and the accommodation bad. The trip was further marred by an accident that [ regretted exceedingly at the time. <A fellow-passenger, a Mr. William Lorder, from Boston, fell overboard and was drowned below the town of La Paz. His death greatly depressed me, as he was the only fellow-countryman aboard the vessel. He was a most agreeable and affable man of about my own age, and walked with a decided limp, as I did, and this common misfortune established a bond of sympathy between us. Not until later was I to learn the true nature of my companion’s mission or the tremendous influence his very name was to exert on events to come. La Penza is an ancient city which for two centuries has drowsed lazily at the base of the most southerly peaks of the Del Norte Chain, with the great river curving in from the west and the broad, fertile plains rolling away to the northward. The cattle industry has wrought many changes during the last decade. Immigrants swarmed in by hun- dreds and the surrounding country leaped to sudden pulsating life. Great herds of tine Shorthorns dotted the prairies, towns sprang up almost overnight, and to-day the section is not unlike some of the more prosperous of the Western States. Spite of this, La Penza still retains a strong flavour of its Castilian founders, with its shady, cobbled streets, its seventeenth-century architecture, and the rich and crumbling sculpture of its

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churches. The sole hint of modernism is the railroad which has pushed its terminus to the town, thus connecting it with the north-east and the coast. The only other outlet for - the commerce of the region is the steamboat service down the Parana. I took up my lodging in an ancient stone house which a_ propitious circumstance placed at my disposal. The owner, an aristocratic old Castilian, had recently moved to a palatial new home in another section of the city. He had rather extensive interests in Spain and Southern France, was favour- able to the cause of the Allies, and when he learned the nature of my business, he not only installed me in his former home, but also tendered me the services of one of his servants, a young half-caste named Luis. Yhis man proved very useful, not only for his familiarity with the town and its markets, but because he could also act as an inter- preter. Cattle were scarce even in La Penza, I found, and their transportation to the coast a matter of great difficulty. I arranged with a ranchman near the town, however, to graze what beeves I managed to purchase, and to ship them as opportunity offered over the single-track, badly-congested railroad. On the night of my fifth day in La Penza I was on the front porch of my house, teclining in the hammock swung just under the low ceiling. The rain, which had fallen intermittently all day, had now scttled into a steady, monotonous downpour. It was not late, and the flickering street-lamps cast a faint, uncertain glow through the rain. My own chambers remained in darkness, as Luis had not as yet returned from the market. I was half dozing, enjoying the bracing coolness of the air, when the creaking of the iron gate aroused me. With some surprise I saw a dark figure coming swiftly up the gravelled walk. Ranchers from the outlying country had called upon me at all hours in answer to my advertisements, but 1 was hardly expecting a visitur on this particular night. jumped out of the hammock as the stranger came up the steps. “Good evening, Sefior,” I greeted. “Good evening,”’ he returned—and there Was no trace of Spanish in the clipped, in- Gsive tones. He removed his dripping outer garment—a_ long “slicker ’’—and draped it over the back of a chair. “ May I come in?” he asked, peering through the darkness, and somehow 1 was vaguely conscious of a queer sensation that the man Was laughing in the gloom. “ By all means,” I said, hastily opening the door, Striking a match, | applied it to the oil lamp, which settled toa steady glow as my visitor closed the door behind him, Then I turncd—and involuntarily a cry of amazement escaped my lips. The man who had followed me into the “TWISTED” HARMON. 101 room and now stood there smiling quietly was my old friend Captain John Macdougal, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police ! “ John Macdougal!”’ I cried, springing round the table and seizing his hand. “ By all that’s holy, what are you doing here ?” Macdougal laughed as he removed his stiff rainproof cap. “I might be asking you that question,” he replied, “ but ha He stopped suddenly as the gate slammed and steps sounded outside, “Who is that?” he asked, and sprang back into the shaded portion of the room. “It's only Luis, a servant,’”’ I told him. “A young chap, and can be trusted im- plicitly.”’ “No one down here can be trusted implicitly,” growled Macdougal. He waited until the steps retreated round the house ; then he pulled the shades and carefully closed and bolted the door. ‘‘ These people are tricky and subtle,”” he went on. ‘‘ The country is seething with intrigues and plots. German gold flows freely, and the whole place swarms with the laiser’s agents. A man has to be on his guard at every moment.” 1 took a bottle of brandy from the cup- board and poured out two generous portions. “T hope that isn't why vou're here,” I laughed, seating myself. *‘ Suppose you give me an explanation ? ” “Pm very decidedly mixed up in the thing, but only in an incidental sort of way,” he answered, a little grimly. ‘ Actually, I’m down here after ‘ Twisted * Harmon.” “What!” I gazed across my upraised cup in amazement. “ Why, man, he escape! five vears ago! Besides, the case w: “Was turned over to the States?” the Captain finished. ‘So it was—but we follow up such things, you know. The American authorities made a determined etfort to land our man, but when six months passed and Harmon was still at large, Inspector Bickett called me in to head- quarters, relieved me of duty at Macleod, gave me all the intelligence that had so far been obtained regarding Harmon, and wound up with the order ‘Go out and bring him in!’ ” “And you mean to say that you've been on his trail five years?’ I demanded, in astonishment. “ Almost every moment.” I lay back in my chair. ‘ Well, doesn’t it look pretty hopeless, then ?’’ I asked. “' If you've arched all that time without finding any trace of him “On the contrary, I've known his approxi- mate location many times during those years,” the Captain interrupted, quictly. “Why not arrest him, then?” [ blurted out. tal occasions been close on his trail, I have nevertheless had no oppor-

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102 tunity to lay hands upon him. As a matter of fact, I’ve never even seen the man. If ever there was a slippery, cunning devil, it’s this same ‘ Twisted ’ Harmon.” Macdougal took a cigar from the box I had placed in the middle of the table, and while he was lighting it 1 seized the oppor- tunity to study his face keenly. The black hair and closely-cropped moustache were flecked with gry, the square iron jaws some- what leaner than formerly, and the crows’- feet of humour that were wont to play around his mouth had now deepened into harsher lines. Otherwise he had not changed much during the five years that had elapsed since I last saw him. “ Suppose you give me the story?” Lurged. “ I'm afraid a full account would take too long,” he told me, “ but I can give you the salient points of the chase. To gointo details would only prove tiresome to you as well as humiliating, perhaps, to myself.” He laughed dryly, and retilling his glass from the squat square bottle, sipped sparingly of the liqueur. “After Harmon murdered Owens he escaped across the border. As the crime had been committed in my _ district I had followed subsequent developments closely, with the result that when Inspector Bickett detailed me to capture the murderer I was in possession not only of much valuable knowledge, but had some preconceived ideas of my own regarding the best methods to pursue in following him. I soon picked up his trail, but what I could not foresee was the formidable assistance he received from a totally unexpected source. “ Harmon had entered the service of the espionage system the Germans were creating in the States. He was, of course, employed as a gunman and for ‘ strong-arm’ work in general, His connection with this organiza- tion made the task of trailing him one of infinite diffi y. Being part of a great, smooth-working system, which was naturally ‘suspicious and inclined to regard everyone outside its ranks as a potential enemy, it was virtually impossible to approach his haunts without alarming him. Time after time I’ve swooped down upon him—only to have the brute slip through my fingers at the last moment, “Then one day, very suddenly and very quietly, ‘ Twisted’ Harmon dropped out of sight altogether. Just why he went I am not yet certain. The American authorities, who co-operated to the full with me, had re- doubled their efforts since the outlaw joined the spies, and the chase may have been getting too warm for his liking. On the other hand, work of another nature may have called him from the country, Whatever the cause, he disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed him, and it was not until last spring that I located him n the Argentine.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “* And he’s down here now ?” I asked. “ Yes,’’ answered Macdougal. ‘“ In fact, he will visit La Penza within the next twenty- four hours.” Had the long-sought Harmon appeared in the doerway 1 could not have started more violently. ‘‘ And you’re waiting to arrest him ? ”’ 1 cried. “No,” replied the Captain. ‘ Not just yet, anyway. It’s true we have treaties with this country that make it possible to get extradition papers, and, as the outlaw does not know me or suspect my presence, I could probably capture him easily enough. But what would be the result ? There is a good deal of red tape about these matters, and if L did arrest him I should have to turn him over to the local authorities while going through the formalities of securing extradition. L know very well what would occur in the interim! Owing to the activities of the I s agents, the sympathy of the people in this country is almost evenly divided between the Allies and the Teutons. The cities simply swarm with spies. Even the Government is divided into cliques and factions, with a not inconsiderable section actively, if secretly, promoting the cause of the Germans. In view of this, it is not difficult to see what would very probably be the outcome if Harmon were arrested. Ten to one it would serve no purpose other than to betray my hand—and quite likely win me a dagger-thrust in the dark as well. Things happen down here that are never dreamed of in our part of the world.” “Then what are you going to do?” I asked. Macdougal's fingers drummed on the table- top as he gazed meditatively ceilingward. “It’s my intention to trail him until he goes to some section more favourable to our causc—one of the countries, say, that is participating in the war.” “Do you think there is a possibility of that >?” “Yes,” said Macdougal. ‘ Something big is brewing right now. Just what it is I have not as yet ascertained, except that it in- volves operations of submarines from some- where in South America—very probably the northern coasts of Brazil. The American transport system is the objective. A for- tunate circumstance in Montevideo placed invaluable information in my hands, although something scems to have gone amiss at the last moment. The final plans—which, I've no doubt, came direct from Germany—were in the possession of Von Stodtler, who was supposed to deliver them to Harmon at La Penza to-morrow. But there had been a slip-up somewhere. Von Stodtler was sup- posed to arrive on the drion, but he hasn't shown up.” I started. ‘ Why, that was the boat I came on,” I interjected. “Yes; I know,” said Macdougal, quietly.

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“It was while searching the passenger-lists that I found your name. But Von Stodtler was not among them. Ofcourse he wouldn't have travelled under that name, but I’ve traced down every passenger who landed within twenty miles of here. It’s very strange! I know, for an absolute certainty, that there has been no change of plan and ‘Twisted ’ Harmon will be here to-night or to-morrow for his instructions. It’s equally certain, too, that Von Stodtler boarded the Avion at Buenos Aires. pe “| think vou’re mistaken there,” I inter- tupted. ‘‘ There were not many passengers, and Von Stodtler could not have been among them without my knowledge. I can assure you that he neither came up the river on the steamer nor boarded her at Buenos Aires. In fact, the passenger list was made up wholly of natives, with the exception of myself and a Mr. Lorder, who was un- fortunately drowned at La Paz.” “What's that ?’’ Macdougal sprang to his feet, and his voice snapped like a whip. “What was this Mr. Lorder like ? ”’ Wonderingly, I gave a description of my chance acquaintance on the boat, but Mac- dougal interrupted me before I had_ half finished. ‘‘ That’s him!” he said, tersely. “Your companion on the trip was no other than Von Stodtler—the cleverest and most trusted agent the Kaiser has on this side ! The limp was an affectation, but otherwise the description tallies—fits like an old glove. What became of his effects?” he asked suddenly. ‘“ Was anything found ? ” “No,” L answered, divining his thoughts. “The Captain, considering me the only friend of the supposed Lorder aboard, invited me to witness the disposal of his things. They were packed and stored and are to be forwarded to the Boston address the drowned man gave. There was nothing among them to indicate that he was other than what he claimed.” “ Of course not,” my companion broke in. “ Anything of an incriminating nature would have been on his body. But it was Von Stodtler, there’s no doubt of that!” With that Macdougal began to walk backwards and forwards across the room. Apparently the situation was taking on new and unexpected aspects. Lost in thought he paced nervously to and fro for a moment, and then came to a sudden halt before me. Are you willing to go into this thing— willing to take a long chance ? ” he demanded. “Of course, it’s really not your affair, but—— “* Twisted’ Harmon is our common enemy,” I told him. way, count me in!” “You can just about be the whole thing,” he snapped. “ What do you want me to do?” I asked eagerly, “ If Lean assist in any “TWISTED” HARMON. 103 “T want you to play the part of Von Stodtler.”” “But how on_ earth 2?” I began, startled by the sudden proposal. “It will be easy ’—Macdougal was speaking rapidly now. ‘ Harmon never set eves on Von Stodtler, although he worked under his direction for several years. At the most he can only have a description of him, and toa certain extent you resemble the dead spy. You'll have to conceal that limp, though. Of course, there is a risk—-a very real and dangerous risk—but it’s my opinion that Harmon will accept vou at face value.” “The risk doesn't matter if there is any possibility of success,” I put in. “ But I must confess that 1 can’t sce a chance. Suppose the trick des go through and Harmon receives me as his boss—what then ? What knowledge can I possibly have of the plans and arrangements which must exist ?”’ “ That is precisely the danger. As I told you, I possess some knowledge in a general way of their designs. This will give vou a lead to work on; and for the rest you must depend upon bluff, pure and simple. My plan is this. At first you must assume an authoritative, masterful attitude, just as Von Stodtler would have done. Your posi- tion must be that of one who completely controls the situation. You must, however, vouchsafe no information not absolutely necessary, but absorb every word, every remark, every hint of detail that Harmon lets fall. Our great object is, primarily, to get the outlaw on to Brazilian soil, but we also want all the information regarding that submarine base that we can possibly obtain. You and Harmon _ will travel together—but for obvious reasons as strangers. I shall also be on the train, and if trouble comes you can rely upon me.” The Captain paused in his speech—quite a long one for him—and gazed at me rather queerly, ‘ It’s risky and dangerous— some- thing like a leap in the dark,” he continucd, “and. be “ Let’s get this thing dead to rights,” I interrupted. ‘‘ Harmon is to be lured into Brazil ie “Exactly. Once he steps foot in that country 1 can arrest him with every assur- ance that he will be quickly and expedi- tiously returned to Canada. Information about the submarines, while very desirable, is not so important; we can notify the American Consulate in Bahia and they will take care of that matter.” Our plans, such as they were, were quickly made. We could arrange very little, for future action must be determined largely by developments to come. It was, indeed a game of blind-man’s buff—a leap in the dark, as Macdougal so aptly phrased it. Beyond the arranged meeting of the spies in La Penza we could be certain of abso-

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10g lutely nothing—indeed, we did not even know where that meeting was to take place. “ Better just stay where you are and carry on as usual,” advised Macdougal, after we had. considered this phase of the matter. “Harmon will hunt you up, never fear. Very probably he will pursue the same course as 1 took—find out who left the Arion at this place. When he discovers you are the only white man who disembarked, and that you have set up as a cattle buyer for the Allies in this unlikely spot, where cattle are scarce and their transportation all but impossible, he’ll jump to conclusions, To make it stronger, you can tell him you are going to establish permanent head- quarters here. I’m almost certain that Von Stodtler had some such intention.” Macdougal’s prophecy proved accurate almost down to minor details. I was lighting my lamp the following evening (I had stuck closely to my rooms all day, in order that my expected visitor might suffer no inconvenience) when steps sounded outside and through the window I saw a figure approaching. It was growing dark and I could do little more than trace the outlines of the man. He approached without the slightest hesitation, yet I thought I could detect something furtive and stealthy in his movements. Quickly he crossed the porch and knocked. I opened the door—and the next instant I knew that 1 was gazing into the face of the long-sought outlaw, “ ‘'wisted ’’ Harmon. I had spent a good deal of time preparing myself for this moment, and now I did not hesitate. ‘Are you Harmon?” I asked, brusquely. Instantly my visitor's demeanour changed. The doubtful, questioning, half-truculent look on his face gave place to an expression that was at least respectful. "He answered my question after t, comprehensive glance round the “I’m after those. fe room. “T’ve decided to go on,” I interrupted, hastily. I wanted to end the interview as speedily as possible, being determined not to be drawn into a conversation that might be fraught with dangerous potentialities. ‘I wish you to accompany me. We shall leave on the ten-forty-five express for Talavera, and after that make use of such arrange- ments as you have made.” “What arrangements?” he sharply. Apparently I had made some sort of blunder, so I hastily covered it. ‘‘ Some of our journey lies through mountain country and must be made on horseback, as you should know,” I snapped. ‘“‘ Surely you have prepared f+r that?” ““ We can go to the border by rail,” he told me. “ There’s a stretch of rough country below Puerto Pacheco which we must travel on horseback, but I imagine Geisler has made asked THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. all arrangements necessary. Anyhow, I know those mountains, and if he hasn’t we can secure horses and go on by ourselves.”’ “Good! And now you’d better be going ; it isn't.safe for us to be seen together.” I made an earnest endeavour to suppress the eagerness and anxiety in my voice. “Oh, there isn’t much danger,’’ Harmon retorted, confidently. ‘‘ You had the right dope when you mapped out this inland channel of communication. So far, there hasn't been the slightest suspicion roused. But you're right; this thing is too big to tisk by taking chances.” He replaced his hat, and fumbled for the door-knob. “Yes; we mustn't even speak on the train,” I told him. “‘ If it should be necessary to communcate it must be by note.” He nodded, bade me good-night, departed. Owing to the heavy traffic prevailing at the time, the smelly, ill-ventilated, over- crowded train crept along at almost a snail's pace. The wasteful, hurrying hand of war was visible evenin this distant land. Train after train loaded with cattle was being rushed to the coast, there to begin the long journey across the Atlantic that would end finally, in all probability, in some field kitchen on the Western front. More than once we underwent the rather novel experience of being shunted on to a siding to permit one of these long freights to pass. On these occasions only did the crowds—lively and good-natured, as South American crowds usually are—display any temper. To me the delay was little short of torture. Harmon and myself occupied the same coach, and | dreaded that some unforeseen occurrence, some unguarded word or look, or a chance acquaintance of one or the other of us, might betray me, or—what was nearly as bad-—put the spy upon his guard. Macdougal was on the train, too. I had seen him only for an instant, but in that brief moment I managed to let him know our destination. I breathed a little more freely when, just after noon on the second day, I looked out of the window and saw ahead the blue, yellow, and green of the Brazilian colours. This did not mean that our journey was ended, how- ever, for the railroad runs along the border for nearly forty miles until it reaches its terminus at Porto de Ciaro, We were slowing down for some little frontier town when Harmon came gliding swiftly through the coach. He bent over me, whispered ‘‘ We get off here,” and then quickly made his way to where the guard was unhooking the platform, preparatory to disembarking passengers. For one moment 1 sat dumbfounded. Like lightning it flashed through my mind that the spy had in some manner discovered I was sailing under false colours. But more sober reflection—as sober, that is, as the and

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“TWISTED” HARMON, 105 “I had spent a good deal of time preparing myself for this moment, and now I did not hesitate. exigencies of that swift moment permitted— argued strongly against any such conclusion. How could he possibly know, or even suspect ? Certainly there had been no one in the coach to betray me. Harmon, having once ac- cepted my claims without question, would not be likely to grow suspicious now. No; beyond doubt something unforeseen had occurred—some signal, perhaps, had been flashed to him by a confederate outside as the train passed. This seemed plausible enough ; indeed, it appeared the only explanation. Vou. wv¥.—8 ‘Are you Harmon?’ | asked.” Had Harmonreally feared a trap he would have quietly left the train without my knowledge. The train had hardly come to a stop when it whistled to start again, for the engineer was making up all possible time on his lost schedule. Harmon was already standing on the wooden platform, his back towards the carriage, gazing indifferently over the little crowd in front of the station. Not by the slightest sign or gesture did he betray interest in any passengers who might be following him.

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106 The cars creaked and groaned and began to move. Quick action was necessary. But what could I do? By no manner of means could I warn Macdougal of the change of programme. Responsibility was suddenly thrust upon me. Should I let my friend lose his long-sought opportunity, or should 1 take matters into my own hands, at least to the extent of keeping in touch with Harmon until I could notify the proper authorities ? It took but one brief moment to decide, With a celerity quite creditable for a man with a stift leg, 1 snatched up my travelling vag and raced past the guard just as he was raising the platform. The train was moving quite rapidly as 1 jumped off. I was thrown violently off my feet, scratching my face considerably, but I paid little heed to my injuries. Rising to a sitting posture I gazed eagerly up into the windows of the passing coaches. Swarthy countenances looked down at me—faces in which mirth and sympathy struggled for the mastery— but Macdougal’s was not among them. Brushing myself and retrieving my hand- bag, 1 made my way painfully up the plat- form. My unceremonious exit) from the coach had, of course, been noted by the crowd, and IL was favoured with a few laughing, good-natured gibes, to which I paid little attention. ‘ Twisted '’ Harmon, I noticed, had left the platform and was walking rapidly up the wide, dusty road that lay in front of the little village. I] started after him, but at a necessarily slower pai Harmon’s actions were de- cidedly puzzling. He was walking so rapidly that I saw I should soon be hope- lessly out-distanced, but whatever his object he was not trying to “ lose ’’ me—I felt certain of that. Indeed, the fact that he was making himsclf as conspicuous as possible in the broad road, and frequently glanced back over his shoulder, was assurance that he intended me to follow, I breathed more easily, and slowed down toa more Icisurely pace, when I saw Harmon stop at a building which proved to be a sort of tavern. In a moment, however, he teappeared, mounted on one of the sure- footed little mules used in this mountain section, For an instant he hesitated ; then wheeling abruptly, he spoke a few words to an attendant who had followed him and started off at a brisk canter up the rough, steadily-ascending road that led over the San Joan Pas He had barely glanced back at me, but in that moment he had signalled for me to follow. Quietly, but none the less vigorously, I began cursing him upon a new score. My command of Spanish was—and_ is—decidedly limited, and I began to visualize all sorts of trouble, to say nothing of the expenditure of many pesetas, before Lcould obtain a mount. 1 was, therefore, agreeably surprised to find another mule waiting, already saddled. An THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. attendant, with an oily grin and a few words in very bad English, indicated that the animal was at my disposal. My spirits rose immeasurably. Harmon, by making this arrangement, had proved conclusively that he neither mistrusted me nor was he trying to escape me. Bevond doubt he would give a satisfactory explana- tion when | caught up with him. But this proved to be no e task. Harmon was now about half a mile in the lead, and he seemed bent upon maintaining the distance. If 1 urged my little mount to a greater speed he also accelerated his pace— and yet, I reflected, his tactics were not unsound, Fearful that any indication of familiarity might prove dangerous even in this lonely mountain region, he was following a course that would guide me and yet give any chance observer the impression that two strangers were journeying along the road. Soon, however, there would be no need for any such deception. The sun was sinking behind the western rim of the hills, and already its last lingering rays were vanishing from the peaks above. Behind them stalked the long black shadows, for sundown and darkness are almost synony- mous in this mountain country. Our road, following a long, narrow, shelving ledge, was now nearing the summit of the great cleft known as the San Joan Pass. A nervous shivering lurch of my mount jerked me back to the reality of things. The road, suddenly narrowing to little more than a path, was now weaving its tortuous way through a maze of boulders and deep, treacherous ruts. It was hemmed in on one side by the bald, sheer face of the mountain, while to my right vawned an abrupt precipice. ‘Travelling here was dan- gerous even in the best of light and with the surest-footed of mules, for a mis-step meant a fall of hundreds of feet. Darkness had now settled down like a Dlanket, and I had long since lost sight of Harmon. Would he attempt to cross the pass in the dark? I asked myself appre- hensively. I stopped and listened atten- tively. A nighthawk called from some lonely evrie height, but otherwise the silence of the grave prevailed. Not until I reached the comparatively level ground at the top did [ catch up with Harmon. Rounding a vast out-cropping of rock I came upon him. He had dis- mounted and was bending over a fire he had started in a sheltered spot among the boulders. For the moment 1 was un- observed, and I was conscious of a vague but very real sense of fear as 1 watched the quick sudden movements of the man. But I could afford to betray no signs of appre- hension now, and with my hand resting on the comforting butt of my automatic I boldly rode into view.

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“What the devil's wrong, anyway?” IT rasped authoritatively. ‘Why are we taking this outlandish——” “Sorry T couldn't inform you sooner.” I thought I detected just the trace of a sneer in Harmon's harsh voice,‘ Geisler wants us to take this route to Mendoza. Two of his men will be there with further instruc- tions. The message was given me at- He “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner ? I had now dismounted, and I turned upon my companion a face intended to be stern and commanding. “ Why take this——-” “ Cguldn't,"” he answered, —laconically turning again to the fire. ‘“‘ There were two suspicious-looking hombres in that coach, and Geisler warned me to be on the look-out for American intelligence men_ here. I wouldn't take a chance. Those plans are mighty important, you know—to say nothing of our necks.” I saw my cue and acquiesced instantly. ““You were quite right,” I said heartily. ‘** I failed to note the men you mention, and the abrupt change has caused me no end of inconvenience, but it’s perfectly all right. We mustn’t take any risks.” Harmon had some food in his saddle-bags —put there, I suppose, by the innkeeper— and soon the appetizing odour of mulligan and boiling cotfee very appreciably lifted my spirits. And yet supper proved to be a rather glum and silent attair—intentionally so, on my part—while I had already judged Harmon to be an ill-natured, savage-tempered man of few words at the best. Not once did he mention the business that we were ostensibly engaged upon, while I for my part was scrupulous to avoid any reference that might involve me in an embarrassing discussion. After the meal we spread our blankets on opposite sides of the fire, with the smooth ground for a bed and our saddles as pillows. I was dead tired after my long train-trip and the ride up the tough mountain trail, but, nevertheless, I tried to formulate my plans for the future. Harmon had told me, in his - harsh, brief manner, that Mendoza would be the first town of any importance we should pass through—and here I meant to bring the jong chase to anend. I would quietly inform the authorities and have Harmon detained while I communicated with Macdougal by getting in touch with the railroad. My blood tingled at the prospect. Heretofore I had been actuated solely by a desire to assist a friend and render some service to my country, but now I was conscious of a very real personal concern. Contact with the brutish Harmon had only served to deepen and intensify my eagerness to bring him to the justice he so richly deserved. And with these thoughts I drifted off into slumber. What it was that wakened me I shall never know. I came to my senses suddenly— “TWISTED” HARMON. 107 nerves a-tingle, every faculty tensely alert— and yet I awoke without the slightest sound or movement. Long experience on rough frontiers had taught me the folly of springing up when startled out of sleep, and_ this faculty now stood me in good stead. I opened my eyes cautiously. It must have been late in the night, for the moon was swinging on her downward arc, lighting the chalky cliffs and gleaming peaks with almost the brilliance of midday. Without moving a muscle I turned my eyes slightly—and then an icy hand suddenly clutched my heart, and I felt the goose-flesh rising on the back of my neck. Only half-a-dozen paces distant ‘‘ Twisted” Harmon sat on a boulder gazing intently down at me. He held a revolver levelled almost directly at my head, but it was not this that frightened me. It was the weird, uncanny posture of the man—the horribly suggestive attitude, like that of some great ape. My mind, now acutely alert, instantly grasped the situation. Either Harmon had detected the trick and lured me to this lonely mountain plateau to kill me, or still taking me for Von Stodtler, he was bent upon the murder of his superior for some reason that I could not guess. But I was in no mood for idle speculations. Whoever or whatever Harmon took me for, his intentions towards myself were obvious enough. Action—quick, effective action— was imperative. Slowly my right hand began stealing towards the automatic in my ket. The odds were, I knew, almost hoveleasty against me, but there was at least a chance. For the moment I was undetected; then I saw Harmon start violently and his gun described a quick are as it swung upward. 1 lunged back against the rocks, tugging feverishly at my pocket, but to my horror I found that my gun had gone! “Cut it!’’ Harmon’s steady eyes gazed over the levelled revolver. ‘ I’ve got your gun,” and he mockingly held up the auto- matic, “What the——” “Cut that bunk!” he repeated harshly, his lips curling with scorn and anger. ‘‘ No use tacking on that course any longer—your game’s up! You roped me in at first, but that limp gave you away. I took the opportunity of going through your travelling bag while you were dozing on the train, I've got you spotted now right enough. What have you done with Von Stodtler 2” I considered rapidly. Common sense told me that once absolutely in Harmon’s power my life was not worth a moment’s purchase, whether 1) gave him any information regarding Von Stodtler or not. Escape I could not, for I was totally unarmed, and the ground, although broken, was not favourable to a hurricd flight. My only hope

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108 lay in overpowering or disarming the outlaw, and I realized very well that I could aceom- plish this only by taking him completely by surpise. I edged a little nearer. “Why,” I said slowly, “I left him at. ”* and then I sprang straight at him, hands and feet iling blindly and aimle: ., hoping to knock the weapon from his grasp and at least reduce us to terms of equality regarding arms. But Harmon was not to be taken off his guard. Evidently he expected just such a move, for his left fist lashed out and caught me flush on the jaw. My head was twisted back; then the heavy butt of the pistol fell with crushing force on the side of my head, and I fell in a heap. I regained consciousness by slow degrees. My head was throbbing, and stabbing pains radiated from my temple. I found myself in a sitting posture, my back against the rock wall and bent forward, both wrists securely lashed tb my ankles with raw-hide thongs that bit cruelly into the flesh. I was brought back to stern realities by Harmon’ 3, voice. ‘ Well?” he asked harshly. “‘ Are you ready to tell me where Von Stodtler is ? I returned his gaze steadily. know,” | said, doggedly. “That's a lie! You've done something with Stodtler, or you’d never have known anything about me. I'll give you just one minute to answer.” The ugly muzzle of the pistol swung menacingly upward. “ Tell me and I'll set you free. If you don’t, you'll never leave this spot alive.’ ‘The ruse did not for a moment deceive me, but a somewhat morbid desire to inflict some punishment upon my enemy prompted me to answer. Von Stodtler is dead,” I in- formed him, with slow emphasis. Harmon betrayed neither surprise nor concern. ‘I half suspected as much,” he said, indifferently. ‘“‘ However, he had some papers—which you took, no doubt, They'll do. Give them to me, and ie “1 know nothing about any papers,’’ 1 answered truthfully. “Yes, you do!” he roared, his face con- torted bya spasm of rage. “ You know, and you'll tell, or: ” Viciously he tore open my coat and subjected me to a thorough, if somewhat rough, search. Not until he had been through every pocket and even removed my shoes did “ Twisted ” Harmon desist. “ Do vou still think I’ve got any papers ? "’ I demanded. * You know where they are. I’m certain you do, otherwise you'd never have been in on this deal. And you'll tell me, too.” Suddenly the outlaw seemed to regain complete control of himself, and when he spoke again it was in tones charged with a menace more potent than the gleaming six- gun in his hand. “T don’t THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “T'll give you just one more chance,” he went on. “‘ Tell me where those papers are, and 1’ll release you. If you don’t—well, you'll disappear without a trace, that’s all.” He pointed significantly toward the precipice yawning at the edge of the road. ‘ Your carcass can lie down there till Doomsday, and nobody will ever be the wiser. I'm going up the road now to take a smoke—but mainly I want to give you a chance to consider things. Vhink it over.” And, turning abruptly, he strode rapidly up the moonlit Toad. I watched half-fascinated until he dis- appeared in the shadows of a jutting ledge. 1 was rapidly acquiring a new idea of the outlaw’s mental capacity. The devilish cunning of his plan proved that in his coarse, tuthless way he was no mean psychologist. I had made up my mind to die rather than utter a single word, and Harmon, reading this resolve in my face and manner, was taking the only possible means to break it, hoping that the slow inevitable approach of death would wear away my determination, Suddenly there was a sound behind me. I turned as far as my cramped position would allow, and then, despite my desperate situation, | started violently, for I saw the dark form of a man crouching low, rushing at me. The moonlight struck his face—and my heart fairly leaped to my throat as I recognized John Macdougal ! ““] saw it all,” he breathed, as he began cutting my bonds. ‘1 was just stealing up when you spoiled things by waking. 1 couldn't act in time to save you that wallop, though.’’ Macdougal was working fast and speaking faster still. “ I witnessed your tumble from the train, but was carried on three miles before I could make the conductor understand that I wanted to get off. I had the devil of a time finding the direction you had taken—Harmon evidently has a pull hereabouts—and couldn’t get a mount after. But listen! I want to take Harmon alive, and I want vou to help: the two of us can handle him all right. Fl cut these thongs, but leave them draped over your wrists and ankles, When Harmon returns, entice him near enough to seize his wri I be hiding on this ledge just behind you. Can you do it ?” “Yes,"" IT whispered. With that Macdougal carefully replaced the now severed bonds in their natural position, Then, he took a revolver from his pocket and thrust it between my knees. “ Keep this handy, but use it only as a last resort,” he admonished, ‘' And don't fail to grab both of Harmon’s wrists. He's a * two- gun’ man—and a terror with either hand.” Directly behind me and some six feet above the ground, a little shelf projected from the almost perpendicular face of the wall. The rock was bare and smooth, but Macdougal, athlete that he was, scaled it easily. The

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“TWISTED” HARMON. 109‘ “I sprang straight at him, hoping to knock the weapon from his grasp.”’

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110 ledge was narrow, but his form merged so well with the shadows that only an inquiring eye would have noted his presence—indeed, even to me he seemed only a darker splotch in the gloom. “ Twisted” Harmon would hardly be likely even to glance in that direction. It was comforting to know that just above me frowned the muzzle of a heavy service revolver, ready to intercept with sudden death any hostile move on the outlaw’s part. I turned my eyes up the road and waited with mounting anxiety. The suspense was soon ended. A step sounded, and Harmon came into view. He strode rapidly forward, and I could tell from his determined manner that he was resolved upon ending things quickly. “Well?” he asked, and his voice rasped like steel grating on steel. ‘‘ Have you made up your mind yet ? ” ‘““What assurance have I that you will free me if | do turn those plans over to you ? ” 1 asked, simulating a half-frightened, half wheedling tone in an endeavour to lend some semblance of verisimilitude to my position. “1 told you I would!” The note of eagerness in the harsh tones was very noticeable. ‘‘ That’s the assurance you have ~—and it’s all you can have.” “Well,” I answered, submissively, “ they are sewn up in the lapel of my coat. Cut me loose, and. iy With a hoarse, almost inarticulate cry of triumph Harmon bent over me, one of his shoulders unceremoniously thrusting my head back out of the way, and his fingers rapidly worked and twisted either edge of my coat, his ears straining for the tell-tale crinkle of paper And then my hands shot upwards and clutched the massive wrists in a feverish, spasmodic grip ! For one fleeting moment a look of blank incredulity overspread the outlaw’s face. He seemed utterly incapable of grasping the situation—of realizing that his despised, impotent enemy was now facing him on something like an equal footing. Next instant, with tigerish suddenness, the great shoulders heaved upwards. I was dragged almost to my feet as his arms were wrenched free, and then pushed violently backwards while one of Harmon’s hands flashed to the gun in its holster. “ You !” he bellowed, his voice hoarse with anger, but he never finished his remark, for a great form dived almost head foremost from the ledge above. It was a magnificent example of what, in football, is known as the flying tackle. Mac- dougal struck with the suddenness of a locomotive. Harmon was a giant of a man, but there was no withstanding that terrific impact. The half-drawn revolver was knocked from his grasp, and he bent like a reed as Macdougal’s knee caught him in the side. The policeman’s fore-arm swung tight across the ruffian’s bare throat, and I THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. went down like a ninepin as the struggling bodies hurtled over me, like two giant gladiators locked in a death-embrace. Hurriedly I scrambled aside and got to my feet, but one quick glance sufficed to show that the fight—if such it could be called— was all but over. Harmon lay spread- eagled, his head twisted back over his shoulder, breathing with great whistling gasps, his wind all but cut off by Macdougal’s strangle-hold. My friend was also breathing hard under the terrific strain of his position. “ Quick!” he panted. ‘ Get the handcuffs out of my pocket. They're unlocked—all ready to snap on. Now bring his arms over his back.”” The Captain raised his shoulders a trifle to permit this operation, and a moment later Harmon felt ‘the ‘ nippers ” encircle his wrists. But Macdougal did not relax his hold. “Now cut one of those bridle-reins and tie his ankles,” he directed. This proved more difficult, for Harmon could kick—an expe- dient that he did not fail to resort to—but I finally caught him in a slip-loop. When I had finished, the outlaw lay, for the first time in his life, triced up and_ helpless, ready to face the justice he had so long avoided, Slowly Macdougal rose to his feet and for a long moment gazed down at the captive, as though scarcely able to realize that the long trail was actually ended. As for myself, I was conscious of an almost overpowering sense of relief. I had the sensations of a man who comes suddenly into bright sun- light after traversing a gloomy forest. “Twisted ’’ Harmon had displayed a savage, relentless nature that would go to any lengths in wreaking vengeance upon an enemy, real or fancied. But there was nothing to fear now from this quarter. At last the Mounted Police “‘ Mounted Police! ’’ I must have muttered the words subconsciously, for Harmon looked up, with a startled face, and repeated them blankly. Macdougal bent down. ‘ Yes,”’ he said, quietly.“ We weren't after you on account of that submarine business—that will be taken care of by others. You're going back to Canada, Harmon—back to Macleod, to answer for the murder of ‘ Burky’ Owens.” Harmon was never tried for his crimes— he dicd about four months after his return to Canada, from the effects of malaria. Before his death he freely confessed to the murder of Owens, as well as his part in the train robbery, but steadfastly refused to divulge anything concerning his lite before coming to Macleod or his activities after his escape. This loyalty to his fellow-criminals was the nearest approach to a redeeming quality that I ever observed in his morose and sinister character.

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% SIR CHARLES PIERS, BART. ™ -~- . Things have altered considerably since the days when the lumberjacks went out into the forests in more or less haphazard fashion and cut down great trees to supply the world with timber. Nowadays logging is a very carefully organized business, as this article shows. Sir Charles Pi iers paid a visit to a big logging camp in British Columbia and describes and illustrates the interesting things he saw there. HE life of the Canadian logger, like that of the prospector, is one of enterprise, adventure, and danger. In his search for large tracts of merchantable timbec he explores miles of forest country on the coast line, the “ tall timbers ”’ of the great river valleys, and the mountains in the interior, which otherwise would probably remain untouched. Having found these tracts, he not only surveys them, but opens them up by the construction of roads and railways. The visitor to a great logging camp does not realize the vast amount of preliminary work which has to be done in preparing the surrounding “timber limits’ for logging

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112 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. operations. Under modern requirements this work often takes many months, and necessitates not only the services of ‘ timber cruisers ”’ to estimate the amount of timber of various kinds on the limits, but also those of practical railway engineers, who survey the country, run the ground lines for the logging railways, and —when near a navigable Tiver or the sea—prepare plans for the “booming grounds’ where the logs will float while being sorted and classed ready for towing to the saw-mills. The engineers will also make a contour map of the limits and plans for the grading of the railway and for the erecting of cable-ways, known as “ sky-lines,” where the ground does not permit of surface transportation. The building of the camp, or camps, is in itself quite an undertaking. Plans have to be prepared, water laid on, and electric lighting provided by connecting with the nearest line, or by a power installation on the limits. A vast amount of machinery and material has to be collected and trans- ported into rough mountainous country miles from the nearest railway, navigable river, or the sea. First and foremost, then, the laying of the logging railway from the end of existing means of transportation is all-important. The great logging camp to which I recently paid a ten days’ visit is operated throughout the year with the exception of about one month at Christmas-time, when work is temporarily closed down for the festive season. All the buildings, therefore, are of permanent structure, wooden through- out except for brick chimneys where necessary. Each bunk-house, accommodating eight men, is heated by a large central stove at which the occupants can dry their wet clothing during the rainy winter months. Bedsteads in the place of the old-fashioned bunks add much to the comfort of the men, whose cleanliness is provided for by a roomy bath-house complete with hot and cold water. The meals are served in a large mess hut adjoining the kitchen, off which is a small annexe for the officials and guests of the management. The guest-house is a most comfortable wooden building with a bathroom and detached kitchen in which guests can cook their own breakfasts, as those served in camp are at an early hour, when most visitors are still between the blankets. The Abernethy Lougheed Logging Company’s Camp is to all intents and pur- poses a permanency, as it will take about twenty years to “ log off ” the timber stands on these mountain limits, which are many miles in extent. Only a small portion has as yet been logged, aud already the Company has constructed eighteen miles of standard- gauge railway, including a line eight miles in length leading from the C.P.R. main line and the Fraser River, where the Company’s booming grounds are situated, as well as branches, or “spurs,” running into the areas in which logging is in operation. The officials look upon their houses as_ their permanent homes, and they may well do so, for they are most comfortable and well- built, and there is a hard tennis-court for their recreation in the long summer evenings. In summer there are also temporary camps accommodating the dependents of some of the married loggers. These small camps, one of which we visited, consist of tents with plank sides and flooring. Some of the occupants show great taste and ingenuity in the cultivation of little gardens. The men employed in these logging camps are of all sorts and cla: . In the specialist and highly-paid jobs, where brains or skill Camp Number Two, showing the incline cable roadway in the background.

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LiFE IN A LOGGING CAMP. 113 are necessary, they are trained to the logging business, but in the unskilled work there are representatives of all the vario-s trades and industries in the country whose ranks at the moment are overcrowded. Mor of such men are found in the logging camps in summer than in winter, for their services are then required to fight the great menace of the industry—the ever-present danger of fire. In this employment they are known as “Fire Spotters,” or ‘‘ Spark Chasers,” and in what are called “ Protected Camps ’— those in which every precaution is taken, and the problem carefully studied—they are organized into a ‘fire gang” under a “ fire warden’ who is solely responsible for the safety of the camps and limits. These men take no part in the logging operations, but, armed with shovels, patrol allotted areas of the limits, or a section of the logging railway, to see that no spark from the locomotives or donkey-engines, falling in the dust and debris inseparable from logging operations, starts a fire. Such blazes, if not immediately extinguished, may quickly become raging conflagrations not to be vanquished before property and material worth hundreds of thousands of dollars have been destroyed, with possibly loss of life in addition. Fire precautions in the vast forests of British Columbia are now recognized as a vital necessity, and the discovery of the atmospheric condition known as “ fire weather’ has done much to help in preventing disaster. Such weather is caused by a dry east wind blowing off the high arid mountains of the interior, which quickly saps the moisture from all inflam- mable dbris. This soon becomes as dry as tinder, and the smallest spark will at once set it alight. Under such conditions, unless the tiniest blaze is at once smothered, a raging fire specdily results. Then anything may happen, and the damage done before it burns itself out, or is stopped by back- fires, is often incalculable. When a bad fire occurs every man in camp has to turn out and “‘ fire-fight for all he is worth, for if the blaze cannot be kept away from the camp the whole place may go up in the flaming destruction raging over miles of country. During spells of “ fire weather ” the patrols are often doubled and remain on duty day and night, and if the menacing conditions look like lasting it may even be advisable, in the interests of safety, to close down logging operations altogether until the weather changes. : The system of patrols is carefully regu- lated, and the “‘ fire-spotters ”" are the last to come in at night, remaining on the watch until the last train of logs, or the locomotive returning to Camp No. 2, some three miles up the line, has been clear of their section for about fifteen minutes. As a further precaution the last train is followed by a fire patrol on a motor-speeder (trolley). In spite of this, on the third night of our visit, a fire broke out two miles up the line, probably caused by a spark from the loco-

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114 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. motive which had escaped the notice of the following patrol. About 10.30 p.m. we heard the rattle of the fire-patrol_speeders crossing the bridge over the river, fol- lowed almost at once by the rumble of the locomotive hauling the fire- fighting apparatus and the fire-gang. They were back soon after eleven, the blaze having been easily extin- guished. A _loco- motive is always kept with steam up at the Main Camp, and in periods of low bumi- dity the fire-gang is prepared to turn out at a moment's notice. In camp the comfort of the men is a first consideration. The meals are well cooked, and the food served is almost Gargantuan in its quan- tity, though the logger, working all day in the open air, finds it none too much. has an enormous capacity and fondness for eggs, and the demand is sometimes difficult to satisfy. Consequently, to our more sensitive palates, the eggs at times were decidedly “Chinese ’’ in flavour—a quality which troubled the hungry logger not at all. A visit to the kitchen was a revela- tion. There we saw the baker at work on the best-baked bread and tolls we had enjoyed for years. The cooks and assistants, eight in num- ber, were preparing the men’s midday dinner—some undertaking for a hundred and thirty or more ravenous workers. The logger re- quires three solid and plenteous meals a day, so the cooks and baker lead a busy life. Breakfast is served at 6.30, the work train leav- ing camp at 7a.m. At 11 a.m, the locomotive with the “ Milligan Car,” as the men call it, returns to camp for dinner, the work train leaving again at 12.30 p.m., and returning at the end of the day’s work at 5.30 for supper at 6 o'clock. On Saturday, after supper, a locomotive and a covered car leave with the “‘week-enders ” for Port Haney,

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trestle bridge that over the river. where they catch the evening train on the C.P.R. to Vancouver, the same week-end train returning to camp on Sunday evening. The catering for the camps is quite one man’s work, together with the care of larders and _ store-houses. The post-office and general store is another man’s job, and at this latter establishment one can pur- chase anything from the morning newspaper, arriving from Van couver about midday, to a suit of khaki overalls, The Main Camp is well situated above the river, which the logging Tailway crosses on a steel canti- lever “bridge with long wooden trestle approaches winding up the Opposite hillside to the logging areas in the forest and Camp No. 2. The bunk houses, offices, bath house, and kitchen are built in a quadrangle, while across the rail- Way and nearer the river are the neat wooden houses of the Com any’s officials. Close to the ridge are the locomotive shed and a high circular water-tank, gravit from the mountains. Here three of the Company's four-geared logging locomotives are housed, the fourth being permanently stationed at Camp No. 2. This Upper Camp 8 smaller and less permanent in appearance, and has a neat hospital hut marked with a Red Cross. It 4S perched up on the hillside above a small lake which affords excel- lent bathing in summer. On the Opposite mountain-side is a special SA Loading logs by means of the LIFE IN A LOGGING CAMP. 115 feature of the Com- pany’s operations —a long inclined standard- gauge railway mounting almost straight u the mountain until it disappears in the forest over the edge of a plateau. The empty cars are attached to a cable running up the in- cline over revolving wooden blocks, and are hauled up by a powerful donkey engine. The loaded cars descend by force of gravity. the speed of the “ spar.”

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a ———s ll River, British Columbia. The gigantic “mill-pond” of a logging company, showing the end of the flume that brings the logs down from the hills.

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LIFE IN A LOGGING CAMP. descent being regulated by the same donkey-engine. At the top on the plateau there is a cabin inhabited by a watch- man, who, the men told us, amuses him- self after working. hours by feeding a couple of black bears, which have become so tame that they hang round his cabin all night and are sometimes quite a nuisance with their familiarity. Speaking of bears, an amusing incident happened during our visit. In one of the logging areas, the donkey-engine man wanted some water, so he called to his boy to go to a nearby spring with a pail. The boy, on his way, jumped off a rock right on to a black bear asleep in some bushes! Some- what scared, he scrambled quickly back on to the rock, where he stood looking down at the animal. Bruin, not the least alarmed, rose on his hind legs and com- menced snuffing at the boy’s feet, although the lad vigorously bane the pail Getting scared, the boy shouted to his father to bring an axe, as a bear was after him. The shout- ing alarmed the bear, which, dropping on all fours, quickly disappeared into the scrub. There are lots of black bears about, but nobody minds them as they are generally harm- less. One Sun- day some of our party out on a motor-speeder saw a black bear taking a stroll along the track. They came back post-haste for a rifle, but when they veturned Bruin had made himself scarce. Wo spent most of our time out on the limits travelling from place to place on motor-speeders, which are enlarged railway hand-trollies fitted with small motor engines. We saw everything there was to be seen in the logging operations, and soon realized the hourly danger the logger has to face in his daily work from falling trees and logs, wire cables snapping under sudden and immense strains, and swinging blocks and tackle of Flumes similar to these run for miles through the mountains, bringing the logs down at express iced aon une “ ” 3 F speed to the “ponds” near the sawmills. tongs suddenly came swinging 117 all kinds carrying huge logs through the air and crashing them to earth. The driving of heavily-loaded logging trains down steep grades and round sharp curves—though these are made as easy as ssible—is another danger of which we had personal evidence, for one morning a couple of cars carrying logs twenty to twenty-five feet in length, and weighing anything from a ton or so upwards, went off the rails close to the office in the Main Camp when the logging train was on its way down to the river. Luckily the monster logs missed the office, in which several people were working, for from the look of the torn- up track and ground they would have completely demolished both the building and the folks within. The logger, however, takes these mis- haps most calmly; they are all in the day's work, and incidents which would “ put the wind up’ most people he com- pletely disre- gards. One day we were watch- ing a “ yarding donkey-engine ” hauling in huge logs with a “high lead” cable to the loading engine and dumping them with a pro- digious crash close to the waiting train of cars ready for the “ loader.” Some logs had just been drop- ped and the great steel tongs down, missing the head of a waiting logger by inches. The man took no more notice of the great tongs than if they had been a mosquito, but we certainly did, and quickly got a good deal farther away from the swinging tackle on the “ spar.” From the nature of the work, however, and in spite of every precaution, accidents occur when least expected. Men go out in the morning hale and hearty only to be brought back later either dead or maimed, while the superintendent sadly wonders whether any foresight on his part could have prevented the accident.

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118 ‘Clrawler Sida” WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY L.R.BRIGHTWELL )\Fi Mr. Brightwell knows the fisherfolk and their ways intimately, and here tells a delightful story of a cat that went to sea. “The facts were collected at HE skipper of the steam-trawler Ivan, No. 972, registered at Fleet- wood, disliked most animals, but he especially disliked rats. When, one night, a deputation from the Ivan’s contingent of rats entered the chart-room, vid an open port, and demolished two-thirds of a cake from home, he decided the ship needed a cat, and that immediately. The mate, a feeble echo of his chief, with the muscles of a lion and the scruples of a guinea-pig, was deputed to supply the long- felt want. The Jvan was due to sail from Hull at twelve noon next day, so there was not much time to be lost, and half an hour after being warned by the ship’s runner the mate was en route for St. Michael’s Dock in quest of a cat. By the time he had reached Rotten Herring Stairs he had “found” a ginger-coloured old Tom that struck him as being “ the goods.” The mate, however, had just enough imagination to realize that the “ deckies ’ might notice that the cat’s coat was almost the same tint as his own un- combed locks and bristling ‘‘ beaver” and make ribald remarks thereon. So, in the ancient_purlieus known as the “Land of Green Ginger,” he presently exchanged the ginger Tom for a sprightly tabby, rather under-sized, but—as the mate’s hands testified—decidedly vigorous, with well- developed teeth and claws that boded ill for the Ivan’s rats. Once aboard the trawler the cat was promptly christened—with the lees of a bottle of stout—as ‘‘ Tiddles,”’ or, more properly, ‘‘ Mr. Tidd.” Tidd, I should explain, was the name of the gentleman who owned the Jvan and her several sister- trawlers. By way of precaution “ Mr. Tidd’”’ was confined to the sack in which he had been taken on board until the Jvan was at sea and somewhere near Spurn Head. Then, | first hand” he writes, “and present a J true picture of cat-life on board a | deep-sea trawler.” what with exhaustion, the outcome of his struggles in the sack, and the sudden over- powering heat and fetid atmosphere in which he now found himself, he promptly fell asleep in the engine-room. When he awoke he felt decidedly unwell. Being merely a cat, he could neither name his sensations nor analyze them with the melancholy interest of a human invalid. He felt, probably, that he was very empty, yet too weak and giddy to remedy the defect by demanding or searching for food. But a cat has always one hopeful road to lead him out of life’s difficulties; he can sleep till brighter days shall dawn. So Mr. Tidd went to sleep again. For twelve hours more he slept, unmoved by greasy hands that felt his hot sides or gruff voices which speculated on his origin and present condition. When Mr. Tidd did at last rouse himself he saw vast sha before him—awful gleaming shapes that leapt upwards to the skies and downwards into a mighty gulf, while the deck beneath him performed a frightful, never-ending dance. Mr. Tidd gave a slight moan, tucked his head well under his most unhappy little stomach, wrapped his paws about his ears, and went off into a sort of feline nightmare, which lasted nearly twenty-four hours. At the end of this period the merely digestive part of Mr. Tidd’s anatomy had sufficiently recovered its equilibrium for the brainy, thinking part to become acutely conscious of the general surroundings. They were frankly appalling. The great gleaming engines still leapt and plunged, and curious things to right, left, and overhead ticked, gurgled, went round and round, or shuffled backwards and forwards without ever getting anywhere. Once a bell rang, and then the giants danced at twice their former speed. Besides all this, the pad on which

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Mr. Tidd reclined moved up and down or sloped from side to side in a way that no roof of his former experience had ever been known to do. Mr. Tidd was frightened ; he decided he must get out of this at all costs. Ver slowly he arose, stretched himself, and wit! great deliberation marched stealthily along a narrow, perforated gangway leading to a flight of steep and gleaming stairs. Mr. Tidd mounted the bottom rung of these four-and-twenty stairs—and fell backwards. Then he caught sight of those leaping giants only six inches from his face. He addressed himself once more to the steps, and with mortal dread to spur him onwards somehow reached the top. There he sat a while recovering. He was still feeling decidedly sea-sick. No wonder; a trawler’s engine- room is no place for a sufferer from mal de mer. At the top of the steps Mr. Tidd felt his old self-confident walk-by-myself identity coming back again. He smelt the odour of cooking, and within a tiny cubicle he beheld a pair of trousered legs. Raising a weak little ‘‘ meow,” he instinctively rubbed himself against them. A moment later he was lapping a saucerful of well-watered tinned milk. To such a pass had ad- versity already reduced the connoisseur who once was wont to sneer at milk the merest trifle on the turn! Half a rasher of very salt bacon, some congealed gravy, a_ stony-hearted porate: and other oddments ‘ollowed the milk. Then, with tail erect, Mr. Tidd stepped from the galley and took possession of his new world. Those first few days on deck were days of wonder to the little tabby. His treatment was rough—but never brutal. Meals were regular and, with the sauce of North Sea air, passable. Into every hour he crammed enough new experiences to suffice most creatures for a week; he was learning every minute of the four- and-twenty hours. He dis- covered, for instance, that this new world was subject to short and_ violent showers—one per ten min- utes, say. Moreover, it was always windy, and_ the ground swayed and shifted so continuously that at last he ceased to notice the movement. The walls were was to “The emptying of the ‘cod-end’ ome a great feature in the life of Mr. Tidd.” “TRAWLER TIDD.” 119 rarely truly vertical. They, and the strange bare trees that sprouted here and there, swayed and sloped in a most extraordinary fashion. Mr. Tidd learnt, too, that a rope’s end travelling swiftly along the deck is not necessarily a safe plaything; he also developed an instinct for the “lee” side of the ship. It was a tantalizing world, too, for there were always birds flying or perching just out of reach. The rats, however, were much like ordinary land rats, and went a long way towards making the little cat feel quite at home. On the whole it was a good world, and Mr. Tidd was quite content to stay in it. Not that he had much choice in the matter, of course, for his new home was completely surrounded by water, and very rough water at that. So, for the first five days of the trip, Mr. Tidd ranged from the burning stokehold to the chilly fish-room of the trawler. Day or night was much the same to him. He could always find night when he needed it. Night—and the rats—lived permanently and unfailingly in the cabins, the fish-room, the bunkers, stokehold, and fo’c'sle. The ordinary night, as experienced on deck, was icss satisfactory—rather bewildering, in fact. lor instance, the fourth night on deck was little darker than the light of noon, Tut Mr. Tidd took life as he found it, and one day, perched on the whaleback, saw emerging from the waters a vast black wall with a crimson disc—the sun—rising behind it. A line of willocks, flying in Indian file, cut the middle distance, whilst a stone’s throw from the Jvan's bows huge black shapes rose ever and anon from out the troubled blue and flung great clouds of silvery vapour high into the air— as is the habit of a school of whales when spouting. Thus, with completely un- appreciative eyes, did Mr. ‘lidd look for the first time upon Iceland. From that time onwards life for the cat went, in common parlance, “ witha bang!” The whole at- mosphere of the ship was changed. Men no longer slept or clustered round the cabin table bent on “ poker’”’ or ‘“‘ spinning Jinny,” but every two hours ran here and _ there, shouting orders, hauling Topes, or causing huge

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120 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. machines to screech and roar and clatter in a@ way that Mr. Tidd preferred to watch from a safe distance. Finally a great dripping bag would be slung on board, some- body would do something to it, and— crash [—the deck would be covered with a heap of writhing, twisting fish. This was the moment when Mr. Tidd watched tensely as any skipper. This emptying of the “cod-end” was soon to become a great feature in the life of Mr. Tidd. He formed a habit of stealthily approaching the heaving pile and delicately selecting his fancy of the moment—a dainty little dab or a tiny “ chat haddock.” Then he would bear it forward to his favourite corner in the lamp-locker and make a gourmet's repast in his own peculiar fashion. He did this as often as the trawl came up— often six times a day. Ouly in bad weather did his routine meet a check. Rarely would he fall back upon baked meats from the cook’s domain; he preferred to make his way into the fish-room and there help himself to something “ off the ice.” Each year sees many men come toa sudden and violent end on board our steam trawlers ; there are so many ways in which one can be killed. Even a cat needs every one of his nine lives to bring him safely through. One day the trawl was working “ cat-fish ground,” and presently covered the deck with five- foot monsters having great round heads and jaws which have earned for them their Icelandic name of “ stone-breaker.” One such would have speedily terminated the unwary Mr. Tidd’s career had not a huge and hairy human hand shot out just in time and grasped the monster by its gill covers. The jaws closed with a rat-trap clash a hair’s breadth short of the cat's hind- quarters. With a feline imprecation Mr. Tidd went sliding and slipping across the pile of fish, his paws missing their hold on leathery skins, jelly fish, or slimy heaps of sponge. Mr. Tidd’s whole body was a-bristle with rage and terror; he was so unnerved that he had never so much as thought of gratitude towards his rescuer—a man known as “ Winkie Pinkie.” “Winkie Pinkie ’’ was a perfect specimen of dockland’s underdog. He had drifted amongst the flotsam and jetsam of the waterside world until at last he had gravi- tated to the bunkers of the Jvan, there to be apparently forever a “ trimmer.” He was a human joke—and a bad one, a born butt, destined to be a source of pitying amuse- ment to his less handicapped shipmates. He was not attractive to look at, yet he was not altogether devoid of romance. A young lady who helped in a tobacconist’s shop in Hull had inspired him to wash at least three times a month, to greatly decrease his libations, and to turn his scanty pay into otherchannels—chocolates and silk stockings, for instance. Her photograph—coloured— ornamented an obscure corner of his damp and dirty bunk, and when I tell the reader that once, in an unlucky hour for him, he was overheard bidding the goddess of this homely shrine ‘‘ Good-night, my little Winkie Pinkie,” there is no need to explain further how he came by his nickname. Winkie Pinkie conceived a great liking for Mr. Tidd, and Mr. Tidd returned the liking—without cheapening himself, how. ever. He realized that Winkie Pinkie could be useful. He would wait by the side of Winkie Pinkie, bent double at his corner of the gutting-pound, and sit calmly on a bollard till such time as Winkie Pinkie found a fish that met with his approval. On bad days, when the decks were a-wash or a-dance with stinging rain-drops, Mr. Tidd sat snugly by the foc’s’le stove and graciously partook of tit-bits which Winkie Pinkie had thoughtfully crammed, together with his jack-knife, “ sweat rag,” and “ gooting gloves,”’ into his one usable pocket. At the end of a fortnight Mr. Tidd—by now as grimy as Winkie Pinkie himself— descended still farther from his pedestal He took possession of the trimmer’s bunk and followed him upon his endless round of jobs. Lifted down into the first fish-room, he watched Winkie Pinkie struggling amid mountains of coal, and stalked behind him when he dragged the heavy basket loads down the four-foot-high tunnel and stowed the fuel in the wings and bunkers by the engine-room, The engine-room itself he distrusted. It fascinated him, so that he would sit quivering at the stair-head by the galley and peer down at the plunging cranks; but a nearer view he dared not take. He would have cultivated the stoke. hold, but his guardian knew the species of insanity which the terrific heat there engenders in the feline race, so Mr. Tidd was not encouraged. Normally his sphere, by day, was in the foc’s'‘le. By night, when the wind blew—and it usually blows hard in Icelandic waters—his place was every. where, from the truck to the quarter-deck, the after spare gear-hold (when open) to the pole compass. From this last coign of vantage he would take a flying leap into the wheel-house—vié the window—to the momen- tary, but no less dramatic, startling of the watch. In fact Mr. Tidd made himself extremely free of the steam trawler Jvan. Every three weeks, when the Ivan took her cargo ashore, he spent a sleepy night before the after-cabin fire, or on the chart- room radiator, and waited till the watch- men left, the crew came back, and the siren sounded “ We're off!’ again, When the winter came and_ Iceland exchanged unwinking day for never-ending night, when the spray froze as soon as it struck the deck, when cursing men hacked ice from the boards with axes and split the fish that turned hard as iron as st lett

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the net, then Mr. Tidd, discreet and comfort- loving, changed his mode of life. No longer did he swagger along the lurching rail, or, seated primly by the whining log, gaze down upon the racing screw. He rarely left the cabin fire. There he sat and purred, waiting for Winkie Pinkie—drenched, half-frozen, and shuddering— “TRAWLER TIDD.” 121 Mr. Tidd, forgotten, sat upon a “ bobbin ” —and he sat there for a purpose. A bobbin, it should be explained, is a huge cylindrical mass of wood, some two feet in diameter and eighteen inches thick. It is pierced by a circular hole, or ferrule, whereby it may be threaded on the ground-rope of to bring him scraps of dab or turbot liver. Mr. Tidd, like some men, was accepted at his own high valuation. Not that Mr. Tidd regarded Winkie Pinkie as by any means in- dispensable, nor did he consider that he, the cat, was under the slightest — obliga- tion to the trim- mer or any other man. Mr. Tidd would come when he was called—but only if so disposed. At other times he received the choicest blandish- ments with a frosty stare. But the great rat-hunt did much to change his atti- tude. One blustering morning in July, when the Jvan was bucketing her way outward through Pennant Firth and Mr. Tidd had been on board for nearly a year, the first- hand decided to execute a long-cherished lan for ousting the rats from the foc’s’le. {r. Tidd had done much to cast a wet blanket on the social evenings of the Jvan rats, but a trawler is full of hiding-places for a seamanlike rodent, and there were still plen of survivors. So the hunt commenced. It was conducted with a deck hose, extended from the bilge-tank under- neath the fish-room to the after-hold, and involved the throwing at the evicted rats of every throwable article—from a “ dead eye” to a sea-boot. The chase reached its climax when a hard-pressed rat ran up the bosun’s trouser-leg and turned at bay on the inside of the patch which ornamented a salient portion of his garments. By the time the spluttering man succeeded in dislodging it a blast from the cook’s whistle drew most of the huntsmen cabin-wards for tea. Vou. Lv.—8. “A huge hand shot out just in time and grasped the monster.” the trawl. Sixty such cylinders are used when fishing on a stony bottom. It will be readily seen that a ‘ bobbin,” lying on its side, may well provide sanctuary for a hunted rat, and a rodent had gone to ground inside this particular bobbin. Mr. Tidd, by way of laying siege to it, took post upon the top. The rat made a counter attack; it climbed stealthily up and sud- denly seized Mr. Tidd by the thigh. With a startled screech the little cat shot into the air, careered madly round the deck, leapt for the engine casing, missed it by an inch, and came down, with rat complete, in a pail of tar! “ Pore lil’ beggar! "’ said Winkie Pinkie; “ pore lil’ beggar!” He had Mr. Tidd, spitting anathemas, wedged firmly between his knees, and was using his third lump of cotton-waste (this would mean trouble with the chief engineer later) to good purpose. He had already employed his only handkerchief, his set of

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122 “sweat rags” for the trip, and a shirt presented by some amateur charitable society that amused itself by patronizing seamen. The end of half an hour’s work saw Mr. Tidd still black, but in distinctly better shape. He was apt to stick fast to anything light and portable, such as twine and meshing needles, and he felt extremely tarry, but he looked more like acat. “The little cat came down, with rat complete, in a pail of tar!” Thereafter he respected Winkie Pinkie. He shadowed his deliverer everywhere— always excepting when Winkie Pinkie, in a hurry, used the weather side of the ship. But as a rule wherever Winkie Pinkic was—aloft, on deck, or below—there Mr. Tidd would be. It was a good life for a healthy cat—too good to last. It ended one day when, the /van having safely berthed in port, Tidd thought fit to chase a rival over the decks of two adjoining trawlers. He returned an hour later—and found the ship deserted! Winkie Pinkie, after a fruitless search for his pet, had sought consolation in many pints and now, romantically inclined, was making for a certain small tobacconist’s. Alas! for Mr. Tidd, he could not know that the Jvan was to be laid up for several weeks to be re- conditioned, and that when this time expired all would be well with his world once more. He found himself marooned upon a desert island that had once been a comfortable home. Wailing his misery, he wandered by day about the ship amidst a host of strange men who were sawing, hammering, painting ; men who drove him away with kicks and abuse or sought to capture him. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. At night he sat upon the outskirts of a circle of watchmen yarning over the cabin fire. Sometimes Mr. Tidd gleaned a mouthful from the venerable caretaker nominally in charge of the trawler, but more often than not he went without. Then he went ashore, but he speedily found that once a fisherman always a fisherman—roof-land was no place for Mr. Tidd. He had _ for- gotten shore ways, and met with trouble piled on trouble everywhere he went. He was shut—by ac- cident —in an empty shop for the better por- tion of a week, and when res- cued by a kindly R.S.P.C.A. — in- spector dashed between the good Samari- tan’s legs and fled for shelter to a_neighbour- ing slum. Here he narrowly escaped death at the hands of a ruffian in search of cat-skins “‘ for the trade.” At the end of three weeks Mr Tidd, scared, starved, and be- draggled, was feeding upon nameless offal in the gutters of obscure byways. He dare not haunt the fish-quay; there were too many dogs about. Put him aboard a trawler, frost and ice from stem to stern, and he would have been in his element stalking the mollymocks that came on deck for offal, or feasting royally on luckless starlings and other feathered migrants lured on hoard by the electric light that made the ice-bound ship look like some huge, be- spangled Christmas tree. But here, amid the roofs and gutters that make the town cats’ jungle, he was lost. There came a time when Mr. Tidd could stand no more. He braved the dogs and, staring of rib and sore of foot, dragged his wretched little frame from the shelter of the slums, and, taking such cover as he could, wormed his way along the fish-quay. Presently his stealthy crawl became a laboured canter, and the canter broke into a series of desperate yard-long leaps. Mr. Tidd had sighted the trawier Jvan. There was smoke coming from funnel, foc’s'le, and galley. The last of the coal was being shovelled below. There, too, was the cook, and he could see other familiar figures talking to the “ ship’s husband.” Evidently = Bhs)

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it was a case of “ all aboard.”’ Mr. Tidd had lost his patron. Never mind; he must still take care of Mr. Tidd. Next to himself he loved the Jvuan—with one exception perhaps. At any rate he was to be tested—and tested now. He had only to leap aboard the Our Boys, cross her untidy deck, and another jum would take him home. Already he crouched, bunched for the spring, when his lantern eyes espied a round-shouldered, coal-dust- owdered figure shuffling towards a ship fe did not know. But he knew the figure. It was Winkie Pinkie! A dog would not have hesitated a moment, but Mr. Tidd was only a very average cat. He looked from Winkie Pinkie and the unknown to the Ivan, with her guarantee of good food, warmth, and shelter. With one paw raised, he stood in a veritable agony of uncertainty. Winkie Pinkie’s thin legs shuffled towards a huge trawler labelled Caledonia, and took him aboard. Almost immediately Mr. Tidd “TRAWLER TIDD.” 123 landed on the deck beside him. He had burnt his boats ! A bleary-eyed and penniless Winkie Pinkie sat upon the edge of an incredibly filthy bunk in the foc’s’le of the Caledonia. He was addressing a hungry-eyed but happy Mr. Tidd. “Yes, Tiddles, yer lil’ beggar,” he was saying, “ere we are bound for the (un- mentionable) White Sea. Goin’ ter better ourselves, we are! Got an extry quid a “Almost im- mediately Mr. Tidd landed on the deck | beside him.” | Bright trip. You're goin’ where you'll ‘ave yer perishing toes froze off and won't see ’ome no more for three (utterly unprintable) months. That is if yer ever do see ’ome again. I’m told them (censored) Russians is nuts on fried kitten an’ chips. Speak up, Tiddles !_ Wotcher fink of it ?” Mr. Tidd purred loudly.

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124 Rie jonrtig (poo ao ae AN ARTIST re IO O00 HIT oO 9 ecco ¢ g 5 Oe + oa ON A TROPIC ISLE A very delightful and amusing article, descriL- ing the Author's variegated experiences while painting in the Trobriands, a little-known group of islands lying to the north of New Guinea. Many of our readers, we imagine, will wish they could follow Mr. Silas and settle down in these delightful islands, for- getting civilization and all its manifold worries. UN-KISSED, palm-girt islands, en- circled by reefs of glistening coral set in seas of emerald and sapphire, and inhabited by coffee-coloured people with little or no clothes on—that is the picture one’s mind conjures up when tropic isles are spoken of. If one ventures forth, however, seeking these realms of enchantment, one often finds the coffee- coloured people wearing dirty garments and disgustingly aware of the value of money. The primitive life has become a qu civilization—an ugly, mongrel sort of exist- ence, neither one thing nor the other. Fortunately for the lover of beauty and romance, there still remain a few golden islets, away out in the Pacific, which are as yet undefiled by that travesty of life which it pleases our conceit to call civilization. In this narrative 1 propose to give you an account of my experiences there. Look at a map of the world and imagine that you are going on a long, long voyage. WRITTEN @ ILLUSTRATED BY Ellis Silas F.R.G.S. Come with me, in fancy, out to New Guinea, the great island lying north of Australia. Sail round the south-eastern corner of Papua, and then turn up northwards towards New Britain, leaving the Solomons away to the eastward. Half-way to New Britain—in latitude 8° South, to be precise—you will find a group known as the Trobriands, consisting of one large island and several smaller ones, lying about a hundred and fifty miles north-east of Papua. Cooking pot and spear, boots and gun, sapphire seas, primitive man, and luxuriant jungle—here indeed are the tropic isles of one's dreams. Outside official circles they are practically unknown; many maps do not even show them. It was with considerable misgiving that I decided to embark upon a painting expedi- tion into the fastnesses of these remote islands, hitherto quite untouched by the artist's brush. I hoped to be able to portray something of the subtle beauties and extrava- gant colour-schemes of this strange country, where Nature lays on her brush with a lavish hand, but I realized that 1 should meet with all sorts of difficulties.

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AN ARTIST ON A TROPIC ISLE. The inhabitants of the Trobriands are delightful folk, gifted with an immense sense of humour. Little, if anything, of the savagery associated with the grim and sinister fastnesses of the mainland of Papua prevails in these halycon coral isles. Therein may one eat of the lotus, forgetful of the trials and vicissitudes of civilization. Other troubles may beset one’s path, but they are of a very different type. Truly was I favoured of the gods when, burdened with the paraphernalia of my profession, I drifted into this unknown corner of the world. Adventures, both droll and alarming, joyous and tragic, came to me in battalions whilst I was wrestling with the many problems which beset the path of an artist working in Papua. For the first few months I feared that I was attempting the impossible, so great were the difficulties. With more confidence than experience [ set out to paint in the quietude of a native village. Here at last, I thought, 1 should b> free from the noise and bustle of cities, forgetting the nerve-racking turmoil o: civilization under softly-waving palms ant sunny skies. When | arrived in the village most of the inhabi- tants were away at work in their gcrdens, so my audience was limited to a few old people and very young children. As the natives straggled in from their work, how- ever, so did my audience grow, un- til at length I was surrounded by quite a big crowd, silently watching the white mans weird performance. Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of rending and swishing, like the hissing of a falling bomb. Everyone shouted Mm unison, and the audience scattered ma wild stam- Pede. With a suddenness that was most disconcerting my view was blotted out by utter dark- ness, and with a resounding crash I went down, engulfed in a welter of easel, chairs, bottles, leaves, and flying paint- brushes. For one dreadful moment, as I 8rovelled blindly in the débris, 1 thought that a meteor had struck me! When 1 “as extracted my face and clothes were Streaked with the rainbow hues of my “Gradually she crept nearer and nearer, and finally put her arm a faressingly round my me . 125 palette, but I was otherwise undamaged. It appeared that one of the enormous palm- leaves had fallen to the ground—a weighty missile capable of carrying all before it. Fortunately I was wearing a helmet, and the heavy spine of the leaf did not hit me, so 1 suffered nothing more than a severe shaking and much loss of dignity As my paint- besmeared face emerged from the tangled muddle of leaves shouts of uncontrolled mirth rent the welkin ; the Trobrianders saw the humour of the situation far more clearly than I did | AN APPRECIATIVE AUDIENCE. It was nof a cheerful position to be in, but thoughts of the white man’s prestige flitted across my mind and I determined to make the best of it. So, with my face smarting, and feeling decidedly cheap, I recommenced my picture. As the work progressed the interest of the crowd increased, and when I began to put in the figures their excitement over- stepped all bounds, The younger children hugged one another and jumped up and down, while others rushed to the spot that I was depicting and ae sat down in rows, only to dash back again a moment later to sce if I had put them in the picture. Mothers with pic- caninnies in their arms crowded for ward to obtain a closer view, while the aforesaid infants made fur- tive dabs at colours on palette. One was successful, but, not liking the flavour, howled its disap- proval into my ear. The chattering of the excited crowd was positively deafening; thev pushed and jostled in their eagerness to get nearer, those at the back thrust- ing those in front almost on top of me. These latter were scared to death at their unintentional encroachment, while the babies screamed vociferously at their enforced proximity to the awful Tauba/a (white master), A number of youths scrambled on to the roof of an adjacent hut, which immediately caved in, causing them to disappear—a writhing mass of legs and arms—into its cavernous depths, The irate householder and _ his

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126 relatives promptly rushed in to belabour them, and the clamour of squeals, shouts, and laughter that arose precluded further work that afternoon. If painting out of doors was a trying “Each young woman made for my palette and the mirror, and indulged in an orgy of making-up.” business, the question of models proved equally difficult, especially in the case of the lissom, dusky maidens—forward young hussies whose bold advances sometimes amazed me; yet they were so droll and childlike that it was impossible to feel annoyed with them. One day, whilst I was working in the village, the usual crowd grew tired of watching and went off to sleep under the shade of the palms. Only one person stayed—a winsome little maid. A charming creature was this untutored savage, with a scarlet hibiscus in her hair and the gayest of feathers from the tail of the family rooster surmounting her coiffure. Her dress was one of the simple Trobriand 1924 models —a graceful fringe of dyed banana-leaf round her hips, and a necklace of pink shell- money and banana seeds. Gradually she crept nearer and nearer, and finally put her arm caressingly round my neck. At another time and place this might have been inter- esting, but in the searching light of the tropic sun, with the whole delighted popu- lation of the village suddenly awake and looking on, the experience was not without embarrassment, and I had to hastily dis- entangle myself. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. One sitting was the most I could obtain from these wayward minxes. Once the novelty wore off nothing would induce them to ‘sit’ again, so I had to take one after another in an effort to convert the entire female population of the village into artists’ models. These Circes and Junos of the Coral Isles, by the way, ; hold out for their rights just like those of any other country or colour. One critical miss was most annoyed because I did not produce what she considered a good likeness. She seemed to think she had been im- posed upon, and flounced out of the studio in a temper, while 1 wondered uneasily whether she had gone to bring the whole tribe to wreak ven- geance upon me, or something of that sort, ia accordance with Tro- briand custom. The novelty in posing, from the girls’ point of view, layin the peren- nial fascination of my _ dazzling palette; the Trobriand “ flappers ” were simply unable to withstand it. Each young woman, directly she arrived to ‘‘sit,”” made for my palette and the one mirror of the house- hold, and indulged in an orgy of making-up very much in the manner of her fairer sisters in other parts of the world. The Trobriand belles, however, favoured elaborate, if somewhat bizarre, facial decorative schemes, which took considerable time to design and work out. There was nothing for it but to let them have their own way; if they were denied, the young ladies would sulk and be useless. All this, needless to say, made the com- pletion of a large canvas a matter of extreme difficulty. The piccaninnies, however, gave better results; the parents kept ¢hem in order. Very often I felt truly the villain of the play in compelling these little brown mites to remain still—a cruelty I was forced to practise in order to make my studies. 1 ameliorated their sad lot to some extent by keeping them well supplied with gifts of bananas and tobacco—a fact which the parents did not lose sight of. When I hap- pened to stray into the village whence 1 obtained my piccaninny models, every mother in the place would promptly emerge from her hut with her entire flock of juniors and make for me with an expectant grin on her face. Reluctant and expostulating progeny were routed out from the darkest fastnesses to face the ordeal; but in spite of gifts, after about five minutes or so, the Trobriand youngsters found it utterly impos- sible to keep still, and my task became well-nigh hopeless. For the first few months I stayed with the Resident Magistrate. It was a period of

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AN ARTIST ON A TROPIC ISLE. hard work—long patrols under the scorching sun in flimsy canoes; wonderful journeys by moonlight across the placid waters of beautiful lagoons, or travelling along the tortuous inland tracks in the steamy, clammy atmosphere of the monsoon season. But even this existence, full of incident though it was, was tuo close to civilization to appeal to me, for the natives were constrained and on their best behaviour in the presence of the Resident Magistrate, and since I was living with him I was also “Government ” to the native mind. I accordingly returned to Sydney, but the lure of the tropics was too insistent to be ignored, and a few months found me em- barked upon my second expedition. This time, to all intents and purposes, I dis- covered my own tropic island, for the trading schooner’s skipper simply put me ashore on the beach snd sailed away. There I stood, bag and baggage, left to myself to find my feet and make my home. Then, and not till then, did the Great Adventure really begin. FIRST EXPERIENCES. The first thing to be done was to show that I was a man of means and collect m- team of boys. Being a man of means in Papua necessitates possessing much tobacco ; tobacco is money in Papua. Then followed hard work building a house Timber had to be cut from the lugu- brious fastnesses of the mangrove swam} hot job, the steaming atmosphere alive with vile insects and pungent with the acrid smell of decay. This was my first experience in felling timber, and: I did not shape any too well at it. In order to im- press my boys I had attired myself im very fine raiment, which included highly-polished leggings and equally tesplendent boots. I stood up in the boat to step out upon the contorted Mangrove roots which protruded from theslime and offered the only foothold available. “More better you wait, Tabada,” remarked one of the boys warningly. _ What! Me wait—the great Taubada in the fine clothes ? Oh, no! I would show my dusky retinue—and I did! 1 trod daintily, lest my glistening leggings and boots should get be- smirched, but my very first step took me up to the knees in the glutinous mire, and desperate efforts to extricate myself from the horrible Ooze which sucked at my legs engulfed me Nearly to the thighs. For a second I clawed the air; then I slithered amongst the rotting Stumps and fell into a tangle of decayed Toots and other abominations. Wiping the filth from my face and arms 1 ly got a grip upon the gnarled roots 127 and—slipping, stumbing; and lurching— gradually dragged myself from root to root till I found a fairly safe foothold. By this time, needless to say, I looked like nothing on earth. During the rest of that never-to- be-forgotten day I stumbled in all directions in search of likely timber, ever fearful ot disturbing lurking crocodiles. [or hours on end I scrambled over those terrible roots, with interludes of sliding into the unsavoury mud. The result of my first day’s efforts was one thirteen-foot log. This was manceuvred, by slow and painful degrees, across the swamp to the canoe, where it slipped, fell into the muddy water—and sank! Wet, filthy, disgusted, and utterly weary, I was devoutly thankful when that awful day came to a futile close. There followed many such days in the swamps, and gradually hard experience taught me that dignity of gait was a physical impossibility and my efforts to impress my boys a failure. I must have seemed a strange and weird personality to these simple people. I was for ever doing things which no Trobriander, ] , young or old, had q ever heard of be- fore, quite apart bh from my eccentric 4 “Every mother would promptly emerge with her entire flock of juniors and ec for me.” Propensity for spending much good tobacco with the ultimate object of daubing paints on canvas (instead of on one’s face). I built a house such as no islander had ever seen before. It was part home, part studio, and the pan- danus-thatched roof had a good-sized square left open, after the style of a top-light window

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128 in a studio, minus the glass. Here was a mad freak! ‘' What are roofs for but to give one shade and shelter?’ demanded the islanders, “ yet this amazing white man deliberately makes a hole in his thatch!” People came from miles around just to inspect that re- markable opening. The village gossips could make no- thing of it; and the wise men from remote villages who made pilgrimages to the spot shook their heads hope- lessly when dis- cussing the white man’s _idiosyncra- sies. It was the event of the year in Trobriand society, and fur- nished the theme for many an after- «.. noon banana party. BUILDING THE STUDIO. They may be short of many commodities in these wonderful islands, but they are never short of time, and consequently the erection of my studio was a very long-drawn- out business. If I ventured to point out my personal ‘‘ housing shortage’ to these Stalwart brown fellows, and suggest that they “get a move on,” they would gape at me in sheer amazement. “ Breaks ” for a smoke and other diversions were innumerable ; “ knock-off ” times occurred haphazard. One day, leaving them at work on a part of the Job they thoroughly understood, I went off to the village on some errand. I returned to find that music was the order of the day. A “ walking delegate ’’ had come along with a Jew’s harp. The toilers first listened entranced and then went off to collect what- ever musical instruments were available, and with these held a merry concert on the ridge-pole. It was five o’clock when I returned, so no more work, naturally, was possible that day. The studio completed, there followed happy times, sandwiched in with sundry untoward incidents. Once established in my house, I traded with the natives for supplies of kai-kai (food)—fruit, vegetables, fish, poultry, and eggs. Dealing with the Trobrianders was not easy, for I grieve to state that their methods were not strictly honest. They seemed to be familiar with all the wiles and subterfuges of the ‘ civil- ized” tradesman, and added a few of their own invention. They carefully studied my character and habits, and speedily dis- “A merry concert on the ridge-pole.” - THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. covered that if I was busy they could practise all manner of tricks and ‘‘ get away with it.” Consequently, they always con- trived to arrive with their produce at inop- portune moments, with the result that at the end of the day I frequently found myself with a variegated _assort- ment of decayed vegetables, rotten fruit, and eggs almost ready to fiy. 1 received neither quality nor quan- tity, though food was plentiful. Bread I had to manage without, but my chicf house- bay could be relied upon to keep the pantry fairly well filled. with other articles. He was a keen-business man, was this house-boy, | and ‘both “myself and the venders were. the poorer thereby. As the result of his efforts on my behalf, he ultimately retired upon what, judged by Trobriand standards, was a comfortable fortune. THE MATCH-MAKER. The fact that I remained a_ bachelor worried this Fenchman of mine quite a lot; he was frankly puzzled at my contentment with such a state of affairs. However, one fine day he decided to rectify matters in his own way, to which end he brought to the studio a little girl of twelve, accompanied by her father. ‘ Now,” thought he, “it only remains for this strange Taubada of mine to fix the wedding day, and all will be well.” When I discovered what was afoot I was highly incensed and soundly rated both the men. “ The idea,” I said, “of bringing a child of that age, barely old enough to know what she is doing!” They were hurt and astonished at my indignation, and finally bolted for the door, A week later my persevering boy brought along a frightful old hag about sixty years of age, with a shaven head and the whole of her body smothered in charcoal—a sign of mourning. This antique “ Merry Widow,” I discovered, was another candidate for the vacant post of wife, the inference apparently being ‘‘ Well, is shis old enough for you ?”’ In spite of repeated discouragements my cook-boy made frequent efforts to “‘ get me off.” This was not entirely due to solicitude for my welfare, for in the event of a wedding

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AN ARTIST ON A TROPIC ISLE. there would have been, according to island custom, an exchange of gifts between myself and the girl’s relations, in which case the cook-boy would have secured a handsome “ rake-off ” or commission from both parties. Housekeeping in the wilds is by no means a sinecure. When I first settled down in my new home I experienced the greatest difficulty in remembering that there was no shop round the corner, and my frequent omissions to order sufficient supplies meant waiting three long months in order to make good shortages in my stores. During the monsoons, rain off the roof, caught in empty kerosene tins—when there were any available— provided my water supply; failing this I had to send to the village waterhole a mile distant, which also served as my laundry except upon rare occasions when there was an empty tin to spare, in which case I experienced the luxury of boiled hnen. Hard usage, mildew, and insects, however, speedily reduced my garments to rags, and at the termina- tion of my sojourn on the island I arrived in Samarai in a ragged shirt, a pair of equally tattered shorts, and with the soles of my boots tied on witn string. Considering the very primitive con- dition of my ménage the cook-boy and his satellites managed very well; nevertheless he was a trial in many ways. The palm-leaf wall between kitchen and studio was thin and his voice was enormous; and he fre- quently punctuated his work with wild war-whoops that made me tremble for the safety of my limited supply of crockery. At least once a week he had a difference with his “ missus,’’ and upon these occasions he would burst uninvited into the studio, dragging his tearful partner behind him, and ask me if he could ‘throw her away” —divorce her—which was decidedly foolish of him, as he had ‘“ married money.” Not only was I troubled with his matrimonial infelicities, but “There I stood, bag and baggage, left to myself to find my feet and make my home.” 129 the villagers sometimes settled their disputes outside the studio. Upon one such occasion, twenty girls, armed with knives and sticks, and led by the wife of a truant husband, came along to ‘“‘ do in” the “‘ other woman.” who had sought sanctuary somewhere around my premises. Every day brought some fresh adventure, both out of the studio and in it; and occasionally I had visitations from enormous pythons, which had a reprehensible habit of gliding under the table where I was at work. I possessed no firearms, and as the snakes were usually between me and the door, the only thing I could do was to remain motionless while they continued their way across the floor and finally made their exit. One brute in parti- cular was a mon- ster. My studio was fifteen feet wide, yet when its head had gone out of one side a_ large section of the tail endstill hung out of the other! I varied my studio work with canoe excursions cut amongst the islets in search of adventures and pictures; I also made fre- quent expedi- tions into the jungle, camping in the villages. Here I gained a considerable in- sight into tribal laws and cus- toms and learnt how to behave myself in Tro- briand society. The natives pos- sess a very complex soc’al system, and until I learnt some- thing about it my breaches of etiquette were many. The Trobrian- ders are very industrious people; not only do they cheer- tully periorm all

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130 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the work that necessity compels, but it is a medium through which they actually derive prestige, and there is great competition to attain the title of Vokwabagula (good garden worker). The proud recipients ot this coveted title boasted to me about Low long they bad worked, the amount of ground they had cultivated, and would compare their endeavours with those of less competent rivals. There are specialists in every industry associated with tribal life—wood-carvers, hut and canoe builders, agriculturists, and soon. There is an extensive trade between the various villages ; the natives alyo embark upon commercial expeditions overseas to the other division of Papua. The education of the children is very complete ; at a very carly age the boys are instructed in the men’s work and the girls in the domestic arts. The girls are taught to fetch and carry water, to prepare and cook their simple but palatable culinary efforts, and to make their quaint little skirts of banana leaf. TROBRIAND FASHIONS. In a country where raiment is a negligible quantity, and dress materials procurable rom the nearest banana tree, it should seem- ingly be an easy matter to be d /a mode ; but the Trobriand maids are fastidious in matters of dress, and the fashioning of their garments is.the subject of considerable thought and painstaking care. Firstly, there are the banana leaves to be selected—and there are banana leaves and banana leaves. The finest green leaves are patiently scraped with the edge of a mussel-shell until the leaf is almost of the texture of silk ; the leaves are then cut into thin strands with the serrated edge of a small crab-shell. -After this the shredded material is tied into little bundles and dyed in a solution made from mangrove-tree bark, iresh water, and a little lime. The dyeing process finished, there follows the cutting of “tippets,’ from pandanus palm-leaf. There is a great range in the variety of these lippets ; some are quite simple, others are cut in fanciful lacework patterns. Next comes the weaving of the material upon a band of rope-like substance that forms the belt from which the material will hang. ‘The dress completed, the girl has only to put it round another girl in order to judge the “hang,” and to trim off stray ends with the sharp edge of a shell, and—voila /—the latest thing in Trobriand ‘‘ creations” is complete. Other maidens of the village. with secret envy in their hearts, will gather round to admire or disparage and criticize generally, while mentally weighing the Possibilities of hiring this perfectly ravishing rock for some spécial occasicn. Other items of feminine attire and adorn- ment which are much prized are the bagidona —necklaces of pink shell-money with pearl- shell pendants—fibre amulets and leg bands, the brilliant plumage of birds, and, last but not least, very ornate and elaborate facial decorations worked out in red, black, and white pigments. With these and some blossoms of the scarlet hibiscus stuck in their hair, our dusky Circes are fully armed, ready to set out upon their odd love-making expeditions, which are called Katuyaust. The men favour equally ornate adornment, particularly when they are out to secure a sweetheart. ‘‘ Getting off” is a finished art in these islands, and constant practice has made the natives very expert. One of my boys, however, was unfortunate in his love affair, for be came to me for an overdraft of tobacco in order to pay a_ sor- cerer. It should be explained that boys who experience diffi- culty in wooing the girl of their choice can ob- tain a love- potion from the witch-doctor who, for a con- sideration, will give his love- lorn clients the benefit of his skill and en- deavour to bring to reason the “I made frequent expeditions into the jungles.” haughty maidens who refuse to respond

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to the blandish- ments of these brown Lotharios. Reluctant ladies can frustrate the magic of unwel- come pursuers by the same means, the winner of this odd duel “depending upon the powers of the sorcerers em- ployed. What would happen if both parties consulted the same witch- doctor history does not relate! I thought of con- sulting a sorcerer myself, in order to frustrate the intrigues of my match-making cook-boy, but the seer demanded such high fees in tobacco, and _ his course of treat- ment threatened to be so pro- tracted, that 1 decided I could not afford his magic. Finally there came a time when my money was running low. The mound of tobacco which represented my trading capi- tal was dwindl- ing; the schooner had arrived, but she brought me no consignments. My _ house - boy, gently but firmly, intimated that the firm was approaching bankruptcy ; no more credit could be obtained. Tl as awkward, and I went out to investigate. I soon discovered the cook-boy was right. “No tobacco, no kai-kai,”’ was the native attitude. Never did a bank manager close down so decisively on an application for an overdraft as these Trobriand islanders did on my proposals to establish the credit system, Thereupon the firm (myself and the cook-boy) held solemn conclave to discuss the situation. What was to be done? There was nothing for it but to economize, so I had perforce to live on two meals a ey for a matter of some weeks, during which The interior of the Author’s studio, showing the “hole in the roof” that puzzled the islanders. period my _ indefatigable quently = remarked up you die, dependent fre- cheerfully : “‘ Close Taubada!" Fortunately, just when I had pulled in’ my _ belt to the last hole, plentiful supplies of tobacco came along, and once more all was well. The natives took a keen and intelligent interest in my artistic work. What greatly struck the fair sex was that, in my studies of girls, I managed to get the set of the skirt just right, the arrangement of necklaces and other feminine adornments quite comme W faut. The men were more interested in matters masculine, boys from the fishing

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32 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. pom: Island courtship. of coconuts and yams is ac- cepted the maiden is understood to have said “ Yes.” villages making frequent requests to see my studies of canoes, the points of which were discussed at length. One boy’s definition of me and my painting was very funny. “ What fashion this one, Dim-Dim? (white man),” he said. “’E come ‘long village with bokis (box), ’e look ’im coconut, take altogether something like hair belong ‘im (paint-brush), put ‘im altogether somethin’ ‘long board (palette). Quick time ’e make look village on board ; all same I want make walk about ‘long ’im. One time ’e take ’im paper, I look ‘im make boy. _I no look fashion all same ‘im ‘long New Guinea.” The two years that I spent amongst these happy, care-free people will ever remain a wondertul memory. The day's work done, 1 would wander in the villages or sit by the fires listening to the old men’s tales, while quaint piccaninnies played and tumbled at their mothers’ feet. There were wonder- ful nights when the tropic moon cast its magic spell over the landscape, the purple sky was splashed with stars, the palms swayed gracefully to the gentle breeze, and the haunting lilt of a song echoed among the huts. These scenes form memorable vig- nettes in one’s book of life. Some day IL hope to hear again the rippling laughter of those happy folk, see the twinkling, mis- chievous eyes of the little brown maidens, and bask once more in the sunshine of those enchanted Papuan isles. Lunch—in the tree-tops.

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133 WILD ae With only a couple of Indians as his companions, the Author penetrated far into the interior of the vast and little-known region called nia, visiting savage tribes who had seldom or never seen white men before and meeting with many strange and exciting adventures. These articles, describing his experiences in this vast terra incognita, will be found particularly interesting. 1I1.—(Conclusion). FIER a rather prolonged stay in Iquitos an opportunity at last presented _ itse' to enter the country of the man-eating Indians of the Upper Amazon, the Cashibos and Nonyuas. The territory of these savages lies in the jungles, away back from the main stream, on the west bank of the Ucayali and Pachitea. To reach these Tivers entails only a few days’ journey by launch from Iquitos, as they form a watery highway between the Amazon, the Andes, and the Pacific, but one’s real difficulties begin when one gets to them. The silent, matted forest stretches away for hundred of miles to every point of the unexplored and mist-enveloped horizon, and so impenetrable is this tropical jungle that a traverse of, say, two hundred miles might take any time up to a year to accomplish, even with the aid of path-cutters and carriers. So bad is the reputation of the tribes who inhabit these areas, moreover, that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain assistance from the semi-civilized Indian communities along the banks of the main streams. For a white man to enter the forest alone means certain death. A German Scientist who attempted it some years ago never returned, while quite recently the bones of a rubber-gatherer of Masisea were found by the ashes of a fire on the forest Plains of Sacramento. Mr. Whaley, of San Juan, was killed by the Indians because, after repeated warnings, he entered their territory, and Kroehle, a German, who lived among and photographed the Cashibos, eventually died from wounds inflicted by their arrows, The history of the attempts to explore this vast region is full of similar tragedies. Farther south, where the Rivers Perené and Ené unite to form the Tambo, the Ungoninos, a branch of the great Campas nation, strenuously oppose the passage of white men through their territory, and although they are not cannibals they are so fierce and warlike that mule-trains coming down from the Andes to the forests, en route to Iquitos, are compelled to make a detour to avoid them. To endeavour to cross their country would inevitably lead to disaster. These few facts will enable the reader to understand the difficulty and danger of making one’s way into the more remote forests away from the main rivers. Around the small settlement of Sarayacu, on the west side of the River Ucayali, there are several Conibos villages. One of these, on the river bank, is inhabited by semi- civilized Indians who are wonderful canoe- men; others, farther inland, belong to tribes who are still savage, although not openly hostile to white men. Disembarking from the launch with my two Cocama boys, I hired a canoe from an old mission station and proceeded up a small stream called locally the Rio Sarayacu, which runs inland tor many miles towards a low range of hills about which little is known. This river leaves the Ucayali near the settlement of Sarayacu, which I intended to visit. After two days on this pestilential little watercourse, where towering walls of matted forest shut out the sunlight, we camped early in the afternoon to allow our guide to go on ahead in the canoe to warn the Indians of our approach, and to explain that we

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134 were friends with presents to distribute. That night was one of the worst I have ever spent in Amazonia. In addition to mos- quitoes 1 was suffering from prickly heat, and was scarcely able tu lie still for five con- secutive minutes. However, the hours of darkness in this land of the sunrise are merci- fully short, and after breakfast the guide re- turned and announced that we could proceed to the huts which, it appeared, were only about two miles farther on. The village of the Conibos consisted of four cane huts, without side walls, built on crude platforms. Each hut shelt2red about fifteen people. Unlike other savages on the remote rivers of this vast region, they did not crowd round whe., we landed, but stood awkwardly about re- garding us with un- mistakable signs of sus- picion. However, this attitude thawed a little when a handful of pocket-knives was pro- duced from my knap- sack, and some oppor- tunity was thus afforded me of studying them in detail. Thechildren, of whom there appeared to be an enormous number, were quite naked, but both men and women wore a coarse brown cusma, or single- piece garment with a hole for the head. ‘They were of a deep bronze colour, their faces being painted with red and black stripes, giving them a most hideous appear- ance. The younger children, who were not disfigured in this way, were quite decent looking. The hair of both men and women was worn long and held tight to the head by a cane band. One man, who seemed to be the chief, wore a metal ring through his nose and a bird’s feather in his hair. Beyond the collection cf sarzayarilla, which grows wild in the forest around, the Conibos appear to do but little work. The small plantations close to the village were sadly neglected, and at first could scarcely be distinguished’ from the forest.. . The Conibos speak the pana language common to almost all the known tribes of the Peruvian Montana. They have a bad reputation for treachery and murder, which they earned as early as 1695, when they killed a Franciscan missionary named Rieter. Since those days spasmodic efforts have been Cashibo Indian women. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. made from time to time to civilize them, but in almost every case tragedy has resulted. Those who dwell on the banks of the Ucayali profess Christianity, but only a very thin veneer covers their savage instincts. A CRUEL CUSTOM. One of the customs of this amiable tribe is the killing-off of the aged and infirm. Ason deems it a kindness to drown, strangle, or poison his father or mother when they are no longer able to fish, hunt, or prepare food. One old woman whom I noticed seemed particularly anxious to show her activity—so much so that had she not been so desperately in earnest I could not have refrained from laughing. When | mentioned her extraordinary display of energy to the padre at Sarayacu he told me about the cruel native custom, and the reason for the poor old lady's ludicrous exhibition immediately became apparent. Evenchildren with an abscess on the foot, he told me, have been thrown into the river because they were temporarily unable to walk! When we were leaving the Conibos village this old woman, who resembled nothing so much as a parchment-coloured bag of skin and bones, insisted upon wading almost waist-deep into the river to give a final push to our canoe. I was glad, when I learnt later about this dreadful custom, that she had received the most coveted gift of all—a box of needles, Pins, nails, and fish-hooks. Perhaps these treasures would enable her to purchase the few more vears of life she evidently desired. After leaving Sarayacu I proceeded up the Ucayali to the country of the cannibal Cashibos or ‘‘ Vampire” Indians, and one morning, while skirting the shore of a shallow lake in the canoe, we received the first intimation of their presence—an arrow splashing into the water some distance ahead of the canoe. It was an anxious moment ; the eyes of my two boys showed the nervous tension they were labouring under. It mattered little whether the arrow had been fired as a warning, or merely indicated the presence of Indians shooting at fish. Unless some sort of friendship could be struck up with the savages who were evidently lurking

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WILD TRIBES OF THE in the surrounding forest it would be im- ible to advance farther, and equally impossible toretire. I had been in a similar position on many occasions previously, but now, for the first time, I felt distinctly un- comfortable. The main factor of safety—a good line of retreat—was absent, and every- thing depended on the good willof an un- known tribe in a region of bad repute. Immediate action of some kind was essential—but what could we do? There was no nen on the low jungle-covered banks either of Indians or their habitations. Making for a sandy spit which jutted out into the lake, we paddled steadily until the canoe grounded, and then waded through several inches of water to the sand-bar. Here, after ascertaining that it was not covered by the natural rise of the river, I decided to camp, for no one could approach either from the lake or shore without exposing themselves on the open stretch of ground. MYSTERIOUS SIGNS. That night I sat up on guard until relieved at dawn, when I turned in for an hour or two. Scarcely had I fallen asleep, however, before one of the boys came into the tent and made signs for me to follow him. Less than fifty yards from the camp he showed me four sticks, with four shorter ones tied across them, stuck in the sand. Beside them on the ground lay an arrow, pointing in the direction from which we had come. The Cocama shook his head and muttered ; evidently he was very ill at ease. Having heard of similar signs being used by the Nambiquaras, in Matto Grosso, I cudgelled my brain for a solution of the message, if message it was. Probably, I decided, the four tall sticks meant an equal number of men; the arrow pointing down- stream obviously indicated a direc- tion, Was it Meant as a curt warning to return the way we had come? If so, what was the meaning of the small cross- sticks? On the Other hand, the arrow might not bea warning; the Sticks might sig- nify that four Indians were en- camped in the direction of the arrow, After puzzling over the signs for AMAZON. 135 definite conclusion, I made up my mind to leave presents beside the sticks, load up the canoe, but allow the tent to remain standing, and explore the edge of the jungle in the direction indicated by the arrow. Throughout the stifling heat of that tropical day we paddled and searched, but without coming across any traces of the Indians. On returning to the sand-bar in the evening, however, we found the presents gone ; the tent and the mysterious sticks were untouched. Before nightfall I placed a shaving-glass beside the message sticks as another gift, and tied to it a rough sketch of an Indian and a white man standing opposite each other, with their weapons lying on the ground and their arms above their heads. Once more I sat on guard beside the canoe all night, being afraid to trust to the doubtful vigilance of the Cocamas. When the light of the new day grew strong enough for me to see Lapproached the sticks. The shaving-glass and sketch had been taken and the sand showed the impress of several naked feet. They came from and returned to the shallow water of the lake, a proof that the Indians had used a canoe. This time I did not replace the presents, but left another sketch showing a white man giving a string of beads to an Indian standing beside a tent. The following night this also was removed, and by placing my ear close to the surface of the still waters of the lake I heard the canoe being pushed off from the bar. Things now appeared to be moving quite satisfactorily, and on the morning of the second day a canoe slowly approached con- taining four Indians. I hailed them and received a reply ; then the paddling ceased and the canoe came to a halt about two hundred yards from the shore. To carry some time with- outcoming to any A group of Cashibo Indians. They are very hostile to the whites, and are believed to be cannibals. Note the imposing headdress of the chief.

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136 on a dumb-show conversation at this range was impossible, so I beckoned to the visitors to come closer, at the same time laying down my rifle and walking into the shallow water towards them, holding out a string of beads. MAKING FRIENDS. For some minutes the Indians remained motionless, but presently they cautiously paddled forward again until about ten yards distant from where I stood ankle-deep in the water. Then, by means of signs, I indi- cated that I was a friend and desired to speak to them. Every time I attempted to advance, however, they hastily backed water with the paddles. This ridiculous see- saw business continued for over half an hour, and at last | walked back towards the tent and there sat down and waited. Gradually the new arrivals gained courage, first paddling their canoe along the shore towards the tent, and finally getting out into the water and wading towards me. I stuod up, and to show them that I was unarmed, raised my hands above my head. This action was copied by three of the men, who now walked up the beach, though it was apparent that they were still very nervous. I slowly lowered them and began making signs that I had further gifts to otter. Some tablets of scented soap were placed on the sand, and were eagerly grabbed by one of the Indians, while the others watched my movements intently. As I showed no signs of mischief they became more confident, and soon an animated conversation was being carried on by means of drawings in the sand. From these it appeared that the sticks with cross-picces meant huts, not men, and the arrow did not point in their direc- tion but was supposed to have come from it. In appearance these Indians were of medium stature and of a very pale yellow- bronze colour. In the sunlight they re- sembled Chinese. All four were dressed in long, dark-brown cusmas of coarse native cloth, They had partly shaven heads, and wore round their necks curious ornaments of beetles’ wings finished off in front with the head of a bat. Their hair was jet-black and held close to the head by a band of cane ornamented with birds’ feathers. One man only was armed, having brought a long thin spear with him from the canoe? Some measure of confidence having been at length established, I induced the visitors to take me to their village, where I discovered what is probably the reason for their ill- omened name of “ Vampire ’’ Indians. Some of the Indians had been out fishing with spears on one of their numerous rafts. When they returned, with several impaled monsters, I noticed two children lick the blood which had trickled from the wounds in the fish. A number of men and women Keeping my hands outstretched, - THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were standing round the raft at the time, and took no notice of the action of their offspring, so in all likelihood it was the usual custom. It may well be that this is the beginning and end of the alleged “cannibalism ” of the Cashibos ; I am also inclined to think that it is this custom which gave them the name of “ vampires.” In fact, notwithstanding the assertions they make relative to devouring their parents and friends, I rather think these stories are connected with a semi-religious ceremony involving the drinking of a certain quantity of blood, and not the actual eating of human flesh, I remained six days with this interesting tribe, who, once the natural distrust of the savage had been allayed, did not appear to be more fierce and intractable than many of the races met with in Brazilian Amazonia. The Cashibos are haughty and_ reserved, and seem to be without any definite religious or moral code. They certainly have no great liking for the white man, and probably if half the stories told have even a percentage of truth, there is no particular reason why they should either trust or love him and his works, After leaving the Cashibos I paid a visit to the Chunchos, and then moved on to the country of the Ungoninos, the last and not the least remarkable of the Amazonian tribes. We were travelling on a balsa, or raft, and met the Ungoninos suddenly while rounding a bend in the river. There were a canoe and a large balsa, both full of braves, as well as several groups of Indians on the right bank. For a few minutes things looked particularly ugly, for our raft offered no shelter what- ever if they started to use their arrows. This time, however, the peacemaking was not left to me. Two of the Chunchos who were with me—apparently they speak the same or a similar language—carried on negotia- tions with the strangers while the balsas drifted closer and closer together. At last a boy whom I had brought from the Tambo explained to me by means of signs and the few Spanish words we both understood that the ‘‘ great ’’ Ungoninos would allow me to visit then on the bank, as I had proved my friendship in the Chuncho village, but that I should certainly be killed if I persisted in journeying farther up the river, which was forbidden to all whites. Having heard from other travellers that the river route to Iquitos is rendered impossible by the ban of this warlike tribe, I realized that the Chuncho boy was telling the truth, and quickly informed him that I had no desire to pass through their territory, but only wished to visit them as a friend. . This being satisfactorily arranged, the balsas of both parties headed up a small creek flanked by tall, dark forest. After a mile or so of brown, oil-like water had been traversed in the green half-light we came

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WILD TRIBES OF THE AMAZON, 137 “A half-naked savage stepped close up to me and glared into my face with blazing eyes. “White man no good!’ he snarled.” Vou. Lv.—10,

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138 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to a few very crude palm-thatch huts on the high bank. In front of these was a motley collection of naked and_ half-naked yellow dwarfs. The landing was difficult, and somewhat trying to one’s nerves. These diminutive savages all carried barbed spears, with the exception of a few who were armed with bows or blow-pipes (and poison gourds) about ten feet in length. Men, women, and even the children did not attempt to disguise their savage hatred of the white men as I stepped on to the bank. I am convinced that it was only the good offices of the Cunchos, who were evidently on friendly terms with their fierce neighbours, that saved me from instant death. Never before had I met Indians who showed such a malevolent hatred of the whites as existed in this village. Distrust, suspicion, or even dislike is to be expected, tempered to a certain extent by wonder or curiosity. Here, however, a fierce hatred showed itself unmistakably in every look and gesture. They wanted to kill me, and the lust for my blood was unchecked either by curiosity or the hope of receiving gifts. I held out peace- offerings in the form of strings of coloured beads, but no one moved forward to take them. After waiting awkwardly for a minute or two I gave them to the two Chunchos to distribute, but they had no better luck; none of the Ungoninos would accept the gifts. “WHITE MAN NO GOOD.” In this dilemma I was on the point of re- embarking, and taking my chance of being allowed to depart in safety, when a_half- naked savage with a diadem of feathers and carrying a murderous-looking barbed spear, stepped close up to me and glared into my face with blazing eyes. “ Kittamorori shambari ni kahmetta!”’ he snarled, in a curious guttural tone. I hadn't the slightest idea what he meant, and so stood staring at him stupidly. The Chuncho boy came to my rescue, and explained in bad Spanish that the Chief had said: ‘White man no good.” I could quite understand the Indian’s statement, for it was common knowledge on the chacras along the Via Centrale that until the Peruvian Government put a stop to the atrocities which were being carried on with impunity in the remote regions of this wonderful country, these Ungoninos tribes suffered terribly at the hands of un- scrupulous half-breeds. Their girls had been stolen, and men, women, and even children tortured when they refused to collect the precious latex. In those hectic days the shooting of a few wild Indians was thought nothing of. This short-sighted and inhuman policy resulted in the thin- ning of the ranks of potential labour in the Amazon Valley by unknown thousands, and has also made the work of pioneers and explorers difficult and hazardous. With these facts in mind I could only endeavour to explain that I had merely come to see and talk with the Ungoninos, and not to barter for rubber. The Chief's anger was somewhat appeased by this state- ment, and his angry glare gave place to an expression of sullen distrust. After this 1 moved circumspectly about the village, but was followed wherever I weit by two braves armed with lance-like spears. ‘I hese Indians are yellow-skinned and decidedly Asiatic in appearance. Some of the younger girls are by no means bad- looking, and the men are good hunters and canoe-men, Many of them wear circlets ot tlowers round their long black hair. This Ocainas Indian women painted for a ceremonial dance.

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WILD liadem is always worn when they are wor- shipping Pahua, the sun-god, Every atmo- spheric disturbance—thunder, lightning, rain, and wind—is attributed to the eternal war between good and evil. For the first two days nothing worthy of note occurred, but on the third morning I observed that the whole tribe had assembled in the little clearing between the huts. Some of the younger men tried by threats to prevent my joining the circle, but a judicious appeal to the Chief, accompanied by a present of a pound of tobacco, secured for me a reserved seat on the hard mud next to the royal box. The ceremony which fol- lowed was one of the most cruel that I have ever witnessed, and at times compelled me to keep a strong hold on my temper. AN AMAZING MARRIAGE. It appears that when a girl of the tribe attains marriageable age she is immediately shut up alone in one of the queer-shaped huts in which the Ungoninos live and fed daily with a little cassava and water. In the meantime all the eligible youths of the tribe are assembled, and the girl is promised to the man offering the best presents of game, fish, poison, hammocks, and other commodities to the tribal Chief and the parents. When the bride- groom has been finally chosen the girl is led from her temporary prison and, in the presence of the whole tribe, is bound naked to a tree-stump and flogged with whips of grass cord in which sharp stones have been plaited. This barbarous proceeding is accom- panied by the blowing of conches and the beating of sticks on hollow tree-trunks. Then the witch-doctor commands the sup- posed evil spirits to leave the girl and enter the tree-stump to which she is tied, simul- taneously cutting the thongs holding her bleeding body to the upright post. A wild cry goes up from the tribe when the girl falls forward in a faint, as this is looked upon as a good sign. So evil was the demon driven out by the flogging, they consider, that the new spirit of docility needs time before it can enter its life-long home. The unfortunate damsel is then carried away, her syounds washed, and the bride- groom informed that she has been freed of evil. The women dance round the stake, the Ocainas women’s TRIBES OF THE AMAZON. 139 against which branches are heaped in readiness for the return of the bridegroom, who appears about an hour later bearing a flaming torch. After apostrophising the demon who would have harmed the girl he desired to marry, he lights the dry twigs and so burns the-demon and post to the accom- paniment of frenzied dancing, the blowing of conches, the rattle of a kind of tom-tom, and, incidentally, low moans of agony from the tortured girl-bride. Unlike the Ocainas and Itogapuks, there are absolutely no likeable traits in the character of the Ungoninos; they are fierce, cruel, and treach- erous. They are in con- \ tinual conflict with neighbouring tribes, and their country extends from the Tambo and Upper Ucayali to the Madre de Dios. The huts of the Ungoninos are similar to the dwellings of the Chunchos. They all live very largely on fish, yuca, and fruit, supple- mented by game of all kinds killed in the forest. Their method of hunting consists of lying flat on their balsas, which are pushed into the tall grass bordering the streams. From this point of vantage they shoot, with isoned arrows, any big game coming to the river-edge to drink; they also impale with harpoon-arrows, attached to thin lines, any big fish which rises to the surface or betrays its presence by bubbles. They fix their lines, which are made of gut, to a detachable arrow-head. When the shaft pierces the fish the barbed head be- comes detached and remains embedded in the flesh, while the shaft drops free and is lost. The bow from which these arrows are fired is worked by the feet. The catch is hauled close into the bank by the line from the barbed head, but it is often necessary for the fishermen to plunge into the water in order’ to finally secure some of the big, almost shark-like fish which inhabit these tivers. There is considerable mortality among the natives, owing to the alligators which lie basking in the sun or float idly, like half-submerged logs, with the current, Aged and infirm members of this tribe are buried alive—at their own request! A deep hole is dug in the ground, and after a last Painting the curious patterns that constitute dancing-costumes.

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140 feast, in which the whole tribe takes part, the victim is helped into the grave, standing towards upright, with face turned village, while the earth is gently filled in. The depth of the hole is so regulated that the eyes remain above the surface until after death, when a small mound is erected tocover the head. The Ungoninos chew coca, smoke tobacco—made up into cigarettes with the aid of an outer covering of leaves —and imbibe vast quantities of a highly intoxi- cating drink made of fer- mented fruit juice. The men of other related tribes wear long cusmas, but the Ungoninos go about almost entirely naked, adorn- ing themselves with neck- laces made of the teeth of alligators, jaguars, human beings, and small rodents In many ways they resemble the Cashibos. Their deep-rooted dislik> and suspicion of the white man rendered any very elaborate investigations of their life, customs, and beliefs impossible to carry out. My movements were closely watched by armed guards, and only a few of the younger members of the tribe, whose memory did not go back to the darkest days of persecution, would talk to me for any length of time. It was obvious, too, that every day the temper of the tribe grew more sullen and dangerous ; they wanted to be rid of me. After four days, therefore, I reluctantly abandoned my quest and tion. Many newspapers devoted THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. decided to the A gruesome trophy. A human head from the Upper Amazon, shrunk by a secret process until it measures only four inches from neck to crown. THE END, “KK. K.” depart. When our balsa reached mid-stream a flight of arrows splashed suggestively in the water behind the craft. The Chunchos bent the poles in their effort to hasten the passage of the light raft towards the open river, and in so doing very nearly tipped me off into the alligator-infested water. Seven days later I mounted a mule, and rode up the rough track towards the distant glittering line of the Great White Cordillera, It was a curious sensation to emerge from the murky forests and steaming rivers on to the great Andean prairies, or pajonales, and finally to arrive at the snowy mountain passes. I had crossed the Continent at its widest and least-known part, and ahead lay the Pacific with the ships and the cool sea breezes. Once or twice 1 stopped to gaze back over the most wonderful Equat- orial forests in the world— those of the Amazon Valley. Deep down below me, stretch- ing away to the blue-grey, mist-enveloped horizon—and for three thousand miles beyond—lay this mysterious tegion of sylvan twilight, desolation, and decay, which in past years I had traversed in various directions. I had seen strange sights and come safely through some fairly ticklish situations, but now, for the present, my wander- ings were over. Yet the Amazon has a lure that is all its own, and in my heart I knew that some day I should return. considerable space to reviewing his statements, while O™ Special Commissioner's recent article on the Ku Klux Klan attracted widespread atten- several callers at our offices were anxious to get into touch with the authorities of the ““K. K. K.” in order to assist them in forming British branches ! The British Fascisti, however, who were casually mentioned in the article, are very anxious that they should not be confused in any way with the “ K. K. K.” state :—‘‘ The British Fas actions is perfect! In a letter received from their headquarters they isti is not a secret society ; everything connected with its aims and open, and our leaficts fully explain our objects, general instructions and standing orders. The last thing we want is secrecy of any kind.”

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T4L Chasing a3 Pulajans Major CJ Crockett r The Pulajans were religious fanatics who gave the United States authorities in the Philip- pines untold trouble. Organizing themselves into bands, they would leave their fastnesses in the interior, descend upon the coast towns, and kill and burn URING the year 1903 Leyte, one of the richest and most beautiful islands of the Philippine Archi- lago, was in the throes of a Pulajan outbreak. Just what Pulajanism was I have never known, though I cam- paigned against the Pulajans on the islands of Samar and Leyte off and on for. three years. I doubt very much, indeed, if any white man ever clearly understood what it meant. According to my experience, the movement was a peculiar form of religious fanaticism which induced the natives, usually those of the interior, to assemble at designated places in the mountains and pray for several weeks, after which they would organize in bands numbering sometimes as many as a thousand fighting men. Armed with heavy crescent- shaped bolos, with which they could easily decapitate a man at one blow, they would swoop down upon the coast towns and butcher every living creature they could catch, During the Philippine Insurrection the American troops had various encounters with the Pulajans, but the officers mistook them for Partisans of the insurgents, with whom, however, they had no connection whatever. No one seems to know the origin of Pulajanism. The Pulajans were not of the Mohammedan faith. They professed to be Christians, and Styled themselves ‘' Soldados Militantes dela Iglesia.” Their uniform consisted of a cap, tunic, and knee-length breeches, all of a red-coloured material, with large white Crosses on the fronts and backs of their tunics. The name “ Pulajan’’ came from ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L.WOOD Sree u.S .INFANTRY without mercy. Major Crockett sets forth what happened when, with five native constables and some local levies, he went in search of several hundred Pula- jans who were on the warpath. “The story is true in every particular,” he writes. the colour of the uniform, pula being Visayan for red. The Pulajans confidently believed that the consecrated anting-antings, bottles of holy oil, prayer-books, crosses, and other amulets and charms which they wore - suspended from their necks or sewn in the linings of their uniforms, protected them from injury at the hands of their enemics and rendered them irresistible in battle. At the time to which I refer I was a lieutenant stationed at Ormoc, on the west coast of the island, in command of a company of native constabulary. One day a coastguard cutter arrived from the neighbouring island of Cebu with infor- mation from the district commander to the effect that a Pulajan band numbering several hundred men was moving down from the mountains of north-west Leyte, burning and killing as it came. I was instructed to go on the cutter to Palompon, a town forty miles up the coast, at which place I was to dis- embark, march across the mountains, and endeavour to destroy or disperse this band. 1 had barely enough men to garrison Ormoc and support several outlying posts which I had established as bases for opera- tions in the interior, so I decided to take with me only five men and to utilize for the expedition a detachment of thirty men already stationed at Palompon. When I arrived at the latter place, however, I found that fully half of the soldiers were sick with beri-beri, and could not march. Moreover, the population, which included a number of well-to-do Spanish merchants and their families, were terrified at the idea of being left without a guard.

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142 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. When the people learned that 1 contem- plated taking with me all the ab!e-bodied men of the garrison, they begged me not to leave them at the mercy of the Pulajans, who, they said, were moving toward the town over a thousand strong. I could not withstand their tears and supplications, especially those of the feminine element, some of whom fell on their knees in an agony of terror. Being young and fool- hardy—I was only twenty-three years old— I told the presidente that I would leave the local detachment to guard the town and go out with my own five men, but that he would have to provide a hundred bolo men to accompany me. He agreed to this with alacrity, and in a short while had a handred of his “ home guards "’ assembled. They were a robust lot of natives; each had a spear, wooden shield, and an excellent bolo, I organized them in two platoons, appointed leaders, and drilled them for an hour in taking up a wedge formation for attack and a defensive formation in which they rallied in double rank in a circle, with their shields and spears constituting what I told them would be an impenetrable wall. At the conclusion of the drill 1 made a short speech in which I complimented them upon their work and informed them that while no doubt each man, single-handed, could whip any two Pulajans, I was perfectly sure, now that they had been taught how to fight in combination, that the company as a whole could overcome all the men ‘‘ Papa" Faustino could get together. Papa Faustino was the “ Pope ” and leader of the Pulajan movement. Then I called the captain to me and before them all invested him with one of my own insignia as an emblem of authority. After this I permitted them to break ranks and partake of a good meal provided by the townspeople. One of the Spanish merchants contributed a package of cigarettes for each man, and when we marched out half an hour later they were full of enthusiasm. It was a difficult journey. The trail was narrow, steep, and muddy, and we had a long way to go. My objective was a village far in the interior where the trail to the east coast crossed the one leading from the northern part of the island. As this village was the only place in the vicinity where rice and other food supplics were to be obtained in considerabie quantities, I was fairly certain * that we would either find the Pulajans there or else get news of their whereabouts. Night overtook us in a dense forest at the bottom of a deep and narrow valley. We stopped two hours for supper and rest and then pushed on. During the night we crossed another mountain range and descended into a valley, the trail improving as we progressed. Shortly before daylight the guides halted and told me that we were within rifle-shot o: the village. Advancing with two soldiers to reconnoitre, 1 found that the jungle came down to one side of the small plaza, about which the houses of the village were grouped, and as the ground sloped away from this side, it was an excellent place from which to see without being seen and also to form up my men under cover. I sent one man back to bring up the column and remained at the edge of the jungle myself. Evidently something unusual was transpiring in the village. A large fire was burning on the far side of the plaza, not a hundred yards from my post, and at Jeast a hundred men were grouped about it. No doubt whatever was going on had attracted the attention of all the village dogs, and my approach was thus undetected. This in itself was a remarkable occurrence, as those who have campaigned in the Philippine Islands will know. When the column arrived I deployed the soldiers on the edge of the jungle and formed the bolo company on one flank. 1 was sure we had found the Pulajans, and was especially desirous that the bo/o men should participate in the ensuing fight and thus learn that the enemy were by no means the redoubtable foes which the natives at large believed them to be. I gave orders, therefore, that the men should lie down and get their wind while the light grew clearer, and that, upon my command, the soldiers should open a heavy fire into the mass of the Pulajans while the bolu men charged them from a flank. It is needless to say that I longed for more Titles, for there was never a better oppor- tunity to make a surprise attack. Full day- light came almost at once, as it does in the tropics, and lying there in the dew-drenched grass I saw a most curious spectacle. The men I had seen grouped about the fire were an advance party of the Pulajans standing guard over the cowed villagers who, at the behest of their captors, had killed a caribao and were cooking it and great cauldrons of rice. Presently the main body of the Pulajans—a long column of red- garbed warriors, with a flag bearer at their head—debouched from the jungle beyond the village and marched into the plaza. As the head of the column drew near, the villagers formed in line and, dropping on their knees, kissed the hand of each warrior as he pas . Altogether the band numbered some three hundred men, I waited until the hand - kissing was over and the Pulajans massed around the roasted caribao, and then gave the command for rapid fire. The Pulajans were taken so completely by surprise that for a few seconds after the opening volley they simply huddled together in bewilderment. Then, as men continued to fall from the heavy fire, which the Macabebe constabulary pumped into them at almost point-blank range, they scattered and ran to and fro in helpless indecision. This being the ideal moment, 1

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CHASING THE PULAJANS. 143 launched the bolo company at them. T had always longed to see a pitched battle between op- ponents armed as were the ancient Romans, with spear and short sword, and now, I thought, was the opportunity to gmatify this wish. My auxiliaries leaped from cover and dashed at the enemy with an élan which surprised me. The flying wedge was not as sym- metrical as I would have had it, but this was a mere detail, the important fact being that every man levelled _ his spear and charged home. The deter- mined onslaught threw the already demoralized Pula- jans into an utter panic. Without waiting for the shock of contact P they fled to the LE 7D al pro- = jungle, my bolo men performing digies of valour in dispatching such ot their wounded as were unable to escape. Taking advantage of the rout, I advanced the riflemen across the plaza and took possession of the village. Victory was ours without a single casualty. It was useless to attempt any pursuit, so we sat down to enjoy the ample breakfast prepared for the Pulajans. When the meal was concluded, | interrogated the villagers relative to possible rendezvous points for the Pulajans farther in the interior, but was unable to obtain any information except that the country was sparsely inhabited and there were no other villages for over a day’s march in any direction. My men were worn out from the exertions of the preceding day and night, and I decided, therefore, to let them rest for several hours. The bolo men, meanwhile, had gorged themselves until torpid, and some were already asleep in and under nearby buildings. Being in need of sleep myself, I selected as a testing-place a neat-looking bamboo house which stood alone, built about ten feet above the ground on piles. I posted three Maca- bebes under this house, one as a sentry and the other two as reliefs. The remaining two soldiers I took up into the house with “Sprang through the open window and landed twelve feet below.” me. I got them to slide back the bamboo shutters that served as windows, and then all three of us lay down on the palm-leaf mats spread on the floor in lieu of beds. I was restless, however, and sleep would not come. I had been in the field almost continuously for several months, and pro- bably hardships and exposure had lowered my resistance. At any rate I found presently, to my great disgust, that I had selected this inauspicious occasion to develop a severe attack of dengue fever. The hot flushes which swept over me from time to time and the intolerable aching in my bones were un- mistakable symptoms. One of the soldiers under the house had found a native guitar and was practising what seemed to be love songs to his novia (sweetheart) in far-off Macabebeland. The twanging of this instrument seemed almost to burst my head, but I hadn't the heart to put a stop to his entertainment. I was just drifting into unconsciousness when a yell from the sentry, followed by a crash of rifle-fire from under the house, brought me sharply to my senses. Next moment there came the patter of hundreds of bare feet, that shuffling, rustling sound

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144 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. which those who have survived a bolo charge can never forget, and the Pulajan war cry of “* Tad-tad, tad-tad "’ (*‘ Chop, chop to pieces ’’) went up or: all sides. I had leapt to my feet and started for the door, revolver in hand, when it burst open and three of the largest and most wicked- looking Pulajans | ever saw rushed in, cach twirling a bolo heavy enough to sever the neck of an ox. The two Macabebes were seasoned campaigners, and they immediately opened fire with their rifles and dropped two of the Pulajans, but my °45 calibre revolver bullets seemed to have no dis- couraging effect whatever on the third. For what happened next I am entitled neither to credit for good judgment nor censure for cowardice, because it was without conscious volition on my part that I sprang through the open window, not touching the sill, and landed twelve feet below—right in the midst of a mob of charging fanatics ! The two soldiers landed by my side—in fact, we came through the window together— myself, however, slightly in the lead. Our sudden advent from on higi so surprised the enemy among whom we fell that they surged backward. At this moment one of the Macabebes who had leapt through the window raised his rifle and killed my adversary of the large bolo, who was about to jump down upon our heads. This man died hanging over the window-sill. It was the most beautiful shot I ever saw made in circumstances of stress. The incidents which I have to relate now followed each other with kaleidoscopic rapidity. The pause that ensued between the time we struck the ground and the renewed onrush of the fanatics was almost inappreciable, but I had time to observe that myself and the five soldiers were together, on our feet and unhurt, and that my bolo company was in full flight toward the trail to the coast. I suppose they kept on running until they reached their homes ; anyway, I never saw them afterwards. All this I took in at a glance. I have no connected recollection of what happened after the Pulajans rushed us, but isolated impressions such as the hiss of a heavy knife as it swept by my head, the way men crumpled up when I put my revolver to their faces and pulled the trigger, and the wounded who bit at me as I tripped over them—these things are indelibly photo- Graphed in my memory. The Macabebes ought back to back with rifle, bayonet, and bolo, and more than once I was saved by the quick action of one of these brave fellows. There were so many of the Pulajans that they lacked elbow-room to get at us or to use their weapons. Linally a wave of them swept forward, led by a huge gorilla-like native wearing a red bonnet and with a long cape flapping from his shoulders. I caught his eye as he came at me, and saw my death written in it. Both my revolvers were empty except for one cartridge which I had thought to keep for myself to avoid being captured alive. Two Macabebes were down; the others were on the point of being over- whelmed. I had no fear at the time ; the fear came after the fight was over. I realized, however, that the end had come and, singularly enough, there was no strong desire to evade it. My feelings were rather a mingling of curiosity, utter weariness, and a longing to get it over. It seemed that alPthe life and spirit of my body was moving up into my throat, and that when this ape-like creature swept my head off with his knife, 1 should be released from all that was tiresome -and painful and unpleasant. Then came the thought that my superiors would blame me for the loss of the men. They would say that while my death was to be regretted I had brought it upon myself by venturing so far into the interior with only a handful of men, and that it was because of my poor judgment that all of us had been sacrificed. This thought maddened me. Raising my revolver overhead I paused a fraction of a second to steady myself; then, dropping my arm, I fired my last shot at the broad chest of the Pulajan chief just as he lifted his knife to finish me. He swerved aside as I fired, and I missed him utterly. The reader may now wonder by what miracle we were enabled to escape with our lives, for in the circumstances it would certainly appear that only a miracle could save the entire party from destruction. I say that the miracle happencd, or, if it was not a miracle, it was something no less strange. I am not egotistical enough to believe that there is a guardian angel who follows me about and makes it his sole business to sce that I come to no harm. J do not think that anyone, and least of all a mere second-licutenant, is of sufficient importance in the general scheme of things to merit such solicitude, yet in this case it was exactly as though an angel appearing in our midst, but invisible to our eyes, had interposed a flaming sword to protect us. I have written that when I fired my last shot at the Pulajan chief and missed him, he was in readiness to strike me down. I was absolutely defenceless and simply stood there waiting for the blow. But it did not fall. The Pulajan lowered his weapon and, looking at me curiously all the while, grasped a small whistle hanging by a cord from his neck and sounded a piercing note, after which he shouted something which made his men stop in their tracks as though they were paralyzed. Then he said some- thing else and, after backing away for a few paces, dropped on his knees and held up his bolo and dagger towards me in the form of a cross. When his men saw this they turned and fled into the jungle, parting the long grass in every direction. The chief,

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145 NS. CHASING THE PULAJ. %. ‘af t é “i “He dropped on his knees and held up his bolo and dagger towards me in the form of a cross.”

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146 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. however, withdrew slowly, always on his knees and elbows, and stopping every now and then to make the strange sign at me. In this way we were delivered trom death, for not one ot us was killed. Two Macabebes were seriously but not fatally wounded, one was slightiy wounded, and [ had a cut on the hand which was of no importance. Shortly after the conclusion of the fight I became unconscious from fever. When I had lain there in the village for two days without improving, my men decided to proceed overland to Ormoc, as the mountain trail over which we had come from Palompon was practically impassable. I made the four days’ journey through that wilderness of swamps and mountains tied to the back of a caribao, as did also the two badly- wounded men. I may mention here that the Macabebes gave first-aid to their injured comrades simply by packing the wounds full of mud and tying leaves over them to keep the flies away. This treatment, though hardly in conformity with the teachings of modern medical science, was certainly efficacious, for the wounds healed rapidly and the men were ready for duty long before [ recovered. My recollections ot the journey are exceed- ingly painful, as notwithstanding the wonder- ful care which the men gave me, my head and legs were terribly lacerated by thorns which grew thickly in the jungles through which it was often necessary to cut our way. One sickle-shaped variety that grew in rows on a smail rope-like vine nearly cost me an ear. A piece of the vine became wrapped around my head and the unwieldy beast on which I was tied could not be stopped. When I tumbled off the animal literally into the arms of the kindly old contract surgeon at Ormoc, he looked me over and said: ‘‘ My boy, it will be many a long week before you are able to take the field again.” He had a most peculiar expression on his face, however, when he examined the mud-packed wounds of the men and saw how well they were healing. I was sent up to Manila to recuperate, and it was several months before I returned to Ormoc. By that time the Pulajan move- ment had about worn itself out, and con- ditions on the island were fairly tranquil. The old surgeon had been transferred to another post, but his successor informed me that there was a wounded Pulajan in the hospital who had asked for me several times and who wished very much to see me. 1 went over to the hospital with the surgeon that evening, and was greatly surprised to find the same chief who had spared me lying there swathed in bandages. He had been shot full of holes and captured several wecks before in a fight at a place near Ormoc. He seemed greatly pleased to see me and 1 was also glad to see him, because 1 had never ceased to puzzle over the mysterious action on his part to which my men and I owed our lives. I asked him why he did not kill me, and why his men ran away when we were at their mercy. He showed his betel-stained teeth in a grin, but said nothing. I repeated the questions, whereupon he answered: ‘‘ You: know without my telling you.” His reluctance to speak, of course, only made me all the more determined to get the truth out of him, but I thought it best not to let him see how nonplussed I was, so I said, slowly and firmly, ‘‘ Yes, I know, but you must tell me yourself why, when we were beaten and as good as dead, you acted as you did.” He stared at me queerly for awhile, and then said solemnly, ‘‘ You blessed the bullets | ”’ : This was more mysterious than ever, and I could only ask: “ What do you mean by blessing the bullets ? ’’ , “You know what I mean, Sefior Captain,” he replied. “I saw you raise your pistol toward heaven each time before you fired. At first I did not know why you did this, but at the last, when you held it up just before you shot at me, I knew you were asking God to bless the bullets, and that if 1 tried to kill you a great punishment would fall upon all my people. I told this to my men and they ran away. I followed them, as you saw.”’ The surgeon got the drift of the conversa- tion. We left the hospital together and walked back to my quarters, neither of us speaking a word. I called Dyonisio, the Tagalog mess-boy, to bring refreshments, and presently he appeared carrying the drinkables. Gazing reflectively at the squat native, the medico finally spoke. ‘‘ Say,” he drawled, *‘ do you reckon we shall ever know anything about these people ? ’* a ee ere Le ee OT a el ee re ee

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TO THE END OF THE WORLD AND Pe Oty Gault Macgowan CROSS the great e dusty Sind Desert, two days’ journey by train from Karachi, the ‘‘ Manchester-Port Said” of British India, lies I.a- hore. One hundred and fifty miles beyond is Rawal Pindi, the ‘‘ Aldershot ” of the East. Two days’ farther travel, this time in a motor-car, brings one to the Happy Valley of ILLUSTRATED BY CONRAD LEIGH ; Accompanied by his | wife, the Author set out on an eventful journey 147 ” 4, a FROS intended to push on across the mountains and join our Yarkandi friends the western capital of Lamaism and the head-quarters of the devil- dancers. At long last all our arrange- —| ments were completed, and ; We started on our journey. Marching at the head of our caravan, we followed the Kashmir, where the chenay | in the Western Hima- | pilgrim road out of Srinagar, trees of the Shalimar Bagh layas. They met with a highway only as far as sweep down to the lotus-lake more adventures , Islamabad, whence a strag- which merges on the Jhelum they expected, and were ' gling, grass-fringed track wan- River. very fortunate, all things ders up the Liddar river to Here is Srinagar, the city of considered, to get back Eishmakam and the hills. the sun, the Mecca of the safely. Above us, on the hillside, explorer and big-game hunter in the Western Himalayas. There, in a Kashmir garden, my wife and I pitched our first camp while we made the necessary arrangements for our journey to the ‘‘ End of the World” and beyond. There were maps and game licences to procure, food and equipment to be packed in kiltas (panniers), and the tedious waiting for an official pass that would admit us into Little Tibet. During the interval we amused ourselves by visiting the Yarkand serai, to which Tibetans, Ladakhis, and Baltis wander down with their laden zkos—weird beasts of burden that are long-horned crosses between a yak and a buffalo. We learned to like these cheery, hardy hill-men and to sym- Pathize with them in their eternal request for matches, the acquisition of which is their tuling passion, for in their own country fire is still made with the primitive flint and tinder. We did not plan to take the Yarkand Toute into the hinterland, but to trek up to Amarmath, which is the venue each August of a great pilgrimage, the attraction being a weird, ice-bound cave, thirteen thousand feet above sea-level, called by the Hindus The End of the World.” From there we was a Buddhist monastery, a fonely outpost warning the Hindu pilgrim that he is now entering another land. As night fell all was silent, save for the noise of the river rushing down to join the Jhelum—a torrent of white snow-water flowing from the twin glacier- bound peaks of Kolahoi. One day we marched fifteen miles—a hot, dusty journey through the August heat and haze—and camped at Eishmakam. We were very tired, and ill-prepared to be aroused from sleep by our shikari, Ramzana, Sheikh. I only seemed to have been in bed about ten minutes. “Sahib, Sahib,”’ he whispered, excitedly. “A big black bear!” Ever since we had arrived in camp he had been scouting round mysteriously, engaged from time to time in earnest conversation with the villagers, and apparently this news was the result. A NIGHT EXCURSION. My querulous complaints hushed, and, still half asleep, I pulled on stockings and shoes and a coat and stole out with him into the darkness. It is tricky work stalking black bear at night. The usual custom is to

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148 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘Tne rocky road to Amarnath, showing some of the Author’s coolies. sit up on the roof of a gujrar (shepherd's) hut near a maize field known to be Bruin’s haunt. All day long he lies up in the mountain nullahs and by night comes down among the crops. The black bear is a nasty customer to’ encounter unawares. Just before we left Srinagar a young Indian Cavalry officer was brought back to hospital badly mauled. He had wounded a bear, and was following it up, when it suddenly turned on him from behind a rock, so close that he had to retreat a pace before firing. As he did so he stepped back over a khud, Bruin tumbling over after him. Fortunately his shikari was at hand, and as bear and man rolled over together at the cliff-bottom the native was able to beat the beast off. As all sportsmen know, shooting big-game is no easy matter. To kill with the first shot requires deadly accuracy, and at night one’s difficulties are intensified. There was a good deal for me to think of, therefore, as we stole slowly and silently through the walnut groves. At last we arrived at the appointed spot, nerves a-tingle, and out of breath from a stitf climb. Crouching down behind a low wall I listened intently, but all seemed silent. Suddenly I heard a low, crunching sound. Evidently the bear was playing havoc with the walnuts. I turned for guidance to my shikari, but he had dis- appeared. However, he returned in a few moments, quivering with excitement, and beckoned me to follow him. We crawled along a stony nullah, halting several times, and at last he pointed out the trees which concealed our quarry. Though I strained my eyes I could see little, for the moon was half hidden behind watery clouds. The crunching, 1 noticed, had now stopped. Had the bear gone? Then, suddenly, [ heard it again, and quickly rolled over on my side to bring up my gun. As I did so my foot, searching for a secure grip, struck some loose stones which hurtled away witha terrific noise. I lay still for a minute ; then both of us sprang up and hastened towards the trees, for we could hear the startled bear lumbering away. But we were too late. Taking advantage of the darkness and the thick cover, Bruin escaped, and all our efforts to follow him up were vain. We were both very disappointed, my shtkari in particular, at the unlucky ending of the hunt, due entirely to my carelessness, Next morning at sunrise we were up again, off on the first stage of our hill march. At nine o'clock we stopped for breakfast, and my wife and I essayed a bathe in the tempestuous Liddar river. We were very hot from the’march, but one quick plunge in the water was quite enough. It was icy cold, sending the blood tingling through our veins. Our next halt was Pahlgam, where we camped for two days, exchanging our ponies for coolies. There was a small summer settlement here and a tiny post-office—the last till we returned to the valleys again. The distance from Srinagar to Amarnath is only ninety miles, but half the journey must be done afoot, over mere tracks worn by men’s feet, leading through sombre forests and up sudden sheer ascents into the chilly altitudes between towering snow peaks, till, at seventeen thousand feet, Amarnath is finally reached. The march to Tainin took us higher and higher into the mountains, gradually ap- proaching nearer to the summits which marked our goal. The next day a sheer climb of fifteen hundred feet from the camp brought us to the uplands and the zone of birch trees. Often these trees grow down- wards, pressed over by the weight of snow which covers them for half the year. We crossed several nerve-trying snow bridges, spanning mighty ravines, and camped towards nightfall in an Alpine meadow at Waojan, which means “ windy place '"—a very apt name. Below us, at twelve thousand feet, lay Shish Nag, a large sheet of water shining jade green in the light of the setting sun. This lake had been covered with ice only a few weeks before. Away to the south rose curiously-contorted

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TO THE “END OF THE peaks, and beyond them the famous Koh-i- noor Mountains, clothed in eternal snow. We had shot a brace of snow-pigeon, and when our laden coolies plodded into cam: we made a fire from juniper, the only fuel we could collect. Sheltered from the icy blast behind a huge rock, it was just possible to keep it alight while our Poonch cook prepared our evening meal. So fierce was the wind that it was impossible to sit close to the fire, for the flames were blown directly at us. Henceforth this piercing wind was our constant companion as we followed the pilgrim route. The next day, for the first time, we encountered marmots. Herodotus describes them as “foxes the size of dogs which sing like birds,”’ which exactly fits them as they sit outside their holes in the rocks, golden-brown in the sunshine. We shot several, but it is a difficult business, for unless the animal is killed on the spot, he tumbles into his hole and dies out of teach of the hunter. We had two dogs with us, and fed them on marmot stew, which tastes not unlike rabbit. The marmot pelts now adorn a coat belonging to my wife. Nearing Panchtairin, the great peak of Amarnath rises ahead behind the final trial of the pilgrim—the steep Bairagi Ghat, which hid it altogether when we halted again, this time on the last regular camping- ground in Kashmir. Beyond this point we ioneered our own routes and halts till we inked up with the caravans on the treaty high-road leading to Little Tibet. The next day we started early, glad to leave behind us that weird and inhospitable plateau, where the very marmots shrieked derisively at us. It was impossible for the coolies to remain with us in our laborious ascent of the Bairagi Ghat. The way leads through nar- tow tunnels, along which the pilgrim crawls slowly and painfully in the belief that his burden of sin will be swept away. We had to send the coolies by a detour over a glacier to the Amarnath ravine till we made a camping ground beyond the cave. THE GREAT ICE-CAVE. A hundred and fifty feet high and the same distance wide, and deep-sunk in the mighty Amarnath peak, is the famous cave which forms the pilgrim’s Mecca. It is the reputed dwelling-place of Shiva the Destroyer, the manifestation of the deity being a frozen spring which bursts from the rock. It is a priestless shrine save at the pilgrimage season, for the approaches are fast-frozen for six months in the year and no worshippers dwell anywhere near. In August, however, the melting waters of the spring spread a carpet of verdure at the cave mouth, and we found the edelweiss growing there. Above us towered WORLD” AND BEYO) The mountain slopes near Amarnath. a vast wall of rock, culminating in great seventeen-thousand-foot crags, ribbed with eternal snows which effectively bar farther progress and enable one to understand how this sinister spot got its name of the “‘ End of the World.” The title is apt indeed, for here both the pilgrim and the traveller must turn back. That afternoon we scaled the rocky wall which seals the ravine, only to find ourselves in a cul-de-sac. Path-finding was pure guess-work. Uncertain as to whether a way existed at all, we took the porters up a mountain spur in the hope of finding a path along the summit. We climbed steadily for about three hours up a terrific slope, following a goat-track that straggled up the precipitous mountain face, the porters grumbling at every step, muttering among themselves that we were mad to drag them through such dangers when by retracing our steps we should be assured of a sate return. Surely we had seen all that there was to see ! We thought we had reached the limit of our worries when a coolie, making a false step, lost his foothold and went sliding down over the rocks. We picked him up and rendered first-aid; fortunately, his injuries were slight.

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150 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Our shikari was the first to reach the top, and once there he gave a cry of dismay, for he found himself overlooking the mountain range we had crossed in the morning. There was no possibility of making any further progress; ahead lay nothing but a shingly, dangerous, knife-edged crest. Thereupon we gave the order to retire. Darkness was falling fast, and our coolies had lost confidence—and no wonder, for half of them were bleeding from falls andscratches. It was acritical moment, and we had to coax them before they would budge even to go back, but at last we got them down and out of it, breaking into our own store of provi- sions to cheer,them up before we made camp. We got the tents pitched somehow and collected enough fuel for one tiny fire, around which we sat to discuss the situation. There was nothing for it, we decided, but to divide our party and travel as lightly as pos- sible. The majority of the porters abso- lutely refused to con- tinue any farther on what they no doubt considered a hare- brained expedition. However, at dawn next day, when they tealized our determination to push on without them if necessary, and no doubt fearing to lose the pay due to them, they agreed to retrace their steps, attempt a pass lower down that led to the treaty high road, and wait in Kashmir territory for instructions. Though the route they offered to take was officially impassable, there was nothing for it but to let’ them try, and accordingly we sent them off under our Poonch servant, Mohamad Hussain, keeping with us only three sturdy volunteers. These we loaded with blankets, the upper fly of a small tent, and a stock of provisions. The weather looked threatening, heavy clouds massing overhead around a tent- shaped peak that commanded the ci/l-de-sac which we had determined to attack. For two hours we climbed over snow-bridges and moraines, melting snow and _ sliding shingle, till we reached a precipitous col below the peak. Here a waterfall descended a natural boulder staircase, and this we ‘lecided to scale, but our coolies preferred to attack its flanks up a mountain wall which The great ice cave of Amarnath, the Mecca of the pilgrims. offered a gradual though more circuitous ascent. This separation was unfortunate, for, owing to the interposition of a ridge, we lost sight of them and our provisions till the evening. SCALING A WATERFALL. We climbed steadily for some time, dragging ourselves from rock to_ rock, seeking footholds in the fissures, and often swept .by showers of icy spray. After half an hour of really hard work we neared the top—only to find fur. ther ascent impossible! The fall looked easy from the bottom, but narrowed to a mere cleft in the rock, be- tween the sheer faces of which the water burst forth in an angry torrent that we could not face. There was nothing for it but to turn aside and scale the loose shingly crest of the cliff. Somehow we did it, though one false move would have meant instant death on the boulder-strewn moraine far below. Finally we reached the cliff-edge and hauled ourselves over it into an outcrop of bright green rocks, exposed by recent thaws. From the valley below these boulders had appeared like a grassy meadow. Picking our way carefully, testing the ice continually with our alpenstocks, we started across a glacier slope under the shadow of the peak, which we now judged to be close on eighteen thousand feet high. The slope ended at a ridge, where we halted and debated as to the route. My wife was all for turning off sharply to the right and following the peak in an easterly direction, but fortunately I managed to persuade her that my reasons for going in the opposite direction were adequate. Had I not done so, we should have lost our lives, for the eastern route led into the Wardwan, a wild district only visited occasionally by big-game hunters, where we should have been completely lost. Crossing the ridge a magnificent sight met our eyes. From where we stood, on the rise of a snowy peak, a vast ice-field swept away till at last it cascaded in a forest of glittering pinnacles over a mighty precipice. For below in the distance was

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TO THE “END OF THE the “snout” of the glacier, from beneath which a silvery band of water flowed out along a wide, grassy ravine. Hemmed in as we were by huge, snow-capped mountains, showing no sign of life or vegetation, that green valley was a welcome discovery, romising a snug camping-ground at night- all. It was no time for joyful anticipation, however, for the valley appeared so distant that it seemed unlikely we could reach it before darkness fell. Moreover, we presently found ourselves cut off from approaching it by the sudden descent of the glacier in a wall of polished ice about a hundred feet in depth, with an almost vertical slope to the icefield below. This barrier stretched from end to end of the ridge on which we stood, a distance of almost a mile. Things looked serious. The cold was intense, the wind keen, and a blizzard that had started to rage just behind us was already covering the tops of the peaks with anew layer of snow. It did not take us long to make up our minds that there was nothing for it but to push straight on, glissade down the ice-wall, and risk the consequences. With my heart in my mouth I sat down on the verge. No push was needed; the mere act of looking over the edge was enough to set me off. I went hurtling down at terrific speed, dashing into a hummock at the foot which luckily checked me, for behind the hummock yawned a crevasse ! I picked myself up, cut about the hands, but otherwise unhurt, and waited for my wife. I have no hesitation in saying that had she temporised we might never have WORLD” AND BEYOND. 151 completed the journey, but she followed me instantly, and I was able to break her fall at the bottom, Her hands were terribly cut ; she bears the scars to this day. Struggling on across the vast ice-field, which was intersected with many crevasses, we continually swept the country with our glasses, but could see no trace of our porters. We feared that, lightly laden though they were, they had met with some accident. Without their assistance we could never hope to win through, yet it would have been useless to wait for them in such a region and in such weather. In any case they were better off than we were, for they had the tent and the food. NERVE-TRYING MOMENTS. We decided that if we worked to the left we could in time get across to the glacier bank above the precipice, from which we hoped to make our way down to the valley below. Accordingly we pushed on, and about an hour later found ourselves very near the opposite shore. First, however, we had to cross a shingly slope, a moraine leading to the foot of the precipice. Directly I stepped upon it my feet shot from under me, and I went shooting down, down— straight, apparently, into the jaws of a yawning crevasse! I gave a convulsive turn in mid-descent and so managed to twist my body that it changed its course, and I was finally flung into a heap of boulders not three yards from an abrupt descent. When I had collected my scattered wits I began to pick my way up again, but a few minutes later I was in trouble once more. In the heart of the mountains.

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152 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The shingle was just a blind; an inch below the surface was polished ice! Again I commenced to slither down that awful slope; the whole hillside seemed to be on the move! Spread-eagled on the shingle, I managed, after an awful struggle, to get a foothold by kicking my toes into the ice. Here I hung on like grim death till my wife, who had crossed in safety higher up, worked her way down towards me. Being much lighter than me, she was able to get a hold on some small rocks near her, and then lowered her alpenstock for me to grip, but I was unable to reach it. I yelled to her to attach the field-glass case to the end, and when she lowered the combination I was able to grab it. Though its frailty was absurd, yet it was the only secure thing within range on the mountain- side. Had I attempted to move without its support I should have hurtled down again to the crevasse a thousand feet below. ~ Spread-eagled there on the slope, I reached out for a further foothold, only to feel the treacherous shingle slide away again. Luckily the stones I dislodged revealed, to my joy, a tiny rock seemingly firmly embedded in the ice. Shouting to my wife to hold tight, I swung out, clinging to the alpen- stock, and caught the rock with my hand. Had it yielded, I should have been doomed, but fortunately it held. Slowly I drew myself up and finally reached firm ground to the right. When I was safe I found myself trembling all over from the strain. My hands were bleeding and the sole of my shoe had been wrenched away, but, worst of all, my wrist-watch was smashed and the hour-hand gone. Now, to our dismay, after all our exertions, we saw that there was no way down to the valley! The glacier nose, over which we had hoped to travel, was separated from us by continuous crevasses. “She took off her coat Digitized by GOOTe Cc

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2.2 eae ~~ TO THE “END OF THE WORLD” AND BEYOND. 153 There remained but one possible “eo way of escape. We had climbed to the plateau by means of a water- fall; perhaps we could descend by way of another. Just beyond us a magnificent cascade rushed down Jt to the valley, losing itself beneath 4 the glacier snout. * Cautiously we began to descend its boulder-strewn course. At first the going was easy, but gradually the gradient became steeper and steeper. About five hun- dred feet from the bottom we found it impossible to continue; the waterfall dropped sheer into a mighty crevasse and dis- appeared from sight. Sadly we turned back. Weary in body and mind, hungry and disappointed, we set our faces once more towards the heights. The short day was drawing to a close. We struggled upwards until finally we arrived at a seeming impasse —smooth, wate- worn rocks. We had slid down them easily enough, but yto climb them was impossible. Near by was a hollow inthe rocks. We crept into it and gazed at each other helplessly. It looked as if this was the end ! by DS and waved it frantically.” Vot.—ty. 1.

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154 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE SAVING RIFLE-SHOT! Suddenly, across the snowy spaces, there cime the sharp crack of a rifle-shot ! {inagine our relief! We realized at once that the shikari was somewhere near us, and blessed him for his wisdom in firing the gun—our only means of communication. My wife turned the glasses in the direction of the shot, and in two moments we had picked up his party—four tiny black dots away across the glacier, high up on the opposite side of the valley. She took off her coat and waved it frantically, and we shouted our loudest in chorus. Had they seen us? Whether they had or not, it was essential that we should reach them. Somehow we must recross the ice- field, retrace our steps, and join them. Heartened by the nearness of food and shelter, we made another attempt, hope giving us new energy. Previous experience had taught us the dan- ger of haste, and now we took things easier. Working cautiously round over the rocks, we presently reaped the reward of patience and got on mountain grass again. _ It took us quite an hour and a half to cross the glacier above the pre- vipice, as we had to make numberless de- tours in order to cross the larger crevasses at their narrowest parts. Great was the rejoic- ing when the two parties met! Wecon- gratulated the shikari on his forethought in firing the gun, for it had undoubtedly been the means of saving our lives. A night in the open at that alti- tude without food or dry clothes would cer- tainly have been the end of us. To our amazement, however, the shikari indignantly denied having fired the rifle! He seemed hurt that we should accuse him of doing so without permission, and declared he had heard no shot, the porters verifying his statement. Thereupon I counted the ammunition. It was untouched; the rifle was clean! There was no alternative but to believe that Providence had taken a hand on our behalf, and the porters assured us The Author and his shikari with the twelve-pointer Kashmir stag. emphatically that God had saved us all. It was now dusk, and we wasted no time, but tried a descent along a spur. By great good luck it connected directly with the valley, so we had no crevasses to face. Stumbling downhill over enormous boulders and shingle, with heavy rain falling, we reached the valley at last, frozen with cold. Here, at a point where an icy torrent swept from under the glacier, we pitched camp for the night, tying the guy-ropes of the tent to tufts of grass that sprang from crannies in the rocks. About nine we turned in, after a hearty supper washed down with Horlick's malted milk, cocoa, and Irish whisky—an excellent melange. Dawn saw us striking camp once more, eager to be on the move. Our store of tood was very small for six hungry people, and it would be necessary to ration it carefully. ’ Trusting to luck and the course of the river to take us to Ladakh, half an hour's difficult going brought us to a point where a larger river, foaming down from another glacier, joined ours. During the whole of that day we followed this mountain torrent, crossing from side to side, when one bank became too steep, by the frozen snow bridges which were plentiful but trea- cherous. . About five that evening we_ halted, and the shikari, see- ing a fairly large de- pression behind a shoulder of the moun- tain we were climbing, ascended higher for a look at the country. Meanwhile we flung ourselves down, too exhausted and hungry even to watch him. Suddenly we heard wild whoops. Far above us we beheld the shikari waving and shouting to us to joinhim, The memory of that climb is still vivid ! When we drew level with him a most cheering view awaited us. Far below us, away in the distance, was the Zogi La, the great pass leading from Kashmir into Ladakh. We could see a pale ribbon of road and tiny specks that might mean a moving caravan.

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TO THE “END OF THE WORLD” That night we slept in a gujjar hut, long deserted by the nomad shepherds. Close by was their graveyard—a tew mounds of earth framed with rude stones. We were far above the tree-limit still, but fortunately our porters found a long-forgotten wood- store in a hollow, and all night long they crouched by a cheering blaze, drinking brick-red tea fla- ; voured with salt- petre. Two hours of stumbling down- hill next morning brought us back to Marmot Land, and I celebrated the occasion by bagging two lovely furs. Shortly after- wards we found ourselves at Mini- Marg, a grassy plateau where a number of Yar- kandis were en- camped, We were now oppressed by a keen wind which blows every day in Baltistan and Ladakh from twelve to sun- down. That day it showed us what it could do, work- ing up a storm which drove us to the nearest shelter. Four miles away, standing on an exposed knoll, was the rickety rest-hut of Mitsahoi, its windows and doors rattling under the fierce blast. We were grateful, how- ever, for a roof and the rude charpoys, the nearest approach to beds that we had seen for days. The Tibetan attendant could get us no food and practically no wood, but we cheered ourselves by wolfing the remainder of our stores and whisky. At six the next morning we set off across the Zogi La to collect our main party and supplies, following a road of sorts which is nowhere below eleven thousand feet: in altitude. It was two o’clock in the afternoon before A wayside halt. AND BEYOND. 155 we sighted Baltal, nestling at the foot of the mountains. There in a corner, where two foam-flecked mountain streams met, in a birch glade flanked by woods of spruce and fir, stood a tiny dak-bungalow, a rest- house for travellers. Charmingly pretty and spotlessly clean, it is one of the most beautiful spots in the lovely Sind Valley. The Author’s wife is seen in the centre. Here our bearer and baggage, with fires and steaming baths, were awaiting us. His party had arrived after a chapter of incidents vying with ourown. We killed the ‘ fatted calf ’— a sheep purchased from a shepherd for the equivalent of ten shillings—and feasted royally. A few days later I was lucky enough to shoot a barahsingh, the twelve-pointer Kashmir stag. Our party and every wan- derer who visited us fed on venison for weeks after ! Our adventures ended on the Woolar Lake in a Kashmir houseboat. We cruised on those placid waters for a week or more, resting and recuperating after a strenuous journey.

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156 Short Stories THE FATAL SLIP. By ARTHUR CURSHAM. Illustrated by HARRY LANE. Countless criminals have been brought to book through one apparently insignificant blunder, and s0 it befell in the case here narrated. “The story is perfectly true,” writes Mr. Cursham. HE events I am about to narrate happened in Natal some twenty years ago, but I remember the whole attair as clearly as if it had occurred yesterday. 1 was a happy-go-lucky young trooper in the Natal Mounted Police at the time, stationed at Port Durnford on the Bushman’s River, near a small town called Estcourt. There were about a dozen of us in the Fort and two or three in the town itself. Beyond our regular patrols and attendance at Court we had very little to do, for Estcourt was a sleepy hole, and when a little excitement did come along you can be sure it was a change for us. It was the sort of place where you would think nothing ever could happen beyond arresting an occasional “ drunk ’—in from an outlying farm for the annual “ bust ’’—or getting evidence in a cattle-stealing case. Yet in that same quiet town something happened that kept the smartest detectives in Natal busy for quite a time. It was a case of train- robbery, and the culprit would have gone entirely unsuspected but for the fact that he made just one fatal slip. In those da for some reason or other, the railway staff, from Pietermaritzburg to the Transvaal frontier, were paid their salaries in cash. They used to put a safe into a van at Maritzburg, with a pay- clerk in charge of the key and accounts, and when he arrived at each station on the line he would hand over the necessary money to the station-master and obtain a receipt. The amount involved, as far as 1 can remember, was some £2,000 or £3,000. A detective was always sent with the clerk to act as an escort and see that nothing went wrong. This had been the system for many years, and as it had worked all right in the past the authorities saw no reason why it should not go on working for ever. One day the mail train duly started from Pietermaritzburg with the pay-safe and the clerk and detective on board in their special compartment. Everything went as usual until they got to Mooi River, a station not far from Estcourt. When the train pulled in, and the clerk was about to open the safe, he was somewhat surprised to see a sergeant of the Mounted Police approach the van and call to him. The officer was a short, dark man, with a moustache and side-whiskers, and was wearing blue sun-glasses. Neither the clerk nor the detective had ever seen him before. “Your name’s X ” said the sergeant, curtly. ‘I am Sergeant Z , of Lady- smith, and I have here a telegram from the Commissioner of Police at Maritzburg, on behalf of the Railway Administration ordering me to place you under immediate arrest for embezzlement. Detective Y. yy —he turned to the detective—“ is ordered to take charge of the prisoner and escort him by the next train to Maritzburg, handing him over on arrival, and reporting to the proper authorities, ‘““Here are my orders,” he went on, showing the astounded pair some official telegrams. “ You will also see that I am instructed to take over the safe and its contents and continue paying out salaries as usual until arrival at the border, when I am to return and make a full report.” The clerk and the detective looked at the papers, which seemed perfectly in order ; then they gazed at one another—thunder- struck. The clerk’s conscience in particular smote him, for, as a matter of fact, he was

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short in the petty cash, though only to the extent of a couple of pounds or so. Visions of transportation for life or at least a year or two’s imprisonment flashed across his horrified mind. No doubt his face showed his emotion, and this settled the matter for the detective. He promptly arrested the clerk, and the safe, keys, and pay-books were turned over to the sergeant, who paid the Mooi River salaries in the usual manner. Then the train started off again. Just at the last moment, however, a doubt crossed the detective'’s mind as to the genuineness of the sergeant. Handing his prisoner over to another policeman on the station he dashed for the moving train and succeeded in getting into a third -class SHORT STORIES. 157 called up, and I was told off to search a deep donga near the line, in company with W—— and two other men. W-— took the lead. “All right! '’ he shouted back presently, “ T’ve looked all along here, and there's no sign of anything. Come on; we'll try the other way.” We searched nearly all night, but found nothing. Every available man was on duty, and police and natives were sent in all directions. Finally, tired out, we went back to camp greatly excited. The thief had apparently got clean away with about £3,000 in notes and gold—not a bad night’s work. Next day we were informed that a reward of £200 was offered for the recovery of the carriage. So far, so good. Unfortunately, however, the train did not stop before itreached Estcourt, and there, when the detective rushed for the pay-van, he found it empty save for the safe —which was_ also empty. T hee strange sergeant had completely dis- appeared ! No time was lost. The station-master at once sent for W. , the railway policeman who ived in Estcourt, and who was due on duty very shortly. When the messen- ger arrived at W—'s house he found the officer, in mufti, half -asleep on his bed, but he jumped up quickly enough when he learnt what had happened. To- gether they rushed tothe station, where W. got on the telephone to Mooi River and obtained Particulars of the Tobbery and a full description of the Tobber. We shall see later that his in- formation, as taken down, was not quite correct. ™ eer ANY Fry A In the meantime we had all been “Your name’s X——, ordering me to place you under immediate arrest.’” said the sergeant. ‘I have here a telegram

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158 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cash and the arrest of the robber, and spurred on by the prospect of earning this money you may imagine that we covered every foot of that country pretty thoroughly. Special detectives, white and black, male and female, were sent from head-quarters, the whole country was scoured right to the Drakenberg by native police, and we had the time of our liv Nothing whatever was discovered, however, until one day the Inspector called me into his office. I was his clerk and orderly at the time. “Look here,” he said gravely, “ I’ve got an important job for you. I want you to do exactly what I tell you, and nothing more, Don't talk, don’t look mysterious— just act in your usual way. Go down to the house of Trooper W. (the railway policeman) and get him to come to your room to have a drink with B—— and vour- self. Get him along somchow without alarming him. When you have him in the room with B. , tell him quietly that he’s under arrest. Don’t handcuff him unless he resists, but don’t Iet him go under any pretext. Carry revolvers hidden, both of you, but keep your heads, Don't shoot unless you are forced to, but if you do, shoot low. Have you got that? Right! Well, just take it easy.” ° It was quite simple, of course. W. came along without any suspicion, and when we got him to the room we told him he was under arrest. He turned rather pale, and wanted to know what he was under arrest for, but we were unable to enlighten him. He was taken to jail the same afternoon and later charged with the hold-up. And now my story shifts over to W: and the way he carried out the robbery, for it was speedily discovered that he was the guilty man. It appeared that his wife was inclined to be extravagant, though they seemed to be a contented enough young couple. W. was a quiet, harmless sort of fellow, and I still believe he was driven to do what he did. Apparently the pair were unable to make ends mect on W. ’s pay, and, seeing no way out, W—— determined upon the robbery. He v acquainted with every detail of railway and police routine, so it was comparatively easy. He planned matters out carefully, down to the last detail, prepared his disguise as a sergeant, pasted a false number over the proper number on his railway pass, and on the afternoon the mail was due down the line started from Estcourt to hold up the train. Leaving in the early afternoon, he crossed the Bushman’s Bridge, and went to a small station, where the mail did not stop, and waited for a goods-train to Mooi River. When he arrived at Mooi River the mail had not come in, so he walked up and down the platform, awaiting its arrival. He then acted as already described, and directly the train started again, quickly opened the safe and transferred the con- tents to a small bag which he had with him. When the mail crossed the Bushman’s Bridge, outside Estcourt, she slowed down, and W slipped off and hid the bag in the very donga which we afterwards searched in his company. Then he ran as hard as he could for his house, burned his disguise, and dressed himself in mufti. He had just thrown himself on his bed when he was aroused to investigate the robbery. How he must have chuckled to himself! He altered the descrip- tion of the robber—reccived over the ‘phone —as much as he dared, deceived us con- cerning the searching of the donga, and later stood us drinks with some of the very money he had stolen ! After stealing out—presumably in the early morning hours—to get the bag and bury it, with his wife’s assistance, in his garden, he made a discovery which absolutely terrified him. He couldn't find his raileay pass! One can easily imagine his feclings when he found that it was missing. Going over the matter in his mind, he concluded that he must have dropped it when walking along the line to catch the goods-train. Straight aw just before dawn, while the mist was still hanging over the kopjes, he started off, determined at all costs to tind the pass. But a trooper of the Mooi River Patrol had also decided to patrol along the line, hoping to come across some clue to the robber, and it so happened—and this is the extra- ordinary part of the story—that the two men met, and the eyes of both fell upon that little piece of vital evidence Iving on the sleepers, at precisely the same moment! Both made a rush and a grab for it, but the Mooi River man got there first. Then ensued a heated argument. W- isted that he ought to take the pass to stcourt, whilst the other man was equally determined it should go with him to Mooi River. He was thinking of the reward ; W. no doubt, was thinking of penal servitude ! What W- should have done (from his own point of view) was to have quarrelled violently with the trooper, laid him out, and then claimed that the pass had been lost in the struggle, or made some other excuse, for with him it was neck or nothing. Instead of this, he allowed the trooper to take the pass back in triumph to Mooi River, where the sergeant-in-charge examined it, steamed off the false number, looked up the real one underneath, and discovered it to be W—— He then telephoned to Estcourt and W— was arrested as described. Even then, apparently, the evidence was ir

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insufficient, and the stolen money could not be found. But women are weak, and a certain detective prevailed upon W 's spendthrift wife, the cause of all the trouble, to give her husband away. He got eight years’ hard labour, and I was in charge of the prisoner’s escort that took him away. He did not mind the punishment, and told the Judge so, but the threats he SHORT STORIES. 154 uttered against the detective in Court were blood-curdling. When taken to Maritzburg he informed the trooper escorting him that out of all the stolen money he had used only about two pounds himself, and given fifteen pounds to the woman, yet only a few hundreds were eventually found out of the large sum he had buried ! ONE UP ON “HOMIE.” By JACK ELWYN. Illustrated by TREYER EVANS. A “new chum’s” amusing little experience in New Zealand, where, as in other parts of the world, it is not always advisable to say exactly what you mean. LL over the world one meets people who proudiy claim that they always say what they mean, Very seldom, however, does one encounter a man who really lives up to that Teputation. It can’t be done; apart from the certain unpopularity it brings, it’s too difficult. I’l tell you one instance in which I tried hard to maintain. that Utopian ideal, and when you have heard the conse- quences I think you will agree with me that it’s not worth while. I was working at the time on a dairy farm on the Hauraki Plains, New Zealand, and one night, coming in from milking, found the house densely populated with a large baby and its proud young parents. The strangers were introduced to me as the nephew, sister, and brother-in-law respectively of my * boss.” Tea over, I hauled out some note-paper and started letter-writing. 1 had written several pages when I became aware of a certain confusion around me, and it was apparent that the baby was about to retire for the night. Subconsciously I saw it being passed round the family with injunctions to: ‘Now, kiss Uncle Bob,” and “ Now, kiss Auntie Rose,’’ and so on, each request being accompanied by a strange gobbling sort of noise. Then, with alarming distinctness, I heard: ‘ Now, kiss Uncle Jack! ”’— me! Now I can put up with many things, but I never could stand being slobbered over by other people’s babies. So, panic-stricken, I almost yelled: “No!” regardless of possible — consequences. Of course I apologized at once, and luckily the parents were broad-minded enough to see the humour of the situation. After much talk of: “ Well, wait till you are married,” and similar remarks, we dropped the subject. I said I didn’t believe in meeting trouble half way, and that I probably shouldn't get married, “ Anyhow,”” I wound up, “ you'll not catch me nursing anyone’s kid—not at that age, at least—if / know it!” You see, I said quite a lot that I meant—very unwise ! Some days later my “ boss ’’ sent me out to Patetonga, some six miles away, to look at some pigs with a view to purchase. I arrived about midday and found McTodd, the owner of the said swine, standing, pipe in mouth, on the veranda awaiting my arrival. : “ Good-day, boss!’ I called. “ Good-day!"’ he answered. “ How's things ? All right, eh ? Come to see those Got ’em handy?” “No, 1 ain’t,” he answered, spitting with fatal accuracy at a passing earwig. “‘ The darn things all got out on ine this morning, an’ they’ve gone ‘way to blazes over in that ti-tree scrub yonder. I’ve lent my horse to a neighbour, else we'd soon muster them, wouldn't we, Mick ?” The mongrel to whom he put the question stopped scratching his ear, looked up quickly, and then transferred his attention to gnawing his tail. “Well, you can have my hack,” I said. “ Right-o! You go on inside and have some grub. Here, Min,” he called out, as I entered. ‘ This is Jack Elwyn. Myone and only, Jack. Come on, Mick.” I shook hands with my hostess, a typical young Colonial girl of cighteen or so, pretty, in a healthy, open-air way, with big blue eyes and a complexion of roses and cream. One thing spoilt her, though—under her right arm she held a particularly repulsive-

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160 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. looking baby. for lunch. “ Fire away,” she told me smilingly. “ Just help yourself while I boil the * billy.’ You like tea, I suppose, Mr. —er- eed “ Jack,” I prompted. I noticed the table was set ? advertisement, but felt more like a thrush that finds it has hatched out a cuckoo. Presently the babe began to grind _ its gums in a most alarming way, while blue veins stood out like fencing wire all over what, | imagined, was its face. This went on “The babe proceeded to rain sledge-hammer blows on my head with a cow-bell!” - She turned away, and, still holding the baby under one arm, commenced violently pumping the Primus cooker with her free hand, causing the infant to grunt loudly and the cooker to slide all over the place. “Can [ help?” I asked, jumping up with arms outstretched to the stove. “Let me: He “Oh, thanks!” she answered swectly. “Tf vou wouldn't mind.” Tifteen seconds later I found myself in an armchair completely surrounded by a huge baby! In my embarrassment I believe I asked stupidly whose baby it was. I also vouchsafed the opinion that it was a “ sturdy child ’—nothing would have induced me say “lovely.” My hostess said: “ Yes, but that didn’t help much. I sat the infant on my knee and tried to look like the man in the “ Give her Bovril” till an explosion seemed imminent, and then “Minnie,” noticing the infant’s expression, said: ‘‘ Let him stand up a bit, then.” 1 stood the creature up on my knees and was relieved to see a marked improvement. The veins became normal and, best of all, the patient ceased grinding its gums, while its eves, which had hitherto fairly dangled from its head, slipped back into their sockets with a faint click, like a feather falling into a glass of beer. rcely had the babe cooled down, how- ever, than it commenced to climb up my chest, gripping my coat buttons with its toes, in the same way that I imagine a young baboon would climb a knotted rope. The summit reached, it planted one foot in my mouth and proceeded to rain sledge- hammer blows on my head with a cow-bell which it had been using for a rattle !

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The agony I endured was no less appalling than the noise occasioned, supplemented as it was by my moans, shrieks of fiendish glee from the aggressor, and laughter border- ing on hysterics from the audience. In my pain and fury I looked upon both as enemies, and could easily have killed either—or both. However, with a smile that made my sufferings almost worth while, my hostess hastily relieved me of my burden, and I drew my chair up to a real nice feed, with a real nice companion opposite. I was quite sorry when, the meal over, ‘‘ Mac’’ came in and 1 had to go out to view the bacon. The deal accomplished, I rode off—hazy visions of pretty girls, pigs, and a bloated Glaxo-bibber running through my _ head. My head! Gee! It was sore; I hadn't noticed that before! When I got home the Boss and Mrs. Boss almost ran out to tie toad to mect me. I wondered what was amiss. “Well, Jack, how did you get on?” asked the Boss. “ Bought ten at two pounds five shillings.” “Good ! How’s the kid?” I wondered which one—‘ Min” or the baby. My opinions of each, though abso- lutely opposite, were not such as could be quoted in public—not yet, anyhow. A HAWSER OF HUMAN HAIR. AT first glance the photograph here reproduced appears to show a big hawser of the type one sees on every wharf and dockside. As a matter of fact, however, this particular hawser is like no other in the whole world. It stands in the corridor of the Higashi-Honganji Temple at Kyoto, the ancient capital of Japan, and the extraordinary thing about it is tha’ it is made entirely of human hairy! It is thre. inches in diameter and over three hundred feet long, and contains the woven hair of literally millions of pious Japanese women, who cut off their raven locks and dedicated them to the service of the temple as token of their devotion to Buddha. When the temple was rebuilt, some ten years or so ago, this unique rope was used to haul the timbers to the building, and is now displayed in the corridor as a sacred relic. SO Bie ‘e SHORT STORIES. 161 “Yes,” said Mrs. Boss. ‘‘ How’s the baby ? Did you nurse the baby, Jack?” I blushed a little. “ You're right. I did.” “And did it ‘slobber’ all over you, as you call it ? ” she asked teasingly. “No, but: * “Did it behave all right, then?’ she persisted. “Oh, you'd better ask—cr. “Minnie ?” “Yess” “To tea?” “What?” ““ She’s coming to tea on Sunday.” 1 was glad, but I fervently hoped the baby wouldn't come as well. It didn’t—-for the simple reason that it was the same one that I had stubbornly refused to kiss a few nights back! It had just been lent, so to speak, for the occasion, in order to bring about my discomfiture! You see it only lived five miles from “ Mac’s” place, and that’s nothing in New Zealand. Its parents tell me now they marvel I didn’t recognize it. Fancy recognizing an ordinary baby! As for Minnie—McTodd's sister, it appeared—she thought it was a great joke, but we are still friendly. These Colonials love to score’ off the greenhorn from Home !

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162 THE TAMING OF THE SHERIFF STE Hogg ~ ILLUSTRATED BY S.ABBEY A curious story told to the Author by the foreman of a lonely ranch in the middle of Death Valley, California. “Knowing what an inferno Death Valley is in summer,” writes Mr. Hogg, “I can appreciate just what an ordeal the sheriff must have undergone before he returned to the ranch. N the floor of the far-famed Death Valley, in California, lies Furnace Creek Ranch, one of the most extraordinarily irrigated farms on the face of the earth. Situated a hundred and seventy feet below sea-level, it swelters under summer temperatures up to 145° F. in the shade, and with sun temperatures much higher. It is the only point of human habitation in the whole blistering waste of Death Valley, and perhaps the most un- promising place on earth where people have attempted to live. Mr. Oscar Denton, who recently retired after eight years as foreman of the ranch, left with the distinc- tion of having been the only white man who ever survived a second summer there. As may be expected, there is a very good reason for the creation of this odd farm in a region where Providence apparently never intended human beings to exist. The ranch is a monument to the ingenuity of man under the pressure of necessity—the creation of the Pacific Coast Borax Company, a British firm. Near by is a tremendous deposit of borax, owned by the Borax Company, and at present wholly undeveloped. Furnace Creek, which obtains its water from two huge springs in the Funeral Moun- tains, possesses the only avail- able supply of drinkable water in the vicinity, This water will some day be absolutely essential for the development of the borax deposits in Death Valley, and under the mining laws of California the Com- pany cannot retain possession I have written the story as Mr. Denton told it to me.” regulation has been complied with by the creation of Furnace Creek ranch, the water supply being used to irrigate sixty-four acres of land and keep it under cultivation. Although the farm produces vegetables, hay, meat, and poultry for the use of the mines at Ryan, eighteen miles to the east in the Funeral Mountains, it is not a financial success, and probably never will be, apart from the real purpose which accounts for its existence. It was Mr. Oscar Denton, the foreman of Furnace Creek, who told me this story when I visited him some time ago for the second time. For obvious reasons the identity ot the sheriff involved has been suppressed. I have set the narrative down practically in Denton’s own words, from my shorthand notes taken at the time. It was just about two weeks after you and Mr. Bennett were down here last summer* that I had my little adventure with the sheriff, and got into the mix-up I'm going to tell you about. It was terrifically hot, with the temperatures around 135 to 140 degrees, and me sweat- ing my life away as usual. One particular day the heat was so dreadful that I didn’t feel much like dinner, but about noon I went into the kitchen and began cooking a little food from sheer force of habit. I was just about to sit down to eat when I heard the dogs begin to bark. I didn’t bother much about it ,——thought perhaps there was an Indian prowling round the place, but as that’s nothing of it indefinitely without doing certain “ improvement ”’ work stipulated by statute. This Oscar Denton, the foreman of Furnace Creek Ranch. * The writer's previous visit to Death Valley was described in. our issue for Kovember-December, 1922,—Ev.

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THE TAMING OF THE SHERIFF. unusual, ¢ paif little attention. Presently, however, somebody knocked av the door, and then I heard an automobile outside. I opened the door, and there stood a funny- looking little Jew. He was an under- sized fellow, about five feet in height, and with a very dark complexion—so sunburnt and blistered, in fact, that I should have taken him for an Indian but for his Jewish earmarks and speech. He was travelling in the most sorrowful and dilapidated- looking “‘ flivver’’ I ever set eyes on, The thing looked ready to fall to pieces. The wings were gone; the radiator seemed about to drop off, and was boiling like a tea- kettle, and the tyres were worn right down to the fabric, and bandaged in so many places that it seemed unbelievable that they could go a mile farther. When I asked the odd little stranger what I could do for him, he dropped on his knees, with his hands lifted as if in supplication. ‘For the love of Heaven, meester,’’ he quavered, ‘‘ vill you sell me some gasolene ? The fellow was so nervous and excited that he appeared almost insane. I thougnt that perhaps the heat had affected him, but after { had talked with him for some time I gathered that he was “jumpy” because he was running away from a sheriff. Now, out here in this desert country we usually try to follow the doctrine of “ live and let live,” which entails minding our own business and leaving other people to mind _ theirs. This fellow wanted gasolene so that he could continue his flight ; that was all I knew, or wanted to know. Just what he was running away from the sheriff for, or why the sheriff was after him, was no affair of mine, I concluded. So I said to him: ‘ Well, stranger, we don't make a practice of selling gasolene down here, but if you are in need of motor fucl I reckon we can accommodate you. How much do you need ? The Jew replied that he thought he could get along all right if I would let him have about ten gallons. He seemed a pretty decent sort, when he became quieter, and otfered to pay any price 1 might name, if only I would Ict him have it. “ Stranger,” I told him, “ I'll let you have ten gallons, and all I ask you to pay for it is the price we get from everybody clse— fifty cents a gallon. It costs real money to haul gasolene in here."’ (The prevailing market price of gasolene in California at present is about eighteen cents per gallon.) With that I went out, fetched the gasolene, and put it in his car, while the Jew jumped around like a crazy man, apparently unable to control himself. He kept looking up and down the valley as if he expected a sheriff to spring into view at any minute. When he poured water into the !caky old radiator he shook like a man with the palsy. He 163 asked if I could let him have a handful of cornmeal to put in the radiator to stop the leaks, so I gave it to him. Next he filled all his canteens with water, shook hands with me, and said: ‘God bless you, my good man! Some day I do as much for you.”’ Then he climbed into the car, turned the old machine round, and it looked to me as if he was figuring on striking out straight south over the floor of the valley. “Hold on, mister,”’ I cried. ‘ You're not goin’ to commit suicide, are you? If you go south through Death Vallcy at this time of year you're going right into the jaws of a blazing hell. You'll never get out alive!" “Can't help it,”’ answered the Jew. "I've got to go.” A moment tater he was off like a scared jack rabbit—heading straight down the floor of the valley, and out into the salt marshes, where it seemed to me no human being could possibly survive two hours of that diabolical heat. He waved good-bye, and in a few minutes was out of sight in a shimmering bank of mirage that was hanging over that part of the salt-marsh we call ‘' satan’s Golt Course.” I went slowly back into the house, but I couldn't get that queer little Jew out of my mind. 1 kept thinking about him, wonder- ing what he had been up to, where he thought he was going, and what his fate might be. I knew he was going into the very jaws of almost certain death, but he seemed to know his own business, and it wasn’t any affair of mine to interfere. If there was a sheriff following him—well, he was certainly giving the officer a merry chase ! I finished my lunch, washed up the dishes, and was in the act of drying them when my dogs began to bark again. Then I heard a big, powerful automobile outside; evidently somebody else was dropping in. ‘ If they want anything,’’ I thought, “ they'll come to the door.” So I went on with my work. Next thing I knew a terrific racket broke outon the porch. It sounded as if somebody was trying to tear the house down. Then— Bang! bang! bang !—there came a heavy hammering at the door. “Hello!” I cried, ‘‘ who’s ther gruff voice answered with a roar: mind who's here. Open this door! up, d’you hear?’ Now, F've never known decent folks to come round here in that fashion, and I'm not used to taking strangers’ orders in my own home. My rifle was lying on a table near by, and [ picked it up, cocked it, and called out: “ You'd better name yourself, stranger, or there's a soft-nosed bullet coming through that door just about where your heart ought to be.” With that the raucous voice broke out 27 ON “ Never Open again. ‘I'm the sheriff of X County,” it bellowed. ‘* Open up before I push this door in!”

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. 164 eee aad fe Aeon “He dropped on his knees, with his hands lifted as if in supplication.”

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THE TAMING OF THE SHERIFF. “That’s a pretty rough greeting even from a sheriff,’”” I thought, but he had named himself, as requested, so I turned the key in the door and opened it. “ Well, Mr. Sheriff, what can I do for you ? ’’ I asked. He was a big, powerful-looking man, and he glared at me with a frown that would have curdled a gallon of milk. “ Have you seen anything of a little, short, heavy-set Jew—a man about thirty-five years of age and about five feet tall?’ he demanded, threateningly. ‘‘ He was driving an old Ford car. I've chased him across the Panamint Desert, over the Panamint Mountains, and down here into Death Valley. I'm on his trail and I'm going to get him!’ Now, if that sheriff had approached me like a gentleman I should probably have told him all I knew. I should have treated him decently, and then let him go about his business in his own sweet way. But this particular officer had completely spoiled his chances of getting any favours trom me. He acted like a loud-voiced bully, and I’ve no use for bullies. So I looked him square in the eyes as sternly as I could, and answered : “No, Mr. Sheriff; I haven't seen the man.”’ “ Very well, then,’’ growled the sheriff, his face showing disappointment, “ in that case I want something to eat, some water, and some lubricating oil. Then I'll be on my way again.”’ His insolence and the general offensiveness of the man were almost past understanding, but I thought I could account for them by the fact that I smelt whisky on his breath— and Death Valley heat and whisky are a mighty bad combination. I knew pretty well what he must have been through during the chase, but I didn’t propose to be bu!l- dozed—not even by a drunken sheriff. So I looked him in the eye again, and said: “ You'll get nothing to eat herve! And we've got no lubricating oil. As for water, it's as free as the air you breathe. Help yourself to it!” Apparently the sheriff didn’t relish the hospitality Chad offered him—such as it was. Growling something or other in his throat, he stalked off the porch and began filling his canteens from the nearest irrigation ditch. When he came back to put the canteens in his car, he looked down at the ground—and there he saw the tracks in the sand made by the tyres of the Jew's old “ flivver’’! He didn't say anything, but he knew I had lied to him to protect the Jew, and he looked at me with an expression that spoke volumes. Swearing terrible oaths, apparently to him- self, he got into his car, which was a powerful Cadillac touring model. I stood in the door watching, eager to see the last of him. He started the engine, and then, without the slightest warning, turned round in his seat and let drive at me with a °45 calibre automatic pistol! The first shot missed me, wen, into the kitchen, and knocked my \ 165 dishes all over the place. I leapt inside, slammed the door shut, and jumped aside just as five more shots came crashing through the wood. You can sce the holes in the door now, where the bullets split out the panelling. Then, before 1 could collect my thoughts, there came a roar from the car, and my amiable friend the sheriff sped off down the valley, following the plain trail left by the ew. While all this was happening Panamint Tom, one of my Indian helpers, was riding up from the lower ranch on one of our horses. He had just tied the animal to a post and was getting down out of the saddle when the shooting started. The next thing I saw of him he was cowering under a mesquite bush in the yard. I grabbed my rifle, dashed out of the house, scrambled on to Tom's horse, and was off down the valley after that sheriff. Needless to say, I didn't get him, but if his car hadn’t been faster than Tom's horse I'd have paid him back for those bullets. Returning to the house, I went indoors and began to pick up the pieces of the broken dishes. Tom came in after me; the poor fellow was so scared he could hardly talk. “What's the matter that man ? ” he asked, in his scanty English. ‘ He act like he Juco —heap crazy.” “No, Tom,” I replied. ‘‘ He’s not crazy, he’s drunk. But, mark my words: we haven’t seen the last of him. He’ll be back.’” “Oh, no, Oscar,” said Tom. see him any more. He no dare come back here. He go other way; no more come back here.’ ‘But where can he go, Tom ?”’ I asked. “He can't get out of the south end of the valley with that big, heavy car of his, and full of whisky as he is, in the terrible heat. He’ll either collapse and die, or he'll come back here. I don't think myself that he'll even reach the Frying-Pan salt marsh. If he does get there, the heavy car will bog down in the salt or sand. That will be the last of him—or else he'll come back here.” The rest of the afternoon passed without incident. Nothing happened during the night, although Tom kept watch with his gun and the dogs. The following forenoon passed, three o'clock came, and everything was still perfectly quiet about the ranch. About that time I was working round the house while Tom lay dozing on his cot in front of the water-power fan. Suddenly the dogs began to bark. I picked up my rifle and Tom jumped to his fect and grabbed his own weapon. Both of us walked out into the yard. The heat was terrific; in the sun it must have been 160 degrees, and it seemed as if our clothes would take tire. We looked all round the place, but could see nothing, although the dogs still kept barking. There were mirages everywhere, “We no

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166 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Then, without the slightest warning, he let drive at me with an automatic pistol!”

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THE TAMING OF THE SHERIFF. so dense that it was impossib!e to see more than a few hundred yards in any direction. Suddenly, as we looked about us, the dogs ran out of the yard and headed south, barking all the while. This convinced me that, as I had prophesied, the sheriff was coming back. “Tom,” I called out, “ don't shoot until I tell you to. Wait and see what happens.” We stood there in the yard for perhaps a minute, and then a human figure came staggering up out of the mirage from the south—the sheriff, apparently in the last stages of heat exhaustion and thirst. He would walk a few paces and fall down. Then he would crawl a little way, get up, stagger a few feet farther, and fall down again. Finally he stumbled through the gate, and Tom raised his rifle. “Don't shoot, Tom,’ I cried. “ He's too far gone to do any mischief.”’ The sheriff came through the yard reeling and staggering; he could scarcely put one foot in front of the other. His eves were glassy, his face had been horribly burnt by the sun, his swollen tongue hung out of his mouth, and his lips were swelled out of all shape. He stumbled past us unsecingly, and on to the porch, which was protected from the sun by the shade of surrounding palms. There he fell in a heap, struggled to a crawling position, and suc- ceeded in gaining the floor of the veranda, where he dropped back and lay motionless. Here was a nice predicament for me! I wanted to shoot the fellow full of holes— but 1 couldn't. Even though the foul- mouthed bully had attempted to kill me, I simply couldn't attack a dying man. There was nothing to be done but just what f did. 1 dragged him across the veranda, hauled him on to Tom’s cot, and drenched him down with a pail of water. Then I got a spoon and began putting water down his throat a spoonful at a time, while Tom pushed the swollen lips and tongue aside with a knife handle. After 1 had worked over him for perhaps half an hour the swelling began to go down somewhat. Unfortunately, however, the man_ himself went completely off his head; he seemed bent on drinking all the water on the ranch. Great powerful fellow that he was, it took the combined efforts of both Tom and me and Joe Button—another Indian we called in—to hold the struggling sheriff down and finally hog-tie him flat on his back on the cot. Then I went on giving him more water, a teaspoonful every few seconds. In about two hours’ time he was sufficiently Tecovered to speak, and his first mumbled words were: Ir. Denton, I came back to apologize. Forgive mc! Forgive me! For Heaven's sake—water !"’ Finally, when he could speak with less difficulty, he begged me to untie him and let him sit up. 167 “T'm all right now,”’ he said. “Tl do no harm either to you or myself. ima broken man, and I beg you to forgive me. Ym not to blame for the way I acted yesterday. Whisky did it. I wags drunk; and your Death Valley heat made me craz Thereupon the sheriff was released. Hye dropped to his knees and once more implored my torgiveness. Without doubt he was at that moment the meekest and most repentant sheriff that ever wore the star of X County, or ferhags any other county in the United States. For five days he sojourned at Furnace Creek ranch, recuperating from his desert ordeal. He helped with the cooking, washed the dishes, split firewood, and was more than willing to do his share of the household work. He was as docile as a kitten, as subservient to my wishes as one of the Indians. He really wasn’t half a bad sort of fellow after we got to know him. We had seen the worst side of him when we first met him, aggravated by bad whisky. I never asked him, nor did he volunteer any statement, as to what crime the Jew had committed. While Fe was getting back his strength the sheriff, of course, told) me what had kapfened to him after he left the ranch. Precisely what I had predicted had occurred. When the officer set out on the fugitive’s trail, the Jew had a distinct advantage by reason of the type of car he was driving. Whceezy old rattle-trap that it was, his “flivver ’’ was far more suitable for desert travel than a big, heavy touring car. The light car could go through sand and salt where the heavier machine was_ helpless and so the blustering sheriff speedily dis. covered. As nearly as he could tell, he got about seventeen miles down the valley, after leaving Furnace Creek ranch, and then his car bogged down in the salt marsh. There was nothing for him but to shoulder what water he had—about twenty-four quarts in four six-quart canteens—and strike out on foot for Furnace Creek. This water supply—very scant for sustaining human lite in the inferno of Death Valley, and especially so for a man sobering up after a debauch — was soon consumed. Before he had gone ten miles the water was exhausted, and he struggled the balance of the distance to the ranch without water, arriving here almost dead, and feeling that a possib’e bullet from my rifle was prefer- able to the tortures he was suffering. Six days after his second arrival at the ranch, the sheriff set out up Furnace Creek Wash on horseback, with an Indian guide to look after him. The guide took him to the borax mines at Ryan, whence he could get_a train on the Death Valley Railroad and connect with other lines that would take him home.

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168 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “Did you ever hear what became of the aes 2?” T asked, after having listened to enton's remarkable story. The ranch foreman broke into a roar of laughter, saying: “I was expecting you to ask that question. The Jew got safely away. Vor three months afterwards Tom and [ kept asking ourselves what had become of him. There was, of course, no way of finding out, and I often said to Tom: * When the cooler fall _and somewhat nervous and excited- ike?" «Yep, I did,’ answered Dad, without a moment's hesitation. ‘That crazy galoot came burstin’ into my place about midnight one night, and roused me out 0’ bed. He was the fidgettiest mite of a Jew I ever set my two eyes on, and he was sure travellin’ fast. He didn't want much o’ nothin’ but some gasolene and grub. 1 sold him ten gallons The private cemetery of Furnace Creek Ranch, showing the graves of several unfortunate desert wanderers who perished from heat and thirst. weather comes in the fall, we'll go down the Valley some day, and gather up that Jew's bones,’ for we quite thought he had died down there. One day, however, along came old Dad Fairbanks from Shoshone, cast of the southern end of Death Valley. He was doing a bit of prospecting, and had travelled down here towards the Panamint Range. We hadn't seen the old man for a couple of years. « After we had talked awhile, I happened to remember the Jew. ‘Say, Dad,’ I re- marked, ‘were you around your place in August last year?” ««Yep,’ says Dad. claim all August.’ “*Good! said 1. ‘ Well, one day in August did you see anything of a little Jew driving an old “ flivver "—a fellow about five feet ‘1 wasn’t off the o’ gas, some lubricatin’ oil, and enough grub to last him a week. He seemed to have plenty o’ money, and didn’t appear to care about anything ‘cept gettin’ his stuff and <pusing on again. When he went he headed across by way of Gunsight Pass into Nevada. I couldn't quite make him out ; he seemed so derned fussy and nervous-like. About a month later Johnny Younts drifted into my place from over Pahrump way in Nevada. I asked him about the Jew, and Johnny'd seen him, too. Johnny said the Jew stayed overnight at his place, and his squaw fed him, Next mornin’ he paid for all he’d had and went off, still headin’ on across Nevada. I'm blest if I know where he came from or where he was goin’, but at the rate he was travellin’ when he left me, I reckon he ought to be in the Promised Land by this time!’ *’

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HILE battling round the West Australian gold- fields some few years ago, 1 happened to drop in at a mine W. Charn ley Iilustrated by T. H. ROBINSON pendicular was very noticeable, and led directly to the alarming adventure which I am about to describe. The condition of the skids running where theCompany, after a long period of idleness, was re- pairing its plant with a view to A West Australian miner’s story of a terrible experience at the bottom of a six-hundred- foot shaft. from the top to the bottom of the shaft was very bad. In some places, where the shaft “ kinked,” the four-inch resuming mining = operations. Seeking out the underground boss, I applied for and was promptly given a job as general helper. The mine had a pretentious name, but very little else. Holding a large area of land, the Company, although on the fringe of the famous ‘‘ Golden Mile,” never found a pennyweight of gold inside its lease- pegs. Prospects had been bright in the early ‘nineties when the main shaft had been sunk to six hundred feet, with cross-cutting tunnels driven every two hundred feet to the nearest boundary. But the lodes from the Golden Mile slanted the other way, and, finding no gold, the Company suspended mining operations and allowed the shaft to Temain water-logged for many years. At length the last available month of exemption expired, and the West Australian Mines Department issued an ultimatum that work must be resumed on the mine, other- wise the leases would be forfeited. Then the Tusted engines and _ boilers were over- hauled and got into working condition, and the forbidding-looking, water-logged shaft saw life again. And a cranky old shaft it was! The original engineer had allowed it to deviate several fect from the perpendicular in the six hundred feet, with the result that a plumb-bob suspended dead in the centre of the shaft at the surface rested on the No. 6 “plat” (landing). This drawback did not matter much so long as all traffic in the shaft was done by means of square cages or baling tanks; these fitted the shaft pretty accurately, and, being equipped with U-shaped shoes, which ran on four-inch-square Oregon pine skids, travelled up and down without anyone observing that the shaft was crooked. When sinking was resumed, however, and_ it became necessary to use big iron baskets or“ kibbles,” this deviation from the per- Vow. tv.—12, planking had worn to just about half that thickness, while at other points, where new lengths of full- sized timber had replaced absolutely worn- out sections, the jolts and bumps made riding up and down quite an adventure. Riding a “ kibble” in a six-hundred-foot shaft, I suppose, would be reckoned an adventure at any time by a great number of people, but it didn’t worry us miners much. We did not get inside the “ kibble ” ; usually it was too small, being of less than fifty gallons capacity. We just stood on the thin rim and held with one hand to the greasy rope, while with the other we fended our- selves off the sides of the rather narrow shaft. Brought up to such tasks from boy- hood, we stepped lightly on our precarious perch, with never a thought of the gulf which yawned beneath, shouted “ Right!” to the engine-driver, and down we went. One night my mate Jim Cahill and I started downwards to prepare the mine for the oncoming day shift. It was Sunday mid- night and as work had been suspended since ten o'clock on the Saturday night we knew that the shaft would contain at least fifteen feet of water. This water we had to bail and pump to the surface before Monday morning. The modus operandi was simple. Jim Cahill worked on the No. 7 “ plat,” tipping the kibble full of water, which the engine-driver hauled up the shaft, into a big sink from which a powerful compressed-air pump lifted it thirty feet to a large dam on No. 6 “ piat.’’ From No. 6 it was again pumped two hundred feet to No. 5, and so on up to the top. One of my jobs was to keep these pumps working, and it was to get them started that I accompanied Jim down below that Sunday night. Stopping at No. 2, a few jerks with a handle started the pump there going, and,

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170 chatting pleasantly, we went on our way downwards till at length we reached No. 4. ‘It’s a wonder to me,” remarked Jim, as he waited while I adjusted the pump, “ that the ‘monkey’ doesn’t hang up and jump off the skic they're in an awful state.” (The “monkey,” I shouldexplain, was a heavy frame of wood and iron which rode on the shackle of the rope just above our heads, Being fitted with shoes made to travel on the skids or guides at the sides of the shaft it served to keep the kibble somewhere near the centre and fairly steady.) “I suppose it will some day,’’ I replied. I was not particularly interested at the moment, for the stubborn pump demanded all my attention. I realized to the full, however, the danger of a hung-up “ monkey.” It might jamb on the skids and remain suspended there while the kibble continued on for hundreds of feet below, until at last the swaying of the rope dislodged the ‘“ monkey" and_ it siid downwards with the velocity of light- ning. Being slung on the rope, although riding loosely, after the headlong rush down it inevitably smashed to pieces on the big iron shackle, and either killed or disabled anyone riding on the kibble or else fell in a death-dealing shower of débris on the miners far below. Having got the pump going all right we started to descend again. We were slipping down at a fair speed when suddenly the kibble bumped the timber. This was nothing unusual, but a succession of bumps, which quickly followed the first, caused me to look upwards, The ‘“ monkey ” was not there ! “Jim,” I cried, “try and = grab the knocker line and stop the engine. The ‘monkey's’ hung up!” The knocker-line, which communicated with the engineer, ran down one corner of the shaft, and Jim was making desperate clutches at it when, with a terrific crash, the kibble came to a momentary stop, turned half over, slipped off some obstruc- tion, and then continued downwards again. The terrific jolt jerked my fect clear of the kibble, but being on the upper side when it canted over, I was able to retain my hand- grip, although I found myself inside, instead of on its edge, when it righted again. My unfortunate mate, however, did not fare so well, and a despairing yell which echoed up the shaft told me that he had lost his grip and fallen the hundred and thirty feet to the water below. But I had little time to think about him at the moment, for the kibble, in inky darkness, went bump- ing on its way downwards, At last—after what seemed a long time, but was really only a few seconds—it came to a stop. at what, 1 guessed, was our original destination, the No. 7 plat. I was in total darkness, my candle having been jerked from my hand at the moment THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. when the kibble stuck, but, reaching cautiously forwards, I felt the familiar timbering of the plat and stepped into safety. Fortunately I had some matches with me, and I hoped to tind some candle-ends lying about. 1 did indeed find a couple, but the wicks were so soaked with salt water as to be quite useless. Nor could | find anything clse that would burn and give me a light. It took me only a few seconds to discover this fact, and | determined to husband my precious matches and do the best I could in the dark. How dark it was no one who has not been down a mine can comprehend. Upon the surface, even on the blackest night, there are always some light rays, but six hundred feet underground it is not possible to see an inch ahead. Meanwhile my unfortunate mate was somewhere in the gulf below, quite possibly dead from his fall, or unconscious and drown- ing in the icy water. If the “ monkey ”’ had been in place and running I might have gone down in the kibble, taking a chance of being lowered into the water; but with the “monkey ” stuck somewhere up the shaft, like a suspended sword of Damocles, and the knocker-line all coiled up and tied to the top of the plat—as was the custom, to prevent it tangling the baling kibbles—I scarcely knew what to do. However, a long, light ladder, made of thin wire rope with wooden rungs, lay coiled up on one side— the emergency ladder which the mining regulations demand shall be kept by all shaft- sinking parties to be used by the men at the bottom in the event of an engine breakdown. The feel of this ladder gave me the idea of descending to the water-level in the darkness to find out what had become of my mate. Going down that ladder candle in hand would have been a mere tritle—we often did it—but the thought of doing it in inky darkness made me pause for a moment. However, I had felt my way up and down straight wooden ladders more than once, and so long as no rungs were missing I felt sure I could manage this one. On the sill of the plat was hinged a heavy half-door. This worked with a pulley and counter-weight and could be lowered so as to half close the shaft, its purpose being to tip the water-filled kibble when baling operations were on. Lowering this door across the empty compartment of the shaft, I slipped the rope ladder over and allowed it to run down to its full length. It was firmly secured to iron staples let into the rock, and feeling my way over the brink, 1 set my feet on the wooden rungs and started downwards. A rope ladder, I suppose, is about the most cantankerous article in the world to deal with. It twists and squirms continually beneath one’s weight, so that, as often as not, one’s foot is thrusting into open space instead of finding a gripping-place on the

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eas DOWN THE SHAFT. Fy1 rungs. In addition I had tocontend with the inky darkness and a heavy shower of stinging salt water which hereabouts poured through the shaft timbers. But my arms were strong and I could practically descend hand-under-hand. i with the ladder swaying and swinging, [ kept on until my legs plunged into ice-cold water. “jim! Jim!” I shouted, but no answer came, I then endeavoured to strike a light—no easy matter amid that deluge of water. Luckily I had a brass matchbox with the striking-plate inside —a_ water- tight affair specially designed for use in.“ wet mines.” Huddling close beneath my oilskin coat, I managed to strike a vesta and take a quick glance round before a falling drop of water plunged me into darkness again. But the hasty glance had been enough to enable me to locate my mate, floating face downwards within reach of my hands. Stretching out, I felt for and gripped him, raising his head out of the water. Whether he was alive or dead I could not at that moment tell. I might state here, in passing, that the reason why he floated was because the impact with the water had stunned him, so that he lay like a log; also, the water being a saturated brine, “The hasty glance had been enough to enable me to locate my mate, floating face downwards.”

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172 many times salter than the sea, it bore him up just as the Dead Sea does those who try to swim therein. Having drawr him to the foot of the ladder, the problem was to get him up. Pulling him closer, I felt for the strong leather belt which all miners wear, and, unbuckling it, slipped it through one side of the wire ladder, afterwards fastening it tightly round him again. He was now strapped to the ladder at the waist, and with my own belt I fastened him even more securely round the shoulders, so that he hung in a standing position, with his head well clear of the water. This buckling business was rather difficult to accomplis: in the dark, but the maddening part of it was the torrent of water which poured down upon me from overhead, so salt that it stung my eyes like acid. Jim securely fastened, I climbed the ladder again—s, much easier proceeding with his weight steadying the bottom, Standing on the half-door, I then drew him up hand-over-hand, carefully feeling for each rung in turn. He was not a heavy man— probably no more than ten stone—and although the long ladder at first added a good deal to the weight, 1 was able to manage it. I pulled in steadily until I felt his body bump against the door under my feet, and then, after a fairly hard struggle, I managed to get him on to the plat. He felt cold and lifeless, but hampered as I was by the darkness and wet I could do nothing for him. I spent another precious match locating and untying the signal line; then, slowly and deliberately, I rang the accident signal — thirteen knocks.” The kibble, which all this time had been hanging loosely in the shaft, moved at once. The engine-driver far overhead had evidently been anxiously waiting, probably wondering what had happened to us and why we were so long giving him a signal. I could not, of course, see the kibble ascend, but I could hear it as, dangling at the end of close on six hundred fect of rope, without its guiding “ monkey,” it bumped and crashed against the timbers of the shaft. It had just about passed the No. 6 plat, thirty feet up, when what I had antici- pated occurred. The ‘ monkey,” jambed somewhere up near No. 4, became dislodged, and with a whistling shriek came flying down the greasy rope. The smash came exactly as old miners had described. The hundredweight or so THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of wood and iron plates came crashing down on the big iron shackle of the ascending kibble. The shackle, being of heavy stecl, held firmly, but the ‘““ monkey ” was shattered to pieces. Every bolt burst simultancously, and the tangled mass of wooden splinters and iron plates went hurtling down to the bottom. I heard the impact with the water far below. The engine driver, of course, felt the tremendous jolt on the rope and stopped hoisting at once, but I gave him another signal and heard the kibble go bump, bump, all the way to the top. In the meantime I did what I could for my unfortunate mate, turning him on his side so that his tongue should not interfere with his breathing if he rallied. I also squeezed some of the water from his sodden clothing. Help, however, was not long in coming. The engine-driver discovered the loss of the “ monkey " immediately the kibble reached the surface, and, sounding his siren, roused the underground boss. The boss, arriving in his pyjamas, quickly sized up the situation, and soon had the kibble and ‘ monkey ” from the other shaft fitted. When this came down the boss was on it with—thank Heaven !—a light. He was an expert in first-aid, and worked over my half-drowned mate for a full hour before he succeeded in discovering a flicker of life. During that anxious time I went up to the surface and brought down blankets and brandy. Then, going up once more, with the help of the engine-driver, | took the kibble off the rope and rigged the big iron cage. It was no small job, working in sodden clothes and with only a hurricane lamp to give us light, but we managed it, and I was thankful indeed when I stood in the comparatively roomy cage and rattled downwards again. We lashed my mate to a plank, lifted him into the cage and held him upright between us—the only safe way to bring an injured man up a narrow shaft. Poor Jim lay in hospital for many months, his body being bruised apd cut all over where he had struck the sides of the shaft, to say nothing of the impact with the dense water. His recollection of his fall was very vivid, and night after night he would startle the other patients with a fearful scream, as, in his dreams, he went hurtling downwards again. After about a year, however, he fully recovered, and is now a farmer in the West Australian wheat country.

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FIVE HUNDRED MILES IN OPEN BOATS 4S aye ae CM C ae The story of an arduous and eventful boat- journey, told by a former member of the famous “ Royal Mounted.” HILE in command of _ the R.N.-W.M.P. post at Fullerton 1 received orders to -take my detachment to Churchill, our term of duty having expired. Fullerton is one of the most lonely posts in the sphere of influence of the Royal North-West Mounted Police, and the detach- ment there is relieved once a year, being taken down the coast to Fort Churchill, the headquarters of ‘‘ M ” division of the Force, in whale-boats—a distance of some five hundred miles. The detachment itself consists of a non- commissioned officer, one constable, and two native special constables (Eskimos), who are used as hunters, dog-drivers, boatmen, and handy-men generally, and the nucleus of a crew can easily be hired from the natives of the district, all of whom are first-class boatmen. The boats in use are the ordinary type of whaleboat, with a heavy centre- board, and fitted with a lug-sail and small jib. They are most excellent sea-boats, their only disadvantage being that on account of their low freeboard, they are exccedingly ‘‘ wet’? when tacking. However, one gets used to trifles of that kind in Arctic travel, On account of weather conditions, and the State of the ice, it is customary to leave for Fort Churchill at the end of June, and it was on the 30th of that month that I departed on this occasion. I had two boats with me, Instead of one, as I was taking down a party of Natives to replace those employed at Churchill, who had earned sufficient money and were “ retiring.” LATE ROYAL N.W.MOUNTED POLICE ILLUSTRATED BY G.SOPER It is the ambition of every native to possess a whaleboat of his own, and the opportunity of working for the police is eagerly sought after, as after about three years the Eskimo has generally managed to save enough money to purchase one, with a supply of trade goods into the bargain. Then the police purchase for him, or make him a present of, a good -303 rifle, and he goes back to his tribe monarch of all he surveys. The ice in the harbour on my departure gave me a measurement of seven feet six inches, and the boats—which of course had been overhauled and thorougly tested—were ut on kometiks, sleds about thirty feet long, and dragged by dog teams to the edge of the floe about three miles out, where we found open water and a favourable fol- lowing wind. Constable Conway was in charge of one boat, with five natives, and had Oogjug, one of my Fullerton boys, with him. I was in charge of the other boat, containing the remainder of the natives and my second boy, Joe. All that winter I had been engaged in taking a census of the district, and Joe and Oogjug had accompanied me on all my long journeys, and an excellent pair 1 had found them. We sailed on without incident until 6 p.m., when we hauled up to the flce, and prepared to camp for the night. In the usual way the boats are taken out of the water and propped up with stretchers. Iron hoops are then fixed over them at intervals, across which a canvas cover is stretched and lashed down the whole length of the boat, making a more or less comfortable tent. On this occasion, however, Joe and Oogjug seemed anxious about the weather

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174 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. outlook, and after discussing signs .and portents with them I decided not to fix up the canvas shelters. “Then we lit the Primus stove and prepared the usual meal of bacon, beans, biscuit, and tea; welcome, indeed, at the end of a cold, wet day. About 8 p.m. the fun started. The tide had begun to make, and the wind was rising, and beneath us we could feel the lift and heave of the ice as it rose and fell to the motion of the sea. Then all at once there came a thunderous report, which made Conway start up. “ Oogjug slipped, and his leg went down “ Jove ! Sergeant-Major |!’ he exclaimed, “what's that?’ He was quickly answered ~no words of mine were needed to apprise Lim of what had happened. The portion of ice on which we were camped had broken away from the floe, and we were drifting merrily out to sea ! Then ensued a wild scramble to get the boats into the water, ourselves into the boats, and regain the main floe. We did so only to repeat the performance almost immediately. Five times in an hour pieces of that confounded floe broke away, and

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FIVE HUNDRED MILES IN OPEN BOATS. 175 between the boat and the edge of the floe.” five times we laboriously fought our way back to safety. What “a night it was! Occasionally the monotony of things would be varied.” The ice would break directly under one of the boats, precipitating it into the sea. Occasionally it was one of our- selves who felt it give way beneath his feet, and found himself struggling in the ice-cold water, hampered by fur clothing and heavy sea-boots. Looking back on things now, it seems almost amusing, but we did not find it so then, and I congratulated myself that 1 had not added the canvas shelters to the boats, for beneath them we might have been caught like rats in a trap. The pitch-black darkness, relieved only by the glow of our electric torches, feeble enough in that world of gloom, the grinding of the floe, the sickening motion beneath our feet, the shrieking of the rising wind—all these things made up an ordeal which I, for one, found not at all to my liking, containing as it did too many opportunities of tragedy, To anchor to the side of the floe was im- possible, since it meant the risk of getting

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176 our boats crushed by the floating ice, in which case the end was certain. Tocamp on the floe was the only thing, until the rapidly disintegrating mass broke up beneath us. But morning came at last, finding us all still fortunately intact, and a hot cup ef tea and the discovery that the wind was still favourable cheered us up somewhat. That day we hoped to make Ranken Inlet, from which point we should be likely to leave ice conditions behind and be able to pull in to the land at night and make camp on shore. We counted our chickens too soon, how- ever, for we found the mouth of Ranken Inlet choked with floating ice, which necessi- tated some of us going ahead to pole the locks aside, while the others took the boats through the channel thus formed. This meant another night on the ice-floe under somewhat similar conditions to those of the night before. The following morning a nasty accident occurred. In pushing his boat off, Oogjug slipped, and his leg went down between the boat and the edge of the. floe, making a clean break just below the knee. I made splints for it out of a boat-stretcher, and set it as well as I could. All through the operation the plucky fellow did not make a murmur, though I am afraid I was fearfully clumsy, as neither Conway nor myself had more than first-aid training. 1 then made up as comfortable a bed as possible in the stern- sheets, and put him on it. They are wonderful fellows, the Eskimos. Whatever the conditions, they are always cheery and go stoically on; and often, when one is “right up against it,” I have found this marvellous cheerfulness of theirs helps to pull one through. Oogjug’s thoughts, in spite of the pain he was enduring, were for me as much as mine for him. I had put my sleeping-bag over him to kcep him warm, and he was quite dis- tressed that I should be without it, and asked me to have it back. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. After this, things went better for us, except that three days from Churchill we encountered off-shore winds which prevented us from putting in to shore at night, and compelled us to sleep in the boats. I did not mind for myself, since the weather remained fine, but 1 was somewhat concerned for Oogjug; for, in spite of all I could do, he found the motion of the short, choppy sea terribly trying. I rigged up a windscreen in the bow of the boat, and by keeping the Primus stove going managed to provide him with a constant supply of hot tea. For these efforts, inadequate as they necessarily were, he was wonderfully grateful. Finally, we arrived at Churchill thirteen days and eight hours after leaving Fullerton, thus establishing a record for the trip. Oogjug was soon under the skilful care of the police surgeon, and in due course was up and about as well as ever. There was rather an amusing sequel to our trip—a commentary on the working of a certain type of “ official mind.” The Superintendent at Churchill was a French- Canadian, quite unacquainted with the conditions which we had had to face in making the voyage, and he looked with extreme disfavour on the weather-beaten appearance of our boats, which had received their customary regulation coat of paint before leaving Fullerton, but had lost most of it in contact with the ice. He quite tefused to credit my assurance that this had been done, and reprimanded me for gross carelessness in not having seen that it was carried out, adding that he would call the attention of headquarters to the matter. This he duly did, but on the matter being investigated, my superiors took a proper view of the situation and I received com- mendation for my handling of the patrol on its difficult journey instead of the further reprimand that the Superintendent had expected,

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE &4 FREE cscor Positive Proof that you can Learn to play the TENOR BANJO at home ¥ R. OTTO H. KAHN, the Profanor Harry chairman of the Board of / ware head Directors of the Metropolitan " / gruel " Opera Company, in a speech here ty ic mathed < in New York on November 11th, paid a great tribute to jazz. He said, )) “It is vigorously alive, characteristically “(@i novel and distinctly its own.” You unquestionably agree with Mr. Kahn, because there is no music so cap= tivating, energetic and thrillingly full of excitement as jazz. The very fact that many thousands of people flock to New York’s many jazz palaces every night is evidence of not only the popularity of jazz, but it also proves how magnetic and irresistible it i: You, too, can become popular, irresistible and magne! The simplest of all jazz instru- ments to play is the Tenor Banjo, because we have devised 2 method of home instruction so simple, that you can quickly learn to play, even if you have never had any previous musi- ‘cal knowledge. The Tenor Banjo plays the leading part in every successful orchestra. You can learn it home in your spare time and we guarantee to teach you. We don’t ask you to take our word for a single thing. So positive are we you will become one of our students, i you will write at once, we will send you absolutely free, without any obligation, your first lesson and our beautiful book in colors, “How To Learn To Play The Tenor Banjo.” Read about our FREE Professional Size Fy When you en- Tenor Banjo FREE fyi circa: ory. as a student, we furnish you, free, with an $18.00 full professional size Tenor Banjo which is like the one pictured here. There are no extra charges of any kind and you always have the eiviese of writing to our professors for special information which is furnished without cost. You get six months’ free service and consultation after you graduate. Learn Quickly with Our Picture Method Besides furnishing you with easy-to-understand printed lessons, we also furnish you with pletures. of Our professors’ playing. It 13 easy to imitate pictures and do the right thing. You also get phonograph records from time to time of the professors’ playing, which is really a THIS COUPON x FOR FREE BOOK : AND LESSON | NEW YORK ACADEMY OF MUSIC, visit to you. Another exclusive feature is our Gain-Time Chart H ; i ; ae which ehabies you to play quickly. “This chart has been said to be the greatest ¢ Studio68A,100 Fifth Ave., New York, N.Y. | discovery for the teaching of music. and It Is being used with our permission by ' Please rush your book in 1 several musical schools throughout the country. 1 co Play the Tenor Banjo.” my f . e e. e pl and e mood son. and reserve a gift $18.00 fu 1 When Lights Are Low When, ths tine. the place and the mord 1 afenitsize Tenor Banjo for me. fascination of your Tenor Banjo. The Tenor Banjo will always be at your sery- , !1 00 way whatever, t ioe, ether accompanying volees or blending with other instruments that warm the heart and bring cheer and joy. 1 svarne No matter whether the occasion demands a soothing melody of love, or an | NAMC....ssseseseeeer seers SSE ORME ATE ’ exciting, entrancing, magnetic jazzy hit, you will always be prepared as'a good | H tenor Danjolst. H P coupon today and receive your first free lesson and our book, and you can 4 .f learn these facta for yourself. Act at once in order that your request will be t Teceived in time for us to reserve a free Tenor Banjo for you. H ' . . i ' New York Academy of Music, Studio 684, 100 Fifth Ave., New York, N.¥. ! ! Kindly mention this magazine when writing to adventisers.

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“DEAN CLUTCHED HIS RIFLE AND, SCORNING THE LADDER, LEAPED TO THE GROUND.” (SEE PAGE 183.)

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17 GC V Hughes CP THE HOOGHLY RIVER SURVEY, CALCUTTA A very strange story, told to the Author by a doctor who has spent many years in India. A Government official was cursed by a wandering jogi (priest) whom he had offended, and the prophecy was tragically fulfilled. “You may regard the sequel to the curse as a mere coincidence,” says the narrator, “but it strikes me quite differently.” Quite recently, as Mr. Hughes shows, the facts received unexpected corroboration. towards the Club gate, which was open. Outside stood a jogi, a picturesque enough figure in his orange-coloured sheet, with a string of great beads hanging down his chest and his long matted hair and beard thickly powdered with ashes. “‘ What is he, and why the sackcloth and ashes?” Charteris was just out from Home, and was as yet unacquainted with the majority of strange types to be met with in India. “ That,” replied Jenkins, who was in the Public Works Department, and considered himself an authority on all matters under the sun, ‘‘ is a Hindoo priest, a jogi, or yogi, as they are called. hey are a sort of wandering brotherhood, and travel from village to village exhorting the people to be good, and threatening them with eternal damnation and many other horrible punish- ments if they are not. The great majority of these jogis are cunning scoundrels, not without brains, who trade on the ignorance of the multitude, working on their credulity and superstition with weird incantations, prayers, and threats. Nine-tenths of the inhabitants of the villages are completely ignorant and very superstitious, so that it is not a difficult matter for the jogis to make themselves immensely respected and feared, very much to their own adwantage. Jogis never have occasion to spend a cent on food, for the gourd they carry with them is never empty of food given by the natives. The jogis are credited with being able to forecast the future to some extent, but I, for one, do not believe in it. In isolated cases, I Vow. Lv.—13. a HAT a queer-looking old fellow ! exclaimed Charteris, pointing dare say, incidents have occurred that seemed to bear out the prophecy of some jug:, but these can only have been cases of coincidence.” “As to that,” put in Dr. Britten, our popular doctor, ‘‘ you may doubt the powers of the jogis, but I can tell you from personal experience a most peculiar incident in connection with the prophecy of one of that tribe. You may put the sequel down to coincidence if you like, but I regard it in quite another light.’”’ A wave of interest went round the circle, and we sat forward in our chairs, eager to hear Britten’s story, for we knew that he had had many curious experiences during his long stay in India, as he moved from one place to another. Not being of a talkative nature, it was difficult to get him to spin a yarn, but on the few occasions he had expanded sufficiently to do so we had been held in absorbed interest. Now, after calling a servant to fill up our glasses, and carefully lighting a long cheroot, Dr. Britten related the following story. The incident I am about to relate occurred some years ago, not very long after: I arrived in India. I was stationed at Mount Abu, in the Aravalli Hills—in those days a tiny place containing only a handful of white people, though it filled up considerably during the summer months, when the local Government migrated there and most of the ruling chiefs of Rajputana went up for polo. The Aravallis are covered with wonderful forests, as those of you who may have been there will know, and in those days the jungles round Mount Abu were infested with

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180 panther, wich played havoc among the cattle of outlying villages. Every now and then we used to get out after them, and it was a not uncommon sight to see a bullock cart entering the town in the morning bearing the carcass of a panther, and followed by an enthusiastic crowd of natives. One morning while I was out riding—I was very lightly worked in those days of small populations—I met Dean, of the Police, and Stewart, of the Commissariat, out for a canter, so I joined them and proposed a ride along the cart-road. We had ridden about four miles out, and were just thinking of turning beck, when we saw a man coming towards us, beating his breast and weeping noisily. When we reached him he fell on his knees and besought us to aid him. Mildly curious, we waited for him to continue, but as he showed no signs of desisting from his weeping, Dean impatiently demanded what he wanted. “O Protector of the Poor,” wailed the native, “ truly am I afflicted beyond all men, and Allah hath turned his countenance from me. Behold, last night, at the hour when the silver lamp of the sky was lit, two fierce anthers entered my cattle enclosure and silled five of my goats, leaving me with one animal, and I a poor man. Last week three goats were destroyed; who knows that to-night the remaining animal will not be killed also? Nightly the panthers prowl round my dwelling, roaring terribly, and I am much afraid. Kill these animals for me, O Sahib, and the blessings of Allah will fall on you.” “Well,” said Dean turning to us, “ what about it ? It’s some time since I sat up for panther, and as things are slack just now, I'm quite ready for a bit of excitement. How about you two—will you sit up with me?” Both Stewart and I eagerly agreed, so Dean ordered the villager to get up and lead us to the site of the killing. Jumping up, all smiles of joy now that the Sahibs were going to rid him of his unwelcome nocturnal visitors, the man led the way down the cart- road at a smart run, we following behind, discussing the possibility of bagging two panthers in one night—not by any means a common occurrence. About a mile farther on the native turned off the cart-road and led the way down a bridle-path, just wide enough for us to ride along in single file, till we came to a fair- sized clearing with a hut in the centre, surrounded by sparse patches of Indian corn, Skirting the crops, the man led us to his cattle enclosure— a few square yards of ground surrounded by a miserable wall of brambles and boughs of trees about five feet high. On one side of this enclosure the jungle approached quite closely, and it was from this point that the panthers had come, leaping over the flimsy barrier to harry the nnfortunate goats. Their pug-marks were THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. clearly visible in the soft earth, and showed that both animals were big ones. Inside the enclosure lay the mangled remains of five goats. We looked round carefully, and finally selected a large fig-tree as a suitable site for a machan (platform), as it offered a good view of the enclosure and the ground intervening between it and the jungle. Giving the villager instructions to collect a few men and build the machan, and on no account to disturb the dead goats, we rode off, pro- mising to return before dusk. We were riding back along the bridle-path, with Stewart leading and Dean bringing up the rear, when, just before we reached the cart-road, a figure emerged from the bushes on the right and stepped into the path directly in front of Stewart's horse. The animal, startled at this sudden apparition, reared up in fright, almost unseating its rider, and as it came down again its off foreleg struck the jogi—for such the appan- tion proved to be—in the chest, knocking him down. With a fiendish yell the man leapt to his feet, once more frightening the horse badly, and began to pour out a stream of abuse directed against Stewart, the while he jumped about, waving his arms in the air and frothing at the mouth with rage. Astounded at this elemental display of passion, Stewart with difficulty soothed his mount and asked the jogi what he was shouting about, as the accident was purely his own fault. This question appeared to incense the native even more, and he became absolutely frenzied with anger, his matted hair standing on end, while flecks of foam flew from his mouth. Tiring of this display, Stewart ordered the man to stand aside and let us pass, but the jogi paid no heed, merely increasing his vituperation. With that Stewart lost his temper and urged his horse on, at the same time giving the jogi a smart tap with the butt-end of his riding-whip. This last action appeared to drive the jog? utterly mad, for with a horrible shriek he rushed savagely at Stewart’s horse, beating it with his fists till the now thoroughly-frightened animal took the bit between its teeth and belted, knocking the jogi down for the second time. He rolled clear of our horses, however, and the next minute we were out on the cart- road, where Stewart managed to get his terrified animal under control. He then found that his saddle-girth had come loose, and while he was attending to it we heard more blood-curdling shouts and, looking back, beheld the madman rushing towards us, his eves glaring with rage. Coming close up to Stewart, he recommenced his antics, cursing our friend with a vehement hatred that positively startled us. It is impossible to translate his exact words or to indicate the vileness of his abuse, but his words ran something as follows :-—

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““O hated Fer- inghee,’’ he howled, “this day you have trodden on and struck a holy man —yea, even a jogi —and for this you shall surely suffer, for I curse you and exhort the animals of the forest to kill you painfully. May your bones rot! o-night, when the moon is only an hour risen, you shall pay the penalty, for you shall be seized by a panther. While it worries your throat, remember the jogi you struck. Never again will you commit such a crime, for your star has set, hated spawn of a de- ceased jackal. Never again will you hit a jogi —— never, never, never!’ With these final words and a jeer- ing laugh he ran screaming and cursing back into the jungle, leav- ing us staring after him, more shaken than we cared to admit. After a few seconds Dean broke the pregnant silence with a forced laugh. ‘‘ Time we were getting back, you fellows,”” he said. ‘I am as hungry as a hunter.’’ With that we turned our animals’ heads townwards and, giving them full rein, galloped back at a good pace, the rousing action serving to restore our spirits, so that when we reached the polo-ground we were once more our normal selves. Here we patted) agreeing to meet at Dean’s place at five o'clock. Having breakfasted, I was thinking of having a lazy forenoon, when I was called away on a dysentery case and kept generally busy during the rest of the day, so that I had little time to reflect on the curious incident of the morning. But it remained at the back of my mind, and when I got home late in the afternoon I gave it some THE JOGI’S CURSE. 181 “Coming close up to Stewart, he recommenced his antics, cursing our friend with a vehement hatred that positively startled us.” thought. Of course, I decided, there was nothing in the man’s curse; he was quite evidently mad, and who was going to pay any heed to the ravings of a lunatic? Ail the same, though, I felt uncomfortable; I had an uneasy feeling that something was going to happen. Perhaps it was the man's fierce yvehemence that had subconsciously impressed me; anyway, the fact remained that his words repeated themselves in my mind in an annoyingly persistent manner, try how I might to rid myself of them. At half-past four I strolled down to Dean's with my rifle and found Stewart and Dean ready and waiting on the veranda, “Hello, Britten,” said the latter. ‘“ It's a trifle early yet, so come along in and have a drink before we start; the tonga will be round in ten minutes.’’ We went into

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182 his study and he called for whisky and sodas. “ I’m glad we shall have a moon to-night,” said Stewart, ‘‘ It should be pretty bright, so when ‘ Spots ’ comes along we shall have no excuse for missing him.” There came the jingle of the zonga, coming up the drive, and collecting our guns and cartridge-bags we made for the vehicle and were soon rattling down the high road by the Lawrence Asylum, past the polo-ground, the Octroi outpost, and finally along the cart-road. Arriving at the spot where the bridle-path branched off from the road we stopped the tonga, alighted, and ordered the driver to go back to town and return for us at midnight. Then we shouldered our weapons and set off down the path at a brisk pace. Reaching the machan, we examined it and the “ kills ” carefully, instructed the waiting villagers to lock themselves in the hut and on no account to make a noise, and then ascended to the platform of cut boughs and saplings, covered with leaves and dry grass, where we intended to sit up for the panthers. Dusk was soon upon us and we sat as still as possible, though by no means in comfort, as any of you who have sat up in a hastily- constructed machan can well imagine. Sharp- pointed twigs dug into our anatomics, thorns from the grass insinuated themselves into our clothes, and, worst of all, cramp began to attack our leg-muscles. Mosquitoes added to our wretchedness by taking advantage of every exposed part of our bodies. However, we endured the discomforts in silence, each man knowing that the slightest movement would immediately bring on him the reproaches of the other two, though they were dying to move cramped limbs them- selves! About eight o’clock a brilliant moon climbed into the sky, flooding the place with light, so that we could see the enclosure and the ground between it and the jungle very distinctly. It must have been about nine o'clock when, just as I thought I should have to give way to the frightful pain in my right leg and change its position, there was a sibilant ‘ Sssh!”’ from Dean, and glancing towards the jungle I saw a magnificent panther standing just clear of the bushes, snuffing the air. Gone at once was all thought of cramp; there remained only the desire to shoot this cruel, beautiful beast. The panther, however, was on my right, and I could not get an easy sight at him. Stewart, who was sitting on the left of the machan, facing the animal, had a_ magnificent opportunity. He was about to take it when there was a rustling of undergrowth on his left and another panther showed itself in the open space, swishing its tail and glancing from left to right. Almost immediately the animals moved towards one another, and then turned towards the enclosure, spoiling Stewart's chance for the time being. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. After going a short distance the panthers stopped and, all unaware of the three deadly weapons trained upon them, started rolling about and playing like a couple of kittens, though one of their playful pats would have broken the ribs of a human being. Fascinated we watched the great beasts at play, waiting, fingers crooked on triggers, till they should give us a good opportunity for a salvo. A sudden snapping of twigs away in the jungie, and they were both on their feet in a flash, standing like statues, with ears pricked to interpret the sounds. Next instant there came two loud reports, followed by a hideous snarling roar from one of the stricken beasts. The larger had fallen dead on the spot, but the one at which I had aimed had evidently not been fatally hit, for it was rushing round in short circles roaring terribly, clawing and biting at the grass. I was on the point of giving it another shot, when it suddenly rolled on its side and lay still. Satisfied that the animal was done for this time, I turned to ask why there had been only one shot beside my own, and found Dean looking ruefully at his rifle and fingering the safety catch, which was ‘‘on!” He grinned sheepishly as he observed my halt smile, but the incident—which occasionally happens with the best of shikarces—passed off in mutual congratulations on our splendid bag. Pulling out my pipe—we had not smoked since taking our places in the machan—I proceeded to fill and light it, and proposed that we should remain in the machan till about 1£.30, as it was not much use going back to the cart-road at once to wait a couple of hours till the fonga returned. The others promptly agreed, but Stewart said he was going to get down and examine the panthers first. Dean and I had had previous experience and were not in so much of a hurry to inspect the animals at close quarters, so we settled down to our pipes while Stewart descended the rope ladder, Reaching the ground, he strode across to the animal he had accounted for, bending down eagerly to examine it, and then went to the larger one. I saw him kneel down and look at the bullet wound, which I subse. quently learnt was on the right side of the chest, and then put out his hand, pre- sumably to move the head. On the instant the jogi’s wild words, which everyone had completely forgotten in the excitement and elation of our success, leapt into my mind. What was it he said? ‘‘ When the moon is only an hour risen, you shall be seized by a panther.” Scarcely had the words formulated them- selves in my mind, when there came a frightful snarling roar, and then events moved with a ghastly rush almost too rapid to record. A fraction of a second before Stewart had been kneeling over the

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apparently dead animal. Now he was lying, acrumpled, bleeding heap, with the panther standing over him, its tail lashing in a frenzy of rage and pain, while its great jaws, with snarling fangs exposed, muzzled at the white throat below. For a few seconds, literally stupefied with horror, Dean and I sat stunned into immobility, our senses reeling under the terrible tragedy we were witnessing. Yet, though my mind was too paralyzed with horror to exert itself over my limbs and body, I seemed to hear the jogu’s words : ‘‘ While it worries your throat, remember the jogi you struck.” Then, as the panther gave a husky growl, preparatory to sinking its yellow fangs into that defenceless throat below him, the spell that held us motionless broke. With a strangled curse Dean clutched his rifle and, scorning the ladder, leaped the twenty feet from the machan to the ground, rolling over with a cry of pain as his leg broke with an audible crack. Knowing the futility of going down the ladder—so many precious seconds wasted—I levelled my mifle at the panther’s head, and, as it was about to turn back to Stewart’s throat, whence its attention had been momentarily distracted by the noise of Dean's fall, I pressed the trigger. There was a deafening report and the beast fell without a sound on top of my poor friend. Weak as a kitten from the reaction after that nerve-shattering ordeal, I slowly climbed out of the machan and down the ladder; but half-way to the ground my nerveless hands refused to support my body, and | fell the rest of the way. The shock of the fa"! pulled me together again, and jump- ing to my feet I raced to Stewart, shouting to the villagers meanwhile to come and give me a hand in lifting the panther off the wounded man. Reaching him, I tugged with might and main, but could not budge the animal till the natives came hesitatingly up. Our united efforts soon rolled the panther clear, and then I knelt down and examined Stewart. He was a ghastly sight as he lay still and white, his right shoulder and collar-bone broken and crushed, while his left. thigit, from hip to knee, was horribly torn, leaving the bone exposed. Ordering the cowering Natives to bring as much cold water as possible, I set to work on Stewart. The water being supplied in a surprisingly short while, | cleaned the wounds and dressed them as best I could with fragments of my shirt and some sheets belonging to the villagers. I then poured a little brandy down Stewart’s throat, and as the fiery Hquid went down he opened his eyes, and then closed them again, THE, JOGI’S CURSE. 183 Feeling a tug at my sleeve, I turned to find Dean, whom I had quite forgotten, lying alongside me, his face white and drawn with the pain he had endured as he dragged his broken limb behind him. Hastily I gave him the brandy flask, telling him to drink, while I set his leg as well as I was able, binding it with his shirt and using splints of bamboo. Pulling down the door of the hut, without any remonstrance from the terror-stricken natives, I got them to help me place Stewart and Dean on the two halves, and then ordered them to lift the improvised stretchers and march. After an interminable time, moving dead slow, so as to jolt the injured men as little as possible, we came to the cart-road, where to my astonishment I found the fonga waiting. Without waste of time I scribbled a few lines on an old envelope and gave it to the driver, telling him to go to the hospital as fast as he could and return with an ambulance wagon. Lashing up his horses, the fellow disappeared in a cloud of dust, while I had the stretchers put down and sat beside the injured men, waiting for the ambulance with what patience I could. Eventually I got both men to the hospital in the small hours of the morning, setting to work on Stewart at once while the Senior House Surgeon took over Dean. To cut a long story short, Dean made a slow recovery, but poor Stewart, after several weeks of suffering, succumbed to blood poisoning which set in from the awful wound in his thigh, i The memory of that day and night, the incident of the morning, and its frightful sequel, will never fade from my memory as long as I live. I am still haunted by the picture of the panther standing over Stewart, its snarling jaws at his throat. Well, that’s the story, you fellows—take it as you like! You may regard the sequel to the jogi's curse as a mere coincidence, but it strikes me quite differently. A few months ago Dr. Britten’s remarkable story received unexpected corroboration. I had been up into the Aravalli Hills after big game, and, having heard of a “ kill” by a panther, was making arrangements to go after it. One of the natives who brought me the news told me that there was an old man in the locality who had once been present when a Sahib was mauled by a wounded panther. On meeting the man referred to, now bowed with age, he related to me the latter part of the story set down above, and his tale fitted in so accurately with Dr. Britten's version that [ had not the slightest doubt he was describing the same incidents.

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world—is situated in the barren, cactus-covered foothills of the Guadalupe Mountains, a twenty-seven- mile motor-run south-west of Carlsbad, a town planted in an oasis of cotton- wood trees, which afford grateful shelter after the heat and dust of the desert. Setting out from Carlsbad in a“ flivver” at the first streaks of dawn we soon left the irrigated fields behind, and thence- forth our way lay through the desert. Round a curve a few miles ahead, little comet-like streaks of dust from other cars rose into the air, and we finally overtook the party at the foot of Cave Hill. HE Carlsbad Cavern of New Mexico ~——one of the largest caves in the The bucket and cable apparatus in which visitors descend into the cavern. The landing-place, a hundred and eighty feet down.

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185 The Carlsbad Cavern of New Mexico has only been known for about a couple of years, and is believed by authorities to be the largest in the world. When its wonders first began to be appreciated— late in 1923—the President of the United States signed a proclamation making the Cavern a “national monument.” Here is a vivid description, by a well-known cave explorer, of the trip through this weird subterranean maze, illustrated with some remarkable pictures by Mr. Ray V. Davis, the official photographer of the Cavern. piel Alba of NEW MEXICO By CARL B. LIVINGSTON One after another the cars bounced up the steep incline in bullfrog fashion, and we were soon winding through the Jechuguilla and ocotilio on the summit, under which lay the mighty cavern we had come to explore. Turning into a small canyon, a group of wooden shacks came into view—the entrance to the cave. The first chamber of the “ King’s Palace,” hung with wonderful filigree stalactites.

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186 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The visitor is let down through a shaft in the roof of the cavern by means of a mining bucket suspended from a steel cable, and worked by a gasolene engine. The drop is one hundred and eighty feet. When the bucket, which is about the size of a petrol drum, comes up into the tower built over the shaft, the lid of the opening is closed, and the bucket is lowered until it rests on the trapdoor, while passengers downward- bound climb aboard. When loaded, the bucket is raised again so as to give clearance for the trapdoor to open, and then descends nto the bowels of the earth. I watched this interesting operation for a time, and reflected that the man who could operate the mechanism with such precision as never to have had a mishap must be very cool-headed, Passengers who could stand a hundred-and-eighty-foot drop with nothing between them and eternity but the bottom of a bucket likewise deserved commendation for courage. At the engine, pulling levers and pressing brakes, stood a clear- eyed, calm-looking man, who, with his staff of guides, was to watch over our destinies for the day. This man was Jim,White, the discoverer and first explorer of the cavern, Ever since 1901 Mr. White has been investi- gating the labyrinthine maze of passages and halls, and he knows more about the great cave than any other person living. esently a young man climbed upon the bucket, already full, and stood unconcernedly on the rim, holding to the cable. This was Ray V. Davis, the pioneer photographer of the cavern, The non- chalance with which he rode down gave me fresh heart; I could at least stay inside the bucket, I thought, if he could cheerily go down stand- ing on the rim! In batches, with steady beat of engine, Mr, White lowered the throng of sightseers. If they were stout the bucket carried two ; if they were thin it would be jammed with three or four. A learned-looking gen- tleman, accompanied by a number of young men, next attracted my atten- tion, 1 took him for a Jim White, the discoverer and first explorer of the cavern. professor with his geology class, for the cavern has become a regular Mecca for scientists, There followed three sylph-like “ flappers "’ with a very stout youth who was busily engaged in chewing gum. The “ flappers ”’ occupied one side of the bucket ; the stout boy balanced the other side. Next came the Governor of a great State and some Congressmen—and then your humble servant ! I stepped forward feeling very much asa lamb must feel when it is led up for slaughter. My bucket-mate was an engineer; I looked him over and hoped he had more nerve than I had. As the bucket lifted us and wavered for a second before making the plunge, I badly wanted to change my mind about cave-exploring and get out, but pride kept me silent. Then, swiftly and smoothly, down we dropped ! Passing through the shaft, we dangled out into a great dome-like space. It looked a terribly long way to the bottom. “‘ If only Icould trade off this en- gineer for the Governor,” I thought, “‘ I should feel safer, for surely nobody could afford to kill a Governor.” Then I re- membered the man at the engine and his record of “no accidents.” If he had never killed any- body yet he would surely not spoil his reputation by beginning on me ! Down, down we sank, and finally came to rest in the middle of a ring of lanterns. We were at the bottom, thank good- ness! The lights and the radiant faces all about were very comforting after that eerie descent. The guides stood ready at their ts, and as the bucket landed, one of them held it steady while we alighted. When this operation was complete, a second guide jerked a bell cord that rang a cow-bell upon the sur- face; this was a signal to the operator that the bucket was empty and ready for hoisting. Soon the last members of the crowd were down and the engine ceased to pulse. There was, of course, no one to lower Mr. White, but this was no obstacle to him—he climbed nimbly down a

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AN UNDERGROUND WONDERLAND. The third chamber of the “ King’s Palace.” dangerous-looking ladder we had noticed during the descent. This feat was a mere trifle to him after his explorations in the early days of the opening-up of the cavern, when there were no ladders, no paths, no guides—nothing but the ever- present risk of death in a dark, uncharted maze of jagged rocks, winding passages, and unfathomed chasms. Forming into single file we moved away, our lanterns swinging in our hands. Our Toute led over a wilderness of great, angular slabs of rocks lying beneath a smooth ceiling forty or fifty feet above our heads. The width of the passage ranged from about one hundred to three hundred feet. After about a quarter of a mile, we passed below a natural opening, or skylight, and the path left the rock-pile and led over a flat, earthy surface to a spring, where the party stopped for a deliciously cool drink. The professor of geology availed himself of this respite to lecture for a moment or so to the class. He had evidently been in the cavern before, and appeared to be familiar with many of its physical features. “ This is the old or ‘ dead ’ division of the cavern,” he began, “as evidenced by the smooth ceiling. The percolating waters are no longer here and the huge rocks over which we just passed—once in the ceiling—have now crumbled down upon the floor. Without the water stalactites cannot be formed, so that this portion of the cavern may well be termed ‘ dead.’ ”’ At these revelations the fat youth was moved to comment to the “ flappers.”” ‘‘ Say, the old boy is a wise guy,” he whispered. “He says those rocks fell.” : “Very likely,” rejoined one of the girls. “They could hardly get down any other way, could they?” When we left the spring, a caution was passed along the line that we were about to descend into the “ Devil's Bowl.” “ Every fellow watch his step,” added the guide. This ‘‘ Bowl ” was a huge pit a hundred and fifty feet deep, equivalent to the height of a ten-storey building. Holding to a wire, the party slowly moved down over the zigzag steps into a dreadful void of inky blackness. At points of danger the guides threw beams of light on the proper route and carefully shepherded us into the way of safety. Slowly the snake- like string of lights reached the bottom and crawled up the other side to what is called the ‘‘ Devil’s Hump ”’ to rest. Starting on again, we travelled in different direction. Hitherto we hi uite a been

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188 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Waterfall forma tions in the “Big Room.” moving west- ward; but, ac- cording to the engineer's com- pass, we had made aturn at “ Devil’s Bowl" and were now going south- east The ceiling was so lofty that very often our lights could not pierce the mid- night gloom above; the im- pression was similar to that of being led along a deep mountain gorge on a star- less night Word now came down the line that we were to make a four-hundred- foot descent, and down, down, down we went. The trail led past a huge jagged rock as big as an iceberg and, finding a place flat enough, the crowd: stopped for a rest. Once more the professor marshalled his class. Like so many satellites around a solar body, the students, with poised pencils and open notebooks, gathered about the sage, eager to catch up the intellectual illumination he was pre- paring to shed. The scien- tist waited a moment for the chatter of the crowd to lull, and then with a flourish of his lantern, he launched upon another short lecture. “This massive piece of limestone,” he began, “ is a hundred and forty-seven feet long, and fell from the ceiling at some remote The entrance to

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as time thousands of years ago. Assuming that the rock is limestone of average density, its weight is greater than the displacement of any super-Dreadnought that was ever built.” Though this rock was so immense, we had paid little attention to it until the scientist referred to it. Throughout the whole cavern, curiously enough, the idea of size is lost, unless distances and dimen- sions are compared with some concrete, tangible thing on the surface. It is well to do this, otherwise the trip may result in a confused impression of a jumble of stalagmites, vast gloomy halls, and endless slipping and sliding over the “Big Room.” AN UNDERGROUND WONDERLAND. 189 Snake - like forma- tions in the “ King’s Palace.” an interminable trail. On the floor of the cavern lie huge masses of rock and hills of débris that have fallen from the roof at some time or other, and when one looks at them it would seem that one could hardly escape being struck by some- thing. The danger appears — greater still when one re- flects that, in fall- ing from the height attained at many points, just a small fragment would be sufficient to crash into one’s skull like a bullet The risk of being brained by a falling missile, however, is actu- ally almost negli- gible. The flight of years means no- thing to the

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1go0 cavern ; and when the well-nigh incalculable gulf of time during which these things fell is taken into consideration, the odds are heavily against being hit by anything. The piles of stone are the accumulations of thousands—perhaps millions—of years, and very likely only one or two may fall in a century. During Mr. White’s twenty- three years’ acquaintance with the cavern, for instance, he says he has not known of a single rock falling of its own accord. One at a time the members of the party crept over a ladder lying across a deep, wide crack athwart the trail. At the bottom of the hill, beside the path, lay the crumbled remains of what had once been the skeleton of 2 man. The spectators exhibited much curiosity concerning this. So far as is known, the littie pile of bones represents the only other man who has ever been beyond the edge of the ‘ Devil’s Bowl” prior to the advent of Jim White. The remains are of great antiquity; this unknown adventurer may have Seen dead hundreds of years when Columbus was a newcomer. Noon was to be spent at the ‘ King’s Palace,’’ where our party was to be given a “ feed’ by the Carlsbad Chamber of Com- merce. It seemed as though the guides had forgotten all about dinner, and presently there arose the pathetic cry: “ When do we chew ?” “ Pretty soon,’ returned our leader, and a moment later we came to a fork in the path. The main trail led straight ahead to the “Big Room,” the side one, which we followed, to the ‘‘ King’s Palace.” Passing through and under a haphazard pile of rocks, each as large as freight-cars, we reached level ground at last and entered the gateway of the “ King’s Palace.’’| The very name of the place prepared us for some- thing marvellous, but before we could even look round we were brought back to earth, so to speak, by the delicious aroma of freshly- brewed coffee. The Chamber of Commerce had done the thing properly, and we found ourselves ‘‘ up against ’’ a veritable triumph —dinner waiting for a hundred and thirty visitors two hours’ journey under the earth! The materials for the preparation of the feast—even to a gasolene stove—had all been brought down some hours previously by a number of prominent local gentlemen and some young ladies. For sheer enterprise it would be difficult to beat the Carlsbad folks. The meal over, even the weariest of our party felt rejuvenated, and soon we were wandering round again with the guides. The “ King’s Palace,’’ we discovered, consisted of four chambers, as fantastic in their decora- tions as the most fanciful dreams of fairy- land. The first chamber resembled the auditorium of a large, circular, dome- roofed theatre. From the ceiling hung numbers of ‘ chandeliers ’'—stalactites of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the most delicate filigree. - Here and there-a great, sharp spear-head, probably weighin, many tons, pointed menacingly down towar our heads. By way of variety, giant cut- lasses, thin and sharp, were suspended at intervals overhead, apparently ready to drop at a touch. So many pointed weapons seemed to threaten us that somebody speculated audibly as to whether one or other of them might not fall on the visitors. “T'll buy you a new hat if one of them does,” said the guide jokingly. After inspecting No. 1, the crowd filed through a narrow doorway into the second chamber, The characteristic feature of this room was the “‘ elephant-ear ” formations— great sail-like sheets of stone that hung from a height of fifty or sixty feet nearly to the floor. So thin and translucent were these tremarkabie stalactites that the light of a lantern placed on the opposite side shone through them. Climbing round the edge of a spring and crawling through a hole, we arrived at the third chamber. Here the formations were more delicate still. Thousands of slender, rod-like pendants decorated the ceiling— tenuous appendages often no bigger in circumference than a pencil, and sometimes three or four feet long. So fragile were many of the formations in this chamber that a mere touch would send them crashing to the floor like sticks of glass. Mingled with these were stalactites of a curled and twisted type, for all the world like masses of small snakes. As a rule, of course, stalactites grow down- ward; but these snake-like formations do not seem to have heard of this rule, and grow just as they please—up or down, even horizontally. Some of them grow downward fora while and then suddenly curve upward, like the barbed end of a fishhook. g The ‘‘ Chamber of the Green Springs,” the fourth rcom of the ‘‘ King’s Palace ”” group, was not visited on this occasion, being unsuitable for a large party. Mr. Davis now announced that the visitors were to arrange themselves before the camera. As the last stragglers wandered in and took their places the brilliant light of a magnesium blow-flare illuminated the vault, revealing such astounding beauty that we were lost for words in attempting to describe it. “Is the show all over now?” and “ Do we go back from here ? ” asked some of the spectators. “ T should say not ! ’’ returned Mr. White. “We are only just getting started. We are now going to the Big Room.” The guides hurned hither and thither, skilfully weaving the scattered crowd into a thread, which, leaving the ‘“ King’s Palace,’ wound its way over a narrow path that led up, through, over, and under great masses of rock back to the main trail. At this point is the highest ceiling in the cavern

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AN UNDERGROUND WONDERLAND. 191 The “Twin Domes ”—“ like Egyptian temple columns.” —about two hundred and eighty feet, so far as is known. Zig-zagging onwards, we pased under an Lerchway, into the vast hall. iown as the “ Big Room ’”’ “What's the ee of this little place ee asked someone. “Only half a mile long and. about a thousand feet wide,” was the explorer’s bland Teply. : At first one’s impression was that the “ Big Room ” was not so very big after all, but as we followed our guide over the trail, this illusion was banished. Out of the black void, far away in the distance somewhere, appeared a radiant halo, something like the Northern Lights. Gradually we realized that it was another party approaching, and after what seemed hours their lanterns came

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192 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. stringing along. over the inky horizon like tiny dots of firé. This gave perspective, and made us appreciate ‘the immensity of the cavern spaces. Continuing on our way, we passed yawning sink-holes that made one shiver for fear one might stub one’s toe’and go hurtling down- ward’ into, space, for ninety feet below the floor on which we walked, we learnt, was another cave nearly as large as the “ Big Room,” At length-we came to the ‘‘ Twin Domes,” where we sat about and talked while another flashlight picture was being taken. Mean- while thé engineer placed a thermometer in a! spring and found the temperature to be 54° ., though on the surface it had registered 110° F, The cavern knows neither summer nor winter; its climate is always equable. The aneroid indicated that at this point we had descended about seven hundred and fifty feet. By this time the other party whose lights we bad been watching came along and joined us. A biologist was now added to our group. He had been a long way back in the cave and showed us some bones of a He had also picked up a petrified This, he cave cat, bat and captured a live cave rat. The “Draped Curtains” in the Dome Room. said, was a peromyscus crinitus auripectus, and pulled it out of his pocket to show us. Nor was this all, for in a box he had a little white cricket, also captured in the cavern. Having mounted a small hill about three hundred feet away we were stopped and asked to “clear the track ”’ for Mr. Davis, who was preparing to start on a kind of cross-country run, carrying a two-minute flare of fifty-thousand candle-power, designed to show us the beauties of the Cave. Out of the blackness rose a light with the brilliancy of the sun. The ceiling became a blaze of delicate colouring ; “Twin Domes” stood out majestically like lone Egyptian temple columns against a yellow evening sky, As Davis moved on a great fluted stalagmite loomed up, for all the world like a giant toadstool, The runner's hissing torch of white-hot fire revealed an ever- changing picture as he hurried here and there. Glittering pendants streamed down from the arched ceiling, like enormous icicles, and presently we watched him weaying his way, in and out, amidst a maze of “ totem poles,”’ Finally, a speck in the distance, he bore his fiery stick like a shooting star to the foot of a vast obelisk-like stalagmite that towered above his head. Here he gave the flare a sweeping circle or two, and then out it went, plunging us once more into Cimmerian gloom, We filed through a corridor resembling a tunnel and then halted. “End of the trail!” said the explorer. And sure enough it was! We were on the brink of a horrible- looking, gulf-like hole with a drop of ninety feet to the large chamber under the “ Big Room.” Someone pitched a lighted rocket into the pit, and we wate! its desvens with 7a struck gaze. the other, side, of the hole the cavern appears to continue, but whither no one yet knows, — It was now three o’clock, and time to be return- ing to the hoist. “ This tour is only a beginning, so far as exploring the cave is con- cerned,’’ ex- plained Mr. White, “but it is about all a big party can do ina day.” A guide went ahead, and another remained at the rear in order to make sure that no one was left behind. At five p.m. we dragged ourselves to the bottom of the shaft, whence we were to be hoisted to the surface. There were no casualties other than a limping “‘ flapper ” who had snapped off both her high ls during the trip. While the bucket buzzed energetically up and down, steadily diminish- ing the crowd, the rest of us sat about on

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AN UNDERGROUND WONDERLAND. The wonderful “Dome Room.” the rocks and waited. The professor Cathered his class about him again and was fiving them a summary of his observations the day when an interloper from the crowd broke in. ‘‘ Say, what made this great hole in the earth?” he asked. ‘‘ An earthquake?” “No,” replied the scientist. “It is a long story, but briefly it amounts to this: The rain water that percolated through these strata was charged with salicylic acid, which is formed through chemical action on de- caying vegetation. Limestone is highly soluble, comparatively speaking, in such water—hence the limestone dissolved out, and we have the cavern,” Vou Lv.—4, “‘ But,” demanded another man, “‘ Where did the rain water come from? It seldom rains at all in these (ieee I should like to have heard the answer. I suppose it was to the effect that the climate thousands of years ago was quite different—but it was my turn to go up. My bucket-mate was the biologist, who still clung fondly to his bat, rat, cat, and cricket! When we reached the surface, blinking at the good old light of day, we felt that we had had a memorable experience, and I for one determined to visit this marvellous cave again.

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394 ADRIFT IN THE » CHINA SEAS 4 G. Grant Simons ILLUSTRATED BY SERGE DRIGIN' cost seven of Second Officer H. W. Millard. : Sent off in a boat to fetch help for a | crippled steamer, the Author and his com- | panions were driven out of their course | by a storm and found themselves adrift | in the treacherous China Sea with only a | few morsels of food. There followed a terrible eight-day ordeal, which eventually the castaways their lives and left the two survivors physical wrecks. Author. the British India steamer Okhla, and on the 26th December we left Manila and steamed out on a direct course for Singapore. The very next day misfortune befell us, for while passing the North Danger Reefs we snapped our tail-shaft. For twelve days thereafter the ship drifted helplessly, carried by a strong current towards the coast of Cochin China. The weather during those twelve days was very rough, and by some remarkable coincidence not a solitary steamer was seen, although our line of drift lay right across the trade route from the Malay Peninsula to Japan. On the first sight of land, fearing to be wrecked on some uncharted rock close inshore, Captain Garland dropped anchor in fifteen fathoms, about twelve miles from the lighthouse on Pulo Obi Island, a small rock abutting from the mainland at the extreme tip of Cochin China. Our commander came to the ccnclusion that help must be asked for from our managing agents in Calcutta, and as he thought that Pulo Obi might be in touch with a telegraph station, he decided to send a boat ashore. This boat, the port cutter, was duly lowered and manned by Mr. H. W. Millard, T 1903 I was serving as a clerk aboard the second officer, myself, and a crew of seven Lascars. As it was possible we might be delayed overnight on the island a blanket for each petson was put into the boat, sufficient food for lunch and dinner for Millard and myself, and enough rice and flour to last the Lascars for twenty-four hours. I took with me one of the ship’s rifles, an old-pattern Martini-Henry, a few rounds of ammunition, and a dozen blue lights for signalling. lt was a perfect morning when we pushed off from the Okhla’s side, and our boat’s crew soon settled down to a rhythmic, swinging stroke. We noticed when we left the ship that we were being carried by the current slightly to leeward of her, so Millard, who was at the tiller, steered well to the northward of the island, which appeared to us as a blur on the horizon. The day was windless and rather warm, so that frequent rests were taken at the oars, but we reckoned on reaching Pulo Obi by 5 p.m. at the latest. At 4 p.m., however, we were somewhat discouraged to find that we were still about six miles off, owing to contrary currents. The men were now flagging at their work, and presently they rested on their oars and declared they could do no more, nor would they budge, in

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ADRIFT IN THE CHINA SEAS. spite of all our efforts to urge them on. By this time the Okj/a was out of sight. At this juncture, without the slightest warning, a tempestuous squall of rain and wind suddenly swept down upon us. Any- body who has sailed the China Seas will know how swiftly and unexpectedly these squalls arise, and the present one, catching us absolutely unawares in our small boat, threatened to overwhelm us completely. Millard kept his head, however, and his skilful handling of the little craft in that wind-lashed sea saved us from capsizing. Reaching the island being now out of the question, our only hope seemed to be to run before the wind and make for the ship once more. With some difficulty we raised the small sail with which we were provided, and were soon scurrying along for dear life in a furious smother of water. To add to our discomfort darkness now descended upon us like a pall, and the rain fell in sheets, wetting us to the skin, although at the same time it had some effect in keeping down the waves. We had agreed, before leaving, to burn blue lights to let the Okh/a know if we were in trouble, and now we lit two in quick succession. An answering light on our port bow told of a passing ship, but as we were going in the opposite direction the next thing we saw was the twinkle of her red side-light. We promptly burned a third flare, to which she replied with a rocket ; then, to our dismay, she disappeared from view, swallowed up in the gloom of the stormy night. All this time we had been tearing along at a spanking rate, and soon Millard felt certain that we must be in the vicinity of our own vessel, so we lowered the sail and threw out a sea-anchor. Then ensued a firework display. It was foolish, I admit, but we just blazed: away the whole of our lights, hoping to attract the attention of our shipmates. We did not realize, of course, that we were already lost, and had no Hout but that the OkA/a would speedily Teply. But there came no answering signal, no Teassuring twinkle of light, no cheering hail across the dark waters. For the first time Millard and I looked at one another with sumething like fear in our hearts. Instinc- tively, perhaps, we began to sense what was to come. ._ As for the Lascars, they huddled forward in a disconsolate group, crying miserably. Their courage, as usual in a crisis, had fled, and for a time imprecations, wailings, and Prayers to their gods filled the air. Finally even these ceased, and all was silent. The Tain had now stopped and the wind had abated. In the inky darkness only the heaving of the boat and the occasional swish of a spent wave under the counter gave us any indication of our situation. There 195 was only one thing to do—to wait for the dawn, and this we did, sitting there wet, cold, and miserable, but still buoyed up with the hope of the salvation we told ourselves the day must bring. Daybreak found us white men dozing, but the crew, with the passing of the darkness, were on the alert again, scanning the horizon anxiously for sight of land or our ship. Of the Okhla, however, there was no sign, but the island was still visible, appar- ently some ten miles distant. The swell had now gone down and a favourable breeze had sprung up, so we hoisted our sail and once more headed for Pulo Obi. Now, all old sailors know that ‘ devils inhabit the deep,’ and it certainly seemed as if that island had a demon of its very own, determined we should not violate his sanctity. Soon the wind changed again, and though we tacked and tacked again, wind and contrary currents beat us com- pletely, with the result that by 4 p.m. we were almost out of sight of land—and there was still no trace of the Okh/a ; she seemed to have vanished into thin air. Millard and I then held council, and finally explained to our crew that, willy- nilly, we must bow to circumstances, give up the idea of reaching Pulo Obi, and make with all speed for the Malay coast, although it was a matter of some three hundred miles distant. It was obvious that we could not reach Pulo Obi, tantalizingly near as the island appeared, nor could we remain aimlessly beating about. A favourable current, however, was already taking us towards the Malay Peninsula. On hearing our decision the Lascars set upahowl. They are easy enough to handle when in safety, and they will bow to superior knowledge if in any doubt, but once let fear invade their minds and discipline and respect for the white man go to the wall. There is only one method of instilling it again, and I was very thankful that I had brought along the old Martini-Henry. Its sinister-looking muzzle, pointing in their direction, was the only argument that appealed to them, and under its persuasion their first frenzied objections changed to sullen acquiescence as we set the boat’s head to a course which we judged would bring us to the southern extremity of the Peninsula. We had now to take stock of our provisions —a task that was speedily accomplished. Millard and I, little anticipating trouble, had lunched well the previous day, and just prior to the storm had indulged in an early dinner, so that the stores remaining for our consumption consisted of exactly twenty cabin biscuits and half a tin of sardines. The sardines, however, under the tropical sun, had already become tainted, so we had to throw them overboard. Our water beaker held not quite four gallons—a scanty supply indeed for nine of us, The Lascars

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196 had a goodly supply of chupattis (unieavened bread), and enough rice to last them, with care, for several days. So they were all right —or, at any rate, better off than ourselves. Still, hope springs eternal, especially when one is young, and Millard and 1 consoled ourselves with the thought that we should soon be picked up—if only by a Chinese pirate junk. We now organized regular watches. Besides ourselves, two of the crew could be trusted to steer, and we took our turns just as if we were aboard the Okkla. The night of January 1oth passed without incident, and morning found us out of sight of land and cutting through the water at an encouraging rate. The sea was somewhat choppy, the waves chasing us along and occasionally breaking over our stern. Once or twice extra-big ones nearly swamped us, so that the Lascars had te turn to and bale furiously. Towards noon on the 11th the sky dark- ened, and just as Millard and I were asking one another what this portended, for the air was | ecoming strangely oppressive, we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a mild typhoon. Once more the China Sea was justifying its evil reputation. Down came the sail with a rattle and over went the tiller, bringing the boat head-on to the racing waves, which speedily began to increase In size. Then began a battle for life. The waves grew mountainous; the wind shrieked like a million demons. At one moment we were swooping upwards to the summit of a mighty roller; the next instant we slid dizzily down into the trough, where we were hemmed in, as it were, by green, glass- smooth, sloping walls. Half an hour of this, with Millard and me clinging desperately to the tiller, striving our utmost to keep the boat’s head straight, and then came the rain—a mighty sheet of water falling sheer from the seemingly limitless reservoir of the driving clouds overhead. That stupendous downpour flattened out the very sea itsclf, and poured into the labouring boat like a cataract, while, with aching arms and heaving chests, we poor castaways struggled to keep our puny craft afloat. Again and again I felt certain we must sink, but with the courage and tenacity of desperation we fought on. Then, as suddenly as it had swept down upon us, the storm passed, and the sun blazed down once more out of a cloudless sky. Slowly the endless hours dragged away and we drove steadily onwards. It was our fourth day in the boat, and still the horizon was empty of land or sail. Then, Yooking idly over the side, I saw not two fect from me, and about a foot below the surface, the outline of a monster shark. A little astern of him was his mate, gliding along with sinister purpose in our wake— THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. an ill omen, indeed, as every seaman knows. At no time can I view a shark with equa- nimity, and at that moment I felt positively sick with loathing and horror. I drew Millard’s attention to our visitors, and he was anxious to use the rifle on them, but I dissuaded him from this, for I knew that if we killed or wounded one of them the blood would inevitably attract a whole school of the brutes. Thereafter steering became very un- pleasant. The waves began to rise again, under the influence of a brisk wind, and one had to watch the boat’s head and the sail at the same time, as well as keeping watch on the sharks, which hour after hour main- tained their position. : At length the wind grew too strong for our canvas, and I called to one of the Lascars to come amidships and take a reef in the sail. The boat was lying well over on her side, with the gunwale almost awash, and the sailor came towards me on the leeward side. As he passed the mast the sail flicked him— and in an instant he was overboard! Like a flash, the leading shark was at him, opening his horrible jaws for the long- awaited meal ! Fortunately Millard was on the alert. Thrusting out his arm, he dragged the terrified Lascar aboard in the very nick of time, while I yelled to the rest of the crew to throw their weight on the opposite side of the boat. For a few seconds it was touch-and-go as to whether the whole lot of us would be precipitated into the water ; then the boat righted herself and the dis- appointed brutes alongside dropped back to resume their implacable vigil, leaving Millard and me a little more despondent, a little more shaken, than before. Darkness fell once more, with all the suddenness of the tropics, and our spirits sank to zero. A fresh squall was brewing, but we thought it best to continue running before the wind, which was at any rate blowing us landwards. It was our fifth night in the boat, and the rations were getting perilously low. Already Millard and I had reduced our allowance to a biscuit a day and half a cup of water, and now we seriously discussed curtailing this still further. Even while we were talking the matter over the squall descended upon us, and, making a virtue of necessity, we held our caps up and caught the rainwater as it fell. It was warm, and not exactly refresh- ing, but it somehow produced the illusion that we had eaten something. The following morning broke fine, and the sun was soon scorching our backs and sending up clouds of steam from our rain- soaked garments. About midday we ran through a school of flying-fish, and two of them actually dropped in the boat at my feet. They were unattractive creatures at close quarters, with no flesh on them ana

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_ ADRIFT IN THE CHINA SEAS. 197 “Millard dragged the terrified Lascar aboard in the very nick of time.”

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198 bony, web-like wings, and I put them back into the sea. It struck Millard and me as curious that neither of us, though we ought to have welcomed this chance to eat, had any desire to sample flying fish. Personally I now felt quite indifferent ; provided I could drink water, I had no violent desire for food, and Millard agreed that he felt the same. The Lascars in the bows told us that they had now very little left to eat, but that they thought they could hold out for a few days more. They began to demand more water, however, and | think they believed— erroneously, of course—that we were taking more than our share, the keg being kept under my seat in the stern, by way of precaution. That night we had another storm, but, as usual, the morning broke fine. I was staring moodily at the compass when a sudden exclamation from Millard made me glance up. “Surely the water’s lighter in colour?” he said. I glanced over the side and saw that he was right. The sea was decidedly lighter, with a distinctly greenish tinge—a sign of the proximity of land. It might, of course, have been caused by the presence of a sand- bar or submerged reef, but, nevertheless, buoyed up by hope and excitement, we kept our eyes lifting continually for a sight of land. It came at last—the cry for which we were all waiting. One of the men forward suddenly sprang to his feet. “Kanara, sahib, kanara!” land !) he yelled wildly. : Millard levelled his glasses at the spot indicated, and then quietly passed them on to me. Land it was undoubtedly, a point on our starboard bow. 1 knelt on the thwarts and swept the horizon with my glasses, and presently it became evident that we were approaching a_surf-lashed shore. We were still some miles off, but the line of coast could be plainly seen. Between us and the land, however, was a deep belt of frothy surf. here was no sign of habitation, and we assumed that we had struck the Malay Peninsula somewhere between Singora and Bangkok, as afterwards proved to be the case. The pressing need of the moment was to find a landing place, so we tacked backwards and forwards off the coast searching for an opening through the breakers, but without success. Darkness overtook us at our fruitless task, so we stood out to sea again, heading north-east, meaning to come back on the opposite tack at midnight and sail farther down the coast hoping to find a settlement or village. Dawn found us still within sight of land, but, as before, there was no sign of habita- (Land, sir, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tion, and the surf between us and the shore was terrific. The crew begged us to run in, but we knewthat to attempt to beach the boat would mean the inevitable break-up of our little craft, and almost certainly our own deaths, enfeebled as we were from lack of food. To get this into the Lascars’ heads, however, was beyond our powers. They could not or would not see it, and declared furiously that if we did not land at once they would take charge of the boat themselves. This was incipient mutiny, so I signifi- cantly produced the rifle again. Thereupon the ringleader, one Abdul Karim, the most unpleasant of them all, stood up and shook his fist at me. “If you do that again,” I declared sternly, “or if you come a step nearer to me, I’ll fire.” In spite of my threat, he sprang towards me, obviously bent on mischief. Hastily I raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. The result was amusing. As the report of the gun rang out, we both fell down—I from sheer weakness, knocked over by the kick of the rifle; Abdul Karim from pure funk, for I had missed him. He lay in the bottom of the boat, groaning that he was dead, until Millard, crawling forward, stirred him with his foot. After this little interlude there was no further trouble from the Lascars, who saw that we meant business, but being now distrustful of the natives, Millard and I had to keep watch alternately throughout the ensuing night and day. For two seemingly- endless days we lay off that coast, tacking first away from it and then back, exploring perhaps some thirty miles of its length. On the eighth night of our ordeal Millard woke me at midnight to take my turn at the tiller. For a wonder the night was calm, and when I took over from him we exchanged no word; there seemed to be no need for speech. He wrapped himself up in his blanket to sleep and I sat down in the stern sheets, tiller in hand, watching the compass before me. I must have dozed, for I was awakened by a sudden jerk as my head fell forward. There was a flash before my eyes. I rubbed them, and all was dark- ness. Then I saw the flash again, now some points astern. Reaching out for Millard, 1 shook him vigorously. “ Wake up, man!’ I cried. We're near a lighthouse ! ” Millard sat up. “Where ?”’ he asked sleepily. “‘ Just a bit astern—over there!” I told him. For a little while we watched the flashes with deep thankfulness, and then, as my turn for a sleep had come round again, 1] wrapped myself in my blanket and lay down at Millard’s feet. A general bustle in the boat awakened me, and I scrambled up thinking we had arrived “Wake up!

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ADRIFT IN THE CHINA SEAS. “*Land, sir, land! somewhere. Dawn was just breaking, and Millard sat at the tiller looking very glum. _ “ Have you lost the lighthouse ? ” I asked in a feeble attempt at a jest. He nodded his head and his arm described a circle of despair. “We're going off our heads, old chap,” he replied. ‘‘ That’s what’s the matter with us! There isn’t any lighthouse, and not a single thing in sight except that infernal coastline ! ” In my own mind, however, I had no doubt. “My brain was perfectly clear, and I knew that I had really seen a light ; moreover, I had every hope of seeing it again. As the sun rose we steered for the highest point we could see on the coast, and presently Millard, who was using his glasses, turned to me excitedly. After all, I think I can see your light- house, Simons,” he exclaimed. ‘‘ Take the glasses and have a look for yourself.” I did so, and Presently it seemed to me that the headland I was looking at detached itself and became an island. In the inter- vening gap there swam into view a glori- ously welcome sight—a steamer at anchor ! Lighthouse or no lighthouse, here was Tescue close at hand! I passed the news on to the crew, and they went wild with delight. When we were still two miles from the strange steamer, however, the ” he yelled wildly.” elements played their last trick. The wind fell, and after our eight days’ privations we had to take to the oars again. It was pathetic to see our feeble efforts. That last mile or so took us over four hours to cover, but, thank Heaven, we got there at last. The vessel proved to be the small Chinese steamer Chow Phya, commanded bya Dutch- man. He treated us very kindly—and, goodness knows, we needed it! We stayed with him for a fortnight, and were finally landed at Singapore. After our long-drawn- out ordeal reaction followed swift and inexorable, and the effects of those days and nights of exposure and hardship in the open boat proved most disastrous. All the seven Lascars died later as the direct result of what they had gone through, and young as I was, my hair fell out, while Millard’s turned grey. A day or two longer, and our boat would have been full of dead men, floating aimlessly over the face of the waters until the first storm flung us to the waiting sharks. The missing Okhla, I should add, managed to reach Singapore just a day before we arrived there. Working under great difh- culties, the engineers had contrived to make temporary repairs, and she eventually crept into port under her own steam. All on board, of course, had given up our boat's crew for dead, and there was much rejoicing when we reported ourselves.

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200 66 HE story of the Watu Wa Miti— The Men of the Trees ’’—is one of the most romantic in the whole history of Britain’s relations with the strange Dark Continent of Africa. It is almost like a fairy tale that has strayed into real life; it seems too splendid to be true, but it is true—a living reality in the lives of thousands of African tribesmen. Who are these ‘‘ Men of the Trees’? They are not, as some people appear to think, a race of pigmies who inhabit the dense forests of Central Africa and swing themselves from bough to bough of the tall trees with ape-like agility. They are, as a matter of fact, the woodland Scouts of Eastern Africa, a band of young warriors pledged to restore and _ protect the splendid forests which are the ancient heritage of the people of that country. The life and prosperity of the tribes of Equatorial Africa are inseparably bound up with its forests. Lofty and dense, these forests have for count- less centuries afforded shelter, food, and fuel to the wandering inhabitants of vast tracts of country. It is not easy for those of us who live Mit HOW THE FOREST DESTROYERS” CHANGED THEIR NAME R.St Bavbe Raker The Watua Wa Miti, or “Men of the Trees,” constitute one of the most remarkable organizations in the world. Owing tg their custom of continually burning down the forests to secure land for cultivation, the natives of Equatorial Africa were rapidly denuding the country of all woodland and turning it into a waterless desert. To counteract this the Author conceived the bold idea of forming a corps of “Forest Scouts” from among the young warriors—men pledged to plant at least ten trees a year, to safeguard trees every- where, and to do “good turns” to others like our own Boy Scouts. The scheme has been a triumphant success, as this article shows. Mr. R. St. Barbe Baker, the founder of the “Men of the Trees.” in the teeming cities or quiet countryside of England to realize what a tremendous influence the great primeval forests of Africa have upon the lives of those peoples who have dwelt beneath their shadow for countless ages. The very soul of the forest has entered into their folk- songs and legends, and deep in their honest hearts is a feeling of awe and devotion for its vast solitudes and ever- changing tropical beauties. Apart altogether-from these considerations, the actual com- mercial value of the timber and other products of the forests is a tremendous source of potential wealth. When I first went into these parts, I observed with dismay that great areas of land which at one time had been densely wooded were now bare and desolate. Only here and there a sacred mugumu (parasitic fig tree) had been left to collect the “ spirits” of the other trees. In times of drought sacrifices were made and prayers to the N'gai (the High God) offered up at the trunks of these solitary veterans. The natives quite overlooked the fact that they themselves were respon- sible for the dry season and lack of rain, because they had cut down the trees.

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The African people are childlike, simple, and impetuous. Their chief occupation is farming, but farming of a very elementary sort. These primitive agriculturists have no knowledge of the use of manures, either natural or artificial. All their forefathers knew was that if they wanted fresh, rich soil, capable of producing an extra big crop of food, they would find it in the heart of a virgin forest, so there they went, made clearings by machete and fire, and raised their crops. After a short period, when the ground became exhausted, they would move on, to repeat the same destructive process. Owing to this custom, pursued from time immemorial, certain tribes earned for themselves the name of “ Forest De- stroyers.”’ This devastation of the countryside may seem like wanton destruction on the part “WATU WA MITI.” 201 importance of tree-planting, and night after night they had gone away fully determined that something must be done to remedy things; the trouble was that they did not know quite how to begin. ‘‘ For,” said they, “‘ we are all old men, and the work that you want us to do would require an army of warriors.” The morans, or young warriors, for their part, lived happy-go-lucky, care-free lives, not worrying themselves at all as to what became of the forests. If one talked to them of the importance of tree planting, they would airily reply: “ That is shauri ya Mungu” (God’s business). One could not punish them—they were too numerous—and how could one punish wrongdoers who were totally unconscious of their crime? It did not strike these young fellows that the wholesale destruction of the forests had The Author’s camp, situated on a hill that was formerly covered with virgin forest. of the tribesmen, but they acted not in any qpinit of mischief, but in simple ignorance of the consequences of their recklessness. They did not realize that by destroying the forests at this rapid pace they would one day leave themseives without fuel to cook their food, or building material for their huts and granaries. Some of the elders may have felt vaguely uneasy about it, but the younger men were quite unconcerned, caring little whether their women-folk had to go two hours’ or two days’ journey to fetch fuel so long as they got their meals. After long experience of lecturing tours and their apparent lack of effect upon the natives, the idea came to me of adapting the inspired principle of the Boy Scout system to prevent this fatal deforestation, and also to get fresh trees planted. Day by day the chiefs and elders had come to my camp to hear what I had to say upon the anything to do with the decreasing rainfall, although their fathers admitted that in the old days, when the countryside was covered with virgin forest, there was more rain, and water in plenty, and that what few crops they grew were better than nowadays. Whenever I spoke of the importance of tree-planting everybody entirely agreed that it was a very good thing, but the problem was to persuade them to plant trees without payment and without compulsion. Something had to be done quickly, however, to stem the tide of wholesale destruction. These young African warriors were pouring a vast amount of life and energy into their dancing, their warlike skirmishes, and their forest burning. I was convinced that an impulsive body of stalwart young fighters might be moulded for good as well as for evil. My idea was condemned as wildly impracticable and impossible, and

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202 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but for the encouragement of two or three friends and the enthusiasm of the chiefs, 1 might not have persisted. It was at the height of the dancing season —the young men were mad on dancing— that I suggested a dance at my camp. First of all I sent for the captains of the various n'gomas, or dances, and gave them an invitation to bring their followers and join in a great competition. I promised a prize of a fatted ox for the best-turned-out moran, and when the news was circulated some three thousand eager young warriors began to assemble. Quite early on the appointed day runners arrived to report that the tribesmen were approaching, and by midday many of them had massed about a mile away, where they sorted themselves out and put the finishing touches to their equipment ready for the march-past. This was to bea great day. Never since the coming of the white man had they mobilized such a force of fighting-men. It recalled the happy days when they prepared to sally forth to raid the camps of their hereditary enemies, the Masai. War had no terrors for them; it had been little more than a pleasant pastime, posses- sing none of the horrors of modern “‘ civilized” warfare. Many of the older men had been comrades in arms, and this was indeed a notable reunion. As was their custom, they had formed themselves into their respective ivika, or clans. The Akiruru and the Achera were there, the Aujiru, the Agachiku and the Ambui. They came from widely-separated villages, for although men join the clan of their fathers, they are not restricted to any geographical area. At a given signal the great throng started to advance, rank upon rank, carrying their Spears and shields as if ready for battle. ith proud dignity they marched past the raised platform which had been erected for the occasion, and then halted and fell into orderly ranks to listen to the first speech of its kind that had ever been delivered to them. Silence was called for, and then, in their own tongue, I bade them welcome. “ Men and warriors of the Kikuyu tribe,” I went on, “ I have asked you here to dance, and it is my wish that you should enjoy yourselves ; but there is something I would first like to tell you—something very im- portant for you to know, for it is the business of everybody. You are aware that a reproach hangs over your heads. People call you by the name of ‘ Forest Destroyers.’ Too long have you cut down and burned the old forests to make your little cultivations, and as you have advanced you have left a trail of ruin behind you. You have destroyed the forests that were your heritage, the forests that you should pass on to your sons. If you continue ,your present ways they will not even last your own lifetime. You must all know that this cannot go on for ever. Already your women have to go two or three days’ journey to fetch fuel with The “Forest Destroyers” arriving for the dancing festival.

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One of the few patches of forest left by the “ Destroyers.” which to cook your food. Soon there will be no more trees left. “ Since the coming of the white man many of you have learnt how to build better huts, and for better huts you will want more wood. The white man has brought the gariyvamoshi ~—the steam-engine and train—and you need no longer walk when you travel from place to place, but the gariyamoshi needs fuel, which must be got from the forests. The white man is here to help you, and ‘ou have already nefited from his instruction, but the white man wants you also to help yourselves. He wants you to learn to protect the trees. In the past you have been forest destroyers; in the future you must become forest planters. “Why is it that whenever you want good land you go into the forest to findit ? Listen well to my words, and I will tell you. It is “WATU WA MITI.” 203 because trees improve the soil; the leaves fall on the land and make it better. If you wish to go on finding good soil you must plant trees in your old cultivations before you for- sake them altogether, so that when all the virgin forest that is your ancient heritage is finished, you and your sons will be able to return and find new forests, which you have planted, and fresh soil in which to grow your crops. “Listen well to my words. To- day I am going to call for volunteers from amongst you—for men who will promise before N’gai, the High God, to plant so many trees each year, and to take care of trees everywhere. I want to help you to remove the reproach against your tribe. No longer must men call you ‘ Forest Destroyers,’ but rather look to you to lead the way and show other tribes how to plant trees and_per- petuate the forests, whose well-being is bound up with your own. «As you all know, the spot upon which we stand to-day is known by the name of ‘ Muguga’ (which means a treeless place). It is well named Muguga, for save a solitary tree here and there, the whole countryside, which was once beautiful with woodlands, now lies broken and bare. I call on you, then, for volunteers —for men who will join together in this great work of tree-planting.”’ There was no lack of response, and the Some of the leaders of the “ Men of the Trees.”

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204 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. first volunteers were chosen from amongst the Akiuru or M’wesaga clan, whose associa- tion with the forest is hereditary. I had often talked to them of the sacred groves, and one warrior had confided to me that not many moons before he had _ been summoned to the death-bed of his father to hear the old man’s ing instructions, which had been handed down to him in turn by his father. These instructions had been given under the penalty of a curse invoked upon all those who failed in their performance of the duties contained in the warnings of adying man. The old man had said: ‘‘ Guard well the trees which stand on yonder hill, for there N’gai communes with the spirits of great men and trees.”” It was not surprising, therefore, that the Akiuru, the clan bound by traditional duty to preserve the woodland shrine where chiefs were buried, should be amongst the first to respond when volunteers were called for to remove the reproach of the name “‘ Forest Destroyers '’ from their tribe. That day five hundred warriors came forward, and out of these I selected fifty for the trial effort. These fifty promised before the High God to plant trees and protect trees everywhere. A badge of membership was tied upon their left wrists to remind them of their vow—a small brass disc bearing the design of a tree, with the words Watu Wa Miti. The badge was fastened with a small strap worked in green and white beads. Later on there was added to this simple ritual the well-known rule of the Boy Scouts : ““ One good deed each day.”’ After the first fifty no more volunteers were called for ; instead, every new member had to be proposed by one of the chiefs, all of whom ad already been initiated as ‘‘ Forest Guides,”’ the equivalent to our Scoutmasters. At first this rank was only given to chiefs, although it is now open to any member who has introduced a hundred recruits who have proved themselves. It was important to safeguard the organization, and to enlist only those who had the ability to perform their promises, and nowadays volunteers must all be yeomen with some status in the country. Gradually there came into being a beautiful and simple initiation ceremony, which stands out as a true expression of the spirit which characterizes the movement. Let me give you an idea of one of these impressive gatherings. Imagine for a moment a clear space in front of a solitary sacred tree, upon whose great trunk has been tied the colours of the ‘‘ Men of the Trees ''—a white flag emblazoned with a green tree. In front of the tree, in a hollow square, stand the old members, under the leadership of the Forest Guides. Hard by, close to the colours, stands the Master of Ceremonies, who calls upon all members to prove themselves by holding forth their left hands, bearing the badge of member- ship. To make doubly certain that no outsiders are present, the Forest Guides are asked: “Are all present true members?” Kikuyu belles arrayed in their best for a ceremonial dance.

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“WATU WA MITI.” 205 The “ Watu Wa Miti” gathering for the inauguration ceremony at the Author’s camp. They make a rapid survey of the ranks, and after a short pause reply: ‘ All present are true members.” The Master of Ceremonies then puts the direct question: ‘‘ Are the hearts of all men present safi?’’ (meaning clean). Each Forest Guide replies for his own men: “Every man’s heart is safi."". Should any member have an unfulfilled obligation, he cannot be said to havea sajfi heart, and is not allowed to be present. _ The recruits who desire initiation are then introduced and warned of the consequences of lightly making promises which they may be unable to perform, and it has often been found that at this stage candidates will waver and fall out. Those who continue in their desire to become members repeat solemnly the threefold promise: ‘I swear before N’'gai to do at least one good deed each day, to plant ten trees each year, and to take care of trees everywhere,’”” The badge of membership is then formally tied upon the wrist of each new member and _ his attention called to the colours of the Forest Scouts—green to remind him of his obliga- tion to plant trees, and white because the heart of every Forest Scout must be clean. , All that now remains is to give the newly- Mitiated Forest Scout a secret sign and Password. The secret sign is a particular handshake, which symbolizes the threefold promise, while the password, which is whispered into the right ear during the shaking of hands, indicates unity of purpose. The whole ceremony has a_ tremendous effect upon the simple and impetuous heart of the African warrior, though it is true that at first he did not quite grasp the significance of doing at least one good deed each day, though he did appear to be genuinely troubled should he fail to fulfil this part of his promise. The idea of performing one unselfish act every day in the service of others was entirely new to the thoughtless, pleasure- loving warrior, and he did not quickly understand the idea underlying this pledge. Often in the evening a number of movans would come to my camp and ask for an interview. It might be that I was tired, having spent many hours in the saddle, when suddenly thirty or forty Forest Scouts would appear at my tent. “What do you want now ?”’ I demanded. ““Don't you know that this is out of office hours ? You must come again to-morrow.” One stalwart spoke up for the rest with winning frankness. ‘‘ Sir, we have come to you to ask you to help us to think of a good deed. In two hours the sun will go down, and so far we have been unable to

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206 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. think of a good deed to do. us!” I was nonplussed. The sincerity and genuine belief of those whom I had set on the way demanded encouragement, and finally a Forest Nursery was started, in which any Scout who could not think of a better deed to do was permitted to plant out fifty young seedlings. The very simplicity of a good deed—just 4 simple service rendered to someone else— was too much for the imriediate understand- ing of a warlike race, who could more easily have fathomed the ‘‘ good ”’ of destroying a man-eating lion, or performing some doughty deed like that of St. George and the Dragon. The ‘‘ Men of the Trees ”’ treat their tree- dlanting and instruction as a great game. It is good to watch these children of Nature in-a festive mood. On these occasions their little womenfolk creep up to the firelight, Please help seek out their favourite partners, and join them in the dance. owards midnight their songs become livelier, and at length end in a grand finale. Torches are kindled from the dying embers, and presently the dancers separate, each man escorting his partner to her home. As they disappear into the night, they sing snatches of song :— In the old days Who cut the trees ? Who cut the trees ? Don’t you know ? The Kuks, the Kuks, They cut the trees. To-day who lead the way To plant the trees ? To plant the trees ? Don’t you know ? The Kuks, the Kuks, They lead the way To plant the trees. The forest nursery at Kikuyu, where any member of the “Watu Wa Miti” who cannot think of a better “good deed” is allowed to plant out fifty seedlings. Over eighty thousand young trees have been raised here.

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207 | | * Where the pal: o'er the strand: Where the sea and sky are blue, My lazy, sweet, do- nothing land, | I'm coming back to | you.” Many a man who finds him- self a mere cog in the industrial machine: longs to escape and see something of the world. Here is the story of a factory hand who finally “cut loose” and went to the South Seas, only to return sadder and wiser. “The narrative is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Cassidy, “and the principal character is a par- ticular friend of mine. The ~ events happened in 1921, but for obvious reasons | have changed the names of the parties concerned.” CTfie MAN WHO # rank WANTED A CHANGE Cassidy * T’S like this, Shorty,” said Bre:nson, smile spread over his face. He had just very seriously, “I’m getting tired returned from a voyage to Japan, and, of slaving away day after day, year being in possession of a good “ stake ” after after year, just working for wages, several months at sea, had decided to have and I think I can see a way*to get out of it.” a rest for awhile. A fireman at sea, a student “Shorty” Harris leaned back in his of history and economics in port, where he greasy old armchair, in the Marine Fire- spent most of his time in the public libraries, men’s Hall at San Francisco, and a broad and a philosopher at all times, “ Shorty’s”

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208 opinion on almost every subject was eagerly sought by his many friends and acquaint- ances in the Marine Firemen’s Hall and the boarding-houses round about. Steve Bremson had been discussing his work and prospects for some time when he made the remark which opens this story, and now he waited solemnly for Shorty’s smile to fade. “I’m dead serious, Shorty,” he said. “Just listen while I explain. I’ve been grinding steadily now for about three years. T haven't lost an hour’s work in all that time, and I have managed to put away about three hundred dollars. Now 1 should like to start out on my own. There are all kinds of little businesses I might get into, and I figure I have enough capital to start with. The thing is to know what line to take up.” “IT see,” replied Shorty, ‘‘ You're tired of working eight hours a day year in and year out, painting iron bedsteads, and you want a change. You think you’d like to own a pea-nut stand, or something of that kind, work a trifling sixteen hours a day, and then have the rest of the time all to yourself.” Steve forced a grin. “ Well, that’s about the size of it, Shorty,” he said, “ but I think you're inclined to exaggerate a little. A fellow needn’t kill himself just because he’s working on his own.” By this time the fireman had become serious, and now he started to lecture his companion, using the stem of his pipe to drive home his points. “You want to know what to do with your money,” he began, “ and you're tired of what you call slavery. You've never had so much cash in hand before, and you think you’d like to get away from work for awhile. 1 don’t blame you; it’s a healthy desire! I am going to outline for you a method of spending your money that will do you a lot more good than starting up in some small business. What I am going to advise will be an absolute departure from all your plans, and if you don’t care for the idea you needn't adopt it. And now listen carefully. “ | have seen quite a bit of the world, and I know lots of places where I should like to settle down whenever I get tired of sea life. One of the best is an island in the South Seas called Tahiti; we used to stop there when I was sailing between here and New Zealand. It is a volcanic island, covcred with the most luxuriant growth of tropical vegetation I have ever scen. Its climate is perfect—steady the year round. The inhabitants live mostly on bananas and other wild fruits, which grow abundantly everywhere. Nobody appears to work, and the native girls, who are very pretty, go crazy over white men. Your fare from Frisco will cost you about sixty dollars, leaving you with over two hundred dollars THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. as capital when you get there. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to get hold of a little piece of land—just enough to build yourself a shack and leave room for a © garden—and then you could practically do nothing for the rest of your life, for living is ridiculously cheap and you could easily find some little job to rustle up a few dollars if you wanted them. If you don’t find things as I have described, it will be an easy matter to book your passage back, and you will certainly get your money's worth out of the trip. What do you think of that for an idea?” Steve had listened carefully to Shorty’s description of Tahiti, and there was some- thing about it that fascinated him. He had heard and read a good deal concerning the South Seas, and being somewhat romantic had often felt the lure of the tropics. Now he rose to his feet and, after standing quietly for a few moments pondering, turned and walked slowly away. “I’m going to think it over, Shorty,” he said. “I'll see you again in a day or two.” That same night, seated in the rocking- chair in his room, Steve might have been seen poring over a volume of Robert Louis Stevenson’s poems. He knew that Steven- son had written extensively about the South Sea Islands, and he liked poetry. Finally, he came across Stevenson’s eulogy of Tahiti, and one verse therein seemed to fasten itself upon his mind. It seemed the most beautiful sentiment that “ R.L.S.” had ever expressed, and he read it over and over again. «Where the palms wave o’er the strand: Where the sea and sky are blue, My lazy, sweet, do-nothing land, I’m coming back to you.” After committing the lines to memory, Bremson lay back in the chair, with eves half-closed, conjuring up in his mind the most beautiful dreams of Tahiti. In fancy he could see the stately coco-nut trees waving gently in the breeze. He thought of himself wandering through shady groves, accom- panied by bright-eved island maidens, or dancing dreamy dances to the sweet, slow music of native guitars. Truly it was an alluring prospect ! Almost a week passed, and each day found Steve becoming more and more attracted by the idea of investing some of his money in a trip to Tahiti. One afternoon he pushed through the swing doors of the Firemen’s Hall, his face radiating determination, and made straight for his friend ‘* Shorty.” “Well, Shorty,” he cried, cheerfully, “T've decided to take your advice. I sail a week to-day—next Tuesday. I’ve just got my passport and booked my passage.” Shorty grinned good-naturedly. “ Well,” he said, “I’m glad you’ve made up your mind to take the plunge. Be on your best

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THE MAN WHO WANTED A CHANGE. behaviour when you get there, and write once in a while and let us know how you get on.” The day of sailing found Bremson attired in a white Palm Beach suit, white shoes, and a Panama hat to match, as befitted a gentle- man bound on a pleasure voyage in tropical waters. Mingling with the other passengers on the promenade deck of the big liner, he experienced < thrill such as he had never before known. He couldn’t see how anyone could possibly distinguish him, the humble bedstead-painter, from the wealthy and notable people in the gay throng around .him. The women passengers wore elegant summer dresses; the men, almost without exception, were attired in suits like his own. True, they were probably more expensive suits—but who was to notice a little thing like that ? After twelve days of a most enjoyable trip Tahiti, spoken of as ‘‘ the gem of the Pacific,” loomed ahead. There, sure enough, were the palms, the mountains, the colourful vegetation. Everything appeared just as it had been described to him and identical with his own dreams. As they drew closer to the island, he could see the tall, slender palms along the coast, their trunks straight as arrows, lending that enchantment to the view which one feels when looking at pictures of Robinson Crusoe’s lonely island. When he went down the gang-plank at Papeete Steve could hardly contain himself ; he felt that he was about to begin a new life, leaving all his toil and sorrows behind him. The picturesque native town _pre- sented a scene of gaiety and merry-making. Ships only arrived once a month, and the occasion was made a day of festival, in which everyone joined. So engrossed was Bremson in his new surroundings and the curious sights on every hand, that it was well after sundown before he started to secure a room, which he found to be no easy job. Finally, however, he succeeded in persuading a Chinese restaurant-keeper to Tent him a room in his little wooden shack. The following morning he was up early, determined to have a good look round his adopted country. So far his contact with Tahiti and things Tahitian had fully equalled and in some cases exceeded his expectations, but during the next few hours he learnt some interesting facts that rather altered his views. For one thing, whilst bananas could certainly be had for the plucking from the wild native trees, he discovered that ham and eggs had to be paid for at local restaurants at a price only a few cents below that asked in the lunch- houses of San Francisco. Lodging, he found, was actually much dearer in Tahiti than in Frisco. These were disconcerting factors that he had not reckoned with; still, there was no need to lose heart over such trifles. After all, he had not come to the island to Vou Lv.—16, 209 live like a tourist in hotels and restaurants; he had set out with the intention of going back to nature, so to speak, and taking up his residence somewhere in the wilds. With this end in view he made it his business to hold conversation with everyone whom he thought could give him useful information. After spending the greater part of the morning making inquiries, he learned of an old Irishman who lived in a shack by himself about ten miles from town. His informant couldn’t say if Tim X- . as he was called, was prepared to take boarders, but he suggested to Steve that he should walk out there and talk the matter over with old Tim himself. This advice Bremson decided to adopt ; the idea of “ baching’”’ with X. rather appealed to him. During his walk he turned his plans over in his mind, trying to figure out some basis whereon old X- and himself could go into partnership in the event of them coming to an agreement. Steve still had over two hundred dollars left, and was satisfied that with this amount of capital he could set himself up perfectly. Arriving at the shack, he found the owner absent, but concluded he had gone out on some errand and would soon be_ back. X ’s temporary absence gave him an opportunity of looking around the place, and whilst he did not overstep the bounds of etiquette so far as to go inside the house, he walked all round outside and found much to heighten his enthusiasm. Various wild fruits and flowers grew in abundance, filling the balmy air with a fragrance which contrasted vividly with his memories of the sickening odours of the paint shop at the furniture factory which he had so recently left. He had not been waiting long before Xx came back. The old man proved to be a genial, hail-fellow-well-met sort of person, and he welcomed Steve heartily to his little home. An agreement satisfactory to both parties was soon arrived at, whcreby Steve was to be provided with a bed and the necessaries of life, and then X proceeded to en- lighten his guest as to his method of living. Men cannot live on bananas alone, he explained, and even in Tahiti everything else has to be paid for. As the result of some years of patient cultivation he was able to produce trom his garden the greater part of his foodstutfs, but lots of other things were required, and the wherewithal for these he obtained by doing odd jobs about the town. The following day Steve called upon the American Consul, as required by law, presented his passport, and asked to be registered as an Amcrican citizen residing in Tahiti. The Consul, however, told ium to come another time, as he was too busy at that moment to attend to him. Had Steve

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210 been able to see into the future, had he even dreamed of the dire distress that was soon to befall him, he would in all probability have camped on the Consul's doorstep until he got himself registered. As it was he returned to Tim's shack, leaving the registration for another day. He did not trouble to change his American money into francs for the good reason that not only was American money legal tender, but, owing to the fall in the value of the franc, it was at a premium. A week went by, and for one reason and another Steve had not yet registered him- self; he found so much to do that time slipped by all too quickly. One sunny afternoon X: asked_ his guest how he would like to go on a fishing trip, assuring him of a “fine time” and plenty of sport. Steve was elated at the idea, and they immediately began preparations. Whilst he did not mistrust old Tim, Bremson nevertheless ran no risks, and always took the precaution of having his money and passport on his person, even sleeping with the precious papers strapped round his body. Now that he was going on a fishing trip he reasoned that it would be folly to leave the whole of his worldly wealth lying round the shack for some prowling native to run away with, and so he took it with him, As to clothes, he didn’t see the sense of wearing anice new Palm Beach suit, and so he changed into his old tweeds, offsetting the stifling heat to some extent by throwing his coat into the bottom of the boat. Everything having been prepared, they started out, rowing slowly and _ resting occasionally till they finally stopped some four or five miles out. The sea was as calm asa millpond. There were one or two native canoes in sight, but otherwise the bay was deserted. Exactly what happened during the next few minutes Steve is unable to explain to this day. X. was standing up in the boat preparing to cast out his line, while Bremson was sitting down, with his back to his companion, unravelling a tangle of knotted cord. All at once there came a terrific jerk. Apparently X had stumbled and lost his balance, though he afterwards denied it. Steve fell backwards, involuntarily grasping the sides of the boat. The next thing he remembers is slowly coming to the surface of the water after feeling as though he had been down about a hundred feet. Needless to say he lost no time in seizing hold of the boat, which was now floating upside down. X was on the other side, likewise holding on fast, and bemoaning his fate. Though both could swim a little neither was an expert in that line, and the distance between them and the shore might just as well have been the Atlantic Ocean so far as their hope of reaching land by swimming went. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. To right the boat was a physical im- possibility, and as though the imminent risk of drifting out to sea and drowning miscrably was not enough, Steve presently became aware of yet another disaster. Some little distance away he caught sight of his coat, which had floated out of the upturned boat. Hardly had he set eyes on it than, to is horror, he saw it sink, taking with it his ort and the greater part of his three years’ savings ! The knowledge that man-eating sharks infested the waters round the island added nothing to the two men's comfort, and it was with anxious eyes that they searched the surrounding waters for signs of rescue. For over two hours X—— and Steve hung on to the boat, hoping against hope that they might see a friendly canoe approaching. It was growing dusk, and their hopes were sinking fast, when their plight was finally observed by a native from the shore. Prompted by a spirit of compassion for which natives are seldom given credit, he immediately started out in his canoe. Almost another half-hour elapsed before he reached the two unfortunates, and then another disappointment came to add to their misery, for the rescuer informed them that he could only take one of them ashore at a time! X was nearest the canoe and made by far the greatest outcry, so Steve, who was by no means a coward, agreed to him going first, resigning himself to the chance of being still on the surface when the canoe returned for him. The water was not cold, but two hours in one position is not pleasant at any time, and with man-eating sharks hovering around the situation becomes terrifying. It was pitch-black night when Steve was awakened from a semi-torpor by hearing the native calling somewhere near at hand. He had almost given up hope, but now, with rescue close at hand, he lustily answered the welcome shout. Once safely in the canoe, Bremson determined that in future he would do whatever fishing he required from dry land. The following morning, on taking stock, he found himself in a decidedly precarious position. His money and his passport were gone, and a bitter quarrel between the old Irishman and himself as to the responsibility for the previous night's disaster had split their domestic agreement and thrown him again upon his own resources. Each blamed the other for upsetting the boat; each expressed his feelings in no uncertain language. Left to himself, Steve proceeded to the American Consulate, confident that there, at least, he could find a friend. In this, however, he was disappointed, for the Consul bluntly told him to be off. Beach- conibers of every kind were constantly coming to him for assistance, he said, all

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THE MAN WHO WANTED A CHANGE. 2c “The rescuer informed them that he could only take one of them ashore at a time.” claiming to be American citizens, and as he was not running a public charity bureau he could do nothing for the unfortunate Steve. There was no record of Bremson in the Consulate, and as he had lost his pass- port he merely represented to the Consul another ‘‘ dead-beat.” * Now indeed Steve was in a fix! The little change he had saved from the disaster, through the fact that it was in his trouser- pocket, was rapidly diminishing, and he was growing desperate. Again he went to the Consul, and yet * Only a few months after this the French authorities in Tabiti issued a notice to the Californian new the fact that numbers of Americ ed to Tahiti and other South S As there was practically no nt, all work being dune by’ native ; came stranded and degenerated into vagrants. _ scribed nothing short of criminal ' the writings of sundry auth ry whose island romances had led misguided people to seck fortune in the South Seas,—THe AuTuor. again, until finally that official became somewhat sympathetic. One day he asked Steve a point-blank question : ‘‘ How would you like to work for a living ? "’ he demanded. “« T’'ll do any kind of work,” replied Steve. “All I want is a chance to earn enough money to get out.” “Well, I'll speak to the manager of the factory down here,” the Consul told him. “He’s a friend of mine, and maybe he'll take you on, but I ought to tell you that it will be a tough job. Firing a furnace for twelve hours a day in this climate will soon cause you to lose weight. The wages will be equivalent to a dollar and a quarter per day, and you will be working in com- petition with Chinese labourers. Still, it’s the only job there is, so you can suit your- self.” Poor Steve readily agreed to tackle the job, and a few days later, stripped to the

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212 waist and with Berspiration, rolling down his body, he was shovelling coals into a furnace. The factory was a small one, situated in Papeete, and produced copra for the export trade. Engaged at his laborious task, which did not call for much mental exertion, Steve had plenty of time for reflection. How long, he wondered, would it take him to save up enough money to get him back to dear old ’Frisco? On his pay it was as much as he could do to secure the bare necessities of life, and in spite of rigorous self-denial he could not conceive of any possibility of raising the desired amount within at least a year! A year! The very thought of it almost broke his heart ! Whether he would have lasted so long or not will never be known, for on the next arrival of the Frisco boat he was fortunate in encountering Fred Adams, one of her firemen, who was an old friend of ‘‘ Shorty’s.”” Adams listened sympathetically while Steve told his tale of woe, and then willingly agreed to advance the fare home, asking only the assurance of its return as soon as possible. Twelve days later, garbed in a soiled and torn Palm Beach suit, Steve pushed his way through the crowds on Market Street. He was happy indeed to be back in ’Frisco, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. though still suffering both mentally and physically from his experiences in Tahiti. e wanted to get hold of ‘Shorty’ and tell him what he thought of his advice, but it was not until three months later that “Shorty ” arrived back from Japan. Mean- while his friends, whilst regretting the misfortunes which had befallen Steve, managed somehow to find a humorous side to the story, and he became the butt of many jokes. Hearing Bremson’s pathetic story on his return from the Orient, ‘‘ Shorty ” gave it as his opinion that there was nothing wrong with his counsel; Steve himself had been solely to blame for not getting himself registered and for being so foolish as to carry his money about with him. The next time he went abroad, ‘“ Shorty” added, he had better get some responsible person to take charge of him. A sadder and wiser man, Steve went back to the bedstead factory and was lucky enough to secure his old job. When last heard of he had settled down quite con- tentedly to the painting of iron bedsteads, having apparently abandoned for ever his dreams of the simple life in a South Sea and. “THE MAN WITH THE BURIED HEAD.” N connection with the great festivals that periodically take place in India, one comes across many weird characters, some of them most picturesque. Among the huge crowds of pilgrims, beggars and fakirs are to be seen in consider- able numbers, and no matter how undeserving, they contrive to obtain many gifts of money, rice, and other things. The fakirs include in their ranks charlatans of every descrip- tion, who do not hesitate to stoop to flagrant decep- tion to get money from the simple villagers. In some cases the beggars and fakirs really undergo considerable suffering as a kind of pen- ance, or a means of extract- ing alms, but very frequently trickery is resorted to. The man seen in the accom- panying photograph has a large quantity of soil piled over his head, and tothe on- looker his position certainly appears most uncomfortable ; one wonders how on earth he manages to breathe. Though there is some measure of trickery about the business, it is none the less remarkable that he can remain in this position for hours on end in the broiling sun, obtaining relief only when evening comes. The soil is really piled up over an inverted wicker basket, in which a consider- able opening is cut on the far side, away from the spectators. As the trick is usually played near a wall, it is possible for this ventilation-hole to be hidden from the view of any save the most inquisitive. The inevitable bowl for the offer- ings of the passers-by will be scen on the right.

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213 TWO YEARS IN BORNEO mmm a + 0 re oo Z Oscar Cook LATE DISTRICT OFFICER NORTH BORNEO CIVIL SERVICE ILLUSTRATED BY CYRIL HOLLOWAY Beyond the fact that it lies somewhere out East, and is hot and unhealthy, the average man in the street knows very little about Borneo. Mr. Cook spent eight years in the country, and here gives a very interesting account of the last two strenuous years of his sojourn. In this instalment he tells a weird story of a haunted house. 1 official seemed more securely settled in his district than I in Kota Belud, North Borneo, but my _ transfer occurred with startling suddenness. The telephone bell rang, and I recognized the District Officer’s voice. As he spoke I Tealized that his news would not be ordinary, for there was a quality of sombreness in his tone that was unmistakable. “That you, Cook?” “Yes. What is it?” “The Commissioner’s dead.” “Good heavens! How?” “Drowned. He was out sculling before breakfast. Never came back. They found his boat and later his body. It’s rotten!” “ But what was it? The weather’s fine. Was it one of his fits?” “ They think so. He must have had one while sculling.”” “Poor old chap! . . . It was never really safe for him to be alone. ws I put the receiver back. “Sergeant,” 1 said, ‘‘ the Tuan Commissioner is dead. Lower the flag to half-mast. You all loved him here, and this is his old district.”” Then I went to my house, but the telephone pursued me. It was the D.O. again. “That you?” “Yes,” “News just through from the GS. I’m to go back to Kudat. You're to come down here as Acting D.O.” And so I went, the New Year of spending 1gt7 at The Author. Tengilan—and a very curious experience I had to begin with. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE. Many houses, perhaps nearly all the European houses, in Borneo are said to be berhantu (haunted) by the natives, but this haunted house at Tengilan is the only one I know of in which the Europeans put much faith. My host’s predecessor had seen the ghost—had even shot at it; and he was the most matter-of-fact, phlegmatic man I ever met. There wasn’t an ounce of romance or mystery in him. ‘My own host had seen the ghost and was often disturbed by it, and he was a shrewd, long-headed planter, a man of business, of facts and figures, and a scoffer at the mystic. And then I, know- ing nothing at all about the ghost, was also disturbed. I was staying there for the night, and after dinner my host and I yarned till about half-past ten. Most of the time, I remember, we were talking “‘ shop”; cer- tainly we touched upon nothing psychological; our ‘ good- nights ’’ were quite ordinary and in-no way tinged with an element of the supernatural. I could hear him moving about in his room, saw him dim his lamp, and could de- tect the faint glow of his night- light. Then I lowered my own lamp and climbed into bed. “ Nighty night, old thing,” I called out,

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214 “ Good-night,” reply. Then all was quiet. I heard eleven o'clock strike, and fell asleep. Suddenly I was awake—wide awake—but I had not awakened with a start. I was not strung up or excited. Nothing, no sound nor presence, as far as I knew, had aroused me. I was simply awake. I turned on to my left came back his sleepy THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The dividing doors were closed. Along the dining-room and out into the veranda went the footfalls. The creak of the gates reached my ears, and I heard the closing of the latch. Down the steps the footsteps clumped, out into the garden—then came silence. ‘‘ What's the matter ?’’ I wondered, and fell asleep. When I entered the veranda next morning my host was already there. He paused with a cup half-way to his mouth. “Morning, R.M.O.,’’ he -growled. He was never very talka- tive just after get- ting up. I answered cheerily and busied myself with the tea-pot. Then, under cover of choosing a piece of toast, I studied his face. He showed no signs of having spent a disturbed night. Suddenly he glanced up and caught my eye. Kota Belud, North Borneo. side, looked at my watch, saw it was after one o'clock, closed my eyes, and was about to fall asleep when I heard footsteps coming up the steps that led from the garden to the front door. I listened. Slowly the footsteps mounted the stairs. Then I heard the catch of the low wooden gate pulled back and a creak as the doors were opened. Down the full length of the veranda came the footfalls, and passed into the dining-room. Whoever it was kept straight on, for I heard the noise of the doors that shut off the room from the passage leading to the kitchen being opened and the footsteps went along this passage. Then they halted. “ Boy!’ The call was clear and decisive, but 1 failed to recognize the voice. There came no answer. “Boy!” This time the call was sharper, and there was impatience in its tone. Still no reply. For a while silence. Then the footsteps descended the stairs that led from the passage to the kitchen, halting on the bottom step. “Boy!” The call was long, loud, and anery; but still no answer came. Again silence. Then up the stairs came the fuotsteps, and back along the passage. of Well?” he asked. ‘‘ What is it?” “ Nothing,” I answered curtly. “‘Then why are you looking at me like that?” “Sorry, old thing; didn’t know I was looking at you. I was only wondering: 2 “Yes?” “What you were up to last night— walking all over the house and shouting for your boy?” “Then you heard it, too?” He asked the question with evident relief. “It? What’s it? I heard you come up the steps, open the gates, and then walk to the back. You called ‘ Boy!’ three times, but there was no answer. Then you walked back through the house and down the stairs. What was wrongie ca “Nothing! Nothing was wrong, and I never moved from my room till this morning. It was G——” ‘‘G——! What on earth do you mean ? Who's G—— ?” “You know,” he answered. ‘ The man who was here before my predecessor. He died in your room—on your bed. The doctor visited him one day, hearing he was ill, and gave him just five minutes to live. Old G—— just managed to sit up in bed, smiled, and asked for a cigarette. He smoked awhile

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and chatted, and then the cigarette fell from his lips and he dropped back dead. He’s buried in the gar- den, just on the slope of the hill below your win- dow. An awful pity. He was a nice chap, but—’’ Then [ remem- bered. I had met G—— once, in Ig12, at a race- meeting in Jes- selton. I looked at my host for a second or two, trying to decide whether he was pulling my leg. He was perfectly serious. “ And that—that was G—— last night ?”’ I managed to stammer at last. “Mes,/" “‘ But, good heavens, man! ”’ I exclaimed. “You don’t mean—you can’t—why, it’s preposterous ! ”’ “T know,’”’ he spoke slowly. “ It sounds absurd, doesn’t it? But the last man who was here went through it, saw him, spoke to him, and one night even shot him!” “ Shot him ?” “Yes—and there isn't much mysticism he’s as unimaginative as a turni : “All the buts in the world won't alter matters. He’s seen him, J've seen him, and you've heard him. It’s there and it happens, and it’s always the same. Get on with your tea; then we'll go and look at his grave. I The station at Kota Belud. are seen in the foreground. The Author and his sergeant of police TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 215 A District Officer’s quarters. always inspect it twice a month and put a coolie on to cleaning it up. To-day’s the day.” What, I wondered, was spook G. "Ss spirit wanting as it wandered through the house ? What was the message, conscious or unconscious, that was conveyed in that thrice-repeated call for “Boy”? All three of us read the riddle differently, according to our own ideas, and if my own solution and subsequent action have given him some little peace, 1 am content. ; The Tengilan estate seemed destined to give me thrills, for some time afterwards I visited it to assess some damage which had been done to trees there by a dissatisfied coolie. This entailed a long walk to almost the far end of the estate, and my two com- panions and myself did not return to the house until nearly eleven o'clock, All three of us, without changing, flopped into longchairs and in the cool of the veranda dozed off into that light sleep which is akin to semi- consciousness. Without warn- ing, our Deace was suddenly dis- turbed. Loud voices, excitedand angry, came up the hin and ap- proached the house. Shuffling footsteps drew near; then stopped. “Tuan! Tuan!” came the cry ina strident Chinese voice. Still I pretended slum- ber. The footsteps climbed up two steps, and then stopped.

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216 “Tuan ! Tuan !"’ came the cry again. “Tuan! Here's a ,wounded man, and he’s bleeding profusely.” In an ‘nstant I was out of my chair and leaning over the veranda railing. A second later the others were alongside me. On the path stood three Chinamen, two of whom were supporting the third, whose face and clothes were literally covered in blood. I had hardly begun to question them as to what had happened when a horrid feeling crept over me. | strove to shake it off, but it persisted. I was going to faint! There was just one chance that I might prevent it. Spluttering something about getting a smoke I went to the table, picked up a cigarette, déliberately dropped it on the floor, and stooped to pick it up. My fingers and thumb THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. were just touching it when—flop! I knew nothing more till what seemed ages and ages later I dimly heard someone saying. “He's the deuce of a time coming round. Do you think. da Then I opened my eyes and saw both my companions looking at me. “Sit quiet,” said one, as I struggled to sit up; ‘* you've flopped pretty badly, so take it quietly.” “But what's the matter —what’s hap- pened to that nasty-looking Chinaman ?” I asked. “Gone to wash his face. He’s got a gash or two. His pals will come back when they've left him in the hospital.” With that I lay back in my chair and closed my eyes, for I felt absurdly weak. I opened them again as footsteps approached “Both tried to speak at once; both were outa

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st hie daa ell 8 from outside. The two Chinese were returning. Out of consideration for me, so that I could hear their story from the depths of my long chair, they were allowed upon the veranda. “ Well?” I questioned. And then they burst forth. Both tried to speak at once; both were so excited that they could hardly splutter out a coherent word, and an excited Chinaman talking Malay is about the most incoherent thing on earth. But by dint of questioning and cross-questioning and repeated stoppings we managed to elucidate their story. AN OFFICIAL INTERLUDE. A village about two miles away was holding a small ‘ drunk.” Our coolies had so excited that they could hardly splutter coherent word.” TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 217 looked in en passant, so to speak. The Murut policeman in charge of them had a decided leaning towards bahr, the local drink of fermented coco-nut water. The coolies who looked after the telephone line from Tengilan to Kota Belud also ‘‘ dropped in.” The three Chinese, who were plank cutters on the estate, were working close by, and had been attracted by the sounds of revelry. Most of those present were drunk ; some were very drunk; the policeman and the telephone mandor (overseer) were the drunkest of all. The inevitable quarrel arose, and the policeman and the mandor set upon the oceans Chinaman as the cause of it all. Before he realized he was being attacked the policeman had picked up his rifle. and swung at him. He only partially dodged the blow, and in doing so bumped the mandor so hard that the latter fell down. In an in- stant the overseer had regained his feet, and picking up a heavy stick that was lying on the floor, rushed at the Chinaman and struck him a glancing blow on the head. Then the police- man had an in- spiration. He would |shoot the Chinaman like the dog he was! With trembling _ fingers he fumbled at his pouch and ex- tracted a cartridge which he rammed into the breech of his rifle. But the inmates of the house waited no longer. They fled, and the Chinaman with them. As they ran in all directions they heard shot after shot being fired— at least four or five. I knew that policeman and mandor well, A certain amount of drink in either and there was always Hades to pay. I rose from my chair. “ Lend me arevolver,” I saia.

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218 ‘We must see into this ; there may be much doing, but, on the other hand, we may have some fun,” “ But you're not going?” “Tam,” L interrupted. “ I’m D.O. here, and those two scoundrels are playing the fool in the kampong ”’ (village). “You're not fit. He isn't fit, is he?’ and my nost appealed to the vet.’s medical knowledge. But I disregarded the latter's shake of the head and overruled their objec- tions, and ten minutes later we were running at a jog-trot to the scene of action. As we approached the house we could see no signs of life, but two raucous voices yelling from within told us our quarry was there. There was little danger unless the policeman had retained a cartridge or two—an unlikely proceeding, I thought, in his present con- dition—but there were the usual two doors to the house and one window, all of which we covered. We waited till there came a lull in the drunken yelling, of which I took immediate advantage. “ Bensaian ” (such was the policeman’s name) ‘ Bensaian!’’ I called out, “ what are you doing here? And where are the coolies with my barang ?” A loud and hurried whispering took place in the house and just reached our ears. Then in a husky, shaky voice, the policeman gasped: “ Tuan!’ There was fright in the tone, too. “Well?” I demanded sharply. “What do you want?’ hiccupped Bensaian, who was apparently too drunk to realize that his mode of address was rude. I gratified his curiosity, however, and told him that all I wanted was that he and the mandor should come to me as I had some orders to give them. Without a murmur they both came out, for the fumes of the liquor were now wearing off, and my unexpected arrival had startled them into a realization of their actions and the probable nasty consequences that must follow. So thoroughly frightened were they that Bensaian even left his ritle, belt, and parang on the floor of the house. Thus the affair fizzled out, and we had had no fun, but only a hot two-mile walk back under the rays of the midday sun. Soon after this episode my period as Acting District Officer came to an end, and I returned to Kota Belud, only to be once more transferred—this time to the Labuk and Sugut as Acting District Officer. A farewell dance was given by my people in my honour, and far into the night I sat watching Dusuns and Bajaus vying with each other. And in no way does the North Keppel Bajau differ “more from the Bajau of the East coast than in his dancing. Here there were no individual _ per- formances, no snake-like movements, nor THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. preposterous capers, but a concerted dance called ‘ berumgsai.”’ A WONDERFUL DANCE. The dancers—mostly men—form a semi- circle, and then join hands, while the man at tne end of the line holds in his disengaged hand a silken duster or handkerchief. Then slowly the nearly-completed circle begins to gyrate to a measured step in unison—two steps to the side, then one to the front and one to the back, repeated again and again as the line swings slowly round. From the head of the column a voice breaks into song—a pantoon, or love-call to some maiden. Gently at first the singer woos his sweetheart with words of timid, hesi- tating devotion; but as the movement quickens, the steps grow faster, and the warm blood races through his veins, so does he throw all hesitation to the winds and words of impassioned beauty and throbbing longing fall from his lips. Just for a moment he ceases, but in that short time his com- rades have caught the spirit of his emotion and in one loud shout, that breaks through all restraint, they lend their aid and a mighty chorus rings round the rafters of the room. Then for a second there is silence, save for the noise and beat of the ever-restless feet. Slower and slower the circle swings, and for a few paces reverses; then once again comes the forward movement, once again the singer calls to his love. And now the note has altered; under the words of protestation and pleading lurks an undis- guised passion. Faster the circle flies, stronger and more insistent becomes the beating of the feet, till every movement of the swaying singers is vibrant with intense abandonment, with a subtle and alluring call. In the corner of the room, watching, hesitating, longing, are three maidens. Their eyes are downcast and they look demure, yet their hands are nervously twisting and untwisting, their bare feet unconsciously beating time. Faster and faster the circle is turning, louder and louderggrows the insistent call. Then the man at the end flicks the hand- kerchief. Lightly it brushes a maiden’s hair, She gasps, trembles, and shudders, but her fingers unconsciously clutch its folds. She has answered the call and made her surrender, And as the circle closes about her and the singers, triumphant, pause to take breath, her high plaintive voice is heard gently calling, pleading for love and respect. Wagan, the headquarters of the Labuk and Sugut district, was an hour's steam up the Labuk river and eight hours distant from Sandakan, in which residency the dis- trict is situated. There was no telephone or telegraph, and communication was entirely by sea. A launch visited Labuk

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Tobacco Estate, which was a few miles upstream from Klagan, twice a month. Apart from this launch there were four Chinese tongkongs (large sailing boats), which, according to trade and _ sailing conditions, plied between Sandakan and Kagan. Swamps and jungle, hills and river, a heavy rainfall and frequent floods; a scattered migratory population that lived practically upon the tiver banks or the higher ridges of the hills; a mixture of races, chiefly primi- tive, backward and superstitious > a to- bacco estate and three timber camps widely scattered; a long open coast line, dotted with islands, that stretched from Sanda- kan to the eastern- most point of Maruda Bay. Such was my new district. Over the whole ter- titory there broods an air of sombreness ; there is a feeling of impending calamity. It is as if, though the sun shines, its rays possess no warmth, and so the hearts of men and beasts lack that sense of joy and Gaiety which is the very essence of life. The souls of men become dwarfed till they seem but midgets and incidentals to the mighty tropical growths. Klagan itself is an island, hemmed in by the river, from whose banks stretch vast swamps and jungles, creating the feeling of a beleaguered garrison holding out against an encircling foe. Something of what the gloomy solitude of Klagan meant came to me when I met the D.O. from whom I was taking over. To say that he was nervy was putting it mildly, and he was filled with Dusun women. TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 219 the one idea of putting as many miles as possible between himself and Klagan in the shortest space of time. As we passed the office he made a move- ment as if he wished to turn in there; then he looked at me in a half-frightened kind of way. 1 took no notice, but as I walked slowly on I could see him struggling between hospitality and desire. And desire won. His hand was shaking as he put it on my sleeve to detain me. I waited, but gave him no encouragement. Then words came. “ That’s the office!” I nodded. It was a self-evident fact. “ There’s a lot to tell you about, and many papers to ex- plain. When would you like to ‘take over’?” The last words came out with a rush, I looked at him. Poor fellow! He sim- ply could not hide his dread and loathing of the district. His joy at departure was al- most more than he could bear. To be done with it all was his dominant idea! But I was adamant ; I was hungry and dis- liked haste. “Later,” I said, an- swering his query as gently as I could; “a little later, if it’s all the same to you, for just at the moment there’s only one thing that interests me, and it’s not connected with work.” He looked surprised and then said, ‘‘ You mean—breakfast ?”’ I nodded assent and we continued our way to the house, and as I went I could not help wondering what manner of man I myself should be by the time I was due to be relieved in my turn. (To be continued.) ,

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220 Che (-romotton f——~-.... Private Smith was a young soldier im the American Army, stationed in the Philippines, and he found military life very irksome. Just when his endurance was at the breaking-point ~ temptation came his way— and then a number of very exciting things IRST-LIEUTENANT CARTER was seated at a desk in his quarters in Malate Barracks, outside the walled city of Old Manila. He raised his eyes from the ration-return and glanced at the soldier who stood in the doorway. “What is it, Smith?” he asked. Private John T. Smith was hardly past the recruit stage as a soldier, and was plainly ill at ease. For the moment he had forgotten the military rule to stand at “attention ’”’ when address- ing an officer. He brought his right hand to the brim of his campaign hat in an awkward salute, and replied with emotion: “ The Top (first- sergeant) has been ridin’ me ever since I’ve been with the company. Ain't I entitled to my rights, sir ? "’ “* Your rights ! ’’ exclained the lieutenant, who was in temporary command of the company. ‘‘ Who told He paused, and regarded the man sternly. “The lower button of your blouse is un- buttoned, Smith. Did you know that ?” Smith flushed red and buttoned his blouse. “No doubt it’ ’s your own fault that you get into trouble,” continued the officer. ‘‘ As yee John ; Cahoon. ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN CAMERON , PRIVATE SMITH “The story is absolutely true,” states Capt. Cars “though names of persons and places have been changed, as I am anxious that individuals should not be identified from the U.S. War Department records. The inside’ facts of the affair are now told for the first time.” to your rights, remember that in theory a soldier has no rights except such as may be granted by those higher in rank. This applies to me, the colonel, and the general commanding the army just as it does to you and all the other enlisted men. In the army one never gets so high in rank that one cannot be checked by somebody higher up. Don’t forget that, Smith. Military discipline is a peculiar institution, a little different from anything else.” Private Smith shifted his weight to the other foot. “Stand at attention!” snapped the lieutenant. “What is your specific grievance against the first-sergeant ? ”” ‘‘ He said my ritle wasn’t cleaned properly,” replied Smith, ‘‘and I spent two hours an’ a bottle of benzine on it. After inspection he called me to the orderly-room an’ told me I could have my choice of a week's kitchen police or standin’ a ‘summary.’ I’ve never been before a court-martial, but_ the Top's got it in for me som’thin’ fierce. I’m tired 0” bein’ handed the dirty end o’ the stick all the time, sir.”’ “Can't you find rather more refined language in which to express your thoughts?” asked the lieutenant, sharply.

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THE PROMOTION OF PRIVATE SMITH. “Well, I'm tired of havin’ the Top ridin’ me roughshod all the time, sir,” said the private, with a note of despair in his voice. “If he keeps it up I’m liable to do somethin’ desperate—unless I can get a transfer.” “No transfers are being made just now,” explained the officer. ‘I’m sorry, but I should be exceeding my duty if I mitigated your punishment. Did you get permission from the first-sergeant to speak to the company commander ? ” “I did—in a way,” replied Smith. “ The Top told me if I wasn’t satisfied I could see the lieutenant.” “How long have you been in the service ?” “One year, one month, and three days, sir,” answered the private slowly. are in the hancs of the non-commiss: officers. I can’t upset discipline by inter- fering. As you know very well, there’s only one crime in the army that can’t be over- looked and forgiven, and that’s refusing to do as you are told by an official superior. A word to the wise is sufficient. No one in authority will tell you to do anything you can't or shouldn’t do. Remember that.” Having delivered this peroration the lieu- tenant picked up the ration-return with a gesture of finality. Smith saluted and turned away, still very ted in the face. He started towards the barracks, but was half tempted to return and tell the lieutenant that he would take the court-martial in preference to doing the kitchen duty. A moment’s reflection, however, convinced him that this would be foolish. Nevertheless he was boiling with wounded pride and an acute sense of injustice and humiliation. He was sure ‘that he was being treated “dirty,” and felt that he did not deserve the punishment. Returning to his quarters, Smith donned his fatigue uniform and reported to the cook, who allotted him the pleasant task of washing and polishing pots and pans. Smith was in such a frame of mind an hour later, when he was set to peel a bushel of “ spuds,” that most of the edible portions of the tubers were sliced off with the peelings. The cook was a big, raw-boned, stoop- shouldered Frenchman, who swelled with pride when addressed as “‘ cief.” He had served twenty-odd years in the American Army, possessed a brutal disposition, and had the reputation of disposing of much of the soldiers’ rations to civilians for his own profit. When he saw the potatoes he glanced at Smith and swore loudly and long, using a choice assortment of domestic and imported profanity. At last he paused for breath, took a second look at the devastating work 221 of his newly-acquired third assistant kitchen policeman, and ordered him to his quarters, to remain there until five minutes before mess-call, Smith entered the nearly-empty squad- room and flung himself full length on his cot. Some minutes went by, and then there came a bustle outside. “Fall in—all of yez!’? yelled Corporal Shannon, through the barrack door. ‘ Hurry up!” A moment later ‘“‘ assembly ’’ was blown, the men fell in, and the roll was called. A certain number of soldiers, designated by name and rank, were next told off and instructed to prepare for a three days’ “hike,” with emergency rations and two hundred extra rounds of ammunition apiece. “Where are they goin’ ?”’ asked Smith of his ‘ bunkie,’’ Corporal Cowart, a lean Georgian who had entered the squad-room after falling out. “ To the lines north of Manila,” replied the corporal, “Are they fighting out there?” asked Smith. ““T should say so!” replied Cowart. “ About ten miles up the San Juan road the gugus (insurgents) are thicker than the hair on a dog's back. General X- was killed yesterday, and a lot of wounded are being brought in to the First Reserve Hospital.” “Wish I was up there,” growled Smith. “Well, the whole outfit is going pretty soon,” the corporal told him. ‘‘ They tell me there are deserters from our army with the insurgents. They lead our ‘little brown brothers ’ and furnish the backbone of their resistance and their best sharpshooters. The General was drilled through with a Mauser or Krag bullet as he was leading his brigade near the San Juan bridge, and I heard he was shot by one of our deserters.” “Do I go?” asked Smith. “Was your name called?” “I don't think so,’’ replied Smith. “‘ The Top called Ed. M. Smith, an’ Henry H., but not John T. Smith.” “Thank your stars you don’t have to go,” said the corporal. ‘‘ Hikin’ over dusty roads with blistered feet, sprawled out in caribou wallows, an’ drinking jungle water that gives you fever an’ dysentery isn’t any fun, to say nothing of the chance of being carved into shoe-strings by the gugus, or having your brains bashed out with a slug from an old rusty shot-gun or a bamboo cannon.” “Are there many of our deserters with Aguinaldo’s army ? ” asked Smith. “ They tell me quite a few renegades have jumped out since comin’ over here,”’ replied Cowart slowly. “‘ I’ve never met one of ‘em personal! y—yet.” He jerked open the magazine of his rifle and added quictly: ‘ If I ever do, he'll get his introduction to me with a soft-nosed bullet from my Krag.”

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222 He paused, then looked at Smith with new interest. ‘ You ain't thinkin’ of desertin’, are you ?”’ he demanded. “No,” replied Smith. “ You're in the army now, kid,” continued the corporal, not unkindly. “ It’s Hades the way they rub it in sometimes—but what can you do?” “You can’t do a thing,”’ replied Smith. “My dad served through the Civil War, an’ I don’t want anything like desertion against my record. Anyway, a fellow hasn't a chance to get away from these islands.” The following day, as the corporal had announced, the regiment assembled from different stations and marched proudly away to the front. Private John T. Smith, however, was left at the old Quartel de Espafiol with a num- ber of convalescing patients, “ chronics,”’ casuals, and camp-guards. It was gall and wormwood to Smith to be compelled to stand frequent guards and afterwards return immediately to the disagreeable work of the kitchen. He doubted the legality of his punishment, but wisely refrained from saying anything to those in authority, for he was not anxious to acquire the reputation of a “‘ guard-house lawyer.” He was nobody's fool by no means, and knew enough of the army to realize that, in certain circumstances, as the Lieutenant had said, a soldier had no rights. “ Pay-day ten days off, an’ me without a cent in my jeans!’ said Smith in disgust to Beemis, the acting hospital steward. He had run across Beemis in front of a native wineshop a short distance from the barracks. The acting steward was ogling two Tagalog girls, who grinned expansively from behind the counter. “Chino Ling Hi will loan you ten pesos if you leave your right eve an’ teeth as security,” said Beemis, smiling. ‘ You'll have to put up six dollars’ worth of canteen checks as additional security, an’ pay him back fourteen pesos on pay-day.” “ T don’t want money so badly as that,” replied Smith. ‘I wish I was back home. I'd show ’em a thing or two ” “ Ah, you want monee ?” said a fat, well- dressed mestizo, who had paused in front of the wine-shop. ‘I buy you a dreenk,” he continued. With that he placed a peso on the counter and motioned for the girl to open three bottles of beer. Smith hesitated. He had no intention of being patronized by a native, mestizo or Eurasian. Beemis, however, accepted the invitation with alacritv, and Smith picked up the third bottle with thawing condescen- sion, If Beemis, a non-commissioned officer, could drink with this man, he saw no great reason why Private Smith, lately a recruit and now disgraced and under a cloud, should not. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Don Juan Antonio de Lopez, M.D., F.R.C.S., B.A., Alcalde of Batangas, and several other things, was a man of apparent leisure. He belonged to a wealthy and powerful family, who owned many square miles of land in Southern Luzon, thousands of coconut trees and cattle, and much other property. Their dependents and retainers numbered thousands. They were more Filipino than Spanish, but they liked to pose as Spanish. Truly or falsely, they claimed they could trace their ancestry to a proud and noble family of Castile. Don Juan, therefore, was not exactly a ‘“ native,” and would have greatly resented being called so, though it was a fact that his complexion was decidedly dusky. Several more bottles of beer, paid for by the generous Don Juan, placed Smith in a better humour, and by the time he returned to his quarters he was singing. A few hours later he was pacing backwards and forwards on Post No. 3, which was in front of the ordnance depot and ammunition magazine. He shifted Ins rifle from one shoulder to the other and surreptitiously extracted a small photograph from an inside pocket. Long and earnestly he gazed at the portrait of a_laughing-eyed, mischievous-looking girl. Clipped to the upper edge of the photograph was a wisp of fine-spun golden hair. So intently did he study the picture that he failed to hear footsteps stealthily approach- ing from the rear, Suddenly he was galvanized into activity by a curt: ‘Come out of it! Wake up! What do you think this is—a séance ? ” Smith turned about, at the same time thrusting the photograph into his trousers’ pocket. He found himself facing a corporal named Barton, who was making a tour of the posts with a view to “gingering up ” the sentries. At this time a formal guard was not mounted, owing to the fact that the bulk of the regiment was at the front. “Walk yer post, an’ don’t stand moonin’ about as if ye was hypnotized,” growled the corporal, and hurried on toward the next post. After being relieved at 7 p.m., Smith went to his quarters and divested himself of his rifle, belt, bayonet, and ammunition. Then he hurried to the mess-hall, got his food, and an hour later returned to the squad- room for a half-hour’s ‘“‘ bunk fatigue.” After a time, growing weary of the deserted squad-room, he left the barracks and walked down to the Luneta. Paying scant heed to the strollers of many nationalities who were listening to the band he crossed the park until, nearing the bay, he threw himself at full length on the beach. Removing his campaign hat, he allowed the cool breeze to blow through his hair. Suddenly a shadow fell across the sand and, turning his head, he beheld the bulky figure of Don Juan Lopez. The mestizo was

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THE PROMOTION OF PRIVATE SMITH. faultlessly clad in white linen and a Panama hat ; a large diamond sparkled in his immaculate shirt front. “You, too, take the air ?’’ he said. “How are you, Don Juan ?”’ replied Smith. “T am excellent, thank you, sefior,”” said Lopez. With that he ex- tracted a jewelled and monogrammed case from his pocket and proffered Smitha perfumed cigarette. “You no. like guard and policeman of the cocina?” “YT don’t mind the guard-duty so much,’ replied Smith, “ but I sure do hate the kitchen police.” He looked keenly at the mestizo, and continued, ‘If I was in ’Frisco Barracks I think I’d go over the hill.” “Over the hill?” repeated Don Juan in a puzzled tone. “What you mean?” “T mean I'd hike it—jump out; take a walk and never come back; leave the army — desert. Do you get me?” Smith explained. “Ah, yes!” re- plied Don Juan. “I no speak the English as you do, but the German, yes. Two years’ study in Hei- delberg and three at Seville and Madrid 1 spent.” He took a newspaper from a hip pocket, spread it carefully on the sand, and sat down. “* How would you like to have veree much dinero—oro?" he asked insinuatingly. “Say, don't ask me silly questions,” growled Smith. “If I had five hundred pesos I’d be off from this army. You see that Sydney tramp layin’ at anchor?” he continued, pointing seaward. “Yes, mi amigo,” replied Don Juan. “What of it?” “‘She sails in a couple of days for Hong “Wake up! What do you think thi: 223 is—a séance?” Kong,” replied Smith. “If I had enough money I'd buy an outfit of civilian clothes, go aboard her, an’ leave this forsaken country for ever.” He gazed longingly towards the ship and added: ‘* Why do you ask me if I’d like money, Don Juan? Do you know where I can get any ?” . Lopez glanced cautiously in every direc- tion. Then, with the air of a born con- spirator, he lowered his voice and answered : “The question is not sillee. Most assuredly 1 can get for you two, three—yes, five thousand pesos gold, mi amigo.” “What have I got to do to get it ?”’ asked Smith.

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224 His voice showed both interest and sus- picion. He raised his body to a sitting posture and regarded the mestizo intently. “I suppose you want me to blow up the Bridge of Spain or assassinate the Governor- General ?”” he continued. “ Nix on that stutf!’” “You to do nothing, scarcely,” replied Don Juan guardedly. “ Nothing at all.” He was silent for a moment and then -asked: ‘‘ When will you guard the arsenal once more ? ” “Day after to-morrow night,” replied Smith. ‘ We’ve got to stand guard ‘bout half the time since the outtit went to the front, but we don't mount regularly. I have to go on post an’ do kitchen police as well, by order of the top-kicker. He said my rifle was dirty when it was clean.” “Good,” said Don Juan. “ Now you are sure you want this monce—five thousand pesos in gold?” “Sure I want it,” replied Smith, crypti- cally. ““Very good, mi amigo,” said Don Juan. There was a note of confidence and relief in his voice, as if the matter were already settled. In a low voice he continued: “ Remember, I want you to do nothing.” He paused until a couple of passing Europeans were out of ear-shot and then, with many gesticulations, went on :— “While vou are on post between eleven and one a.m. a carometta will drive up to the Orient entrance of the Calle Cristobal. Four patriots will enter the compound and open rear window of arsenal. I have spoken with the Tagalog native who sweeps fluor to unfasten the window from inside before he leaves. These gallant soldados of our army of liberation will enter arsenal and carry the titles to the window. Others will take them to a banca moored in the Rio Passic. Before your time comes to leave post, these noble patriots will have transferred many rifles, revolvers, and much ammunition.” He paused to note the ettect of his words, peering at Smith in the dim electric light. For the first time for many days Smith felt like laughing, but his face remained immo- bile and expressionless. “What then? ’’ he asked, “Then,” said Don Juan, triumphantly, “the banca and a string of others loaded with rice, hay, and carne will be towed up the Rio Passic to the Laguna de Bay, with you and I aboard. My steamer, the Ciudad del Caraga, will tow the bancas. They will be unloaded and the cargo landed at a point on the daguna not known to the Amcricanos,” “Where do I come in?” asked Smith. Don Juan thought for a moment before he replied: ‘ You will be given the rank of a colonel in our patriotic army of libera- tion and five thousand dollars gold.” “So that’s his game!” thought Smith. ” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I'd better draw him out while he thinks he has me.” He was silent for a moment, apparently thinking the offer over, and then remarked : “Your dinero talk sounds good. When do I draw the five thousand bucks ? ” “ The gold will be paid to you after we are aboard La Ciudad del Caraga and have passed. Santa Mesa, where the last Americano block- house is located,”’ said the oily-tongued Don Juan. “Do you know what I'll get if the plan miscarries, or if I’m ever captured after reachin’ your lines?” asked Smith. “ It'll be a firin’ squad or. the hangman’s noose for me at Bilibid. I’d rather take the money and make a bolt for Hong Kong on that Sydney tramp.” Don Juan shrugged his shoulders in the expressive Latin fashion: “ You can do that, mi amigo, if you want not to go with our army of liberation.” “Will you put it in writing that yvou’ll pay me five thousand dollars, an’ advance some earnest-money as a guarantee 0’ good faith ?”’ asked Smith, “Ah, mi amigo, you know a transaction of this sort should not be recorded on papell The evidence might be malo for you and IL. Quien sabe 2” “]’m sure it would be bad for me, Don Juan! In your case it might be different, but I’m a soldier in the United States army.” Don Juan lit another cigarette. evidently thinking. “To show you that I mean business,” he said at length. ‘I will now give you five hundred pesos in currency on the Bango de Espana.” He produced a large wallet and counted from it five yellow bills of one hundred pesos each. These he forced into the hands of the apparently reluctant Smith. “What if I’m not on_post Thursday night ? ” objected Smith. ‘‘ What if I’m sick, or dead, or get put in the ‘ mill’ between now an’ that time ?”’ Don Juan again hunched his shoulders : “ It is all in the game. You want the rest of the money, do you not?” Smith nodded. “Then be sure you are xof sick or in the guard-house. If you are not on post Thurs- day you will be there the following night. Is it not so?” it's not so,” replied Smith ambi- “ But [’ll be there Thursday night > He was all right ! A cunning idea formed at the back of his brain. “I’m tired of this convict’s life o’ drill an’ slavery!’ he flashed out. ‘A soldier is nothing but a paroled prisoner! I hope I'll get a crack at the top-cutter after I join your army. I'll drill him through fourteen different ways an’ then jump on tm his face !

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THE PROMOTION OF PRIVATE SMITH. “ Bravo, mi amigo !’’ exclaimed Don Juan, ‘clapping his hands. ‘ You are a man of Vou. w.16, 225 superior intelligence! No allegiance do you owe to the cruel tyrants who inflict on you harsh and needless punishment! Listen!” he continued in a stage whisper. “ Walk on your post until the fire-arms are transferred. When you hear two short blasts from the steamer’s siren, throw down your rifle and come aboard.” “ The sentries are changed at one o'clock,” said Smith thoughtfully. ‘‘ Begin before midnight an’ be through by a quarter to one. l'll take my rifle aboard with me. Then the corporal won't know what’s become o’ me. Throwin’ my rifle on the ground would be a dead give-away.” “Trust me to work swiftly and to finish in ample time,” replied Don Juan. ‘‘ And now adios, mi amigo, until we meet on Thursday night!" He disappeared towards the Bridge of Spain, and Smith watched him until he was out of sight. Then he thrust the bills into his pocket, glanced stealthi in every direction before rising, and finally walked unconcernedly towards the barracks. On second thoughts he retraced his steps and again sat down on the sand near an electric light. Withdrawing the bills from his pocket, he care- fully examined them. After pay-days he had sometimes changed gold into ‘‘ Mex,” and “He counted five yellow bills of one hundred pesos each. These he forced into the hand of the apparently reluctant Smith.”

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226 had occasionally been the owner of ten and twenty peso notes, but never a hundred- peso note, to say nothing of ive of them. Some men might have lost their heads, but not Smith. “Tl let the gugus carry off a thousand rifles—I don't think!" he said half aloud, as he returned the bills to his pocket. ‘I might desert if I was in the States; they've handed me such a dirty deal I feel like doin’ almost anything. But to go with the gugius —not for me! Don Juan thinks he’s hooked me, but he'll find he’s mistaken.” Returning to barracks Smith went to. the battalion headquarters to communicate his information to the acting major in command. He found no one about but a sentry, who told him the officer was in New Manila, and that it would be impossible to get in touch with him. Returning to the squad-room he went to bed. The next morning he was up half an hour before réveillé and went to the quarters of Captain Davis, the acting major. The door was opened by the captain's ‘* boy,” a bland-faced Japanese, who suavely informed Smith that the captain had not returned and was not expected before nine o'clock. “I wonder what I’d better do? ’’ Smith asked himself nervously. He returned to his quarters, fell in for roll-call, and when the company was dismissed, hurried to the orderly-room. The ranking non-commissioned officer, Sergeant Schroeder, was not there. The mess-call blew, and poor Smith was com- elled to hurry to the mess-hall and assist in serving the morning meal. After breakfast he watched until he saw Sergeant Schroeder enter the orderly-room office. Then, seizing his chance, he ran breathlessly into the office and gasped, “Say! The insurrectos have a plar to rob the arsenal to-morrow night !”’ “ Vat?” snapped the sergeant. He stepped to Smith, took him by the arm, and led him outside the door. “How many dimes must I dell you to knock pefore you enter the orderly-room ? ” he growled. “ You vant to stay on kitchen bolice forefer! Get oud and stay oud until you knock and are admitted in a military manner, as befits a soldier and nod a Tecruit.” Crestfallen, angry, and mortified, Smith stood on the steps, while the sergeant re- entered the office, paying no more attention to him. Smith lifted his hand to knock, hesitated, and then turned away and retraced his steps to the mess-hall. Two hours later, when he had finished his duties in the mess-hall and kitchen, he again visited the headquarters in search of Captain Davis. The adjutant’s ofhce was occupied by an acting battalion sergeant-major and two clerks. One of the clerks informed Smith that Captain Davis had come and gone. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “ The gugus have a plot to rob the arsenal to-morrow night, and I must see the Cap- tain,” Smith told the acting sergeant-major. “What did you say?” asked that worthy in a voice of stiff condescension. . Smith repeated his statement. “T didn't just get you,” said the acting sergeant-major, smiling. “ Will you kindly Tepeat that again?” i “Say, what're you tryin’ to do—make a fool of me?’ demanded Smith angrily. “ Not on your life! Nature saved me the trouble,” replicd the acting sergeant-major with biting sarcasm. The two clerks laughed uproariously at the wit of their official superior, and one of them was encouraged to say: “ What is your name, my man?” ““ Look here, don’t you come that stuff on me!’’ said Smith darkly. ‘ You're only a buck private yourself, even if you do hammer a typewriter instead 0’ walkin’ post as a soldier should. Come outside an’ I'll show you, ‘my man’!” “Get out of here!” cried the acting sergeant-major angrily. ‘“ You're either drunk, or you’ve had a fancy pipe-dream. The idea! Comin’ in here with any old fairy-tale!” In rage and despair Smith left the adjutant’s office. He returned to his quarters, sat down on a locker, and com- menced to clean his rifle with savage energy. “No wonder Benedict Arnold turned traitor!” he told himself. “ I wis~.* -was dead! Oh, how I hate this dog’s lit. 3° é During the next twenty-four hours Smith's temper and spirits did not improve. He made no further effort to communicate his information to his superiors; it seemed utterly hopeless. Before reporting at the guard-house the following day, he turned to page 49 of Tie Soldiers’ Handbook. At Article 46 he read :-— Whosoever holds correspondence With or gives intelligence to the enemy either directly or indirectly, shall suffer death. Another of the Articles of War stated in part :-— . any officer or soldier who, having re- ceived pay, or having been duly enlisted in the service of the United States, deserts same, shall in time of war, suifer death. Farther down the page his eyes caught the following :— Any officer or soldier who . . . abandons any fort, post, or guard which he is commanded to defend, shall suffer death... “Them laws have sure got teeth in ’em!"” mused Smith. Before being assigned to his post that night, he spoke earnestly to the corporal in charge of the relief. “The gugus have a

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THE PROMOTION OF PRIVATE SMITH. plot to rob the arsenal between eleven an’ one o’clock to-night,’ he said. “ Rats !’' replied the corporal, grinning. “Man, it’s true!’ said Smith. “ How do you know it’s true ?’’ asked the corporal, gruttly. Smith reflected before replying. ‘‘ I kriow it’s true, ‘cause I got wind of the plot by hearing a native talk.’ “Do you understand Tagalog?” de- manded the corporal. “No, I don’t,” replied Smith. ‘ They wasn’t talkin’ in Tagalog, or Spanish either. I’m not kidding you. I tried to report it to Captain Davis, but he was not there, an’ the actin’ sergeant-major an’ his bunch 0’ dog-robbers laughed at me, an’ wouldn’t listen.” The corporal knitted his brow. Such Tumours were not new; one could hear them every day. If he paid attention to half the wild stories that came to his ears he would have been crazy in a very short time. For a moment, however, he was tempted to give Smith’s statement serious consideration. Then he remembered that Smith was practi- cally a recruit, and undergoing punishment, moreover, for having a dirty rifle at in- spection. “Well, what are you on guard for ?”’ he asked at last. “To do my duty as a soldier,” replied Smith belligerently. “ All right, then,’ said the corporal. “You are a soldier, I suppose! Don’t you think you can give the alarm if anyone bothers the arsenal? What’s your rifle for ? You've got ball cartridges, haven't you?” “ Yes,” replied Smith, “ but uy “There’s no ‘but’ to it,’ interrupted the corporal. ‘‘ Repeat your general orders.” Smith repeated his orders like a parrot. “ Now fall in!” Smith fell in with the relief, and marched away to post. After receiving the special orders from the sentry he relieved, Smith made one last effort. Turning to the corporal he said: “ Keep the old relief under arms for the next half-hour, in case I fire my ritle or call for the guard.” _ I will not!’ snapped the corporal, in- dignantly. ‘‘ Are you afraid to go on post ? Do you think you'll see a ghost, or what’s the matter with you ? ” A member of the old relief sniggered and nudged the man in front. Smith heard the laugh, and his temper flamed up at once. “Cut that out!” cried the corporal, swinging round on the giggler, “ or I'll have you laughing on the other side of your face.” Then he turned to Smith. “If you fire your piece an’ bring out the guard on a false alarm,” he continued, _ Your belt will be pulled an’ you'll face a eneral,’ You'll find kitchen police a real Pleasure compared with two months in the 227 ‘mill’ and a forty-dollar fine! It’s time you recruits learned to soldier. Keep your eyes and ears open. Post! Relief, forward. March!” As soon as the relief was out of sight, Smith slipped a clip of cartridges into the magazine of his rifle. Then, with a savage oath, he began to walk post. Nearly an hour passed, and he began to breathe easier. Evidently Don Juan and his followers had not been able to muster up sufficient pluck to break into the arsenal. Then, suddenly, a carometta swung round the corner and passed out of sight behind the arsenal. Smith marched to the end of his post. From this point he could look down the Calle Cristobal. The carometta was not in sight; it had either been driven past or had turned up an alley between two tows of native houses. As he watched he saw four men emerge from a blind alley and dart across the street. A moment later the: were fumbling with the window of the arsenal, and presently three of them disappeared through the opening. Smith was undecided how to act. It was clearly out of the question for one man to capture all four. If he gave the alarm by calling for the corporal of the guard they would inevitably escape, yet he had no authority to leave his post and attempt to capture or kill the insurgents himseli. If the corporal came he would certainly find the window open, but the Filipinos would be gone, and in all probability the N.C.O. would discredit Smith's story and accuse him of becoming frightened at an imaginary enemy. Poor Smith was still smarting from the recollections of his former unpleasant exper- iences, and had no desire to repeat them. As he turned, still undecided, he heard a sharp, sibilant sound from the darkness to his left. A moment later the voice of Don Juan reached his ears. “‘ It is I, amigo,” he whispered. ““Qh, it is, is it?’ growled Smith. He took a firmer grip on his rifle. thoughts were in a whirl. “Vf I call Don Juan to me and capture him,” said Smith to himself, ‘ he’ll deny everything. The gugus in the arsenal will get away, and I shall get Hades for arresting Don Juan, who has the biggest kind of a political pull. I’m in a devil of a fix. What shall I do?” : If Smith had any doubts as to the real intentions of the insurgents they were quickly dispelled. Dark figures began moving across the narrow street, carrying the cases of rifles. The number of natives, he noticed, had increased to about a dozen. “I must be sure that the corporal sees the evidence,” muttered the watching Smith. He had made up his mind to a course of action. e He waited impatiently while the insur- His

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228 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gents made a number of trips, marching _ slowly backwards and forwards on_ his post and watching them from the corner of his eyes. They had made five or six journeys from the alley to the window when Smith suddenly wheeled round and shouted “‘ Halt!” A moment later he threw up his rifle and emptied the magazine at a number of dark figures who were carrying a case of rifles from the arsenal. Instantly the rebels dropped the heavy box. Two of theirnumber faded into the shadow, a third darted to- wards the arsenal, the fourth spun round in_ his tracks and dropped to the ground. “Corporal of the Guard! The guard!” yelled Smith, frantically. He ejected the last empty shell, thrust in a fresh clip, and fired rapidly in the general direction of the in- surgents. A moment later there came an answering flash, followed by the bark of an automatic. Smith jerked open the chamber and maga- zine of his Krag, threw in a third clip, and fired five times in rapid succession towards the place from which he had seen the spurt of fire. He heard a muttered curse in Spanish—evidently from Don Juan—and romptly fired five times more. Then he re- loaded. At that moment someone fired twice at Smith, while three shots came from another direction. Smith empted his magazine again, jerked back the bolt of his rifle, and reached for a fresh clip. As he did so a bullet smashed through his right forearm, and simultaneously something struck his head. His rifle fell with a great clatter to the concrete pavement; he staggered for a moment, and then sank back unconscious to the ground. When Smith opened his eyes the sun was shining through the open window. He lay on a white cot between cool linen sheets, and was apparently ‘Number 66” in the “He threw up his rifle and who were carrying surgical ward of the Reserve Hospital. Presently a female nurse bent over him and asked him how he felt. “Sore,” replied Smith, First He raised his left arm to his head, which was throbbing like a drum, and immediateiy a mingled odour of ether, choloroform, and iodoform assailed his nostrils. To his surprise he found that his head was swathed in heavy bandages, while his right arm was splinted and bandaged from wrist to shoulder. “T didn’t know they had Mogul loco- motives in this country,” said Smith. ‘“ Was it a freight train or a volcano that struck me? What happened—did they get the gugus 2” “They sure did,” answered the nurse, “but you mustn’t talk now. The doctor will see you in a few minutes.” “Well, how do you feel?” asked the doctor, as he paused by Smith’s cot. He was followed by the wardmaster, carrying a pad and pencil in his hand. “All right,” replied Smith. “ Except I’m sore all over, an’ especially in my head and arms.” “Do you feel like eating?” asked the doctor. “Yes, sir, I do,” replied Smith. hungry enough to eat anything.” “ All right,” said the doctor. “‘ Place him on light diet to-day and full diet afterwards.” Smith grew rapidly stronger, and a few days later the regiment returned from its “hike.”” No sooner had it arrived than the wondering Smith was visited at the hospital ward by a brigadier-general, his own colonel pm

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THE PROMOTION OF PRIVATE SMITH. 229 emptied the magazine at a number of figures a case of rifles.” and captain, and nearly every one of the enlisted men of his company and battalion. From an obscure recruit tempted to desert and held in mild contempt by the _hard- bitten old soldiers, he suddenly found him- self the most popular and highly esteemed man in the regiment “ Nobody can understand how you did it all by yourself,” said Corporal Cowart. He sat on the edge of the cot and rolled Smith a cigarette. “Two dead gugus were lyin’ in the road ; another one was dead in a native shack, an’ the guard found two others badly wounded. One of ’em died in the hospital next day. A trail o’ blood led to the river bank, an’ they captured the rest of ‘em aboard a banca. They had sixteen tons 0’ powder an’ nine cases o’ rifles. When the guard Teached you they found you lying un- conscious in a pool of blood. Five yards away was Don Juan dead, with four bullet holes in his body. He had been a Beneral in Aguinaldo’s army all the time, and we didn’t tumble ‘to it! The Intelligence Department are only just beginning to get wise to the ways of our ‘little brown friends.’ You did a Bood day’s work when you bumped him off, an’ the skipper is goin’ to make you a corporal.” “Me a corporal, an’ hardly a year in the Service ?” said Smith. Corporal nothing!” said the Top. He had stepped noiselessly through the door at the lower end of the ward, and he stopped at Smith’s cot. In one hand he held an Official-looking paper. _Continued the Top: ‘ The Colonel has Sliven orders that Smith shall be made second duty sergeant in place o’ Sergeant n, transferred to the quartermaster’s department.” Thereupon the first sergeant placed in Smith’s hands the warrant from_ regimental headquarters making him a sergeant. “This warrant dates from the night you were wounded defend- ing the arsenal,’’ continued the crusty old _non- com. ““Your increased ay commences from then.” Smith returned to duty six weeks later resplendent in new chevrons, which the regi- mental tailor attached to his blouse before he was discharged from the hospital. ‘I want to ask you something inportant, sir,” said Smith to the regimental chaplain, whom he met on the porch of the Y.M.C.A. reading-room. “1 will answer you to the best of my ability,’”’ replied the chaplain, with a smile. “What is it?” “Does it make any difference where or how a person obtained some money pro- vided he wants to give it to a good cause ? ” asked Smith, somewhat ambiguously. ““ Tf you have any money to contribute to a good cause, it is not within my province to inquire how it came into your possession,”’ re- plied the Chaplain. ‘I will gladly accept it.” Thereupon Sergeant Smith took from his pocket a roll of native currency. “Here are five hundred pesos which you may place in the athletic association fund, an’ use in any way you please for the good of the men o’ the regiment,” he said. “Sergeant, you’re a real man, sir,” said the chaplain warmly, as he placed the money carefully in an inner pocket. Smith flushed slightly. The Chaplain continued: ‘ I understand the Colonel is going to recommend you for a Congressional Medal or a Certificate of Merit for your heroic conduct in the discharge of your duty.” ““] dont want it, sir,” said Smith, earnestly. ‘‘I think I was sufficiently rewarded when the Colonel made sergeant.”’ With that he saluted the Chaplain and turned towards the street. “Tf the Colonel only knew!’ mused Sergeant Smith, as he retraced his steps to the barracks. ‘‘ But he never will!” he added, with decision. me a

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230 Che Last of the HAVE been asked to write down for THE WIDE WoRLD MAGAZINE an account of the o MRS MARY J.NICHOLAS ILLUSTRATED BY F.E.HILEY two men — par- ticularly Flowers —I shudder to think even now; you could hardly conceive more brutal counten- attack that was made on our house by the last gang of pusbe the “sticking-up” of an rangers in Tas- 2 mania. It hap- the island. pened many years A very interesting story of the old pioneer days in Tasmania—a lady’s vivid account of the last gang of bushrangers that operated in ances—the faces of men capable of the worst of crimes. “‘ Sydney Jim,” after his escape from Port Arthur, isolated station by ago, but most of the details are still quite fresh in my memory. Early in 1869 the country districts were thrown into a state of alarm when it became known that three, notorious characters, known as ‘‘ Wingy,” Flowers, and “ Sydney Jim,” had taken to the bus. A reward of five hundred pounds was offered by the Government for their appre- hension, but owing to the difficulty of com- munication in those days the outlaws remained at large for nearly twelve months. They made their headquarters at the Great Lake, almost in the centre of the island, which was excellently adap ted for the purpose, om the high ranges surrounding it they com- manded_ splendid ‘‘ look- outs’ and could sweep the wide plains for miles around, so that if anyone suspicious approached they had ample time to make good their escape. The leader of the gang, “Sydney Jim,” had escaped from Port Arthur prison some time pre- viously and was considered to be one of the most desperate characters ever incarcerated there. My own experience of him, however, was rather dif- ferent; I feel that if it had not been for him I should not be here to write this account. Of the other Mrs. M. J. Nicholas. worked for two years at Shannon, being employed by Mr. wells, of Southernfield. He was then recognized by another ex-prisoner, who reported him at headquarters, whereupon police were immediately dispatched to arrest him. ‘Sydney Jim” was working at an out-station at the time, and one of his friends sent him the news. He at once bolted, inducing two men who were with him to join him in bis flight. The trio suffered great hardships, having to hide in caves and hollow trees, but a month later they reached Evendale, near Launceston, where they broke into a store and got all the supplies they wanted in the way of fire-arms, ammuni- tion, and clothing. There- upon they started their career as bushrangers, leading the authorities a merry dance before they were finally tracked down. “Sydney Jim’s " dearest wish was to discover and kill the man who had in- formed against him, and one of his reasons for venturing so close to the township was because he had heard that this man, Smith by name, was work- ing at Cluny. I certainly should not have liked to have been in Smith’: 's shoes, for “‘ Sydney Jim” was a man standing over six feet in height, broad in proportion, and as strong as an ox.

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THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS. My husband and I were living then at Cluny, our homestead near Bothwell, and were, needless to say, keenly interested in the rumours as to the outlaws’ movements. After several false alarms concerning the proximity of the bushrangers our fears had begun to quieten down, when suddenly we got a rude shock. The date was May 2oth, 1869, and it was about seven o'clock in the evening. My husband had just returned from Bothwell, and was sitting by the fire nursing the baby, with me standing beside him, when we heard the noise of running feet. A moment later agirl friend, Miss Ibbot, of Ibbot Valley, rushed into the room. She had only just time to call out: “ Don’t be frightened !’”’ when three strange men appeared. The leader was a huge fellow, with a strong, determined-look- ing face and black, flashing eyes; the mo- ment I looked at him the traditional brigand of olden days. To add to his formidable appearance, he wore a large, soft black felt hat, pulled well down over his face, a long black over- coat girdled with a broad leather belt, from which hung a pair of revolvers, and he I thought of carried a double-barrelled gun. The other two were similarly armed, and looked most brutal ruffians. Before we could move a muscle the three strangers had-seized Mr. Nicholas, and two of them held him while the other tied him up securely with a piece of rope. The baby fell to the floor in the scuffle, and though she was not hurt you can imagine my feel- ings, for 1 expected every instant to see her trampled to death. I could not reach her until the tying-up process was completed, but then, you may be sure, I soon grabbed her up. My husband a prisoner, one man was left to guard us two women and the house Servants, while the other two robbers went Over to the men’s hut. As it was Saturday night, however, they found only one hand there, a man named Sammy Hill, who was about eighty years of age. When they brought him over he did his best to resist being tied up, whereupon one of the robbers —Flowers, as we discovered later—struck him with such force that he fell to the Ground, where he lay unconscious for some e, 231 We all thought the poor old fellow had been killed, and my husband went white with rage. ‘ You cowardly ruffian!”’ he cried. ‘‘ You ought to be ashamed of your- self to strike an old man like that!” Flowers regarded him with an ugly scowl. “If you’re not careful what you say I'll serve you the same way,” he snarled. ‘“Were masters here, and we'll let you know it.” With that he pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. ‘‘ Now we'll have something to eat,’’ he added. “Tf you want food,'’ retorted Mr. Nicholas, “you can go to the kitchen and get it, but you sha’n’t sit down at my table.” It was de- cidedly unwise to provoke them to anger, and Flowers looked as if he were about to spring at my husband, but the big leader—" Syd- ney Jim’’— relieved the ten- sion by telling his companions to go in turn to the kitchen while he kept guard. This they did, and they not only devoured everything that had been cooked, but, later, carried away everything in the way of eatables that they could lay their hands on. They did not hurry themselves, for they were masters of the situation—and well they knew it! There were no neighbours within five miles of us, so no information could reach the police-station for many hours, and we discovered later that our shepherd, a man named Burdett, was in league with them and was keeping watch on the road. Their hunger satisfied, the outlaws next proceeded to search the house, having heard that we had a quantity of valuable silver and jewellery, and also that a butcher from Hobart had visited us and paid for a number of fat sheep. This information they had received from the traitor Burdett, and they accordingly expected a big haul. Unfortunately for them, they neglected to search Mr. Nicholas first. He had gone into the township that day to pay for a horse he had bought from a Dr. Strong, but the doctor being away, he brought the money back. I saw the edge of his pocket-book Sticking out of his side coat-pocket, and wondered whether the money was still there, as I noticed he was looking worried and anxious. After a time he contrived to get one hand free, and, watching his opportunity,

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232 signalled to me to come near, which I did. He then dropped the pocket-book lightly on the floor, and with a quick move- ment I got it between my feet. A moment later the man called ‘‘ Wingy ’”’ noticed that he was loose and called to the others, who immediately rushed in and tied him up again. Then, struck by a sudden thought, they searched him—but too late! While they were _ busily occupied in threatening my husband and tying him up again I managed to work the pocket-book, still be- tween my feet, over to the fireplace. The fender was a nice old-fashioned one standing’on little legs, and 1 pushed the book under- neath and so saved it. I felt very pleased at this, but became alarmed when I turned round and saw the horrible looks on the men’s faces. They seemed to sus- pect that I had played some trick on them, and regarded me savagely. I did my best to appear at ease, but Flowers strode across the room and caught hold of me so roughly that I thought my last hour had come. I honestly believe it would have done but for “Sydney Jim.”” When he saw the ruffian endeavour- ing to force his hand down my neck in order to search me, he called out to him to “take his hands off,’’ and then told me curtly, if I wanted to avoid trouble, to hand over all the money and jewellery I had on me to Flowers. This I did, re- taining only my wedding ring, which I refused to give up. I had made a compact with my husband that I was to have all the half-sovereigns the butchers paid him for sheep, and on this last occasion I had been, as I thought, very fortunate, and got five. These were in my pocket and, needless to say, I handed my purse over very reluctantly. About a fortnight before, Mr. Synott, of the Hermitage, had been spending the night at Cluny, and he and my husband were dis- cussing the probability or otherwise of the bushrangers visiting our part of the country when the dogs began barking furiously. Looking out of the window, they saw three men running across the paddock, and con- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cluded the outlaws were coming. My husband dashed to the bedroom for his revolver and told me to get up at once and conceal my jewellery and silver. A secure hiding-place was found for some of my jewellery in the carriage box-seat, which was kept under the stairs, but before there was “The ruffians were determined to make him obey them.” time to collect the silver my husband returned and said it was a false alarm; the Tunners were three of our own men. I therefore went back to bed, and thought no more about the matter; and the result was that when at last the bushrangers did come all our silver fell into their hands—they even took the teaspoons—but my jewellery, which had remained hidden in the box-seat, escaped. They also took a quantity of cloth- ing, leaving Mr. Nicholas only the clothes he

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— THE LAST OF THE BUSHRANGERS. 233 was wearing. They divided their spoils with the shepherds and their wives, we learnt later, in payment for food and _ shelter. Several of my best dresses went for that object, and also a very valuable cashmere shawl. On one occasion during that seemingly endless evening I was sent to open a cupboard door, and when I got out of the room I was seized with a strong desire to send informa- “In my distress I appealed to ‘Sydney Jim.’” tion to’ the police. They were miles away, I knew, but I thought that if I could get over to the shepherd’s hut unperceived I might be able to send Burdett for the con- stables. Little did I dream then that the fellow was in league with the outlaws! I had reached the dining-room, and was in the very act of jumping out of the window, when “ Sydney jim ’ dashed in and dragged me back. “You must be mad!” he cried sharply, looking keenly into my face. ‘‘ You would have been shot before you got half way.” Evidently he had guessed what I intended to do. He ordered me back at once, and thereafter I was only allowed out of the room if one of the outlaws came with me. The next time I re-entered the room the first thing I saw was ‘‘ Sydney Jim” with my baby in his arms. [I started for- ward in alarm, but when he saw the fear in my eyes he looked at me reproach- fully. “ Do you think I would hurt a baby? "he asked, and put her very gently back into my arms. Desperado as he was, I felt sorry when I saw how deeply I had hurt his feel- ings. And this was the man who was being hunted all over the country like a wild beast, with a -eward of five hundred pounds offered for his arrest! I feel sure that a little kindness at the right moment would have kept “ Sydney Jim” straight. His gang was never known to com- mit a murder, and I am con- vinced that was entirely through his restraining in- fluence. Before he left the house helookedround for a book to take away, and happened to open one that had the name of Mr. Howell, of Southern- field, in it. At once he put it down. ‘I would not touch one of his books,” he said earnestly. He was a good master, and I worked for him for two years.” Once more before the robbers leit I had an opportunity of judging the difference

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234 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. between “‘ Jim” and the other two men. They seemed to have a grievance against Mr. Nicholas, and I discovered to my horror that they intended, now they had the oppor- tunity, to punish him. He had joined with the other settlers in prohibiting his shepherds from feeding or sheltering outlaws. There- upon the bushrangers vowed vengeance against all employers, and we heard later that their revenge took the form, when a master fell into their hands, of taking him into the bush, tying him to a tree, and leaving him to starve ! When the time came for their departure, therefore, they tied up their booty and then told my husband he must come with them to carry it. He angrily refused, saying: ‘‘ You shall never take me over that threshold alive.” “We're masters here,” they told him jeeringly, ‘and we'll make you do it.” With that they presented their revolvers at him, threatening every moment to fire. I became terrified, for I could see that the Tuffians were determined to make him obey them, while my husband was equally deter- mined he would not stir a step, for he sus- pected what they intended to do with him once they got him outside, if for no other reason than to prevent his riding into Bothwell to give information. In my distress I appealed to “ Sydney Jim.”” He appeared inclined to yield, but the other two ruffians were furious, vowing with blood-curdling oaths that they would force my husband to do as he was told. Then I plaved my trump card; I said that if they took him they must take me as well, for 1 would not be parted from him. They hesitated, and, seizing the opportunity, “Sydney Jim” took them aside. There was an angry altercation between the tno that seemed to me to last for hours, and then they came back. ‘‘ You can thank your wife,” growled one of them. ‘ You are let off.” Just before the robbers left the leader happened to come close to my husband, who felt a little more kindly towards him now that he had apparently intervened to save his life. “Aren't you ‘ Sydney Jim,’ who escaped from Port Arthur ?’”’ he asked. “Yes; that's me,’”’ returned the bush- ranger. “ But why have you taken to this mad game ?”’ demanded my husband. ‘“ Why not take your punishment like a man and then go straight ?”’ “You don't know what I endured,” replied “ Jim.” ‘‘ I’m determined never to go back there, come what may.” “But you must know the gallows are staring you in the face,’’ persisted Mr. Nicholas. “ They’re bound to get you in tue end.” “Never!’’ cried Jim fiercely. ‘ I'll die fighting ; they shall never take me alive!” And, as will be seen later, he kept his word. Soon after this the three men took their departure, giving my husband solemn warn- ing that if he left the house within two hours he would be a dead man. It was then eleven o'clock, and they had been with us since seven. The bushrangers had not been gone ten minutes when Mr. Nicholas got up to put on his hat and coat, and though I begged lim not to risk his life he would not listen to me, but hurried out. Every moment I expected to hear a shot, for it was a bright moonlight night, but he reached the stable in safety by crawling under the shadow of t.e fence. Once there he saddled his horse and galloped into Bothwell, where he urged the Chief District Constable to start with him at once in pursuit of the outlaws. The constable said he was very sorry, but he could not go himself, as he had important despatches to write, but he would send off a strong force immediately. My husband returned home in disgust, thoroughly ex- hausted. I sat'up, being too excited and upset to sleep, and just as day was dawning there came a loud knocking at the kitchen door. When I opened it, there were twelve mounted constables ranged outside—six hours after they had received information ! They asked for my husband, and when I inquired what he was wanted for they asked “if he knew which way the bushrangers went ?”’ I forget what reply I made, but feel sure it was not a very civil one Then they asked for a drink of tea, and I had to arouse the cook, who also gave them a piece of her mind as well as the tea. It was not on that occasion, needless to say, that the bushrangers were captured. They were eventually betrayed by a shepherd’s wife, a Mrs. Bradley, at the Great Lake. She knew about what time they would be asleep at their hut, and arranged for the constables to be hidden in a cave a mile distant. She herself. bored holes in the thatched roof above the outlaws’ heads, and when they were sound asleep rode out and brought the constables in, The officers took no risks; they crawled up on the roof and fired down at the men as they slept. Flowers and ‘ Wingy” threw up their arms and surrendered, but “Sydney Jim” fought desperately until he was hit and killed. The other two were later hanged in the jail at Hobart. The property taken from our house was never recovered, though the ,police found some of the jewellery stolen from other places at a pawnshop in Launceston. Forty years afterwards, strangely enough, I came across an old brooch of mine in a second- hand shop in the same town; I saw it in the window when passing by. And so ends the story of my adventure with the last of the Tasmanian bushrangers.

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yy EPAL is almost a terra incog- nita to Euro- - peans, partly because the Govern- ment of the country prohibit access to all except their own guests or employees and people invited, with their consent, by the British Envoy at the Court of Nepal, and partly because the diffi- culties of the seventy- NN NY e- oe BY eee HUGH WALTER 235 FORBIDDEN NEPAL — sx Oho Land of the Gurkhas the country through which he passes. The tains are now left hind, and a noble, rugged land of hill and crag, wild, varied woods, and rocky torrent-beds stirs the imagination even if it does not drive away fatigue. The road rises slowly, with many ups and downs, till, at about the fiftieth mile, it leads to a precipi- five miles of road which lead from India to Katmandu, the capital, would deter any but the hardiest or most en- thusiastic traveller. The first een miles lie through the flat, rather uninteresting plains, similar in char- acter to the adjoining districts of Bihar, where the famous Indian in- digo was produced until Germany’s synthetic products drove it from the markets of the world. Here, except in the three or four winter months, the traveller suffers from intolerable heat and the ennui of-slow progress, for he is unlikely to have brought a motor-car, and, if he has_not, he must either walk or be carried in a palki or dandy, the former a Tough bed, the latter a chair slung on poles. Fifteen miles more bring him to the Terai, the flat forest country lying at the foot of the sandstone ranges from which he ascends to the interior. The Terai provides perhaps the finest tiger and rhinoceros shooting in the world, but this hardly appeals to the weary traveller as he passes through ten or more miles of straight, tall, monotonous trees, the fresh, bright green of which annoys him by its pretence of coolness, a virtue which it does not possess. After the thirtieth mile however, and a night’s sleep at the State rest-house (unless he has been carried through the night) his spirits rise, and his interest is stimulated by the striking change in the nature of by 5 festivals of | Nepal is one of the “closed” States on the Indian frontier, and Euro- peans are only allowed to enter it special permission, so that it is practically unknown to travellers. The Author of this article had un- usual opportunities for seeing the country, and gives some very in- teresting glimpses of the manners and customs and tous ascent—two thou- sand two hundred feet in a mile and a quarter —at the top of which is a little rest-house, situated nearly six thousand feet above the sea. From this point there is a striking view to the south, over the valley through which we have come, and the air is cool and refreshing. The third and last stage of the seventy-five miles leads a few hundred feet farther up, to a pass from which, if there be no cloud or dust-haze, a long line of snow-mountains bursts into view. Thence one traverses a long, steep descent and, after crossing and Te-crossing a river several times, struggles up a long steep rise to the Chandragiri Pass seven thousand seven hundred feet high, overlooking the wonderful ‘‘ Valley of Nepal’ and the capital. This is a sight which has often been described, but never, perhaps, adequately. The valley, generally known simply as ‘‘ Nepal,’ is a vast green basin some twenty miles long and fifteen broad. All round it are wooded mountains ranging from five thousand to nine thousand feet above sea-level. ‘Beyond these, to the north, north-east, and north-west, towers the finest range of snow mountains in the world, containing such giants as Nanda Devi, Daulagiri, and the holy Gosainthan, all over twenty-five thousand feet, and many others over twenty thousand. The valley is watered by two considerable rivers, many ncpel religions

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236 lesser ones, and countless small streams. In it lies the present capital, K4tmandu, and the two other capitals of past dynasties, Pitan and Bhitgaon. The first-named glitters with golden-pinnacled temples and shines white from afar with the great palaces of the King, the Mahdrdj4-Prime Minister, and other leading personages of the State. The green valley, studded with countless peasanes, cottages, the deep red of the rick-built cities, the glistening palaces and golden temples, the silver ribbons of the rivers lying three thousand feet below one’s feet, the circle of dark wooded hills, with the vast snow barrier of the Himalayas above, beyond, and dominating all, present to one’s eyes a spectacle which makes one forget the rigours of the journey and con- gratulate oneself on the good fortune that has given one the privilege of entering this forbidden land. The last phase of all, however, is the most severe to those who are unaccustomed to steep descents, for it entails a drop of about three thousand feet, which one negotiates by means of four thousand steps. I did not count them, but this is the reputed number. For two or three days after making this memorable descent shaking knees render walking a matter of difficulty. The remaining nine miles from the bottom are easily accomplished by carriage, on a good made road. The State of Nepal forms a parallelogram roughly five hundred miles long and a hundred miles broad. Its area is about fifty-four thousand square _miles—consider- ably greater than that of England without Wales. Its population is approximately equal to that of Scotland, half that of Belgium, and well over three times that of New Zealand. Along its western and southern borders lies British India, to the east India and Sikkim, to the north the impassable wall of the Himalayas, and beyond them the high, cold, wind-swept table- lands of mysterious Tibet. What are our relations with this little- known State? They are well summed up in a reply recently given to an inquirer by a responsible and well-infornaed official. He said: “ England has no policy towards Nepal. She has only friendship.” This has been the position for over a century— since 1815, in fact. In that year a treaty of friendship and goodwill was concluded between Nepal and ourselves, over which no shadow has since been cast. Before that we were at war. It was a stiff contest, in which victory came to us with difficulty and after heavy losses. The campaign left us with a great respect for the fighting qualities of the Gurkhas, the military caste of which Nepal’s armies are formed, which subsequent history, as everyone knows, has shown to be well deserved. In the darkest days of the Indian Mutiny THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the Prime Minister and Marshal of Nepal, Sir Jung Bahadur, G.C.B., himself led twelve thousand men down into India to our assistance. This he did quite uncondi- tionally, but we showed our gratitude by restoring a valuable tract of territory which we had annexed after the Gurkha wars, PROOFS OF FRIENDSHIP. During the Great War Nepal gave us further signal proofs of her loyal friendship. In normal times she provides us with recruits sufficient for the maintenance at full strength of twenty battalions of Gurkhas. These she raised to thirty-three after the outbreak of war, keeping them at full strength till its conclusion, in spite of very heavy losses. They fought with their accustomed gallantry in France, Gallipoli, Egypt, Palestine, and Mesopotamia. In addition to these a con- tingent of ten thousand men of the Nepalese army was dispatched to India for the main- tenance of security and the defence of the frontier, and remained in India from 1915 to 1919. A force was also sent to our assistance in the late Afghan War. It has been estimated that two hundred thousand men served on the side of the Allies in one military capacity or another—a_ figure probably equivalent to a quarter of the male population of the military classes of the whole country; and that in money and material Nepal rendered assistance of the value of two million rupees, corresponding to over £130,000. No conditions were attached to these great services, no recompense was stipulated for. We have, however, shown our gratitude and appreciation in various ways—by a gift of a considerable sum of money, by the annual payment of liberal pensions to the soldiers who served in our armies and to the heirs of the fallen, and by the conclusion of a fresh Treaty, under which the complete external and internal independence of the country is recognized in unequivocal terms and valuable concessions made in respect of arms and customs facili- ties and privileges. The relations between Britain and Nepal are now more completely satisfactory even than before. It may be asked why, if this is the case, Englishmen are so rigidly excluded from the country. The answer is simple—it is a matter of immemorial tradition. It is a cardinal principle of State policy that Nepal should remain. purely and simply Nepal, that she should pursue her own destiny and develop on her own lines without any foreign influence or interference. This policy of seclusion is not directed against Britain any more than against any other Power, though we, as Nepal’s most powerful neighbour, are most affected by it. It is certainly not incompatible with a friendship which expresses itself in deeds as well as in words, both to us as a nation, as h-s been

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seen above, and to individual Englishmen, who are treated with unfailing courtesy if they have the good fortune to visit Nepal. Nepal is the country of the Gurkhas in the sense that it is the cradle of that warlike race, that the Government of the country is a military autocracy, that the army is com- posed entirely of Gurkhas, and that the Sovereign, the Prime Minister, and the bulk of the officials are Gurkhas. Formerly three kings ruled in the Nepal valley at their respective capitals of KAat- mandu, Patan, and Bhatgaon. They were not Gurkhas, but Newars. The proficiency of this race in the arts and crafts, of which there is abundant evidence in the palaces, houses, and temples of these three towns, and in the wonderful wood-carving which embellishes them, as also their deter- mined gallantry in defending their country when it was attacked, show them to have been a people whom it would, to say the least, be unfair to disparage. The attack upon their supremacy came during the latter half of the eighteenth century from a valley to the west called Gurkha, inhabited by the Gurkha race and ruled by Hindus of Rajput descent, tracing their origin from the famous Ranas of Udaipur. A . Gurkha prince, Prithvi Narayan, invaded the valley of Nepal, and after fierce fights and terrific slaughter succeeded in overcoming the strenuous resistance of the Newars and making himself master of their kingdoms. It was under his rule and that of his descen- dants that Nepal attained unity and strength. His Majesty the Mdharaj4 Dhirdj, who now occupies the throne, is a successor of Prithvi Narayan, and to the same race belongs the family which supplies the de fac. ruler of the State, His Highness the Maharaj‘, Prime Minister and Marshal of Nepal, in whose hands lies almost unlimited power. Of the merits and demerits of Gurkha rule, if he were interested in the matter, the casual visitor would have little opportunity of forming an opinion. He is debarred from travelling beyond the Nepal valley, and within it can base his opinion only on what he sees. It is avowedly an autocracy, but it is at least doubtful whether any other form of government would be possible in a country consisting of dense forest, deep FORBIDDEN NEPAL. 237 valleys, and range after range of high mountains, lacking railways, telegraphs, and even roads, and inhabited by an extremely primitive and illiterate people. In the valley of Nepal ocular evidence goes to show that the autocracy is a benevolent one. A pre- vious Prime Minister brought down from the mountains a supply of the purest water, available to all the inhabitants of the capital, who form about a quarter of the “Rice fields fill every inch of the plain and rise, terrace above terrace, high up the hillsides.” population of the valley: The whole city is provided with electric light, which may be seen burning even in the meanest shops in the bazaar. There are two well-equipped hospitals at the capital, and the present Prime Minister, Sir Chandra Shumsher Jung, has founded a college which is affiliated to the Patna University. In the villages there are some scores of primary schools. In point of apbysical characteristics the population of Nepal appears to be divided into two main categories, the Aryan and the Mongolian. The former have the regular features, straight-set eyes, the prominent noses, and the slight build common among natives of India. The latter are, for the most part, almost hairless, short, thickset and muscular, with slanting eyes and high cheekbones. To the Aryan type belong the reigning and ruling families and other Gurkhas of Rajput descent, the Brahmins and the Newdrs. In the Nepal valley neither type is noticeably predominant. The inhabitants of the Northern districts are mainly Mongolian. SOLDIERS, PEASANTS, AND COOLIES. As regards occupation, the frivolous visitor might be tempted into the generaliza- tion that, apart from the State officials, the ministers of religion, and the small body of

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238 traders inhabiting the towns, the whole population is engaged in military training, tilling the earth, or carrying immense loads up and down precipices. In the Valley, especially in and about the towns, you meet soldiers everywhere, in khaki coats, “ shorts,” and slouch hats. Leaving the towns, you are at once in the rice fields, which fill every inch of the plain and rise, terrace above terrace, high up the hill- sides. These fields teem with peasants — men, women, and children. They are mainl Newédrs, the sol- diers being en- tirely Gurkhas. On the roads leading to the city and all over the hill-sides are continuous streams of the “ Third Estate’ —the bearers of burdens. These are of all castes, Gurkhas, Newars, and Bhutias (the people who hail from the outlying regions, border- ing on “ Bhot ” or Tibet, all of very Mongolian appearance). They carry their loads in two ways: Gurkhas and Bhutias on their backs, the strain of the weight being taken by a web- bing band passed over the forehead; Newdrs in baskets at either end of a pole, carried across the shoulders. The Gurkha and Bhutia coolie, in particular, carries without apparent distress prodigious loads for great distances over the precipitous passes which occur on every road. He will cheerfully transport two maunds, or a hundred and sixty pounds, twenty miles over two six-thousand-foot asses for the equivalent of three shillings ! Pike country-people all over the world the Nepalese are incapable of giving you an estimate of distance which is even approxi- mately correct. In the course of a march in the hills to the north of the valley I con- gratulated myself on having hit upon a measure of space known to every coolie or guide, which should solve once and for all Bhutia coolies. These people will cheerfully transport a load of a hundred and sixty pounds for twenty miles, over two six-thousand-foot passes, for the equivalent of three shillings ! THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the difficulty, so important to e traveller, of ascertaining how far one is from one’s destination. This measure, with which I found everyone acquainted, was a ‘‘ bisauni.” I asked how far it was, and was told it was “the distance a man bearing a full load up and down hills can walk without having to rest to prevent himself getting a head- ache from the pressure of the weight of his bur- den on his fore- head.” I then endeavoured to reduce this to a definite figure, and learnt that it took between twenty minutes and an hour and a half. I should have reflected that the actual distance must vary with the age, sex, size, and strength of the carrier, the weight of hisload, and the nature of the road, but that is as near as I ever got to solv- ing the problem. Nepal depends on these coolies for almost all her comforts and ne- cessaries. Except for a few roads near the capital and the fifty odd miles of the main road from rail- head in India to KAtmandu, which is open as a cart-road only during the seven dry months, there are no roads worthy of the name,. All communications are by paths or tracks over the hills: There are, of course, no railways, and the ropeway that is to carry goods over the dozen worst miles between India and Nepal is not quite completed. The result is that all the local trade, and also the commerce of the country to and from Tibet and India, is carried on the backs of men and women. Electric and water- works plant, girders for bridges, furniture, pianos, and even carriages and motor-cars are varried by coolies. To convey a girder or a car up a _ three-thousand-feet ascent, over a gradient of one in three, is no mean feat, but it is frequently achieved Dy the sturdy, cheerful mountaineers of Nepal.

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THE DUCK-FARMERS. The next most important industry, efter those I have mentioned above, is perhaps duck-culture. Every cultivator in the valley seems to possess a huge flock of ~ ducks, of the eggs and meat of which the people are very fond. Every morning, when they go out to their work in the fields, they carry in four large baskets, slung to the poles already described, a load of any- thing up to eighty ducks and ducklings. These are turned loose in the soaking rice- fields, where they feed all day. At night- fall, when work is over, the men call to the ducks, which seem to know their masters’ voices and come scuttling across the fields with a prodigious quacking: Each duck is lifted up, examined to see if it is going to lay an egg, and then put into the basket and carried home. The “‘ Easter egg "’ business must be of some importance, for on a certain festival it is the custom for every sister to give her brother a large number of ducks’ eggs. The result is that at such times ducks’ eggs rise to prohibitive prices. Coming into Nepal from India the traveller is at once conscious of the immense difference between the two countries, which shows itself in many ways, and especially in the appearance, demeanour, and habits of the common people. They are shorter, sturdier, cheerier, and perhaps—as is natural in a cool country—dirtier. They do not salaam, but salute in British military fashion. They are apparently always happy and good-tempered, and laugh whenever you speak to them, whatever you say and whatever you look like. Their voices are soft, without the raucous high pitch so universal in India. The purdah system is not observed, and women cover neither their heads, their faces, nor their necks. Tur- bans and uga- rees are seldom seen, a cotton skull cap being the uni- versal wear. The Nepalese are fond of birds and flowers —a man will bring a bird in a cage to hospital with him to keep him com- pany, and men, women, and chil- dren alike wear flowers in their hair. As in Eng- land, almost every cottage has its little flower garden, or flowers growing in pots on the roof or FORBIDDEN NEPAL. 239 in the veranda. All Gurkhas wear cotton cummerbunds round their waists, and stick into them the kukri, the knife which the Gurkha regiments have made famous. It has a heavy, curved blade about a foot long and two or three inches broad, with the cutting edge on the inside. Its use in war is well known, In peace it plays many parts—it is a butcher's knife, a nail-parer, an elephant goad, a penknife, a wood chopper, and an executioner’s axe. Nepal being mainly a Hindu State, cattle are, as in India, held sacred, but their numbers are noticeably less. They are kept for milk, but not for cultivation. All ploughing and other agricultural operations are done by hand, with a kodar, a spade with a short U-shaped handle, which is ulled towards the user, not pushed from im, like the European implement. In Nepal there are practically no wells. Water for irrigation is derived from streams and rivers, and that for drinking taken from countless water-spouts terminating in carved dragons’ mouths of stone. The ‘‘ Happy Valley ’’ has no scorpions and no snakes whose bite is fatal. A Brahmin, however, told me he had himself seen in the sky a black snake a hundred feet long. He said this appeared every year in Nepal, but never in India, and that when it did, the idol at the holy shrine of Changu Narayan, not far from Katmandu, burst into sweat, which was collected in a cloth and drunk as a medicine, an infallible remedy for snake-bite. AN ANNUAL GAMBLE. Gambling is a passion with all classes of the Nepalese, but is rigidly prohibited by A river scene on the road to Katmandu.

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z4o the Government except during five or six days in the year. On these occasions the whole population seems to swarm out of the houses into the streets, which are almost completely blocked by little temporary tents pitched in the roadway and filled with eager groups of gamblers sitting on the ground. The most Popular game is played with cowrie-shells, of which sixteen at a time are thrown as dice, the result of the wagers depending on the number which fall opening upwards. It is said that the passion for play is so keen that on one THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. worshipped, and to kill it would be an unthinkable crime. Hindu temples are everywhere in evidence. There are no mosques, and one rarely sees a Mussulman. Formerly there was a Roman Catholic mission in the valley, but the Gurkha proverb, ‘‘ With the Bible comes the bayonet, with the merchant the musket,” accounts for its being there no more, and, perhaps, for the Nepalese policy of isolation. Some Gurkha tribes are, however, Buddhists, and the majority of the Newd4rs are of that religion. All are treated with impartial Wonderful temples in the city of Patan. occasion a Gurkha, having lost everything else he possessed, cut off his hand, placed it under a cloth and risked it as his final stake. : Offences against the marriage bond are treated with the utmost severity in Gurkha families. The offending wife can be con- demned to imprisonment for life, and until recently the husband was allowed to cut down her lover with his Aukri, unless the latter chose to save himself by crawling under the husband’s leg—a grave indignity. Hinduism is the principal religion of the country, and its great festivals are observed officially; in some of them His Majesty the Mahdrd4j4 Dhir4j, the Mdhdr4j4-Prime Minister, and the principal functionaries of State take a public part. The cow is toleration. It is said that Hinduism is displacing Buddhism, but, though the nature of the two religions makes this probable, it is not a matter susceptible of definite proof. It is undoubtedly the case that the two religions overlap, and the line dividing them is not easily perceptible. At some of the most holy Buddhist shrines many Hindus are to be found among the worshippers, and in one I myself saw an image of Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god of prosperity. ARCHITECTURE. Perhaps what strikes the eye of the traveller almost as much as the physical beauty of the country is the architecture.

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o.1mf ew \ Se ee OE ees ee -.-S---Sstéi‘ieie The procession at the State wedding in Katmandu. Whether Nepal gave her architecture to China or borrowed it from her is a question not yet decided, but there is some evidence that Nepal was the country of origin. It differs entirely from anything in India, and is completely free from Mohammedan influence. To the lay mind it seems purely Chinese, and is of the greatest beauty. The old palaces and temples and the houses of the Newdr era are all of this style, built of warm red brick with red-tiled, deeply over-hanging roofs supported from the outside by wooden struts. The doors, doorways, and windows are of richly carved dark wood. Outside the gateways of many of the temples and palaces are fantastic heraldic lions in stone or brass, varying from one to about twelve feet in height. In front of others are stone elephants or figures representing ancient warriors. Before the temples one often secs high stone pillars surmounted by a figure either of the Rajd or the builder of the temple, kneeling with hands clasped in an attitude of devo- tion, Others de . roadsides, and numerous FORBIDDEN NEPAL. 240 white, red, or buff, the upper half of the wall being of one colour, the lower half another, They are not, as in India, grouped in villages, but scattered singly all over the fields. The present writer had the good fortune to be at Kdtmdndu at the time of a State wedding and dur- ing the Indrdjatra and Daséré Hindu festivals — specta- cles which must surely be unique. The marriage was between a younger son of the Prime Minister and the daughter of a high-born noble of the State. The whole country was en féte. The city, the arade grounds were thronged with people from all over the Valley, and men and women massed sepa- rately to watch the proceedings. The route to be taken by the bridal procession was hung with bunting—it was noticeable that there were three or four times as many Union Jacks as any other flag—and spanned by huge wood and cloth arches adorned by local artists with pictures in water-colour, the subjects being taken from Hindu mythology or what was supposed to be daily European life. The crowds consisted of troops in khaki or scarlet and black, country people and townsfolk, mummers in huge, ghoulish Tibetan masks, and gigantic paper and cotton effigies of camels, panthers, lions, men, and women, on foot or mounted, including a green-clad figure of a European pict the animal at- tendant of the god to whom the temple is dedicated —the mole of Ganesh or the bull of Mahadev. The Peasants’ cottages, though of course Simpler, are equally Picturesque, AIL are of two or three Storeys, built of ted brick with overhanging roofs tiled or thatched, and often with flower gardens in front. Before the asera festival they are painted Vou tv.—17, The head of the wedding procession. The “bridesmaids” were clad in canary yellow and magenta dresses!

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242 lady riding side-saddle. All of these mingled with the troops in the great procession, the soldiers halting at intervals to fire into the air. A WONDERFUL MARRIAGE CEREMONY. In a courtyard of the Prime Minister’s palace a vast structure in the form of a shrine had been erected of wood, brightly-coloured cloth, tinsel, and flowers. The Mahdrajd, taking His Majesty by the hand, accord- ing to old Ne- alese custom, led him down from the upper rooms of the Palace to witness the proceedings. The kalas or holy water was then brought in under an enormous red and gold um- brella by four men clad in scar- let and gold. They were fol- lowed by a pro- cession of women attendants in canary yellow and magenta dresses, rather similar in shape to those worn in England about the ‘nineties, without bustles, but with skirts reaching to the ground. Their hair was curled on the top of their heads in three or four closely compressed horizontal rolls with a tightly plastered curl in front of eich ear. They were much powdered and ainted and their eyes pencilled all round in lack, which increased their apparent size and brilliancy. Some carried large white yaks’ tails mounted on gold handles, others had great fans of peacocks’ feathers and gold. After them came the bridegroom, a good- looking youth in rich brocade and jewels, riding on a man’s back. Dismounting from his odd steed, he shook hands with the British Envoy and _ other English guests, and = after receiving their good wishes remounted and rode out through the porch to the State coach that awaited him, This seemed to be made The awe-inspiring image of the god Kal Bairab at Katmandu. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mainly of gold and flowers, and was drawn by nine good bay horses, ridden by stil- lions in white breeches, scarlet and gold coats, and large flat Chinese hats of crimson feathers. Before taking his seat the bride- groom preceded by the “ bridesmaids ’’ and the kalas walked three times round the carriage. The massed bands played a salute, and the troops drawn up in front of the palace presented arms, and the carriage moved off. The Prime Minister then led the Maharaja Dhir4j by the hand to his ele- hant, on which e took his seat in a golden how- dah. The Prime Minister followed on another ele- hant, in a scar- et and green howdah, in which the British En- voy was also seated. I no- ticed that the British Envoy’s escort was given a place of honour in the procession, immediately be- hind the Sover- eign. Large numbers of troops with bands and colours joined in the pro- cession, which along a route thronged with salaaming people to the ace in which the bride was lodged. On its arrival the bride’s relatives and retainers walked three times round the carriage, and her brother placed the tka, or red-caste ‘mark, on the forehead of the bridegroom. The guests then took their leave, but were ‘present next day at the bridegroom’s palace to witness his return with his bride, who accompanied him on a gorgeously caparisoned elephant. His Majesty, the Prime Minister, and the British Envoy and staff were again present. The bride and bridegroom on dismounting took their seats in the shrine in the court- yard on a high throne. A Brahmin woman then led a little six-year-old sister of the bridegroom three times round the shrine, pouring holy water on the ground as she

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went, and finally affixing the tka on the foreheads of her brother and sister-in-law, the massed bands playing in the courtyard throughout the ceremony, which then con- cluded. The days were observed with general rejoicing at the capital by all Nepalese subjects, and the British Legation was illuminated at night. THE GREAT “CAR FESTIVAL.” One of the principal Nepalese festivals is the Indrdj4tr4, with which is combined the Rathj4tr4 or car festival. The’ latter originated in the second half of the seven- teenth century, in the reign of Jai Prakash Mal, a Newdr R4j4. One day, according to the legend, a child in the Palace gave out that she was possessed by the spirit of a goddess. The Rd4jd4, regarding her as an impostor, turned her and her family out of the Palace and confiscated their land. That same night his R4ni became pos- sessed by the same goddess. The R4j4 there- upon recalled the little girl and her family, restored their property, and ordered that thechild should be treated as a goddess and be driven through the city in tri- umphal proces- sion in a car, attended by two small boys representing the two sons of the god Mahadeo. The cere- mony still con- tinues. The Kumféri, or goddess, is chosen when two or three years old, and serves till she loses her first teeth. Even now she is se- lected by being placed alone in a room in which lies the freshly severed head of a buf- falo. She is shut in, and her behaviour ob- served through crevices. If she is undaunted, She is considered worthy of the honour of temporary divinity, is given quarters in the Another remarkable figure of Kal Bairab. FORBIDDEN NEPAL. 243 palace, and she and her boy attendants enjoy valuable grants of land. On the festival day His Majesty in person makes her an offering and does obeisance to her. His sword of State is carried before her car, and with his own hand he marks her fore- head with the symbolical tka. Having performed these ceremonies, His Majesty, with the Prime Minister, all the important personages of the State, and a considerable y of troops, passes in procession through the city, preceding the three cars in which the Kuméri and her attendant deities are drawn by teams of twenty or thirty men. Gilt canopies are erected over them, and they are ceaselessly fanned by a number of attendants who sit round them in the cars and collect the offerings of flowers and wafers which are showered on them by the dense crowds which throng the streets, balconies, and roofs. The boy deities are regarded as particularly de- sirable partis when their term of office expires, but ‘the Ku- méri is at a disadvantage, because it is believed that the publicity of her life as a deity unfits her for the staid life of a house- wife. During the Indrdjatra a gigantic brazen idol, which is boarded up for the rest of the year, is dis- layed to pub- ic view and worship, and for some hours liquor flows from its mouth at the Govern- ment expense. The figure re- presents the god Kal Bairdb, of whom a huge image in black and scarlet, six - handed, brandishing a terrible sword and treading on the prostrate form of a dead foe, stands not far off in an open square, a warning to perjurers and the unjust, for until recently all witnesses in cases tried in the courts near by and judges on entering into office were sworn before this appalling gure.

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244 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. The chief festival of the year is the Dasérd, celebrating the victory of the Hindu goddess Durga over a demon. This lasts ten days, and is observed as a general holiday; it is also the beginning of the new year. On one day a big review is held on a parade-ground well over a mile in circumference. The whole of the outer edge of this is lined with troops—ten thousand were on parade last year. Between each of the infantry bat- talions batteries are drawn up, with cavalry and massed bands in the middle. At the exact centre is a stone platform, shaded by a tree. On this His Majesty and the Prime Minister take up their positions and receive a general salute, the British Envoy being invited to join them with his staff. The troops are in khaki, and on the word of command, given by the Commander-in- Chief, a feu-de-joie is fired—with admirable precision—by the ten thousand infantry in honour of the goddess. This is followed by about ten minutes’ rapid and independent firing and cannonading by the infantry and artillery. At its conclusion the bands play, and after a short interval the Maharaja Dhirdj departs in a carriage and four. During the Dasér4 the troops do public homage to their arms and the regimental colours, and it is the custom for every military officer of the rank of captain or above to offer a male buffalo and a goat, and the junior officers a goat. These are sacrificed in front of the colours. The central sacrifice takes place in a square in the capital, in the presence of the Com- mander-in-Chief. The colours of three brigades, garlanded with flowers, are planted in the ground at three points. In front of them a post is fixed in the ground. By this stands the executioner, armed with a peculiar-shaped sword, rapidly broadening towards the point and very heavy at the end. Each buffalo, as its turn for sacrifice comes, is led up to this post, to which it is tightly bound in such a way that its forehead and nose are firmly pressed against the post. The sword of the executioner then descends and in every case severs the head cleanly, and completely at one blow. Sometimes, by way of variety, or to show his skill, he uses an ordinary cavalry sword, a huge kukri, or even a small one, little bigger than a bayonet. The slaughter was the most merciful that can be imagined; every animal was_ killed instantaneously and painlessly. They did not seem to realize what was in store for them, and struggled no more than they would have done if tied to a post in a field. The heads of the decapitated animals were piled on the ground in front of the colours as an offering (there were about seventy before each colour) and the bodies dragged off to be eaten by the followers. The Commander- in-Chief, when all the victims had been dispatched, visited the three colours and performed an act of worship, which con- sisted in dipping his hand in a dish of vermilion paste and making a red-hand impression on each standard. All professions—not only the army— worship the implements of their trade during the Dasér4. The clerk worships his inkpot, the tailor his needle, the carpenter his tools. The number of animals sacrificed in the Valley must be prodigious. Seventy years ago Sir Jung Bahadur, the then Prime Minister, put it at nine thousand, but this was only a rough estimate and probably an over generous one, for the total population of the Valley is believed to be only about three hundred thousand at the present time. On the day of sacrifice, however, almost everybody one meets seems to be carrying a mecapitated goat, sheep or cock, or a joint of freshly killed meat. The following items of general information may perhaps be of interest to travellers wishing to visit the Valley, though one may state. in parentheses that it is almost im- possible to obtain permission to do so. Tuesday is considered an ill-omened day to arrive, Saturday to depart, and Monday to wear new clothes. If you take a photograph of a Bhotia from the remote hills you must be prepared to meet a demand to show him a print immediately. British Indian Government rupees are known as ‘‘ Company.’ rupees, and British India as “ Mughalan ’’—the Moghals’ land. Conversation with uneducated people on financial questions is rendered difficult by having to speak of the number 676, say, as “four less than thirty-four twenties,’’ and the number 987 as “ thirteen less than fifty twenties,”’ and so on. Mount Everest is just visible, under expert guidance, from some hills to the north of Katmandu, when the air is abnormally clear, by applying the eye of faith to a powerful telescope.

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245 3-Capt IC Me Gill: Nutt LA ILLUSTRATED BY NORMAN SUTCLIFFE While on an expedition in the interior of New Zealand the Author and his companion fell foul of a rascally Maori tohunga, or medicine-man, who did his best to get them into serious trouble. turn the tables upon him. This story describes how, by an audacious bluff, they contrived to “The narrative is true,” writes Captain McGill-Nutt, “but I have altered the names of my companion and the old witch-doctor.” Y friend X and I were in search of a secret cache of ancient Maori weapons, historic and valuable, which were believed to be hidden away in some mysterious caves near the headquarters of the Waikato River, in the interior of the North Island of New Zealand. . had been through the district some years before, while on the scientific staff of the New Zealand Geological Survey expedition, and was well aware of the unfriendly nature of the natives inhabiting the villages in the Otahu Basin. It was therefore of the utmost importance that we should get on the right side of old Rangihika, the com- munity chief, as soon as possible. When X. and I dropped down the fern-festooned Momoke Creek, and headed for Piriakia Pah, Rangihika’s village, we were on the gui vive for any indications of hostility. With the dogs making a fearful din, and the little brown naked youngsters jabbering among themselves and calling out news of our approach to their elders farther off, we finally entered the cluster of huts and made for the big grass-thatched structure standing conspicuously in the centre of the village. For a Maori kainga the place was unutter- ably dirty. Fish-bones and offal lay scat- tered about the main thoroughfare, lumps of shark-meat and mud eel were hanging from suspended poles drying in the sun, clothing was corspicuous by its absence, and such garments as the inhabitants wore suggested an entire estrangement from the uses of Soap and water. ; 3efore the door of the chief’s hut several Natives were stretched out on the ground in attitudes of slumberous ease, while a boy of about nine was doing a sort of dance. On our approach he stopped to stare at us and call out some remark to all and sundry within hearing, warning them of the arrival of the pakeha (white men). A voice shouted a greeting from the interior of the big hut, and when we returned the salutation we were bidden: “ Haere mai”’ (“Come in’’). Throwing down our heavy packs at the door of the hut, we stepped inside to greet the occupants of the whare (hut). The wizened and watery-eyed old Rangi- hika, head of the community, and one of the few remaining chiefs of the Whare Wanaga, or Maori ‘‘ magic schools,”’ rose to greet us with friendly gestures, and then introduced us to his famous medicine-man, or fohunga, Manaia, a sleek but cunning-looking rascal of the newer school. Both men showed great interest in our visit, and commenced a polite but persistent cross-examination as to our intentions. The battle of wits lasted for the best part of an hour, and might have con- tinued longer had not the coming of dusk and supper directed their thoughts into More immediately vital channels. The evening meal is an institution among the Maoris, but on this particular.occasion Rangihika’s cooks had excelled themselves. A huge wu or native oven, about six feet square and three feet deep, had been dug in the ground. In this a large number of flat stones were heated to a glowing redness ; then over the hot stones were placed sucking Pig, pigeons wrapped in clay, fish, kumeras, taro, and other items. The whole was covered with leaves and soil, and a quantity of water

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246 introduced into the pit, setting up a fierce steaming. When cooked the meal was really delicious, and both X. and I were per- suaded to eat considerably more than was good for us. The tohunga appeared specially anxious that we should make beasts of our- selves, but as I felt an instinctive mistrust of the man I placed a curb on my appetite, and endeavoured to persuade x toa similar caution. The appetising nature of the repast, however, was too much for his Irish geniality, and he made the most of the opportunity. The remainder of the evening was spent in desultory conversation, but by ten o'clock everybody became sleepy, and we were glad to accept the offer of an unused hut and a generous supply of flax and feather mats, under which we slept comfortably till the early hours of the morning. Just before dawn my companion began to groan, com- plaining of violent stomach pains. From the manner of his rolling and groaning it looked as if the matter was serious, and I remembered a small supply of patent medicine in our packs, and decided to give him a dose of “ painkiller.”’ A difficulty arose, however, in that our packs were in the Chief's hut and we did not care to disturb him. Some of the natives were by this time up and about and showed keen interest in the hut where we were lodged. Approaching one young woman, I suggested that she should go to the chief’s hut and procure our packs. She refused, whereupon I explained to her that X. was unwell, asking her to have a look for herself. My companion speedily convinced her that he was very ill indeed, and she went off—apparently in great glee—to acquaint her friends with this delectable tit-bit of gossip. Half the village arrived on the spot almost at once, and finally one young fellow was persuaded to fetch the packs from the chief's whare. Perhaps it was sheer vanity which sug- gested it, but, whatever led up to it, our next proceeding nearly upset our applecart completely. X went outside our hut and gave a demonstration of wriggling and groaning, while I proceeded to compound the magical draught which was to relieve his pain. Directly he swallowed the dose the squirming immediately ceased, and though the real effect of the ‘ painkiller’? had not yet begun to manifest itself, X did his best to appear miraculously cured. The story of that magic cure flew through the village like wildfire! All the lame, halt, and blind promptly came along for treatment, bringing various foodstuffs in payment. This placed us in a quandary. Our supply of medicines was exceedingly small and consisted for the most part of three small bottles of painkiller, a bottle of castor oil (X "s standby), and a few tabloids of cascara, calomel, and quinine. We used up the first bottle of painkiller in small doses, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and were debating upon the advisability of opening the second, when the old tohunga Manaia appeared on the scene, with rather dramatic results. What he said to his own flock would leave an exponent of “ Billingsgate’’ stark with envy, but it was what he did not say to us that was really the finest thing in the way of a “ dressing-down’’ I had ever had to submit to. Fortunately, X ’s knowledge of Maori was somewhat limited, as other- wise there would have been some mutual recriminations between himself and Manaia which would assuredly have put a final spoke in our scheme to discover the cache of hidden treasures. As it happened, however, Manaia’s rage at our unwitting encroachment upon his domain in the arts of magic and medicine was really instrumental in assisting our quest. Fearing his influence with Rangihika, and being now aware of his dangerously hostile attitude towards us, I immediately went to the old chief and placed the matter before him, asking him to come to our hut and witness a cure. This he agreed to do. On the way, whom should we meet but the old tohunga hastening to make his own report to the chief. Invited by Rangihika, the tohunga sulkily returned with us, and it was while walking with the two natives towards our hut that I conceived a plan to put us in favour with Rangihika. Reaching the hut, I took one of the bottles from the pack, drew the cork, sipped the liquid, and then offered it to Manaia to taste, telling him of its wonderful power for curing all painful maladies, and adding that the percentage of “ fire-water’’ em- ployed in the manufacture was very large. As I anticipated, Manaia, literally seething with rage, immediately commenced to pour the brown liquid on to the floor as a sign of his contempt for our remedies. This so upset the old chief that he sprang up and grabbed the bottle from Manaia’s hand, meanwhile hurling the most scathing abuse at the medicine-man’s head. ‘Tasting the medicine and finding it good, Rangihika set to work to empty the bottle—and it did not take him long to accomplish the feat. During this time the offended Manaia regarded both X and me with deadly looks, but not a word was spoken until Rangihika had finished. Thus fortified, the chief endeavoured to do justice to the occasion, and to his present opinion of his ertswhile chief-of-staff. Two minutes of concentrated Maori abuse were too much even for the accomplished Manaia, and, hanging his head, he slunk out through the low doorway into the sunshine, giving me a glance as he passed that made me decide to watch him like a cat during the remainder of my stay in the neighbourhood. Manaia's revenge on his chief was not long

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in materializing. We were overhauling our gear just prior to the midday meal when a young man came hurrying in to me with the news that the chiet’s son had been sud- denly stricken with some dread malady, and that Rangihika wanted my assistance. Taking the medicine-chest, I hastened ta the old chief's hut, where I found the young- ster who had been dancing the day before lying on his bed almost black in the face. His body seemed bloated and he was in considerable pain. I had no doubt that the poor kiddie had been given a dose of some noxious draught, and could guess who had administered it. At that moment, curiously enough, Manaia himself walked in. The evil grin on his face was sufficient evidence of his guilt, and his advent at such a moment filled poor old Rangihika with abject fear. Without any further palaver Manaia proceeded to blame me for the sickness of the young chieftain, and called upon Rangihika to eject us from the village forthwith, before the child became too ill to be cured. The astuteness of the fohunga now began to reveal itself. He had us quite at his mercy, and Rangihika in such a position that he could only befriend us at the imminent tisk of losing his only child. For us to have meekly submitted to his suggestion, however, would not only have spelt utter humiliation to Rangihika, but the end of all our hopes of securing the secret hoard of weapons. The situation demanded drastic action, but for the life of me I could think of no immediate way out of the difficulty. As far as I could see the obvious need of the moment was a stomach-pump, but the position was so ludicrous that I could not restrain a laugh. This so surprised both Rangihika and the Magician that I felt called upon to make an explanation. On the spur of the moment I decided to take the bull—and Manaia— by the horns, and try a little bluff. I there- fore accused Manaia of giving the boy a dose of poison, and said I would undertake to cure him provided the tohunga was care- fully kept away from the youth during the treatment. Manaia immediately retorted that this request was proof of my guilt—I wished him out of the way so that he could not come to the boy’s aid. He added that he had been informed by his familiars that the boy had been poisoned by the pakeha, and would die at midnight. The assembled natives seemed much im- pressed; evidently Manaia had scored a point. Thereupon I teld him to do his worst, but I warned him that I would be even with him before the sun rose on another day. Then I stalked out of the hut, in a fine state of rage and disappointment, while Manaia grinned at me triumphantly. I moped round in our hut all the afternoon, too upset and annoyed to take an interest WHITE MAN’S MAGIC, 247 in anything. About dusk X. came in with a couple of fine schnapper he had caught with hook and line down at the mouth of the river, feeling quite elated at his prowess. When I informed him of the state of affairs, however, his high spirits vanished, and he gave vent to some choice language, pro- mising Manaia something quite rehned in the way of torture. ite While we were anxiously discussing ways and means old Rangihika came in and seated himself on the mats facing the door. He seemed greatly perturbed, and apparently found some difficulty in selecting his words. Finally, however, he advised us to leave the village as soon as possible, offering us every- thing we might need in the way of pro- visions and transport if only we would make ourselves scarce and cease to annoy the offended tohunga, This looked like the end of the chapter so far as we were concerned, but I decided to make one more attempt to put matters right before admitting defeat and packing our swags for the homeward journey. First of all, I knew, I must save my face in view of my recent bluff; I must also put the wily - Manaia out of countenance with Rangihika, for upon the latter depended our only hope of learning the location of the caves where we believed the ancient weapons to be hidden. The whole position, it seemed to me, might be put right by the effective administration of castor-oil, and I set out to persuade Rangihika to let me have a shot at curing the boy. Although in a terrible state of anxiety, and very fearful of the fohunga’s anger, he reluctantly agreed to permit me to come to the hut after nightfall and give the youngster a dose of my medicine. Hardly had Rangihika gone when the accursed Manaia made his appearance, and, in a loud voice, audible almost throughout the whole village, ridiculed our magic and our medicines and defied us to cure the chief's son. My first inclination was to give him a thorough good hiding, but after a short consultation with X. I agreed to tackle him otherwise. So, stepping out into the open, I informed the assembled natives that I would cure the chief's son at midnight, and that I challenged Manaia and all his weak-kneed spirits to stop me. I would pit the white man’s magic, I said, against that of the tohunga, having no doubt as to the result. Manaia gleefully accepted—and the fight was on! Now I had about as much knowledge of witchcraft as the average domesticated cow has of aviation, and I was completely at a loss as to how I was going to perform a fraction of the miracles I had promised for the discomfiture of Manaia. However, we had but two hours before the scéance would commence, and it was up to me to think of something effective, espe- cially as the tohunga would no doubt try to

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248 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. get in some crooked work before the trial of strength began. I was at my wits’ end when made a suggestion which at first made me laugh; it seemed so ridiculous. The more I thought it over, however, the better I liked it, and finally, although the chances of its miscarry- ing were considerable, we decided to adapt it, and immediately set about planning the details. Sharp at eleven-thirty we went across to the chief's hut and met Rangihika and Manaia waiting for us at the door, with the whole population of the village clustered among the huts watching us in the bright moonlight. It was a weird spectacle, and in view of the programme calculated to send shivers up and down the strongest spine— it did up mine, at any rate! Manaia had tried to browbeat Rangihika into letting him have a final look at the boy before the séance began, but luckily the old chief had refused, or else the poor youngster would probably have been given another dose of poison. The great moment had arrived. If any of our arrangements went wrong we were doomed to an inglorious defeat, if nothing worse, and all hope of learning the where- abouts of the treasure-caves would be gone. I had no doubt that X ’s histrionic abili- “With a sizzling Splatter and a thunderous ‘woof’ the whole place was filled with flame and smoke.” ties would stand him in good stead, though I had vague misgivings about my own part in the business. Manaia seemed to be bubbling over with excitement, but beneath his apparent elation I fancied I detected a certain lack of confidence. We stood for a few moments just outside the door of the hut, and then formed a procession into the hut, with myself in the rear. While the others took their seats on the floor opposite the place where the sick youth lay, I first of all barred the door and then commenced a slow rambulation about the hut, walking round the watchful tohunga and repeating a hocus-pocus of nursery and other rhymes. Having drawn a mystic circle round Manaia, I went to the bed, stopping a moment before the reclining figure on the .mats, and then passed on to the door again, where I stood for a moment mumbling in a louder key. This done I removed the heavy overcoat I was wearing, rolled it up into a cushion, and

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placed it on the floor between Manaia and Ran- gihika. I then demanded that a mangy dog who was watching me should be put outside, as his sniffing propensities threatened to upset the proceedings. Ata growl from Rangihika the dog fled through a large hole in the back wall of the hut. Here, apparently, he found something which did not meet with his approval, for he set up a barking that the old chief had to shout hard to silence. I knew the reason for the parking, and so did X. , but fortunately the others did not. The dog gone, I insisted that the fofara torch which lighted the hut should be extin- guished. Yule the old chief took down WHITE MAN’S MAGIC. 249 the torch and stamped it out, leaving the place in black darkness, I proceeded to light my pipe, and got it going nicely before proceeding with the ceremony. Gravely seating mysclf cross-legged on my cushioned coat, I started the seanuce by chanting some fragments of hymns that I recalled, finishing up at the end of about three minutes with a blood-curdling yell. Then a beam of brilliant light fell full upon the tohunga’s face, and I saw to my joy that it was positively green with abject fear. Then the beam of light began to dance

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250 about the hut, resting now on the bed where the sick boy lay, now on the door, now on the old chief, now on the ridge-pole of the hut, and now on the fohunga again. All the while I continued my horrible howling and growling, while the intervals were utilized in keeping my pipe glowing. Presently other unearthly sounds began to mingle with my own yells. Some member of the spook tribe, seemingly, had gained admittance into the hut and was seeking to outdo me! Giving a final unearthly screech, I knocked out the glowing embers of my pipe on the floor, and with a sizzling splutter and a thunderous “ woof” the whole place was filled with flame and dense clouds of acrid smoke. Apparently the lid of Hades had been lifted oft under our very feet! I let out another blood-curdling scream, and to my intense joy heard the terrified Manaia fall backwards with a thud. Outside there was pandemonium—the natives were shrieking and running in all directions, and all the dogs in Christendom seemed to be barking in chorus. Suddenly there came a sharp, mysterious rattle against the sides of the thatched hut—a most uncanny noise—and I hurriedly asked Rangihika to light the fofara torch again. While he was busy with this, his trembling fingers fumbling the job badly, I flashed my electric torch on the young chieftain, who appeared to be still asleep, in spite of all the din. However, taking a bottle from my pocket, I poured a liberal dose of castor oil down his throat. No doubt the ettects of the poison were now wearing off, and I felt practically certain the oil would put him right. Imagine Rangihika’s consternation, when the torch was lit again, to find Manaia missing, although the door was still bolted on the inside! The old chief was very anxious to know what had happened to him, whereupon I informed him that the villain- ous old fohinga had been treated to a dose of pakeha magic that he would not forget in a hurry. The old chief was shivering with fright, and could not make head or tail of what had occurred, but it was evident that the “pakcha magic” had set him thinking. Taking him to the boy, I explained that the youngster was now sleeping peacefully, as 1 had expelled the evil spirit that was feeding on his heart and had also killed Manaia's wicked magic—the cause of all the trouble. I then announced that the ceremony was over, Taking Rangihika with me, leaving the still-trembling women to look after the boy, I went down to our own hut, where we found X. ministering to Manaia, who was unconscious and looked very sick indeed. When the fohunga finally returned to his senses and an interest in mundane things, he looked hard and long at me_ before THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. speaking. The nature of his first question, however, was a sutficient index to his train of thought. “Why did you kick the sacred tohunga in the stomach ?”’ he demanded fiercely. ““Manaia has had bad dreams since the evil spirit went out of him,” I replied, trying hard to keep a straight face. The details of that awe-inspiring séance were all planned by X. , and he may not thank me for giving them away. No doubt the secret of the mystic flame and smoke can be guessed at, however, especially if anyone had seen us busy powdering into a fine dust the bag of blasting-powder that finally found its way into one of my old golf stockings, with a hole in the toe. The obvious accent of the strange “‘spook’”’ would easily have proclaimed its identity to any Irishman, while the hole in the wall might explain his mode of ingress, The electric torch came in handy, partly to mystify the Natives, and partly as a guide to enable X: to slip a gag over the fohunga’s mouth, while the horrible yelling sufficed to scare the spectators and cover any shuttling sounds caused by dragging the struggling tohunga unwillingly out through the hole in the grass- thatch wall—the aperture the dog had left by. I must plead guilty to having placed a heavy hand somewhere in the vicinity of the wizard’s solar plexus—the “ kick ’’ Manaia complained of—but this was to make X ’s difficult job easier. Most of the natives declared subsequently that they saw the evil spirit fly through the closed door of the hut and disappear in a puff of flame and smoke just outside—on the very spot where I had stood for a moment before entering the whare. This had been enough for the bravest of them, and the resulting mad helter-skelter in all directions gave X just the chance he wanted to carry the old ¢ohunga across to our hut unperceived. The mysterious rattle on the side of the hut was just an agreed-upon signal from my companion that everything was “‘ all clear,”” and was made by hurling a handful of small pebbles. The following morning found the ailing boy very much better, thanks to the strong dose of castor oil, and Rangihika profuse in his thanks. His joy was overwhelming; he could not do enough to satisfy his sense of gratitude, and we had no difficulty in gaining his confidence and assistance in the matter of our quest. As for Manaia, he found himself utterly discredited, and being unable to withstand the loss of his prestige, he shook the dust of the village off his feet and departed, un- honoured and unmourned. When we last heard of him he was digging kumeras at a deserted pak many miles from the scenes of his former greatness,

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\} in this narrative. forward account of an eventful journey into the unknown interior of Papua, a land of wild mountains and wilder savages. > WHERE ANNIB WIDE WORLD readers have atreat in store It is a vivid, straight- | t ‘ Mr. Taylor has the knack of making one visualize the scenes he describes, and his story of his adventures will be found most absorbing. Il. finely - built muscular fellow of about forty. His face was cruel and hawk-like, his lips pressed together in a straight line, his chin thrust forward belligerently. He was, however, friendly to us—chiefly, we dis- covered later, because he hoped to enlist our aid against his enemies, It was here, for the first time, that we came definitely face to face with cannibalism. Far down the trail we saw a little band of warriors approaching the village. As they drew near they shouted loudly, waving their spears and bows and arrows aloft. Two of them seemed to be carrying some- thing on a pole between them. I glanced at Abaridi. His eyes were dilated and his mouth open in a widespread grin. I saw com- prehension dawn in Humphries’ eyes, and like a flash I, too, Tealized what was happening. _ That thing trussed to a pole like a pig, and rapidly being brought to the village, was a human being, and a cannibal feast was in the making ! As the party came closer I took out my field glasses. I could see the victim distinctly, fastened to the pole, face down- wards, by means of heavy, pliant vines. His arms swung limply. It was quite evident that he was dead. Had we thought him Merely stunned, I think we ROM Kepolipoli we pushed on to the K village of a chief called ‘Abaridi, a . Abaridi, the chief of the cannibal village. 251 ALs ROAM Merlin Moore laylor ILLUSTRATED BY UOHN DE WALTON should have risked a battle by interfering, even if it roused the enmity of our hosts. As it was, 1 believe I understood what a struggle was going on in Hum- phries’ mind. Here we had just made friends with Abaridi and his savages. Should we imme- diately forfeit their goodwill by opposing a century-old custom ? It could do the dead man no good, and would certainly place us in extreme danger ? { think we did right in keeping our hands off, horrible as was the thought of what was going on so near us. When the women saw that the returning hunters had ‘‘ game,” they set about building a huge fire, upon which they tossed stones. While these were being heated they fell upon the body of the dead man. What happened then we could not see, but we knew, Papuan cannibals, with the exception of a coastal tribe or two, do not boil their victims. They roast them over hot stones. That evening a parcel wrapped in leaves was sent tous. Fora moment Humphries smoked in silence. Then he turned to one of the policemen. ‘ Take it away and bury it,” he said, “but don’t let anyone see you.” It is the custom among the cannibals to share the roasted bodies of their enemies with all their friends. It was shortly after this that Abaridi broached his amiable plan for wiping out,

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252 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. with our aid, the next tribe on our line of march—the Amenofo, across the Kunimaipa River. that the Government did not help one tribe against another, and that he was visiting the Amenofo in friendship. There- upon Abaridi scowled and his eyes grew evil. In due course Humphries departed, leaving Downing and myself to look after the camp. Abaridi cast a vicious look after him; then he divided his warriors into two bands, sent one of them to sit down at the back of our camp, and himself led the other down the slope behind Humphries’ party. It was such a significant action that I hastily began to take stock of our means of defence, and speedily discovered that our camp was in a serious position if Abaridi chose to attack us. Not only had the men Humphries selected gone with him, but all the other police, with the exception of two, had slipped away. They were spoiling for a fight, and they pre- ferred the dangerous trip to Amenofo to stopping on guardincamp. The two police- men who had remained behind were virtually useless. One was a “ green” hand sent along for training in patrol work; the other had for several days been complaining of violent pains in his head, and had become so worn out from lack of sleep that he was on the verge of a collapse. I routed them out of their tent, however, and set them to doing sentry-go where they could keep an eye on botn of Abaridi’s bands. My own revolver was strapped to my waist, but Downing’s revolver and rifle had been lent to two village constables in Humphries’ party. I think that Abaridi had planned to take us by surprise, and, if he had succeeded in capturing the camp. hoped to ambush Humphries and the police when they returned. Our two sentries, however, were an indication to him that we were on our guard, and reluctantly he must have decided to be good. Perhaps the rifles turned the scale in our favour. From the time that Humphries left us, until he returned, what occurred was to Downing and me very much like spending several hours at the “ movies.’”” We could see what went on, but we could hear nothing. And this—unlike the films—was grim reality, and human lives, our own included, were staked upon the outcome. l‘rom our camp to the principal Amenofo village, across the jagged chasm through which the Kunimaipa runs, was probably a mile and a quarter as the crow flies. Our field-glasses revealed to us things that Humphries and his men, struggling down the Kuefa slope, swimming the river, and clambering up the Amenofo spur, could not see. The hours that followed were tense ones for them, but I venture to think that we, watching all that transpired and Humphries curtly refused, saying - powerless to give warning or to help our comrades, suffered the most. WHAT WE SAW FROM THE HILL-TOP. Humphries had scarcely departed when we noticed that from all directions small bands of armed natives were coming into the principal Amenofo village and joining the group already there. There must have been several hundred of them, and from their incessant moving about it was quite plain that they were not gathering with friendly intent. Otherwise, true to mountain custom, they would have assembled round the most important chief and squatted on the ground until the visitors arrived. Presently we saw some thirty or forty of them quit the village and set out at a run down the trail along the top of the ridge that ended at the river. Then a larger group followed and spread itself in the high saw- edged grass beside the trail. From time to time single individuals were detached from the first party and sent back to the village. Evidently they were scouts returning to report. If Chief Inawaia had planned to ambush our party at the river, he was thwarted by the fact that Humphries decided against trying to bridge the stream and ordered his men to swim, for the first party of Amenofo wartiors speedily turned back immediately and joined the second party. At almost the same moment we saw Humphries and the police climbing up the spur from the river. For some reason Inawaia set his trap at the edge of the village, and not where his -advanced party first concealed itself. A messenger sped from the village and recalled the hidden warriors. Hastily they went back up the trail into the village. If we, with our eyes glued upon the scene, had any doubt as to the intentions of the savages, it was dispelled by the discovery that the women and children, bearing upon their backs heavy loads of their belongings, were leaving the village and disappearing into the jungle. When Humphries’ men were within a quarter of a mile of the village they stopped, and for the first time Downing and I saw that at that point a small trail left the principal one and wound its way into the village by a circuitous route. Humphries could not see that, nor could he know that while he and his police corporal were debating which trail to follow, Inawaia was planting his savages on both sides of the main trail, only a few hundred yards ahead. For the moment I forgot that I could not be heard, and I waved my arm wildly and screamed: ‘‘ Take the little trail, Dick, take the little trail! ’’ When I realized my own helplessness to influence the decision, I sank hopelessly to the ground. But I

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WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 253 A mountain village commanding a wide expanse of country. couldn't take the glasses from my eyes, and dimly I heard Downing repeating over and over: ‘‘ Oh God, make them take the little trail. Oh God, make them take the little trail!” That prayer must have been heard, for when Humphries set out again it was up the little trail—and the ambuscade had failed! Before the old cannibal was aware of it, our party had entered his village and was posted where its rifles commanded the place. It did not take Inawaia long to discover that he had been foiled, and he hurriedly called his men from their hiding-places and sent them through the high grass to encircle the village. Not until he had ringed our men about with his warriors did he put in an appearance. Then, according to the story umphries told us later, the old man dramatically emerged and planted himself at the edge of his village, demanding to know who his visitors were and what they wanted. : “We are friends,” replied Humphries’ interpreter, and proceeded to deliver a long harangue upon the powers of the white man which evidently impressed Inawaia. “If what you say is true, let the white man come to meet me alone,” replied the chief. “And let him leave his weapons behind,” he added craftily. Humphries had only the briefest of moments in which to make up his mind. If he had refused, the savages encircling the village would probably have closed in and wiped him and his men out without leaving the concealment of the long grass. Re- member, none of them suspected that they were surrounded. Humphries, fortunately, chose the right way. He dropped his rifle and started across the space that separated him from Inawaia. Over his shoulder he called back a warning to the police. Old Inawaia was as close to death then as he ever had been, for the two best shots among the police—men who could hit what they wanted to hit without raising their rifles from their hips—had the muzzles of their weapons pointed at his heart. Humphries’ revolver, also, was stuck in his belt; he rightly surmised that Inawaia did not know it was a weapon. A few yards from the chief Humphries stopped and held out both his arms. It was a tense second. If Inawaia accepted this sign of friendship the danger would be passed, unless something occurred to anger the natives. If the old chief held his ground and became suspicious, however, the village would become a shambles. “It seemed that I stood there for hours, watching the emotions that were revealed in Inawaia’s face,” Humphries told us later. “T could see doubt and disbelief struggling with the hope and desire to be friendly. Then slowly Inawaia came towards me, his eyes fixed upon mine, and wrapped his arms around my body. And I hugged him back like a brother.” And at that precise moment Downing and

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254 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I, on the other side of the valley, dropped our glasses with a whoop and did a wild dance, to the vast amazement and amuse- ment of Abaridi’s watching warriors. There is little more to relate about what happened in Amenofo. Humphries told the savages about the Government and what it could and would do for those who yielded to it and abandoned the practice of killing and eating their enemies. Inawaia was friendly, but it . is to be feared that, in spite of Hum- phries’ words, some of the old chief’s enemies graced the feast that was given that very night to celebrate peace with the white man. In our camp we heard the mountains echoing the wild cries from Amenofo, and the Kuefa folk told us they were the songs of their enemies, who had killed and = were about to eat. Anyhow, the door of Amenofo now stands ajar. Whether it will swing wide open in the future will de- pend upon what the next white men who cross the Kunimaipa do. Back in the foot- hills, among strange people with whom he was ill at ease, Payeye, the camera boy, had been something of a nonentity in our midst. But once we began to climb to higher ground he started to thrust himself into notice. He swaggered and strutted among the other natives, seemingly proud of his ability to talk to the village folk and to obtain from them choice bits of food which none of the others could get. He appeared, moreover, to glory in the limelight of being our interpreter to these people. Payeye’s contempt for our laborious plodding up the steep mountain sides, the caution with which we crossed the logs spanning deep places, and our shivers when, from some high spot, we gazed into the depths of the valleys below us was not to be mistaken. The boy was lithe and agile, A typical cannibal of the hills. climbed easily, and descended the steep slopes at a breakneck pace which we could not maintain. If a carrier saw a bunch of betel-nut hanging high in a tree and made shift to climb clumsily after it, Payeye would laugh scornfully and literally “walk up” the tree and get it. He seemed to realize that we white men were affected by heights and deliberately set out to bedevil us about it. I re- member one occa- sion when we had clambered up to a spur two thousand feet above a ¢reek, only to find that at the top it was less than eighteen inches wide and sloped abruptly on the other side, too. Faint with exer- tion, and with my head swimming, I straddled the ridge with my legs dang- ling off into space, leaning forward until the grass hid from my eyes the terrific drop on either side of me. After a few moments I re- gained my self- control and raised my head. Not five ards away stood ayeye, his heels on the ridge, his toes over the edge, gazing into space with a_ sardonic grin upon his face. Involyntarily I shuddered and spoke to him sharply, motioning him to stop it. He laughed shrilly and moved away, but so near the edge that every minute I expected him to go over, to be dashed to pieces on the rocks far below. It was another youth, slightly older than Paycye, who finally brought out a new side of the mountain youngster’s character. This yqung man suddenly dashed into the village and plunged into one of the huts. The next moment he was out again, and on his head was a great bunch of cassowary feathers. THE MAN-KILLER. Proudly he paraded up and down before his fellows, and was then invited to a seat about the fire. No words were exchanged

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The expedition on the march. —none were needed, The youth had become aman. Somewhere in the jungle he had taken a human life, thereby earning his right to the feather head-dress of a killer and becoming eligible for matrimony. Whether it was a man, however, a helpless child, or a decrepit old woman we were never to know. To him and his people it made no difference, and fair means or foul did not enter into the matter. He had killed, and that was enough. I have no doubt that on that very night the flushed and exultant young man-killer gained a mate—the first of several wives. If so, she did the proposing and he accepted, because to refuse her meant a beating at the hands of her relatives because he had “' dis- graced ’’ her. After the feast they met at the edge of the jungle and she accompanied him to his hut, thus sealing the marriage bargain and placing upon him the obligation of paying her relatives for her in pigs, shells, weapons, and gimcracks dear to a native heart. After that she would till his gardens, cook his food, bear his children, act as a WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 255 beast of burden, and share his affec- tions with other wives he might gain in the same manner. At thirty she would be a grand- mother, at forty an old crone—if she lived. He, if he survived his enemies and_ thc machinations of the sorcerers, would by then be a doddering old pacuareh, no onger fit for the chase or war and too senile even to share the councils of his village. The sight of this youth achieving the rights of manhood seemed to excite jealousy in Payeye. He glowered at the other lad, and once, when they came close, snarled at him much as would a wild animal. These signs were not lost on Humphries, and he warned us to be careful about the youngster. Payeye, he said, was ripe fora murder. Moreover, he was refusing Huts in a Mekeo village.

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256 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his food, and we knew that his old cannibal- istic instincts were coming to the surface. Payeye was “ hungry along man.” hen, one day on the trail, Payeye dis- appeared. We were surrounded at the time by hostile natives, who worried us exceedingly without making any direct attack. Downing was at the rear of the column and Humphries had given him a bodyguard—Kiai, a big rawboned chap but recently recruited into the constabulary. All at once the latter came charging along the track. “ Taubada ! taubada !’ he gasped. “ Mist’ Downing fall down and break him one feller leg.” ®: And you come running here to tell me instead of carrying him on your back?” rasped Humphries. He seized the policeman by his shock of hair, whirled him round in the direction from which he had come, and shoved him. “I told you never to leave him, you matamata (greenhorn) policeman,”’ he raged. “Get back to him in a hurry.” And Kiai took the trail on winged feet. Humphries and I also ran back, and as we went there passed through my brain a vision of what this mishap meant. Days of carrying an injured man over trails that would make his suffering excruciating, days during which we must travel slowly among a hostile people, while we desperately strove to make our food last until we could reach a mission station near the coast, where medical attention was available. Then suddenly, from far down the trail, came the whip-like crack of a revolver. “Good heavens! he’s killed himself!” gasped Humphries, and the same thought lashed across my own mind, for only a short while before we had all discussed the possibilities of accidents, and had agreed that this would be a sporting way out by anyone disabled, for the sake of the others. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF DOWNING. When we caught up with Kiai, however, he was aimlessly circling about on the trail, and Downing was nowhere in sight. Kiai pointed out the hole among the moss- covered roots where Downing had broken through, and the crushed undergrowth where he had lain after ordering the constable to catch us up and send back help. Every moment that we remained there our own danger increased, but we could not leave “The leading native, startled by my sudden appearance, hurled his spear at me.” Digitized by CoC Ogle

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Pi ae LD until we had satisfied ourselves that neither Downing alive nor his dead body was any- where about. Finally we came to the only theory that would hold water. He had been carried away by the savages, and there was nothing we could do. We didn’t even know where to look for him. The moment we turned to go back, a heavy pig-spear hurtled past our heads and stuck quivering in the ground beyond us. The trail, until then empty and silent, suddenly filled with black, naked bodies Tunning towards us with weapons in their hands, and their voices raised in the Piercing cry of the cannibal when meat is at hand. In the same instant that we began a heart-breaking flight up the trail, I saw a thin, black body come shooting down the trunk of a nearby tree, and laughter, shrill and mocking, rose high above the din of our pursuers, Even had I not seen him, I should have recognized Payeye’s voice. In spite of our handicap of heavy boots we won tke race, and the pursuing savages Scattered when the police fired a few shots over their heads. I was determined to start pursui i escui Yor sean at once in the hope of rescuing WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 257 Downing or recovering his body, Humphries bade me listen to reason. “By now he’s beyond any help that we can give him,” he said, catching my arm, “even if we knew where to look. No; it’sa much longer job than that. Naturally, his death must not go unavenged, but it will take months. We must hurry back to the coast, arrange for food supplies to be sent up to us until our task is done, get more police, so that we can divide into two parties, and use prisoners from the Kairuku jail as carriers. Our party is too big, too un- wieldy.” With that I was forced to be content, though I vowed I would be revenged on Payeye if he fell again into our clutches. Noon the next day found us halted in the bed of a creek, We had not seen a hostile native all day. Bitterly we accounted for this byour belief that the savages had satisfied their craving for flesh and did not care to follow us any farther. And then all at once we heard the hum of voices, and Paveye’s unmistakable shrill Iaughter ringing out among the trees. Three natives came out of the jungle. Hard on their heels came Payeye—and he but

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258 wore the feathers of the man who has killed ! I raised my revolver and pointed it at his black body just above the heart, remember- ing only that Downing was gone and that this little viper was responsible. Then the weapon clattered from my hand as I sprang to my feet with a whoop of joy. Humphries dragged me down again just in time, for the leading native, startled by my _ sudden appearance, had hurled his spear at me. But a little thing like that didn’t bother me then, for behind Payeye I had seen Downing — limping painfully, and sup- ported on each side by a naked savage, but undeni- ably alive. “It’s all right, old dears,” he called. ‘‘ Come on out and meet Payeye’s friends.” We literally fell upon him, wringing his hand and pounding him between the shoulders until he begged for mercy. Presently he told us what had _hap- pened, “IT dropped behind yes- terday to take a photo, and not looking where I was going broke through the moss between some roots and gave my leg a wrench. I told Kiai to catch you and bring someone to help carry me. He had no sooner left than Payeye came along. For a moment I thought he was going to jab me with a spear he was carrying, and, remem- bering those feathers he wants to wear so much, ° I confess I shuddered. I yanked out my revolver and fired it in the air. Then all of a sudden a lot of natives appeared, and I thought it was all up with me. “ But Payeye got in front of me and made them a speech, and they picked me up and dumped me in a smelly old hut in their village. All night they argued, and Payeve had a lot to say, Then this morning they started off with me again. I hadn't the slightest idea where they were taking me, although Payeye kept jabbering away and Pavers: the camera boy. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. laughing as if it was wall right. Then we got here and found you.’ “It's the most extraordinary thing 1 ever heard,’’ Humphries declared. ‘I wonder what made Payeye stand up to them and save your life ? Why, man alive, he’s as much a cannibal as any of them, and he could have had human flesh and won his manhood rights all at the same time ) by killing you when he found you helpless there on the trail. I can’t understand it.” Then Downing voiced a pet theory of his. “Gratitude; that’s it,” he said. “I was good to the boy, and when he had a chance to repay me By, saving my life he did : * eopiduite snorted. He has no belief in the New Guinea native’s sense of gratitude. “Gratitude! Rot!’ he replied. ‘‘ Here! We'll see what he has to say about it. Payeye!” The boy got up and came over to us. He was his old silent, almost sullen self again, and plainly he didn't relish our company any more than he ever had. “Fornier,” said Hum- phries, in Motuan, turning to a constable, ‘‘ you talk to him. Ask him why he didn’t kill Mr. Downing. Ask him if his belly was sore for the white man,” which is the charming way in which the Papuan des- cribes sympathy. Fornier and the boy talked in the Mekeo tongue, and then the old constable turned apologetically to us. “ Masters,” he said, ‘ the boy is young, and he is a fool. He says his belly is never sore for anyone. He says he did not try to kill Mr. Downing or let his friends try to kill him, because the white man knows too much and is a great sorcerer, And Payeye was afraid that Mr. Downing would not die but would point the black box (camera) at him and use ‘ puri- puri’ (magic) and put a spell on him,” Humphries laughed. (To be continued.)

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Eskimo Wireless’ STRIKING CORROBORATION OF A STRANGE STORY. Our readers will remember the remarkable narrative entitled “Eskimo Wireless” which appeared a couple of months ago, and which hinged upon a strange faculty some of the Indians and Eskimos of the Far North of Canada appear to possess —the ability to communicate with one another over vast distances, or even “see” events that are happening hundreds of miles away. This uncanny gift—telepathy, second sight, call it what you will—they share with certain native tribes Afri and South America, where the “bush telegraph,” the mysteries of “ju-ju,” and similar phenomena have long puzzled investigators. In connection with “Eskimo Wireless,” the following very curious “sequel” has just come to hand, affording striking corroboration of the facts narrated. It should be pointed out, by way of preface, that the writer of this contribution had not seen our story when he sent us the narrative. “OLD PETER.” By C. N. C. HAYTER (Late Sergt.-Major Royal North-West Mounted Police of Canada). under the “ influence ” he told us that the North-West Mounted Police of Canada, and during my service I came across several interesting instances of “second sigiit’” among the Eskimos. ‘Two cases in particular made a deep impres- sion upon my mind, and I propose to set down here exactly what happened and leave the reader to form his own conclusions. The Eskimog of the west coast of Hudson Bay, amongst whom I took the census in 1910, believe that their destinies are ruled by spirits, or angekoks, and that any infringe- ment of certain tribal laws will bring down upon them summary punishment from the outraged spirits. The headman of each tribe is known as an “ angekok man,” and his word is law amongst his people. He alone is supposed to be able to interpret the wishes of the spirits, and he is also believed to be possessed of “second sight.”” One day in the summer old Peter, an A'villic Eskimo and “ angekok man” of 8reat repute, happened to come into Fort Churchill. The Hudson Bay Company’s steamer Pelican was overdue, and just for fun we induced the old man to go off into one of his trances and then asked him questions as to the whereabouts of the vessel and the safety of her crew. When he was OR eight years—1904-1912—I_ had the honour to belong to the Royat Pelican was in great trouble through assisting another vessel, but that both would arrive in two days’ time. Sure enough, the Pelican duly appeared on the day indicated, having in tow a small auxiliary cutter named the Paradox, which she had encountered in Hudson Straits so badly damaged by the ice that the crew had abandoned her, The Pelican took the derelict in tow, but had part of her rudder carried away and experi- enced great difficulty in reaching Churchill. All this happened five days before we interrogated old Peter, and a glance at the map will prove that a native at Fort Churchill, on the west coast of Hudson Bay, could have no possible means of knowing, by any ordinary method, what was happening half-way down Hudson Straits. The second instance was even more startling. In March, rorz, it had been arranged that I should patrol as far as Ranken Inlet, two hundred and fifty miles south of Fullerton, taking my census returns with me, and there connect with a patrol from Churchill commanded by Sergeant Borden. Each of us was to wait three days beyond a specified time of meeting in order to allow for unfavourable weather conditions. Two days’ journey from Ranken Inlet I reached old Peter’s camp, and out of sheer

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260 curiosity asked him if he would exercise his occult powers and tell me how Borden's patrol was faring. I had encountered some very bad weather myself, and was a little anxious about them. Peter duly passed into a trance, and told me that my comrades had encountered great hardships ; he feared they were entirely lost. This so impressed me—perhaps because Borden was a very close friend of mine—that I ushed on at once in the direction of Churchill, and about two days later, to my great relief, met Borden alive and well. He was rather short of food, but otherwise quite O.K. The Sergeant and I had a good laugh over Peter’s “vision,” and de- cided that for once the old man had “backed the wrong horse.” In the summer, however, when I went down to Fort Churchill again, we received our mail from the outside world, and the news we gleaned from it caused us to change our opinions of old Peter's clairvoyant or telepathic powers. We were horrified to learn that in March, just about the time I was inter- THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. reduced to killing and eating their dogs, but they struggled gamely on until at length, thirty miles from the Fort, Taylor and Gilchrist were completely exhausted and could go no farther. Leaving them in a brush camp, with all the sleeping-robes and such food as remained, the Inspector . and Carter tried to push on, hoping to reach the Fort and send back help. actually got They within ten miles of their destination, and then both men suc- cumbed. When the patrol became overdue at Dawson City Cor- poral Dempster, one of the finest trackers in the North, went out in search of them. Ere long he came across the dead bodies of Taylor and Gilchrist. It was evident that Gilchrist had died first, for he was wrapped up in all the robes. Taylor, apparently, had abandoned hope when his comrade died, and had shot himself with his car- bine. Close by was a camp kettle half full of boiled moc- casins, which the poor fellows had cut up and used for food. Fitzgerald and Carter were found viewing the Eskimos, ten miles from a patrol led by Fort McPherson. Inspector Fitzgerald, Carter had died and consisting of Sergt.-Major C. N. C. Hayter, R.N.-W.M.P. first, and the In- Constables Taylor, spector had laid him Gilchrist, and Special Constable Carter, had out and covered his face. Then, after lost their way while proceeding from Fort McPherson to Dawson City, Yukon, and perished to a man, The story, briefly, was as follows :— Having received orders to patrol from McPherson to Dawson City, Inspector Fitzgerald took with him the two constables, Taylor and Gilchrist, with Carter—who had previously been in the Force—as a guide. From the diary found later on the Inspec- tor's body, it appears that on reaching Little Wind River Carter proved to be at fault as to the route, and after wandering about for some time, Fitzgerald decided to return to M:Pherson, as they were running short of food. Before long they were carefully entering up his official diary, the lion-hearted Fitzgerald had lain down on his side, facing his comrade, and so calmly awaited his death. Now, one police patrol in the Arctic looks very much like another, and it struck both Sergeant Borden and myself, after hearing this tragic news, that by some strange chance it was Fitzgerald’s ill-fated patrol that old Peter ‘“‘ saw ”’ in his trance- vision, and not Borden’s. By no ordinary method of communication could the old man possibly have known what was happen- ing to either party. Anyway, there are the facts, and I leave WIDE WORLD readers to judge for themselves.

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261 What Happened to Spott Se a ae en th RONALD MUTR FERGUSON O tnose few Peorle who, ike myselt, ILLUSTRATED BY KENNETH INNS Spite of his can- tankerous nature, have lived for any length of time in that land of mystery and mirage, the Great Bushveld of South true,” Snake stories, says the Author, are seldom pio but here is an amusing little tale con- | a miserly old South African store- | keopen: and a black mamba. writes Mr. Ferguson. a I often used to go down and see the old gentleman; it seemed the decent thing to do; he “It is absolutely always appeared on the point of death, Africa, the vast territory which stretches north to Portuguese territory from the foot of the precipitous Murchison Range in the Northern Transvaal, the lighter side of life very seldom presents itself. Very few of the adventures which are bound to happen to them can be described as funny —that is, unless one is so peculiarly con- stituted as to be able to perceive the humorous side of sudden or painful death. Life in those parts is held on too precarious a tenure to be amusing, and one’s sense of humour becomes blunted. Quite the least mirth-provoking creature in Africa, I should say, is the black mamba— the terrible snake that will, on occasion, chase a man on horseback—and there is usually very little indeed to laugh at in any adventure which features one. The following incident deals with the only exception to that rule that 1 have ever heard of. I was serving in the old South African Constabulary at the time ; and in the whole vast area of Olifants Berg, beside my comrade and myself, there were only two other white men, both storekeepers, the nearest twelve miles away. Corporal Carnac, my “ half-section,”” and this particular trader had long discovered that they were mutually incompatible, which was not wonderful, as old Spott was far from being a pleasant person, judged by any standard. Sam Weller’s description of Job Trotter fitted him perfectly—" about as convivial as a live trout in a lime-basket,” and if any further description were needed, it could be summed up in the word “ Scrooge.” either from starva- tion or fever, or— what was quite as likely—violence at the hands of his aggrieved native customers, and both Carnac and I were curious to see which would eventually get him. I have met a lot of mean men ; but Spott was absolutely the “ nearest '’ proposition I ever encountered. He would break his heart ‘over a threepenny- piece, offer you for lunch whatever was left of a tin of bully-beef that he had opened a week ago and had been eating at ever since, sit in the dark to save candles, quarrel with a native for half an hour about the weight of a basket of mealies, and plot revenge for weeks over the matter of a bad egg. Old Spott’s perpetual snarl at everything, and a certain sardonic humour he possessed, rather appealed to me; and I believe 1 got on with him better than anybody else was ever known to. When I came, he would cook, in my honour, a selection of doughnut arrange- ments containing all the tinned scraps left over from previous feeds. These culinary misdemeanours he used to call “ rissoles, but I called them ‘ Jew-patties,” ow ing to the parsimony which dictated their con- coction, and made excuses to buy something else for dinner—which, if the truth were known, was probably just what the old wretch was planning for ! I have dealt at some length with old Spott’s meanness, as it is directly in con- sequence of this trait in his character that [ am able to relate the only humorous yarn IT ever heard that concerned a mamba. The solitary road in that part of the country came to an end beyond Spott’s

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262 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. store, which was in a wooded but scorch- ingly hot valley, through which runs the reed-fringed Blyde river. His being the oniy human habitation for many miles, with the exception of the native kraals, which were mostly on the hillsides, the place was alive with game—and snakes. The spoor showed up clearly on the red sand of the road in the early morning, from the koodoo to the kimbi, from the python to the grass-snake. “Oh, no, I’m not afraid of snakes—I’m not afraid of snakes,” old Spott would intone, in his plaintive snarl, when one mentioned their numbers. “I can’t see what anybody wants to be afraid of snakes for.” His establishment was arranged in the manner usual in native trading-stores. It was a long, low building, wherein a lengthy counter made a short, right-angled turn following the end wall. <A show-case filled with cheap jewellery, looking-glasses, and watches stood at the end of the counter opposite the door, the walls being lined with shelves piled with native cloth and gaudily coloured blankets. Behind the counter at one end was a collection of three-legged Kaffir cooking-pots, of assorted sizes, One morning as I stepped up on to the high veranda of the store, an unusually impassioned discussion—even for him—was in progress between old Spott and some native women who evidently knew their man well. It appeared that Spott had insisted that a certain measure of Kaffir-corn (mabele) was short, and tendered payment accordingly ; the native women on the other hand, supporting their comrade, were threatening to cancel that morning's “ trade ”” if the well-known measure—a large tin mug —were not produced and the matter tested forthwith. Old Spott’s trade consisted to a large extent in “ cornering ”’ native grain against leaner times, when he would “ unload ” back on his customers for three or four times the price originally paid. Though he could have given twice the price he did and still made a fortune, it was a favourite trick of his to conveniently “ lose’”’ the measure and dispute the quantity tendered. ‘The dodge was often successful, but in this instance the little ladies were deter- mined not to be blutfed; and, snarling a greeting at me that was almost a curse, Spotty proceeded to dig up the mug. For once it seemed as if he actually had mislaid it. He snuffled and grubbed around several places, and at last discovered it, to the accompaniment of ripples of girlish laughter and handclapping, behind a pile of biankets on one of the shelves. Personally, after the girls had carried the day with the old man, | had taken no special notice of the proccedings ;_ but suddenly the laughter gave place to terrified screams, and several of the girls ran behind me, or cowered against the counter. “Hau! He-e-e! Mamba! they cried. The old man, muttering and snarling to himself, was apparently too absorbed in his grievance to notice anything, but from the opposite end of the roll of blankets which had yielded up the mug I saw protruding six inches of graceful neck, and the big glaring black eves that are seen in no other snake. Suddenly the old man turned and saw it also. Before I could think what he was going to do, he had seized a broomstick and advanced to the attack with a sort of jazz-step, per- fectly impossible to describe. ‘“‘ I’m not— afraid—of snakes! I’m not—afraid—of snakes!” he chanted, as he went forward. Now nobody but a stark lunatic attacks a mamba with anything but a gun, but the matter was too serious for laughter. “‘ Come back, you old idiot !’’ I remember yelling, with other language for which 1 hope I may be forgiven. Then three things happened simultane- ously. With a final affirmation to the ettect that serpents had no terrors for him, poor old Spott let fly with the broomstick— such a miserable thwack, too! Out flashed six feet of horizontal mamba, with a_ hiss like the stroke of a blacksmith’s bellows, and the old man abruptly disappeared behind the counter, whence instantly pro- ceeded the sound of wheezy curses and metallic rattlings. I have already said there were Kaffir pots behind the counter. Spotty, after taking his swipe at the snake and jumping back, tripped over something. He fell, in a sitting position, into one of the pots, and in that pot, knees to chin, he stuck ! The mamba, | believe, must have slipped, or failed to get a purchase for its sping among the blankets ; otherwise I am certain that old Spott would have been bitten—and the anti-venine serum of Dr. Watkins Pitchford, of the South African Medical Research Bureau, had not been then dis- covered. A mamba bite was almost always fatal. Meanwhile, there was the old man, firmly stuck in his pot, cursing furiously, while the mamba slowly came down towards him, foot after foot of gliding death, from the shelf. 1 made a headlong dash outside for my gun, and, from the doorway, pumped two barrels of “treble A’ into the snake, praying that it might not be able to inflict a dying bite. Thank goodness! I killed it stone dead. It measured thirteen feet four inches in length; and its fangs contained enough poison to have accounted for at least twenty people, The snake disposed of, I somehow dragged Mamba!”

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WHAT HAPPENED TO SPOTT. “He seized a broomstick and advanced to the attack.”

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264 old Spott out of the pot. He was not good- tempered during the operation, and still less so after it; and, trade being brisk that morning, I went out and sat outside on the stoep, meditating on gratitude, and serpents’ teeth, and such things. Presently out came Spott. Something was evidently worrying THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. him badly. ‘‘ Er—that shooting of yours,” he began. I was feeling a little annoyed. ‘“‘ Yes 1 inquired, ‘‘ what was the matter with it 7?” “Oh, nothing—only you've absolutely ruined five blankets, J’l/ put them down to your account, eh?” THE WORLD'S LARGEST GOLDFISH FARM. OME twenty odd years ago a resident of S Martinsville, Indiana, named Eugene Shire- man, inherited a tew acres of swampy land in the midst of a valley known as Grassy Forks, Indiana. He received the usual congratu- lations on getting the legacy, which, however, seemed a matter less for congratulation than for commiseration. ‘‘ What on earth,"’ he asked, “can be done with an outsize in bogs ?"’ Possibly his friends got tired of the question at any rate their answers in time tended towards the facetious. “What would I do with that blessed marsh o’ yours?’ replied someone. ‘‘ Why, I'd turn it into a goldfish farm !’" Out of that would-be humorous bit of advice Eugene Shireman has made a fortune. As the proprietor of the Grassy Vorks Fisheries, one of the show places of America—thousands of curious sightseers flock thither every year—he os Photo\ ern ee has built up the largest business of its kind in the world, exporting millions of goldfish annually to all parts of the globe. Shireman goldfish are swimming in hundreds of thousands of bowls, as well as in the biggest public aquariums. Last year nearly six million fish were sent out from the hatcheries, at prices ranging from a penny to thirty pounds each. Occasionally a very rare specimen will make as much as fifty pounds, This unique farm now covers upwards of eighty acres, arranged in grass-fringed ponds, some of them containing as many as a quarter of a million fish. Feeding this finny multitude is a vast undertaking in itself. The daily dietary consists of a special mash composed mainly of grain, cooked hard and dry, so that it does not dissolve too rapidly in the water. Fifty big tubs of this food are required every day in the spring and summer. The first meal of the newly-hatched fish consists of the yolks of hard- boiled eggs sprayed into the breeding tanks. One egg, it is stated, will feed fifty thousand young fish! Shipping the fish is another big job. They are sent out in specially de- signed cans con- taining fresh water, to which, in summer, ice is added. Very soon, if Shireman’s plans materialize, you will be liable to find on your break- fast table any morning a_ parcel of live fish, for the ‘‘goldfish wizard’’ has actually evolved a satisfactorymethod of sending his finny wares by post! [or Film Library.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE WHEN MARRIAGE IS FATAL Men who are serving prison terms for obtaining money or goods under false pretenses— men who have been hanged or electrocuted for killing other men, are no whit worse than many a man walking the streets to-day who has falsely gained the affections of a young girl, ouarried ler aed then, brough Kis physical or ssental sotherness, killed ber every bone of future happiness. herhood should be a Felony, punished as a Capital Crime, when a man knowingly slaughters all that is most sacred in a woman's heart; her faith in the ability and character of her husband, her expectations of a happy home, her hopes of some day becoming the mother of healthy, strong, laughing little ones. Make Yourself Fit Before You Marry lo rx) rm Stop! Think! Don’t take the fatal step. Fit Yourself for matrimony before you ask Hy any woman to marry you. She can't know the things about you which YOU know and Lhe many of your men friends know. If you are weak, watery-blooded, bilious; with your tissues rotting away with constipation and your manhood lost through early excesses and dissipations, you are Unfit—Unclean—in no condition to marry her or any other girl. Don’t Do It! You will regret it all your life. And the girl who loves and trusts you now will despise and detest you when she learns the truth. Don't lead her to the altar until you are a real man in the fullest sense of the word. Get rid of the ailments which mean life- long misery to you both. Put on flesh, if you are a walking skeleton; trim down, if you are grossly fat. Build yourself up, until you are fine and fit again. You'can do it—if only you will exert your Will Power and begin NOW! Restore Your Flagging Powers and Manhood I will tell you what to do and how to do it. I have spent my life studying Nature's way of restoring health, strength and vigor to men and women who have lived too hard or too fast; who have, through ignorance or folly, violated Nature's Laws and are paying the penalty for it. If YOUR virility is gone; if you are UNFIT and are becoming more so every day—I Wil Help You. You won't need drugs or dope of any kind. I will show you how Nature herself, can free you from the ailments that are keeping you unfit. I will teach you how to make use of her wonderful powers of Revitalization to build up your body, strengthen your vital organs—all of them—clear your brain, and get back the Manhood you have lost. I have done it, and am doing it today, for thousands of other men and women. What I have done for them I can and will do for YOU—I GUARANTEE IT—irrespective of your age, sex, occupation or surroundings. STRONGFORTISM The Modern Science of Health Promotion LIONEL STRONGFORT Physicians and surgeons appreciate thoroughly the fact that—in a great number of cases : Dr. S: f Harvard, d —the rebuilding, revitalizing Forces of Nature alone (when the Cause of the trouble has e ‘Strongfort is i ve unquestionably the finest been removed) Will Work the Cure. specimen of physical STRONGFORTISM is a Science which I have developed out of and founded on those velopment ever seen. Forces. I have spent practically my whole life studying them, classifying them, learning how to apply them to indi- sm I built myself up and the Most Perfect Specimen ainment. Through it I have pupils in every part of the sickly, anemic, burned-out, you one scientific certain and virility. of Strongf viduals. By mear have won the World's Award of Physical and Health helped bring happiness to World. If © Wea gene Me Ee will sho road back to health, strength Send for My Free Book “Promotion and Conservation of Health, Strength and Mental Energy.” It cx N oNeaganon ean Cut out and Mail this Coupon........06-.++ FREE CONSULTATION COUPON Mr. Lionel Strongfort, Dept. 1826, Newark, N. J. Please send me your book, ‘Promotion and Conservation of Health, Strength and Mental Energy," for postage on which Tenclose a roc piece (one dime). [have marked (X) before the subject in which I am interested. Pimples . Youthful Errors . Vital Losses : Hay Fever ‘Obesity : Flat Feet yeak Eyes most corrective and rebuilding : Headache Stomach - Gastritis ht to read it :Thinness Disorders Heart Weakness ‘Rupture Gonstipation Poor Circulation Bilious: . Skin Disorders Torpid Liver Despondency Indigestion Round 2 Nervousness Shoulders jc Right Now. Deformity Poor Memory ..Lung Troubles TS: DAY! “It's Just mark the subje ts on (Describe) Rheumatism Stoop the : Successful Prostrate Shoulders Marriage Troubles . Mused lay, Devel- . -Increas Manhood opm: Height Restored ..Great Strength LIONEL STRONGFORT Physical and Health Specialist Dept. 1826. Founded 1895 Newark, New Jersey Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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“INSTINCTIVELY WE LEAPT BACKWARDS, AND WITH A RUSH THE GREAT BRUTE HURTLED OVER THE EDGE AND CRASHED INTO THE WATER BELOW.” (SEE PAGE 272.)

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GRA Mitchell. HOAGOS 1.1.5, > oe 267 OF THE BAYANO Wr SBD ILLUSTRATED BY G.W.GOSS A very thrilling narrative—-Mr. Mitchell-Hedges’ account of his trip up the Bayano River, in Central America, in quest of the great! saurians of that little-known region. These crocodiles run to a huge size, display wonderful cunning and swiftness of not hesitate to attack unwary human beings, and make very formidable opponents. movement, do The Author’s night-hunts up the creeks, with danger lurking beneath the water and on every hand, must have been as weird and nerve rye as the most blasé excitement-seeker could desire. tion of my experiences while hunting crocodiles in Central America, some account of the habits of these reptiles may be found of interest to stay-at-home readers. Those who have never had an oppor- tunity of visiting the tropics can have no knowledge of the ways of crocodiles in a state of nature. A sight of the quiet, sluggish, and apparently peaceful reptiles basking lazily and contentedly in the Zoo conveys the impression that their movements are slow and lethargic, and it is rare to see a captive specimen move more than a few feet. They are very different creatures, how- ever, when necessity compels them to hunt for food in the secluded swamps and river fastnesses that ave their natural habitat. During the breeding season they deposit their eggs from six to eighteen inches beneath the surface of the sand, where they leave them, the heat of the sun hatching out the young in due course. The eggs are usually laid within a few yards of a swamp or river, but never so far away but that the male or female, or both, can keep constant watch over the nest. B=. embarking upon a descrip- A NERVE-TRYING EXPERIMENT. The best way to discover the eggs is to take a stick from four to five feet in length and keep thrusting it into the sand until suddenly a soft spot is encountered. Then, if you scrape down with your hands, the cluten will be found. The eggs are pure white in Vou iv. 18. colour and elongated in shape, being alehtly larger than those of the duck; the shell appears exactly like china. An interesting, if somewhat risky, experiment may be made to test the vigilance of the parents. Take a couple of the eggs, break them, and throw the contents out into the near-by morass or stream. If you are wise you will then retreat a few yards, with your rifle in readiness—you will not have long to wait ! Although, so far as can be seen, there is not a crocodile in sight anywhere, yet very soon a dark object will appear, coming apparently. from nowhere. First the head and_ bac are exposed, and finally the full length emerges. Very, very slowly the reptile commences to approach, using a peculiar method of its own. Its stealthiness is remarkable ; one can detect no movement, yet every moment it draws nearer. Do not retreat, but stand quite still. This, 1 must warn you, will require a great deal of nerve, for if ever anything in this world radiates remorseless, vindictive hate, it is an alligator or crocodile advancing in this manner; there is a deadiiness of purpose about it which is unmistakable. Now comes the critical moment. The great brute stops dead still, its horrible eyes continuing to gaze fixedly at one, very much like a snake hypnotizing its victim. Watch the back legs very carefully. When you see them both coming closer to the front, don't wait another second, but fire at once —and shoot to hit, for if you miss nothing in this world can save you! When it finally Digitized ty GOOe ic

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268 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. halts the crocodile will be approximately twenty or thirty feet away, according te its si and in striking contrast to the sluggish manner in which it has hitherto approached, these last twenty or so feet Will be covered with a lightning rapidity that is deadly in its suddenness. So swift is this last rush that unless you are well versed in the habits of the creatures it is almost a certainty that you will be thrown off your guard, and taken so much by surprise that even if you have a chance to fire it is more than likely that you will miss. And there is never time for a second shot ! Many writers have stated, quite truth- fully, that alligators and crocodiles * are cowardly, but here again they present two sides to their character. If a man walking through the bush accidentally stumbles over one of the reptiles it immediately slithers away; I have never heard of, or known, a single instance where a crocodile has attacked when surprised in this manner. It is quite another story, however, if one is rash enough to bathe in a stream, wade in shallow water, or fall asleep in places where they are plentiful. In such circumstances the cunning brutes somehow seem to know that the advantage lies with them. When secure in the knowledge that they are in- distinguishable beneath the water, or that their intended prey is asleep or unconscious of danger, they will attack without hesitation. They appear to have an uncanny instinct which tells them when no defence can be put up. On one occasion, when hunting alligators by night, I had a very narrow escape, which goes to show that one should never grow careless. I was up a river which is not marked on the map, and was using a spot- light. This is an excellent device—an acetylene lamp fixed on a leather band which fits round one’s head, the charge being carried in a receptacle hung to one’s belt, from which a tube runs to the lamp. This lamp is fitted with a reflector, throwing the rays straight ahead from the forehead. When the brilliant beam of light encounters the eyes of an alligator, or other reptile, they flash vivid red. With the cat family, such as the leopard or jaguar, the eyes flash green, and an excellent sight can be obtained with the rifle. On this particular occasion 1 had killed four alligators. Having hunted the brutes in many parts of the world, I know their habits fairly well, and in a reed-bed up the river had noticed © Many people have a hazy i¢ only in the East, and Central and South Ame incorrect. that crocodiles are found bly alligators. The crocodile is distinguishable from the al among other points, by a ridge on the snout, while the fourth tooth from the end of the lower jaw fits into a notch in the upper. In the alligator this tooth fits into a pit, and the alligator has a much broader snout The scientific name of the monsters described in this article is erecodius aentus, and, according to the books, they usually run about twelve feet in length,—Tue Evrror. a number of tiny reptiles which had only recently hatched out. They are curious little creatures at this stage, and 1 thought I would take two or three of them back with me and keep them alive for study. I picked up one, and had just got hold of another when it commenced to make a curious thin rasping noise—cvidently a call for help, for it was immediately followed by a tremendous smashing and splashing .in the reeds. Almost before I could reach for my rifle, which I had deposited in the bottom of the boat, Mrs. Alligator. thoroughly enraged at the molestation of her offspring, rushed to the rescue and came right alongside my little craft. 1 fireds like lightning, but have not the slightest idea where the bullet went, though the furious creature promptly disappeared —for which I was truly grateful. An attack by one of these powerful brutes on that cockleshell of a boat in the middle of the night might easily have ended most disastrously for me. On this same river, while holding the boat close to the bank by clutching at some tree- roots, I had an uncanny feeling that there was danger just behind me. Turning my head, to which the spot-light was fixed, two scarlet orbs immediately flashed into view on a low-growing branch within three feet of my head. My ritle and shot-gun were both lying at the bottom of the dug-out. Stealthily I reached my right hand down and grasped the gun, never letting the light waver from those rigidly-fixed eyes. Once the gun was in my fingers I fired almost before it touched my shoulder. There was a rustle, a slither, and a “ flop” into the water, and I saw an eight-foot snake wriggling convulsively on the surface—the deadly ‘* bushmaster.” One seems to need eyes everywhere when hunting in the wilds, especially at night, when the jungle awakens, and death in various forms lurks in every shadow. With this preamble, for the length of which I must apologize, I propose to begin the story of our Bayano River adventures. THE RIVER OF CROCODILES. After spending some months at Taboga Island, catching many great fish and exploring the country round, as related in my former WIDE Wor LD articles, I went over to Panama City. While there I lunched one day with the Minister of Finance, Dr. Eusibio Morales. It was entirely owing to the information he gave me, and circumstantial reports that mighty crocodiles lurked in a creek up a river called the Bayano, that Lady Richmond Brown and 1 decided to make an attempt to explore these little-known waters. I shall always be greatly indebted to Dr. Morales for his kindness In this respect, as our experiences Ne eS OO ee eee ES Bee a SS ae a eR

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HUNTING THE GIANT CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO. on the Bayano added considerably to our knowledge of the country. The Bayano, I should explain, is also known as the Chepo, and runs out into the Pacific at the point where the tiny island of Chepillo may be seen on the map. Having loaded up our yacht, the Cara, with supplies, we left Taboga Island in per- fect weather for our trip to the land of crocodiles. We were at least twenty miles from the Bayano when we struck the current from its mouth, making an oily lane through the 269 monster had taken our forefoot in his massive jaws and was crunching and shaking it. Had we not been going dead-slow I am convinced the tottom would have been torn out of the yacht. It soon became evident that the Cara was firmly held, and our position was any- thing but cheerful. Fast aground, with tle tide rapidly ebbing (the average rise and fall hereabouts is sixteen to seventeen feet) it seemed a certainty this time that our well- beloved little boat was indeed lost. The water dropped very quickly, and 2s Some enormous specimens from the Bayano, ranging from eighteen to twenty-three feet in length. sea. We followed this useful guide for some time, arriving at the entrance late in the afternoon. Here we were immediately con- fronted with a formidable difficulty—reefs and sandbars stretching right across the mouth and for miles on either side. I realized that navigation was going to be more difficult than I had expected, for the muddy water pouring out obscured all view of the rocks that might lie below the surface. Creeping close in, keeping the yacht going dead-slow, I noticed a likely-looking opening —a natural break in a sharp-fanged, wicked- looking limestone reef. Sending Robbie, our native engineer, forward to sound con- tinually, we gently nosed into it. “ Deep water, three fathoms,” he chanted, as we crept on; ‘‘ two fathoms, plenty of water.” We were just through the passage, apparently with plain sailing ahead of us, when he suddenly yelled: ‘ Stop!” Too late!—Bump—bump! Then came a long shivering grind that ended in a Tasping wrench—just as though some marine it receded the yacht heeled over to a peril- ously acute angle. We were evidently on a ledge of some sort, and I was afraid that any minute the Cara would fall completely over on her side, which would have been an irrevocable disaster. Three-quarters of an hour more, and we were left high and dry, so that we could clamber down the side, walk round, and examine the hull thoroughly. This we did, with a “ let's-know-the-worst ’” feeling. The damage, we discovered, was not so serious as we had feared, although one of the copper plates had been torn off the bottom; the propeller was also bent and had two or three pieces knocked out of the blades. We straightened it out as best we could with a hammer, until it appeared more or less serviceable. The shaft had apparently withstood the shock, no fracture being discoverable. The tide turned just as dusk was falling, and commenced to run up the river at a tremendous pace. Very soon, to our vast relief, the Cara was afloat again. It would

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Mr. Mitchell-Hedges firing at a crocodile among the mangrove swamps. have been madness to start the engine, so Robbie and our native boy rowed ahead in the dinghy, towing us by means of a rope attached to the capstan of the yacht. Our misfortunes, however, were not yet over, for a hundred yards or so farther on we Tan aground again. By the feeling this time I knew it was sand, and imagined that at least we were safe here ; but I was wrong, for with the heavy water of the river meeting the incoming tide, we began to roll heavily, bumping in a dull, shatteri ing way that was even more alarming than the rocks from which we had just -drifted clear. It was a tremendous relief when we floated off once more and found ourselves drifting on through a wall of blackness. I felt certain we should run aground again if we continued, so we dropped anchor, and at once knew by the shallowness of the water that we should have to face the danger of being left stranded when the tide ebbed again. In desperation we lit one of our red signal flares, and ten minutes later another, continuing to do this at intervals. OUT OF THE DARKNESS. Suddenly I was startled by a loud hail which seemed to come from nowhere. This was followed by black shapes creeping up the yacht’'s side on to the deck. It trans- pired that two natives who lived on the island of Chepillo, and had witnessed our misfortunes from the start, had come to our rescue in a little dug-out When they first appeared they looked like demons from the pit, whereas in reality they were angels of deliver- ance. Their know- ledge of English, however, was ex- tremely limited, their first remark being :— “You all happy, Sah?” 1 don’t think we quite appreciated their unconscious humour! However, they were splendid fellows, and the way in which they navigated the boat in the black dark- ness of the night was nothing short of astonishing. These two men appeared to possess an almost uncanny sense Of direction. First to port, then to starboard we went, seeming to turn almost completely round, yet we glided smoothly on without encountering further sandbanks or rocks. It was im- possible to see a yard ahead, but these two natives, with an assurance which was past belief, ‘ultimately guided us safely through the maze of shoals into deep water. After over an hour of most intricate manceuvring they motioned for the anchor to be dropped, and down it went in six fathoms, By this time I had no idea whether we were up the river or once more out in the ocean. When day broke we found we were lying in the mouth of a broad stream, and looking out towards the sea we could plainly see the tortuous passages we had traversed to reach the deep water where we were now moored, and we marvelled once more at the skill of our pilots. Losing no time, we proceeded up-stream, arriving before long off a tiny village of miserable thatched huts set on a noisome mud-flat. Eaten alive by the teeming mosquitoes and sand-flies of this reeking fever-spot, the poor creatures who inhabited the horrible place seemed hardly human. We stopped and beckoned to them, where- upon a dilapidated dug-out came cautiously alongside. We gave them some _ biscuits and tins of corned beef, for which their gratitude was out of all proportion ; it made us feel ashamed. Leaving the little village after securing some information, we continued on our way up-stream, Although I fully expected to see crocodiles, there was not a sign of them. The densely-wooded banks, however, were

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HUNTING THE GIANT CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO. a super-botanical gardens of gorgeous colouring. The hibiscus and several other flowering plants and bushes I already knew, but there were numbers I had never seen before, while the mangrove trees vere gigantic, towering eighty or a hundred feet in the air. The way in which these trees spread is very remarkable. Both the upper and lower branches send out aerial tubers, which grow downwards until in time they reach the water and, entering the mud, take root. ‘The mangrove has a peculiarly marshy smell that is entirely its own. It is a danger of which, luckily, one’s nose always gives warning, for among the mangroves dwells the deadly anopheles mosquito, which science has now discovered to be the prime cause of malarial fever, though it is an interesting fact that only the female is responsible, the male being quite harmless. OUR FIRST CROCODILES. About fourteen miles up the river we stopped at the mouth of a little creek. Just before we reached it we saw our first croco- diles—long grey shapes, which looked exactly like old gnarled logs lying partially buried in the mud. We knew what they were even before a hideous head reared up and a sinuous body slithered beneath the water. We counted nine of them, all exceptionally large. The main channel here tan deep almost to the banks, and we anchored about fifteen yards out from the mouth of the creek. “We'll not go out in the dinghy yet,’ I said to Lady Brown. “ Let's have a little rifle practice from the deck.”” As I spoke, with hardly a ripple to denote its stealthy movement, the head and back of one of the saurians appeared, floating on the water like a log. It was only about twenty yards away, making up the creek. Sight- ing for the head I fired, and we plainly heard the smash of the bullet as it drove home, shattering the hard bone. The reptile vanished in a boil- ing vortex, but al- most immediately the head and the front feet rose 271 again. Then, very slowly, it sank, quite dead—the expanding +303 had done its work, The water was very shallow where the monster disappeared, and, taking a rope, we rowed to the spot in the dinghy. The dead crocodile lay on the mud beneath, and it did not take long to get a loop round it. Afterwards, with much difficulty, we dragged it into still shallower water near the bank. The river here is tidal, and when the falling tide left the carcass fully exposed we were able to reach it. Having brought our rifles with us, we now paddled slowly up the creek. There was a sharp bend about three hundred yards from where it entered the main channel, and as we rounded this we saw, behind some overhanging foliage within fifty yards of us, three enormous crocodiles basking quite unsuspectingly in the sun. They had not heard us, so stealthily had we crept up, and quickly picking out the largest I fired. With a grunt it reared in the air, sending the slime flying in all directions with its powerful tail. It struggled violently to reach the water, but I saw it was mortally wounded, and suddenly it ceased to move. On getting close up it appeared to be a mighty specimen, measuring nearly twenty- two feet in length. The reptiles have a curious foetid smell even when alive, but the odour after they have been dead a couple of days is overpowering—quite unlike any- thing else, and the most ail smell I know. Continuing on our way up the creek, we The Author in the dug-out with a native boy.

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272 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. found the scenery really beautiful. Several large coco-nut palms had fallen over the stream, one, which had dropped completely across, making a wonderful natural bridge. Flowering vines and creepers had covered the trunk, and trailing to the water formed a perfect arch of exotic greenery. Just beyond this, on some exposed tree-roots, we saw another crocodile, but took no notice of it—we wanted the really big ones and rather despised mere ten or twelve-footers. The banks were rapidly narrowing now and dense lily-beds stretched across what little open water there was, until at last we found we could get no farther. The jungle here appeared more open, so we landed. We were much troubled by mosquitoes, and I really think that every single classified member of the species occurs up the Bayano, with a host of unknown varieties as well. Presently we came to a patch of marshy ground where the trail of a large member of the cat family could plainly be seen. It must have been something very big, judging from the size of its spoor, but the mosquito attacks were now becoming unendurable, so we returned to the dinghy and paddled back to the yacht. Reaching the place where I had killed the big crocodile on our way up, we ceased rowing and crept slowly onwards, pulling the boat along by means of the reeds and rushes which everywhere overhung the water. Ye gods ! what a sight met our eves! The sun was now blazing down fiercely from overhead, turning the slime on the flattened bank into a species of steamy mud-bath. Stretched out at full length were no less than fifteen huge crocodiles, basking in the grateful warmth in blissful ignorance of our nearness ! “I really don’t think it is safe to fire at the brutes while we are in this tiny cockle- shell,” I whispered. Robbie emphatically agreed with me. He was quite certain it would be madness to shoot ; he had horrible visions of the maddened saurians coming down en masse at the charge. “No,” I said. “It’s tuo risky; if we wounded one the result would probably be disastrous, and it’s no good taking un- necessary chances,” When we came out in full view from under the bank, the reptiles were greatly astonished, and made off full tilt into the water. The rate at which tbe brutes travelled was remarkable. After the hideous creatures had all left the bank, swimming ahead of us, as we could see from the bubbles and mud they churned up from the bottom, we followed more slowly. Close to the mouth of the creek the bank on the right-hand side was low and flat, with giant mangrove trees towering high in the air, but on the opposite side the ground, steeply shelving, rose about eight feet above the stream. As we drifted down I noticed that two or three of the big brutes had crept up the slope and were lying there motionless, almost covered by the dense bush on the top. Standing up, I sighted as well cs I could and fired at one of them, At once, with a loud crashing of undergrowth, several croco- diles shot over the bank and with terrific plunges smashed into the water, but the brute I had aimed at remained still. “ By Jove!’ I exclaimed. “I’ve killed him stone-dead !”’ : A NARROW ESCAPE, We crossed over, and, crawling with difficulty up the steep bank, cautiously approached the inert form. There is no doubt I should have given it another bullet to make sure, for we were practically on top of it when it suddenly ‘came to life.” Instinctively we leapt backwards, and with a rush the great brute hurtled over the edge and crashed into the water below. Evidently my bullet had only stunned it, and we had an exceedingly narrow escape, for if the crocodile had attacked there would have been no chance to fire. We were much shaken by this incident, for there are no more evil-looking creatures in this world than crocodiles, and to see this apparently dead twenty-footer suddenly spring up when we were standing beside it was enough to shake anybody’s nerves, We did no more shooting that day, but after reaching the Cara sat on deck drinking tea and admiring the beauties of the river. As the sun set innumerable birds, coming from every direction, began to congregate in the mangrove trees close by. Such numbers assembled at last that every branch seemed alive with them—blue and white cranes, curlew-like duck, and crab- catchers. Overhead numbers of parrots crossed the river, filling the air with a curious medley of sound, but as darkness closed down the birds all went to sleep and the stillness and peace of the wilderness settled upon the scene. Fireflies and luminous beetles flew hither and thither among the trees and bushes, flashing like meteors. Every now and then the heavy splash of a crocodile or the harsh strident shrieks of night-birds broke the silence, but otherwise everything was deathly still. We were badly worried by mosquitoes during the night; they were so persistent that we arose at daybreak little refreshed by our broken sleep. After some good hot cofiee and a substantial breakfast, however, we felt better. We determined to have another day's hunting, deciding to row u to the place where we had seen the fifteen crocodiles the afternoon before. Just before we reached this point we came upon a low-lying bank on which lay a single

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HUNTING THE GIANT CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO. big “croc.” It did not catch sight of us until just as I was about to pull the trigger, and then it moved. I let fly, but did not see where the bullet struck, though I knew from the surge of water that I had found my mark. Rowing forward to look for the brute, we were all three nearly shot out of the boat, for the crocodile rose right under- neath us, lashing out with its powerful tail Before and flooding the dinghy with water. we could recover ourselves it came at us with its huge mouth wide open— a most terrifying spectacle. Its drip- ping jaws were within a foot of Lady Brown, who was sitting in the stern, and I ff made sure the en- Taged brute was going to,seize her and overturn the boat. I could not fire, for she was almost dead in line, and with the violent rocking of the boat it would have been madness to risk a snap-shot. With considerable pre- sence of mind and without hesitating a second—had she delayed it would certainly have meant death for her—Lady Brown whipped the automatic from her belt and fired three times into that horrible gaping mouth. As the brute whirled away from the shock, I gave it a bullet from my rifle, and knew by the thud that the shot had got home. Lady Brown was as white as a sheet, and I was shaking as if with ague. “ That's the nearest thing I’ve ever seen,” I told her at last. ‘If you hadn’t used your automatic, nothing could have saved you.” The body of the dead crocodile sank out of sight and, try as we would, we were unable to recover it. We were too much unnerved to hunt further, and accordingly returned to the Cara, That afternoon, from the security of the deck, we killed no fewer than five big croco- diles, and the next day ran up to where the Mamoni River joins the Bayano. This river hasaconsiderable breadth and strong current, but just where it enters the main channel, Tight in the centre, a great rock juts up. At high water it is about three feet below the 273 surface, but when the tide falls the danger is fully exposed. When we arrived, for- tunately, it was in plain view, otherwise we might have struck it. It would certainly mean the end of any boat that unknowingly drove on to it. 5 We went up the Mamoni for some distance, but found nothing of particular interest. Anchoring that night at the mouth, we returned next day to the creek where we had so narrowly escaped death from the wounded crocodile. I had had enough of shooting here, but badly wanted to get some curlew-duck, whose favourite feeding-ground, I knew, lay where the stream narrowed. We went up after them in the dinghy, shot about eight, and were returning when, floating up-stream, we saw a strange sight—a dead crocodile with its yellowish-white belly uppermost. Perched on it were nine vultures, endeavouring to tear it open. It passed quite close, she birds not taking the slightest notice of us. “I wonder if that’s the brute that attacked us?’ I said. Driving off the horrible-looking passengers, we got hold of it by the tail and pulled it to the shore. Sure enough, it was “our” crocodile, for on prising open its jaws we found inside the marks made by Lady Brown's bullets. We made up our minds to preserve the head as a memento of our Narrow escape, and after a lot of trouble I managed to sever it.

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214 PHOTOGRAPHING THE BABY. Just before we arrived back at the yacht I noticed in some reeds the first really small “croc ’”’ I had seen. Picking up my shot- un, I waited until we were within six eet of it and then fired into the water close to its head. As I had hoped, the concussion momentarily stunned it, and we promptly grabbed the little beggar and put him in the dinghy. ““What are you going to do with it?’’ asked Lady Brown. “I’m going to photograph you holding it,’’ I told her. “ It will come to life presently.” I showed her how the ugly little beast would have to be held, in order to prevent it biting her; then we got the big head on to the yacht and put it up in the bow, with Lady Brown sitting close beside it. By this time, sure enough, the little crocodile woke up. ‘ “Now hold it against you,” I said, ‘‘and the camera will do the Test.” The crocodile started to wriggle, making a thin wheezing noise and opening its jaws, but I got an excellent pieture, which is reproduced later. Then, as a reward for its good behaviour, we pitched the baby back into the river. I don’t think 1 should have done so had it been left to me, for I hate the evil brutes, but Lady Brown seemed to think the little chap had earned his freedom. Dropping down-stream a few miles, we found an excellent anchorage in deep water close alongside the bank. ‘The country here was different from anything we had seen hitherto. There was an open space, perhaps a couple of miles long by half a mile broad, between us and the bush—apparently an ideal camping ground. Living continually on board a small yacht one gets very cramped, and we found it a great relief to land and stretch our legs. As soon as we had crossed the open space and entered the jungle beyond it became evident that this was a regular hunter’s paradise. The spoor of numerous members THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of the cat family showed everywhere, and also the tracks of wild pigs and many other animals. After a time we came toa tribu tary of the main river, and decided our wisest course was to follow it inland. The jungle was so dense that in many places it was only by the free use of my machete that a passage could be cleared. Wonderful flowering vines and glorious mauve orchids were blooming everywhere. Suddenly there was a tremendous rustling right in front, and I called out :— “ Shoot quick ! To the left—up the tree ! ”" Lady Brown fired, and a huge iguana (land lizard) came crashing down from a branch about twenty feet up. Its squat legs were armed with very long claws, and beneath the snaky-looking head the flesh fell away in a sort of pouch, while its tail tapered to the fineness of a whip. The beast measured six feet two inches in length. “We'll pick this up when we return,”’ [ said, ‘‘ and I'll try my skill as a taxidermist. Keep your eyes open, for goodness knows what we may bump up against. And watch out for snakes!”

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HUNTING THE GIANT CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO. 2 “Lady Brown whipped the automatic from her belt and fired three times into that horrible gaping mouth.” A little farther on we came to a break in the dense bush alongside the stream, The water was beautifully clear, and, leaning over, we could see many strange fish swimming about. Lady Brown gazed at the water longingly. “*T should like a bathe,” she said, thought- fully. ‘““Nothing doing!’’ I answered. “It reeks of crocodiles, and although you may not be able to see them they can see you. By the way, look over there.” She glanced where I was pointing, but could see nothing. ‘** Look hard,” I said, thoroughly enjoying myself at her expense. Still she could see nothing. Then, at the exact spot she had been gazing at all the time, a slight quiver occurred. As soon as this movement took place it was easy to detect the outline of _ on a snake, though it so closely resembled the foliage and vine stems that it would have been quite simple to walk into it. “ Shoot—quick !’’ I cried. She fired, and with a splash the snake fell into the stream—the big ‘‘ bushmaster,” whose bite means death, This jungle was a veritable Zoological Gardens. A few minutes after we had killed the snake we got another curious animal— an ant-eater, a really grotesque monstrosity, with a long rubber-like snout and powerful claws. These odd beasts use the enormous strength of their short legs and claws for digging up ants’ nests, after which they thrust in their long snouts and feed on the insects. We saw several more iguanas and heard many rustlings in the bush, but were finally

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276 compelled to sit down and rest, for our progress through the dense undergrowth had meant very heavy work and the heat was awful. We were parched with thirst, and the river, flowing tantalizingly alongside, seemed to make it worse. We had brought nothing to drink out of, but necessity is the mother of invention. The steep bank here was only about eighteen inches above the stream, which ran very deep. “ Lie flat,” I said to Lady Brown. “I'l hold your feet ; then you can put your face down and get a drink.” After she had had her drink she performed the same kind office for me. We were about to move away when, just as my companion essayed to make a remark, I threw up my rifle and fired into the river. An enormous burst of water rose into the air close to where we had been leaning over. NEARLY A TRAGEDY. When the turmoil subsided we could lainly see, lying on the bottom, a horrible- looking crocodile, still feebly moving its tail. It was approximately fourteen feet in length, and had undoubtedly been stalking us, with the wonderful cunning these saurians display. Had we lingered a little longer over our drinks there might have been a tragedy. After this we deemed it wise to return to the yacht. As evening drew on the howling and barking of the well-named “ howler” apes became insistent; the forest echoed with their terrifying cries as they called and answered from both long and short ranges, while the vocal efforts of what I judged must be the leader stood out from the rest, his roars being terrific. . That night I went out alone with my rifle and the spot-light, but met with no luck. I tried again at daybreak with better success, killing a wild pig. Sleeping during the day, when dusk came Lady Brown and I took our rifles and spot-lights and set out in the boat up one of the near-by streams. Not the slightest breath of air stirred the trees as the sun sank. Twenty minutes later the heavens were suffused with the roseate afterglow, and black night followed swiftly. We quietly entered the dinghy and rowed noiselessly away. To be in a tiny boat amidst utterly un- known surroundings always gives me an un- canny feeling. One is impelled to do every- thing as silently as possible; to make a jarring noise would almost seem desecration. It is remarkable how quickly one’s eyes become accustomed to the dark. Feeling our way up the river, I soon discovered an opening where a small stream branched off. Into this we glided, the vegetation forming a dense canopy overhead, and adding to the impenctrable gloom. I now shipped the oars and sitting in the stern, using a short THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. paddle, gently propelled the boat onwards. We lit the lamps affixed to our heads, and within the radius of their brilliant beams everything was as clear as day. A little farther on I put my fingers to my lips, and motioned Lady Brown to look to the left. She turned her light in that direction and two vivid and unblinking eyes flashed scarlet. Her rifle came up instantly. “ Sh!’ I whispered. ‘‘ Don’t shoot ! Nearer and nearer we crept, and presently, without a sound, the nose of the boat touched the mud. Those motionless red eyes were now within half-a-dozen feet of me, and Iam quite sure Lady Brown was fecling most uncomfortable, expecting every moment a mighty rush from a crocodile. But the deadly silence remained unbroken; the scarlet eyes were still fixed on us. “Put your rifle down and hold the boat firm,” I whispered. Then I stealthily crept out of the boat, advanced a few feet and suddenly thrust my hand downwards. “Got him!’ I cried. With that I crept back into the dinghy— holding an enormous frog! It was astonish- ing to think that the eyes of so small and harmless a creature could appear so large and malevolent in the rays of the light. EYES OF THE NIGHT. These great frogs are undoubtedly plentiful in this part of the world, for within the next hundred yards or so we saw quite a dozen more. Then something very different flashed into view—two great scarlet orbs which appeared as large as orangeS Lady Brown seemed very much inclined to bring her rifle into action. “Leave it alone,” I whispered. ‘‘ We've had enough of crocodiles for a bit.” Immediately after sighting the huge reptile we flashed something else, and the crash as Lady Brown's rifle spoke ‘appeared nerve-shattering in the silence. She held the boat against the bank while I climbed up to find out whether she had missed, but she had made a splendid shot, and dragging the creature along the ground I carefully lowered into the dinghy a magnificently- marked ocelot. I rather anticipated that she would want to return to the yacht after this, but she was quite willing to continue, appreciating the excitement as much as I did. All the time, as we paddled along, we could hear rustling movements among the under- growth. Later we came on a herd of wild hogs—at least thirty of them—but having plenty of meat on board we left them in peace, being really after jaguar, or one of the larger cats. We caught sight of one, but had no chance to fire. It was well after midnight when we started our return journey. We “ flashed ”

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HUNTING THE GIANT CROCODILES OF THE BAYANO. several more crocodiles, and stopped twice to get big frogs, but apart from this met with no further incident. We had been in this big-game paradise for four days when both of us began to suffer from an awful itching. The irritation was so dreadful that sleep was out of the question. On the fifth day Lady Brown developed fever, and by nightfall I was seriously con- cerned. By the following morning her temperature was over 104°,-and ‘it required no medical knowledge to see that she was seriously ill. . Throwing caution to the winds, in the gre fog of daybreak I drove the yacht at full speed down the river, risking everything, for I knew her life probably depended on The litttle crocodile which “came to life” as Lady Brown was holding ~ it. The head lying at her sie is that of the monster that nearly her. how quickly she could reach the hospital in Panama. When we arrived at the mouth I was obliged to wait, fretting and fuming, until the two natives who had rescued us from our perilous position when we first arrived could come out in their dug-out and pilot us, but when we were once clear of the sand- ban!s and reefs at the entrance Isent the Cara ahead as hard as the engine could drive her 277 Meanwhile poor Lady Brown lay in the cockpit, a truly pitiable sight, her face so swollen that her eyes were completely closed, and her skin covered with an angry-looking scarlet rash. By this time I was in mucin the same state myself, and also suffering from fever, while the irritation was positively maddening. I wasted no time, but ran straight into Balboa and got my patient to the Santo Tomas Hospital as quickly as possible, The authorities there recognized at once what we were suffering from. The land up the river where we had gone ashore, they told me, must have been in. fested with a minute tick, invisible to the naked eye, commonly known as “‘ red bug.”” These horrible in- sects had got be- neath our skin in thousands, setting up “tick fever” and an intense itch. It was over a week before the fever subsided, and during this period we had torn and scratched ourselves so badly that—so far as I was con- cerned at least—I looked an awful sight, and the scars remained for weeks, The fever left us terribly debilitated, and for a long time afterwards we ex- perienced touches of it every now and again, the trouble being intermittent in its attacks, much like malaria. It was a typical ending to our trip, for I have always found that venomous insects— the curse of the explorer—are far more dangerous than the primitive tribes one may meet in the wilds. The terrors of poisoned arrows fade into insignificance when compared with the ever-present menace of the deadly anopheles mosquito, the bringer of malaria, the stegomyia mosquito, the source of yellow fever, and other creeping and flying horrors of the tropics.

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278 ADVENTU TOLD BY Koss Knight AND SET DOWN BY SE Mogg — One of the most amazing stories we have published for a very long time—the story of a man who, apparently doomed to a horrible and lingering death, saved himself by his ingenuity and knowledge of scientific laws. The narrator is Mr. Hogg’s brother-in-law, and Mr. Hogg vouches absolutely for the veracity of the narrative, which can also he corroborated, he states, by the members of the rescue party. S a member of the Adventurers’ Club of Los Angeles, an organi- zation of explorers, scientists, big- game hunters, and world-travellers, the writer frequently comes into contact with men who have been participants in almost unbelievable experiences. The stories one hears from these men frequently rival the wildest fiction, but when one knows the narrators and their records, and is convinced that every word is absolute truth, such narratives become far more interesting than any romance. A striking example of an adventure of this type is the story I am about to relate— told to me by Koss Knight, a radio labora- tory technician in the employ of a Southern Californian electric company, one of the big Western power-producing corporations. It happens that this man is my brother-in law, and having known him for many years, and being able to vouch for his reputation for veracity, I believe his narrative to be absolutely true. If there were any reason to doubt it, the testimony of no fewer than a dozen eye-witnessces and participants in the ordeal that came so near ending his life could easily be obtained. The scene of this remarkable adventure was the High Sierras of California—Fresno County, to be exact, some miles back into the snow-clad mountain range beyond Big Creek, where the power company has a hydro-electric generating plant. For the benefit of readers who think of California as a land of perpetual’ springtime and balmy sunshine, a little explanation of the State’s geography is necessary. It must be remem- bered that California is nearly a thousand miles in length and about three hundred in width. The British Isles could be set down in the Mojave Desert, and even 'then only a fractional portion of the State’s vast area would be taken up. California is one of the most rugged regions in the entire United States ; it is split up into mountain ranges, rich valleys, deserts, and vast plains, and its land elevations range from two hundred and eighty feet below sea level to almost fifteen thousand feet of altitude. Any schoolboy knows the effects of altitude upon climatic conditions, and while it is true that certain portions of the State enjoy a benign, semi- tropical climate, it is equally true that there are other sections that are perpetually sub- Arctic. . The events of this story, as already stated, were enacted in the High Sierras, at an alti- tude of about nine thousand six hundred feet. Here the summers aré delightfully cool, uncomfortably warm weather is un- known, and the vegetation is identical with

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THE RADIO MAN’S ADVENTURE. that of the Canadian North-West, Alaska, or Central Norway. The winters, however, are severe, sub-zero (C.) temperatures exist- ing from October to May, and twenty-five to thirty feet of snow covering the ground for about six months of each year. In these high altitudes there is, of course, a great abundance of water, the snow-pack of winter supplying moisture through the long dry summer. It was this combination of water and altitude that attracted the power company, for it is a fairly simple engineering proposition to utilize the combination for the generation of electricity, carrying the current thus produced over high-tension lines to power consumers up and down the State, even as far away as Los Angeles. It was in the fall of 1923, when the power company was adding several new generating lants to those already built, that Mr. <night was sent in to assist with the work, It was nothing new to him, for he had spent three previous winters in the Big Creek location, where communication with the outside world through the long - winter months was maintained only by dog-sleds, men travelling on snowshoes, and ‘by radio. 279 Being a radio expert, it was Mr. Knight’s work to establish a “ wireless "’ link between the various hydro-electric stations and construction camps. Big, rugged, good- natured fellow that he is, radio development and experiment is his hobby and centre of interest in life. With the possible exception of his wife and five-year-old son, it is doubtful if anything else absorbs a greater amount of his thought. So, when_ his employers assigned him to the task of developing a portable radio outfit that could be transported on a dog-sled for use in the field, he had a job that strongly appealed to his imagination. Little did he realize, however, as he constructed the apparatus in the company’s laboratory in Los Angeles, that this product of his brain would actually be the means of saving him from a horrible death only a few weeks later. After completing the building of the outfit, even to working out the details of generating electricity for the instrument by means of a gasolene (petrol) engine mounted on a sled, Knight began to worry because the first snowstorms of the season in the courtesy of Southern California Edison Co [Photo by Winter scenery in the region where Ross Knight met with his terrible experience.

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280 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. high altitudes were a little later than usual. His tools, equipment, and personal luggage, including heavy Arctic clothing for the long, hard winter, had already been shipped to the trailhead at Big Creek. He only awaited reports from the mountains that sufficient snow had fallen to make sled-travel possible before starting forth on his mission. Finally, early in November, the desired news arrived, and Knight took leave of his family and set out, in the best of health and spirits. He did not expect to see his wife and boy again for six months, and certainly had no inkling that he would be home again, convalescing after a dreadful experience, in less than a month. But Fate plays queer tricks sometimes. Arriving at the railhead, he found about two feet of snow on the ground—just enough for good sled-travel. The weather was crisp and cool, the daytime temperature high enough to melt the snow a little, and freezing up again at night with temperatures down to about twenty degrees above zero. Knight lost little time in organizing his equipment, and two days after set out for the interior with a sled drawn by eight Siberian dogs imported by the power company for winter use in the mountains. His radio outfit and all his kit for the journey were loaded on the sled. Knight’s destination was a_ con- struction camp about twenty-two miles away in the mountains. He expected to reach this camp by a two-day “ mush ” away from the railhead, establish radio communication there, and then let himself be snowed in for the winter in order to continue his experi- ments. The first day after leaving Big Creek he reached a point on the mountain trail about twelve miles beyond Big Creek. There, in a secluded little valley, he made camp, cooked food for himself and the dogs, and slept comfortably all night under the snow in his caribou hide slecping-bag. The following morning he arose, melted water for his toilet and breakfast, ate heartily, and set out again. Less than two hours after breaking camp the sun was shining so brilliantly upon the dead-white world around him that he stopped long enough to break into his kit, and get out his tinted sun-glasses. He had scarcely gone three hundred yards after stopping when he noticed that the dogs and sled had entered a very rocky mountain meadow. Great boulders stuck up out of the snow everywhere, having apparently rolled down from the cliffs that bounded two sides of the meadow, and it was only with difficulty that he was able to get the dogs and sled through this rock-jumble. The clearest path seemed to be along the base of the cliff on the right-hand side, so he cracked his whip at the dogs to steer them in that direction, shambling along behind them as best he could on his snowshoes, He was within twenty feet of the cliff wall when down came a great mass of snow. Jumping quickly aside, he avoided being caught under the snowslide, which fell clear of him, but it was followed almost instantly by an avalanche of boulders. Rocks as bij as a barrel came bounding down the face o: the cliff and began falling all around him. Knight admits that he was badly frightened, for he realized his danger. Any one of those flying rocks would have snuffed out his sife in a twinkling, but nevertheless, he says, his first thought was for the safety of the dogs and outfit. Lashing the animals with bis whip, he sent them scurrying for the open meadow, making the best time he could after them with the handicap of his clumsy snowshoes. Presently, to his relief, he saw that the dogs were practically clear of the danger- zone below the cliff, although boulders were still bouncing down round the man behind them. Looking back, in an effort to deter- mine the line of greatest safety, Knight fouled his left snowshoe against one of the protruding boulders, and fell in a heap in the snow against the side of the rock. Just as he toppled over, a rock weighing several hundred pounds crashed down beside him. He felt an agonizing twinge of pain in bis tight foot and leg, heard the snowshoe on that foot tear into a tangle of splinters and rawhide thongs, and for an awful moment well-nigh lost consciousness. When his reeling senses steadied them- selves he tried to move, but on sitting up he made the horrifying discovery that his right foot and leg, half way to the knee, were crushed between the big rock that had just fallen and the one over which he had stumbled. Instantly the sickening reali- zation came to him that he was trapped— trapped alive—as effectively as any bear caught in the spiked-jaw device of the hunter, for he was as powerless to move that rock off his leg as he would have been to shift Gibraltar ! All this time an occasional boulder con- tinued to thunder down close by, and for a moment, sick with pain and terror. he half hoped that one might fall upon him and snuff out the spark of life. The horror of his plight was made all the more dreadful by the fact that this man was of more than average intelligence and imagination. College-educated, an inventive genius, and well acquainted with science and physical laws, he quickly realized that unless help came very speedily his doom was sealed. He would either be killed by a chance boulder from the cliff, devoured by prowling bears or wolves, frozen to death, or—if the weather remained balmy enough to prevent his death by freezing—held there in that awful trap until starvation claimed him—a truly awful death. There was about one chance in ten thousand that any

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THE RADIO MAN’S ADVENTURE. 281 “His right foot and leg were crushed between the big rock that had just fallen and the one over which he had stumbled.” VoL. tv.—20.

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282 employee from the power company's camps would come that way and find him. Some wandering hunter or trapper might happen along, but the probability of such an event was almost too remote for consideration. The men at the construction camp for which he was making had no knowledge that he was anywhere in the vicinity; those at the camp he had left would pect no word from him until he had installed his radio equipment at his destination, and would be “Vistening-in ” for his messages through the air. Before leaving Big Creek he had told his associates to expect no word from him for at least ten days—and long before ten days clapsed, unless help came, he would be a dead man! As calmly as he could he thought all these points over, and the survey eliminated all reasonable hope of salvation from outside sources. If he would be saved he must save himself—but how ? That a man with an educated, inventive mind should be capable of clear thinking under such circumstances seems almost in- credible, yet Knight says that when he came to a full realization of his desperate plight he leaned back against the embedded rock and began to rack his brain as he had never done before. Finally he reached certain conclusions. He was convinced, for a start, that his leg was so hopelessly shattered that an amputation would prob- ably be necessary. Therefore, he decided, he might as well amputate it himself at the knee, and try to save what was left of his body. On his sled he had an emergency surgical kit that included splints, bandages, and a bottle of cocaine. If he could only teach the kit on the sled he could perform the operation almost painlessly, and prob- ably free himself. If he could secure the sled, moreover, he could operate the radio outiit and summon help. From either point of view getting the sled seemed to offer his only hope. By this time the fall of rocks and snow from the cliff above had ceased, and he straightened himself as best he could and began to whistle to the dogs, which were now lolling in the snow about two hundred yards away. Apparently, however, the intelligent animals had not yet forgotten the lashing he had given them in his efforts to drive them out of harm’s way. Although they pricked up their ears, rose to their fect, and seemed on the verge of responding, they did not move out of their tracks. When Knight had fallen down be still had the whip in his right hand, and now, Tealizing that the dogs probably feared a renewal of their punishment, he flung it away in the snow. Seeing this, the animals made a better response to his next calls; they advanced a few paces nearer, and then stopped again. The imprisoned man spent the rest of the day endeavouring to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. coax the dogs toward him. Not until late in the afternoon did he accomplish his purpose, and even then he was not com- pletely successful. Little by little, by kind words, pleading, and the offer of make- believe food which he pretended to draw from his pocket, he got the animals to within ten feet of his rock prison. There the dogs halted again, began moving round restlessly, and presently overturned the sled, spilling half its cargo. Just as the sun was about to set Knight, now almost desperate, managed to coax the lead-dog close enough to lay hold of the harness. Then he began dragging the other dogs and the overturned sled toward him by main force. This accomplished, he unhitched the team, tied them together, and began to search the sled. Upon inspecting what remained of the cargo, however, all his hopes were blasted. Part of the radio equipment had been spilled where the sled overturned, his surgical kit had disappeared, and every packet that contained food was missing! After all his patient efforts he had salvaged nothing save his bedding, tobacco-pouch, rifle, a blow-torch, and a few light tools for radio work! To all appearances he had gained nothing, except, owing to the recovery of his bedding, the elimination of the immediate prospect of freezing to death. At this juncture, Knight declares, his spirits sank very low. All his hopes of saving himself by his own efforts vanished. There- upon he took his notebook from his pocket, wrote eight messages, fastened one to each dog, cut the animals loose, and began throwing snowballs at them to speed them on their way. They hesitated for a time; then one by one they disappeared. Each note bore the word “‘ IMporTANT ’’ on the outside, and the text informed the finder that a thousand dollars would be paid to the man who should first reach him with jack-screw and crowbar. Such a message, needless to say, should have brought immediate help if any of the dogs ever returned to civilization. All that night Ross Knight cowered against his rock prison with his bedding wrapped about him. His injured limb gave him in- describable agony, and he slept not a wink. The night seemed an eternity, though several times he lapsed into partial unconsciousness. Toward daylight he fancied he heard a noise behind him, and, turning his head in that direction, discovered a black bear pawing through the bundles that had fallen off the overturned sled, and greedily devouring the food that should have been his. Drawing his pistol, he fired at the bear, but missed him. The animal beat a hasty retreat, and the last Knight saw of him he was just a dusky shape vanishing across the twilight of the meadow. Once more the prisoner lapsed into a comatose condition, only to be aroused by |

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THE RADIO MAN’S ADVENTURE. the howling of wolves. ning his eyes, he wriggled round to see six of the brutes pawing at the food stores broken open by the bear. A few pistol-shots frightened the wolves away, and he was not troubled further. When daylight came at last, however, down from the surrounding trees soared a ficck of crows. They hopped about among the bundles, and Knight watched them fly away with the last crumbs of his food supplies. By the time the sun got well up above the tree-tops, heavy clouds came rolling over the mountains. The sky became a leaden grey, and presently it began to snow—another factor that told against his faint hopes of rescue. Knight watched the falling flakes with despair at his heart, alternately cursing and praying. At the odd moments when he managed to think clearly he mused: “‘ How in the name of Heaven can | move this rock ? How can I lift it off my battered leg?” After a while his eye fell upon the blow- torch lying in the snow beside him, and he began to meditate upon the power of heat to cause expansion. Presently a great idea came to him. Picking up the blow-torch, he lit it, and then, pawing about in the snow, _he began gathering small stones. Luckily there were plenty of them within reach. Selecting one of the proper size, he wedged it down as tightly as it would go between the two rocks that held him. Then he turned the flame of the torch against it, and watched it get hotter and hotter until it became a glowing red. When it was almost white-hot, he took another stone and wedged it down between the two boulders like the first. this was in turn heated until it grew white- hot. After five stones had been wedged and heated in this way, Knight drew from his tool-kit a ‘female ’’ micro-calliper, and carefully measured the distance between the two boulders. With a pencil he marked the points where the callipers touched, and then proceeded with his task of wedging and heating additional stones between the walls of the rock-trap that held his limb and foot. After heating the first five stones he had fancied the pressure was easier, but was not sure whether the sensation was real or imaginary. When ten stones had been driven well home and heated he callipered the distance again, and to his unbounded delight discovered that the expansion of the heated stones had moved the boulder that held him five-thousandths of an inch. This distance, minute as it was, caused his hopes to soar. Fractional though the gain might be it was a gain, and he reasoned that if he could actually move the boulder by expanding 283 stones, he might be able to shift it sufficiently to free himself.* It had taken him twenty minutes to accomplish the tiny gain already recorded, resulting from the heating of ten stones. At that rate, he could heat thirty in an hour, or three hundred in ten hours. How many stones it would take to free him he had, of course, no idea, but another thought now came to worry him. Would the supply of gasolene in the torch hold out ? There was less than a quart in the reservoir of the blow-torch and that, he knew, would not last long. Then he remembered that beneath the snow, beside the overturned sled, lay a five-gallon drum of fuel—brought along to operate the little gasolene engine that was intended to work the dynamo of his radio set. Seizing the ends of the harness, he drew the sled toward him, and began raking the snow away with the vehicle. Presently he located the drum of fuel, turned it on its side, and succeeded in rolling it within reach. This part of the problem solved, he began heating more stones. Meanwhile the snow had begun to come down thick and fast, and he wondered whether he would be buried alive before his task could be accomplished. Weak from hunger, pain, and exhaustion, Ross Knight toiled all day heating stones, and wedging new ones down between the boulders. He worked as he had never worked before. He ate snow to relieve his thirst, which he realized was aggravated by a growing fever, and chewed a little smoking tobacco. By four o’clock in the afternoon his expanding stones had moved the bou!der little by little until the pressure on his leg was perceptibly easier. He could move the limb slightly between the ankle and the knee, and knew that the uphill battle with gravity was slowly being won. Attempting to withdraw his foot, he tugged so violently that he almost dislocated his hip, but could not extricate himself. Twenty more stones were heated during the hour that followed. At this juncture he decided to try a new experiment to hasten progress—even at the risk of freezing his battered foot and limb. Working his hunting knife down between the two boulders, he split the front and back of his heavy moccasin boot and the three pairs of thick woollen socks he was wearing underneath. Piece by piece he gouged out the fragments of wool and leather with the long thin blade. This seemed to further relieve the pressure, and once again he began tugging in an effort to withdraw his foot. Although the pain of it made him how] aloud, he doggedly persisted, and presently fancied that he felt his ankle bone give a little. Then the skin over the sides of his ankle was ._.* In case non-scientific readers should think Mr. Knight's plan entirely impossible it m similar phenomenon is to be seen in Nature, though it operates, of course, more slow encountered cracked from top to bottom by the expansion of pebbles heated by the su expand when heated by the sun, and slip farther and farther down by the law of grav only to expand again when the sun rises once more, continuing the process indefinitely, Tucks as big as a small house have been split asunder in this fashion. y be pointed out that an exactly Enormous boulders are frequently Tiny stones lodge in small cracks, s they cool and contract at night, is a matter of scientific record that THe Autor.

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284 stripped off against the rough sides of the two granite boulders, the foot shifted, and the next thing Knight knew he went sprawl- ing backward into the snow—clear of both boulders ! Crawling to the sled, trembling with mingled weakness and excitement, he sat down to inspect his injured foot and leg. To his alert eye it was obvious that several bones were broken in the foot and immedi- ately below the ankle, but the tibia and tarsus—the bones between the ankle and knee—were apparently intact. With the pressure relieved, the long-strangulated blood began coursing down into the damaged member, causing the most awful pains imaginable. Knight says that the agony was so excruciating that he yelled until it seemed he should have been heard at Big Creek. Finally, pulling himself together, he crawled through the rapidly-increasing drifts of snow to the point where the dogs had upset tho sled. Here, pawing about, he recovered his surgical first-aid kit, injected a little cocaine into his ankle with a hypodermic needle, and splinted and bandaged the injured foot and limb as best he could. This, of course, gave him almost instant relief from the torture of pain, but he realized that he was not yet saved by any means. The snow was coming down more violently than ever, and there were long, weary miles —even for an able-bodied man—between him and the nearest point of human habita- tion. The fresh snow would make difficult going even for a dog-sled or a man on snow- shoes—and there he was with only one snowshoe intact, and an injured limb upon which he dare not place an ounce of his weight. If he attempted to crawl back to Big Creek on all fours the chances were not one in a million that he would ever live to make it; he would merely exhaust himself in the snow, freeze to death, or be devoured by marauding bands of wolves. His last remaining hope of salvation appeared to consist in getting his radio set into operation immediately. Realizing that, though he had_ freed himself from the rock-trap, his plight was scarcely less dangerous than it had been the previous day, he began crawling about, scratched some wood from beneath the snow, and built a fire on a cleared spot near his scattered equipment. Then he fetched the sled and went to work setting up the radio outfit upon it. In another hour, just as the last rays of daylight were fading out and the temperature had begun to drop before the onslaught of a sudden cold wave, he completed the final adjustments to the mechanism. A few drops of ether were run into the cylinders of the little gasolene engine; then he gave a tug on the crank, and—thank Heaven !—the motor started cheerily. The hands on the instrument board began to move, and the operator took up THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. his key. Instantly the impulses commenced to hiss and buzz forth—‘ WZJX, WZJX, WZJX "’—the call-signal for the operator of Big Creek. Presently, with his wave-length tuned for the Big Creek Station, Knight began to hear buzzes in the receivers of his head- set, announcing that the Big Creek operator was listening, and ready to take any message. Again the impulses hissed and cracked from the sled—a series of buzzes unintelligible to the layman, but in reality dots and dashes that made letters and words in the ears of the man at Big Creek. In as few words as possible Knight threw the story of his plight into the air, requesting the Big Creek operator to report back if the message was clear. The head-set began to buzz again, and as the injured man listened, piecing the dots and dashes into words, his spirits fell. ‘‘ Message not clear,” explained the power-plant radio man. ‘Too much interference. Hear something about falling rock, broken leg, and Horse Meadow. Are you hurt? Are you in Horse Meadow ?” Thereupon Knight began beating his own key again : ‘‘ Have broken leg. Can’t move,” he tapped out. ‘‘ In Horse Meadow. Rush help.” Then the Big Creek operator ‘‘ came in”’ again—this time clearer and stronger than before, with dots and dashes that read: “Too much static. Can’t hear, but under. stand. Dog just arrived with note. Help leaving at once. Keep your nerve.” When he heard these words Knight knew that his salvation was merely a question of hours, ‘‘ Thank God!” he cried, brokenlv. Then, he says, ‘‘ everything got whirly and black, and I remembered nothing more.” When he regained his senses, he was benumbed with cold. The last rays of twilight had gone, and he was almost buried under the falling snow. With much difficulty he got painfully to his knees, trailing his injured limb, crawled to his sleeping-bag, and burrowed down through the snow into the bag. There, racked with pain, he shivered himself to sleep. He was finally awakened by the sensation of being lifted, and opened his eyes to find bright sunshine streaming down. Four sta'wart fellows were depositing him upon a sled, while a black-bearded man on snow- shoes stood close by, and presently spoke. “Better pull him out of that bag, men,” he said; “ we'll see what kind of shape he’s in,” Although his eyes were hazy with fever, Knight recognized his bearers as employees of the power company, and the man with the black beard as Dr. Ghormley, the staff surgeon, whom he later learned had arrived at Lig Creek about the time his radio messages from the sled came through. After emergency treatment on the spot Knight was given hot liquid food from vacuum bottles carried by the rescue party, and was then loaded upon a dog-sled for

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THE RADIO MAN’S ADVENTURE. FRAN > CHIEY, “Instantly the impulses began to hiss and buzz forth—‘ WZJX, WZJX,’ the call-signal for Big Creek.”

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286 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZ the long, hard “‘ mush” back to Big Creek. All that day, and the following night, the rescuers ploughed through the new-fallen snow, the men on snowshoes going ahead to break a path for the labouring dogs. They arrived the next morning, and Knight— now raging in a delirium of fever—was removed to the camp emergency hospital. There the X-rays revealed a mass of shattered metatarsal bones in his foot, but no injury sufficient to justify the amputation which he had dreaded during the terrifying hours of his imprisonment between the boulders. The bones were skilfully set and the foot placed in a cast, and a month later—twenty- [Photo by ¢ The cabin at Big Creek where Mr. Knight lay convalescing. Note the depth of the snow. eight days, to be exact—he hobbled out of the hospital on crutches, and was carried aboard a train that returned him to the kindly care of his wife at his home in Los Angeles Four months after meeting with this mishap, Knight was back at his work in the radio laboratory in the city, little the worse for his terrifying experience. He lost not a penny as a result of the mishap, the power company paying his salary for every day urtesy of Southern California Edison Co, INE. he was off duty in the form of disability compensation, with his surgical bills included. Although Knight would gladly have paid the thousand dollars offered to his rescuers in the notes carried by the dogs, not one of them would accept a single dollar. In- cidentally, it is interesting to note that all the animals bearing his messages eventually turned up at the Big Creek power plant— the second dog only a few minutes behind the one that arrived just after his radio call from the sled. Though it may not be generally known, Knight’s mishap affected the welfare of several millions of people all up and down the great State of California, Owing to his injury and the utter impos- sibility of finding another man_ to do his work, the power company laboured under a serious handicap in rushing . to completion the several hydro- electric plants that were being erected to relieve an impending power shortage. The rapidly in- creasing popula- tion of this much-favoured commonwealth had brought an unprecedented demand for elec. tric energy, which the power com- pany was seeking to meet by additions to its chain of gene- rating stations in the mountains. Thus, when the company failed to establish lines of radio communication for the carrying on of the work, owing to losing the services of the expert in charge, the construction was delayed and hampered. The power shortage which affected all kinds of trades and businesses throughout California during the summer of 1924 was therefore indirectly due to the force of gravity having hurled a boulder at Ross Knight. "ose

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287 Yre GOLDEN RIVER SHOTOVER RIVER LAKE WAKATIPU KAWARAU RIVER: KAWARAU FALLS Sketch-map showing the points at which the headwaters of the Kawarau are to dammed. ) Dominion has played a more roman- tic or important part in its history. than the Molyneux, which flows through the southern province of Otago. This is not due to the fact that it is a great commercial highway, but because gold in almost fabulous quantities has been won from its beaches and bed. We have it on the authority of the Minister of Mines of New Zealand that INCE the advent of the white man into New Zealand, no river in the Ce, AP Milburn In the province of Otago, New Zealand, a treasure-hunt on a vast scale is about to be initiated. A river that has already yielded many million pounds’ worth of gold is to have its waters dammed up so as to lay bare the rocky bed, which is believed to be a veritable Tom Tiddler’s ground. So ambitious a scheme has never been tried before, and engineers and gold-seekers all over the world are awaiting the result with the keenest interest. this sum is represented by the yield of the Molyneux. The end, moreover, is not yet; at the present time works are in rogress that have for their object the urther exploitation of the Molyneux, and when these are completed it is confidently expected that the winnings from this remarkable stream will be greatly aug- mented. In view of these developments a brief account of the chief events in the river’s romantic history, and of the atte pt caland Publ Lake Wakatipu, the principal source of the “Golden River.” ly to the end of December, 1923, the value of the gold exported from the Otago mining district aggregated over thirty million pounds sterling, and the greater portion of now being made to obtain more of its golden hoard, may be of interest to WIDE WorLD readers. Sixty-four years ago New Zealand was

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288 in the early stages of settlement. Indeed, it was only twelve years before that the ships Philip Laing and John Wickcliffe had brought the pioneer settlers to the province of Otago. These early arrivals gave themselves up to pastoral pursuits, and during the twelve years mentioned the progress of the settlement was slow, if steady. Discoveries of gold in other parts of the colony began to attract good workers away, and it was concluded by the settlers that the best way to maintain the population and increase the prosperity of the province would be to discover a gold- field in Otago itself. The Provincial Govern- ment of those days was accordingly stimu- lated to offer a reward of {500 for the dis- covery of a remunerative field, and great excitement was caused when one day a letter was read from Mr. Gabriel Read announcing that he had found a rich deposit of gold in a gully some fifty miles inland from Dun- edin, the chief town of the pro- vince. Mr. Read stated that he had secured no less than ten ounces of gold in seven hours. The result THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. for further payable gold-fields In 1862, the year after the Gabriel’s Gully find, the residents of Dunedin were further excited when it was reported that two men named Hartley and Reilly had deposited at the gold-receiver’s office eighty-seven pounds of gold, and were claiming a reward of £2,000 for their discovery of a fresh field ! The place where the two fortunate diggers had obtained the gold was a beach of the Molyneux River, the exact site being in a gorge far inland in Otago. To this lonely spot a great rush set in, afterwards known as the ‘Dunstan Rush.’ The journey was by no means a pleasant one, for the country was practically unknown, the only inhabitants being occasional sheep- owners, One of the greatest privations suffered by the diggers was the lack of fuel; the region was treeless save for patches of scrub here and there. The gorge in winter-time was exceedingly cold, but it was at this season that the river-beaches could best be worked. In the summer, when the snow on the dis- tant mountains melted, the stream of this extraordin- ran fierce and a ce - earing beaches uinge phe peoples were flooded. minds. Everyone This lack of who could do so timber was & great abandoned all drawback in other work and many ways. For burried of te ge wnstance, without spot, eager to see i he miners a fortune, and in could not con- this connection. struct the many strange sluice - boxes and stories are told. “ cradles ’’ neces- At one country sary to sift the ehurel the mniinis: Vv y New Zealand Publicity Dept. gel from the fe Heck tae The Shotover Rive, another tebutary of the erous sand. precentor were the wareu: of a digger who, only men left in seeing a shep- the congregation, and all over the province farms and villages were utterly denuded of their male population. The news of the “ strike "’ quickly spread to Australia, and many experienced miners promptly betook themselves to New Zealand, a voyage of a thousand miles, and hastened hot-foot to Gabriel’s Gully. Very soon the three-mile-long gorge was dotted with tents, and judging by the official returns many of the searchers must have done very well. So successful was Mr. Read’s discovery, indeed, that the Provincial Government continued their offer of rewards herd’s baby asleep in an empty gin-case, purchased ‘the home-made cradle for £5, and went away delighted with his bargain. For miles along the river-bank claims were pegged out by eager fortune-seekers, and the yields from the virgin beaches resulted in enormous quantities of gold being brought to Dunedin. This influx of the precious metal greatly stimulated the trade of the town, added to the value of property, increased immigration, and hastened the settlement of the province. Gold, however, unlike grass, is not recurrent, and within a few years the claims were

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worked out, the miners drifted away, and the erstwhile busy goldfield returned to its pristine solitude. Though the Molyneux had been almost completely abandoned by the gold-seekers, it was by no means absent from their thoughts, for the more thoughtful of them knew quite well that, even if the beaches were worked out, there were still riches THE GOLDEN RIVER. 289 thirty years the engineering industry of Dunedin developed greatly, the means of transport also improved, and consequently, towards the end of the century, an enter- prising syndicate was able to place a powerful dredge on the river near the spot where Hartley and Reilly made their first find. The success achieved was almost instan- taneous. In one week a thousand ounces The Kawarau Falls, where one of the dams is being constructed. in abundance in the depths of the river. The problem was how to secure them For the most part the Molyneux flows through rocky gorges, and even when it emerges into open country its channel is cut deep down. It was therefore impossible to divert the river so as to lay bare its bed, as some engineers had dreamed of doing, but in 1889 Sir Julius Vogel, at one time Colonial Treasurer, published a novel called “Anno Domini 2000,"" in which he pro- pounded an interesting scheme for securing some of the buried treasure. The chief source of one of the main branches of the Molyneux is Lake Wakatipu. The idea of Sir Julius was to dam up the existing outlet of the lake, where it emerges into the river, and to make a new outlet at the southern end, thirty miles away. By this means some thirty-five miles of the river bed would be exposed, and—according to the writer’s predictions—gold in enormous quan- tities would be recovered. This scheme was_ regarded highly imaginative at the time, and in its place the question of dredging was considered. A dredge had been tried on the river in 1865, but it was too small and too primitive to be successful. During the succeeding of gold were obtained, representing nearly half the capital cost of the dredge. No wonder the good people of Dunedin became excited! A“ boom ”’ set in, and £1 shares in the Hartley and Reilly dredge soared to £14, Claims were pegged out, some on the Molyneux, some on its tributaries, others on “ flats ’’ or rivers near and far— wherever, in fact, the ground seemed auriferous. Unfortunately —_anticipations were not always realized, and, as the cost of working a dredge was from fifty to seventy pounds a week, the majority of the companies proved unsuccessful and had to cease operations. The best claims on the Molyneux, however, were very produc- tive, and yielded some splendid returns, adding greatly to the total quantity of gold recovered from the river. Eventually these claims in turn were worked out, the dredges were dismantled, and once again the river was almost deserted. About three years ago Mr. Iles, an Otago engineer, came to the conclusion that the ambitious scheme outlined by Sir Julius Vogel, so many years before, could, with modifications, be made practicable. A syndicate took the matter in hand, and at the moment it is anticipated that the

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290 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Molyneux, or one of its branches, will soon be the scene of extreme activity. Briefly, Mr. Ies’s idea is this: The main tributary of the Molyneux is the Kawarau, the chief source of which is Lake Wakatipu. During the winter months, when the streams which feed it are largely ice-bound, the lake falls to a low level. Taking advantage of this low-water period, Mr. Iles proposes to dim the narrow outlet of the lake into the KKawarau. The water held back will natur- ally cause the lake to rise, but as Wakatipu is seventy miles long, and from three to six miles wide, it can store a lot of water without reaching a flood-level. If sucha flood were threatened, the dam gates would be opened before the townships on the lakeside were inun- dated. Ninety - five per cent. of the water of the Kawarau comes from Lake Wakatipu, but a small portion is derived from the Shotover River, and on this stream a second dam is to be built. As a result of these inflows into the Kawarau being stopped for some four months each winter, the river-bed will be drained during this period. The Kawarau, which extends for some thirty-five miles before it joins the Clutha River to form the Molyneux, has been divided into numerous claims, and a hundred and nine of these have beensublet to smaller syndicates who will work night and day directly the river-bed is laid bare. Will the project be successful ? Time alone can tell, but this much may be said: Owing to the rough and rocky nature of the river-bottom, and the consequent im pos- sibility of dredging, the greater part of the ground to be uncovered is practically virgin. As the Minister of Mines said ube corns of the Kayaras- wich - to be ‘ained in order to secure the vast deposits ined. Se pd. thas cre batlored tovaciot ss beds on oe os at the official opening of the work, “ The Kawarau is one vast sluicing channel, into which the streams of the surrounding hills have carried gold for ages.’’ Sir Julius Vogel thus describes in his novel the scene that will be presented when, as he predicts, the river-bed is uncovered :— “Thousands of spectators were assembled along the banks on the eventful day. The announcement of success occasioned almost delirious joy. At a turn of the river, seven miles from the lake, what appeared to be a large pool of fine gold was uncovered. Even as the news became circu- lated, there appeared in the middle of the river a faint yellow glow beneath the water. Gradually it grew brighter, until at length to the fascinated eyes of the beholders there appeared a long, irregular fissure about twenty-five feet in length by about six or seven in width, which a red to be filled with gold. The gold was shovelled into boxes, five hundred of which, each containing five thousand ounces, were quickly filled. Still the pool was not emptied, and it was reported that two equally rich receptacles were being drained in other parts.” As against this glowing forecast, latter-day pessimists declare that any gold found will lie at the bottom of a_ deep layer of gravel, and that the cost of re- moving this gravel vill not be compen- sated by the value of Hundreds of old miners, however, are just as optimistic ; they vow that the river- bed will prove a veritable Eldorado. Which- ever party proves to be correct, it is certain that when the time comes for the water to be turned off there will be scenes of excite- ment such as have seldom been witnessed in New Zealand.

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2gr THE eeu NECKLACE Ch Lieut. Colonel Donald Mackenzie ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK GILLETT.RI The Author was Chief of Police in one of the Native States of the Malay Peninsula. He had as a henchman one Ning most astute detective, with wonderful powers of deduction. Wo, who—ostensibly his Chinese “boy ”—was actually a In order to preserve the secret of his real functions, Ning Wo never appeared officially in connection with any of his cases, always acting through other people. fashion, he solved the mystery of a vanished n in the Native States of the Malay Peninsula were, as far as I can gather, very different from what they are now. They were not federated, and every State was run independéntly. The capitals of two of them were connected with their Tespective seaports by short lines of railway, but these States were bloated aristocrats, and put on airs accordingly. The rest of us had to be content with the Sultan’s highway and jungle paths. Nowadays, I believe, one can travel all over the country in a Pullman, probably with a dining car attached and other luxuries. In spite of our simple and primitive mode of existence, the genus tripper occasionally paid us a visit. Most of them had left the steamer at Singapore in order to have a look at the Native States, which they seemed to think were the habitat of little- known varieties of the human species. Some of the visitors arrived with an assortment of the latest things in sporting guns and rifles, apparently under the impression that they were’ going to meet tigers or rhinoceroses every few hundred yards along the high road. These good people, needless to say, invariably departed disappointed, though occasionally one of them managed to get a snipe after considerable expenditure of ammunition. Other gentle souls were intent on botanizing, especially in the orchid line; we were very proud of our orchids. T the time of which I am writing, over thirty years ago, conditions This story describes how, in his own characteristic ecklace. Now and again, however, we had a visit from someone really thirsting for knowledge, genuinely interested in all he saw, and it was to one of these travellers—or rather two of them—that I owed a sudden visit from Stuart, the chief of Police of the neighbouring State, who one day drove up to my bungalow just as 1 arrived back from the office for tiffin. “Hullo! This is an unexpected pleasure, old man,” I said. ‘“‘ But why have you come over thus suddenly and unannounced? I don’t suppose it is solely for the pleasure of enjoying my society.” ‘‘No, it isn’t,’ he replied, rudely. ‘I have come to tell you a secret, and also to ask your help.” “My help you're welcome to, if it is worth anything,” I told him. ‘‘ Send your dog-cart to the stable, come up to the veranda, have a drink, and get the secret off your chest.’’ ““T’'H have the drink with pleasure,’’ said Stuart, ‘‘ but as regards disclosing the secret within your walls, your man Ning Wo would appear to have wasted one of his pet maxims on you. 1 wonder how often he has told you never to risk being overheard if you wish to keep a secret ? Shout for the drink, and then we will go for a stroll.” It appeared, from what he told me during our walk, that a certain titled personage and his wife—we will call them Lord and Lady X—, had arrived in Stuart’s State on a visit to some friends of theirs, the manager

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292 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of a large tin-mining company, and _ his wife, who, by the same token, were also friends of both Stuart and myself. Lord X—, being a politician, was much interested in the affairs of the Empire, and was very anxious to see everything concerning the way we governed the Native States. It was Tumoured that he was destined some day to be Secretary of State for the Colonies. “Lady X— has with her some very beautiful old family jewels,’ continued Stuart, “‘ which have been in Lord X—’s family for generations, and amongst them is a very valuable diamond necklace. I wish to goodness she hadn’t been carting the things about with her, for now this blessed necklace has apparently been stolen. Two nights ago, she says, she wore it at dinner, and when she retired for the night she locked it up in the jewel-case and hung the key round her neck, as is her usual custom. Next morning, on opening the case to get something or other, she found to her horror that the necklace had gone. “ Of course they sent for me at once, and Detective-Sergeant Daud made a thorough search of the room, with me looking on, for I thought she might have left it lying about somewhere and merely imagined she had locked it up, but there was not a sign of the thing anywhere. Then we examined the . jewel-case, which contains three trays, and took them out one by one, but still there was no trace of the necklace. That brings me to what, to my mind, is the most curious part of the whole affair. There are any number of valuable pieces of jewellery in the case, including a superb set of rubies, but not a thing is missing except the necklace ! “And there’s another point which beats me. Lady X— is positive she locked the box after putting the necklace in it, and equally positive that the key was hanging round her neck when she got up in the morning. Now how could the key have been removed from her neck and afterwards replaced without either her or her husband being wakened ? You and I have known several clever thieves, but never one quite so clever as to be able to do that; such a feat would beat even Ning Wo.” “Lord X— and his wife are two of the most charming people I have ever met, and nothing could exceed the consideration they have shown in this matter. If possible, they say, they wish the theft to be kept secret they would feel terribly grieved if their visit to the Native States were the cause of any disagreeableness, 1 have threatened Sergeant Daud with death if he breathes a word. The Carrs (our mutual friends and the X—’s hosts) know of it, of course, but they have promised to be silent. “As I want your help, old chap, I must admit you into the secret. Have all your pawnshops very carefully watched " (they always were). ‘‘ You need not specify for what—merely say for European jewellery. Personally, 1 don’t believe the thief will try to sell the thing at a pawnshop, for not only would he not get his price—and you can bet he knows the value of the necklace— but he would arouse the shop-people’s suspicion by offering anything so valuable. He will most probably try to get out of the country with it, so have all persons entering your State from ours, or attempting to leave by the coast, carefully searched. It will only look as if the ‘ pass’ system were being rigorously enforced. I have given the same orders to all my stations. Now you know all about the business, so let’s have tiffin, and then I'll be off.” At the junction of every road connecting our two States there was a police station, and Stuart’s and mine alternated along our frontier. We were thus able to keep an eye on everyone entering or leaving the State unless the traveller went through the jungle, and few but Malays could do this, for the jungle was dense and the paths few and far between. As soon as Stuart had left I dispatched Detective-Sergeant Cassim to the two stations on the coast with orders that all natives leaving the State were to be searched ; if anything suspicious was found in anyone's possession he was to be sent to head-quarters. I also told him to warn Corporal Ali, who was in command of the Marine Police, to keep an eye on all native boats putting to sea. I went to the other stations myself the next day and gave similar instructions, and as the simplest way of doing this was to foot it through the jungle, accompanied by my faithful orderly Beedin, instead of zigzagging in gharries up and down the roads, I was absent from the Sikhs’ parades for three mornings. This greatly perturbed my hench- man Subahdar Narrain Singh, for in the plenitude of its wisdom the War Office had just issued a new and somewhat complicated drill-book, and I was initiating the Sikhs into its mysteries, I had not been back more than a couple of hours before I received a terse note from Stuart. It read as follows :— “DEAR Mac,—Send Ning Wo to me.— Yours, J. S.” Evidently Stuart was out of his depth, so 1 called Ning Wo and gave him the message. He asked what the trouble was, but I thought it wisest to say I knew nothing about it; but that the sooner he got there the more quickly he would know. With that he departed in a gharry. Till then, 1 must confess, the matter of the vanished necklace had not interested me very much, but it became a different thing now Ning Wo was on the job. If that necklace was in either State I was pretty sure he would find it, and I was anxious to hear the developments, for 1 knew they would probably be startling.

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I did not have to wait long, for two days later tnere came another note from Stuart. Ning Wo, he said, desired my presence, and therefore would I please come on the morrow; he would meet me half-way and drive me in. “What's the news?’ [ asked when we met. ‘‘ Has Ning Wo found the bauble and made you feel a fool?” “In the end I feel he is certain to do both,” re- lied Stuart, ‘‘but fe says he can do nothing till you arrive,though what you can have to do with it is a mystery to me. We have simply got to wait till he chooses to explain himself.”’ Reaching his bungalow, we went to the veranda, Stuart's boy produced re- freshments, and my colleague began what he called the “ pro- logue of the play.” ts ‘“T’ll relate all I know of Ning Wo’s doings since he came,”’ he said. ‘‘ Of course I commenced by putting him in possession of all the facts of the case; told him Sergeant Daud and I had arrived at a blank wall, and that I had sent for him to put us on the right track. I put that in by way of a delicate bit of flattery.” : “* You could have saved your breath,’’ I told him. “ You don’t know him as well as I do; he’s above flattery, for he knows his powers too well. He probably only thought you an ass for saying it.” “He is welcome to think anything he likes if he only finds this blessed family heirloom,” retorted Stuart. “ But to continue: He first asked if Daud was to be trusted not to talk; I said I had threatened him with every penalty 1 knew if he did so. Then he said he could only work in this case on my promising one thing, which was that no one, not even Daud, should know of his existence, far less that he was engaged in the matter. Of course, he and 1 would have to examine the scene of the robbery, but I must arrange that we were alone and that no one saw him there. I knew his reason for wishing to remain incognito, but I thought this stipulation somewhat _ far- fetched, and told him that Lord and Lady THE MISSING NECKLACE. 293 X— could be absolutely relied on not to give him away. He merely remarked that he never told a secret to a woman, which seemed rather rude, and added further that he was your detective, and if that fact became known what further use would he be to you? ‘ Tuan,’ he said, ‘ never trust “*Does not the Tuan know me?’ he asked, in a low voice.” anyone you do not know with a secret unless you wish it talked about; and if that is your wish, then let your secret be a lie.’ You certainly possess a most faithful retainer, Mackenzie ! “‘ Ning Wo said we must inspect the scene of the robbery ; also, he wished to examine the jewel-case as soon as possible. A difficulty at once occurred to me—how on earth was I to get possession of the key without explaining matters to Lady X— ? It seemed a delicate thing to ask her to entrust me with it out of her sight, and I told Ning Wo so. He said it was quite easy, however, and he would tell me how to do it. 1 was to tell Lady X— I wanted to examine her room alone, for I had often found when I did this that 1 had inspirations. I would like to do it that evening, when she was at dinner, and | must have the key of the jewel-case. ‘ Surely the Tuan Mem will not tefuse to give it,’ he said, ‘for is not the Tuan trying to find her jewellery, and how can he do so if she does not help him ? Without doubt she will do as the Tuan asks.” All this seemed absolutely idiotic to me, but as I had put the affair in Ning Wo’'s hands I knew I should have to do as he directed if I wanted him to help me. “Well, I went and saw Lady X— early

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294 that afternoon and told her the fairy-story, which she appeared to consider quite natural. (Evidently she hasn’t had dealings with the police before, or she would have jibbed at such a yarn!) I also asked her to lend me the key, which she at once did. ‘““When. I got back to the bungalow, where I had told Ning Wo to wait for me, I told him I had the key. He merely smiled, as much as to say ‘I told you so,’ and then proceeded to question me minutely con- cerning all I knew about the robbery. I could give him mighty little information, for we had not been able to find a single clue. “Having finished his questioning, from which he learnt nothing, as far as I could see, he requested permission to see the key, which 1 gave him. He took it to the far end of the veranda, where the sun was shining in, and apparently examined it carefully for a few minutes with his back turned to me, though how the make of a key could help him I failed to comprehend. He then returned it to me and said that with my rmission we would investigate in Lady ee 'S apartment about half-past eight. With that he departed. “ Soon after eight a strange Malay walked on to the veranda, where I was waiting for Ning Wo, and I asked what he wanted. ““* Does not the Tuan know me?’ he asked in a low voice. “1 replied that 1 did not recollect ever having seen him before. “*That is well,’ he answered. ‘Then others will not know. me. I am Ning Wo. The Tuan will ask why I am a Malay; he forgets that there are many servants in Tuan Carr’s house, and it is well they should not see Ning Wo as he is.” “Well, we proceeded to the Carrs’ bungalow, and on arriving at Lady X—’s room I ordered the boy to light both lamps and then quit. As soon as he had departed Ning Wo made a very searching examination of the premises, but whether he found any- thing to enlighten him | can’t say, for he said nothing. Then he examined the jewel-case very minutely, and finally asked me for the key. He unlocked the box and one by one took out the three trays, each containing a quantity of valuable jewellery. It seemed to me he had come to a full stop, as Daud and I had done. “T had been standing beside him while he was examining the case, but suddenly he asked me if I would please sit on the chair beside the bed and watch what he did. 1 did as he told me, and with his back to me he fiddled with the box for several minutes, Then he called me, put back all the trays, locked the case, gave me the key, and said we would go. I asked if he had found out anything, but he squashed me by saying we would talk at my house. “When we arrived there he asked me to return the key to Lady X— that night, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. adding: ‘Surely the Tuan Mem would not sleep well if it were not round her neck.’ Finally he requested me to send for you. I asked him what the blazes you had to do with the show, but he merely replied in that elaborately polite manner of his that when you came he “ thought all things would be plain,’ but that till then he could say nothing. I felt like cursing him for dictating to me, but I knew that would not help matters, so I sent for you, and here you are.’ “And what’s the next move?” I asked, eagerly. “ That we shall know when your Chinese oracle arrives,’ growled Stuart: ‘“‘In the meanwhile we must wait, for we are only two pawns, to be moved just as he chooses. Seems infernally infra dig., doesn’t it?” Shortly afterwards Ning Wo appeared, imperturbable as ever, and, after bowing to me with grave Oriental politeness, requested that we would go into what Stuart was pleased to call his garden. The reason for this was obvious; Ning Wo was _ taking no chances of being overheard. He then announced that we three were to visit Lady X—’s room that evening when she was at dinner, as on the previous occasion. Stuart said there would be no difficulty about that, as he knew the X—’'s and the Carrs were dining out. ° “That also I know,” Nin “‘ for I was talking to Tuan Carr’s boy and he told me. That is why I said we would go this night.” “But I must tell the Tuan- Mem ‘we are Wo told us, . going there,” said Stuart, ?:*The Tuan must not tell her, as he. will understand afterwards, ‘Likewise it! must not be known to anyone that Tuan Mackenzie is here until to- -MOrrow morning. This also will be made plain.” “But what about the key of the box rad queried Stuart. “There will be no need for it, Tuan,’ was the quiet answer. I inquired if he could not give us some news about the necklace; he answered by asking how he could do that unless he had the box in his hand. “ That is child’s talk,” snapped Stuart ; “you had it in your hand belore, but you didn’t find the necklace.” “‘Shut up, and don’t be an ass!’ I said, in English. ‘‘ If you knew Ning Wo as well as 1 do you would have learnt that he never says or does anything without a purpose. I'll bet that every word he has said is connected with some well-laid plan, and we must simply do as he tells us. He will do things exactly in his own way and no other.” Ning Wo blandly ignored Stuart’s remark and, saying he would be back by eight o'clock, presently took his departure. He arrived on time disguised as z Malay and very well disguised too, and we forth- with repaired to the Carrs’ house. Having

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THE MISSING NECKLACE. 295 “*What evil business is this ?’ demanded Stuart.”

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296 had the lamps lighted in Lady XK—’s room, Ning Wo closed the door on the departing coolie, and then went straight to the table where the jewel-case had formerly stood. Being in ignorance of our intended visit, however, Lady X— had evidently very wisely locked it up somewhere. ““Now we're done!” said Stuart, but again he did not know Ning Wo; a locked box never bothered him. He looked rapidly round the room, and then, going up to the largest trunk, produced a bunch of keys. In about five seconds he had the trunk open, and there was the case lying on the top. He lifted it out and placed it on the table. It was very large—more like a miniature plate-chest than a jewel-case—made of oak, and appeared to be about two hundred years old. Round the top, bottom, and sides it was studded with what were apparently brass-headed nails. Silently Ning Wo produced another key and unlocked it. “‘ What evil business is this ? ’’ demanded Stuart. ‘‘ How did you steal the key ? ” “There has been no theft, Tuan,” re- turned Ning Wo, calmly. “It is now the time to work; afterwards comes the talk.” One by one Ning Wo took out three trays, two of them containing a quantity of very valuable jewellery. The third was empty, and he casually remarked that the Tuan Mem was wearing ‘‘ the red stones”’ that evening. Then he asked me to examine the case. I did so, but beyond its size could see nothing out of the ordinary about it. “‘ Why has it all those brass nails on it?” he asked. I said I thought they might be there by way of ornamentation ; our ancestors were rather fond of sticking nails on doors and other articles. “One other thing I will ask. Will the Tuan measure the inside and then the outside of the box ?”” He picked up a buttonhook from the table and handed it to me. I found the ditference in measurement was about an inch and a half, and 1 could only presume that for some reason or other the bottom of the box had been made abnormally thick, for the sides and top were only about half an inch in thickness, I asked Stuart his opinion, and he agreed with me. “Will the Tuan permit me to hold his hands, and I will show him the true reason ? ”” Placing me in front of the case, and putting in the third or bottom tray, Ning Wo took each of my hands in one of his, and with his second fingers on the corresponding ones of mine pressed them on a nail-head on either side of the base of the box. Then he told me to lift the tray. I did so—and there, underneath it, lay the stolen necklace ! For fully two minutes neither Stuart nor I said a word, and then Stuart broke the . silence by informing us that he was jiggered. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Ning Wo, impassive as ever, asked me to replace the tray and lift it out again. 1 did so—and the necklace had disappeared ! Once one saw it, of course, the explanation was simple; the box had a false bottom, held in place by springs. By putting the tray on this false bottom and pressing the knobs outside the box, the cover of the false bottom was lifted with the tray. On replacing the tray, the springs were again released, the false bottom dropped into place, and only the top tray could be lifted until the outside knobs were pressed again. Ning Wo made me go through the little conjuring trick half-a-dozen times, till I was perfect in it. Then, locking the case and putting it back in the trunk, which he like- wise locked, he intimated that he had finished, and we all returned to Stuart’s bungalow. ‘* Now explain all these matters, Ning Wo, and tell me why you did not enlighten me two nights ago,” said Stuart. “Surely there is nothing to tell? The Tuans have seen everything for themselves,” he replied. I knew Stuart would get this answer, so I baited the hook differently, and finally persuaded Ning Wo to explain the whole matter. “When Tuan Stuart told me everything, I felt certain there had been no theft,’’ he began, “ for surely no thief would have been such a fool as to take only one thing when he could have taken so much; likewise what man could be clever enough to take the key from the Tuan Mem's neck and put it back again without waking her or her husband ? But first, before I could be sure, I wanted to see everything myself, and particularly the box where the jewels were kept. I therefore said we would go and see the Tuan Mem’s room that night while she was at dinner. ““When the Tuan brought back the key of the box I asked him to let me see it. He may remember that I took it to the end of the veranda, as though to examine it, but actually I took an impression of it in wax. There is a man here who is very clever at making keys, and he made a key for me. Here it is, Tuan; it is of no further use.” “ But,” interposed Stuart, “ if you thought it would be necessary to examine the box twice, why could I not have asked for the key again?” “ Because the Tuan found nothing the first time he had it. Did he wish to look foolish by doing so cwice ?”’ “When we got vo the room I pretended to search it, but I knew I should find nothing, for Tuan Stuart and Sergeant Daud had already been over it. Then I asked the Tuan for the key of the box, and after I had taken out the trays and seen the inside I was sure I had discovered the secret. Does the Tuan remember my asking him to sit

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by the bed and see if he noticed what I did ? That was when I was examining the box. “* First I tried my key to see if it fitted properly, and then I measured the inside and the outside of the box. When I saw how deep the bottom was I felt sure the stolen jewel was somewhere there, but I could not move it. Without doubt the lid of the secret compartment was held down by a spring, and the nails on the outside had something to do with it. Many times I pressed them, but not one of them would move, and I was baffled. Then I thought that perhaps the spring had something to do with the trays, and so I put one back and pressed the nails again. Presently I felt one on each side go in and stay in, and I found out everything.” ““Why could not all this have been explained to the Tuan Mem the next day, and thus saved her a lot of trouble ? ” asked Stuart. “‘ Because I wished Tuan Mackenzie to find the jewel for her. He is my Tuan, and have I not eaten his salt, as the Sikhs say ? It is my duty to do him honour.” 1 was amazed, and so was Stuart. We could have understood such a thing from a Sikh or a Malay, but I had never expected to hear such sentiments of loyalty from a Chinaman. ‘‘ Ning Wo,” said Stuart, “ you are the best Chinese I have ever met, and after those words I shall think better of your country- men. The next morning we carried out a little plot already arranged by Ning Wo. Lord and Lady X— were there, with Stuart and myself, and in their presence I went through the farce of examining the jewel-case for fully ten minutes. Suddenly I gave a long whistle and called them round me. “Did you know that this case had a secret ?’’ I asked Lord and Lady X—. “T never knew of one; did you, Amy?” answered Lord X—. ‘* No,” she said. ‘‘ Your mother never told me of one when she gave it to me.”’ “* Well, it has,”’ I told them. ‘“‘ See if you can't discover it.”’ Of course they failed, even when I asked them to measure it; they never even noticed the depth of the bottom. THE MISSING NECKLACE. 297 “‘Let me make you discover it, Lady X—,” said I. Taking her two hands in mine, as Ning Wo had done, I pressed her fingers on the nail- heads, and then said: ‘“‘ Now lift the tray.” She did so, disclosing the missing necklace to their astonished gaze. I then completed the conjuring trick by telling her to replace the tray, and when she had done so to lift it out again. The necklace, of course, disappeared once more. “The secret is quite simple when you know how it is done,” I told them, and pro- ceeded to explain it. ‘‘ When you took out the trays to put the necklace in the bottom one, you must have pressed, by sheer chance, the right nail-heads, and consequently the false bottom came up with the lowest tray, and you put the necklace underneath. When you replaced the tray the spring was released, and afterwards only the upper one could be lifted. Don’t forget in future that a tray must be in to make the springs act, and that these are held by the fourth knob from the front on either side. “I wonder who the last person was who knew that infernal secret ? ”’ said Lord X—. “Tf it had not been for you, Mackenzie, I don’t believe it would ever have been dis- covered, and we should have wandered about the world, with the necklace in our posses- sion, mourning its loss all the time.” Then the pair of them began overwhelming me with thanks, and I never felt such a mean hypocrite in my life. Stuart saw my embar- rassment, and by way of easing the situation said in his breezy manner :— “* Sheer good luck, Mac!” ‘‘I don’t believe it was anything of the kind, Captain Stuart,’’ snapped Lady X—. “It was really clever of him, and I won't hear you crab him. It isn’t fair!” “Twas only chaffing,’’ he hastened to assure her. “ I told you Mackenzie was a clever detective, and I felt if anyone could find the necklace it would be he.” Some two months later I received a registered parcel from Lord and Lady X— containing an inscribed cigarette-case. Stuart received a similar one, but to his annoyance the inscription on it read: ‘‘ Hawks do not pick out hawks’ eyes.” Vou. Lv.—21.

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298 Museum authorities purchased a large python from a farmer in Zululand, and in due course it arrived. The journey by ox-wagon to the nearest railway station was rough and long ; some hundreds of miles had to be covered before the great reptile reached us. It was packed in a box much too small for free movement, the weather was distinctly unpleasant, and snakes are delicate creatures, highly sus- ceptible to changes of temperature and environment. For these reasons, when we came to unpack him, we found the python . cold, stiff, sulky, and dispirited. From long experience I knew these were alarming symptoms which, if not promptly coun- tered, would end in the death of the snake. It had been born in a rocky, bush-covered kloof where the air was moist; and to be suddenly torn from such a snaky paradise and sent to the comparatively chilly climate of Port Elizabeth was a severe trial to its constitution. 1t was necessary to take prompt measures to dispel the icy chills from the reptile’s blood, but at the time there were no proper facilities available on the Museum premises. The python was therefore taken to my residence in Park Drive, Port Elizabeth, where, at the end of the balcony, there was a conservatory with a plate- -glass roof and sides, through which the sun’s Trays streamed warmly at midday. Though originally used as a conservatory, the place had now degenerated into a lumber-room, and here the python found a home, a tub of water to soak himself in, an cider-down quilt to sleep on, a high temperature, lovely sunlight in which to bask, and complete seclusion. The change worked wonders. From a slow- moving, indolent, and apparently com- pletely harmless creature, the python speedily became imbued with fire, vitality, and spirit, At intervals over a period of two days he moved restlessly around, exploring every inch of his abode in the hope of dis- covering a hole through which to escape. Ss years ago the Port Elizabeth and ie Failing to find an exit, he settled down and apparently became resigned to the inevitable. The intelligence of a snake is of a low order and, provided it can find suitable food, water, and, above all, warmth, these reptiles’ earthly desires are easily satisfied. Most housewives would strenuously object to taking pythons as guests, but the lady incharge of my establishment was thorou ghly familiar with snal:es. She had helped me in Natal for many yezrs in my quest for an antidote for their venom, and there were snakes scattered around everywhere i in boxes and enclosures for study purposes. \vhen any of them sulked or went on hunger-strike -—a common and exasperating occurrence— she would thrust a glass syringe down their throats, while I held the jaws apart, and squirt a charge of egg-flip down the refrac- tory reptiles’ throats. We called her ‘ ‘ Paddy,” from which it will be surmised, quite correctly, that she was Irish, with the fiery and reckless blood of the ancient Celts, Pythons she held in supreme contempt, for had she not helped to capture them, and directed gangs of lusty Zulus in digging them out of their retreats ? She had, moreover, carried them for many a weary mile confined in a sack, and tied to the front of her saddle. The Great War was on at this time, and Paddy was, in consequence, very busy with war-work. A children’s fancy-dress ball was being organized to raise funds ; and she had promised to send a bundle of materials to a committee of ladies, whose clever fingers . would subsequently transform them into costumes. She had a big trunk containing pieces of ribbon, dress materials, fripperies, and the thousand and one odd things that women secrete in boxes, drawers, and cup- boards; and that particular trunk was in the old conservatory lumber-room where the python was. Did Paddy know it ? Of course she did, for many a time she had taken her friends up to thrill them with a sight of the great creature. With her mind full of schemes for suitable

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299 A thrilling story of a woman’s fight for life with a gigantic snake. “It happened to my wife,” writes Mr. Fitz-Simons, “and every word of it is true. The narrative can be vouched for by hundreds of people in Port Elizabeth, as the incident was a topic of conversation for weeks.” EW FITZ-SIMONS #2. fancy-dress costumes, she wended her way up the stairs and along the balcony. Enter- ing the lumber-room, she opened the trunk and was soon absorbed in her work of sorting out various likely odds and ends from its miscellaneous contents. _While she was thus occupied the strong oak door suddenly slammed with a terrific bang. The brass knob of the lock shot off and clanged on the floor, and the steel shank to which it had been attached was jerked from its socket and fell outside. All this time the python had been lying coiled on his guilt, sullenly watching the proceedings. he sudden and unexpected noise, however, startled him into activity ; the great coils began to unfold, and the sensitive forked tongue shot out and in icessantly. Realizing the risk she ran in lingering longer, Paddy stretched out her hand to open the door, but to her dismay she could discover no means of operating the mechanism of the mortice lock! She was trapped—securely shut up in a room ten feet by twelve with an angry python! The snake was seventeen feet in length, and its irth was as great as the thigh of a Hercules. he muscular development is such that a python of this size can crush the body of a man to a shapeless mass in five minutes. From her experiences in Natal Paddy knew this fact full well; she was also aware that this particular python was brimming over with vitality, owing to the heated atmo- sphere in which he lived. Hurriedly push- ing some boxes between herself and the reptile, Paddy hammered and banged at the stout door in a futile effort to burst it open. Lifting a small but heavy wooden box packed with children’s toys, odd bits of china-ware, and medicine bottles, she drove it against the lock, but, alas! the box burst and the contents were noisily scattered over the floor. 3 The crash added fuel to the python’s awakening anger, and it now began to hiss furiously. When a python is seriously angry and alarmed it takes in a large volume of air and slowly and forcibly emits it through the nostrils, producing a long, pene- trating hiss of so sinister and ternfying a nature that unless actually heard the imagi- nation, however vivid it may be, cannot + give one a realization of it. There seemed to be no hope of breaking the door open, and so Paddy retired to a corner, where, back to the wall, she faced the reptile which, with head elevated, was regarding her with a baleful glare in its glistening, beady-black eyes. Paddy knew what this portended; the snake was weigh- ing its fear of the dreaded human against remorseless hate and the instinctive desire to kill. Her best chance of life, she decided, was to remain still, trusting that the python’s anger and excitement would abate. Mean- time she thought furiously, and through her fertile brain there flitted a succession of schemes to protect herself against the snake if it should attack her. Escape from her prison was apparently hopeless. The resi- dence stood in the centre of spacious grounds, and the nearest house on that side was a long way off. The lumber-room was at the end of a balcony with a blank wall behind it, the doors and windows of the rooms facing in other directions. It was futile to attempt to shout for aid in a small closed room, with nobody at all within hearing distance. Such a course of action, moreover, would inevit- ably precipitate an attack by the snake— a fact to which she was very much alive. Watching the monster anxiously, she saw that it had now overcome its nervousness and dread of the human animal. It was stalking its prey, and the ordeal that awaited her had now fairly started. The eyes glit- tered evilly and the black forked tongue shot out and in with a curious vibratory move- ment. The cruel head, which had been poised just above the floor, was now raised a full two feet, and with a thrill of horror Paddy perceived that it was advancing in her direction. The movement was so slow that to an indifferent observer it would have been unnoticeable, but Paddy knew it was

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300 drawing nearer and nearer. Was the brute trying to hypnotize its intended victim ? No man can say, but the head continued to advance inch by inch, like a continuous flow of water along a smooth and almost level channel. Poor Paddy was deprived of all power of movement. Her gaze was fixed in a dull stare on that cruel head, those glittering, unwinking eyes, and the ever- vibrating tongue. -Whether she was fasci- nated by the reptile or merely paralyzed by fear she did not know, but no desire to cry out or move arose in her now latent brain- cells. She was apparently asleep, yet wide awake. Fear and dread had completely passed, for her brain was no longer func- tioning. Presently the snake’s head ceased to move forward; instead it rose in the air. The python was preparing to strike, and was gauging its distance. The great body became animated with the same curious con- tinuous movement that had _ previously characterized its head. The object was apparent. The great reptile was drawing up . its bulk to enable it to obtain the neces- sary leverage for the final lightning-like thrust. But why all “The cruel head was now raised a full two feet, and was advancing in her direction.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. this preparation? you ask. It is the python’s way, and comes of countless ages of specialization. The object of the reptile was to grip its intended victim with its powerful jaws, in which are set a cruel armature of strong, conical, recurved fangs. When a stalking python strikes in this manner, there is no time lost—no interval to allow the victim to hit out, struggle, dodge, or escape. Simultaneously with the grip, coil upon coil envelops the prey; and so rapid are the snake’s movements that the human eye cannot register details. There is a confused blur, and next instant the snake is as still as though cast in bronze ; but the hapless victim is within those ter- rible folds, which now begin a series of con- tracting movements, slow yet continuous, until the ribs, shoulder-blades, and arm- bones of the prey are shattered and driven, like sharp knives, into the body. But in this instance the old saying: “There is many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip ’’ was well exemplified. The python, in drawing up its coils, failed to rechon with a large Egyptian earthenware jar. Its tail, which was moving like that of a cat or tiger about to spring, wrapped round the base of the jar—and down it fell, with acrash. The python was startled and momentaril put off his stroke,’’ as a sportsman would express it. This was not the only result. It was an interposition of Providence—no more and no Jess. The clatter and crash of the big jar

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THE acted upon Paddy as a vigorous slap on the back does upon a sleeper. Her brain awakened with a start, and in a flash she leapt aside, and up on to a trunk. In that instant the enraged python struck, missed his intended victim, and drove his nose with great force against the wall. With bleeding mouth and broken frontal teeth he recoiled, hissing furiously. The injury gave Paddy time to collect her wits and to act. Rapidly she thrust two trunks and a large box in front of her; and then, seizing a long-handled straw broom, she stood at bay. The python, however, had not the courage to make another such thrust. Its slow-moving wits could only realize that injury and pain had resulted from the first one. Five minutes went by, and then ten— minutes that seemed to Paddy an eternity, a trial as by fire. She knew full well that the python, once he recovered himself, would attack again in some new fashion, but ske knew not the manner of it, and with every sense alert she watched and listened. Presently the snake’s plan of action became clear. The direct method, which so rarely fails, had proved in this instance both unsuccessful and painful; the monster was therefore going to try strategy. Its coils vibrated, its tongue moved rapidly, the lidless, unwinking eyes glared balefully, and its hisses became loud and prolong It now began to employ a mode of attack dissimilar from the frontal approach, but ment. unwinking eyes. “Poor Paddy was deprived of all power of move- Her gaze was fixed on those glittering, LADY AND THE. PYTHON. 301 no less effective. The tail of a python, I should explain, is a marvellous piece of living mechanism, and may in a sense be compared to the sensitive trunk of an elephant, or the right arm of a powerful athlete; it has, in addition, tremendous power and flexibility. This tail now began to grope slowly forward, feeling the bases of the trunks. Slowly but steadily it worked round the corner of the barricade—and soon it was casting about for Paddy's ankle! Summoning all her strength, she fought it off with her broom. Again and yet again, and many times again, the tail lashed and groped, its tip crooked and taut. Furiously the python sought to penetrate Paddy's guard, and equally furiously did Paddy fend it off. The combat was unequal, for the snake had unlimited reserves of strength, patience, and endurance, while it was only her Irish blood and nerve which kept Paddy defiant and at bay. But the contest could not last many more minutes, and Paddy knew it. The snake was becoming bolder ; and now its great bulk was moving round her frail bulwark of boxes. With a sudden lash, like that of a rhino whip in the hand of an angry man, the tail struck, and Paddy instinctively jabbed her broom down in a_ last desperate effort to ei her legs

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302 from that deadly menace. The tail closed tightly round the grass base of her broom, and in an instant it was jerked from her hands and hurled away. Then, con- vinced that its road was clear, the snake swept on furiously, but Paddy warded it off and baffled it time and again by tipping trunks and boxes on to it. Poising one on the top of another, she overturned it on to the reptile in the vain hope of crippling or at least intimidating it, but each time it writhed free and returned to the attack. A python’s mentality is slow and crude. The brute had evidently decided on securing its prey, and nothing short of death or a broken back would deter it so long as its intended victim was within sight or scent. Suddenly a new idea flashed through Paddy’s mind. With a jerk she threw open the lid of a trunk and, gathering up an armful of clothing from its interior, flung the garments over the python. At once its teeth gripped the bundle, while its terrible coils sought vainly to constrict the yielding clothes. Realizing its mistake, the reptile sought to disentangle itself, but its recurved teeth were now helplessly entangled in the meshes of a silken garment. Viciously it lashed, coiled, and uncoiled, thrusting forward and withdrawing its head in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the cord, she pulled it, but, alas, it snapped. Sinking down on a box, Paddy stared stonily at the struggling python, wondering dully how long it would be before it would free itself and kill her, While thus engaged, a thought flashed like a wireless ray into her mentality and germinated there. Why not make a pile of the boxes and so reach the ventilator ? Feverishly balancing the trunks one upon another, she succeeded in securing a foothold on the topmost one, and throwing open the flap, thrust her head through the hole and screamed long and loud, A woman's scream is very penetrating, and in the still, warm air of a South African summer especially so. A butcher's boy, delivering meat near by, heard it, and, dropping his basket, hastened to ascertain the cause. Paddy beckoned wildly, and into the dull brain of the coloured youth came the realization that the lady was in some sort of grave trouble. He hurried round to the kitchen, which was situated at the opposite end of the house, and gave the alarm. Presently the cook, housemaid, and boy pattered along the balcony and came to a standstill before the closed door. Paddy, from her elevated perch, shouted instructions to them to pick up the fallen handle and open the door, but the craven The python as it appeared soon after its arrival from Zululand. It was seventeen feet long, and possessed enormous muscular power. desperate endeavours to free its jaws of the clinging material. Meanwhile Paddy was casting around for some means of escape. Her eves roved wildly round the walls—and suddenly hope flamed anew. There, high up, she saw an aperture about eighteen inches square—a ventilator that had been used when the room was actually a conservatory. Seizing crowd outside were too terrified to do so. Coloured folk have an unreasoning horror of snakes, and there was, therefore, some excuse for the failure of these three people to rise to the occasion. Anyway, after twenty minutes of parleying, scolding, and cajoling, the butcher’s boy thrust the metal rod, with the door knob attached, into the aperture in the lock, and jerked open the

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THE LADY AND THE: PYTHON. door. Then he and the two women fled. Meanwhile Paddy was fending off the python, which had now succeeded in freeing itself from the clothing. As it reared up to get at her she temporarily countered it by upsetting the whole pile of boxes on to its huge body. Before it could disengage its seventeen feet of steel-like muscles from the scattered boxes, the door flew open and with a flying leap she dashed out, slamming the door after her. I knew nothing of this adventure until I arrived home in the evening and met Paddy at dinner with my two oung sons, Desmond and ivian. Paddy, by the way, A month after the battle. Mrs. Fitz-Simons with her former adversary, 393 and so, with a string of invectives in the flowery Zulu tongue, he stubbed it in the ribs with the toe of his boot. A second later he received the shock of his life. The python uncoiled almost as rapidly as a clock-spring and seized the Zulu’s ankle in its jaws, but before it could constrict him in the confined space, reinforcements fell upon it. Two coils were already round Inyorka’s leg when I snatched wildly at the squirming, whirling tail while the other ~~ man, Ingundana by name, sat upon the middle part of the now tame and friendly. is my wife. After discussing the latest war news, she observed, in a quiet tone, ‘“ You were very near being a widower to-day.” _Alarmed, I inquired how and why, and then learned what fad transpired. This does not quite end the story of the python, however. The following morning I sent a messenger to the Museum for Inyorka, the Zulu who was then in charge of our collection of live snakes. He came, and brought an assistant. “Inyorka,” I said, “‘ I want you to take the python down to the Museum.” So, with Inyorka and his helper and a big mealie sack, we wended our way to the python's lair. Inyorka was a Zulu, six feet in height and with a huge muscular development. He had three years’ experience of pythons, and handling these reptiles was a daily experience for him. I warned him to be careful, giving him a short outline of Paddy's adventure, but he merely grinned. Inyorka, however, was unaware of the vitalizing and courage-developing effect of moist heat and seclusion on pythons, otherwise he would not have been so cock-sure. The snake had calmed down and was lying, with coils one on top of another, in a corner. It seemed to be sulking, or perchance chagrined and disgusted at its failure to make a meal of Paddy. Inyorka was angry at the snake’s attempt on my wife, for whom he had a great respect, snake and gripped it with hands and knees. Then began a battle-royal—three strong men against one python, severely handicapped for space in which to put into operation its innumerable constricting muscles. - Over and over we rolled and tumbled among the lumber, until at length the python began to react to the strangle-hold which Inyorka had upon its throat. Quick to notice this weakening, the Zulu put forth all his strength and succeeded in unhooking the reptile’s jaws from their grip on his ankle. The coils slowly lost their constricting power, and finally he was able to withdraw his numb and bruised leg. Suddenly the snake gave up struggling and hissed sullenly. This is the way of pythons; when once thoroughly subdued they rarely put up a serious fight against their human masters. We stuffed the conquered snake into the mealie sack, sewed up the top, carried our prisoner downstairs, and dumped him into a hand-truck for transport to the Museum. But we hadn't finished with him yet. Evidently he determined to show his dis- approval at being subjected to so many indignities, and forthwith went on hunger- strike. Pythons have been known to fast for three years before dying of starvation ; but Inyorka was proud of “that python and anxious to save it. “ Baas, can | feed the snake ? ” he asked.

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304 “Yes, Inyorka ; nice fresh beef.” Thereupon forcible feeding began. You do not know, perchance, how it is done ? It is a very simple process. The python was carried out to a sunlit grassy lawn. One man held the snake's tail, a second bestrode its middle, while a third gripped its head and forced open its jaws. Inyorka squatted in front and, taking a pound of meat, gently thrust it into the snake’s capacious throat, and with a smooth, round stick, about a foot in length, pressed the meat into the reptile’s gullet. It was now the second man’s job to caress the meat and massage it a yard down the long red lane. No. 3 then took charge and carefully worked the lump down to the pocket where give it ten pounds of Princess Arthur of Connaught (centre) with the pyth this story. Mrs. Fitz-Simons is seen to on the right. the stomach is located. This seemed a satis- factory way to overcome the python’s hunger-strike ; so I instructed Inyorka to feed it at fortnightly intervals. After the lapse of six weeks, however, he accosted me and saluted : “May I speak, Baas ?”’ he said. “Yes, Inyorka; what’s the matter?” “ Baas, it is war-time now. The face of the land is lean and our stomachs cry aloud for good food.’’ “Yes, 1 know. pan ““No, Baas ; 1 am content, but my heart reproaches me. It crics aloud and accuses me. I fear when I depart to join my ancestors that they will frown upon me. They will say: ‘ Inyorka, you wasted the good beef of the ox, the food of warriors.’ ”” Do you want a rise in THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ‘‘ What are you driving at ? ”’ I demanded. “Do you object to the poor old python having a ration of meat twice in a moon?” “No, no, Baas ! It's this way; good meat is being wasted ; we are feeding worms, and not the python.” Eventually, after much pressing, he came to the point. The python had got the better of him every time. After the slow and tedious job of forcible feeding, it appeared, the snake subsequently rejected the meat, which had to be buried—literally given to the worms, as the Zulu explained. “‘ Next time you feed the python,” I said, “come and tell me. I will cast a spell upon it; the snake shall not waste any more good meat.” Coe ee, In due course, Inyorka announced the . event. When the feeding operations had been com- pleted I drew from “my pocket a linen ambulance band- age and applied it in the form of a ligature round the python’s - body above the swelling that indicated the meat. .. .- 4 Inyorka,’’ 1 said * solemnly, “you will find that this spell will work. Take the snake and put it back in on that figures in its warm cage. left and Lady Farquhar Handle it gently, treat it kindly, and do not ruffle its temper. At sundown remove the band- age quietly and silently, and all will be well.’ The object, of course, was to prevent the python rejecting the meat until digestion was well under way, and to allow sufficient time for the reptile to get over its anger and annoyance. The scheme worked splendidly, and we kept that snake alive fora long time. It gave up hunger-striking, ate after the normal manner of pythons, and was a great attraction. Visitors flocked to see it, marvelling at its huge bulk and admiring the purple sheen of its smooth scales, but few of them realized, as they watched it from a position of safety, what a terrible adversary it could prove if one were alone with it, like Paddy, in a Iccked room.

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MY NOVEL HOLIDAY Nivea Sherwood Maloney ILLUSTRATED BY S.BRIAULT The Author was an American college man, and greatly wished to visit Europe. Having no money, he could not travel in the ordinary way, and so decided to work his passage. To this end he secured a billet as “messman” aboard a cargo-steamer, and here describes his amusing experiences as an amateur steward. He didn’t see a great deal of Europe, but he learnt a lot about the lives and characters of “those who go down to the sea in ships.” IKE every American college man, I wanted to make a trip to Europe ; I had been eager to go ever since I first began to read history, which made me long to see the sights of the Old World. But—like hosts of other college men—I had no money, and so, when the vacation came along, I sat down to think out a plan of campaign. Finally I decided that I would work my way in some capacity or other. I was advised to try for a job as a steward on board a ship, and forthwith started on my quest. In the sordid surroundings of the headquarters of the Cooks’ and Stewards’ Associ- ation, known as “ Union Hall,” I hung around for three days in company with sundry Spaniards and Pili- pinos, who seem to be parti- cularly fond of stewards’ work on American vessels. Whenever a man wearing a collar entered the room, it was immediately supposed by all present that he was a chief steward looking for assistants, and there was a general scram- ble in the direction of the desk at the far end of the room. There was fierce competition for any job that offered, and after my spruce appearance 305 The steamer on which Mr. Maloney served. had nearly caused a riot on my first visit I found it prudent to remove my collar and tic before entering, hiding them in my pocl.et until I left. After a time I became accus- tomed to idling and sitting with my chin in my hand; also I gradually lost a tendency to keep one hand continually on my pocketbook ! At last my chance came. A steward, with scratches on his face, and in a somewhat battered condition generally, arrived in search of a helper. “He’s been here before,” said the man beside me, appar ently unmoved. “ The boat's too small.” But I went forward, and, owing to the lack of enthu- siasm on the part of others, was selected for the job, whereupon I paid a proba- tionary fee to join the union. The next morning I was in. troduced to my new position as first cabin messman aboard the X. The ship was docked alongside a coal pier, loading a cargo for Dunkirk, France. I was given the uniform of my office—a white jacket several sizes too large for me. Breakfast was served to the officers, and from that meal

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306 onwards I bore the name of ‘‘ Messman,” or, in its abbreviated form, simply ‘‘ Mess.”’ And in my big loose jacket I felt like one ! “I’m glad you’ve come, mate,” remarked the departing messman. “I never wanted to sail. The steward’s no good. Why, he don’t even know what ‘ serviettes’ is. He thinks they’re towels !’’ His contempt for his superior was withering. “Did you see those scratches on his face?’ he continued, gleefully. “J did them! I gave him a black eye, too, only it’s almost gone now. The captain’s fine and the mate ain’t bad. I'll give you your bearings, and I don’t doubt but that you'll have a fine voyage.” According to American law the conditions of service must be read over to seamen, and as the shipping commissioner mumbled something hurriedly when 1 went to his office I suppose this is what he must have been doing. Now you're signed on,” he said, impres- sively, after I had affixed my signature to a document. Returning to the steamer, 1 began work in earnest—a never-ending routine of serv- ing meals, washing dishes, cleaning the officers’ rooms, and polishing brasswork. The steward took charge of the captain's room, as the discharged messman, | learnt, had at odd moments gone through the captain’s desk and even attempted.to pick the lock of the safe. I felt a little slighted at not being considered trustworthy enough to tidy the skipper’s room, but I soon dis- covered that with the steward helping much time was saved. Late the next afternoon our cargo was all on board. For several days walking on the decks had been a difficult task, but gradually things were tidied up. The tugs pulled us out and we anchored in the river while the shipping company had an argument with the coal company as to who was to pay cer- tain demurrage charges. The dispute was protracted, and we lay there for two weeks, watching the ferries pass with crowds bound for the seashore. This was, indeed, an inauspicious start for my European tour ! The officers, I discovered, had all served on deck or in the engine-room before receiv- ing their certificates, and as our ship was small, there existed a fellowship among officers and men which could not have been found on larger vessels. Stories of the olticers’ experiences while in the service of other companies were usually told over the table, and to hear an interesting yarn com- _ pleted I often found a pretext to remain in the saloon. Throughout the meals I assumed a butler-like dignity which was, 1 fear, rather foreign to my nature. The steward, who gave me assistance with the first meals I served, called the officers THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. by their ratings. ‘‘ Will you have coffee now, Chief?’ he would say to the chief engineer. I believed that it would be more respectful if I learned each man’s name, with ‘‘ Mister’ as a prefix. No one was called by name, however, until one morn- ing, when the wireless operator was late for breakfast, the steward inquired: ‘‘ Por- ridge or corn flakes this morning, Sparks ?’ At last, I thought, I had learnt a name! “Mr. Sparks,” I said, the next morning, “will you have grape-fruit ? Instantly there was a stir of interest, and when 1 returned from the pantry with the grape-fruit I caught the words: “‘ Well, you are full of sparks, aren’t you?” I felt myself to be getting along admir- ably; I tried to make up for any lack of experience by attentiveness and a desire to do good work. - After a time a new third engineer came aboard and was given the vacant place at table. The saloon was small, and in order te serve I had just enough room to pass between the backs of the seated men and the side- board. At luncheon that day it seemed though the soup was hotter than usual. served the piping-hot plates two at a time from the pantry, and to relieve the agony of a burning thumb I tilted one of them. The soup shot forward, and at the same instant the new “ Third” put his hand ‘to his. back and leaped to his feet with a yell of anguish. “I've always heard they did that in good restaurants ! ”’ remarked the second engineer, and a roar of laughter broke forth: My hasty apologies accepted, although with a somewhat bad grace, I retreated to the pantry, where my own mirth erupted. It was my first mishap; I vowed it shouid be my last. Next morning we were at sea. The sun- light shone through the port-hole and awoke me early, so that I had no trouble in serving coffee to the mate on the bridge at six o'clock precisely. Thereafter we passed into the usual sea routine that every sailor knows. The second officer put the clock back twenty minutes daily, and my duties multi- plied until the spare time which I had used for resting no longer existed. Our two cooks were Spanish, and well merited their name of ‘ grub-spoilers.” The second cook was a grandfatherly old man. As baker, he did not knead the bread sufficiently, and in consequence his loaves were often quite inedible. His great speci- ality was tapioca pudding, and he gave us tapioca pudding until the menu seemed to need variation—and then he gave us tapioca pudding with raisins! Finally the captain complained, and the steward pro- duced canned fruit. One morning, when the cook had excelled himself in the making of buckwheat cakes, there were demands from the officers for more. Unfortunately, however, in an altercation with the chef, the

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MY NOVEL HOLIDAY. 307 “The soup shot forward, and the new ‘Third’ leaped to his feet with a yell of anguish.” second cook had become temperamental and thrown the rest of the cakes overboard ! When it came to throwing things over- board he might well have taken lessons from me. I used to clean dishes on the principle of inertia; I took them to the side, gave a jerk, and the contents of the plate or dish were supposed to fly overboard. I had to stop that practice, however; too many of the dishes were slippery and followed their contents into the sea. So far the officers had treated me like a servant and kept me at a distance. After a time I became anxious to see if my position could be made easier. “ Kindly Use Ash Trays ” was a sign which greeted the officers not on duty that evening who came to the saloon for refreshment or to sit and smoke. I had printed the notice on an envelope addressed to me while at college. From the envelope, I thought, the curious might learn something ! Next morning my spirits sank, for 1 had to clean up cigarette-ends and ashes from the deck as usual. But I did notice a certain difference of attitude toward me—save from the captain, who was always the same. Thenceforth I was occasionally called upon to give my views on current events, and the third officer included me in his endless arguments concerning the evils of Bol- shevism. That afternoon I went into the engine- room to talk to the second engineer, who was on duty. We sat under a ventilator, which kept us as cool as if we had been on deck.

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308 I had learned that work was easier and advancement more rapid in the engine-room, and I had an idea that if I went to sea again it might be as an engineer. “How long did you study French in college ?” asked the second. “‘ How did you know that I had been to college ? ” I said, feigning surprise. ‘‘ When 1 came aboard I made it a point to tell no one.” “Oh, I can always tell a college man when I see one,” he answered, with the air of a Sherlock Holmes. Next morning at four o’clock we were nearing the locks at Dunkirk, and arrived just in time to enter before the gates were closed until the next flood-tide. Half an hour after we tied up, there were a hundred or more people aboard. Labourers in baggy trousers, with handkerchiefs about their necks, filled the decks and started to remove the hatch-covers. Merchants anxious to sell gaudy silk handkerchiefs to the crew brought their wares in bundles slung over their shoulders. Numerous urchins brought sacks to be filled with odds and ends of coal they might pick up, and ran hither and thither begging for food. And then there was the laundry woman! For an hour we had sorted soiled linen, counting and recounting until the tally was correct. Then the good woman lost her self-assurance and wailed that she could not possibly do all the quantity in three days. The unloading of the coal began at break- fast time, and the work progressed far too rapidly to suit a crew who would gladly have remained in port a month or so. “| remember a trip to Spain once,” said the first engineer, thoughtfully, “ when we were in port for three months. It took one month to settle a strike and two months to get parts and repair a damaged engine. We're going to stay here a week; I need that much time on the engine.” The captain always glared ferociously whenever he was asked how long we were going to stay: ‘‘ Four days,” he snapped, ey they're going to get us out as soon as they can. My afternoon was free, the steward having forgotten to give me extra work, such as painting floors, which cannot be done at sea, and so I sallied forth to view the town, “You're lucky, Mess,’’ commented the first engineer, as I went down the ladder. “When I first went to sea, the messman had to polish brass in the engine-room when he was finished above deck.” Finally our last day in port ‘drew near; the Consul had made good his promise to send us to sea again as soon as possible. We were not going to another European port, as I had hoped, but back to the States. I didn’t care to desert, and so I decided to THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Teturn with the ship. It hadn’t been much of a European tour, certainly, but I had had a pleasant and cheap holiday. “We're ready for home,” said several of the crew—a confession that their pay had been spent. Last-minute purchases turned toward bottles of cognac, smuggled aboard in spite of regulations. _ The cooks were drunk for the second time since pay-day; and as the steward had apparently disappeared, they hailed me with favour as their new chief. I continued my work unhindered by authority, hoping for my usual two hours ashore when I had finished. Supplies arrived, however, and I was the only person available to take charge of them. Preparations were made to leave at six o'clock with the flood-tide, and with a seaman and the steward missing the third officer went ashore to inquire at various cafés, but returned without information. At a quarter to six, just as the sailors were casting off, the missing men returned. Once we were at sea again the steward discovered that the cooks had taken quan- tities of stores and exchanged them for drinks at the Dunkirk cafés. No wonder they had been sorry to see him come aboard at the last moment ! On the part of the crew there were murmurs of disgust when it was found that their concealed bottles of cognac had been discovered by miscreants unknown and duly emptied. Even the first engineer, who had bought a lot of stock and hidden it in a part of the mechanical equipment known as the “ vaporizer,”’ came to the conclusion that vaporizers functioned true to name. ineteen days later we arrived in New York harbour, the voyage teing entirely without incident. Next day was pay-day, and then, as our engines were to undergo repairs, we were put into dock, and there followed for me a few weeks of leisure, with no meals to serve, though I worked hard painting floors and polishing brasswork. As I was constantly on my feet, I felt it a well-earned rest when I could sit down, and I got into the habit of going to the captain’s room to repose in his wicker chair, the most comfortable in the ship. Once, however, I stayed too long, and he caught me! That week the ship was ordered to her loading dock, and the “ old man” made it known through the steward that he thought it would be better if they had a ‘competent messman” aboard. Thereupon I took my leave, returning to college just a week after the opening. 1 had not carried out my scheme of doing the Grand Tour of Europe, but I had certainly been through some novel experiences. Moreover, I had no consciousness of failure. I had done my best, and I could not agree with the captain that 1 had made a mess of being a messman !

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309 MY SEARCH FOR THE KINGS TREASURE v. 5 ceca Colonel K Ufoss LATE INDIAN ARMY Everybody likesa good story of buried treasure, and here is one that cannot fail to arouse interest, complete as it is with a secret passage, searchers struck down by some uncanny power, and a glittering hoard of gold and jewels. is true in every detail,” “1 certify on my honour that the narrative writes Colonel Foss, who is well known for his efforts to salve yet another treasure—the bullion that is believed to lie in the hold of an ancient Armada galleon wrecked in Tobermory Bay, Argyllshire. BOUT the year 1890 I was stationed near Delhi, and having earned ten days’ leave decided to spend it by exploring some places off the beaten track, combining a little shooting with my wanderings. Glancing idly through: a gazetteer of Delhi, the name of a village called Sohna attracted my eye, and as Sohna means “gold "’ in Hindustani my curiosity was aroused and I proceeded to make inquiries. I discovered that the place derived its name from the fact that when the rains came the inhabitants always put out their coarse country blankets in the beds of the streams, Flakes of gold were sometimes washed down from reefs away in the mountains, became entangled in the rough hairs of the blankets, and were then collected and sold. The idea of fishing for gold in this way rather appealed to me, and I decided I would like to try my luck at it. I therefore called upon the Deputy Commissioner and asked him to be good enough to supply me with the cus- tomary letter to the headmen of the villages through which 1 must pass, requesting them to provide me and my servants with the necessary provisions and forage for the journey. On the following morning I hired a native vehicle known in those days as a “ Jingling Johnnie,’ ‘and accompanied by “ Daniel,”’ my bulldog, and my orderly, started upon my adventure, and after a tiring The narrator at the time of the story. day’s journey Sohna towards evening. At the Dék bungalow which I proposed to make my headquarters for a few days I asked the chawkidar (caretaker) to tell Abdul Azize, the headman of the village, that an English officer had arrived and would like to see him. A few moments later Abdul Goofoor, the headman's son, appeared, and informed me that it was impossible for his father to comply with my request, as he was seriously ill with malarial fever of a very severe type ; his death, in fact, was expected at any moment. I happened to have in my kit a bottle of Dr. Warburg's fever tincture, a Government specific, and armed with this I went to visit Abdul Azize at his home, thinking I might perhaps be able to alleviate his sufferings. I found the headman to be very old and emaciated, with a long, straggling white beard and fast-glazing eyes. He was lying on a charpoy (Indian bed) in his mud hut, and, if ap- pearances were any guide, his hours were numbered. How- ever, I gave him some of the medicine and left the bottle with his son, with strict in- structions that the dose was to be repeated every few hours. Then I went back to the bun- galow, never expecting to see the old man alive again. I spent the next two days following the traces of gold up the stream, hoping to discover the quartz reef which formed the ‘“ matrix,” or mother-lode, of the gold supply, but I reached

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glo met with little success, and finally went back to the village, vowing that the magnetic name of Sohna was a delusion and a snare, and that I would spend the rest of my leave in shooting. Upon my return I was met by Abdul Goofoor, who informed me that his father was much better and most anxious to see the “ Sahib ” who had so miraculously saved his life. Thus, in the darkness of his mud hut, I once more greeted old Abdul Azize, obviously greatly improved in health. After some conversation, he asked me a direct uestion. “Sahib,” he said gravely, ‘for what reason do you visit Sohna, where no Sahib ever comes ? ” “Gold, Abdul Azize,” I replied briefly. “‘ T came in search of gold.” “ And has the Sahib found it ? ” he asked again, his filmy eyes fixed on my face with what seemed a world of cunning in their depths. “No,” I told him, “ I haven’t. The very small quantity of gold that is carried down from the reefs into the swollen streams hardly seems sufficient to justify the name of the village.” For a little while the old man was silent ; then he spoke again, in a wheezy, cracked whisper, as if afraid that the very walls of the hut might hear him. “Ah, Sahib, but that is not why our village is called Sohna!”’ he said. “ I know it is the reason given in the books of the Sahibs, but it is not the true one. We call our village by that name because in it lie hidden the gold and silver, the jewels and precious ornaments, that were the treasure of the great Delhi kings. You have saved my life, Sahib, and so I will tell you the story as my father told it to me.” * When the Mutiny occurred in 1857 John Nicholson, with the Lritish troops, sup- ported by the loyal Sikhs, surrounded Delhi. After the Cawnpore Massacre the villagers heard every day, from people who had tled from Delhi, that the British guns were steadily battering down the ramparts, and that the city might be stormed at any moment. One morning, just as daybreak was coming, we were aroused by a_ great number of horsemen riding at full gallop into the village, and on going out, found two of the King of Delhi's sons, with an escort of about fifty mounted men, and two heavily-laden pack-horses, resting, and pre- paring a hurried meal, About ten minutes later a single native trooper dashed in with the news that he had seen the British troops inside Delhi, and that they were killing every native they came across. * Abdul Azize told the story in Hindustani, which T have rendered inty English, leaving the facts unchanged.—Tue AUTHOR, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Upon hearing this the princes and their attendants became panic-stricken and de- cided to fly at once. The cavalry escort was fit to continue the journey, but the pack- horses were so overweighted with their burden—which the villagers were told was treasure—that they were unable to go farther; and the princes were at a loss as to what to do. My father then pointed out to them some ancient tombs about a quarter of a mile away. He explained that they were connected with one another by an underground passage, and that, as the British troops never interfered with temples or tombs, the treasure would be quite safe if hidden there. The princes readily agreed to this sug- gestion, and my father then sent a couple of men to loosen the bricks that closed _ the mouth of the secret passage. Two of the princes’ followers then went into the tunnel, each carrying a heavy sack of gold, coins, and jewels, and one of our villagers followed them, dragging a weighty bag full of gold cups and similar valuables. What ‘hap- pened afterwards you will perhaps laugh at and.-disbelieve, Sahib, but. it is nevertheJess true, for I have often heard my father tcl) the story, and he was a man who never lied. After the two sowars (cavalry soldiers) and our villager had gone some little distance into the tunnel, the villager, who was some distance behind, heard the two sowars calling out, evidently in great terror, that djins (evil spirits) had got them by the throat and. were strangling them! The villager at once dropped his burden and rushed out, and after waiting in vain for the sowars to return our people concluded that they had been killed by the spirits and so replaced the bricks and closed up the passage. Not one of them dared to enter the tunnel to ascertain what had happened. In the meanwhile the terrified princes and their escort had mounted and ridden off, but a few minutes later a troop of Hodson’s Horse galloped through on fresh mounts, overtook the princes and their followers and killed them all, only one man escaping by hiding himself in a field of wheat. This man, Mahomed Hussein by name, returned to ‘the village under cover of darkness, after it was clear of the British troops, and took up his abode there. After. about six months Mohamed Hussein went to my father and told lim that, as he was the sole surviver of the party, he considered the treasure was his by right. My father saw no reason to dispute his claim, and the passage was accordingly opened and he went down into it, accompanied by the same villager who had made the previous attempt, and who, as before, cautiously kept at some distance in the rear. After a time this man heard shouts for help from Mahomed Hussein, who cried out that the evil spirits had got

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MY SEARCH FOR THE KING’S TREASURE. gir waited, trembling with fear, at the entrance to the tunnel, he distinctly heard Mahomed’s death-rattle. After this second tragedy the passage was once more bricked up, Sahib, and from that day to this no one has dared to try and wrest the Mutiny treasure from the djins that guard it, The old man had become completely exhausted while telling me his story, and when he had finished I made him rest. Then I| said slowly :— ““T have been very much inter- ested in your story, Abdul Azize, and as I came here with the ex- press purpose of seeking gold I think I should like to have a shot at the treasure myself.” “In the darkness of his mud hut I once more greeted old Abdul Azize.” hold of him, Once more the villager rushed out in terror and waited vainly for Mahomed to appear. He did not return, but to his dying day the villager declared that as he The old headman appeared genuinely distressed at my words, saying that as I had been the means of saving his life it would grieve him deeply if he were the

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312 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cause of my losing mine. Finally, seeing that I was determined to enter the tunnel, he assured me that he would use his authority to insure that I was not molested by the villagers. If I had made up my mind to follow out my rash purpose, he said, I should have no other enemy to meet than the guardian djins. Next morning I started out, accompanied by my orderly, a native armed with a ickaxe, and the faithful “ Daniel,” bound or the tomb which, according to the head- man’s story, held part of the treasure of the Delhi kings. I had come to the conclusion that the men who had entered the tunnel and disappeared had either died from fright or had been bitten by poisonous snakes. I therefore took with me my shot-gun, both barrels of which 1 loaded, a dozen cart- ridges, a candle-lantern, and a box of matches. With the whole population of the village as an audience, assembled on an adjacent hill, we began to unbrick the tunnel. This was quite a simple matter, for I found “Your Honour,’ he replied, in terrified accents, ‘I have a wife and six children. If the evil spirits kill me, what will become of them?’”

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MY SEARCH FOR THE KING’S TREASURE. 313 that, though the ancient bricks had been they had not been carefully replaced, cemented, and so it took only about ten minutes to make a_ passage- way. I then lit the candle- lantern, and, remarking to the villager that as he knew his way he had better go first, I handed it to him, . “Your Honour,” he re- va plied, in terrified accents, “Tam a very poor man, and have a wife and six children. If the evil spirits kill me, what will become of them ? ”’ Seeing that it was useless to urge him, I turned to my orderly, telling him that the man was a coward. ‘ You go on ahead,” Vou. tv.—22. I said. He, however, likewise refused. “Your Honour, I am but a poor Sepoy,” he told me, ‘‘ and it is not fitting that I should go in front of my officer, but if you will lead the way I will follow.” I then pushed ‘ Daniel ”’ down the steps, but he only whined violent nd ran back between my legs, so I decided that I must lead the procession myself. Gripping my gun in one hand and the lantern in the other, there- fore, I stepped cautiously into the tunnel. The passage was so low that I had to bend almost double to avoid my helmet touching the roof, while, owing to its narrowness, there was scarcely an inch of space between my shoulders and the walls on either side, The heat was intense, and very soon the sweat was pouring off me as I advanced with short steps, holding the lantern well in front of me, my eyes probing the darkness for any signs of snakes on the walls, roof, or ground. I had no idea until that moment what a small amount of illuminating power a single candle can give, and it took me a quarter of an hour to cover what I calculated, by counting my paces, to be about two hundred yards. Behind me | could hear the orderly shouting encouragement to the nervous villager and ‘ Daniel,’’ whose unhappy whimperings told me he was not living up to the courage of his namesake in the lion’s den. _* The heat was now becoming almost un- bearable, and, partly to rest and partly because my heart was thumping against my ribs in a most unusual and uncomfortable manner, I paused for a moment, remarking with assumed jocularity that the djins had evidently tired of their long vigil in such

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314 unpleasant and taken their departure. ‘rhe words were scarcely out of my mouth when my foot came in contact with some- thing that caused me to step back with a stifled exclamation and hastily lower the lantern, thinking I had trodden on a snake. Upon stooping for a closer view, however, 1 found to my horror that I had trodden on a skeleton, the foot and leg-bones of which protruded through the remnants of a shoe such as might have been worn at the time of the Mutiny. The body and skull had been picked clean by ants. “Mahomed Hussein, or what’s left of him,” I said to myself grimly, and stepping gingerly over the bones I went doggedly on again, shouting to the others to tollow. “There are no dj:ms here,” I shouted loudly, “so let’s get our work done quickly and get back to light and air.” Just then I began to experience consider- able difficulty in breathing, added to which unpleasantness the candle in my lantern suddenly spluttered and went out, causing my orderly and the villager to give vent to cries of alarm, while “ Daniel ”’ raised his voice in a mournful howl not exactly calculated to cheer up the situation. Panting as if I had run a hard race, I struck match after match, which instantly went out, until at last I desisted, telling myself that there was evidently a hole some- where up above in the roof of the tunnel, causing a strong draugl.t. “It’s no use going on in the dark,” I shouted to my followers. “ We'd better get out of this.” My voice sounded hoarse and strange. “ Get out of this | ’’ it echoed back mocl:ingly from the darkness of the tunnel. Then, to mal:e matters worse, I distinctly felt the presence of an unseen hand on my windpipe ! Vor the first time in my life I experienced a terrible difficulty in breatling, my head began to spin round, and a sensation of giddiness, added to a territic thumping at the drums of my ears, made me feel as if my senses were leaving me. With a strong effort of will I started to turn round in the narrow tunnel, and in doing so my fingers must inadvertently have pulled both triggers of the gun, for both barrels went off with an explosion which almost scemed to raise the roof. I shouted out: ‘ Run, run!” but the order was unnecessary, for rapidly-retreating footsteps and the lessening yelps of ‘‘ Daniel ”” told me that the others had acted on the modern motto of ‘ Safety First.” I was alone in the tunnel with the guardian djins and their previous victims. But I was quite beyond fear of the super- natural or even poisonous snakes, for I was engaged in a desperate struggle for life, such as I trust I may never experience again. In ,the darkness it seemed as if bony hands quarters THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. stretched out to me, clutched at my throat, held on to my limbs with a grip of iron, and stifled my ettorts for breath. I was being throttled, and though I wildly strove to shout, my tongue clove to the rocf of my mouth and I was unable to utter a sound. ““ Just one step more!’ More than once in my life that motto has saved me. I do not know where I first heard it, long years ago when I was a boy—I even forget who said it to me—but ever afterwards, when I have been, as it seemed, at my last gasp— in long, lonely treks through waterless deserts, in the South Seas, under water when I have dived for pearls, in journeys through jungle, in burning heats and icy snows, when my one desire has been to lie down and sleep, I have said: ‘‘ Just one step more,” and saved myself. I said it now, in this sub- terrancan death-trap—said it with gritted teeth and the sweat pouring off me, with my eyeballs starting from their sockets and my brain on fire. And my body responded to my mind ; I took that step, and another and yet another, I remember no more until I found myself lying in front of the steps which led to the tunnel-opening and felt the repentant “Danicl” licking my face. Opening my eyes, I saw my orderly and the villager loohing down at me. They dragged me up tl.e stcps, but as my knees gave way under me and I was unable to stand, much less walk, they improvised a rough litter from a blanket and a couple of bamtoo poles, and, followed by all the villagers, who flocked down from the hill, 1 was carried in this manner to the headman’s house. Here they attempted to bring me round by violent doses of the same medicine with which I had treated Abdul Azize for malarial fever. “Ah, Sahib,” said the old man, shaking his wise grey head, when, after a time, I began to feel better. ‘ Did I not warn you not to make the djins jealous ? If the people of our own country have not been able to persuade them to give up their treasure, what chance could there be for the white man?” Iwas silent. I had laughed at the story of the djins, regarding it merely as native superstition, and had gone into the tomb with no thought of danger. Pondering now on my struggle in the darkness, the nameless something that had tried to choke me, and the bones of those who—like myself, too Lold —had ventured before me, I remembered only Shakespeare’s oft-quoted saying: “ There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in our philo- sophy.” ‘The next day I left Sohna. Upon returning to Delhi I met an acquaint- ance, and when he asked me half chaffingly what had been the result of my search for gold, I related to him the account of my

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MY SEARCH FOR THE KING'S TREASURE. experience as it is written here. He listened to me attentively, puffing away at his pipe and, after I had finished, remarked quietly :— “‘ Well, you may be a good geologist, Foss, but you evidently knew very little about chemistry. The evil spirits which you thought were suffocating you, and which choked the others, were simply carbonic acid gas— CO,—more commonly known as choke-damp, which is frequently found in places that have been shut up for many years. If you had opened the tunnel at both ends and let a current of fresh air through, you would have felt no ill effects, and the treasure—if it is there—would have been recovered,” “Tf that’s the case,” I replied, ‘let us keep this matter entirely to ourselves for the present, and as soon as I can get a few days’ more leave we will both go back to Sohna and see for ourselves what truth there is in the legend.” To this he agreed, but alas! for human hopes and plans. The week following I was sent off suddenly on active service, and at the end of eighteen months was invalided home with malaria, so that it was more than two years before I again set foot in- Delhi. In the meantime my friend had been moved and I had lost all touch with him, so I started on my return journey to Sohna alone. The plague, I discovered, had decimated the village ; there was scarcely a house that had not lost two or three of its inmates. Old Abdul Azize was dead, and his son reigned in his place. He remembered and welcomed me, how- ever, and after some roundabout talk asked : “What has brought you back to Sohna, Sahib?” “T have returned for the gold, Abdul Goofoor,”’ I told him. ‘‘ I have found a way by which the djins may be appeased, and if I find the treasure-trove I will divide the share which will be due to me from the Government with you and the villagers.” “ Alas, Sahib!” he replied, shaking his head. ‘‘ You come too late! A few months after you left a Sahib and two half-castes came to Sohna to look for sulphur and plumbago. They stayed about a fortnight, during which time, of course, they heard the story of your Honour’s experience with the djins. 315 ““None of our people would ever go near the tombs after nightfall, but the morning after the three strangers had left Sohna we found two large holes had been dug through the roof of the tunnel, and the bricks at the opening removed. Some of the bravest of our people then went down to see what was there, but the place was empty, your Honour, save for the bones of four skeletons.” “After all, there may have been no treasure there, Abdul,” I said. “ Perhaps they, too, were disappointed in their search.” “IT do not think so, your Honour,” he replied. ‘‘ We heard afterwards from the men who drove the bullock cart which took the strangers to the station that they had with them four big sacks, so heavy that it was all the natives could do to carry them into the train. It was evident from the weight and the jingling and chinking that they did not contain sulphur and plumbago, as the men said. That was merely a blind to throw dust in our eyes! I believe, Sahib, that the sacks contained the gold and silver, the cups and pearl ornaments, which once graced the palaces of the Kings.” I was silent, for this was a bitter blow indeed. During those two past years, both while on active service and throughout the weary months when I lay stricken with fever, visions of that long-lost treasure had haunted me, until the thought of the recovery of it had become almost an obsession. And now it was lost to me for ever | “What man can know his fate, Sahib ? Abdul went on quietly. ‘“ It was written that the treasure should pass from Sohna, and that the Sahib would not find it. There may be other treasure beyond the seas, and that the Sahib may find—if it is written. Who knows ?” : “Tf it is written!’ The words of Abdul Goofoor were often to return to me in after years, for there was something strangely prophetic about them. I sometimes wonder, had I been successful in securing the Dellit treasure, if I should ever have taken up the search which I am now engaged upon—the quest for the sunken Spanish treasure-ship in Tobermory Bay, Argyllshire, I have already brought to the surface guns, frag- ments of silver, and other Armada relics, and in due course, I hope, I shall find the bullion—if it is written !

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“THE CASE .FOR THE SEA-SERPENT.” A REMARKABLE BATCH OF “ SEQUELS.” recent issue of the Daily Province, of Vancouver, B.C., and forms a very in- teresting commentary upon our article, ‘ The Case for the Sea-Serpent,’’ which attracted a It is to be hoped that the captain of the St. Francois Xavier, or one of his officers, will send us a detailed account of The monster seen, it will be noticed, bears a strong resemblance to that described in our article by Mr. J. O. of line cutting here reproduced is from a great deal of attention. this remarkable happening. Grey as having been encountered by the steam- ship Tresco, of the Earn Line, in May, 1903. In connection with the same article we have received from Mr. A. K. Jones, of Johannesburg, the photographs on the next page and a descrip- tion of an extraordinary monster which was lately washed up on the coast of Natal :~— “ About the middle of Novem- ber last a strange sea-monster, ap- parently dead, was found lying on the beach near a place called Margate, on the south coast of Natal, about a hundred miles from Durban. This part of the coast is sparsely populated, and the creature was first seen by a native who passed along that way one morning. Margate it- self, the nearest village, is about a mile distant. No one who saw it at the time could identify it, some thinking it was an octopus, some a whale, and others a Polar bear! Each had reasons for their belief, but none were de- finitely decided as to its iden- tity. People were all the more mystified when they found one morning, about ten days later, that the creature had disap- peared from the beach, proba- bly carried away by the spring tides “About three weeks previ- ously a terrific struggle had been witnessed out at sea by resi- dents of Margate, between what they took to be a whale and some other animal which they could not clearly distinguish. 1 a AE IES | INCE, VANCOUVER, BRI? SEA SNAKE REPORTED. BY AUSTRALIAN SHIP Huge Serpent Reared Head, Over Vessel, According To Log Entry. ‘ Australian cables place much cre- dence In the logged report of « coast- ing steamer on the tattrr Of afew neu serpent. A despatch from Bydneay atated that the steamer St. Francole er, exsNounes af Newenstie. ted @ rea serpent sixty feet jong |! nm of the Austraitan . two feet thick and TL was Tring close | from propeller awoke it, and it lifted a huge. cur shaped head, trimmed with hangin strings of flesh or bone. rad-locking eyes were compara- a the ugly head was reared, higher than the deck of the laden ‘steamer. <ireat’ fang thrust |: down through the lips, wrinkling the |” rin. A tong mpiked fin, three fart |! |Mtgh and extending most of the léngth of the creature's body, loomed up like & picket fence. After staring coldiy at the St.| Prancots for a moment—and | hungrily a startled men on board, acvording he rrew—it dove in a. long, undulating effortless heave, and vanished into the tropic mea. Cantain and ofter ‘well an men, agreed on the sighting of the creature, and tbe occurrence was noted In tha O68. All Australian shipping is now Keapink & keen lookout for anotner magn of Ube reptile. Some thought, when this mysterious monster put in its appearance, that it was the crea- ture that had been seen fighting out at sea, but there was no proof of this. “ About the middle of Decem- ber it was discovered that the monster had been washed up a second time, and was now lying on the rocks about three miles farther up the coast. I happened to be spending a holi- day at Margate at the time, and secured three photographs of the creature, taken from different angles. No one here is able to identify it, but perhaps some of your scientific readers may be able to throw some light on its identity. “As the photographs clearly show, the monster is covered with slimy hair about four or five inches long, under which lies what I should take to be a very tough hide. The whole thing has the appearance of a huge sheepskin that has been thoroughly soaked. The body seems to be composed of extremely firm flesh; there is little ‘ give’ in it when poked with a stick. There are proba- bly bones in the monster, but no actual bone can be felt, as the whole thing is so firm that even if there is bone it cannot be distinguished by touch. How- ever, I should say that there is a bony framework, or else the hollow which runs the whole length cf the back, clearly Digitized by Google

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shown in the first photograph, would not still be so clearly defined as it is, considering the rough handling to which it must have been sub- jected by the sea. “At one end there is a round lump about two feet in diameter, which might be taken for a head, but there are neither eyes, mouth, ears, nor anything else visi- ble. There are, moreover, no limbs, flappers, tentac tail, or any other features which would help to The measurements are as follows : identify it. About fifteen feet long, six feet broad, and two feet thick. The carcass, at the mo- ment of writing, has already begun to decompose, and there can be little doubt that it is composed of flesh of some sort. Probably, if it is al- lowed to rot and the skeleton becomes visi- ble, it will be possible to identify it by this means. “Some time ago a monster of unknown species was washed up on the east coast of South America after a submarine earthquake and it was concluded “THE CASE FOR THE SEA-SERPENT.” The extraordinary creature washed up at Margate, Natal. about fifteen feet long, but apparently possessed neither head, limbs, tentacles, nor fins. bed. STRANGE SEA FIGHT was obser¥ed off the coast of Natal, South Africa, by a resi- dent of Margate. The sea was quite calm, and he saw what he took to be two whales fighting’ some sea monster, He got his glasses and was surprised: to see an ani: which resembled a polar bear, but, in size, was equal to an elephant. This object he | observed to rear out of the water fully 20 A closer view of part of the monster, showing the slimy-looking feet and strike repeatedly at the two whales, but with, seemingly, no effect. The fight | went on for fully three hours, gradually nearing the shore, but it grew too dark fo make further observations. Next morning the man found the monster high and dry on the beach. He walked right round the crea- ture, but could find no head! Where the The newspaper cutting describing the sea-fight. 1 off the eT the just that coast, creature may be of white hair. 7 interest quite a number of small pieces of pumice- 317 It was had been thrown up from some hole in the ocean A little while before this mysterious animal put in its appearance on the Natal coast an earth- quake was registered at Durban, and was calculated to have occurred beneath the ocean near Mar- gate. It is thought that the monster may have been dis- lodged from the ocean-bed in the same way as the South American spe- cimen. The only other suggestion put forward is that the monster has been carried down from the Arctic regions! to know that stone have lately been picked up along this part of the coast, Possibly the earthquake may account for both the pumice-stone and the monster ? ”” Another reader sends us the at- tached cutting, from a local news- paper, which is interesting as de- scribing the fight referred to by Mr. Jones. The news- paper says that “the monster's backbone was very prominent and the whole body covered with snow - white hair.”

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Og At Dele e ‘ | story of his adventures will be H most absorbing. III. T will be remembered that it was Humphries’ intention to inquire into the feud between the rival districts of Kapatea and Kevezzi. It was a pig, it appeared, that had started all the rampage. It had wandered away from the village of Tavivi and died at the foot of a precipice— probably quite a natural death from having ut lost its foothold on the slippery slope. the pig’s owner thought other- wise. He suspected sorcery, and retained his own local sorcerer to make investiga- tion. That wily individual had no difficulty in diagnosing forward account of an eventful journey into the unknown interior of Papua, a land of wild mountains and wilder savages. Mr. Taylor has the knack of making one visualize the scenes he describes, snd the oun WHERE NNIBALS ROAM The continuation of this vivid, straight- Merlin | Moore Taylor 6 e ILLUSTRATED BY UOHN DE WALTON Lit that the pig had died as the result of the machinations of the chief sorcerer of the Kevezzi district. Thus he accomplished two things at the same time—satisfied his employer and vented his own jealousy and envy of his rival. So Kapatea went mad—stark raving mad —and prepared to avenge the pig’s death by making war on Kevezzi. The chief of Kapatea, however, was lukewarm in the matter. He remembered a similar outbreak which had been followed by a visit from the white men and their black devils, the police, who had administered severe chastisement, But a leader willing to do the 24 Dre The Author and his attendant policeman. In hostile territory the white men never went anywhere without an armed bodyguard at their heels.

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bidding of the people was found in the person of Yapitze, of Tavivi village. He could not strip the old chief of his here- ditary title, but he usurped all his powers and became chief in fact, lead- ing his warriors into Kevezzi and laying waste the country. We were now close to the borders of Kapatea; in fact, gazing across the valley, the op- posite slope was apatea. mn this slope were about two hundred armed Kapateans, taking stock of our forces. What reception we were likely to get from them we did not know. We had an uneasy feeling that when we started to climb the slope they might loose great boulders upon us, and wipe us out that way. However, we began the ascent, the police going warily in the lead. It was only by exerting every ounce of strength, digging fingers and toes into crevices and grasping at every root and tuft of grass that offered a handhold, that we climbed at all. Our Tifles we left swung upon our backs. Against those Juggernaut boulders, if they came, rifles would have been of no use. If the Kapateans began hostili- ties only a miracle could save us; but the police did not falter. hen we were a hundred yards from the top there was a movement among the savages on the ridge. _ Instinctively the police reached for their rifles, but there was no attack. The group above was merely parting to let two men pass through it. One was a gigantic specimen of man- hood with great bulging muscles that tippled under his ebony skin, naked except for a breech-clout made of the soft inner fibre of the éapa tree. His shoulders were erect and thrown back, Chief Aihi-Oai. WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 319 in striking contrast to the rounded stoop of the average mountaineer. Upon his head he wore a gaudy head-dress of cockatoo feathers, interlaced with his heavy hair—the insignia of the man who has killed. Only one of tremendous strength could have bent the bow he carried or hurled his heavy spear. . His eyes as he approached were haughty and insolent and his air almost regal. Limping at his heels was a miser- able little individual whose physical shortcomings were rendered all the more conspicuous by comparison with his companion. He could not have been more than five and a half feet tall; he was thin, and on his legs were unhealed sores that seemed to pain him extremely, His egg-shaped head was covered with tightly plaited hair, but unadorned, and the eyes under a rather high forehead were weak and watery. The big man pushed through the police, ignoring them as if they did not exist, and came directly to the magistrate. In the manner of white men, with whom he must have come in contact at some past date, he held out his hand in greeting, and did not proffer the embrace with which mountain savages greet welcome guests. Then, thumping his chest with his closed fists, he an- nounced his own identity: “ Aihi- Oai,”” and with a careless wave of his hand seemed to introduce his insig- nificant companion. The magistrate, reaching to take the flaccid hand which the little man extended, was surprised to find himself addressed in Motuan, “Chief Aihi-Oai bids you welcome, master,’’ he said. “Tam Muria,” he added, as if it didn’t matter. It transpired that the little man had learnt Motuan while in Port Moresby jail after Muria. the former

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320 Kapatean disturbances, and Humphries told him the reason for his presence—the desire to arrest the author of the present troubles. “‘ Where is Yapitze ?” he asked sternly. Muria hesitated. “* One does not speak the name of the dead, master,” he said after a while, a hint of reproach in his tone as he mentioned an ancient taboo. “ Perhaps you did not know. The man of whom you speak is dead.” Yapitze dead? It was hard to believe. Not the slightest hint of it had reached our ears, though the taboo on a dead man's name might have accounted for this. ““He was ambushed and killed with a spear, master,’ went on Muria. ‘It was not the. people of .Kevezzi who slew him, but a’man from his own village of Tavivi, who envied his great strength and desired it for himself.’’ That, too, is-a mountain belief; that a slain man’s virtues pass to the slayer. So, with their leader slain, the people of Kapatea had apparently ended their war- fare and returned home! That was why they had no fear of the Government and the police, who, they knew, always demanded that the Jeader be given up for punishment. How could they deliver up someone who had passed out ? That was the way the native ind reasoned. The one whom you seck is buried,” Muria affirmed, adding that the body even then rested upon the high platform of sticks upon which the mountain folk place their dead until only the skeleton remains. “Very well,” Humphries said, “‘ to- morrow I start for Tavivi—and you shall lead me.” “ Tavivi ? No, master, I do not go to Tavivi.”. The protest was wrung from Muria’s lips and he gazed pleadingly at the white man. “I have nothing to do with Tavivi, master. I do not know the way!” “Tavivi is in MKapatea,’’ insisted the magistrate. ‘‘ Surely you visit a village in your own tribe ? ” Muria did not answer, and when the time came to start next day he announced his willingness to guide us, but there was a sinister look in those watery eyes that I did not like. The big Aihi-Oai also accompanied us. For four days we battled across the jungle-clad mountains, but there was no sign of Tavivi. By that time we should have reached any point in Kapatea, and Humphries interrogated Muria about it. “To-morrow,” the little guide said, pointing to the zenith, “ to-morrow when sun is on top we reach Tavivi.” THE GUIDE PLAYS US FALSE. But at noon next day there was still no Tavivi, and someone, accidentally glancing THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. at his compass, discovered that we were heading south-west instead of to the north- east, where we desired to go. We had turned round and were returning whence we had come! Humphries strode over to where Muria and Aihi-Oai were conversing in low tones. “ Muria,”” wrong !"” The little cannibal’s hands went up in apologetic protest. “‘ Master, I do the best I can,” he replied. “T seek Tavivi.” “Seek Tavivi!’’ echoed Humphries. ““Why should you scek Tavivi? It is in Kapatea and you belong to Kapatea. You have no need to seek a village in your own district.” Muria flashed him an ingratiating, ap- pealing smile. ‘‘ You do not know Kapatea, inaster,’’ he said meekly. “‘ It is big. Even Iam lost. 1 cannot iind Tavivi.” He glanced at us craftily, to see if the lie went down. For his words were false. No mountain Papuan becomes lost in his own district which he has roamed from boyhood. Humphries’ hand flashed out, laid tight hold on the shoulder of the little guide, and whirled him about, “ You dog, you rat!” he stormed, using the epithets he knew were most calculated to arouse the other. ‘‘ You speak lies.” Then he brought the palm of his hand sharply across the native’s cheek, withdrew it, and slapped the other cheek with a backhanded motion. Muria started ; his weak little eyes flamed hate and vindictiveness. Then the tears began to fall, and he crumpled up, sobbing and grovelling at our feet. he snapped, “you lead us “aubada,”’ he cried, “I do not know where Tavivi is!” Humphries signalled to the nearest constable. “ Put the handcuffs on him,” he ordered, and Muria was jerked to his fect and the irons fastened to his wrists. “And the other, master?” inquired the constable. Aihi-Oai had sprung to his feet and was gazing at us with mingled rage and amaze- ment. His gigantic spear was clutched in his hand as if he were of a mind to take the part of his little companion. Humphries hesitated. “What do you think?” he asked me. “Tve got to act quickly.” But there was no need for us to make a decision. Aihi-Oai did that. Almost as if he had understood the question, he spun around in his tracks and dashed for the protecting jungle. Two constables were after him instantly, but they went no farther than the edge of the forest. Humphries had not ordered them to fire at the fleeing chief, and they realized how useless it would be to try and

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tun down a mountaineer in his native haunts. “That settles it,’ ‘said © Humphries despondently. ‘‘ If we weren't in the stew already up to our necks, we should be now ! We'll have all the savages in Kapatea howling around us within a few hours. I wonder if we can make this rabbit ’"—he indicated Muria—" lead us on to Tavivi ?”’ lt seemed that Muria’s spirit was broken. A few more threats, and he agreed to take us there. As a precautionary measure he was roped to a constable. “ Understand, Muria,”” Humphries told him sternly, “ if you try to run the constable will kill you. If we are attacked some of us may die, but WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. “ Aihi-Oai had sprung to his feet, his spear clutched in his hand.” you will,die first. Lead us right, and when we reach Tavivi you will be free.” We resumed our way, and with Constable Dengo I went to the rear of the column. Here we discovered that a fifty-pound mat of rice had been overlooked. Angrily I bent down and picked up one end while Dengo reached for the other. Until we could catch up and find the carrier to whom it belonged we should have to carry it between us. TOUCH AND GO. At that instant there came a swishing sound, and as I instinctively leaped back an

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322 arrow buried itself in the bag of rice! My startled eyes rested for an instant upon the glowering face of Aihi-Oai, peering from the underbrush. Dengo and I seized the rice, plucked out the arrow, and trotted after the carriers. But I shuddered. A few inches difference in the trajectory of that arrow and it would have pierced me through. Late the next afternoon we reached a village. “Muria, what place is this!” Humphries. “‘ Master,’”” came the reply in a voice in which pride was noticeable, ‘‘ this is my proper village.’’ “Your own village, eh ? that?” “ Master, this is Tavivi.”” We stared at the little cannibal un- believingly. If he belonged here, why had he "been so opposed to bringing us to it ? If, as he had insisted, Yapitze was dead and Kapatea at peace, what possible reason could he have had for fearing to let us visit it? “Where is the body of the dead man?" asked Humphries. — Silently Muria raised his manacled hands and indicated the other end of the village. Above the thatched roofs rose the point What village is asked * THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of a burial platform, and even from that distance we could see that it held a body of some kind. Humphries ordered Muria’s release. ‘‘ Come with me,” he said, ‘‘ and do not try to run. If you have told the truth you may go. If you have lied and try to escape I shall kill you. i We strode down the street, and all at once a woman rushed from a hut and flung herself on Muria with what seemed cries of joy. But all the time she kept looking toward the far gate, and there was fear in her eyes. “She is my woman, master,” Muria explained, ‘‘ and she says I must die.”’ “The Government will protect . “We turned back to look over our shoulders.” ‘ EEE

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NM = ee WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 323 ne the magistrate assured him. ‘‘ What ave you done that your own village should say you die?” Maria's face was troubled, and he too “Master, it glanced towards the far gate. “Tt is I who is the payback,” he replied. killed the man who lies upon the burial platform.” I wanted to laugh. It was impossible of belief. This little man the slayer of the redoubtable Yapitze? But then, if what we had been told was true, the killing had been done from ambush. It might be true after all. My eyes strayed towards the burial plat- form, and in that instant the far gate suddenly filled with savage faces, black bodies pushed and jostled their way inside the stockade, and in a twinkling a hundred fighting men came slowly towards us. Instantly Humphries and I began moving back towards our party. Muria, with the “High above the tumult of the charging savages the shrill blast of a whistle cut the air once, woman’s arms around him, stood as if paralyzed. We heard the corporal shouting out an order, and the police swung into skirmish line across the village street. Then we turned back to look over our shoulders. twice, three times.” The savages fiercely ! “Treachery, master, treachery!’ yelled Constable Maikeli. ‘‘ Muria has led us into a trap.” Then for the first time I saw the little guide move. He thrust the woman away from him and bent over so that a little netted bag around his neck dangled free. He plunged his hand into it, drew something out, and placed it to his mouth. High above the tumult of the charging savages the shrill blast of a whistle cut the air—once, twice, three times, Upon the villagers the electrical. As one man were charging, yelling effect was they halted

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324 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in their tracks and dropped to their haunches. Muria was shrieking at them now. The words fairly poured from his lips and he walked towards the squatting warriors and, pausing a few yards from them, shouted some last com- mand. The whistle went to his lips again. Once it sounded, and the savages sprang to their feet, whirled round, and went back the way they had come. The woman had ap- proached the little cannibal now, and he signed to her to follow the warriors. Then he turned towards us and from his lips came a burst of laughter—loud, triumphant, mocking. The next instant he, too, was legging it for the far gate as fast as he could go. “What does it mean? What did he say to them ?’’ asked Humphries excitedly in Motuan. Constable Maikeli, who spoke Muria’s language, shook his head. ‘‘ He was so far away I understood only a few words,’’ he re- plied. ‘‘ He told them to listen to the whistle of their master and obey, and then he told them to go.” Humphries stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So far as chasing the Kapatea people is con- cerned,” he observed, ‘‘ we are, as the natives say, ‘all finish.’ If Yapitze is dead there won’t be any more trouble for a while. What we’ve got to decide on is our next step. If we cut back to Kerepi and strike out for the coast by the shortest and safest route, the food supply will be enough to see us through. “On the other hand, here we are at Tavivi. No white man has ever pene- trated beyond it, to my knowledge. Over there to the east lies the Pole range. What lies between here and there we don’t know ; what is to be found on the range we don’t know. If we can get up to it and follow it southward, we'll get to the coast in time. That’s a mighty big ‘if.’ I'm going to let you chaps vote the way you feel.” It didn’t take long to decide. Downing voiced my own thoughts, and I knew that Humphries was of the same mind. “Luck’s with us,’’ said the photo- grapher. “‘ We’ve had na accidents worth mentioning so far. We haven't lost a man. We haven't met any special hostility in the acid. Kapatea. Let’s push on to the Pole and take a chance.” And so we left Tavivi. Not a single savage was to be seen as we headed east by our compasses. The trail was broad, and we followed it swiftly to a small creek. Suddenly there was a terrified screaming behind the four of us who were in the lead. The carriers dropped their loads and huddled together so that it was almost impossible to get past them. Had there been an attack on the middle of the line? No shots came to our ears, only that weird screaming which seemed to come from the creek below the trail. I dropped to my haunches and, catching at roots, saplings, rocks im- bedded in the hill—any- thing that might slow that abrupt descent—I slid down to the creek, and began to follow it back. I could hear a flopping in the water, and the screams were getting louder and louder. I rounded a bend to find a human form rol- ling in the creek. By the brownness of his skin I knew he must be a carrier. I dashed into the water, laid hold of his shock of hair, and dragged him to his feet. A horrible sight met my eyes. A STRANGE ACCIDENT. From neck to waist, front and back, the skin was almost entirely gone, and the raw bleeding flesh was visible. It was as if he had been skinned alive. I knew him. He was only a boy and in helping to assign the loads I had purposely given him something light—a_ straw-filled bucket in which were packed the bottles of acid that were a necessary part of our photographic equipment. ; It was plain that he had slipped from the trail and rolled déwnhill. The bottles had been dumped from the bucket, and one of them had smashed, flooding him with corrosive acid. I blew my whistle and Downing quickly joined me. “Tucker box, tucker box,’’ he shouted, and I passed the word on to the carriers above, and in a few moments one of our food boxes came tumbling down to us. We plastered the tortured boy from head to foot with butter in order to counteract

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the effect of the acid and water, and, when the medicine chest was finally handed down, bandaged him as best we could. Had I been in that youngster’s place, I should have wanted to die, but either he was made of sterner stuff or the thought of death as a way out of what must have been terrible suffering did not enter his mind. During all the days that followed, weary mile after mile, he struggled on, moaning night and day but forcing himself to keep up. He could not lie down, because he could not bear anything to touch his flesh, and there was nothing we could do except let him walk. We dressed his wounds every afternoon— always a_ heart-rending business. The police would seize and hold him, while Downing, with razor and _hair-scissors, cut away the dead skin. We had no anesthetics, and, because his screams were likely to attract savages, we were compelled to gag him. When he had been treated and bandaged, however, he fell back into moaning and whimpering and occa- sional threats to kill us for hurting him. Poor little chap! After a bit we got the line moving again, and hours of struggle brought us to the top of the mountain, Upona log sat a naked black man, and I rubbed my eyes, unable to believe what I saw. “Muria!” I gasped. The treach- erous little guide grinned in apparent enjoyment of my surprise “Yes, tau- bada,”’ he said in Motuan. “I saw you com- ing this way and came to warn you. Over there” —he waved a hand towards the Pole range A Papuan burial-place. WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 325 across the valley —‘‘the people are bad. They will kill and eat you. Go back!” ‘“ No,” I replied. not fear them.” For a time he kept up with us; then he cd away and was seen no more. he Pole, when we reached it, we found open and grass-covered, affording scant facilities for attack by the natives, and we might have found our presses quite a tame affair but for a trivial thing—the skull of a man long since dead. It was hanging on a fence surrounding a burial platform, At some long-ago feast it had held the place of honour and been painted with the blood of a pig. Now it grinned upon us as evilly as its owner must have done in life. I reached out my hand to pick it up for examination when my arm was seized with a grip like steel pincers. Fornier, the old vil- lage constable of Rarai, stood beside me. His eyes were dilated, his breath came in gasps. “The white man does sli THE SKULL. “Do not touch it, mas- ter, or we shall all die,” he said. I think I should have respected the superstition and passed on, but Hum- phries pushed past ius, plucked the grisly thing from the fence, and rol- led it over in his hands. “It must have taken a giant to wear a skull like that,’’ he said. “We'll take it down to Port Moresby and let the anthro- pologists have a goat it. I never saw one quite so large.” Quite as a matter of course, he turned to Fornier and tossed the skull towards Digitized by GOOQ Ie (@)

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326 him. it!” Years of superstition battled with the constable’s sense of discipline. He tucked the skull gravely under his arm, but his face indicated deep concern. Even the police seemed affected. As for the carriers, they seemed on the verge of panic, and they could not keep their eyes off the skull. “Chuck it away,” I suggested to Hum- phries. His li stubbornly. “No native is going to bull-doze me, openly or any other way, he replied. “The skull goes along.” It certainly seemed as if the wretched thing was to bring us bad luck. The open grass-land gave place to jungle again, and from it the trail de- bouched suddenly into a little clearing. I was entering this with the advance guard when there was a crackling in the undergrowth, savage yells burst into our ears, and the jungle about us, only a moment before devoid of all sound and movement, became liter- ally alive with natives and bristling with weapons. “ Here,” he snapped, ‘‘ you carry tightened Typical up-country travel. Struggling through saw-edged one’s h THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Behind me I could hear the shrieking of the carriers, the cries of the police as they strove to hold the panic-stricken men in line. Then I heard the shrill blast of Humphries’ whistle, and knew that he and more police were rushing to my aid. But I knew also that they could not arrive in time. Before they reached us there would be an over- whelming rush of the savages in which I and my own two policemen must pass out. Why it had not come immediately I could not understand, and then in a flash the answer occurred to me, and the plan whereby I might yet save our lives. I dropped my re- volver and swept the broad-brimmed hat from my head, seized my shirt by its neck- bandand pulledit over my head, Then, strip- ped to the waist, I stepped towards the natives. I had guessed right. They had never seen a white man before, and the sunbeams flashing upon my skin struck terror into the very marrow of their being. Shrieking wildly, they broke and fled ! = Once again we were safe, but the sinister influence of the skull remained. grass as high as (To be concluded.) NATIVE WE owe a debt of gratitude to the readers in all parts of the world who are good enough to send us interesting ‘‘ sequels "’ to WIDE WorLD articles and stories. In connection with the story of * Eskimo Wireless,” a striking corrobora- tion of which was published last month, a Scottish reader forwards a cutting from the Sydney Bulletin of January 22nd, dealing with the extraordinary “ wireless’ used by the Dlackfellows of Northern Australia, A corre- spondent of the well-known Australian journal says: ‘They have a system of broadcasting and listening-in that makes the white man marvel. I think the natives round the mouth of the McArthur River, Northern Territory, “take the bun’ atit. Recently we were waiting “WIRELESS” IN AUSTRALIA. for some rations per steamer, when suddenly one old man jumped up at the chirping of a willy- wagtail and reckoned that ‘one steamer him come alonga sundown—new-fella steamer this one; gottem plenty tucker and white fella.” The old native was correct; just on sundown the steamer pulled up at the landing. A little boy came to me one day with a yarn that my pater had met with a mishap ‘ alonga that one country belonga him.’ Several weeks later I received word that my father had been knocked down in the street and injured. How this youngster, some two thousand miles distant from the occurrence, could possibly glean the news beats me. His timing of the occurrence, by the way, was quite right.”

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Z 327 ooker-On ¥ Rohewt Latterson > = ILLUSTRATED BY WwW. DEWAR There have always been card-sharpers in the Atlantic liners ; possibly there always will be, so long as unsuspecting folks are willing to play with strangers for high stakes. This little story shows how an innocent-looking youngster was abie to unmask a particularly dangerous trio of rascals. Mr. Patterson vouches absolutely for his narrative. than twenty-one, I was sent out to New York by a North of England firm who did a large business with a big shipping company whose steamers sailed trom Liverpool. As a result I received special treatment, being given an excellent cabin and a seat at the captain’s table. I was also introduced personally to the ship’s officers, and the purser in particular treated me with great kindness, giving me the run of his own cabin, where I could always sit and read or write if 1 wanted to be alone during the day. Just before we reached Liverpool on the retum trip the purser confided to me that he was very much worried by certain things that had been happening in the smoking- room, On all voyages, of course, there is a lot of gambling, but it is mostly between men who know how to look after themselves, and the officers very rarely have cause to interfere. On this occasion, however, not only had very large sums been passing at “poner, but the losers were mostly young and inexperi- enced Englishmen. One, the son of a well-known peer, told the purser that he had lost several hundred pounds. He alleged he had been cheated, and demanded that steps should be taken to expose the card- sharpers and obtain the return of his money. Otherwise, he said, he would get his father to take the matter up with the steamship company. This sounded serious, but when pressed, the young man was unable to prove that cheating had actually taken place, or, indeed, that there had been anything irregular in the proceedings. He was asked with GOOD many years ago now, when I was a youngster not much more whom he had played, and it was found that his money had gone almost entirely to two Americans, Mr. Van Garlandt, of New York, and Mr. Hiram B. Steggee, of Arizona. The former claimed to be a member of an old New York family, and had a letter of introduction to the captain from a prominent man in Boston, while Mr. Steggee said he was a big mine-owner, and had produced documents to vouch for the fact. In these circumstances, and after con- sulting the smoke-room steward, who had noticed nothing amiss, the pursur felt that he could take no action. It was too late in the voyage to have the two Americans watched, and though he was rather sur- prised at men of their position being willing to take so much money from obviously inexperienced youngsters, he came to the conclusion that the latters’ losses were due to their own complete lack of skill rather than to unfair methods. He knew, more- over, that it would be dangerous to follow up such apparently flimsy accusations against men whose antecedents and position seemed to be beyond reproach. So he allowed the matter to drop. A few months later I again found myself bound for New York on the same ship, and at the first opportunity I asked my friend the purser whether he had heard any more of the matter we had discussed. He told me, in somewhat forcible terms that.he most certainly had, for the old peer had lodged a formal complaint against him with the company. After inquiry, the latter had upheld the purser’s action, but he felt that if any further trouble of the kind occurred it might be very awkward for him. Before leaving port this time, he said, he had carefully scrutinized the list of passengers

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328 to see if it contained the names of cither of the Americans who had been so lucky on the previous voyage. They were, however, missing, and as he had given special in- structions to the smoke-room steward to keep his eves open, he hoped to have no further trouble of the kind. “ By the way,” added the purser, “I know you don't go into the smoke-room much, preferring to stay on deck, but I should be obliged if you would drop in occasionally and let me know if you notice anything suspicious. If there are crooks aboard, they will naturally be cautious if any of the ship's officers, or even the stewards, are about, but they might relax a little when only passengers and—if you won’t mind my saying so—apparently only young and possibly guileless ones, are in the Toom.” I agreed to do as he asked, being rather amused at the idea of doing some amateur detective work. Thinking the matter over, I was easily able to recall to mind the faces and figures of Mr. Van Garlandt and Mr. Hiram B. Steggee. The former was a tall man, pale and aristocratic-looking, with a neatly-trimmed blond beard that hardly seemed in keeping with his particularly black eyes. His figure was spare, and he walked erect and carried himself well, except for a slight peculiarity only noticeable when the ship rolled. To this roll he seemed unable to adapt himself, as most people quickly do, but invariably gave a peculiar lurch—due, I fancy, to some strain or dislocation at the back of his right knee. I had particularly noticed this one day when the sea was rcugh. Mr. Steggee, on the contrary, had little to distinguish him, He was short and clean- shaven, alwa wore tinted glasses, and would have passed anywhere as an average Westerner, The two men claimed to have met for the first time on our former voyage, having been introduced to each other in my presence by a man who said he was a buyer for a Canadian dry goods store, and was going to Belfast to buy linen. He was supposed to be a Scotsman, but it struck me as rather curious that this man, with a rich Glasgow accent, used the rather elaborate form of introduction current in the States at that time. I remembered, too, that this man had played poker with the others and the young Englishman, and that though he himself had lost he had been very indignant at the suggestion of unfair play levelled against the Americans, declaring that he was perfectly satisfied there had been nothing of the kind, When | went in to breakfast on the morning after my promise to the purser I found that my place at the captain’s table had been occupied by mistake by an old gentleman. 1 declined to allow him to be THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. moved, and took a temporary seat at another table. Next to me here was a tall, stout, good-looking American, grey-haired and grey-moustached, with the accent of one of the Southern states. He told me in the course of conversation that he was a judge in Virginia, and that he was returning from his first visit to Europe. He chatted pleasantly to me, and I discovered his name to be Judge Hampson. After breakfast 1 went up on deck, and was leaning over the rail, looking at a passing vessel, and partly hidden by one of the boats, when I heard a voice with a fruity Dublin brogue remark: “Say, Mr. Merker, allow me to make you acquainted with my friend Judge Hampson, of Norfolk, Virginia. The Judge and I have so often crossed the Atlantic together these last few years that we are quite old friends.” 1 gave a violent start of surprise, for the introduction was strikingly similar to another I had overheard on my previous voyage. The Scotsman had been replaced by an Irishman, but once again the introduction was made in the American formula. More- over, the very man who half an hour before had told me he was returning from his first trip to Europe now let the statement that he had made many voyages go by without comment. He did more; he contirmed it ! “Vurry pleased to meet vou, Mr. Merker,”” I heard him say; “ or indeed, any friend of Mr. O’Haverty, whom I have long known as a first-rate companion on a sea-voyage.” “The dickens you have!” I thought to myself. ‘‘ You'll bear watching, my friend ! ”” Although I was keen to have a look at the Judge’s companions, it would not do to let him know that I had overheard their talk, especially in view of the very different story he had told me at breakfast, so I remained where I was until they began to walk slowly up and down the deck. Then, while their backs were turned to me, I slipped into a chair and pretended to read a book. When they came towards me again I took stock of them. I already had what they call in America a considerable ‘“ hunch,”” but I was nonplussed when I considered how little the appearance of Hampson and Merker tallied with that of Van Garlandt and Steggee. Still, I reflected, disguise can achieve a lot. Neither could I fit in Mr. O’Haverty with the Scots dry-goods buyer. The latter, I found out later, was passing as a big grazier from County Kerry who went over every year to look after the affairs of a ranch he owned in Texas. He thoroughly looked the part. Nevertheless, my sus- picions were aroused. If Van Garlandt and Steggee were in reality the cardsharpers they were suspected to be, I was strongly of opinion that Judge Hampson and Co, might prove to be a similar gang, if not actually the same individuals. My best plan of campaign, it seemed to

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me, was to concentrate on Hampson, using our meeting at breakfast as a lever for seeking his further acquaintance. I realized, however, that I should have to go warily, since, if he were actually Van Garlandt, he might already have recognized me as a passenger on the former voyage, in which case I should probably have heard something of his poker exploits. It would not do to let him get any suspicion that I was watching him. Rising, I went forward to where the usual deck-games were in progress, and presently, while engaged in a game of quoits, saw that Judge Hampson was watching me. And here again fortune was on my side. A sudden squall of rain and wind got up, and the ship, which before had been steady enough, began to roll, affected by the beam sea. The players turned up their collars and went on with the game, but the spec- tators sought shelter. Out of the comer of my eye I watched Hampson—and I noticed that he had the same curious movement of the right knee that I had observed in Van Garlandt when the ship was rolling ! I was sure now. It was Van Garlandt, masquerading under another name and a ditferent appearance. What, I wondered, was his game this time ? At the end of the quoits contest I made my way below with the intention of finding the purser and telling him what I had discovered, but on second thoughts I changed my mind, reflecting that so far I had no tangible proofs on which he could act. 1 resolved, therefore, to go on playing a lone hand a little longer until something happened that might unmask the intentions of the gang. That something was not very long in materializing ! Back at my own seat at the captain's table, I found opposite to me a very pleasant young Englishwoman and her brother. She was probably two or three years older than I, but her brother was younger. Both were people of a good type, though evidently not much accustomed to travelling, and while she was frank and genial, the young fellow gave me the impression of having a very good opinion of himself, and of being under the impression that he was quite a man of the world. As a matter of fact I found out that they had lived all their lives in a small English country town, which they had never left save for an occasional stay for a few weeks at a Devonshire seaside resort. Their name was Ronson, and, their parents being dead, they were on their way to start farming in America with the little money left them, After lunch Judge Hampson came up and expressed his regret at no longer having me as his neighbour at his table; he hoped, he added, that he had done or said nothing to drive me away. I assured him that there was no reason for him to worry Limself on Vou. Lv.—23, THE LOOKER-ON. 329 that score, whereupon he offered me an excellent cigar, which, acting on the principle of spoiling the Egyptians, I accepted. Together we adjourned to the smoke-room, where he began to tell me about Virginia and the important position he held there, at the same time skilfully attempting to pump me as to my own family, position, and— indirectly—whether I was fairly well supplied with money. Having nothing to conceal, I told Lim frankly all about the first two points, and as to the last said that as I seldom or never played cards, my only gambling diversion being the “sweep” on the daily run of the ship, I found it quite sufficient to carry with me only a few pounds more than was necessary to pay my running expenses on board. He cooled off a little at this. “That, I suppose, is why I have not seen you in this room before,’’ he remarked. ‘ [ don’t care greatly for cards myself, and only play when my friends ask me to.” Soon after this I left him and strolled up on deck, but the weather had turned wet and cold, so I once more sought the smoke- room. Here, selecting a comfortable corner, I kegan to read my book. Presently I heard the voices of Merker and Hampson, and, glancing up, saw that they were talking to young Ronson, who was being skilfully pumped by Hampson. Merker then asked him if he ever played cards, and he replied that he was very fond of a game, and at home had been considered rather good. Thereupon Hampson suggested a game of poker, though he admitted that he and his two friends—O'Haverty had now strolled up and joined the others—were not good players. “T don’t play ““What about nap ? “Nap?” said Merker. “I don’t know anything about it. Isit played for money ?”” “Sure and it is,” broke in O’Haverty, “but the amount of the stake is just what you like to make it.” They then looked round for a table, and, finding one in the alcove where I sat, Merker rather curtly suggested my giving up the corner and finding a seat elsewhere, suggest- ing that I could get a very comfortable one at the other end of the room. To this 1 demurred, pointing out that there was a vacant table in the middle of the room. Hampson, who had been to get some cards, now came up, and I told him that if they really wanted the corner I was quite willing to move further along the settee. As I was only reading I should not inconvenience them, I said, but this was my favourite side of the ship. Merker looked like objecting, but Hampson drew him aside, and in the course of a low- toned conversation | distinctly heard him say: “ He is quite harmless, and we mustn’t poker,” Ronson said.

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33? have a row with him, for he’s a friend of the captain and the purser.” They then came back and thanked me, and 1 moved suffi- ciently far away to avoid arousing their suspicions, but not too far to prevent me getting a pretty good idea of what was going on. It was not long before I was tolerably certain that, in spite of their avowed ignorance of nap, they knew as much about tne game as Ronson—and probably con- siderably more. ‘Jrue, they asked many questions, and made some palpable blunders, but after about ten minutes Hampson said he thought they had learnt enough to play for money. Konson suggested halfpenny points, and to this they agreed—though not tor long. Hampson declared the game “slow,” and pulling out a handful of English money, suggested half-crown points. Konson and O'Haverty objected to this, and finally they settled on shilling points, though I could see that Ronson was a bit nervous. It may be that he thought it curious that men who were professed beginners should want to play high, and possibly they themselves noticed his doubt- ful expression, for their play began to fall off. When the bell rang for dinner I heard Merker say that O'Haverty had won seven founds and lonson over ten, and that he and Hampson were fools to take on a game of which they knew nothing. Young Ronson was very elated at his success, and as we walked down the deck together was inclined to boast of his skilful play. I doubted if he would heed any warning of mine, and if I was to catch the crooks in flagrante delicto it would not do to divulge that 1 took any interest in their play. Also, not then knowing Ronson’s financial position, I thought it might perhaps do him no harm if he were to lose a few pounds. Nevertheless, I went along to the purser after dinner, and told him how far I had progressed. He agreed with all my deduc- tions, and complimented me on the way I had pieced my case together. He suggested that I had done enough for that evening, and that it might be better if I did not show up in the smoke-room again that day. After a long chat with him I went up on deck, where | ran into Ronson. I] asked him how he had fared after dinner and he told me sulkily that Hampson and Merker had had “ the devil’s own luck’; he had lost the ten pounds he had made before dinner and twenty more besides. He seemed very depressed, and I began to wonder whether he really had money to burn in this way. I ventured to suggest, therefore, that it might be better if he played for lower points, but this advice he took very badly, saying that he knew how to take care of himself, ind that when the luck turned he would be more likely to suggest higher points than THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Tower ones. Naturally, I saw that it was no good my saying more. Next day I found the same quartette Playing in the same corner of the smoke-room, and asked whether it would disturb them if I sat in my old seat. “ Not in the least,” replied Merker, with something very like a sneer. “ You wouldn't disturb a mouse. I never saw such a book- worm. I should be bored to death.’ Being now satisfied that they looked upon me as absolutely “ safe,” I was able to watch them much more closely, and during the hour I sat there I became still more certain that not only were Merker and Hampson finished players, but that they were assisting their skill by some clever form of cheating. It was not until play was resumed after dinner that I got an inkling as to their methods. Ronson, after a run of bad luck, said he could do nothing with the cards they were using, and called for the steward to bring two fresh packs. Merker was inclined to be nasty over this, but O'Haverty said he was sure no offence was intended, and, Hampson agrecing, the game went on with the new cards. At first the luck seemed to change, and for a little while Ronson won, so that I began to think Tl was right in suspecting marked cards. But it was evidently only done to reassure the victim, for soon the two crooks began to win again, and O’Haverty, though losing on the whole, did not lose a fraction of what the young Englishman did. I was now quite sure that the cheating was done by palming, but for all my watching I could not detect it. When the smoke-room closed for the night Ronson looked ghastly, and I persuaded him to take a turn or two on deck. There he confessed to me that he had lost heavily, and that he was afraid to tell his sister, since it had made a pretty big hole in the money which belonged to both of them, and which was to be used to start their farm. “How much have you lost?’ I asked bluntly. He would not tell me at first, but finally he blurted it out. “Over eight hundred pounds,” he said miserably. 1 was greatly shocked, not only at the extent of his loss, but also at finding that the money was not his own, but I did not let him sce that 1 suspected cheating, as I knew that once he got that idea into his head he would not be able to contain himself —and what we wanted to do was to catch the rascals in the act. Therefore 1 merely sympathized with him, saying I hoped tle luck would turn before he left the ship. I then went to the purser, and told him my story. He agreed that the time for action had arrived, and sent for the smo! e-, room steward to discuss a plan of operations. After some thought I suggested that the

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THE LOOKER-ON. 331 “TI moved sufficiently far away to avoid arousing their suspicions.”

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332 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fourth officer, who was off duty at eight o'clock each night, should come into the smoke-room next evening a little before nine, and that when I tapped my pipe on the table he and the steward should rush forward and seize the crooks before they could do away with the cards I felt sure were con- cealed about them—and, incidentally, before they could get at the revolvers with which they were probably armed. The purser himself, with two quarter- masters, was to be outside the window or porthole behind where I sat, and at the same signal they were to hasten in and help to secure the cardsharpers till the captain could be brought to deal with them. I purposely stayed away from the smoke- room all next day, but just before dinner I saw Ronson, who looked more worried than ever, and told me he was still losing. I should have liked to drop a hint that things were not so bad as they seemed, for the purser had told me that once the gang were detected cheating all the young man's money would be returned to him. But I dared not do so, and I noticed that he drank heavily at dinner. That evening I took up my old seat in the smoke-room, and everything went according to plan. Ronson, as a result of the drink he had taken, was not only reckless, but quite incapable of noticing anything underhand, and this in turn rendered the crooks less careful. I distinctly saw first Merker, and then Hampson, after examining their hands, withdraw a card and substitute another. At the right moment I tapped my pipe on the table. In a flash both men were in the grasp of the fourth officer and the steward, and a second later the purser and his two quarter- masters burst into the room and ran to the table. One person we had forgotten, and that was O’Haverty. For a moment he was so taken aback that he did and said nothing. He was sitting beside me, with his back half- turned, and after the first start of surprise, 1 saw his hand go round towards his hip- pocket. Seizing his wrist, I threw my whole weight upon him, and before he could even struggle one of the burly quartermasters had him in a grip of iron. Merker and Hampson, protested violently, saying that their Government would see that the steamship company paid enormous damages for the outrage inflicted upon “ prominent American citizens.’’ Hampson was especially vociferous, and I could not help asking him in which name he would claim damages—Hampson or Van Garlandt ? The effect of this question was electrical. The crooks saw that the game was up, and it looks could have killed, no life insurance company would have granted me a policy ! When the captain arrived the precious trio were searched, and cards were found in the cuffs of Merker and Hampson and a marked pack in O’Haverty’s pocket. In the trunks in their cabins were more marked cards and various wigs and disgui among them the identical articles which gave them the characters under which they had travelled as my fellow-passengers before. Forged letters of recommendation to the captains of various Atlantic liners com- pleted a very useful and comprehensive outfit, ‘The money lost by Ronson—close on a thousand pounds—was given back to his sister, and eventually placed to her credit in a New York bank. Her brother, I fancy, had received a lesson that he never forgot. Immediately we reached port, the captain sent for the police, and three detectives came aboard and identified all the prisoners. “Hampson ’’ was a man who had served several terms in jail and was “ wanted” for forgery in Chicago; Merker had escaped six months before from Sing Sing; O’Haverty was a well-known confidence-man, and also “wanted ’’ by the police. The leading detective wished me to go with him and see the Chief of the New York Police, saying that he was sure the latter would want me to work for him when he heard how I had planned things out. I laughed, telling him that business, and not crime detection, was my proper sphere, and that I had just been lucky. “As a matter of fact I had no wish to court publicity, which might have injured me with my employers. Tor the same reason I turned down a suggestion made by the captain that he should ask the directors of his company to mark their appreciation of my services in some special way. The only recognition 1 accepted was a very jolly little dinner at Delmonico’s, at which the captain presided. And thus ended my first and last attempt at detective work. ee ie en I a ee RN Ne ee ee

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333 SAVED BY “THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE’ ATE VOLE WM! fee tore Arthur ILLUSTRATED BY G.P. CARRUTHERS Late in 1922 we published a very remarkable contribution by Captain S. L. McLaglen entitled “Restoring the Dead to Life.” This article, » which aroused a great deal of attention, described the secrets, hitherto jealously guarded, of a Japanese science known as “Katsu,” story we print below whereby, it was furnishes an extraordinary sequel. Mr. Arthur writes ed, persons apparently dead could be resuscitated. The “Fate apparently ordained that my life was to be saved by the perusal of the narrative, and it is with feelings of deep gratitude towards Captain McLaglen and THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE that I relate my experiences. Every statement I have made is perfectly true, and can be verified.” URING the month of June, 1917, like many other people in those troublous times, I found myself ina rather unusual and perplexing posi- tion. I wasa telegraph operator in the Civil Service, but was very anxious to join the wire- less section of the Flying Corps, a unit whose exploits I had Jong regarded with awe and admiration, My superiors, however, de- creed that I was “ indispensable,” and could not be spared—a most mystifying decision to me, considering my age, only eighteen, and almost negligible qualifications, Weeks elapsed, and I had well-nigh resigned myself to the inevitable, when one day, walking disconsolately along the promenade of a Wrest Coast holiday resort, a poster of great magnitude shrieked at me these alluring words: ‘“* Your King and Country need you | Join the Navy and see the world in ease and comfort.” Although this was not quite the opening I wanted, I came to a decision there and then ; if they would have me, and I could obtain the necessary permission, 1 would join the Navy. To my subsequent inquires the Admiralty officials lent most prompt and sympathetic attention, with the result that within ten days the necessary sanction from my Chief had been obtained, and I eventually betook myself to that famous wartime naval depot, the Crystal Palace. Already an expert in the noble art of Morse manipulation—1 could almost make an instrument sit up and beg —the wireless examinations proved aston- ishingly easy, and I was duly accepted. December, cold and dismal, found me on board the Wolfe, a torpedo-boat-destroyer of very ancient type, but still capable of performing every sea-manceuvre imaginable. Here, on escort and patrol duties in the North Channel, with the storm-swept shores of Donegal as our haven of rest, we endured gales and snow-squalls, sea-sickness, the continuous dread of mines and submarines, and all sorts of other horrors. The “ ease and comfort ’’ held out so alluringly by that deceptive poster never materialized, and the strain was such that my nerves and general health began to suffer. I was but a shadow of my former self, therefore, when some time later I was transfered to H.M.S. Naneric. This vessel, an armed tramp-steamer of ten thousand tons, carrying two three-inch and <-inch guns, was outward bound from the Surrey Commercial Docks, London, “destination unknown.” We discovered later that our duty was that of escort leader in the North Atlantic, that our port of call was New York, and that the Nanernc was capable of steaming at only nine knots. During the passage of the North Sea the wireless—my special charge—was much in evidence. As we progressed through the Pentland Firth and into the North Atlantic the signals from the European stations diminished in strength, and the dots and dashes from the New World gradually came through ex clair, full of interest and the promise of excitement. “ Iceberg reported 40°20 N, 48°yo W, Schooner 25oft. long on beam ends ‘and just awash lat. 38°50, long. 70°54.” “War warning begins. Enemy submarines

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334 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. miy be encountered anywhere between Nan- tucket and Hatteras.” “Menace to navigation. Cyclone spreading eastwards from the Delaware breakwater. All operators be alert.” Up to now the weather had been beautiful, the seas calm and placid—an ominous calm, it seemed to me: the calm before the storm, Towards the close of day the barometer dropped rapidly, and it was with an evil sense of foreboding that I retired for the night after the completion of my watch. My apprehensions were soon verified, for at the break of dawn I awoke with a ‘start and experienced the alarming sensation of hurtling into a deep abyss. A heavy roll of the labouring ship had flung me clean out of my bunk, and | landed with a crash on my back. Once on the floor 1 gazed about me dully ; my brain seemed paralyzed, my body incapable of movement. As I lay there, feeling horribly sick and dizzy, I gradually reqlized that the engines were not working. Evidently there was something wrong! Making a great effort, I scrambled to my feet—a painful operation, for 1 had hurt my back very badly. Just then the ship heeled over again at a terrific angle and I clutched wildly at the aerial wire for support, closing pyes and expecting instant di Back rolled the Naneric, and grabbing one thing after another to steady myself I stag- gered with great difficulty out of the wireless cabin and gazed around into the inky black- ness, which was broken every few seconds by incessant flashes of lightning. The baleful glire revealed mountainous seas all round continually crashing down upon the labour- ing steamer, and the rain was falling in torrents. The spectacle was beyond my _ wildest imagination; I had never believed waves could run so high. I speedily discovered that the Nanenic was indeed in a bad way. The steering gear had broken down, and the ship was a mere derelict, driving before the howling wind in the trough of the great seas and already many miles out of her course. Painfully conscious of the effects of my f-ll, I crawled back into the wire!sss cabin, re- lieved the operator on watch, and adjusted tne ‘phones over my head. Although the * atmospheri were very heavy the Amer- ican land stations were still quite readable, aad presently, out of the ruck, came the despairing cry of the City of Wilmington— “S.O, S.O.S. City of W ilmington, oil tank on fire, position 43°15 N. 59°51 West, crew taking to boats,” Utter silence followed for a space, and then came the dis- tress call again. “ S.O.S. City of Wilmington 43°15 N, 50°513W. Wireless cabin now on fire, am taking to the boats myself. Crew will fire rockets every half hour. Look out fer us. Good-bye.” Suddenly an ominous click in my head- phones roused me to action. It was as I anticipated. The raging storm had stripped our masts; the aerial and stays had been carried bodily away, and were now tossing in the scething cauldron that surrounded us. Concerning the strenuous hours that fol- lowed—the unceasing and finally successful labours of the engine-room staff, the repair of the steering apparatus and wireless, and the rescue of the crew of the ill-fated City of Wilmington, I knew nothing at the time. Sea- sickness and the shock of the fall from my bun had placed me temporarily beyond all earthly cares. Oblivious to everything, I slept the sleep of the dead. When 1 eventually awakened it was to find the engines throbbing sweetly and the ship on an even lec! once more. The cyclone had come and gone like an evil dream, the gigantic rollers had given place to a gentle swell, and a few days later we steamed slowly but triumphantly past the statue of Liberty and into New York harbour. Only just in time, too, for imme- diately after our arrival the port was closed, owing to the close proximity of hostile submarines. ‘Tis an ill wind that blows no one any good, for with the closing of the port came shore-leave of exceptional length and tLe relaxition that my highly-strung nerves demanded. During one of my excursions I became acquainted with a genial Scotsman, and in his cheery company I Pexplored at leisure Coney sland, Philadelphia, and Boston. One directed our footsteps to the Yale Club, within whose palatial portals a heated argument v in progress as to the name of the discoverer of the science of osteopathy. Thad never heard the word before, and listened attentively. Osteopathy, they said, was the science of healing without drugs, and was as old as the hills. There lived in the States a rema ble man named Still, an engineer by profession. Wearying of this, he took himself to Wansas City and studied medicine. Failing to get from drugs the results he hoped for, he came to the conclusion that they were not only untrustworthy but actually danger- ous. He therefore began to experiment with the human body as a_master-mechanic would with machinery which necded perfect adjustment in order to produce the best work. Still found that the body was just as liable to strains and variations as an engine, and that, after these were corrected, health was sure to follow. Disease, he ascertained, was an effect only, a positive proof that a belt was loose, so to speak, or a cog broken or caught. He found mechanical causes for disordered functions, and by adjustments of the body framewor cured such good results that he was satisfied his drugless method of healing was far in advance of all others, Thus did he discover, or re-discover, a science which, when applicd to suffering mortals,

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335 “The ship heeled over at a terrific angle and I clutched wildly at the aerial wire for support.” relieved and cured them of various grievous maladies. All very interesting, I concluded; but I was sceptical,*and I concluded that this ‘* osteopathy ’’ was just some American quack doctrine. Little did I know the effect it was to have later on my life and prosperity ! When the Armistice came I left the Navy and went back to my job. Here I strove valiantly to play the old familiar tunes with dots and dashes, but I found them strangely elusive. I became conscious of a constant sense of irritation, and my thoughts kept wandering away from work in a very dis- concerting fashion. After a time | transferred my activities to the hub of the telegraph world, the London Central Telegraph Office, hoping that the change would have a beneficial effect. Here, however, the telegraph keys seemed to dance and vibrate with fright at my touch, and the concentration required “to produce readable Morse was such that I began to experience awful pains in my right hand and arm. My position as an operator was seriously jeopardized, and realizing that I was up against something that was as elusive as it was deadly, 1 determined to seek the cause. Acting on advice, I presented myself to an X-Ray specialist for examination. “You are in a very bad state of health,” he told me. ‘‘ Give up your motor-cycling, reduce your tobacco consumption ; above all, do not get married. Your trouble is in- herited."" He gave me a tonic, which proved

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336 utterly useless, and a week later sanctioned my return to duty. Working under a feeling of constant strain, I carried on for a period of three months, and then, despite the attention of the doctors, there came the inevitable break- down. The day the collapse occurred I felt certain that disaster was imminent, and in- formed a friend of my intention to ride home, a distance of twenty miles, on my motor cycle in order to interview the family physician. As I said good-bye, the thought came to me that this would be my last ride, so dreadfully ill did 1 feel. The memory of that twenty miles is even yet vivid in my mind. The first five miles were negotiated at a nice easy speed, and then I alfmost fell from the machine, for I experienced a sensation as though I had been struck a violent blow across the head and shoulders. My head commenced to throb, my hands and arms shook, and I became obsessed with the idea that I was being chased by demons ! Opening the throttle wide I drove like a madman, endangering my life on several occasions by turning round in the saddle to see whether the spirits were still in pur- suit. At the record- breaking speed at which I was driving the machine along my home soon loomed ahead, and I luckily reached the surgery of the family doctor without mishap. He forthwith ordered me to bed. “Oh, yes; I under- stand your case per- fectly,” he said. “ You have inflammation of the nerve-centre. Your nerves have_be- come unstrung. You must stay in bed and rest, and in time we'll cure you.” ‘In time,” 1 discovered, meant about three years ! The days and weeks ed—oh ! so slowly nd my _ condition became worse. rapidly wasting away, meanwhile suffering awful mental and physical pain. The coming of night filled me with a nameless dread ; my heart raced and thumped at the slightest sound ; and, on one occasion after treatment I seemed to see my body rise to the ceiling. While I lay ill the complex machinery of Facsimile of the cover of the issue of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE that contained the article Mr. Arthur refers to. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the Civil Service had been set in motion, and the immediate outcome was the arrival at my home of the departmental medical officer for the district to report as to my condition. He made a very careful examination and then gave his decision. ‘‘ Spinal trouble and neurasthenia,” he said. ‘| strongly advise you to go down to Devon or Cornwall ; you won’t get better here.’’ This advice, however, 1 was compelled to disregard, for by this time I could not support myself on my legs, and feared that the journey to the South might prove fatal. A French doctor, who was interested in the case, diagnosed my trouble as concussion of the brain, and was of the opinion that it would right itself— “in time.” Inherited spinal trouble, neurasthenia, in- flammation of the nerve-centre, concussion of the brain—can it be wondered at that, like Dr. Still, the American, 1 began to lose faith in doctors ? The weeks and months went on, and the medical fraternity, it appeared, could do nothing forme. Finally 1 became partially paralyzed, sank into utter despair, and prayed for the end to come. My friends, at their wits’ ends, tried hard to persuade me to try an osteopathic doctor who resided in Man- chester, Although I went so far as to inquire about his methods, I absolutely refused to see him. In mysane moments —for when my fits of depression seized me I was a likely candidate for any asylum — | took particular _in- terest in reading THE WIDE WorRLD Mac- AZINE, which re- minded me of the active world I had apparently left behind for ever. With the issue bf October, 1922, came the dawn of hope and, for me, the begin- ning of a new era. In a_ remarkable article, entitled ‘* Re- stering the Dead to Life,” Captain S. L. McLaglen described, for what was said to be the first time, the secrets of ‘‘ Katsu.”” This, I read, was a Japanese science, jealously guarded from the outside world for close on two thousand years, by means of which the apparently dead could be brought to life again.

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SAVED BY “THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE.” Thousand of men died in the War, the author explained, though they were not sl.ot in a vital part of the body. They succumbed to nerve shock ; and if anyone had been at hand who knew something of this system of resuscitation, many lives could have been restored. A person who has died from shock, he stated, is not actually dead until decomposition sets in. Captain McLaglen described in detail the methods em- ployed in the treatment of his own personal cases, and I noticed that the nerves and spine received _ particular attention. I came to the con- clusion that the mysterious “ Katsu’? and Dr. Still's “osteopathy ’’ were very closely allied, The methods employed in some cases, in fact, were identical. I read the article over several times, torn betwixt hope and incredulity. I was helpless, crippled, on the verge of the beyond—and here was aman suggesting that certain treatment could cure ills similar to mine ! Tue WIDE Wor_p, I knew, did not usually publish articles of this kind ; it seemed almost as though Fate had directed my attention to this particular issue, especially as I had already learnt something about Dr. Still’s theories, which were startlingly cor- Toborated by this ancient Japanese science. Acting on the impulse of the moment, I came to a decision. I could not get into touch with Captain McLaglen, but I forthwith sought an interview with the osteopathic surgeon in Manchester, a Dr. William Looker, formerly of the U.S.A. He asked me a number of questions, tested my nervous reactions, and later, clad almost in Nature’s garb, I lay face downward on his operating table. Here I awaited the worst whilst the osteopath ran his fingers gently up and down my spine. What happened took me completely by surprise. Placing the palm of his hand on the bones in close proximity to the nerve- centre, he suddenly threw all his weight on to my spine, with a movement seemingly as swift as the descent of a piston in a cylinder. The result was startling; I heard two The Author at the present time. 337 sharp cracks as a couple of spinal bones reverted to the normal position, and saw about a dozen doctors floating round me. I strove vainly to rise, but the operating-room grew misty and I almost fainted. ‘‘ Steady on, old man,”’ said the osteopath, cheerfully. o Keep your heart up: you will feel a lot better for that.” Back at home in bed, I pondered deeply over the situation. The osteopathic specialist had examined me once more and told me plainly that there were nine bones out of place in my spine— the result, undoubtedly, of some severe fall or blow. These, with treatment, he hoped to restore to their proper positions.* Thereupon the events of that cyclonic storm when I was on board the’ Naneric recurred to my mind, and I came to the conclusion that the fall from my bunk had caused the mischief. A few weeks elapsed, and then, to my delight, 1 began to learn to walk again, to build castles in the air, and to increase my _ tobacco ration. Three months after meet- ing Dr. William Looker, I went to a convalescent home on the Yorkshire moors, where I sojourned for two months. My efforts to fight the paralysis that had gripped me were so successful that I was able to go for long rambles and even to climb the rocks. Since then, all the remain- ing bones have been coaxed into position, and the paralysis has com- pletely vanished. The cure is all the more striking when one remembers that several doctors absolutely gave me up as a hopeless case. Anyhow, thanks to osteopathy and THE WIDE WorLD MaGazinE, my future health is assured and I still retain my position in the Civil Service. liam Looker, M.D. (U.S.A., of Manchester, Mr. Arthur has mentioned to me that he has written ion stating that he has besn cured of a sis by osteopathic treatment. T bey to ent. At the time his case was brought to our nutive he was ineapable of walking and his future was very dark; inthe words cf his mother his case was Many medical men had stated that he would not His progress has heen remarkable, and he is to-day tu all intents and purposes practically cured.”

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338 ort ories 2p See JOHNNY MACKAY’S LAST HAND. By FRANCIS DICKIE. Illustrated by G. P. CARRUTHERS. The Author knows the great Canadian Northland intimately, and here tells the story of a half-breed who, after a bad lapse, made good at the finish. nized ‘though illegitimate claim to his ancient and honoured Scot- tish name. And during the first twenty-five years of his life, the last ten of which he had spent floating down or “ tracking’ up the waterways of Alberta and Mackenzie Terri- tory as a freighter for the Hudson Bay Company, by this name was Johnny known. Then one day, as a packer for a returning big-game-hunting scion of the English nobility, he journeyed as far as the growing metropolis of Edmonton, on the fringe of the wilderness. Through this journey to the city and subsequent happenings he earned a new and less honourable name, the why and how of which is herein related. It was during the three wonderful weeks of his first visit to civilization that Johnny, through a chance-met white acquaintance, Jearned the value of ‘‘ markers.” All half-breeds are gamblers ; and when Johnny's newly-found friend took his last dollar in a two-handed game of stud poker, Johnny accepted the misfortune philosophi- cally, even though convinced—as he was at the last—that his antagonist of the paste- boards had not done it fairly, That such an action was all in the game, Johnny admitted. lf a man could cheat you so well that you did not know, or could not demonstrate, how you were cheated—well, that was not cheating. So much for Johnny's philo- sophy. When the game was over he begged the stranger for his secret of success ; but, being penniless, he was refused. However, knowing that some of his fellow-packers, late of the nobleman’s retinue, would willingly lend him money, Johnny requested and was granted another meeting upon the following day. IKE many another Canadian _half- [ breed, Johnny Mackay laid recog- Then, upon the payment of fifteen dollars, he was made familiar with the working of two packs of “ markers.”’ Now, to the ordinary man marked cards seem no different from cemmon playing cards. Yet their difference is marked— double emphasis upon the word! Upon their scrollwork backs, plain to the knowing owner, is set forth the size and suit of every card. In almost any game of chance the manipulator of such a ‘‘ deck” is certain of success; in the case of stud poker to perhaps the greatest extent, by reason of the nature of the game. On the return trip, starting with only the few dollars left over from his borrowings after paying for the cards, Johnny was quickly in possession of all his comrades’ money. Reaching his home cabin in the settlement of Lesser Slave Lake, he decided that work should never again be his lot until such time as the spots had worn off the two miracle-working packs. Within a short space, however, he had annexed the cash of every half-breed resident in the little frontier post, after which time hung heavily upon his hands, or as heavily as it can ever be said to hang with men of the North. At any rate, when Arthur Hemmingway, travelling — corre- spondent for the New York Chronicle, dropped into Lesser Slave to pick up a crew to aid him in his five months’ summer journey up the Peace River to the canyon at the Continental Divide, Johnny willingly joined the party, and, on account of his English, was made head packer. Arrived at the settlement of Peace River Crossing, Hemmingway halted for two days to obtain agricultural information for future articles concerning the district. Johnny, on new ground, lost no time in

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starting a stud poker game, for which he obligingly supplied the cards. On _ the second evening, while the game was in progress, Hemmingway strolled over from his tent. Taking a seat upon the ground, he lolled at one side of the Hudson Bay blanket which served as a table. Round this Johnny and three Peace River half- breeds were gathered. In silence Hemming- way watched the game proceed. Shortly after his arrival two of the men lost their stakes, and went sourly away. The third, when similar bad luck befell him, said a few swift words in Cree to Johnny before departing. Noting that the winner “waited, Hemming- way, too, remained. Presently the player returned, carrying in one hand a riile. After a careful examination of the weapon Johnny handed over fifteen dcllars, and the game continued. Again Johnny won. Once more the loser hurried away. This time he returned with a heavy stock saddle, upon which Johnny advanced thirty dollars. This, in turn, he also quickly won. Penniless again, his opponent sat motionless for severalmoments. Then for a brief space there passed between the two men rapid sentences in mono- syllabic Cree. Finally Johnny nodded. At this the vanquished player once more passed out of sight toward the settlement beyond, This time he was longer in returning. The soft, long-falling twilight of the Northern summer was slowly blurring the distant view when the half-breed swung into sight again, closely followed by a lithe young squaw of perhaps eighteen, Even Hemmingway, who had hitherto scorned the idea of native feminine beauty, was startled by the woman's physical and facial _ perfection. Unemotionally — she squatted down beside her lord as he once more began bargaining. For perhaps twenty minutes the players argued fiercely. At last, after giving the girl a careful final survey, and still apparently reluctant, Johnny handed over sixty dollars. Swiftly now the game proceeded. Hand followed hand, and invariably Johnny won. Presently he raked in the other's last remaining dollar. For a moment the loser sat thinking; but apparently unable to remember any other possible resource, he got slowly to his feet and was about to turn heavily away when Hemmingway’s voice stayed him. “Wait a minute, my friend,” he said sharply. As he spoke he reached over one hand and swept up the money which Johnny had not yet stowed away. The departing man turned and_ stood staring wonderingly at this strange white man, while the girl's eyes lit suddenly with the faintest gleam of hope. The money in his hand, Hemmingway got to his feet. SHORT STORIES. 339 As he did so the rest of the crew, returning from a moochegan (native dance) in the village, to which their lack of funds had drawn them when cards were denied, came up and gathered round to watch the unusual proceedings. “What's the matter with yu?” Johnny gasped, in surprise rather than anger. ‘Nothing; I’m only just Boing to give this man back what he’s lost.’ Hemmingway’s eyes met the answering scowl fearle: He went on, addressing now the fleeced one: -‘ You take your saddle and your ritle and your woman and whatever money is here '’—he tossed over the crumpled bills he had gathered—“ and get away home.” Not comprehending the reason for this intervention, but grateful nevertheless, the man reached for his rifle, at the same time giving a curt command in Cree to the girl, who rose and took up the saddle. With a cry, Johnny leaped the width of the blanket toward the rifle, a more precious and handy possession than the bulky transport saddle. As he did so, however, Hemmingway caught him by the shoulder, spun him round, and, still holding him, roared out: ‘‘ No, you don’t, you cheat! I've seen too many big city slickers to be fooled by such a clumsy worker as you. You let this man go, and to-morrow you hit the trail from here, for I've no use for card-cheats. They're dirty rascals at any time, but more so here, you spawn of the North!” Hemmingway had always been a champion of the under-dog. Scores of times in the past he had suffered hurt to body and bank- roll in the cause of someone badly treated, and so, as he had watched the game, his ire had risen, but he had restrained himself until the finale. “TH get ye for that!” snarled Johnny Mackay. And strange to say, in his anger, a little of the burr of his lowland Scottish ancestor crept into his accent. It was so bizarre, coming as it did from a swarthy- skinned, almost pure Indian countenance, that Hemmingway was constrained to laugh. “All right, you spawn; get to it any time you like,” he answered. Then, turning on his heel, he went quickly back to his tent. But Johnny did not wait to take his vengeance, for something in the manner of his companions, whose money he had acquired so steadily in the past, warned > him of threatening danger. So, even before Hemmingway had fallen asleep, Johnny silently left the camp. Yet he carried away a new name—one which stuck to Lim long in the Northland—for, though his companions’ English was scanty, the novel word ‘ Spawn’? had caught their fancy.

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34° Though Johnny Mackay was no longer socially welcome among those _ fellow voyageurs with whom he had played cards, he still remained in demand as guide and assistant to travellers entering the North- land, for he was one of the best in the region. When, therefore, Professor Robert Hurt, head of a famous American college, decided to spend the summer in the North, it came about that Johnny was hired and placed in charge of the outfit. In addition to the Professor, Johnny, and his crew of three, there were the Professor’s wife and Billy, their child of six. Leaving Peace River Crossing in a sixty- foot river-scow, the party swung down the majestic Peace, bound by easy stages for Fort Vermilion and Fort Chipewyan beyond. A light Peterboro’ canoe was carried for use on side-trips. Some sixty miles below Fort Vermilion on the Peace are the famous “shutes ’’—three miles of bad water, at the end of which is a six-foot fall. The river, however, can be navigated by scows with little risk. Wishing to do a little investigating near by, the Professor allowed the scow to shoot the rapids and the six- foot drop, intending to camp immediately below the fall. No suitable site being found here, however, Johnny had the outfit packed back along the bank to a point some two hundred feet above the falls, where an excellent camping-ground was discovered. Down river a few miles from the “ shutes THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. is the Quatre Fourche, a very remarkable stream that not only flows in different directions at different times, but flows in different directions at the same time—a phenomenon caused by varying high-water marks on the Peace River, Lake Athabasca, and Lake Mamawi, with all of which the Quatre Fourche is connected. Professor Hurt had heard of this extra- ordinary stream. Anxious to get, if possible, some good photographs of it, he left one afternoon with his wife and one man for a trip down-stream to the Quatre Fourche, leaving Johnny and his half-breed com- penion in charge.of the camp and little ily. Shortly after the Professor and _ his companions departed, Johnny, needing something from the scow, which lay moored below the falls, left the camp, where the other half-breed lay smoking and watching the six-year-old child at play. Returning about a quarter of an hour later, Johnny was just rounding the point of wooded river-bank which shut off the view of the two tents a hundred odd feet farther ort, when he heard a frightened call from the other boatman. Breaking into a run, Johnny came in sight of the camp in time to see his fellow half-breed at the into the foaming, which river's brink staring swift-flowing waters of the rapid, “With both arms —s the stream, Johnny were sweeping away the helpless form of little Billy, alread some tweut} reet down-stream. The hall. breed, Johnny noted, had been quick to act.

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He was paying out a light stout rope, to the end of which was attached a short length of wood, serving as a rude but adequate buoy. The stick was bobbing about close to the child, but Billy was too young or too frightened to understand its significance. Johnny realized at once that this form of succour, valuable enough in aiding an adult, was hopeless in the case of the child. Turning on his heels, he ran at full speed along the bank, making faster time than the boy, and, arriving opposite him, he sprang into the water. Attired only in moccasins, shirt, and overalls, he swam with ease. As he struck the water he noticed that the other half-breed, having reached the end of his rope, was now running along the bank, still keeping the stick near the child, With long, powerful over- hand strokes Johnny fairly threw himself forward, cutting across the current, though swiftly carried down -river toward the fall. Presently he reached the rope, and a precious two seconds were lost before he caught it in his teeth close to the wood. The rapids of the “ shutes La hampered and his body held fighting against went under one minute and bobbed up the next.” have a strange effect upon a floating body, tending to roll it over and over in the peculiar cross-switls and choppy little waves of the channel. As he plunged on, with the rope tightly held in his teeth, Johnny saw the tiny SHORT STORIES. 341 figure of the child, no longer struggling, lift on the crest directly ahead. He realized the urgent need of haste, for the diapason of those six feet of falls thundered ever louder in his ears. Full well Johnny knew that, though men might safely jump the “ shutes”’ in flat-bottomed scows, no human being stood any chance of going over that fall and remaining alive. For it is a peculiarity of the ‘‘shutes’’ to carry bodies under and churn them about in eddying undertows for a considerable time, sometimes until beaten to a pulp. Putting all his strength into a desperate spurt, he reached the unconscious Billy, and with one hand caught at his wide coat-collar. The man on shore immediately stood fast. Anticipating being towed in, Johnny’s free left-hand caught the rope from his teeth, and his heart leaped with joy as he felt it go taut. With both arms hampered and his body held fighting against the stream, Johnny went under one minute, bobbed up the next, and was then tugged under once more, receiving full in the face the choppy waves created by the rapidly-flowing water. Try as he would he could not keep Billy’s head up; indeed, the swirling flood threatened

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342 every instant to tear the child away altogether. After less than a minute of this merciless butteting there came home to Johnny the realization that the man on shore could make only the slowest of head- way in drawing the pair of them in against the force of the rapid, at this point running at its greatest strength. Even if the light line did not part under the strain, so much time would elapse before they reached the shore that they would both be drowned— or at least, for a certainty, the unconscious child, There remained but one thing to do. Into Johnny’s mind came decision—a decision born, perhaps, of some of the finer blood of a distant chivalrous ancestor of the Scottish heath. One cannot analyze motives; one can only state the facts. Drawing hard upon the line, with the skill of one long accustomed to ropes, he made the child fast—then he let go his hold. In THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. an instant the hurrying waters dashed him away to the brink of the boiling, gurgling flood, over its smooth, glass-green edge, and into the whirlpool beneath, which whisked him into the deadly trough formed by the falling water and returning eddies. That was the last that was cver seen of Johnny Mackay, alive or dead. Little Billy was drawn back safely to the shore and soon recovered. Months after, the grateful Professor—who had heard later the story of Johnny's card- playing and the ostracism it had brought upon him—had a ponderous stone conveyed. in a barge down the Peace River at great expense, and erected it at the spot where little Billy was brought ashore. No body lies beneath that granite block— very seldom does the Peace give up its victims—but carved upon the stone are these words— “ He PLaveD THE Last HAND Fair.” MAN VERSUS LION. By CAPTAIN GEO. D. HAIGH. Illustrated by D. C. EYLES. The experience that befell a South African game-ranger who, alone and single-handed, killed a lion with a sheath-knife. for the great quantity and variety of wild animals to be found in its con- fines, but it was not until the year 1905, some years after the conclusion of the Boer War, that any real attempt was made to protect from the hunters the rare and valuable species of buck, which were rapidly disappearing. Game reserves were then gradually established, in accordance with the new policy of conservation. One of the largest of these is in the Eastern Transvaal, and is known as the Sabie Game Reserv One white man, with about ten native police, is the sole guardian of hundreds of miles of wild country, and the life of the game ranger is by no means unexciting, as this little story will show. My friend Wolhuter had been the fortu- nate one, out of many applicants, to be selected as the first Ranger in the Sabie Reserve. Five foot six inches in height, quict and unassuming, he was hardly the kind of man that one would believe capable of fighting a lion single-handed and _ killing him with a knife. Yet this feat he actually accomplished. Si: AFRICA has always been noted Some months after the event, when he was recovering from the wounds inflicted by the animal during the struggle, Wolhuter related to me exactly how it all happened. He had left his camp near Kuomatie, and, with his horse and dog and six of his native police, started off on one of his periodical tours through the Reserve. It was on the third day out, as he was riding along, all by himself, that a lion leapt out from the bush, and catching him by the shoulder pulled him from his horse and started dragging him away. In spite of the excruciating pain in his shoulder Wolhuter kept his head, remained passive, and tried to think how he could tree himself” In his fall he had dropped his rifle, and his only weapon was a small sheath-knife in his belt, the blade of which was only a few inches long. After dragging him a few yards the lion let go his shoulder, and, standing over him, roared for his mate. Evidently, Wolhuter thought, he was destined for their dinner ! Picking him up, the lion again. started dragging him, and it was then that Wolhuter determined to take the only chance that

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SHORT STORIES. 343 “Plunged it with all his strength into the lion’s chest.”

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344 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, was left, for he knew that the moment the lioness came along the pair would start their meal. When the brute put him down once more and again started roaring, therefore, Wol- huter cautiously moved his arm behind his back, and drawing his knife, plunged it with all his strength into the lion’s chest. The roar ceased, the lion seemed to sway a little, and then moved slowly away from him and disappeared. Weak from pain and bleeding terribly, Wolhuter crawled to the nearest tree and climbed up as far as he could. All trees in Africa are thorny, and this one seemed to be particularly well equipped. The other lion might turn up at any moment, however, and he had to reach a place of safety. The best Wolhuter could do, how- ever, was to scramble up to a bough a bare nine feet from the ground. His dog had followed him, but carefully kept clear of the lion, and now, seeing his master in the tree, he sat himself at the foot. Wolhuter told him to clear out, but ‘“ Scamp” remained where he was, occasionally trying to climb up. A little later, as he hung there weakly, Wolhuter saw a lioness appear. She smelt the spot where the lion had -first lain down, and then vanished into the bush, evidently following her lord and master. Soon he heard a terrible roar, and back came the lioness at arun. Bounding towards the tree, she caught sight of Wolhuter, and, without the slightest hesitation, leapt into the air straight at him ! If it had not been for his dog, the Ranger told me, he would inevitably have been knocked off the bough, but as the lioness sprang the dog ran out barking, and thus baulked her in her jump. She promptly charged ‘‘ Scamp,” but the little dog was too quick for her. Again and again she leaped, but every time the dog flew at her and spoilt the jump. All night long poor Wolhuter sat astride that bough, enduring agonies of pain and anxiety. Sometimes the infuriated lioness almost reached him, sometimes she seemed within an ace of seizing Scamp, but on each occasion man and dog just escaped. At last the day dawned and the lioness, appa- rently giving the business up as a bad job, gave a last roar and vanished into the bush. About an hour afterwards a search-party of his police found Wolhuter, still clinging to the tree, and they could hardly believe his tale until they found the body of the lion which, mortaily wounded by the knife- thrust, had only gone a few yards and then collapsed. To the end of his days Wolhuter will carry on his shoulder the marks where the lion bit him. He admitted to me that the most trying moment of all was when he stabbed the beast. He was lying between the animal’s fore-paws at the time, with his head a bare foot from the lion’s mouth; and he reflected as he drove the knife home that one crunch of those great jaws would settle his troubles for ever. Wolhuter is still a Ranger, and has since had many more narrow shaves, but none have been quite so exciting as when he nearly served as a meal for the lions. THE TRAGEDY OF A HOLLOW TREE. ANOTHER “WIDE WORLD” SEQUEL. INTERESTING “sequels” to WIDE Wortp sturies have been cropping up with extra- ordinary frequency of late, and it is most grati- fying to us to note the enthusiasm with which readers all over the world draw our attention to them. ‘Here is corroboration that will con; found the armchair sceptics,"’ writes one sub- scriber. The stiff-necked know-nothings who never believe anything unless they have seen it themselves will find it hard to explain this away,”” says a second. Here is another “sequel,” which will be found extremely in- teresting in connection with the story entitled “Imprisoned in a Hollow Tree "” in our Jan-Feb. issue of this year. The cutting is from the World Herald, of Omaha, Nebraska, U S.A., and is dated March 25. “ This,” writes the reader who kindly forwards it, “ will interest some of the ‘ doubters.’ ”” [ SKELETON OF MAN | AND FLINTLOCK GUN | IN A HOLLOW TREE | o_o Hvectal Dispatch to the Wor!d-Herald. Shenandoah, Ta, Mareh 25.—- Several small coina dated in the ‘50s and a Nintlock musket were - the only clues as to the identifi. cation of ‘tho luman skeleton found in a hollow tree on the _ Missouri river bottoms near Hamburg by J. A. Crosby. " ‘The discovery was made when . the farmer climbed the tree to . get a better view in search for — strayed -cattle. He summoned . help and was lowered into the crevice.” It ds thought that te man fell « futo the prison accidentally or _ probably was hiding to escape Indians and could not later free himself. The bones, together with the Tew buttons and the + musket, the stock of whic wi only slightly decayed, were bur. \. ied tometer: a

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TWO YEARS IN BORNEO yy Oscar Cook LATE DISTRICT OFFICER NORTH BORNEO CIVIL SERVICE ILLUSTRATED BY CYRIL HOLLOWAY Beyond the fact that it lies somewhere out East, and is hot and unhealthy, the average man in the street knows very little about Borneo. Mr. Cook spent eight years in the country, and here gives a very interesting account of the last two strenuous years of his sojourn. In this instalment he relates the strange story of a love-potion. ll. HE weeks went by, and I settled down to my new duties at Klagan with no untoward happenings, except a certain amount of friction with the Chinese shopkeepers on the subject of profiteering. And then came the strange case of Ah Sin, the daughter of one of them. Ah Sin was young—about eighteen—and very pretty, and many were the young men attracted by her wealth and beauty. Of them all, Sabtu, one of her father’s coolies, seemed the most favoured. He was a Bugis and a Mohammedan, but his position was humble in the extreme—a hired hand who earned little pay. There was, however, a certain charm about him, and he was strong and good-looking—altogether a pleasing Tascal. I think they flirted occasionally, and Sabtu, being a Mohammedan, considered that he condescended in looking at the daughter of a Chinaman. I fancy Ah Sin encouraged him, and that there had been stolen moments of sweetness in the moonlight and that lovers’ whispers had mingled on the night breeze with the rustle of the coconut palms. I imagine, too, that Ah Sin knew why Sabtu’s debt to her father never grew less and in most months grew bigger. This, though probably true, is only con- jecture, but what is certain is that, to Sabtu’s utter amazement, the fair Ah Sin eventually discarded him; not lightly, gently, or sorrowfully, but wilfully, cruelly, and with a biting scorn. In a loud voice that soon attracted a crowd, she called him all the names she could think of, pouring ridicule upon him and scorning him for his menial Position, while he stood there too dazed to Tealize what was happening. So Sabtu’s romance came tumbling about his head like a child's pack of cards, and, Vou. Lv.—34, worse than this, he found himself without employment, for his pride would not let him work any longer for Ah Sin’s father. I had always wanted to get Sabtu into my employ, and, though I would not have deliberately enticed him away from the towkay, now was my opportunity, and lotfered him the post of Serang on my sailing boat, which was fitted with a motor attachment, From coolie to a Chinaman to Govern- ment Serang !—here was promotion indeed ! Sabtu’s luck was ‘‘ in,” and as the weeks sped by and I saw him always cheery and full of fun I thought he had got over his love aftair and that his wounded pride was healed. Then, one day, he entered my office, saluted, and spoke quietly. “ Tuan,” Ne said, “ Ah Sin is in my quarters and will not go away.” I looked at him sharply, but his gaze met mine calmly. “Why ?” I asked curtly. “TI don’t know, Tuan,” he replied. ‘‘ She was there on my return from bathing in the river. She refuses to leave. I have told her to go, but she will not. She savs she wants to live with me, and that she loves me.” “Is she alone ?”’ I questioned. “ Yes!’ he answered. For a second or two we looked at one another, and I could almost swear I saw a twinkle—or was it a gleam of satisfaction ? —in his eyes. Then pandemonium broke out in the boatmen’s quarters. Hurriedly Irushed out to see what was happening, and as I neared the house the noise and screaming increased. [ saw Ah Sin, struggling in the hands of her female relatives, her clothes nearly torn off her back, her hair falling all over her shoulders, being dragged inch by inch back to her home, the while she cried out to Sabtu for help and proclaimed her love for him for all to hear.

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316 It was a family business, an affair for women, and so I did not interfere. Yet curiosity mastered me, and that night I sent for Sabtu. He came, and I went straight to the point. “ Sabtu,” I said, ‘‘ what is the meaning of Ah Sin’s extraordinary conduct ?”” For a moment he was silent ; then looking me full in the face answered, ‘ Pugat.” Just that one word told me much, and confirmed my suspicions. For ‘ Pugai” meant a love-potion,. “You really mean: interrupted me hotly. “She scorned and shamed me, Tuan, in the presence of others. It was more than 1 could bear. 1 could have killed her, but just in time I remembered my mother—she is dependent on my earnings—and so I had to ke revenged and could not rest until I had wiped out the stain. Then I thought of shaming her as she had shamed me, of making her a laughing-stock as she had made me. So I confided to my mother and sought her help. And yesterday she gave me some oil—just a few drops, for it is very precious —and taught me a charm. And last night I sprinkled the steps of Ah Sin’s house with the oil, incanting as I did so the charm my mother had taught me, and waved my hand- l:erchief three times over the fallen oil.” “Then?” I couldn't help the question, 1 was so intensely interested. “Then I went home and waited, for I was quite confident. I knew tlhe Puga would not fail.’ “And now—do you want to marry her ? ” T asked. For answer Sabtu shook his head vigor- ously. ‘ Not if she came to me with all the wealth of Borneo! The hussy! No, Tuan, I am content—in the sea are many fish; in the jungle are many deer, What is one that I should fret myself!’ With that he saluted and left me. Slowly the months rolled on. Klagan, with its sombre, brooding swamps, its weird happenings and superstitions, gripped me, and then came a disaster which swept the district from end to end, leaving in its path a trail of loss and desolation, of poverty and blasted hopes, of plague and destruction. Never shall 1 forget January, 1918, and the “ Great Flood,”’ as it came to be called. Never in the memory of any living man in Borneo had such a tlood been known. From end to end of the territory the rivers rose and rose, bursting their banks and spreading wider and ever wider, till the country, save for the hills, seemed one vast sheet of water. For one whole month we in the Labuk and Sugut never saw the sun. For one whole month the rain fell every day, till on the 28th my rain-gauge was washed away. Fifty-six inches, and still the rain was falling, still the waters rose ! ”’ | began, but he THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. There was no island of Kalagan—it had ceased to be—only a few buildings which rose stork-like out of the madly-swirling water. Two houses had been washed away; the water spread to the floor of the boatmen’s quarters, to the floor of the barracks. Each building, standing on piles, was five feet off the ground, but the flood rose without ceasing, covered the floors, and then crept slowly up the walls, driving the inmates out to take refuge in the office, the only building left that seemed to promise safety. Yet I was scared, for though the office stood some feet above the ground, it was built on insecure foundations, and I was afraid it might not stand the strain of the mighty volume of water, which, sweeping among its piles, bore huge trees and solid islands of uprooted earth out to the sea, which daily grew muddier and muddier. My house, though low, was more strongly built, and stood upon slightly higher ground, and so to this haven I brought the people, in a vain hope born of desperation. The odds, however, were against me, and at 2 a.m. on the 29th there were three feet of water over the floor, while the kitchen and scrvants’ quarters, built level into the ground, were almost completely submerged. Only the office remained as a sanctuary— a modern Ark amidst the waste of waters. So, like Noah of old, I collected) my people around me, leaving the world, as represented by the Chinese and natives, to look after itself. There was nothing I could do for them that they could not do for themselves, and my first duty lay towards the Government servants under my care, who looked to me for help and guidance. Three times my boat, laden to its utmost capacity, made the short, perilous journey from my house to the office. Every minute was fraught with danger and unforeseen possibilities, yet I can remember no more exhilarating moments. In the bows stood Sabtu; the helm I took myself. Two words of command— “Let go! ’’—the twist of a paddle, and tle boat was in the raging torrent, tearing with unbelievable rapidity towards our goal— a solitary, ancient rubber tree that grew close to the office. Closer and closer we approached. Goodness! Could I make it, or should we rush by? There was no sound in my ears but the roar of waters, the beat of the rain on the swift-running tide! With all my strength I pushed the tiller hard over, leaning the whole weight of my body against it. Closer, closer; just a second longer, then I yelled ‘ Back water!’ and four oars struck the water and eight arms strained to lessen the ap- proaching shock. Just for a second we seemed to tremble, pause, and steady in

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TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 347 “The boat, checked in its mad career, spun round and pointed its nose up-stream.” our mad flight, then I yelled “‘ Hold tight!" and Sabtu, reaching to his utmost limit, seized a branch of the rubber tree. Just as the strength of a chain lies in its weakest link, so for a moment our future hung on Sabtu as with a sickening jerk the boat, checked in its mad career, spun round and pointed its nose up-stream. Over the roar of the waters my voice rang out once again. ‘‘ Daiang”’ (row), and the four oarsmen strove their utmost to lessen the strain on that one frail link. I could not bear to look at that solitary form straining, straining, till it seemed his strength must break. Just for an instant the balance trembled ; then gradually, inch by inch, we were moving forward; slowly the branch came nearer, till its leaves were rusting over us and willing hands reached out to grasp it, granting us respite, while in the bows Sabtu lay panting and laughing with hysterical delight. We had still to reach the office, however ; still had one last effort to make before we were safe. Could we do it? I wondered, . and hesitated to make the attempt. “ Jaga, Tuan!” (“ Look out, master ! '’) From the office, over the swirling flood, the cry rang out with startling suddenness, and hard upon its heels followed a rope flung by a Dusun sentry, who had seen our peril and, acting on blind instinct, solved the riddle of our approach. No sun shone down on the morning of the 30th; the pitiless rain continued and the water rose steadily. The office rocked and swayed to every footfall. The place was crowded with the policemen and boat-

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men and their wives, prisoners, servants, and our cats and dogs and monkeys. The horror of that oe will always haunt me. The ceaseless 1 the ever-rising water, the s ; the babel of voices, the smell of cooking, the stench of humanity, and the barking of dogs. That night I made a decision which I communicated to all. If on the morrow there was no change— if the rain still fell and the water continued to rise—I should send the women and children under Sabtu’s care in my boat to Tetabuan. There was a risk, I knew, vet it seemed the lesser of two evils, and it offered a better chance of safety than waiting for the inevitable collapse of the office. It meant, too, food and drink, whereas, if they stayed, in two days’ time our stores would be exhausted. Having landed them at Tetabuan, Sabtu would go on to Sandakan to tell the Resident of our sore straits. And perhaps—though the hope was faint and trembling—a launch might be sent and we be rescued from death by starvation or drowning. As I wrote my letter to the Resident, I pictured the launch striving to make head- way up the swollen river; caught in the swirling eddies, twisted and turned, first this way and then that, until, broadside on, she was caught in the terrific current and swept back, while from the office we watched and waited. Cold and grey, the first streak of dawn came stealing through my office window. 1 was cold and shivering ; even the hot tea the cook brought me failed to give me any warmth. “Your wife is ready to go, cookie?” I asked him, and passed out on to the ver- anda. I did not wish to see the misery of parting in his eyes. I went straight to the office steps. One look, then I raised my voice: ‘ Sergeant ! Sabtu! Cookie! Amat! The water hasn’t risen — hasn't risen since twelve last night!’ My voice went pealing through the office, and as its echoes died away, a mighty cheer echoed amid the rafters, and the office swayed fearfully as, with a rush, the police and boatmen and their women gathered round me in a frenzy of relief. As we looked and measured carefully, slowly realizing the tremendous import of this fact, a tiny shaft of sunlight came stealing through the branches of the rubber . less and foodless, the THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tree, and then stole onwards till it rested on the third step of the office, the step above which the water hadn’t risen all night. “Then we needn’t go to Tebatuan, Tuan —at least not yet ?’’ The question came from the pretty, newly-married wife of a Dusun policeman. “Don't you want to go?” I questioned, slyly. For answer she shook her head ; then looking at her husband, she once more shook her head, as two large tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed to the floor. In the days and nights of horror she had been the pluckiest of them all. Always cheery and singing; always nursing other women’s babies, and cooking for her hus- band; always mending and sewing and never repining. 1 turned to Sabtu and the Sergeant. “ Tell the women to eat now. They can wait till eight o’clock—we'll see what the weather is like then—but they must be ready at eight in case 1 have tosend them down the river after all. Two hours will make no difference, and perhaps: As it happened, the flood had reached its limit; the heavens held no more rain. The grey clouds slowly passed, leaving an azure sky, and a golden sun looked down upon the turgid waters that went racing to the sea in angry frenzy. It was as if they were ashamed, frightened of confinement in the river bed and so they hurricd out to join the ocean, lest in the days that followed they should witness the scenes of desolation they had wrought. Somewhere in the office someone started singing, in a high-pitched treble voice. It was the little Dusun wife, who but a moment ago had been crying out of sheer relief. Suddenly I, too, felt the need of relief. “ Cookie,” I yelled at the top of my voice, “Cookie, you scoundrel, bring me some breakfast! Porridge and kippers; then curried eggs and rice.” The months that followed were strenuous ones for me. Sand and swamp and flies were the aftermath of the flood, crops ruined and buried ; houses washed away; homes uprooted, hopes devastated—the work of a year blotted out in a single night. Home- Natives came to me— and I did what I could. Slowly the land recovered, slowly things began to come back to the normal, until at the end of the vear another trouble arose, the last great excite- ment of my service in the East. (To be concluded.)

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Some Adventures With Bea j ILLUSTRATED BY G.W. Goss CV. TENCH 349 S Old hunters have a saying: “You never can tell what a bear will do,” and, as the Author points out, these animals possess a strongly-developed individuality. Mr. Tench tells a number of stories—for the truth of which he vouches— illustrating the quaint ways of bears. NOCKING about in the wilder parts of Alberta and British Columbia, one hears many yarns told in settlers’ and trappers’ cabins and around camp fires concerning the ways and habits of the wild beasts of Western Canada. One also learns a great deal from personal experience. y far the most interesting of the denizens of the wooded area are the bears—the black, brown, and the mighty grizzly. Now every- one who has had much to do with wild animals knows that their characters have just as strong an individuality as those of human beings. This trait is very strongly developed among bears, each of whom seems to be a law unto himself. It is an un- doubted fact that no two bears will do exactly the same thing in the same circum- stances—and this is so well known that it has given rise to the saying: ‘‘ You never can tell what a bear will do.” I propose in this little article to set down a few stories about the odd behaviour of bears. I have been at considerable pains to sift out my information, and the facts may be accepted as correct. ; At Jasper Park, Alberta, a tourist resort in the Rockies, the wild animals are pro- tected by law and, consequently, many of them have lost all dread of man, and it is quite a common sight to see the “ children of the wilderness” moving about among the tents and houses of the visitors. bears in particular have taken advantage of this protection, and many of them have discovered that man, instead of being something to be feared, is quite a useful friend, for his presence means tit-bits—sugar, syrup, bacon, and other delicacies that tickle Bruin’s palate. In fact, so bold have some of the bears become they are a positive auisance. A man who wanted his photo- graph taken while feeding a big black bear ound this fact out for himself. He was spending his vacation at Jasper Park, and for several days had been trying to coax The - a splendid specimen of the black bear to accept tit-bits from his outstretched hand. This particular animal, however, was shy ; the most he would do was to pick up what the visitor left lying on the ground when he retreated to his tent. Concealed in the tent, with his camera ready, was the tourist’s partner ; and, after several days of fruitless efforts he got thoroughly tired of the by- play between man and bear and decided to take a hand himself. One day, while his friend stood a short distance from the tent tossing pieces of bacon and sugar to the bear, the camera man busied himself with spreading a generous supply of syrup upon biscuits. These he tossed through the open tent-fly round his partner’s feet. The smell of the syrup completely overcame Bruin’s waning dread of man, and with a low growl he made a shambling rush for the biscuits. The man who wanted his photograph taken, unaware of his friend’s stratagem, thought the bear was charging him. He forgot all about his picture, and with one wild yell started frantically up the side of an adjacent mountain. With his camera in one hand and the can of syrup in the other, the other man dashed out of the tent and shouted to him to stop, but by this time the fugitive was out of earshot. The spectacle of his partner running for his life was too much for the camera man ; he flung himself on the ground, doubled up with laughter, and completely ignored Bruin, who was still nosing round for biscuits. The bear, however, had smelt the can ofsyrup. There came another growling, shambling onrush of six hundred pounds of hun; bear—and with a howl the phcto- grapher fied to join his partner! His objec- tive—the can of syrup—obtained, Bruin did not even turn his head to see if the camera man _ overtook his friend. The syrup finished, the bear explored the tent for other dainties, making a sad mess of both the tent and the camping equipment. The two men, dishevelled and

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35° panting, watching from a safe distance, meanwhile decided that they would not try to make friends with any more bears. Next we come to the story old Tom Shere, who earns his living at trapping, has to tell—how he killed a black bear with a ‘22 rifle last summer. Having spent over a quarter of a century in the woods, trapping in winter and doing a little prospecting among mountains in the summer time, old Tom has had many encounters with bears ; and he was firmly convinced that they would always rather run away from a man than fight him. Since this little happening, however, he has changed his mind. He was camped by the side of a lake, and one bright summer morning, getting tired of salt pork and meat in general, he clambered into his canoe, paddled a short distance out from the shore, and cast his line in the hope of catching some jack-fish. As_ he fished he noticed a black bear rowling around the margin of the lake looking for the eggs of the breeding water- fowl—bears dearly love more or less addled birds’ eggs. Old Tom was not particularly interested in Bruin, for at this season the fur is out of condition and practically valueless. Gradually the bear worked: its way round the lake until it arrived at the rough log landing-stage Tom had built for his own convenience. After splashing through the marshy borders of the lake Bruin found the landing-stage a nice comfortable place upon which to stretch out, sun himself, and dry his feet and belly. Still Tom didn’t worry ; he knew the bear would move on as soon as he approached when ready to land. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. At last the trapper made up his mind he had enough fish, and so, pulling in his: line, he picked up the paddle and moved slowly towards the landing-place. Instead of shambling off, Bruin first grunted and then stood up on his hind legs to take a good look at this strange object moving towards him. “Shoo! Beat it, you old son-of-a-gun! "’ Uneasily conscious of the fact that his only weapons were a fish-line, a paddle, and a little +22 rifle, old Tom yelled out the words at the top of his lungs. Still balanced on his hind legs, the bear’s reply was a non-committal ‘ Woof! ”’ ““G’wan now—beat it!” Old Tom ceased paddling as he spoke. Then he sud- denly got to work again, but this time away from shore, for with another rumbling, deep-chested ‘‘ Woof!’ Bruin dropped on to four paws and made as if to take to the water after him. “Wanta fight, eh ?”’ growled Tom, who from many years of living alone had acquired the habit of talking to himself in times of stress, ‘All right! No_blankety-blank b’ar’s going to keep me paddlin’ w’en I want to land.” His fighting spirit aroused by his own remarks, he checked his backward speed and once more paddled ahead. Still the bear didn’t budge ; he merely waited, a ferocious glint in his beady black eyes. Again Tom checked the progress of the canoe a few feet from the landing stage. Dropping the paddle, he picked up the little rifle, and, thinking that the noise would scare the bear away, fired several shots in the water. Bruin cocked his head interestedly; then, once more rearing up on his hind legs, he emitted a roar that almost blew old Tom out of the canoe. The more scared Tom became the more angry he grew. He knew that a +22 bullet would hardly penetrate the thick hide; on more than one occasion he had seen the thick, wedge-shaped skulls of bears deflect bullets from powerful rifles, with no more “With one wild yell he started frantically up the side of an adjacent mountain.”

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SOME ADVENTURES WITH BEARS. damage than a slight scalp wound. But this brute was denying him the right to land, and he was both hot and hungry. He lowered his rifle and, picking up the paddle, urged the canoe to within a few feet of the bear. Bruin growled and leaned towards him threateningly. ‘It’s you or me, old- timer,’’ said Tom, and with the words he grabbed up the ‘22, took steady aim at the small, baleful-looking eye nearest to him, and pressed the trigger. It was the shot of a lifetime, for with a deep sigh the bear rolled over stone dead—the bullet had reached the brain ! Our next story concerns a brown bear and a mule. When it comes to downright obstinacy and sheer bad temper when roused, there is very little to choose between the two animals, and both beasts know well how to use the weapons Nature has provided them with. The one thing which fills the hearts of all wild animals and birds with stark terror is fire. For days a terrific blaze had raged over a certain section of southern British Columbia; the wild things had become crazed, rushing madly in any direction to escape the awful flames and fumes, which destroyed all means of sustenance and seared eyes, lungs, and nostrils with horrible pains. Fleeing before the dread enemy, a brown bear found a safe haven in the pasture fields of a ranch, protected from the conflagration by the fireguards built by the rancher. From the veranda of his house the owner saw the hurried arrival of the bear and felt glad that the Poor scared brute had found a temporary refuge. 351 Although there were several rifles in the house, he did not feel like shooting a beast which sought sanctuary on his ranch, and interestedly watched Bruin shambling across the field. “The mule stopped eating just long enough to bring its powerful hind hoofs into action.” Perhaps the bear was half blinded by the smoke and fumes ; perhaps it had made up its mind that it was going to travel in a straight line, regardless of obstacles ; but, anyway, this is what happened. Con- tinuing on its way—head down, tongue lolling out—it suddenly .barged full tilt into an apparently harmless old mule peacefully grazing in the centre of the pasture. The mule stopped eating just long enough to bring its powerful hind hoofs into action. Bruin not only found his progress suddenly arrested, but found himself hurled back several yards. Groggily it got to its feet again and looked round for the cause of the earthquake. A few feet away it saw a long-eared, harmless-looking beast contentedly munching grass. A few seconds before the bear had been a thoroughly scared animal; now, in a

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352 twinkling, he became a ferocious wild beast, as, with a terrific roar, he hurled himself at the mule. The mule stopped eating, waggled its long ears, and neatly side-stepped the charge. Recovering itself, the bear charged again. This time the mule was not quite quick enough, and four sharp claws tore a furrow along his flank. Again the bear made a charge, but now the mule had awakened to the fact that he was one of the principals in a real “‘scrap.”’ Realizing that the best defensive is a strong offensive, he made one of the backward charges for which his kind are noted. He met Bruin halfway, and his terrible hoofs caught the bear— one—two—three—below the belt before Bruin discovered that a mule can travel backwards or forwards with almost equal facility. The bear went down . for the “count "’; the mule continued its inter- rupted grazing. The watching | rancher decided to get a rifle after all, in case the bear was minded to continue the fight; but as he emerged from the house with his Winchester he saw a thoroughly cowed Bruin shambling ‘dejectedly away from the scene of conflict at his best speed. My last story concerns two men and a grizzly—the mighty “‘ King of the Rockies.” This occurrence might easily have ended very differently, because although a grizzly will not, as a rule, go out of its way to attack a man, neither will it take any trouble to void him. The story also points a little moral: in “ griz ” country hunters should not proceed very far from camp without their rifles. At the end of the day two hunters, whom we will call Jack and I'red, piled their rifles and knives in the tent and, taking axes, set out to cut a supply of fire- wood, Moving here and there to select dry sticks, they found when they set out to return to the tent, heavily burdened, that they were over a hundred yards away. Tousk was falling, and as they approached their camp they noticed some animal moving close by. Thinking that it was probably a skulking lynx, they shouted in unison to scare it away. Judge of their surprise when, instead of making off, the animal suddenly started towards them. As it approached closer they saw it properly, and with one accord they dropped their burdens of wood and instinctively grasped their axes tighter, for the beast shambling towards them was a huge grizzly ! “Don’t run, Fred!" Jack, the older and more experienced man, whispered the warning to his partner. At the sound of his voice the bear stopped and reared up on its hind legs to better THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. glimpse these strange creatures. Over seven feet it towered as it stood erect, a sight to take the heart out of men even if armed with powerful ritles—and the two men only had axes ! Jack took command. ‘“‘ Step quietly one on either side,” he whispered. “Tf it one of us, the other must rum for Fred nodded agreement, and as silently as possible the two partners took a few steps away from one another. No sooner had they moved than the grizzly dropped on to four feet, gave vent to a grunting roar, and then charged. “He means fight!’’ Jack shouted to Fred, and then the great brute was upon them. It reached Fred first. Fred made a desperate lunge with his axe, but a back- ward swipe of one powerful paw caught him under the arm and sent him sailing through the air to crash unconscious fifteen feet away. The fraction of a second during which the bear was turned away from him gave Jack his chance. vith every ounce of strength he possessed he brought his keen-edged axe down on the grizzly’s back. With a terrific roar of mingled pzin and rage, the bear swung round on him. Again the man struck, but the monster met the stroke with a counter-blow, and the axe went whirling away. Then Jack did the only thing possible—he turned and ran for the tent and a rifle. The bear tried to follow, but the blow upon its spine had temporarily paralyzed its hind-quarters. Fumbling in his mad haste, Jack at last found a rifle and ammunition and, emerging from the tent, found that the bear had almost recovered from the blow and was shambling towards the tent. Thankful that it had chosen to follow him instead of his unconscious partner, Jack raised the heavy rifle and fired, but his hand was unsteady from the excitement of the fight, and he missed with the first two shots. Gritting his teeth, he cropped to one knee and waited—waited until he could not miss the only vulnerable spot presented to him in the uncertain light, the open red mouth with its gleaming teeth. Then, seeing his chance, he pressed the trigger again—once, twice, three times; and each shot went home. After making certain that the bear was dead, Jack hastened to his fallen partner, but even as he reached him Fred began to scramble to his feet. Luckily no bones were broken; he had merely been winded and stunned from falling on his head. It is certain, however, that Jack and Fred will never venture far from camp again when out in the wilds without carrying a rifle or revolver,

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE FRE de solved t! UNIVERSITY OF Follow this Man! Secret Service Operator 38 Is on the Job Follow him through all the excitement of his chase of the counterfeit gang. See howa operator works. Telltale finger prints on the lamp stand in the murdered girl’s room! The detective’s cigarette case is handled by the unsuspecting gangster, and a great mystery is solved. Better fiction. It’s true, every word of it. No obligation. Just send the coupon. Shows pictures of real crimes em. We'll send you a FREE copy with the free reports. Get the special offer now being made. coupon, SCIENCE APPLIED 1920 Sunnyside Ave., Dept. 15-16 Chicago, Ilinois The Confidential Reports No. 38 Made to His Chief And the best part of it all is this. It may open your eyes to the great future for YOU as a highly paid Finger Print Expert. More men are needed right now. This school has taken men just like you and trained them for high official positions. This is the kind of work you would like. Days full of excitement. Big salaries. Rewards. Earn $2500 to $10000 a Year You study at home in spare time No advance education is needed. Any man who can read and write, and think can make g: lerful book tells all about what others have done. and the men who ITY OF APPLIED SCIENCE |. A won Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. UNIVERS: 1920 Sunnyside Ave., Dept. 15-16 Chicago, Illinois Gentlemen:—Without any obligation whatever, send me your new, fully illustrated Free book on Finger Prints and your offer of a FREE course in Secret Service Intelligence and the Free Professional Finger Print Outfit.

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“THE WIND WAS SWEEPING ME TO ONE SIDE, BUT I MANAGED TO PULL MYSELF ROUND SO THAT MY FEET RESTED ON SOMETHING.” (SEE PAGE 356.)

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we 355 WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY CLARK Charles tier ILLUSTRATED BY G.H.DAVIS The amazing experience that befell a nineteen-year-old| girl, jwho, travelling in a motor-car that was struck by an express train, was hurled into the air and landed unhurt on the front of the engine. A terrible ordeal followed as the express thundered on through the night, and it is small wonder that the reporters who interviewed Mary Clark subsequently described her escape as “a miracle.” and her husband Kenneth, accom- panied by the latter’s parents and a baby nephew named Billy Hartman, set out in a motor-car to visit some friends living on the outskirts of Indianapolis. The young husband and his father rode in front. Mrs. Clark, her mother-in-law, and the baby were in the rear seats well wrapped up, for it was a very cold night, with snow on the ground and a keen bite in the frosty air. The car made rapid progress, spite of the snow, and all went well, the members of the party chatting merrily. Meanwhile, miles away, the famous Knickerbocker Express, crowded with folks on their way to New York for Christmas, was rushing swiftly through the night. The little car containing the Clark family was travelling along a road which intersected the path of the express by means of a level crossing, but when the automobile rounded a curve and drew near the rails there was no sign of a train approaching. The car bumped and lurched across the metals—and then, just as it was well-nigh clear, a mon- strous shape swooped down out of the dark- ness and struck it with terrific force, hurling it headlong, a mass of splintered wood and Metal. Next instant, with a rattle and a Toar, the huge locomotive rushed by with its ‘string of brilliantly-lit | Pullmans, seemingly unheeding the “disaster it had caused. The engineer and fireman felt no unusual jolt and heard no cry; the passen- Bers neither saw nor felt anything. et behind them they left the shattered remains of what an instant before had been a trim little motor-car. And how about the hapless occupants ? ‘e two men, flung clear into the snow, Vou v.25, N tke night of Christmas Eve, 1924, nineteen-year-old Mrs. Mary Clark picked themselves up dazed and_ shaken, but otherwise uninjured, to find the older woman seriously injured and obviously dying, and tke baby lying unhurt in a snowdrift fifty feet away. Of Mary Clark, however, they could discover no trace, though they hunted high andlow. She had disappeared just as completely as though she had dis- solved into thin air! Wildly the searchers stumbled up and down the tracks, expecting every moment to encounter her mangled corpse, but they found absolutely nothing. What had become of Mrs. Mary Clark ? What happened to her when the flying express hurled the car to destruction and fatally injured the unfortunate woman sitting beside her? Well, here is the story, and I think readers of THE WIDE WorRLD MaGazinr will agree with the astonished newspaper reporters, who called it ‘‘a miracle.” The young matron was sitting in the rear seat of the car, closest of all to the point where the engine struck. Instead of being killed, a thing happened to her which nobody has been able to explain. The locomotive tossed Mary Clark into the air straight in its path, and then, as she fell, picked her up again and carried her off on its black nose into the frosty night—unhurt and conscious ! To be struck by that weight of unyielding steel, moving at a speed of about forty miles an hour, should cause instant death, or, at least, the breaking of many bones. What cushioned the shock so that this delicate young woman did not even faint, but was able to cling to the cold breast-plate while the icy blast strove to pull her trder the wheels ? This last question, in all probability, will never be answered. The fact remairs that

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356 THE Mary Clerk did alight on the front of the engine, terrified but unhurt, and in posses- sion of all her faculties. From this point we cannot do better than tell her thrilling story in her own vivid words. I clutched at the darkness with both hands, but there wasn’t anything to clutch. Then something bumped against my kody, and I grabbed it and held. Not suspecting at first where I was, | waited for the thing 1 was clutching to stop its shaking, so that I could look down and see if it was safe to drop. But it kept on shaking, and an icy hurricane scemed to cut right through my clothes. Turning my head to face the wind, I looked down a long shaft of light and saw two shining lines running off together into a strip of illuminated snow. On each side was darkness. Telegraph poles were rushing at me down that lane of light and vanishing in the darkness on each side. For a moment I tkought 1 was hanging to the outside of the automobile and I yelled: “ Stop!’ Then I realized that I was on the front of a railroad engine, and the idea so frightened me that 1 almost let go. But I was comforted by the tlought that if I could only hold on another minute they would surely stop the train and I sl:ould be all right. So [held on, and the wind whipped at me, going right through my clothes as if I had nothing on. ‘I can’t stand this another minute,” I told my- self. ‘‘ When are they going to stop?” Turning my head, I looked forward again. Telegraph poles, trees and banks were flying at me just as fast as ever. They were not stopping the train— they were not even trying to stop! How could I guess that the engine - driver hadn't felt or heard the crash ? I couldn't see him, but 1 knew he must be back there somewhere, so I screamed at him, but the engine only seemed to go faster. I kept on screaming, the wind tearing the sound out of my mouth and burying it in tLe roar of the locomotive, until I grew hoarse and gave it up, and tried to think what else to do, One thing certain—I_ should freeze to death if this headlong rush kept up much longer. Mrs. Mary Clark. WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, The wind was sweeping me to one side, and I managed to pull myself round so that my feet rested on something—probably the cow- catcher. This eased the strain on my hands somewhat, but made the cold blast even worse. It was zero weather, and my back seemed to be acting as a windshield for the whole train. I looked sideways, hoping for signs of a city that would force this terrible engine to stop, but only occasional farm- Louses flitted by. They were all lit up for Christmas Eve celebrations. Two were so close to the trachs that 1 could see happy people gathered round Christmas trees. Everybody in tle world was safe and happy except me, I told myself bitterly, I was dying, and ro- body paid any attention. Several times I wondered about the otkers in our automobile. Had they all been killed ? It seemed probable, or some- cne would surely have missed me and tele- graptcd ahead to stop this terrible train instead of letting it goon forever. I thought of trem all, but most of my husband and poor little Billy. Tren my hat started to blow off, and somel-ow, using one hand, I managed to move the muffler up from round my neck so that it Leld the hat and made it stay with me totheend. Ofcourse, it was foolish to think about a hat when I might have used the muffler to tie myself on to something—if there was anything to tie to, which 1 doubt. By this time 1 was ready to try my voice again, and resolved to put my whole strength into one good scream. Again the wind tore at it and it started more like a squeak; then it grew into a l:ow] that filled my ears and astonished me. But it was not my scream, but the steam-whistle of the engine. Still, that might mean that the train was going to slow down or even stop. I prayed Cod to give me strength to hold on just a few moments longer. But the train did not slow—it actually gathered speed—and the wind grew worse, until it was beyond endurance. My hands were numb now: the next sharp lurch, I felt sure, would te the end. With my face pressed against that cold

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A picture-diagram illustrating what happened when the express struck the car at the level crossing. The two men in the front seats were hurled clear, practically unhurt; Mrs. Clark, senior, was fatally injured, and the baby was pitched into a snowdrift fifty feet away, quite unharmed. Mrs. Clark, who occupied the rear seat nearest to the point struck, was thrown up into the air in front of the engine and caught by it as she fell. fron plate, I cried bitterly. I prayed again that if my life was to be taken God might spare the others—at least little Billy. It -wasn't fair for him. Presently we sped through a small station. Men and women stood on the platform and Seemed to be looking right at me. They must have seen me, but nobody moved or appeared surprised. Wasn't anybody going to do anything? I asked myself. “Didn't anybody care ? Many times I thought of jumping, but I kept waiting for the engine to slow down, even a little—a time that never came. All at once L felt myself slipping. My freezing hands had lost their grip without my knowing it, and now I was slowly sinking down, held against that iron plate only by the pressure of the wind. Then I noticed that the rails on the opposite track were visible and, as my body turned, I saw the reason——another train was approaching. The engine gave a lureh and in spite of all that 1 could do I Sank toward that side—towards the rails that glittered in the glare of the on-coming headlight : ace hs was the end! I had hung on all “se miles, only to fall under the wheels of another train! Ishut my eyes and gave up. No doubt I fainted as I fell, for the next thing I knew I was lying in the ditch, sur- rounded by snow and silence, with not a house in sight. I could not move a limb; for all I knew they had been cut off. I had just enough strength left to give one long cry before everything went black. All this time not a suspicion of the girl's ordeal had troubled the minds of tl hundreds of people aboard the Knicker- bocker Express. All the passengers were full of happy thoughts of the morrow, and the porters joyful in the expectation of Christmas tips to come. The fireman, in spite of the bitter cold, was keeping up his steam pressure, and the engineer, watch in hand, proud observed that his ‘ Big Four er’ was still on time. It was Christmas and all was well It was a miracle that Mrs. Clark had landed unhurt on the breast of that hurtling locomotive, another miracle that she had fallen off again uninjured, but it would take a third miracle to save her from freezing to death in a very short time. That miracle, as will be seen, also came to pass E

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358 A merry Christm s Eve party was going on not far from the tracks. Young and old were laughing and talking and filling the farm- house with joyous noise. Yet, at just the right moment, everyone happened to be quiet long enough to allow a faint sound to pene- trate the closed and frost-covered win- dows. It came only once. ““What was that?” a youngster asked, looking up from his toys. But nobody else had heard any- thing except the child's motler, wo thought the noise sounded like a woman’s scream. They flung open the door, shouted, and listened, but there was no answer. It must have been a mistake, everyone agreed, and returned to the merriment, but only for a moment. Then the men of the party began looking at each other un- easily and started get- ting into overcoats. The father of the youngster, as he picked up a lantern said :— “Of course, it’s all imagination, and we aren't going to find anything, but a train just went by and somebody might have been hit down at the road. Anyway, it’s Christ- mas and we sha’n't be happy till we make sure.” So they went down to the crossing, and it was soon evident that nothing had happened. The baby Billy, who was found unhurt in a snowdrift fifty feet from the wrecked car. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Laughing at their own folly in continuing the quest, the men walked along the railroad right-of-way, looking to right and left, unt! they found the girl. They carried her to the house, where she was put to bed, anda doctor hurriedly sum- moned on the tele- phone. Mrs. Clark was then taken tothe Methodist hospital in Indiana- polis, where the doc- tors treated her for exposure. Not a bone was broken nor a liga- ment strained. Ex- cept for the exposure and a few slight bruises the young wife was none the worse for her harrowing ex- periences. Even her nerves seemed unhurt. From far and neat curious-minded people came to study the scene of the wreck and to puzzle out how a woman could collide with a mass of steel at forty miles an hour without damage. Inspection of the wrecked auto- mobile showed that the car had almost got across the tracks and was hit in the extreme rear. This accounts for the escape of the two men in the front seat and the killing of Mrs. Lily Clark, in the rear seat ; but why Baby Billy, who sat between the two women, landed unscathed in the snow, and, above all, what mysterious force tempered the blow of that flying engine to Mrs. Mary Clark, nobody has yet explained.

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re Haunted XUN yA j MRS NdeBERTRAND LUGRIN ILLUSTRATED BY CONRAD LEIGH we a < abou V7 Wi y My 0 yy A very extraordinary story from South Africa, dealing with the mystery that brooded over a long-deserted was told to me by a bungalow, and which was solved in a most amazing fashion. lady whom I know very well,” writes Mrs. Lugrin. “The story “She has asked me to suppress her correct name, but she vouches absolutely for the authenticity of her narrative, and [ am convinced that her statements are to be relied upon.” ORA BURRINGTON was _ tke youngest member of her family. Her iive brotlers had left England for South Africa some years before, leaving ler at home at school. At the time when my story opens the brothers were all in lodgings in Pietermaritzburg, and Dora, who was now about twenty, was very - anxious to go out to them and see them comfortably installed in a home of their own, with herself as housekeeper. The South African War was over, and there was nothing to keep her in England, both her parents being dead. Ske had been born in India and had lived there for fifteen years prior to returning to England, so that she was accustomed to natives and a more or less tropical climate. At last one day tle summons came ; her brothers had decided to tale a house and let her look after them. She was greatly elated, and sailed as soon as possible. _It was summer-time when she arrived at Pietermaritzburg—" Sleepy Hollow,” as it was called by the inhabitants—and dis- covered that so far the brothers had not Succeeded in locating a suitable house. They Wanted a place with stabling, as all of them had been accustomed to riding since child- hood, They had already placed themselves m the hands of a house agent, Mr. X——, and at length he discovered a place which ke told them was for sale—a handsome ung low standing in a large area of ground. Tom his description they all thought it Was just what they wanted, but the agent himself, curiously enough, seemed to be very doubtful, Re “It's a long way from town,’’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘‘ Perhaps I had better try and tind something nearer.” “ But that’s no objection,” they assured him. ‘ We all ride, and you say there is every accommodation for horses ?” “Yes, there is,” he agreed; ‘“ but the road out is not in specially good shape.”’ Arthur, the eldest brother, threw back his head and laughed. ‘‘ Do you want to sell this place or not?” he asked. “ Anyone would think you were trying to dissuade us.”’ ““T want to sell it, of course,” replied the agent, gravely, ‘‘ but when you see it you may not like it. That's all; I just wanted to prepare you.” Arrangements were made to view the place the next day. Dora and ler brothers, all mounted, left early in the morning, so as to escape the Leat. It was delightful riding while the dew was still heavy on the grass, and the perfume from the wayside flowers and shrubs was very sweet and refreshing. There was, however, one uninviting bit of road, which wound through a coolie location, to be negotiated, and a coolie location is a most unlovely thing. The inhabitants were low-caste natives of India, living in wretched huts made of flattened tins nailed to split wattles. Leaving the coolie settlement behind, the Burringtons traversed a valley between the hills and then struck a sandy road which tev followed for five miles or more, when y a narrow bridle-path led through the trees. Emerging at length, they saw before them, clear-cut against the sky, what were

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360 apparently twin hills. Around the foot of the southern one flowed a stream, crossed by a shaky wattle bridge. They drew rein for a moment, and the agent, who was in the lead, swung round in his saddle. ‘‘ There !’’ he said, waving his hand. ‘‘ The bungalow we’re going to see occupics the southern half of that elevation just ahead. It is really all one hill, though it looks like two distinct ones from here.” “What's on the northern hill?” asked Arthur. Mr. X: hesitated for a moment. “Well,”’ he said slowly, ‘‘ I believe there's a coolie location—some Hindus who migrated there years ago, and have made it their home ever since. But they're not near enough to bother you in any way. When they crossed the wattle bridge it became evident that there had formerly been an excellent road for the rest of the way, though at present it was much overgrown, the grass along the margins being as tall as one’s head. Ascending all the time, they presently rounded a bend and came upon two tennis courts. The remains of the nets were still ticd to the mouldering posts, and the breast- high grass was full of weeds. Farther along were the stables, once splendidly equipped and affording accommodation for twenty horses, but now everything was falling into decay. © Following the agent, they rode through a grove to another plateau, where they found what had once been kitchen gardens, now rank with weeds, and the cowsheds, which—like the stables—had apparently been out of use for years. Finally they arrived at the last platcau of all, near the summit of the hill. Here, with thick groves of trees on either side, stood a large two-storeyed bungalow of the Indian type, with wide verandas and French windows. The upstairs rooms were reached by an outside stairway. Dismounting, they tied up their horses and ascended the shallow steps which led on to the veranda, where they noticed that the boards in the floor had become warped with the heat, and were curling at the sides and ends. Producing a bunch of keys, the agent unlocked one of the French windows and they entered the sitting- room. Directly they entered Dora received an extraordinary impression of uncanniness. The room looked preciscly as though the occupants had left it at a moment’s notice. There was a book lying face-downwards on a chair and a ball of wool, partly unwound, in the middle of the floor. Even the pillows on the chesterfield were indented. But everything was covered with dust, rats had gnawed at the chair-seats, and there was an all-pervading smell of mould and decay. Behind the sitting-room was another room of equal size, with windows overlooking a courtyard at the back. Here there was a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. cloth on the table and even silver on the side- board, but, as in the front room, everything was thickly carpeted with dust, which rose in clouds as they moved about. So musty did the place smell that Dora hurriedly opened the French windows and let in streams of sunlight and sweet fresh air. To right and left of the sitting-room were pleasant bed- rooms, and upstairs was another large bed- room, comfortably and artistically furnished. ““T shall have that upstairs room,’’ cried Dora, who, in spite of the dust and decay, was delighted with everything she sz “When the place has been thoroughly cleaned and aired it will be just lovely.’ Arthur Burrington, however, did not share his sister’s enthusiasm; he felt decidedly doubtful. ‘* It's very cheap at the Price you're asking,” he admitted to the agent, “and it has great possibilities. All the same, I can understand your hesitation. The place. needs explaining.’ “Why?” asked Dora, laughingly. ‘ It simply hasn’t been lived in. That's all that’s wrong with it.” By this time they had finisied their inspection and were clustered on the veranda. Arthur, shook his head and turned to X. again. “‘ Of course, there is some reason for asking such a ridiculous price for the place ? ”’ he demanded. ‘I only know what the owners told me,’ answered the agent. ‘ They live in Paglid now, and asked me to act for them. The original tenants, who built the place, came into some money very suddenly. A wealthy relative had died, or been killed, and word reached them quite unexpectedly one morn- ing. They packed up, left everything just as you see it, and never came back. It sounds a ridiculous thing to do, but there was a lot of money involved, and apparently they did not bother about anything but getting it.” “Humph!” Arthur gave a non-committal grunt and shook his head again. “ And what about that coolie location- he began, but Dora interrupted. Ske was annoyed at her brother's doubts. “ Arthur, don’t be silly!’ she_ cried. “Tt will be a perfect home for us. I don't see why you hesitate. Furmture, hangings, crockery—there is practically everything we want; even the bedding can all be cleaned and used. Of course, the whole place needs doing up and putting in order, Oh, Arthur, please don’t be stupid. I shall be here more than you will, and I love it.’ “That's all very well, dear,” returned Arthur, “ but I am not going to buy a pig in a poke. I don’t understand why the place was not cleaned up and the furniture and things stowed away long ago.” He was about to question the agent further, when the younger brothers came bursting in. They had’ been examining everything outside the house, and made the place ring with their happy laughter.

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THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 362 “We're separated from the otler hill by a regular jungle,” cried one of them, “It’s an running up the veranda steps. you know if there are? '’ he asked the egent, eagerly. “T can’t say,” replied Mr. X , who had his back to the group and was engaged in loc king up again. “I’ve heard some- thing about it. There's plenty of game in the hills yonder, and animals might possibly wander over here.” e “All the better!” said Dora, happily. “That makes it doubly in- teresting.” Eventually, as women will, she had her way. The place “The room looked precisely as though the occupants had left it at a moment's notice.” absolute maze, with not a trail of any kind and the thickest sort of undergrowth. I'll bet there are wild animals there! Do was undoubtedly absurdly cheap and would make a wonderful kome when done up, so the first payment was made and they

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362 were duly installed. Arthur, however, was still far from easy in mind. He had made some inquiries in the town and found people curiously reluctant to talk about the house, affecting an ignorance which did not seem to him to be genuine. Some of them ad- mitted that the place had the reputation of being haunted, and told him that in all probability he would not get a native to go near it after nightfall. Arthur passed this interesting item of news on to his brothers, who, however, roared with laughter at the idea of ghosts. Finally Arthur began to be ashamed of his own misgivings and decided to say nothing further to Dora. All sorts of improvements were promptly put in hand. The ricketty little wattle bridge. was re-built, the neglected road cleared of weeds, and the house itself thoroughly renovated. A coolie cook was hired: by the day, and two Kattir boys engaged to fetch and carry and look after the horses. They had their sleeping quar- ters behind the house, beyond the gravelled courtyard, which led to the foot. of an artificial cliff, where the hill had been cut away when the buildings were first erected. On account of this hill there was no view at the back of the house—nothing but a steep bank—but from the front one could look out over a wonderful panorama of valley and mountain and the deep green of the wattle plantations. After they had been in residence at their new home for about a fortnight they became quite attached to the place. Nothing in the least uncanny had occurred, and the former rather eerie atmosphere had entirely disappeared since soap and water and sun- light had dispelled the dust and mould. As for Dora, she felt like some stately chatelaine when she jingled her keys, ordered her small retinue of servants about, and glanced from the windows over her broad acres. One night there was to be a Masonic meeting in the town which all the brothers were anxious to attend. They suggested that Dora should ride in with them and spend the night at an hotel, but she had no desire to do so. The hotel was not half so com- fortable as her own quarters, she said, and she had a lot to do. It was therefore arranged that she should stay at the bungalow and that Arthur should ride out the iirst thing in the morning to see if everything was all right. “There is a loaded revolver in the chest of drawers,” he told her, “ but, of course, you won't necd it. Better go to bed early.” So the five brothers rode away and she watched them until the grove hid them from view, and then again when they had emerged into the long road beyond the bridge. It would be light for another THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. hour yet, and she had no thought of nervousness. She went for a stroll round the grounds, planning still further improvements, and, at ten o'clock, not being in the least sleepy, locked all the doors and windows, because she had promised Arthur to do so, lit the candles on the writing-desk in the dining- room, and sat down to answer some letters. There were no blinds in the house; the curtains were merely valances and side- draperies. Directly above the desk one of the four long windows looked out on to the bank beyond the gravelled courtyard. Dora wrote steadily, lost to her surround- ings. The candles made a nimbus of light about her head, but the rest of the room was in deep shadow. Suddenly she had a curious sensation of fear—an unreasoning dread that seemed to grow all in a moment to a nameless horror. An icy chill ran down her spine. It was, she said afterwards, as if something had laid hold of her throat with invisible hands. She was so frightened that she could not move. A moment later, without looking up, she realized the cause of her fear. Something or somebody was watching her through the window! For what seemed a long time she sat there battling against the desire to look up. It was as though some will outside her own were compelling her. Finally she raised her eyes. There, in one of the top panes of glass, were what for the first terrible moment looked like two balls of fire. Then she realized that they were eyes—eyes that summoned her, commanded her. Though the thought made her sick with horror, she felt she must follow them. As she watched, fascinated, they moved slowly across the whole width of the window, and then paused—waiting. Rising to her feet, she groped her way across the shadowy room, unable to remove her gaze from those awful, glowing eyes. She paid no heed to her course, and presently she struck against a chair, overturning it with a loud crash. The sudden impact and the noise brought her to her senses, and with the disturbance the eyes disappeared. With a start she realized that she had actually been going out of the dining-room into the courtyard, and a shudder of fear shook her from head to foot. Never in her life had she had such an experience; she had believed herself too healthy and matter-of-fact to be influ- enced by an inexplicable thing like this. Suppose she had gone out, as she had started to do—what would have happened ? To what or to whom belonged those flaming eves ?) Picking up the fallen chair, she sank into it, trembling from head to foot and hardly able to think.

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THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. Gradually, however, reason and strength returned to her. Perhaps, she told herself, it was the Kaffir boys playing some trick, although such a thing was almost unthinkable in connection with them. If they had been trying to scare her she would show them that they had not frightened her. She would go into the sitting-room and play the piano. She would even try to sing—when her voice was steadier. Taking one of the candles, she walked into the sitting-room. The piano stood against the inner wall. She lit the two candles in the sconces and sat down on the stool. At first her hands trembled so violently that it was difficult to manipulate the keys, but eventually she managed to strum out a lively air and then, in rather a quavering voice, began to sing. As suddenly and unexpectedly as before that horrible sensation of fear—helpless, baffling fear—returned! An_ irresistible desire laid hold of her to turn round and look out of the French windows. She struggled against it, but at length, in spite of herself, she swung about on the stool. There, at the top of the pane, in the centre door, those awful, fiery eyes regarded her again ! They could not belong to a human being, she told herself; it was impossible. And why did they hang there in that horrible way, as if they lacked a kody ? Ske would have heard the slightest footfall—even the pad of bare feet—on the gravel of the courtyard and the loose, warped boards of the veranda. This dreadful visitation must be the reason why no one had lived in the house for years. Dschind those eyes must lie some fiendish, murderous power. Perhaps people had been killed—and no one had ever been able to find out how they lad died ! Instinctively, even while her mind cogi- tated these blood-curdling thoughts, she had risen to her feet and was advancing straight toward the windows, like a person in a trance. And now the eyes began to move again, along the tops of the windows, but always watching her, luring her, drawing her onwards. Her hands were actually fumbling with the key of the locked door when reason again asserted its hold upon her. Something seemed to tell her that she must not follow those eyes ; that, if she did, death or worse than death must result. With a great effort she turned her head away, staggered across the room, and opened a door leading into one of the end rooms, where two of her brothers slept when they were at home. Here she threw herself upon the bed in a half-fainting condition and lay there for what must have been a long time, Practically unconscious. It was beginning to get light when she came to herself. Very shakily she got up and 363 moved to the window. A pale dawn was spreading slowly over the sky, revealing the trees, the drive, and the distant wattle groves. Taking the revolver from the chest of drawers, she made certain that it was loaded. Somchow she felt less afraid of the out-of-doors now than she was of the house. She opened the front door, gave a quick glance round, and neither seeing nor hearing anything, hurriedly descended the steps and started off down the road. She would wait near the bridge until Arthur returned, she decided. As it was not safe for a white woman to be alone so near a coolie location, she knew she must hide herself. Choosing a spot well protected by the bushes, she scraped a shallow hole in the warm, dusty sand, and lay down in it. There ske remained, pecring anxiously through the leaves. Fortunately she had not long to wait. She saw her brother coming a long way off, and when he drew near sl.e scrambled out of her hiding-place and stood holding on to the stem of asmall tree. Arthur s: id <fterwards he did not hnow whether Le or tl.e Lorse was tke most alarmed. ‘11.e animal shied and nearly threw him, for in tle pale morning light Dora looked like an apparition, her face ashen white and her hair and clothing grey with dust. Ske rode in front of her brother to the house and on the way told him of her extreordinary experience. At first he was inclined to laugh at her, but finally, remem. bering his own instinctive misgivings about the place, he became thoughtful. He closely questioned the Kaffir boys, but had to use considerable discretion, for they were intensely superstitious, and if they had suspected there was any question of ghosts they would have left instantly. Failing to learn any- thing from them, Arthur and his sister made a close examination of the gravel, the bozrds in the veranda, and the window sills, but entirely without result. “Well, it beats me,” said Arthur at last. “But we shall all be at home to-night and I'll sit with you and we'll watch together. In tke meantime, let's go to bed and have some sleep.” When the other brothers returned, at dinner-time, and learnt of Dora’s experience, they laughed uproariously at the whole thing. ‘' You fell asleep and dreamed it!” they told the indignant Dora. Nevertheless, they all sat up until mid- night, watching. At last, rather disappointed that nothing had occurred, the younger brothers went off to bed and were soon sound asleep. Arthur and Dora remained in the sitting- room. They put out the lamps, and lit the candles on the piano. Then, while Dora sat on the chesterfield, in the corner away from the window, Arthur took out his banjo and, sitting on the piano-stool, began to strum

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304 THE WIDE softly. Except for this sound the house was very still. Dora was resting her head in her hand watching her brother, when suddenly she saw him start. His hands dropped away from the banjo, which fell with a crash to the floor. - His face turned pale-in the candle- light, and his eyes’ seemed starting from his head as he stared at the window. Dora followed the direction of his gaze. She had not the same feeling of intense fear now ; she was sharing the horror with some- one else, All the same, that cold numbness clutched at her throat again and she began to shudder from head to foot. The great eyes were at the window, seemingly hanging in space, glaring in through the top-of the pane just as they had WORLD MAGAZINE. done the night before. But this time they watched not her, but her brother, and they fairly blazed with malevolence. They seemed to wear a different look from that with which they had summoned her; they appeared to express fierce and murderous hate. Apparently dazed, Arthur rose to his feet, his hand to his head. It was evident that he could hardly credit his senses, Then, pulling himself together, he drew the revolver from his pocket, took unsteady aim, and fired. Instantly the eyes disappeared. There followed an uproar. Four lusty young men, awakened from a deep sleep, came rushing into the room, shouting out questions. Coats were thrust on over pyjamas, and they all hurried out into the ae 2)

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THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. night, Arthur leading the way with the revolver, It was pitch black outside, with no moon, and the J overcast. It was ele to thir search, but by the a candle they the veranda, result. Grum- bling, they re- turned to the house, th younger bc still inclined to banter “The great eyes were at the window, seemingly hanging in space.”

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366 Arthur and Dora about the “ blazing eves.” They all agreed, however, that Dora must not be left alone at home, and next day one of the younger boys stayed with her as a guard. Arthur, discreetly keeping his own counsel in regard to his intentions, went straight to police headquarters and asked that an officer should be detailed to watch the place the following night. The chief “was very unsympathetic and inclined to ridicule the whole story, but promised that he would send a couple of men “‘just to satisfy you.” Arthur, to mike assurance doubly sure, called back at the station that night to take the promised guards with him. Only one man, it appeared, was available, but the chief promised to send up some native constables later in the evening. The policeman, a big, burly fellow, with a rather stupid, good-natured face, set the stage himself. When darkness came he made the younger boys go into their own room, so that it might appear they had retired for the night. Arthur was to have his revolver teady, but was to hide behind a screen in the sitting-room. “ It’s my belief,” explained the policeman, “and the chief agrees with me, that it’s the young woman here who's the attraction. Some devilish native—— Now if she will take a seat in the centre of the room: , “ Which she will not,” interrupted Arthur, curtly. “Oh, well, have it your own way,” grum- bled the officer. ‘‘ I suppose I shall have to take it, then.” “T'll sit.on the chesterfield, where I sat last night,” said Dora. She was very pale and -her lips were trembling. The shock had upset her more than she cared to confess. ‘ The policeman fell in with this suggestion, and disposed his large bulk in an easy chair more or less in the centre of the room and facing the windows. He had his revolver, fully loaded, beside him on the floor. As the evening wore on, and nothing happened, he waxed loquacious, and began to tell them something of his experiences during the war and since. After a time he became sleepy and asked permission to smoke in order to keep himself awake. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned back in the chair again, a smile of incredulity twisting his mouth into what was almost a sneer. “ You two had better go to bed,’’ he said finally. “Ul keep watch here. 1 don’t suppose it matters much if I should fall asleep.” He had scarcely finished speaking when Dora saw him sit bolt upright in his chair. His mouth fell open, and the cigarette dropped on to the breast of his tunic. He w aring at the top of the French windows. Dora was so nervous and overwrought that she could hardly refrain from screaming, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. but she pressed her hand over her mouth and forced herself to turn her head. There were the eyes again, baleful, malevolent, gazing unwinkingly at the policeman ! “Shoot !”’ commanded Arthur hoarsely, from behind the screen. 2 The policeman stooped for his weapon, and at that moment an assegai crashed through the glass and went flying across the room. The policeman fired—fired every shot in his revolver, and the eyes disappeared. Outside, however, there followed pande- monium—screaming, snarling, shouting, and shots without intermission, Dora fainted. When she came to everything seemed strangely quiet. Arthur was bending over her, and the other boys were close by. “It's all right,” said Arthur, soothingly. “The trouble’s over and the mystery solved.” “ What—what was it ?’’ whispered Dora, but Arthur shook his head. “When daylight comes you shall hear all about it and see for yourself,’’ he promised her. So, later on, clinging to Arthur’s arm, she went out to the veranda. There, lying in a twisted heap, lay the cause of her terror—a huge gorilla, riddled with a score of bullets and quite dead. He had been killed by the native police, who had secreted thémselves in the shrubbery outside the veranda. — It was one of these men who had flung the assegai when the brute was first sighted against the lighted window. Gorillas are not natives of this part of Aftica, and it was subsequently discovered ‘that this particular specimen, with a mate, had been brought to Pietermaritzburg some years before, while they were very young, by 2 natives of the settlement on the southern half of the hill, After a while the brutes had become savage and unmanageable and had run away, taking up their abode in the dense jungle growth on the hills round about. -Finally the whole terrible story’ of the bungalow leaked out. It appeared that prior to the war one of the members of the family who owned the place determined to try and hunt out the gorillas and kill them. They had been seen occasionally, had grown to an enormous size, and were said to be very dangerous. In due course he tracked them down and killed the female, but the male escaped. In the upstairs room of the bungalow slept the twin daughters of the house—two little girls of about thirteen. One morning, when called to breakfast, they made no response, and other members of the family went up to investigate. They found the bed empty, the door wide open, and no sign of the children, They searched everywhere about the premises, beat the bush for miles around, and finally discovered the girls’ bodies, terribly mutilated, in a wattle thicket.

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THE HAUNTED BUNGALOW. 367 It could never be proved, but the supposi- tion was that the male gorilla had come to the door by way of the outside stairway and that, out of curiosity, the children had opened it. Whether they had been hypnotized into following the great brute to their death, or whether they had not been afraid of it and had simply wanted to investigate, no one will ever know ; nor can anyone explain how the thing happened without the girls making an outcry that would have aroused the rest of the household. The grief-stricken family had promptly abandoned the bungalow, and no one had lived in it since, although the coming of the War had dulled the sensation which the tragedy had caused. The Louse agent, when questioned, admitted that he had heard something of the story but had not believed it. He was a newcomer to the district, he added, and not inclined to be credulous of what he called “ natives’ tales.”’ It was impossible to say what motive the gorilla had in returning to the house again and again, but probably the brute was eager to further satisfy his thirst for vengeance tor the killing of his mate. That was Dora’s belief, at any rate. Though the cause of all the trouble had been removed, she and her brothers did not remain in the bungalow ; they decided that the associations of the place were too morbid. wife in this country, and she conjur up visions of well-stocked pantries, Gas-stoves, and other appurtenances of an up-to-date kitchen. Compare this with the quaint photograph here reproduced, which shows a Nigerian native cooking the family joint. His kitchen is any convenient spot in the open; his method—which has been followed without change from time immemorial—is to make a fire and, while it is getting up, cut a Mowe is cooking to the average house- number of skewers, on which strips of meat are impaled. These skewers are stuck in the earth so as to form a circle round the fire. When one side is “ do: n the opinion of the dusky chef, the skewer is given a twist so as to expose a fresh surface to the flames. The circumference of the circle of skewers, needless to say, varies with the number of diners, and judging by the array seen in our photograph, this particular gentleman is cooking for quite a large party, all blessed with healthy appetites.

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368 Photo by permission of| LMrs, K. MM. Barrow and Skefiington &° Sons. A THOUSAND MILES TOLD BY THE Revd Martyn Kogers FROM ANYWHERE! AND SET DOWN BY RDSMcMillan Accompanied by his young wife, Mr. Rogers accepted a call to undertake three years’ service on the lonely island of Tristan da Cunha, “a thousand miles from anywhere.” The little community is completely cut off from the rest of the world, the mail comes once a year—with luck—and ships are seldom seen. me, in course of time, to such an isolated outpost of Empire as Tristan da Cunha—otherwise, I think I should have become an explorer! Never- theless the fact remains that I have recently returned to England with my wife and little son after three years spent on that com- paratively unknown island. Now that it is all over I can look back upon the experience without regret, but it wes with decidedly mixed feelings that I first contemplated the trip. I was, at that time, in a charge at Leicester, and learned that tlere was urgent need for a clergyman to minister to tle spiritual needs of the islanders, Although I felt the call of the HEN I became a clergyman I never dreamt that my work would lead In this article Mr. Rogers gives a very interesting account of his experiences. adventure I hesitated on account of my wife, to whom I had been married only a year. When she learned of my perplexity, however, she solved the difficulty once and for all by encouraging me to accept the post. We sailed in March, 1922, making for South Africa, where we had to wait some time before a vessel was obtainable to convey us to the island. Eventually, through the good offices of the Japanese Government, a ship flying the flag of that country took us as passengers and conveyed us the fifteen hundred miles to Tristan, where the islanders, when they learned of our mission, hailed us as if we had teen monarchs come to rule over them! No conquering hero’s progress was ever more. triumphal,

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A THOUSAND MILES FROM ANYWHERE! It wes not without a thrill that I landed on this remarkable island, and as I looked around me—first at the great volcanic cone in the distance, over seven thousand feet high, and then at the inhabited plateau with its scattered cottages, reminding one of crofters’ homes in Scotland, I could not help but realize that I was on the brink of adventure. When the ship that had brought us put out to sea again we should be com- pletely out of touch with civilization— perhaps for years. I had not much time to think about these things, however, for all about us were the inhabitants, laughing, gesti- culating, and shouting like so many children. As I looked into their dark faces and thought of their romantic origin it struck me that I had come amongst people whose daily life is without a parallel on the face of the globe. Although the history of Tristan is fairly well known it will not, I hope, be out of place to repeat it briefly here. The island, which is one of a group of three, was first discovered by the Portuguese in 1506. It was then uninhabited, and it remained deserted and unvisited, except for the advent of a few whaling ships, during the succeed- ing three hundred years. Barren in the extreme, and bleak and uninviting in appearance, it attracted none of the voyagers who sighted it ; nor did the sailors ofany nation think it worth the trouble to unfurl their flag over the desolation of its twenty square miles of area. So things went on until the down- fall of Napoleon. Tle connection be- tween his over- throw and the establishment of a British colony a thousand miles from anywhere seems remote indeed, but it was because of the great Corsi- can’s banishment to St. Helena that the island be- came a_ British settlement. St. Helena is the nearest land to Tristan, and, al- though some twelve hundred miles of lonely ocean separate them, it was Vou. Lv. 26, 369 feared that the latter utilized by Napoleon’s supporters as a base for an attempt at rescue. Accord- ingly, by way of a safeguard, a garrison of Bnitish soldiers was sent to Tristan. Two yeas afterwards, in 1817, the bulk of the roops were withdrawn, the exceptions being nine men who elected to remain and spend the rest of their lives in this quiet back- water. In course of time these exiles began to feel the need of womenfolk in their colony, and at last they persuaded the captain of a whaler to go to St. Helena and bring back wives for them all. What reward these poor colonists offered the whaler’s crew, or whether any was offered at all, is not known, but the sailors did as requested. They duly returned to Tristan with nine women, all of mixed Negro blood, who were destined to play their part in the foundation of the loneliest colony in the British Empire. At the present time there are one hundred and fifty people at Tristan, practically all of them descendants of these early pioneers. The inhabited portion of the island is restricted to a plateau three and a half by one and a half miles in extent. There have been one or two additions to the population from the ranks of mariners shipwrecked there, and these have included two Italians island might be The Author with his wife and little son Edward, who was born on the island.

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379 A general view of the plateau, the only inhabited part of Tristan. —part of a crew whose ship came to grief on the island. The rest of the survivors went away when another vessel arrived, but these two men decided to remain. To-day the populace is a strange mixture of racial types, their colour ranging from near-white to pronounced duskiness, ne of the first tasks to which I set myself and the islanders after our arrival was the erection of a church. The people went to work with a will, and we constructed the edifice of stone, held together with earth ; for the roof we used corrugated iron. They were very proud of their church, and from the beginning it was an unqualified success. Many times I wes reminded of picture-house and theatre crowds in this country, for the islanders devel- oped a habit of “queueing up” to get into the church! I held services as often as three and four tumes a day, some- times oftener, yet always it was the same—c om peti- tion was keen as to who should getin. Atalltimes of the day there would be a queve outside the build ing,andsome‘imes they would come and gather out- side my _ house. waiting, like eager THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE decide to hold an extraservice. Their idea of a good ser- vice was to have as many hymns as possible. Their undisputed favour- ites were ‘“ Lead, Kindly Light,” and “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” They always sang at the extreme pitch of their voices, and it was quite de rigueur to find them com - peting with the greatest —e_rnest- ness to find out who could sing the loudest. Many a time as I stood in my pulpit and looked around my congregation—surely the most remark- able in the world—I could not restrain a smile. It was indeed a motley assembly, almost every conceivable kind of gar- ment being represented. Most of the clothes have been picked up from passing ships, but there were some the source of which would undoubtedly puzzle Sherlock Holmes. Thus, while one man would be wearing a wireless officer's jacket, another would boast the uniform of a private in the West Kent Regiment. One dandy wore an evening-dress coat with a pair of white trousers, while next to this resplendent individual was a man in his Sunday-best dungarees ! children, in tie hope that 1 might ishuckletun-Kowert Lxpedition, One of the island homesteads,

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A THOUSAND MILES FROM ANYWHERE! No less startling was the attire of the women. The island has no use for Paris fashions, but adheres rigidly to ideas of its own, which date back to the Victorian era. The result is that a stranger arriving there might well imagine he had been trans- ported fifty years backwards in time. All the women wear skirts which are as wide and flowing as in England they are short and tight. Seven when clothes which are fashionable according to the Parisian standard come into the hands of the women of Tristan, they start altering them in accordance with their own peculiar notions. The women do not wear hats, of which there are only two or three on the island, religiously preserved for use on such great occasions as marriages. Personally I hardly recognized them as 37 banded for the sake of the future. The general food of the people consists of potatoes, fish, and birds’ eggs. Penguins’ eggs are included in tle dietary, but these are now consumed sparingly, since it has been realized that, as the oil for the lamps used on the island comes from the fat of these birds, the more eggs the people con- sume the more risk there is of the species being exterminated, with the consequent loss of fuel for illumination. At one time the people grew corn, but a ship which had been infested with rats was wrecked and the rodents came ashore and overran the island, defying the dogs and cats which the inhabitants set to kill them. The. rats, multiplying, consumed all the crops, and nowadays the islanders find it absolutely Lope- less to attempt to till the land successfully. Tha settlement, which consists of about fifteen houses, reminiscent of crofters’ cottages in the Highlands of Scotland. hats, for the date of their ‘‘ creation ” was somewhere about the ‘seventies. A marriage is the signal for a general holiday ; indeed, any opportunity is seized for celebration, though this is not to say that the inhabitants are pleasure-loving people. They are, on the contrary, exceed- ingly industrious and remarkably unselfish. For example, when anyone is celebrating a birthday, Le or she considers it a duty to give, and not to receive. Presents take a strictly utilitarian form—sandals of bullock- hide or some similar native product, say, or a home-made woollen garment. The raw materials tor such articles are obtainable from the small stocks of cattle and sheep on the island, and patient handwork does the Test. Only on the rarest occasions do the natives eat meat, tneir supplies being hus- This lack of corn, and consequently bread, was rather trying to us at times, particularly to my wife. Indeed, after weeks and weeks of potato pudding and penguins’ eggs we longed with.an insatiable longing for a juicy steak or even a hen’s egg. How true it is that only when one is deprived of anything does one really begin to appreciate it! We were glad, therefore, when a wedding came round, for then we had some meat. To guard against an outbreak of disease among the cattle and consequent exter- mination, the islanders keep some of their bullocks on one of the neighbouring islands, and when a beast was to be killed a boat was usually sent across the thirty miles of sea to the adjacent isle. Very rough weather is sometimes experienced, but the natives seldom hesitate to put forth in their frail- looxing, |ome-made craft. There ute times,

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372 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. however, when men who have crossed to the neighbouring is- land find the con- ditions in the channel so rough that they are foreed to remain away from Tristan for days at a time. It was a great pleasure to me to find the remark- able interest which these people take in the Bible. Few of them are able to read or write— 1 endeavoured to rectify this defect so far as the younger genera- tion were con- cerned—but they study the pictures of Biblescenes with Women carding wool from the island sheep. avidity. A gift of some of these pictures won their most intense ancient copies of familiar journals—of all gratitude, and sometimes one found them the colours of the rainbow—adorning the sticking them on their walls. They use old inside of the cottages. newspapers as wallpaper, and one may see They are, as a whole, very likeable people. When our son was born, soon after our arrivai, they could not do enough for us. They are in- tensely patriotic, too, and that was why they insisted upon our calling our baby Edward, in hon- our of the Prince of Wales. One of the great re- grets of their lives is that they have never seen the Prince, whose portrait is to ke found in many homes, but they have high hopes that the day will come when, on one of his voy- ages, he will honour this out- of-the-way part of the Empire. There is no doctor on the island, but never- theless the people A typical Tristan family. are surprisingly Photo by) (Shackleton-Rowett Expedition. Photo by) (SAackleton-Kowett Expedition.

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A THOUSAND MILES FROM ANYWHERE! 373 healthy, and I found that men who sus- tained such injuries as broken ribs and split heads seemed to recover without any parti- cular attention. At present there are two centenarians in the little community. There might have been more had it not been for a tragic happening many years ago, when eighteen of the male population were drowned at sea. The frail craft in which Photo by) “ they set out was overwhelmed in a raging storm and they were never heard of again. A tragedy such as this, bitterly though it might be felt in a fishing village at home, is much more severe a blow to such a sclf- contained community as Tristan, where the effect is to accentuate the isolation. After our three years on the island had expired we began to hope for the arrival of a vessel to take us off. During the last two years we received no mail whatever, and we had no communication with a ship for fourteen months. Think what that means, you people who get Ictters and Newspapers every morning! Knowing of our desire to reach home again, and being themselves anxious for news of the outside world, the people organized a system of ‘ look-outs,”” and constant vigilance was exercised in the effort to sight aship. Whenever a vessel's smoke appeared on tke horizon—an event which did not occur more than once or twice in a year— tke cry would go round the settlement, “Ship ahoy!’’ and a crew would hastily jump into a small boat and set out in tle hope of catching up with the steamer. Frequently the men would carry on the pursuit for miles, rowing until they were completely exhausted. LShackleton-Rowett EF tpedttion, Some of the children who attended Mr. Rogers’s school. Very few of the people are able to read. The ship on which we finally came away was a Spanish vessel that touched at the island unexpectedly. It was on a voyage from South America to South Africa and had got out of its course. Sighting the island, the captain decided to stop, partly to find out how we all were—for he was aware that Tristan was inhabited—and partly in the hope of procuring a fresh supply of meat. We left the island at only a few hours’ notice. As may be imagined, it was something of a scramble to get ready in time, but it was an opportunity which we could not afford to miss, for it might be a year before another ship called. On the day we left, as a sort of farewell cele- bration, I officiated at four weddings. Pre- vious to my arrival, I may say, all the marriage ceremonies, burials, and so on had been performed by a man named Glass— there are only about four names among the

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374 population—and it had been one of my earliest acts to re-marry all the couples. During my stay on the island I acted, in addition to my clerical duties, as school- master, magistrate, medical adviser, scout- master—the boys are enthusiastic Scouts, since the visit of the Quest with Scout Marr aboard—and_ general factotum. Very scldom indeed was I called upon to settle A bride and bridegroom leaving the church. There are only one or two women’s hats on the island, and these are religiously reserved for important functions. disputes. There is nothing that anyone could steal with safety, for where could he hide the spoils? There were, during our sojourn, some thirty shillings in money on the island. This sum the natives insisted upon giving to Edward on his birthday. They were aware that money had a value in civilization, but to them it meant nothing THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. whatever; they did not even know tle difference between a sixpence andasovereign! One leen disappointment was associated with my tenure. I had gone out with « wireless set, hoping to end once and for all the terrible isolation, but, to my intense annoyance, I found that the apparatus would not work. I explained the wonders of wireless to the people, but I am afraid that, in the absence of tangible proof in the way of actual results, they were not so enthusiastic as they might have been. Imagine, however, what it would have meant to them if I could have brought them into touch by such means with the great outer world of which they have heard such a great deal. Some philanthropic reader of THE Wipe Wor.tp might do worse than send out an up-to-date set to the islanders. It would not cost a great deal, and it woula be a priceless boon to these poor lonely folk. Before my arrival on the island it had been seventeen years since the last clergyman was there, with the exception of the Bishop of St. Helena, who makes periodical visits, the island being in his diocese. My prede. cessor had been the Rev. E. Dodgson, brother of the author of “ Alice in Wonder. land,” and a story is retailed on the island to this day concerning an amusing incident that happened during his ministry. The winds which prevail in these regions are very fierce, and once, during the time of Mr. Dodgson, the gale was so powerful that he suddenly found himself, on his way to hold a service, swept off his feet, and had to crawl the whole of the distance upon his hands and knees. Not without regret did we leave Tristan. We had come to love the islanders, and they, I believe, loved us. Their last words to us were entreaties to come back once more to visit them in their loneliness. “ Ya, ya, you must come back,” they called, in their curious English. Tristan, proud of if place in the Empire, is an exhibitor at the British Empire Exhi- bition at Wembley, and the island is represented this year, as it was last, by a stall at which native spinning-wheels and such-like interesting examples of local in- dustry are being shown. Included, also, is a specimen of a curious wingless bird which I came across in the course of a visit to one of Tristan’s neighbouring isla:.ds.

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The as Death 3 Lf. Creare Richards LATE H.B.M. ACTING CONSUL-GENERAL FOR MEXICO ILLUSTRATED BY 3 STANLEY LLOYD we A very strange story from Mexico, told by an ex-Consular official who knows the country intimately. Obsessed with the idea of ferreting out the secrets of the ancient Aztec dyes, an eccentric chemist married a beautiful Indian girl, a descendant of the Aztec royal family, and heartlessly used her as a pawn to enable him to penetrate into the jealously-guarded stronghold of this dying race. What happened afterwards is described in the narrative. ‘The story is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Grahame Richards, “but for obvious reasons I have altered or suppressed some of the names.” into his soul, was pitched into the Consular Service. Family influence secured him his figure in the little British Colony in Mexico City. A tall, intensely thin, but up-standing individual, with sunken temples and eyes in which at times an odd light flickered, he bore the appearance of a bitterly disappointed and disillusioned man. Mandeville was approaching forty at the time of which I write. At Balliol he had shone in mathematics and chemistry, and his tutors believed that he was destined to make his mark as a scientist. And so he might have done, but linked inseparably with his great mental gifts was a monstrous greed of gain. All entreaties notwith- standing, Mandeville would take up nothing that did not promise handsome financial remuneration. He inherited a comfortable competence, but apparently he hungered to be a millionaire. Certain experiments at college had brought him into contact with the problem of dyes—with indigo in par- ticular—and he conceived the idea that indigo might be manufactured commercially from waste products at an infinitesimal cost. From this conviction nothing could shake him, no argument divert him, no failure discourage him. The years passed while, he grew lean and haggard in his laboratory, brooding over his formulas and_ retorts. In pursuit of the’ will-o’-the-wisp that lured him on he mortgaged his modest competence to extinction. Then he bor- towed from friends and relatives, until they grew tired of him and refused further help. Thus it was that Mandeville, soured and penniless, with a hatred of the world at large—or so it seemed—already graven OBERT GAUNT MANDEVILLE R was perhaps the most unpopular job, family influence again got him appointed as Vice-Consul to Chihuahua—that hothouse of Mexican revolutions—over the heads of many regular members of the Service in that sun-bleached land, a fact that in itself was not conducive to his popularity. The post offered possibilities of both distinction and promotion. That an out- sider had obtained the job was galling enough; that such a person as Mandeville should be appointed was auickty, felt to be intolerable. For, after all, it was ‘the man_ himself rather than the loss of the post which went against the grain. He was not as other men, There was something about him indefinably unpleasant. Women hated his sneering personality even more than men, and there was a universal sigh of relief when at last he left Mexico City to take up his official post. For six months Mandeville’s reports reached the Consulate-General with grati- fying regularity. Sometimes they came direct ; at others in the pouch of the courier who for years, revolutions or no revolutions, had carried the Legation mail to and from the American border. It was this courier who first reported that Mandeville had, with all due formality, married-Tlecla, an Aztec girl, the reputed daughter of the Huantpecs of Navajano. The news created a sensation. A white man may well marry a native girl without undue alarm; but no man can marry a Huantpec with impunity. It is dilficult, even impossible, for any foreigner to say who, what, and why the Huantpecs are. Their origin is inseparably

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376 connected with the ancient sun-gods still secretly worshipped by the Mexican abo- riginals in spite of the rapid advance of civilization, Any white man interested in Mexico's antiquities sooner or later encoun- ters this name of Huantpec—and that is all one can say; inquiry takes one no farther. Yet to utter the name disparagingly before a crowd of Aztec Indians is a method of suicide. 10 their simple minds, the family has ever been, is, and ever will be. At tlis very moment it certainly exists at Navajano, the last stronghold of the Aztecs, but no explorer, Mandeville ex- cepted, has ever penetrated to this place. Even its location is not accurately known, but it is reputed to lie in a hollow of the bare, lava-coated Mexican mountains which mock one with” their: chill im- mobility as one travels south from Laredo, ‘Texas.* Simultancously with the news of Mande- ville’s marriage, Chihuahua- ceased ‘completely. This was loth annoying and serious. Although the country was quiet, from sheer exhaustion, it was. known that fresh~ revolutionary trouble was “brewing, ‘and inevitably Chi- huahua would be the brewery. The Consul- Gencral, on a tour of inspection of con- sulates, learned the precise position by wire from the, capital. He: decided .to take a risk,’ and accordingly bore west to visit Lis Vice-Consul. he same Mandeville he had known received him indifferently. “His failure to send reports seemed: riot to concern him at all; there appeared to be some weightier matter on his mind. When they sat down to dinner that night, a woman slipped quietly into the room and unostentatiously seated herself at the table. Consuls-General are trained not to manifest emotion, but this one in particular mentally caught his breath. Here was at once a pure-blooded Aztec and the most beautiful woman his eyes had ever. fallen upon. Tall and supple as a willow wand; hair the ebony of a raven’s wing; a profile clear-cut and symmetrical as those you see on Roman coins; eyes sky-blue, gazing on Mandeville with adoration, proud and unafraid, yet subtly beseeching. Those fearless eyes told the Consul-General that here was a girl in whose veins ran the royal blood of a hundred generations. “My wife,”” announced Mandeville casu- ally. “She doesn't understand much English—just a little Spanish. Let's talk our own lingo.” * Navajano i upposed to have been founded by Aztecs who fled before the Spanish invaders. Even torture failed to induce them to reveal its location. Rumour places it in of Northern Mexico, but travellers with the Aztecs of South America ics in the jungle plains of Mexico, which are in the south, “The rrecise situation Is probably known only to a few pure-blouded Aztecs Actnor. his official reports from - ordinate. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “I must congratulate you lis superior, “Not at all!” interrupted Mandeville, brusquely. ‘‘ She is an Indian, and there- fore you cannot possibly approve. Besides, Jonly married ler fora particular pur pore He grinned twistedly. ‘A real mariage de convenance, | assure you. I'll tell you about it later.” x The meal was a painful one.~. The: woman sat there shyly, ker eyes always on Mande- ville’s face, uttering never a word. Moreover iLe latter, ignoring the decanter of good Scotch, drank alarmingly of -the native teguila, which as a Spanish haciendario said : “* Makes slaves so mad that they howl for the lash on their bare todies.” Finally tle wife slipped away—faded would be a more accurate description.” c “Let’s go in kere for a palaver,” Bead Mandeville abruptly, rising and flinging open the door of what was obvidusly hjs'sanctum. Ee himself carried in‘the whisky, sypLon, znd thé reddish-brown flask containing t).c native drink. The Consul-General, , never laving found himself before in a ‘situation Cemanding such tact and self-restraint, sank with nerves tingling into a cane lounge ‘chair, and glanced atout the room. The walls'and table were literally. covered’ “with “Aztec antiques.’ Now such antiques are inevitably multi-coloured; red, green, . blue, .black, white, and yellow appear:in all Aztec.works of art, be they blankets, basket-work, or unearthed images of sun-gods. Puffing hard at his cigar, the Consul-General noted almost sub-consciously that the dominating | rote lere was blue. © « Mandeville drank deeply. of ‘the ative spirit. A crimson splash tegan to appear in his sunken ‘cheeks, and his eyes were. aflame. Finally ke spoke, in his usual brusque fashion, flinging his hand towards the table. “Are those things genuine ? ’’.”; he :ce- manded, The Consul-General looked at ‘them. At one end of the table stood a vivid blue stone Cloud-God. Before the figure lay strips of Llue basket-work, woven in curious design, and some pieces of blue cloth. “Examine them,” cried Mandeville’ im- patiently. ‘“ Why, man, I got you kere for that very purpose !’ The Consul paused; with outstretched hand. “ Got me here ? ” he echoed. “Of course,” laughed his amazing sub- “I knew you would have to come and establish my demise kefore you appointed even a temporary successor. So I cezsed kegan reporting. Simple, bate” “Extremely.” Mandeville’s chief. was very dry. “But why this secret di- plomacy ? “You are universally recognized as an authority on Aztec remains. Tell me the age of any one of those articles.” The Consul-General shrugged, picked vp

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THE LIVING DEATH. 377 “¢™ onlv married her for a particular purpose.’ He grinned twistedly. ‘A real mariage de convenance, | assure you.’”

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378 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the woven straw-work and inspected it closely, holding it against the light. “No man could put a precise date on it, but it is old, extremely old,’’ he said. “Five hundred years?” “Quite possibly. Similar work has been found dating back almost a thousand years.’ Mandeville’s breathing was suddenly audible. “ Yet the colours remain as bright and undimmed as ever they were. What colouring matter did they use ?” “That was their secret, and probably died with them.” “It did not die with them! "’ Mandeville shook his head almost savagely. ‘‘ If you go into the plaza to-day you can buy modern work dyed with the same dyes used a thousand years ago. But the people who use the materials do not know the colour-secret. I have traced these materials back and back —and they come from Navajano.” The Consul-General was not particularly impressed, nor did he approve of his sub- ordinate’s extraordinary attitude. “That is undoubtedly interesting,’ he said, rather stiffly, ‘but is it very im- portant ?’ It was as if he had put a match to tinder. Mandeville leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing. “Important !"’ he cried. ‘‘ Why, it will revolutionize a world-wide industry! It is a secret a thousand times more valuable than the one we were mad enough to fling to the Germans a few decades ago; yet that dye process, which we scorned, gave Germany her modern industrial position. I want you to accept my immediate resignation,” he concluded, abruptly. “But that i is impossible,” said the Consul- General. ‘‘ Such a proceeding would be most irregular.” Mandeville grinned his sneering, twisted grin. “Maybe. But when I awake to-morrow morning I shall no longer be a member of your Service. You can do what you like about it.’ The Consul-General sat up stiffly. “I gather it is your intention | to go in search of this ancient dye process,” he said, gravely. “Let me warn you that if you ever penetrate into Navajano—and I doubt if you will succeed—y ou will certainly never leave it alive.’ “Under ordinary conditions I suppose you would be right,” sneered Mandeville, ‘ but I have taken steps to assure both my entry and exit.’ “ Meaning ?” “Well, confound it all, man! It’s suffi- ciently obvious, isn't it ?. You saw with your own eyes the woman I have made my wife ian -Aztec, Does one marry such from love 27 A chill of sheer repulsion stole through te Consul-General’e veins. He saw again the appealing. blue eyes, -the beautiful, sensitive face. And this child-woman was to be designedly and wantonly trampled into the mire to satisfy Mandeville’s mad cupidity. He rose abruptly to his feet. “You are , tremendously energetic—and also ruthless,’ he answered. “ I won't wish you luck in your venture, but only what your qualities deserve. They should at least obtain for you what you seek. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll turn in.” Mandeville was grinning again. ‘“‘ Of course, you would hardly approve,” he remarked. ““ No—thank goodness ! ” said the other. And with these words they parted. Eighteen months elapsed: months of storm and stress in the Republic, trying months for the Consul-General, who had to bid official farewells to the old Governments and welcome the new ones. Except at intervals which became rarer and rarer, he had almost forgotten Mandeville; he supposed he was dead. Then, on one of those blazing mornings which immediately precede the rains, he found the man waiting for him in his room at the Consulate, puffing at a cigarette. Mandeville appeared quite unchanged, except that the odd greenish light in his eyes seemed to have become permanent. “T told you I would visit Navajano and return,” he boasted, ‘‘ and I have.” “T hope your wife is well?’ said the Consul-General. ““My wife ?’’ Mandeville looked per- plexed. “Oh, you mean the Huantpec ? Yes ; I left her with a bonny boy to console her for my departure. But the essential thing is that I have the secret I went for.” His exultation was palpable. The official’s jaw set hard. “I am afraid you hardly appreciate the reponsi- bilities of my position, Mandeville,” he remarked. “ Iam not in the least interested in this infernal dye process of yours. Off- cially, however, I am very nearly and dis- tinctly concerned with the actions of a British subject in a strange land, and “That's all right,” interrupted Mande- ville, with a snarl. “I am here to see you in your official capacity. It might be as well to defer discussion of my actions until you're asked for criticism. What I want to know is this: Is there anyone in Mexico City able to pay fifty thousand pounds for a secret worth millions ?”’ “Yes ; there is—the millionaire American banker, Anthony.” “Will you give me a letter to him certify- ing that I am a British citizen, a chemist, and interested in dyes ?”’ The Consul-General did so, glad to rid himself so easily of his obnoxious visitor. Outside Mexico City, on the road to the presidential palace at Chapultapec, there

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vw “The English chemist trailed a white _handker- chief over the edge of the caul- dron. It came away half dyed— a wonderful deep blue.” is to-day a playing-ground whereon the young Mexicans practise football and base- ball amid blinding clouds of dust. A few years ago, however, it was a field, just a waste of brown, sun-withered grass. On a certain Saturday afternoon, Anthony, the banker ; Roe, an American industrialist of considerable standing ; an English chemist from the city ; and two mozos were gathered about an iron cauldron half filled with water kept boiling with blazing branches. A short distance away stood a pile of waste tags, paper, and other odds and ends. “Here he comes,” announced Anthony, THE LIVING DEATH. 379 * peering towards a mule- drawn coche crawling towards them in the distance. ‘ Now please bear in mind ’’—he turned to the other two men— “that I know no more about this busi- ness than you. This Mandeville claims to have discovered an indigo process from the Aztecs. It is derived fundamentally from odds and ends that civilized folk throw away. There is, moreover, a residue which should revolu- tionize the manufacture of explosives. If what he asserts is true, he holds the key to untold millions. We know the Aztecs’ skill with colours, and I do not think this Mandeville is either mad or a trickster, But I want you both to watch him very closely.” When Mandeville joined them they noticed that his brow was moist, and he trembled from head to foot. Evidently he was very nervous, although he himself had

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380 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. asked for the trial. Without a word of greeting, he strode to the cauldron and red into it. Next he dropped pieces rom the pile of waste into the boiling water. Finally he drew a tiny phial from his waist- coat pocket and emptied it into the cauldron. Breathlessly the others approached and peered through the steam. The water was of the deepest indigo colour, and rapidly becom- ing viscid and sticky. Without a word the English chemist trailed a white handkerchief over the edge of the cauldron. It came away half dyed—a wonderful deep blue. “That colour will resist the sun for a thousand years,’’ said Mandeville hoarsely. He drew away while the others consulted. Finally Anthony beckoned to him. Before they parted Mandeville had written out his formula and placed it in a sealed envelope. The millionaire proposed to bring the most eminent industrial chemist in the States down to Mexico to test it. In return, he handed Mandeville an under- taking, duly signed and witnessed, to pay him fifty thousand pounds sterling provided the test proved satisfactory. Mandeville, refusing to return to the city with them, strode away muttering audibly to himself. Penders, the famous industrial chemist of Detroit, looked from the formula to Anthony and laughed. “You’v2 got me guessing,” he grinned. 21, What is the joke? I'll buy it! Or, rather, you'll pay for it, John, for this trip of mine is going to cost you three thousand dollars.” “You mean there is nothing in that formula ?”’ “It isn’t a formula, John. It is not even chemistry. It is mere schoolboy gib- berish. What can you make of ‘C YLL’?” The millionaire puffed hard and thought- fully at his cigar. ‘‘The joke certainly seems to be on me,” he said at last, ruefully. “But all the same the thing beats me. The fellow did his trick before our eyes, and the English chemist has the indigo in his shop at this moment. Moreover, this Mandeville hasn’t had even a dime from me.” “* We had better go and see him,”’ remarked Penders thoughtfully. They went. Mandeville was lodging with a Mexican widow in the Calle Imperatrice. The old woman spoke very volubly in Spanish, which they did not understand. They found their man seated before the table in his room, unshorn and vacant-eyed. In his right hand was Anthony's letter promising fifty thousand pounds sterling if the formula proved satisfactory. He clutched this desperately to his breast as they entered, and sprang away with a snarl. He had apparently forgotten his own indi- viduality, his own language, and could only gibber unintelligibly in Aztec. The man was obviously stark mad, and as speedily as possible the visitors withdrew. Eminent mental specialists who were called in ultimately dated Mandeville’s madness from the moment when Anthony promised him fifty thousand pounds if the tests proved conclusive. No one knew what sort of ordeal he had been called upon to endure at the jealously-guarded Aztec stronghold of Navajano ; no one knew what secret hopes and longings had fired his brain and induced him to brave perils no other white man has survived. Yet incon- testably success turned his head. Whatever the formula was he never divulged it, for the secret he had won at so great a price died with him three years later, and nothing more was ever heard of his sad-eyed wife, the beautiful daughter of the Huantpecs. It may be mere coincidence, but there is an old Aztec saying to the effect that to him who seeks to steal the secrets of their ancient civilization there comes the “ Living Death.’”’ And the ‘“ Living Death” of the Aztecs is madness !

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William Brennan Quite unknown to the outside world, a grim tragedy is taking place on the coast of Donegal, in the north-west of Ireland. Driven by the fierce Atlantic gales, the seashore sands are sweeping inexorably inland, overwhelming fertile farmlands, beautiful woods, ancestral mansions, and humble cabins, and leaving in their place a vast desert. Mr. Brennan went to the district on behalf of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE, and here describes and illustrates what he saw—the gradual blotting-out of a smiling countryside by a “drifting death” that it is apparently beyond human ingenuity to cope with. BOUT a hundred and fifty years ago there stood on the coast of County Donegal, Ireland, a fine old mansion, surrounded by fertile lands and picturesque woods. Every winter the wild north-west gales beat against its walls; every winter the great Atlantic breakers crashed ceaselessly upon the beaches below it, pounding the sand into the finest of particles. These, dried and driven by the fierce winds, gradually began to drift inland, burying the rich grass lands, choking the life out of the trees, and damming the streams. Ever creeping on- wards, the shining banks of sand com- menced to rear themselves against the mansion itself. The residents, alarmed, started to build walls and dig ditches—but all in vain. Silently, in- exorably, con- stantly whipped forward by the gales, the sands rose higher and higher until, some fifty years after the menace was first understood, the old mansion was doomed. First the beautiful gardens, avenues, and ter- traces vanished ; then the hedges, the statues, and the park walls were buried in the ever-deepening drifts. Finally the house itself was invaded, and the owner, Lord Boyne, was reluctantly compelled to abandon it. For a time it was possible for curious sightseers to walk from the sand on to the roof, and even descend into rooms which had not been completely filled, but at length even the highest points were engulfed and an unbroken stretch of shining sand, miles in length, completely covered the house and its wide demesne. To-day that wonderful beach is one of the chief features of the

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THE WIDE WORLD Horn Head House. The sand has alread: watering-place of Rosapenna, which, before the War, was a much-visited seaside resort. Lord Boyne’s ill-fated house was situated on the shore of an inlet known as Sheep Haven. On the other side of the bay, at Horn Head, almost opposite Rosapenna, All that can now be seen of the old road, which had retaining walls as high as a carriage. = MAGAZINE. stands the an- cestral home of the Stewarts, a very well-known and respected local family. At the time of the disappearance of Lord Boyne’s house the Stewart farms were famous, and a visitor to Horn Head wrote: “Mr. Stewart has the most exten- sively-stocked farm in Ireland, or perhaps in the world. . He reckons his sheep not by thousands, but by hundreds of thousands.” But those deadly sands had marked this pros- perous and well~ kept farm for their own, and year by year they drifted steadily and relentlessly over field after field until they lapped at last against the outbuildings and threatened the house itself. Everything that human ingenuity could sug- gest was tried to stay the onflowing tide of destruction, but all in vain, and only two years ago the pre- sent owner was compelled to desert the home his fathers— driven out, like Lord Boyne, by the all-devouring sand. These places, moreover, are not the only sufferers. At Rutland, to the west of Horn Head, £40,000—a large sum for those days — was _ laid out in 1785 with a view to estab- lishing a herring industry. Quays, barracks, and a market were erected, and pros- pects looked very rosy. Then the deadly sand began to blow in, and since then the fish- ing has declined ly reached the drive. of

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and can only be carried on with difficulty. In August, 1924, when I first went to Horn Head, I noticed that the vast flocks and herds which had formerly grazed over fertile farm- Jands were now tepresented by a few cows pulling at bunches of swordgrass—the only living vege- tation in sight. The invading sand was everywhere in evidence. When I next visited the place —in February of this year—I was startled to observe the tremendous progress this shifting Sahara had made in the short period of six months. Slowly but surely it is creeping round the north-west side of Horn Head, and has already completely covered a road which circled the property and led over the headland. At the present moment it is piling up over a once-splendid range of outbuildings, pushing its deadly tentacles out through what was formerly a beauti- ful wood, full of stately trees, and making its way towards Horn Head House, which has been in possession of the Stewarts for over three hundred years. The sand has also blocked the course of a tidal water that emptied into Sheep Haven, leaving a_ large lake which, hav- ing no outlet to the sea, periodi- cally overflows its banks and causes severe floods. Farther along the coast the drains and ditches are also choked The approach to Dunfanaghy. SANDS OF DESTRUCTION. 383 a wie earorenans ate ae dd HT with sand, and floods occur with disastrous frequency. Close by is the picturesque little village of Dunfanaghy. Looking along the rough coast-road at the spire of the church and the clustered whitewashed houses, standing out against the sunlit sandhills, one is reminded of a poster advertising a trip to threaten the new road. Digitized ty GOORe Cc

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384 the East. There are the same dazzling stretches of windswept sands, the same indigo-blue ocean, and white clouds cast dark shadows on the yellow hills as they sail across a sky of vivid cobalt. There is, however, a more sinister side to this attractive picture, for on drawing nearer one sees that the sand is blotting out every green thing that lies in its path, and one notices the patch of dead trees away to the right—grim signposts of the handiwork of the “ drifting death.” Between the road and the mile-long beach known as the Killyhoey Strand is a golf- course, most of it now flooded for eight months in the year. We saw men wading about on it in a foot of water, doing their best to keep open the drains. It was the old, old story hereabouts. ‘‘ Sure as fast as we open the drains the sand does be filling them,” the workers told us. One fine winter morning my friend and I A wood killed by the advance of the sand. be seen the lake made by the damming-up of a river. started out along the coast road to visit those shining sandhills. Passing through the village, we turned to the right and reached a bridge which spans the tide- way—now a mere trickle of water, the channel having been choked by the all- pervading sand. At the far end of the bridge workmen were busily engoged in making a road, bordered by dry stone walls, which is to skirt the coast as far from the drifting sand as possible. But the sand-demon has not been SIUW W Taat up tue cuallenge, and already THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. its advance-guard has almost reached the foot of the wall—not yet finished ! Close by was a dilapidated-looking building which was once the gate-lodge of the aban- doned mansion. The door stood open and we entered—to find ourselves intruders in a little elementary school for the boys and girls of Horn Head. Although poorly clad, they were healthy and cheery, and we were struck by their beauty—clear, sunburnt complexions and dark brown eyes. A few steps farther on we came to the last remaining traces of a road whose retaining walls, we were told, had been high enough to conceal a horse and carriage. In August, 1924, one could see two pillars that marked the entrance ; the coping stones of the wall were also visible for a considerable distance, looking like stepping stones in the sand. By February, 1925, however, only a few yards of the stones remained in view; the rest had vanished beneath the rising sand-drifts. The buried road led past the doomed “ plant- ing,” where the dead trees stood like melancholy monuments doned and in Tuins. On the side most exposed to the Atlantic gales one can step from the sand right on to the roofs. The buildings stand in a square, enclosing a large courtyard with accommoda- tion for sheep at one end; sheep- breeding was evi- dently a speciality at the farm. There is still a ‘‘ dippi gangway” an trough, which, however, will soon be buried. Some efforts had evidently been made to keep the de- stroyer out, but the sand had triumphed over all opposition and made its way everywhere. It is now climbing the walls, sweeping in through doorways and windows, and filling the deserted houses. At one point we surprised an old woman who appeared to have been looting. She looked around in affright and made off as quickly as sundry bulky objects concealed under her shawl allowed. The whole place, indeed, appeared to be a paradise In the distance can é Rite Digitized by GOOQLE Zz QI oOo

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SANDS OF DESTRUCTION. 385 handiwork of the drifting sand —death, destruction, and decay. Among the mouldering trees— once a pretty spinney—we traced the course of a choked river, and at one place sparkling water forcing itself through the sand indicated the presence of a spring or well, The sand-drifts lead through the trees and across a field to the drive of Horn Head House, which is at present occupied by two ladies. From this point there is a beautiful view, though it is marred to the observant eye by the all-too-evident signs of de- struction. To the south, through the dead wood, one glimpses the lake created by the damming of the tidal stream. Beyond lie rough, bare hills covered with scraggy grass, stretches of bogland, and huge rocks, with here and there a solitary cabin, leading up _ to Muckish Mountain—“ The Pig’s Back,” as it is called—over two thousand feet high, from whose smooth, steep slopes the clinging mist seldom lifts. The mountain makes an impressive background to the dreary wastes of sand and the decay and ruin all about. teppi f On the other side one looks ° tag) from wee ae ine Mesroctere down on Sheep Haven, with the for looters; they and the gales be- tween them have stripped the once- comfortable houses bare. The dead wood appa- rently supplies many of the local people with fuel ; we encountered several parties busy with axe and saw, and one gang had a horse and cart. They had vanished when we returned, however, and we saw a notice—obviously little heeded—that any person found trespassing or cut- ting wood would be prosecuted. Everywhere we oa “ went we saw the The entrance to the abandoned outbuildings. VoL. tv.— 27.

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386 Head stretching out to the left and, on the right, Dunfanaghy and the farther shore, with its beautiful beaches— Rosa- enna, Mairble ill, and Ards, This latter place is the home of another branch of the Stewart family, as_ well- known for its agricultural interests as the Horn Head House representatives. Trees grow along the very verge of the sand at Marble Hill, rising at Ards from the margin of the beautiful bays. There are great stretches of richly-wooded hills, fertile fields, and gardens full of choice flowers and vege- tables—a striking contrast to the miles of barren sands which cover so much of the thousand-acre estate at Horn Head, for- merly just as beautiful and productive. While we were struggling along over the sandhills, where the loose, yielding surface made walking extremely laborious, we experienced a slight sandstorm. We were very glad it was slight, for it made us appreciate what a similar phenomenon must be like in the desert. All of a sudden the wind changed, the sky darkened, and in an instant the sand began to move, rising in little clouds that quickly filled our eyes, ears, nostrils, and hair. It was choking, blinding, stinging, and as the wind whistled through the long grass, driving Fe Fe yn ae A general view of the sandhills. A river choked by the all-pervading sand. Only after heavy floods does it clear a narrow channel for itself. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the tiny particles against us with ever- increasing force, our faces began to smart and tingle under the merciless bombardment. Hurrying round a hillock to seek shelter, we were nearly blinded by a sudden wind- driven flurry of sand, only to meet another when we hastened into the open again. Finally we were compelled to turn our backs to the storm, bury our heads in our over- coats, cover our eyes and nostrils with our hands, and wait for a lull. When it came, we stumbled blindly downhill, and were very glad when we found ourselves on the road again, though our eyes, mouths, ears, and nostrils were full of sand and we were dead tired from our exertions. The reader may weil ask: where does all this sand come from, and why has it only started to devastate the countryside about Horn Head within comparatively recent times? As to where it comes from, it seems to be brought, so far as the Stewart property is con- cerned, by the fierce westerly and north-wes- terly gales of winter from the Tramore Strand, at the foot of Horn Head, where there is, apparently, an inexhaustible supply. As to why, within liv- ing memory, it has moved so fast and wrought such appalling destruction,

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scientists can no doubt supply an adequate explanation, but the local people give some curious reasons. At Rosapenna they attribute the invasion of the sand to the increasing number of rabbits, whose burrowings uprooted the “bent ’’ grass which formerly prevented the sand from spreading with the wind. It is certainly true that the first real check to the advance of the menace was the planting by Lord Leitrim, in 1843, of large areas of this ‘‘ bent ’’—a coarse grass whose roots spread and matted until at last they created the beautiful crisp turf that has made the Rosapenna golf-links famous. Before this “bent” was. . pla nted the | farmers despaired of saving their lands and the peasants had given up all at- tempts to protect their threatened cabins and gar- dens, Nowadays the “ bent” is in great demand for thatching, but stripped areas are always replanted and a careful watch is kept upon the seaward side. The Rosa- penna Hotel and the area around it may be said to have been re- trieved from the sand, for Lord Boyne’s abandoned mansion lies only half a mile away, its site just discernible. Horn Head is certainly well-stocked with rabbits, the revenue from their fur producing a handsome sum every year, but here I was told that the planting of “ bent ’’ would be useless to stop the encroachment of the sand. “It was predicted,” said my infor- mant gravely, “ that the whole Head will be covered before the sand stops blowing.”’ Another reply one often gets is: ‘‘ Is it not a punishment ?”’ Possibly this is a refer- ence to the murder of the successor of the Lord Leitrim who first planted the ‘‘ bent.” There is a good deal of superstition con- A road, now completely obliterated, used to run along the foreground. In rear is a dead wood, the trees killed by the sand. SANDS OF DESTRUCTION. 387 nected with the matter, as is perhaps inevitable with anything Irish, for I was often told, “‘ Some does be saying it was prophesied that the Stewarts would be driven from their home.” There is no hint of unpopularity in this, for the family is, and always has been, well liked and respected in the district. In their despair the farmers talk of sending a deputation to the Government, on which, following Irish custom, the blame is eventually likely to be laid. The present owner of Horn Head House— and of the Head itself—is Captain Charles F. Stewart, who lives in the south of England and is related to Lord Londonderry, the Ulster Minister for Education. There are a great number of Stewarts in the North of Jreland—many of them noted for their fine farms—and several towns beside Dunfanaghy possess a ‘‘ Stewart Arms ”’ hotel. Captain Stewart visits Horn Head every summer, and it must be a sad sight for him to note, year by year, the relentless advance of the deadly sand. For miles inland and along the coast the hard lot of the farmers and peasants is made infinitely worse by this ever-increasing menace, which threatens, before many years have passed, to turn the whole country, formerly fair and fertile, into a vast desert of wind-driven sand.

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388 6 out to British Columbia in quest of fortune, the Author secured employment as a teamster hauling sup- plies for a new railway. This exciting story relates what happened HEN the Grand Trunk Pacific Rail- way was in course of construction through Northern British Colum- : bia it lay so far from any existing railway that the transportation of supplies was a matter of extreme difficulty. Wher- ever the right-of-way ran parallel to navigable Trivers or lakes they were utilized to the fullest extent ; in other places roads had to be con- structed over which freight wagons hauled materials and supplies for long distances. Caches or storehouses were built at various strategic points, and these were filled and emptied as occasion demanded. Four-horse teams were invariably used in the hauling, and travelled in caravans of five or six, called ‘‘ swings,” in charge of a “‘ swing-boss,”’ whose duty it was to arrange the necessary accommodation at the numerous road-houses strung along the ‘ tote-road,” look after the loads, and supervise the team- sters or ‘‘long-line skinners ” as they were called. In the fall of 1922 I was perched on the seat of one of these wagons, handling the ribbons of a “ four-up ’’—the most exalted and best-paid position I had ever held in my young life. Naturally 1 was somewhat proud at being elevated to such a dizzy eminence at the tender age of twenty, the more so as I had only arrived in the country that spring. During the six months I had been in Canada I had tried the Western expedient of tackling any job that came along and staying with it till one that paid better turned up. I started as a farm-hand, but the never- ending toil soon caused me to seek another line with more reasonable hours. Two months on a section gang followed, and then ashort spe!l ina construction camp as assist- ant cook or “ flunkey.”” That was a nice easy situation, but thirty dollars a month did not suit my avaricious spint when 1 knew there were better-paid jobs to be had. Westward, ever westward | headed, wages HOW I LOST MY JOB a J K. Stuart ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY L.WOOD when, with two tons of dynamite and other explosives on board, his horses ran away down a steep hill! “The narrative is ab- solutely true,” writes Mr. Stuart. increasing as one neared the Pacific. In Alberta three dollars a day was the wage in the harvest field, though the hours were long. However, the increase in salary tempted me, and I lingered there till a travelling harvester told me of the fabulous wages being paid across the Rockies. Prince Rupert, the western terminus of the trans-continental line then under construc- tion, was my next stamping-ground. I worked on the grade east of that city, driving a scraper team. I had been brought up to farm life in the Old Country, and was always a lover of horses. The scraper work was very monotonous, and soon palled upon me, though the pay—sixty dollars per month— was my top-score so far. Hearing that the freight teamsters were drawing seventy dollars, 1 promptly resigned and applied for the first vacancy. There was a lengthy waiting list, but the luck of the tenderfoot prevailed, and 1 was “ Johnny- on-the-spot ” when one of the teamsters got drunk and assaulted his swing-boss. In the battle that followed he lost two teeth, much blood, and his job. The swing-boss, after the fight, became an advocate of temperance— at least in his ‘‘ skinners ’’—and as I was the most abstemious-looking of the bunch that offered themselves to fill the dismissed man’s shoes I was accordingly elected. This was the first time in my life I had handled more than two “ lines,” as reins are called in the New World, and I found them more than enough for the first day. Fortu- nately the wheelers were quiet and willing, and I confined my efforts to the leaders till 1 became more proficient with the ribbons. Gradually I acquired the knack of the busi- ness and learnt to bunch the reins in one hand while applying the whip in the ap- proved manner. The whip was used more for demonstration purposes than with any intention of inflicting punishment, for the lash seldom came in contact with the horses.

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As I drove round, perched on the wagon seat, drawing my seventy dollars a month, I could not help swelling with pride when I though. how fast I was progressing. Only a year previously I had been working for thirty pounds a year on a farm in Scotland ! And now, the introduction over, we'll come to my story. On arriving at the cache one Sunday morning—we worked every day in the month —‘ Buck ’’ Haddon, our swing-boss, was informed that our next load would be powder for the big “‘ coyote-hole ” that was being driven in the rock-cut at Burns Lake, over ninety miles distant. Allowing ty-enty miles per day, going and coming, that meant a nine or ten-day trip, and consequently feed for that length of time. At the usual rate of thirty pounds of hay and twenty-five pounds of oats per horse per day, our feed allowance would amount to over a ton; add to that a couple of tons of powder apiece, and we had quite heavy enough loads for the state of the roads, the fall rains having set-in in earnest. On the very worst hills it was customary to ‘‘ double-up” the teams by using the leaders of the wagons behind, thus making a six-horse team. This, however, was only resorted to in an emergency, the “ skinners ”” priding themselves on pulling through bad places unaided. The explosives were in the usual form— dynamite in fifty-pound boxes, black powder in twenty-five pound cans—and we made short work of loading them and our feed. We then pulled to the top of Six-Mile Hill in readiness for an early start next morning, intending to make “ Barney's,” at Mile Twenty-Three, that night, This section of the road was in fairly good shape, and no “ doubling-up’’ was expected. On the other hand, there were two very dangerous hills to descend—Mud Hill, twelve miles out, and Canyon Creek Hill, six miles farther on. Everything went off splendidly next morn- ing. It was a nice, bright lall day, with a touch of frost, soon dispelled by the rising sun, and as we ambled along at a steady clip that ate up the miles we exchanged joxes with the ‘skinners’”’ of the many teams we encountered. ‘‘ This is the life!” { told myself, and I glowed at the thought of my high wages, earned in such pleasant conditions. Five teams made up “ Buck’s ” “swing ”’ —Dave Melrose in the lead, with his big gravs; next Frank Grant, the half-breed, with a team of bays, chen “ Slim’; then “Tex” Brand; and I brought up the rear with two blacks in the Jead and two bays as wheelers The blacks were full of life and needed no urging to keep the ‘spreader ” out of the way of the fast-stepping wheelers. _We had dinner at Scotty's road-house at Sixteen Mile, and figured on making HOW I LOST MY JOB. 38y “ Barney's ” easily by five o'clock, even if the hills did lie between. In fact, we discussed going on to Canyon Kate’s, two miles beyond “ Barney’s,”’ but this was vetoed by “ Buck ” on account of the poor food there. We hooked up again after dinner and jogged along nicely till we came to the top of the hill that led down into Canyon Creek —a steep, winding, snake-like decline, dry and smooth as a boulevard on the upper half, where the sun and wind could play on it, but a sea of mud to the wheel-hubs at the bottom, where the bridge spanned the creek. A camp was located at this point for the men who were building the great steel structure that rose two hundred feet in the air to catty. the rails across the ravine, through which flowed the turbulent waters of Canyon Creek. Long before we came to the hill we could hear the bridge gang at work—the rat-tat- tat of the pneumatic riveters, the whistle signals of the crane, the hiss of escaping steam, and the clang of steel. My leaders were as keen as in the morning, for ever trying to break into a trot, and my hands were sore from their continued pulling, though I wore the customary buckskin driving-gloves. I held back the wheelers in the breeching and let the blacks do all the work on the level, but they still remained full of energy, biting and snapping at one another and pawing the ground restless!v when held in check to prevent them over-running. “‘ Tex’s”” more sedate roans. When we arrived in sight of the half- finished bridge they acted like crazy bronchos for a while, but finally calmed down when they realized that the bridge had no intention of attacking them. “ Buck,” riding with Dave in the lead, signalled to the next driver, the half- breed, to halt till Dave reached the bottom. He then dismounted and walked round the curve to see if the coast was clear. Re- appearing, the swing-boss motioned Dave to proceed. Dave started, and disappeared in “ Buck's” wake amid a great screeching of brake-blocks, heard at intervals amidst the racket of the rivet-guns. Presently ‘‘ Buck” returned and Grant repeated the performance, as likewise did “Slim.” When it came to “ Tex’s”’ turn he had only gone a short distance when he felt that his brake had lost its grip. For. tunately he had not yet reached the steepest part of the hill, and by good breeching work succeeded in stopping the wagon. Dis mounting, he placed a small log in front of the wheels and then, peering beneath the wagon, discovered that the nut which con- nected the iron rod to the brake-shoe had dropped off. Hunting in the ‘ jockey-box ”’ amongst the odds and ends carried for such purposes, he was unable to locate a fresh nut of the proper size. He shouted to me, but the

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39° din was deafening, and I was unable to hear what he said. Seeing that he was waving, however, I finally got down off my seat and went to him, first wrapping the ‘lines ” round the brake-handle—the only fixture they would reach. ‘“Tex” explained his trouble to me, and I returned to my wagon and hunted through my jockey-box. Discovering one or two nuts I thought would fit, I went back to him. One of the nuts proved to be the proper size, and we soon had everything Tight again. ‘‘ Tex’ climbed to his seat and I headed back to my own team. I had covered about half the distance when, to my horror, I saw the wagon start to move! The leaders, stretching and straining, had managed to pull the “ lines” tight on the brake, and so yanked it out of the notch. Yelling to “ Tex,” I ran madly towards the team hoping to be able to stop them before they got properly under way. If it had been a pair-horse team the animals’ heads would have been the place to make for, but with four horses the result of hanging on to the leaders without stopping the wheelers would have been a regular mix-up. By the time I reached the wagon the lines were trailing on the ground, and I had to grope for them among the horses’ feet. I grabbed the longer wheel-lines all right, but the shorter lead-lines were dangling over the Pole. -team’s hames, and I had to step out on he tongue to reach them. It takes time te write this, but actually it all happened in a flash. While I was securing my reins the wagon was gaining momentum, shoving the wheelers before it as they sat back into the breeching. As quickly as possible 1 got the lines straigh- tened out, though I was. still standing on the pole between the bays. ‘‘ Tex” had seen what was happening, and_ pulled over to one side in the hope that the runaway would pass him. He could not sce me, however, and was afraid I had been trampled beneath the horses and wagon. Momentarily, in spite of all my efforts, the pace increased. Both martingales broke under the strain, and in an instant the wheelers shot forward. Luckily those crazy leaders kept well ahead and out of the wheelers’ way. My whole energics were devoted to keeping the team on the road and the wagon right side up. I let out a wild yell as a warning to others to clear the way, grabbed the lines in one hand, turned for a second, and hoisted myself into the seat. Here, with my feet braced against the footboard, I] was high enough to see the road and what was going oa, Once in my proper place I gradually threw my weight on the brake—only to feel the shoc rub harmlessly on the wheels! Like “ Tex's,” it had also gone wrong ! All this time we were going hell-for- leather down the dry smooth part of the hill, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the leaders, with the bits in their teeth, paying no heed to my frantic sawing at their mouths. One might as well have tried to navigate a Dreadnought with an oar as these fear-crazed animals with the reins. The wheelers, too, had now struck their stride. All 1 could do was to guide them in the clear, hope for the best, and trust to luck to pull through somehow. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that some of the other teams had side-tracked to give me the right-of-way, while others were driving furiously away to put as much territory between themselves and the coming explosion. Word had evidently gone round as to the deadly contents of my load, and everybody in the vicinity was obviously anxious to leave me in undisputed possession of the highway. The camp at the foot of the hill, where the road turned sharply, seemed a likely place for my inevitable spill, and once the alarm was given the cook, the blacksmith, the timekeeper, and other home - keeping members of the staff dashed out and started climbing the slopes of the near-by hills in record-breaking style. They knew that if my load of dynamite was exploded by concussion—and dynamite is the most un- certain stuff in the world—there would not be enough of that camp left to build a chicken-house. When we reached the muddy section our pace slowed down a little—to forty miles an hour, say, instead of the fifty we seemed to have been making previously. The team showed no signs whatever of being winded ; they looked good for a day’s run. There were a few nasty holes in the muddy section, and as it jolted over them the wagon began to rock and pitch in a way that set me wondering how long the lashings would I.cld the load together. Just at the bend, as we approached the bridge, the first bale of hay broke loose ard bounced to the ground, followed by a few sacks of oats. Then, relieved of the pressure, the boxes of explosives began to shift. I could feel them swaying behind me, and row and then I heard the thump of a falling bale. Presently I detected a splintering sound and, turning my head, saw a box that Lad slipped gently to the ground with a sack of oats being crushed under the wheels. The sight did not add to my composure. Would the next one submit quietly to be treated in that way, I wondered, or would it protest in the vigorous manner characteristic of a self-respecting package of concentrated destruction ? Meanwhile the runaway team called for all my attention. 1 swung it sharply round to take tle turn of the bridge and— wonder of wonders !—the angle was nego- tiated in safety, though we spilt the bulk of the remaining hay and oats. Congratulating myself on my lucky escape,

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HOW I LOST MY JOB. 391 “T landed well out into the stream. I heard the crash of the wagon as it tumbled down the bank, and then I went right to the bottom.”

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392 I was thinking that all 1 had to do now was to keep the runaways on the road till they were exhausted, when straight ahead of me, and right in our path, I saw a big steel girder all ready for hoisting! It had been left there by the panic-stricken crew now tearing up the hillside, and lay the full width of the road, one end resting on a pile of iron rods about two feet in height, forming an impassable barrier. There seemed to be no possibility of dodging it, for an abrupt turn to the right would throw me fairly into the blacksmith’s shop, lying ten feet below the raised road, while a swing to the left, over the pile of rods, would hurl us into the waters of Canyon Creck, a drop of another dozen fect. Suddenly I heard a yell: ‘‘ Jump, kid! Jump!” How could that help? was the thought that flashed through my half-dazed_ brain. If the load and wagon capsized when we struck the girder, as they must surely do, and the dynamite exploded, as also seemed probable, I should certainly not be able to make my get-away in time; camp and bridge and myself would all be blotted off the earth. I resolved to stay on board as long as I could. Putting all my strength into a pull on the left-hand line as we thundered off the bridge, 1 was gratified to see the team edge a trifle that way. The leaders struck the end of the steel-pile, tried to climb it, and then swung down the incline of the creek bank, the sideways jerk hurling the lurching wagon right over. I felt it going, and jumped out into the cold waters of the creek. From my high seat I had a good take-off, and 1 landed well out into the stream. I heard the crash of the wagon striking boulders as it tumbled down the bank, a wild scream from one of the horses, saw the splash as boxes and cans of explosive dropped into the water, and then 1 dived. Deep down I went—right to the bottom, borne along by the rushing waters. I strained my ears for the crash of the explosion I felt sure was coming, and I think I said my pravers. Finally, with bursting lungs, I had to come to the surface. 1 could hear no sound except the roar of the creek. The steel crew had stopped work—probably while I was rushing down the hill—but 1 had never noticed it till now. Every man was under cover, pecring out from behind piers, trees, stumps, and any other cover that offered itself. 1 made for the bank, struggled out, and ran back to the scene of the spill. A few battered boxes were scattered down the bank all the way from the road to the water's THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. edge. The wagon lay on its side, half-in and half-out of the water, wedged against a large boulder. I made for it. Only two of the horses were visible. One was dead, his neck broken; the other, partly sub- merged, tangled in the harness and held down by the weight of his mate, was struggling frantically to rise. The pole had snapped off a foot from the double-tree, which was also in two pieces. After a struggle I extricated the surviving horse from the wreck, and, the bank being too steep to climb up, led him down the creek by a line from the side till we reached a suitable landing-place. The leaders had broken loose from the wagon when the pole broke and were now swimming down-stream. In spite of my plunge into the icy creek, I was too excited to feel cold as I ran after them. “ Buck,” our swing-boss, was there ahead of me, calling to the animals and trying to reach the lines with a long pole. Being already wet through, I had none of his objections to going in again, and soon had the poor brutes on land. I was glad three of my horses were safe and uninjured, and the fourth out of pain; I had dreaded the thought of secing them mangled. When the rescue was accomplished “Buck”? began a tirade in the fluent teamster tongue, telling me exactly what he thought of me. ‘Get to blazes off the face of the earth!” he roared. ‘‘ You're fired!” I was in no mood to argue, and I thought it advisable to follow his suggestion, at least so far as the immediate vicinity was concerned. I might have been “ fired,” but at any rate I had escaped annihilation. By this time some of the braver workers were showing up, confident all danger was over, One or two took my part, telling “ Buck ’’ I had done as well as any veteran, and that it was pure accident the team had got away in the first place. The excitement being over, my teeth began to chatter, and so I headed for the nearest bunkhouse with a fire. I was intent on drying my sodden clothes and getting warm again, and paid no heed to the raging “ Buck” and the argument. My wardrobe—all on my back—in good shape again, I struck out for the south. We had been paid only a day or so before, so 1 did not bother to visit head-quarters for the few dollars due to me. Most ot the black powder, I learnt subsequently, remained in the wagon, and a considerable amount of the dynamite was also salvaged, but all the same that little mishap cust the contractors over a thousand dollars. Nevertheless, I consider they got off cheaply—and so did 1!-

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393 TWO YEARS IN BORNEO eo ae rr ee ce re ee ee i Oscar Cook LATE DISTRICT OFFICER NORTH BORNEO CIVIL SERVICE ILLUSTRATED BY CYRIL HOLLOWAY Beyond the fact that it lies somewhere out East, and is hot and unhealthy, the average man in the street knows very little about Borneo. Mr. Cook spent eight years in the country, and here gives a very interesting account of the last two strenuous years of his sojourn. In this instalment he describes the exciting outbreak at the Lubuk Estate. III.—(Conclusion). Y next trouble arose in connection with the same Lubuk estate which 1] have mentioned before. A large batch of new coolies— men disbanded from the Chinese Labour Corps in France—had but recently arrived on the estate, and their behaviour in Sandakan, even under police control and supervision, had been exceedingly insub- ordinate. 1 was sitting on my veranda one day when I heard hurried, uncertain steps approaching, and a moment later the high- pitched voices of excited natives broke the silence. Before I could look over the veranda to see what caused the unusual stir the manager of the estate staggered up the steps of my house and gasped :— : “ My God! They've killed him—killed the Assistant! They’ve burnt the estate— they’ ve got rifles—all the rifles—and they’ ve attacked the head tandil (overseer). They nearly shot me—just missed. Good heavens ! it’s awful!” Then he sank into a chair, utterly ex- hausted. Quickly I turned to a friend from the timber camp who was with me. “ Get hin some brandy,” I cried. ‘“ I must turn out the police. When he’s better, if I'm not back, both of you come to the office.” I hurried off to give instructions to the sergeant of police, to supervise the issuing of ammunition, the Preparing of beats, and the collecting of coolies for our transport up river. Hardly had I given the necessary orders than the other two came in. ‘The manager, Tevived by the brandy, was calmer and more collected, and proceeded to give me a coherent account of all that he knew. THE MANAGER'S STORY. “It was awful, Cook,” he told me, “ and but for sheer chance I should now be dead myself. I took an unusual walk—the day being, as you know, a holiday nd on my way back to the house heard sounds of firing. 1 thought for a minute that some of the natives had shot a deer, but the noise and shooting continued. I hurried on my way and met two of my old Chincse coolies. They were territied, and scurrying away as fast as they could, but stopped long enough to cry: “Run, Tuan, run for life! The new coolies have all risen, They've killed the Tuan Kechil (assistant). They’re shooting the head fandil, and others are looking for you. Fly for your life!’ “The shouting and firing were increasing in volume, so I hurried to the house, seized my shot-gun, and was about to rush out, wren my housekeeper and her little girls appealed to me for protection. I hesitated. The noises came nearer. A local native ran in and told me he had seen the Assistant’s body—the poor fellow had been killed in his bedroom, Nearer and nearer came the cries and the shooting. What could I do, en- cumbered with the woman and children ? To stay was to be killed. They seized my arm and dragged me to the river. I pushed them into a sampan (boat) and sent them off with a couple of boatmen; then I tumbled into another myself and followed just as a dozen or so Chinese came rushing down to the water’s edge. “T travelled faster than they could, and on reaching the Ilcwer landing-place got out, for I could sve coolies running madly to try and cut us off. 1 fired at them, but missed, and the coolies fired back, but also

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394 missed me. Then a great shout went up, and 1 saw flames leaping from my house. The coolies en the river bank yelled with delight, and in the confusion the other boat slipped by them, and I quickly followed. As we paddled downstream I could see the flames spreading all over the estate.” “‘ You are certain your Assistant is dead ?” I demanded. “ Certain, The man who told me is reliable —the chief hunter,” he answered. “How many firearms had he ? ” * Four—an elephant gun, a Winchester Tepeater, a shot-gun, and a Snider, also a revolver and heaps of ammunition,” “How many more are there on the estate?” “ The head fandil has two, the shopkeeper two. By this time they are all in the hands of the rioters.” “Are your Javanese to be trusted?” 1 asked. ‘‘ Will they help?” - “No,” he replied. “ Most of them are sick with influenza, and they're the biggest funks in the world. As I left they were bolting into the jungle.” “Can you trust any of the Chinese—your old coolies ?’”’ “There aren’t ten on the estate that I’d trust—the rest are all new men.” “You're sure this is no faction fight ?” “Quite. There’s no quarrel between the Chinese and Javanese; they’re just out against the management.” Then, for the first time, my friend from the timber camp spoke. ‘ How many police can you take up?” he asked me. “Six,” I answered; “ not including the sergeant.” “And the Chinese number ? ” “Two hundred and seventy,” blurted out the manager, My friend’s reply was a long-drawn-out whistle, and for a moment there was silence between us. In that moment, however, my mind was made up. Rightly or wrongly, I had come to a decision, weighed up the position of affairs, the probable course of events, and the chances of a successful inter- vention. Suddenly the silence was broken by the Manager. “When are you leaving for the estate ? ’”’ he asked, rather diffidently. “I'm not going,” I answered slowly. “ I shall sit tight and wait for reinforcements from Sandakan and then 1 turned to my friend, ‘‘ You came up in your motor- boat?” I inquired. He nodded. “Good! Then you'll take in a letter for me at once.” “ But surely: broke in the manager. “You're safe and sound here,” I inter- Tupted; “your assistant is dead; you're certain of that. Your head tandil is a Chinaman; your estate is in flames! 1 ” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. number six rifles, The rioters total at least eight. I have to collect men and go up the river in open boats; the Chinese remain under cover and command all approaches. I see no single circumstance or factor that would justify any precipitate action, Can you naine one? ”’ He was silent, so I continued :— ‘“There’s no white man to be rescued, no faction fight to be quelled, no property to be saved, and by the time I reach the place evening will be coming on. The trouble started at six this morning. I can’t get there before four this afternoon. What would be the object of my visit? The quelling of the riot, the arrest of the ring- leaders, sending them down here under escort, and guarding the estate and main- taining order till help comes from Sandakan. Can I do this with six police? I might! If the coolies possessed no __ firearms there'd be more than a chance of success, but as things stand the risks are absolutely unjustifiable. Nol I'll wait for reinforce- ments, and then strike a good and certain blow.” In less than half an hour the motor-boat was chugging down-stream on its way to Sandakan, bearing my brief report and re- quest for help. Then followed what will always seem to me the two longest days of my life—days of waiting during which, though I was certain I had acted rightly, my mind foresaw the inevitable verdict of “coward” pronounced upon me by the great majority of Europeans in the Ter- ritory. Every now and then an odd _ coolie would come in, having fled from the estate, bringing a wild tale of terrorism and debauchery that fired my blood and nearly broke down my determination to exercise caution and patience, till close questioning proved the story a gross exaggeration, the fantasy of an excited and overwrought brain. SPYING OUT THE LAND. One move, however, I did make. I dispatched Haji Mohammed Noir, the local headman and chief, on a_ reconnoitring expedition. He collected four or five of hi. personal entourage to accompany him, but on my suggesting that I should also join the party he flatly refused to set out if I persisted in my intention. The enter- prise, he stated, was hazardous enough without the addition of a European—and his Tuan to boot! So, as I badly wanted news of happenings on the estate, I had to concede the point. Very early next morning Haji Neir returned, bringing a tale that coincided with and amplitied the manager’s report. Quietly as his party moved, he said, when- ever it tried to land and move about the

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various dogs on the estate invariably detected the sound and gave the alarm. Immediately shouts would be heard, whistles were blown, and lamps or torches appeared. In their glare many coolies would be seen running in the direction whence came the barking; shots were fired and bullets whizzed around, one of them actually tearing the gunwale of the boat. The news was meagre, but it confirmed my view of the situation and proved beyond doubt that the riot had been unusually well organized, and was only to be tackled by an adequate force. Two o'clock on the second day had just been sounded from the District Office when an orderly came running to the house to report the sound of a launch proceeding up-stream. In ten minutes | was aboard the Petrel as she dropped anchor in midstream, and a few seconds later had met and was imparting my story to the Sub-Commandant of the Con- stabulary. TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 395 He had with him fifty Sikh and Pathan police, and was at first all for immediate progress to the estate, but, as the situation was unfolded to him and he acquired a knowledge of local geography and condi- tions, he revised his plan and readily adopted the idea of postponing his attack on the rioters till the next morning, by which time—unknown to them—we could, by a night march over an old and disused road, guided by two hunters who had just reported, arrive in their rear and take them completely by surprise. “1 tumbled in and followed just as a dozen or so Chinese came rushing down to the water’s edge.”

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396 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIN The start was made at 5 p.m., at which hour the launch steamed slowly up-stream, her engines running slow and her funnel smokeless. At some considerable distance from the estate wharf anchor was dropped and we again waited—this time till 10 p.m. —when we transferred our force into open boats (dug-outs) which we had towed astern. Thus unseen, and we hoped almost noisclessly, we arrived at the estate. The Sub-Commandant, being my senior in the service, in command, and made the following dispositions. His force of fifty men, together with my six native police, he divided into three sections. No. 1 section was under his command ; No. 2 under the Sergeant-major ;_ and No. 3 under the Corporal. A body of fifty natives, whom I had collected with difficulty, were placed in my charge. They were armed with spears, parangs (swords), and an odd rifle or two. My orders were definite up to a certain point; after that my actions were left to my own discretion. The force disembarked from the boats about 11 p.m., and in almost utter darkness we marched in single file, as silently as we could, along the old, disused tobacco road. ‘The long, lank grass and lalang reached to our waists, and we were soon wet through. That was of little moment, however, as by 1 a.m. we had to ford the Lubuk river. The hour was a matter of importance, since the river was tidal, and at 1 a.m. would be at its lowest, but even so the water reached to my arm-pits. Then commenced another long and cold wait, for we were now only an hour’s march from our point of attack— the rear of the coolie lines. The assault had been fixed for dawn, between 5.45 and 6a.m. An advance guard consisting of a native corporal and three police had been sent on ahead to take up a position on a_ bridge that crossed a small stream and dissected a cross-road to that on which we were to march, This precaution was justified, for they captured a solitary coolie who might easily have reached our halting-place by the river unseen by us and returned to give the alarm to his fellows. At length, with a sigh of relief, our leader gave the signal to advance, and the force commenced to wend its way along the road to the longed-for scene of action. In a few minutes we passed a smouldering ruin— the Assistant’s house, burnt to the ground. 1 knew that soon we must p some more houses and kongsis (coolies’ lincs). Would they be burnt, too, I wondered ? Suddenly | bumped into the man in front of me—one of my own police—and a second later Haji Noir bumped into me. The line had come to a standstill. A whispering broke out and came floating down to me. The Major wanted me, so I quickly went to the head of the line, where I saw the cause of our halt. A hundred yards away was the blurred outline of a house; from its closed windows and door came_ tiny streaks of light. Cautiously the Major and I, accompanied by one of the guides, crept up. With our ears to the cracks of the door and windows we listened, but no sound reached us. We were on our way to rejoin the line when the Major slipped, and in an instant the dogs inside the house gave tongue! Breathlessly we waited, but nothing happened. Either the inhabitants slept soundly or else they ignored the alarm. Under cover of the barking the column quickly passed the house and progress was continued. I turned to speak to Haji Noir, to give him an order to pass down to my free natives, but there were only five of them left—Haji Noir and his personal retinue. The rest, scared by the barking of the dogs and possibly afraid of passing a near-by lake that was said to be haunted, had slipped away under cover of the darkness! They did not reach the scene of action till 11 a.m., by which time all possibility of danger was over, but the possibility of loot most probable. In the east the sky was slowly lightening. Dawn was about to break. Silently we marched on. Suddenly, as the head of the column rounded a bend in the road, the line halted again. Another message came down to me to go forward to the Major. Tobeyed, And then an extraordinary sight met my gaze. A little ahead and to the left of me were two long lines of kongsis, facing each other. Throughout the whole length of their verandas were _ placed lamps, torches, and candles, the effect of whose flickering lights was weird and unusual in the extreme. From the buildings them- selves, however, no sound emanated. Those kongsis, 1 knew, were the Javanese lines. Farther on, almost right ahead of us, were two more large kongsis. These—the Chinese quarters—wcre also wrapped in silence. A PUZZLING PROBLEM. The Major was in a quandary. Our cap- tured Chinese coolie stated that the Chine: were in the lines nearest to us; the guides were positive that the farther kongsis were those of the Chinese ! Did I know, he asked, who was telling the truth ? Was our whole plan to be ruined by the lies of a Chinese coolie or the stupidity of a native? The Major became annoyed, and as his anger grew, regardless of the need for silence, his voice rose in a crescendo, The lighted Javanese lines and the gloomy Chinese quarters certainly provided a puzzle, but in the end the old plan of attacking tle Chinese kongsis was adhered to. In fact the

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TWO YEARS IN BORNEO. 397 “The signal to fire was never given.” necessity for doing so was quickly realized by the Major when I pointed out that in the Javanese lines there would be at least forty or fifty women and children. It was impossible to think of subjecting them to a cold-blooded volley from our police. So the column crept on a little farther, while the uncanny silence brooded over the coohe quarters. Cautiously each section took up its alloted position. Quietly section No. 1 tirew the bolts of twenty Lee-Enfield car- bines, inserted twenty °303 cartridges, and almost as quietly shot home the twenty bolts. The edge of the sun just glinted on the horizon. The Major stepped two paces to the front and stood at the side of his section, He raised his hand. Twenty rifles pointed at the kongsis, and twenty fingers caressed their triggers. But the signal to fire was never given. Instead, a look of surprise spread over the Major’s face, and following his gaze I saw the head fandi! emerging from one of the buildings! With his hat in one hand and the other raised he came towards us shouting, “Don’t shoot, Tuan, don't shvot! The coolies wish to surrender, and ask me to plead for them.” “Hold fire! ’’ The order came from the Major, but in the tension of the moment it was imperfectly heard and a ragged volley of shots rang out. Then pandemoniun broke loose. From out of the Chinese lines came pouring the Chinese coolies, all talking and gesticulating wildly, while from the Javanese kongsis emerged women and children, Javanese men, and a few Chinese too. “ The Government are here; the Tuans are here!’’ The cry was taken up and passed from throat to throat. The Javanese huddled together ; but the Chinese, in their terrified guilt, tried to scatter. Strenuously the Major, the head tandil, and I strove to make them under- stand that they were to collect in rows on either side of the road, and that if they did so and were obedient there would be no shooting. Slowly they gresped our meaning and kesitatingly began to line up, but even so it was necessary to send my native police

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398 THE WIDE WORLD and free natives to forcibly round up the most terrified or recalcitrant. At length order was established, and the Major and I, with the help of the head and under-tandils, took a roll-call of the coolies present. As we did so I mentally congratu- lated myself on the turn of events, for, though greatly disappointed at the absence of a fight, I felt my diagnosis of affairs had been correct. The coolies—a day or two before intoxicated with success and the lust of murder—had, as I intended they should, become so puzzled by our seeming want of action that wonder had deepened to fear and fear to a realization of the power of the Prentah (Government). My reflections, however, were rudely shaken, for all at once, just as the Major and 1 were at the end of the lines of squatting ies, a shot rang out, followed in quick ion by three more, and four bullets whizzed past our heads, two actually passing between us. They came from a little house on a small hill about a hundred yards away. In an instant No.1 section, at a command from the Major, had doubled along the road and taken up a position in front of the house and about fifty vards away. No further sign of life came from the building. On instructions, the head tandi! called out in Chinese to those inside to come out or remain at their peril, as dis- obedience would be met by a volley from the police. A face appeared at a window and then withdrew. The head tand:/ repeated the command and warning. Still there was no response. “ Fire |’? The command rang out sharply, and a volley was poured into the house. At the same time my small force rushed the hill, the police and natives yelling with delight at the prospect of using their parangs. In the vegetable garden which surrounded the house we captured a Chinaman who turned out to be the de facto leader of the riot and the actual firer of the shots at the Major and myself. On the steps of the house we met a woman with a baby in her arms and two children clinging round her, All were weeping, and no wonder, for the husband and father had been killed by our volley. There was one other casualtvy—a man shot through the arm and side—who dicd that same night in the estate hospital. Thus ended the riot on Lubuk estate— the biggest and most serious affair of its kind that had ever happened in North Borneo. Though the outbreak was quelled, my work on the estate had only just begun, and all chance of leave, to which 1 had been boxing forward, vanished for the present. That afternoon we buried the charred aemains of the poor Assistant, reading the THE GAZINE. burial service over him and placing a wooden cross at the head of the grave. Thereafter, for many days, among the smouldering relics of the manager’s house and other buildings, the preliminary in- quiries dragged their interminable course. Then, duly committed, the accused came before the Sessions Court. In the end some five or six out cf some fifty coolies were condemned to death; a few more received sentences of ten years or less in jail; but the majority were released. There was so little evidence—only that of a few frightened Javanese coolies, whose memories could not be relied upon—on which to convict. Yet such is the justness of the laws in Borneo, and so highly is the sacredness of life regarded, that although all who had taken part in the riot, dacoity, and murders, even to the extent of being on the edge of the crowd, were legally guilty of the offences committed, only those against whom the actual perpetration of crimes could be proved were sentenced. Among the released coolies was one who carried in his heart a secret. His face was always an impassive mask, and never by sign or word or look throughout the pre- liminary inquiries did the faintest breath of suspicion touch him. Right through to the end of the trials in the Sessions Court his record appeared to be blameless. What were his thoughts as he heard the death sentence passed on his comrades ? How could he keep his faceas their eyes met his? And they whose days were numbered, would they keep silent 2 Would they take their secret with them to the grave? We wondered ; for we knew that somewhere in the background lurked a master mind; we knew that these wretches upon whom death had been so justly sentenced were but instruments after all. The days of grace were passing ; the hour of exccution drawing near. Still no word: no sign of betrayal. At last but one more day remained! Lingering in their cell, awaiting the last dawn their eyes would ever witness, something snapped within them. It was not fear, for they knew that they must die. It was not hate, for they were past all fecling. Perhaps it was a sense of justice—if they must die then why not he, the author and instigator of the plot? So they spoke, giving their leader’s name and ered estate number, and described his face. They also told us the story of the plot ; how every Chinese coolie had put his “ mark ” to a document, swearing to kill the management and ruin the estate. A trial followed and a conviction. In silence the condemned man_ heard the sentence and passed out, only the days of ¢ allowed remaining to him of life.

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399 Tria 7 C.L. HARRIES NATIVE COMMISSIONER POTGIETERSRUST, TRANSVAAL ILLUSTRATED BY A. SINDALL “Trial by Ordeal” is still practised more or less secretly by certain African tribes, but it is seldom that a concrete case comes to light. Here is the strange story of an instance of trial by ordeal that was officially investigated by the Author. S the train slowed down at Muheza station, on the Tanga-Moschi line, in East Africa, I thrust my head out of the carriage window and at once noticed that something was amiss. Four men were proceeding along the station platform bearing a_ stretcher upon which lay a figure covered over with a blanket. They were closely followed by a concourse of Wabondei natives of both sexes and ages, freely gesticulating and apparently somewhat agitated. The train halted, and as I stepped on to the platform the Akida of Muheza, the native head of the village, rushed up to me. “ Bwana Mkubua,” he cried, excitedly, “a most unfortunate thing has just hap- pened. The widow Assia was ‘smelt out’ as a witch. She was called upon by the witch-doctor Hamise to face a trial by ordeal, and she died. I have had her body brought here for you to sec.” 1 was District Political Officer of Tanga at the time, and was on my way farther up the line, so that I had only a few minutes to spare while the train halted at Muheza. I therefore made a few tentative inquiries and decided to telegraph to Tanga for the police and medical officer to come up at once and take the matter in hand. A post-mortem examination showed that the woman’s death was due to arsenical poisoning. The necessary steps were taken by the police, and Hamise, the witch-doctor, appeared before me charged with man- slaughter and was duly punished, much to the consternation of the Wabondci. “ Surely,” they said amongst themselves, “this man has done no wrong? Did he not warn those who drank of the poison of the inevitable consequences to the one whose evil spirit was responsible for the death of Sclemane’s wife and child? Scle- mane drank first, then Abudu his brother, and nothing happencd to them, But when Assia the wicow drank she died. There- fore, what further proof do we need that she was a witch?” The circumstances that led to this tragedy and to the incarceration of Hamise, the witch-doctor, were graphically recounted with every detail at the trial. It struck me as an extraordinary case, because, although one often hears that many African tribes observe certain forms of trial by ordeal, it is seldom that a concrete case comes to light. It was also remarkable from an ethno- logical point of view, having an important bearing on the psychology and superstitious beliefs of the Wabondei, and for the benefit of WIDE Wor tp readers I have set the story down in narrative form. The characters who figured in the matter were Selemane, his brother Abudu, Hamise the witch-doctor, and the widow Assia, who was a midwife and the mother-in-law of Seclemane. They all belonged to the Wabondei tribe and lived in the native town of Muheza. They professed to be Moham- medans, but were not so wedded to their faith as to emancipate themselves entirely from the ancient traditions and pagan beliefs of the tribe. mane married the daughter of the widow Assia, and for three or four years they had no children, This was a source of much concern to Selemane, who began to imagine that he doomed to remain childless. However, his fears proved groundless, for in due course an interesting event was anticipated. When the time arrived for arrangements to be made for

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400 his wife’s comfort he consulted his brother Abudu. “There is nothing in the teachings of the Prophet to prevent your observing the custom of our tribe in this matter,” said Abudu. ‘‘ Your wife should be taken to tlhe home of her mother, the widow Assia ; she is a midwife and will surely take proper care of her.’’ In due course a messenger arrived from Assia to tell Selemane that he was the father of a son. This was the fulfilment of his greatest desire, and he openly manifested his pride and joy to those around him. Within a week, however, all was changed, and Selemane mourned the death of his child, besides being filled with anguish concerning his wife, who lay in a very pre- carious condition. A week later she, too, died, despite all the skill. that Assia could call to her aid. Selemane’s grief was so great that he went about the village shouting: ‘‘ Moham- med! Mohammed! wherein have I trans- gressed so grievously as to merit this punishment ? ”” ‘spite his sorrow, Selemane did not remain unconscious of what some of his pagan neighbours were saying. They spoke of an evil influence in their midst, and declared it ought to be ferreted out, lest further harm sould come to others of the village. This greatly troubled Selemane, and again he went to Abudu for advice. “ Brother,” said he, ‘‘ my wife and child have crossed the korder into the Great Unknown, leaving me with nothing but the company of a broken heart. I have neigh- tours who say that an evil spirit has been at work, and that steps should be taken, according to Wabondei beliefs, to have it “smelt out.’ What s2y you to this?” “Son of my mother,” replicd Abudu, “ I feel very deeply for you in your grief, but it is not for me to decide what truth there may ke in what your neighbours say. Assia, tle mother of your departed wife, is the person to answer this question. She should at least be able to explain why your loved ones have been taken from you. But listen! If it be her own evil spirit that is to blame, she will say nothing. 1n the first place, demand of her an explanation. If she refuses to speak or, having spoken, fails to set your mind at ease, then go to H«mise, the witch-doctor. He is wise, and a man worthy of your confidence in so sad and perplexing a matter.” Selemane lost little time in acting upon this advice. “ Assia,”’ he said gravely to his mother-in-law, “four years elapsed before Mohammed hearkened to my prayers and I knew that a child would be born unto me. When I brought my wife to you to be nurs :¢ my heart overflowed with happy expectations, To-day, what am 1? Look at me, bowed down by the weight of my THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. grief. Tell me—why have my wife and child been taken from me? What evil influences have been at work in this matter ?”” “*Selemane,”’ replied the old woman, “my heart bleed with yours. We mourn together ; you for the loss of your wife and child, I for my daughter. 1 know not why this has come to pass. Surely it must be the will of God—amri ya Muungu. I can say no more.” “Amni ya Muungu.”” That wasallshe said —a phrase commonly used, not infrequently by Selemane himself, in a philosophical sense. Adequate terms, no doubt, on fitting occasions, but in the circumstances too indefinite to allay the misgivings that had troubled him since his interview with Abudu. Selemane made up his mind that the old woman had deliberately tried to deceive him. He was not satisfied, and determined to consult Hamise, through whom the truth would be revealed. “ Greeting, Hamise,” said he to the witch- doctor, whom he found working in his garden. “ I have a shauri (matter) for you.” “‘ What is your shauri ? ”’ inquired Hamise. “Tt concerns the death of my wife and child,” replied Selemane. ‘‘ My wife was the daughter of the widow Assia. For four years we lived together without having a child. I prayed earnestly to Mohammed and paid full attention to the reading of the Koran. At last my faith and patience were rewarded, and in due course my wife was committed to the care of her mother Assia, who is a midwife. A son was born and I expressed deep gratitude to Mohammed for his goodness. “ But my joy was short-lived, for within a week my child crossed the border into darkness, to be followed a week later by his mother. And now, while I mourn their departure, the burden of my grief is increased by a haunting thought that my neighbours are correct in saying that a mchawe (witch) in our midst- has wrought this evil. I have taken counsel of my brother Abudu. He urged me to demand of Assia what she knows concerning this matter. This 1 have done, but all she says is‘ Amri ya Muungu,’ and professes much grief at the loss of ler daughter. Iam sorely perplexed, and I have come to you to learn what truth there is in what my neighbours say, or in what the widow Assia has said. Your wisdom is great.” “T have heard you, Sclemane,” replied Hamise, ‘‘ but until 1 am well paid I can do nothing for you. Place twenty rupees in my hands and you shall learn the truth.” Selemane was not prepared for this demand, but a day or two later he returned with the requisite fee. Hamise carefully counted the coins, placed them in his purse, and then said :— “Since you were here I have given much thought to your shauri, It is a big matter

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TRIAL BY ORDEAL, 401 “Drink, and if your spirit be evil you will surely die. If not, no harm will come to you.” Vow. tv.—28.

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402 and I cannot agree with the widow Assia that ‘Amri ya Muungu’ is all that need be said concerning it. Evil influences have certainly been at work! In this respect your neighbours have not spoken without cause. A mystery surrounds the death of your wife and child. I shall be able to discover the whole truth, but not unless you and your people, on the one side, and Assia and her people, on the other, are willing to face a trial by ordeal.” “Tam suite willing,’ said Selemane. “A trial by ordeal,” continued Hamise, “‘ will disclose the witch. Let the people of your father’s household, and the people of Assia’s household, be assembled at that wild fig-tree over tlere to-morrow when the sun rises. Every man, woman, and child must carry a drum or a tincan. When I appear let them shout and beat upon the drums and cans and make a big noise to awaken the evil spirit, lest it be asleep.” About thirty people duly assembled, and when Hamise appeared all shouted dis- cordantly, to the irregular accompaniment of the drums and tin cans. There was indced a ‘‘ big noise.” Hamise took up a position about forty yards from the party and beckoned to Selemane to approach. ‘‘ Selemane,”’ said he, ‘‘ your wife and child have crossed the border, and to-day we shall learn the truth concerning their going. This cup contains poison: Drink, and if your spirit be evil and as wrought this harm you will surely die. If not, no harm will come to you.” Witlout hesitation Selemane took the cup and drank, “ That is well,” said Hamise. ‘ Now call your brother Abudu; and let there be no pause in the shouting and the beating of the drums.” Abudu came, and to him Hamise said, Drink, and if you “ Abudu, here is poison. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. have the spirit that is responsible for the grief that has come to your brother Selemane you will die. If you are innocent, nothing will happen to you.” Abudu drank, and was then told to call the widow Assia, to whom the witch-doctor repeated much the same injunction. Without hesitation she also drank, and was in turn requested to call her brother, but scarcely had she traversed half the distance to the others when she became violently ill and collapsed, and the proceedings were forth- with terminated. They carried her to ler Lome, and in a few hours she died. None mourned over her, for all believed that she had been justly punished for being a wicked witch, = It has been said that the people of Muheza were amazed when the witch-doctor was found guilty and punished. I discussed the matter with some of them afterwards and found them quite incapable of grasping the fact that the sole reason why Selemane and Abudu_ had survived the ordeal was tle insolubility of the arsenic. The men drank without stirring the deadly mixture, leaving the dregs at the bottom of the cup. The hapless Assia was less fortunate, for not only did she stir the mixture with her finger—no doubt to demonstrate how little she feared the ordeal—but she actually drained the cup, thus getting the poison that was intended for the other two as well as her own portion. All this was clearly disclosed in the evidence at the trial. There still remained the questicn of the arsenic. Where had it come from? This point was cleared up by Hamise himself at the trial. During the war, he said, he was employed as a military porter attached to a medical unit in German East Africa, and the “‘ medicine ”’ he had used was a white powder that had been stolen from some medical stores by a fellow-porter.

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403 A WOMAN IN UNKNOW MOROCCO TOLD BY Gay Sutton AND SET DOWN BY FS Stuart ILLUSTRATED BY G SOPER Miss Sutton has recently returned from a tour in Central Morocco, which is so little visited that the people of several of the villages she entered had never seen a white person before, and some of her photographs were taken at the risk of her life, owing to the fierce hatred of the fanatical Arabs for the camera. Miss Sutton’s account of her adventures will be found extremely interesting. ITH the exception of the coastal towns, very little is known about Morocco save that it is a_ small, _ fiercely - independent State in Northern Africa which has managed to wage a successful intermittent war with Spain ever since its first invasion, which followed the Moorish drive into Spain. Most people who have not visited the country derive their ideas of the desert Moors (or Arabs, as they are more usually called) from modern novels, in which the = shciks and their countrymen appear in a most romantic, guise. These notions are very far indeed from reality, for the sheik of inland Morocco is a fierce, dirty, uninspiring individual who wou'd cheerfully rob his best friend if only Providence would send an opportunity. Indeed, the state of the natives may be imagined from the single fact that even to-day, in Meknes, which is quite a large town, a native sect called the Aissawah gather at a mosque on their religious feast-days, and then run madly through the streets, dancing and_ shrieking and devouring the raw (eh of sheep ard goats as they go. On the Jews in the town barr themselves behind powerful gates in their own quarter, for were they to be met by this howling mob, who hate Jews even worse than Christians, they would be torn to pieces. I arrived at Casablanca, the chief seaport of Morocco, after a rough sea voyage in a coasting steamer, and was enchanted by the Eastern atmosphere of that garish white city. Its streets are always crowded with brown-faced, white-clad natives who rush to and fro among a veritable potpourri of other nationalities, weaving in and cut amidst an extraordinary variety of animals and _ vehicles. The journey was made by from Casablanca to Rabat motor-coach, across country which resembled nothing so much as a roughly-cut cornfield, intersected by tracks which bumped our coach about in a most dangerous Lashion, We passed through the

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404 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Forest of Marmora—the only wooded land in northern Morocco, though at best it is nothing more than a patch of stunted trees —and reached Petitjean, a huddle of little white houses which gave a very pretty first impression under the delicate rosy glow of a vivid north African sunset. Irom this township to the farm which I was to make my head-quarters, the journey had to be continued by horse-buggy, which rattled and jolted over the rough b/ad (arid country) in a manner which forced me to admire both the sturdy Moorish pony and the solidity of the buggy. It was a physical as well as a mental relief to reach the farm at last, and to be welcomed by the wife of its French owner, who had been a chum of mine in England. It was after a pleasant weck’s rest here that my adventures as an explorer began. My curiosity had been piqued by the information that no white woman had ever travelled beyond the borders of the farm, which was, in this locality, the farthest outpost of civilization; and one day, in a sudden fit of daring, I said to my friend that [ should love to try a tour of exploration through some of the unknown villages. ““Nonsense, my dear!’’ she laughed. “Why, don't you realize that hardly any of the natives in the villages have ever seen a white person in their sinful lives?) And they’re horribly uncivilized—they’d be sure to hold you to ransom, or murder you, or something of that sort. You'd never dare to do it!” That remark, of course, put me on my mettle, and the same evening, despite protests and dissuasions, the plans for the trip were made. 1 decided to travel on horseback, accompanied by Jules, a reliable French guide, and to journey for three days through an unexplored stretch of country to the north, as far as another farm kept by a French colonist. Our tents and equipment were got ready at once, and in the cool of the next morning we sect out into the unknown. Even at the start I caused terrific excitement among the farm natives, for they had never before seen a woman ride astride, and they regarded this new departure of the ‘mad English” with horrified disapproval. The journey commenced with a slow, hot tide across the parched blad, during the course of which 1 questioned Jules as to the characteristics of these inland Arabs. My guide was somewhat taciturn, however, and not nearly so brave now that the farm was out of sight. Moreover, he really knew very little, since the villages in our route had never before been entered by white people. He did, however, vouchsafe the cheery information that we should probably be killed as ‘accursed Christians ” in the first village at which we drew rein ! It was late in the afternoon when Jules, who had been riding in silence for some time, announced that we were approaching the native village where, if the sheik would allow it, we were to pitch our tents for the night. As we rode on, we passed several large holes in the ground used by the Arabs for storing their grain. The holes are bottle-shaped, the necks being just large enough to allow a man to pass through fairly easily, and opening out into big pits below. He stands on the floor of the pit and receives the grain, which is lowered to him by means of a basket on a rope. When it is all neatly packed he fastens the noose of the rope about his waist and is hauled up to the light once more. “Also,” said Jules gloomily, “ the Arabs keep their prisoners in these pits until such time as they are ransomed by their friends. The custom has rather fallen into disuse nowadays, because there are few prisoners worthy of the risk, but it still happens—as we may yet learn.” Just at this moment a tremendous and discordant concert of barking dogs—over a hundred and fifty of them, as I afterwards learned—gave warning that strangers were approaching the dovar or village, and as we rode forward the headman came out to meet us. It was my first view of an inland sheik, and any figure more unlike a novelist’s hero it would be hard to imagine. He smiled blandly, shook my hand, and then kissed the hand with which he had shaken mine. This is one form of ceremonial Moorish greeting, another being to kiss the visitor’s shoulder. I jumped from = my horse, and the sheik silently escorted us through a gap in the grass wall and into his courtyard, where his horses, donkeys, chickens, and other livestock lived and were fed. It was a burning hot afternoon, and the state of the atmosphere in the con- fined space may well be guessed, though the natives and even Jules seemed to be quite oblivious of it. While our host, Sheik Si Jellili ben Ahmed (Saint Jellili, son of Ahmed), was talking to my guide, I did a thing unobserved which— as I discovered later—might well have cost us our lives, though I did not realize it at the time. Rather nervously I got out my camera, snapped a picture of the two of them talking together, and then slipped the instrument back into its case. The sheik was obviously consumed with curiosity as to the object of my visit. He was a tall, thin, crafty-looking Arab, olive- skinned, and a dirtier-looking specimen I have certainly never seen before or since. But the courtesy of his manners was irre- proachable as, with ceremonial profuseness, he thanked me for being the first white woman to honour his poor dooar by a visit. On hearing that 1 was English he was delighted, for the Arabs everywhere respect the English above all other white people ;

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A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN MOROCCO. it also enabled him to satisfy himself as to the reason which had prompted my strange idea of ‘‘exploration.’’ Of course, it was no more than one would expect from that mad nation! However, as a signal mark of honour, he invited Jules and myself to take a meal . with him in his hut. While the food was being pre- pared he took us on a tour of in- spection round his village. We were followed by crowds of shriek- ing, dirty Arab boys, from whose poor little shaven heads, which were covered with black clusters of flies, sprang single locks of Jhair re- sembling Red Indian scalp- locks. These are carefully tended in order that the Prophet may be able to seize them in his hand and so pluck up his while talking to the guide. faithful into Heaven when they die! Dirt was really the primary impression in Si Jellili’s dooar, Everyone and everything appeared to be thickly coated with it, and Jules told me afterwards that the native never changes his faik or shirt. | When he finds the old one falling to pieces, he merely puts on another, without removing its predecessor! I began to revise my mental pictures of sheiks pretty sharply. The native huts are most curious erections. They are made of grass and weeds tied together with hcme - made string, and although they look as though a good puff of wind would distribute them all over the jiandscape, they usually stand for at least six months. They are very primitive, however, and have no windows, while the door is merely a hole some four feet in height. Here and there are more pretentious huts owned by the notables of the village and built of native bricks made in the ancient Israelitish fashion by baking kneaded lumps of mud and straw in the sun. These larger huts are oblong in shape and thatched with reeds and grass, with an opening on one side for a door. It is curious how closely Moorish customs resemble those of the ancient Hebrews. Thus, ploughing is done by means of the same pointed stick dragged Sheik Si Jellili ben Ahmed photographed unawares discovered later, might easily have cost her and Jules by their lives. 405 by oxen, and the same patriarchal authority is exercised by the tribal sheik as was the case in the time of Abraham and _ Isaac. Indeed, to travel in central Morocco is like walking through the Old Testament. We were shown the village bath, which was quite a communal affair —a_hive- shaped mud hut about four feet high with a small hole on either side. Through one of these holes the bather crawls, and through tlhe other a little charcoal fire on a slab is pushed by a friend, with a petrol-tin full of water reposing upon it. The steam which is supposed to arise is sufficient for the bather’s simple needs—te is careful not to touch the water ! Even then the Arabs endeavour not to use tle bath too often, as was shown the fact that, at the time of our visit, hens were sitting on eggs inside ! é We passed women squatting on tle ground before their huts and grinding corn between two stones in the ancient manner, and, being naturally interested, 1 made an instinctive motion to unsling my camera. I can truthfully say that no one was more alarmed than myself when everybody in sight, except Si Jellili himself, precipitately disappeared. Even le looked dangerous until Jules hastily explained that tle camera was not a firearm. When he wis further informed that the mission of tle “black box ’’ was to take pictures, the sheik warned us coldly never to use it in his village, as “it would make the people unclean to have their images stolen from them and taken away by a Christian.” In his displeasure he forthwith abandoned the tour through the village, and we returned in disgrace past the noolah in which Si Jellili kept his wives, and proceeded towards his own house. However, he s no more of the incident, and we discovered that great preparations had Leen mi de for our reception, The hut had been swept out —a very rare occurrence—and mats and blankets spread where we were to sit. TLese things were probably our host's Led- This picture, the Authoress 'Oroye > Digitized by Ka OOQIC i Q

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406 coverings, beneath which he slept on the bare ground, as European-style beds are quite unknown in the villages. We removed our boots on entering, as is the Moorish custom, and crawled through the door-hole to find ourselves inside a bare- walled hut. It was about eight feet high by eight long and six wide, thatched with reeds and grass, with a final covering of mud—quite a pretentious residence, in fact. Piles of cushions had been procured from somewhere, and on these we were supposed to rest our elbows while the tea-drinking was in progress. In one corner of the hut stood a large wooden chest in which the sheik kept his treasures, such as tea, sugar, trinkets, and so forth; while in another corner was a charcoal fire in a kind of three- legged pot with a boiling kettle upon it. And now came thestrangest meal towhich I have ever sat down. I must explain here that only the master of the household eats with a guest, the dishes, when finished with, being passed out to other members of the family. The women are kept entirely in the background, and are not allowed to eat with the men, nor may they ever be seen unveiled by any man save their hus- bands or other male members of their own family, While Jules and I squatted, tailor-fashion, beside our heaps of cushions, the sheik gravely began to act as chef. Now, note the lengths to which an Arab will go to ensure hospitality! He had heard that the English ate eggs. Does not the Koran command politeness? Therefore eggs had been procured—straight from the village bath, 1 believe !—and Si Jellili himself prepared what he fondly believed to be an English dish of fried eggs. Undismayed by his entire lack of European knowledge, he heated the eggs among the embers of the fire, warmed a big dish of olive oil, and gravely broke the raw eggs into the hot oil. Yhen, his unwashed face gleaming with homely pride, he put the awful-looking mixture at our disposal! I was not sure whether one lapped it from the bowl, or merely scooped it up in handfuls, like Gideon’s army of old, but the question was luckily settled by Si Jellili himself. He broke some hot, pancake-like bread into portions, which he distributed, and then led the way in scooping up pieces of the oily egg on the bread. He ate silently and impassively, careful to show no sign of disgust while in our presence. As a matter of fact, we were all of us martyrs for manners’ sake, since the sheik ate the horrible stuff under the impression that he was politely joining in our national dish, while we dared not appear to do other than relish it, since to cast a slur upon such elaborate hospitality was to invite almost certain murder, Even I, novice as 1 was, understood this, and I began to wish THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZID E. that I had never set out on such a foolhardy trip, for Si Jellili was watching us both intently from beneath his thin, frowning brows, suspicious lest we should show any sign of scorn at his efforts. We were given Moorish tea to accompany the meal—indeed, had I not been able to wash each mouthful down, I think I shculd never have got through it. The beverage was sickly enough, however—a_ sweet, minty - flavoured, pale - green concoction served in liqueur glasses. It was prepared in a small metal teapot holding about half a pint, in which were placed some green tea, a lot of sugar, and a bundle of mirt. On to this the boiling water was poured, only a few seconds being allowed for infusion. During the summer months orange-flower is used as a flavouring instead of mint. This tea is almost the only beverage of the inland Moor, his religion forbidding intoxi- cating liquors. Si Jellili rose while I was drinking and turned to see about our next course, the eggs having now been worried sufficiently, and in the interval Jules instructed me in a hurricd and. agitated voice as to my table-manners. “Mam'selle,”” he whispered, ‘ you must not take less than three glasses of tea lest vou give offence. And—pardon, Mam’selle ! but you must make loud noises and blowings while imbibing the tea and after eating the food. By the amount of such noises will your satisfaction be measured.” There was nothing for it but to obey, and _ I noticed that Jules’ satisfaction, judging by the noises He made, was enor- mous; so much so, indeed, that, for the first time since the unfortunate camera incident, the sheik expanded into a pleased smile, and gracefully acknowledged my compliments on his “ English cooling.” Cooking, forsooth! And—Heaven forgive me !—I said that I had never tasted better at our hotels in England ! After this followed the last course, the Moorish equivalent of our ‘‘ Roast-beef- cabbage-and-baked.”” It is known ag kus-kus, and consists of a wonderful mixture of steamed grain, with fat (butter if the Arab is rich enough), onions, and raisins, all cooked together and piled high in a brown earthen dish. On top of this mixture was placed a cooked chicken, and the whole was served in a basket placed in our midst on the floor. Si Jellili took the chicken in his dirty hands, and, pulling apart the legs, dug his brown fingers under the breast and handed me a fine white portion, which, of course, I took in my fingers. Next he laughingly passed me a spoon procured from among his treasures in the box in the corner, for he knew that it was not the usual form of procedure for an English- woman to squat on the ground beside a dish and eat with her fingers.

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A WOMAN IN UNKNOWN MOROCCO. I was, however, determined to learn the art of eating in the Moorish fashion. For this, the first and second fingers of the right hand are dipped into the dish, enough kus-kus taken to roll into a small ball, and this is flicked from the thumb into the mouth. But on no account must it touch the lips, or one is considered coarse and ill-mannered. At first, particles of the cereal and onion found their way up my sleeve, and I also flicked several pellets into my eye—which is about the equivalent of eating peas with a knife in this country— but I struggled to excel. Our polite sheik watched me without a smile, and Jules was far too busy to be able to comment. I was very thankful to get that exciting meal over safely, but, at least, I gained a certain proficiency in the art of tossing kus-kus, and indeed, before my trip ended, I flatter myself that my Moorish table-manners were well-nigh perfect. Next morning I was up and out of my tent just as the sun was rising, for—despite the sheik’s command to the contrary—I was determined to get a picture of the dooar, and 1 thought it would be safest to take the photograph before the natives were stirring. 1 took upa position on a hillock which com- 407 manded a good view of the huts, fearful all the time lest someone should emerge and see me, for I knew that I was endangering both the guide’s life and my own, I had just got the camera focused when a couple of native women suddenly appeared to the right. I was absolutely terrified, but they did not seem alarmed, so | took tle photograph in a great hurry and escaped back to my tent. Apparently tle incident never came to the ears of Si Jellili, for 1 leard no more of it. As we rode out of the village later in the morning, two very interesting things hap- pened. One was our meeting with a venerable Arab woman—she must have been well over a hundred—to whom the natives referred irreverently as “‘ Mother of Eternity.’’ Poor old creature! There she sat in the clean morning sunshine outside her noolah, grimed with years’ accumulation of dirt and mud, and with dogs, chickens, and cats all round her. Her only covering was a single sack, through one hole in which Ler bald kead was pushed, while her witlered arms dangled “Everyboay in sight, except Si Jellili himself, precipitately disappeared.” Can > Ss Digitized t GOOS c

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408 through two others. She was blind with age, dirt, and disease, and sat there all day long, -mumbling toothless prayers to Allah. Old women are not revered in Morocco—they are just considered a burden, though sons venerate their fathers and work to support them from the age when they are able to earn any wages at all. This poor old woman, I was told, was often stoned by her grandson, while the child's mother stood by laughing. There are many sad aspects of life in this cruel country. The other incident was of a more amusing nature, for as we passed through the out- skirts of the village I heard, proceeding from a grass hut, a whistled tune which sounded like “ Tipperary!’ Out there in this sun- scorched wilderness came lilting that old tune, which took me—homesick all of a sudden—back across the seas to Dublin Bay. Of course, we dismounted, and Jules went to investigate. appeared in the sunshine, and he could actually speak a little English ! He explained tuat he knew London quite well—‘ oh, ver’'dam_ vell’’—having once worked his passage there on a cargo-boat. And then, he boasted, he had spent fourteen days in the great city, inside a ‘‘ grand stone palace ” (a prison) for stealing from his ship, before he had returned to his native land full of wonderful descriptions of the mad English nation. Suddenly, while I was still laughing at his account of his adventures, he disappeared Si Jellili’s village, which Miss Sutton was the first white woman to enter. backwards into the hut, only to emerge a moment later swelling with pride, exhibiting with eloquent gestures and a veritable sun- rise of smiles a filthy, tattered document. It was a certificate, given him by “ the kind Ienglish gentleman—such a beauteous man, oh yes, like unto a roaring lion, dammal ’’— stating that he had been deported as an “ Undesirable Alien!” I congratulated him on his splendid docu- Suddenly a dirty Arab boy THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. ment, and he stood there looking after us as we rode away towards the hills, a quaint figure waving good-byes and shrilly whistling the “ Tipperary ” tune for our benefit, albeit with involuntary variations. We came about midday to a mountain ss, leaving Gibel Zelphat on the right, and Vales showed me the spot where Si Jellili had told him that a panther had been killed a few days previously. We rode now across the rougher country of the foothills, and because rain had fallen recently, little patches of green were to be seen on all sides, spangled with wild flowers, marshmallow making glaring red spots here and there among wild marigolds and waxen white lilies. We had a quick journey on this second day, and reached the village where we in- tended to pitch our tents in mid-afternoon, to find a native wedding in progress. This ceremony is always followed by a_ feast, which was just beginning as we rode into the dooar. The sheik was a dirty, thin- shouldered old man with a cruel but not unhandsome face. He came forward to greet us with profuse salutations, thanking us at great length for being the first white people to enter this part of the country, assuring us that whatever we commanded should be carried out, and that all the poor hospitality his tribe could offer was at our disposal. The curiosity of the tribesmen was enoz- mous, though they tried not to let us see it, for except the sheik himself and a few of his young men, who had visited the coastal towns or distant farmsteads, none of the inhabitants of the dooar had ever seen people with white skins, since these inland Moors seldom leave their own villages. An interesting custom which I noticed at this wedding feast (which lasted several days, as the bridegroom was a compara- tively rich man), was that anybody from far or near was invited to join the festivities. A big basket was placed at the door of the hut, into which the guests put their presents on leaving, and these usually took the form of coins; with the idea, 1 suppose, of helping the bridegroom to pay for his wife, as all Moors do. The men are allowed four legal wives, and as many slaves as they can afford. As Jules and myself prepared to accom- pany the sheik to his house I suddenly

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A WOMAN became aware of a most alarming sight. A band of about a dozen Arabs was thundering towards us on horseback, and just as I looked up they began to fire their long antique trade-guns in all directions. My first thought was that a slave-trading gang was out to raid the , village, but next y) moment I realized that it was a rough-riding display in our honour. IN UNKNOWN MOROCCO. 409 mouth about three pellets out of every four. Whether these successes had anything to do with it I cannot say, but after the meal was concluded I was permitted by Sheik Si Omar ben Lashme, as a signal mark of honour, to visit his four wives in their own-house. They were unveiled, as no man, of course, was present, while I, being a woman, was actually allowed to go in and take tea with them. Three of them were young and distinctly good-looking, but *he ldest one, “A band of about a dozen Arabs was thundering towards us on horseback.” I have seldom seen more remarkable riding than in this wild Arab dooar, for the white- robed, brown faced horsemen seemed to be on both sides of their mounts at one time, and the long guns banged deafeningly into the air as the riders circled about us. At last we were seated on cushions in the sheik’s mud-house, and here we joined in another meal almost exactly like the one at Si JeHili’s dooar the previous day. This time, however, my newly-acquired table-manners passed muster, for I made as much noise as Jules himself, and tossed my kus-kus with a Proficiency which enabled me to catch in my evidently the chief wife, was fat and ugly. The palms of their hands were coloured with henna, as were also their finger and_toe- nails, while their lips were painted a brilliant ted. They were all wearing a quantity of barbaric beads, anklets, bracelets, and other jewellery, and their dainty little Moorish leather slippers were beautifully worked with beads and gilt thread. They were excited and deliciously alarmed at my appearance, just like mischievous children, for I suppose I looked decidedly out of place in that exotic, curtained harem; but after a period of shyness they began to take

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410 great interest in my riding-costume, and especially the gloves, for they had never seen such things before. They touched my clothes and hair, and when, in response to the pleading appeals of the youngest, I let my hair loose, they were convinced that I was almost human. Si Omar’s second wife was almost white in colour, and she told me proudly that she was a distant descendant of an English sailor who was taken prisoner by the Sallee rovers in the old piratical days. Now that they had lost their shyness the laughing chatter waxed fast and loud, and, while we talked, a brass tray bearing liqueur-glasses of the undiluted, mint-flavoured green tea of Morocco was carried in by a mute negro eunuch, adding the final touch of barbaric splendour to the strange scene. The tea was accompanied by almond cakes made in The grass walls of a dooar, or village. the shape of antlers, and tasting quite good. Then followed some delicious cakes prepared from semolina boiled in honey. The four wives, reclining on their rich cushions, were chatting gaily by this time, and I would have given anything for a chance to get out my camera and take just one picture of them unobserved. But I gave up the idea with a sigh of regret, for I knew that they would all scream at once, and I had no wish to offend the sheik. Next morning, however, I repeated my previous tactics and got up very early to go out and get a picture of the grass-huts and walls of the dooar before the natives were stirring. This time I got a terrible fright, for just as I was arranging tle camera I heard a noise behind me, but providentially it was only Jules emerging from his tent, Despite his frightened warnings, I managed to take one good picture before I hurried into my tent again with that incriminating camera. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We rode away from the village that morning after grave parting ceremonies from the old sheik, and decided to visit on our way the native sok, or open-air market. The first warning of its proximity was its smell, and as we came nearer I saw that we were approaching what appeared to be a cattle-market. Donkeys, camels, horses, and mules were all huddled together before us, and a little farther away were a herd of restless cattle, while over to the right a diminutive Arab urchin guarded a flock of sheep. This sok was a huge place, in which were to be bought vegetables, fruit, pottery, brasswork, native bread, grain, new clothes, old clothes and shoes, oddments such as tea and oil, sweets, henna and spices, and, in a pile on the ground, some cotton materials brought by a trading caravan and marked in English, “Finest sewing.”” The oil market was chiefly devoted to the sale of olive oil stored in goat- skins, and with which the native women do all their cooking. I turned away from the busy market at last, and speedily forgot its interesting details by reason of a sight which caused me real alarm. Coming up at a rapid trot were a party of -well-mounted Arabs, and at their head was the sheik Si Omar. They surrounded Jules and me with business-like rapidity, and then Si Omar explained, eyeing us cruelly, that he had heard that we had been using the box slung on my back (the camera) that morning in his village. He demanded an instant explanation, and also the reason why I carried fire-arms in his hospitable country. A denial that I carried fire-arms or had taken any pictures put us deeper into the mire than ever, for it was received with flat disbelief by Si Omar, who was now in a furious rage. I was feeling none too cheerful—I foresaw murder or a period of imprisonment in one of the underground granaries—and so I risked a forlorn hope. Waving the sheik’s angry accusations grandly aside, I offered him a few odd English coins which had lain in my pocket forgotten since I left the steamer at Casablanca. The effect was magical! At the sight of the good English money the dark, fierce face suddenly expanded into smiles, and

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A WOMAN the camera was promptiy forgotten. Nay, more—the Arabs, a moment before so menacing, wheeled around us with shouts of esteem, and Si Omar insisted that they should be permitted to act as our escort until we approached the boundaries of the farm, occupied by a young French colonist, which we were making for. It was the goal of my journey, and when we reached it I was intensely glad to see a white face again, and to be able to indulge in the luxury of a bath and a quiet rest. The native mounted postman called at this farm every three days to bring the mail and take away letters ready for the post. It was mail-day when we arrived, and the country was so flat that I was able to see him coming miles away against the sky-line, a solitary black figure. He slept at the farm for the night, and was away again before I arose in the morning, though I was up early, too, for I intended to reach Si Omar’s dooay that day on our return journey. When we reached the village once more the sheik met us like an old friend, and he had so far allowed the coins to charm away his hatred of the camera as to ask Jules what the creature actually did, and what was its magic that it could take away a man’s image without his feeling the loss. I had been hoping and praying for just such a chance, and had instructed my guide minutely as to what he was to do if it came. We therefore demonstrated just how the camera was used, even to taking up imagi- mary poses, and while Si Omar, rather puzzled, joined in the game, I snapped him and Jules together without the sheik realizing what the “ click’’ meant. It was a risky job, though, and I really think our lives would have been forfeited had he known what was happening, for he was undoubtedly “ robbed of his image ” in the process. It will show the lengths to which caste feeling is carried when I say that a rough doll which Jules had shaped out of some waste rags and mud, and which I gave to a little Arab urchin in this dooar, was at once snatched away and destroyed by the child’s mother, since it was a Christian gift, and, worse still, a graven image of one of Allah’s created things ! Next day the sheik gave us his escort, this time nearly to Si Jellili’s village, where we had stayed on our journey out. Our olive-skinned friend and his men cantered beside us on horseback, and parted from us with long speeches that professed grief at losing us, and promised us an ever-warm welcome at the dooar of Si Omar whenever IN UNKNOWN MOROCCO. 41 we should ride that way again. My last sight of the shiek was of a little black figure silhouetted far away against the sunset sky, in the midst of a group of statuesque horsemen. Si Jellili, in his turn, professed to be very glad to see us back—though he was less effusive than our late host—and made us welcome in his little village, where our tents were pitched for the night. Next day, after a terribly hot ride, I was greeted Another snapshot obtained by a stratagem— Si Omar photographed while being shown how the camera w. once more at the farmstead from which I had set out, and right glad I was to have reached it in safety. Jules left me here, first telling exaggerated tales of the madness and bravery of the foolish English traveller which caused the farm natives to gaze at me in a startled way whenever I rode about the estates. After a few weeks’ rest, the return to Casablanca, and finally to Tangier and Gibraltar, was made without further adventure. I was very glad to have made the trip into Morocco, but I do not think I should care to repeat it.

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tains and wilder savages. Di cot a coc ad eal as ace emoeme et tiie > Ve, dane” IV.—(Conclusion). HE people of the Pole range, already referred to, were the most con- sistently hostile of any we met, ley never attacked openly; and there were times when I wished that they would, for the knowledge that they were skulking along on all sides of us as we wound our way through the jungle was far more nerve-racking than a fight would have been. It was only by a stratagem that we finally shook them off and crossed the chasm that divided their country from Mount Kuvote, which it was our intention to ascend. Several pounds of flashlight powder scattered on the ground in a long line and fired at the crucial Cannibal types in a mountain village. 7 oe The final instalment of this vivid account of an eventful journey into the unknown interior of Papua, a land of wild moun- Mr. Taylor has the knack of making one visualize the scenes he describes, and the story of his adventures will be found. most absorbing. Genin | Moore Taylor : ILLUSTRATED BY CUOHN DE WALTON” - pure : S « moment put upastartling barrage ’ of flame, smoke, and noise behind g which we were able to withdraw by without molestation. That ascent of Kuvote will long remain in my memory as one of the most agonizing of our many climbs, 1t was late in the after- noon when we reached the top. “ As soon as we come to water we'll pitch camp,” said Humphries. ‘ I could do with a drink. With that he called for the constable whose duty was to see that the water-bags were full. “The people back yonder stole them all, master,” explained the man. “T had for- gotten,” replied the magistrate. “Oh, well; an- other hour or two won’t make much difference.” But al] we got that night was a tiny trickle, muddy and _ vile, and we moved again at dawn, content to delay breakfast until we came to running water, and eager to reach it before the blistering sun came up. My thirst had become acute when the constable who L500

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bad: been scouting ahead came running ack. ‘Mountain he plenty quick finish,” he cried. ‘‘ Plenty up and down. No can get to river!” We brushed the carriers out of our way and ran to the spot from which we had seen him turn back. A thin fringe of bamboo WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. 413 likely to find a way down a mountain side if we stuck to those slopes that were heavily wooded. The grassy spur was the most inviting this time, however. If our hopes that it offered a way down were unrealized, we could come back and try another route before nightfall. On the other hand, tackling a jungle-covered spur would be too long and The steep slopes of the waterless Mount Kuvote, where the party underwent a terrible lined the edge of the mountain, and just behind it was a sheer drop of thousands of feet to where two small streams came together in a smother of foam among the boulders far below. One glance told us it was a physical impossibility to get down that appalling precipice. “Not even a native could do it,” said Humphries dully. ‘‘ We must turn back uickly and find another way to the river. ur lives depend upon it. I’ve solved the secret of why we have found no trails, gardens, or villages.” “ Why ?” we asked him. Through lips that were thick and dry came four words that struck fear to my very soul. “The mountain is waterless!” Only those who have felt excruciating, torturing thirst can realize the suffering that was ours as we turned to retrace our steps and find another way dawn to the river east of Kuvote. Circling its peak, we had noticed that three spurs jutted off the mountain in that direction. Two of them were jungle-covered ; the third had only high saw-edged grass. Experience had told us that we were more experience. laborious a process to allow us to attempt another. We therefore sent three of the freshest constables to investigate the grassy spur. Within two hours they were back. The grass, they reported, ended at the top of a precipice that dropped almost straight down to the river. Even Dengo, the mountaineer, baulked at trying to descend it. “* Toressi,’’ cried Humphries, and apatheti- cally the carriers got up and followed us back along the trail until we came to where the first of the timbered spurs began. Here we halted once moze. Humphries’ face looked troubled as he surveyed the police. They were hollow-eyed and weary, and sagged in their tracks as they waited for him to designate those upon whose endurance within the next few hours all our lives might depend. “Hang it! I don’t know which ones to send,” he said, turning to me. All were at the point of exhaustion. “‘ Ask for volunteers,” I suggested. He nodded, snapped them to attention, and told them what was wanted. Every man Jack of them stepped forward !

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The Author and Mr, Humphries in a village. “* Oh, lie down all of you,” said Humpbries, but in his tones there was a pride that he could not conceal. Corporal Sonana stiffly, and spoke. “ Taubada,” he said, ‘it is only right that when there is a duty to be performed the corporal should take the lead. I shall go and look for the trail, and with me shall go Constables Yawana and Waimura, for they are veterans. Constable Dengo shall remain in charge of the others in my place.” Instantly the two men he had named were on their feet and among the carriers, demanding the sharpest knives, two for each of the three who were to make the attempt. approached, saluted “WE MUST FIND WATER.” “You understand that we must find water quickly,” instructed the magistrate. “ Otherwise we die. If on the way down the spur you find water, fire one shot. Two shots will mean you have come across a trail,” . One hour, two hours passed. None of us spoke, afraid that we might not hear the shot that meant relief; moreover, our parched throats and swollen tongues made conversation painful. We picked up twigs or grass or leaves, and chewed them silently in an effort to bring moisture into our mouths, Suddenly there was a dull boom down the mountain side, and we sprang to our feet, eats cocked for a possible second shot that would mean a trail. Then“ Rhano!” cried the carriers in Motuan, and we three white THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. men croaked “Water” at each other in English. There was no need for once to order the natives to pick up their loads and start. Already they had shouldered the burdens and were pushing and jam- ming, treading on each other’s heels in their eagerness to take the trail that the three policemen had cut as they went along. There was no- thing orderly about that mad rush down the spur. We went at a stumbling run, tripping over logs and roots and stones, sliding down treacherous mossy banks, scrambling up equally treacherous ones. The devils of thirst were driving us hard, All at once, rounding a huge clump of bamboos, our eyes fell upon Sonana, Yawana, and Waimura patiently hacking away with their knives at the bamboo and underbrush. They did not turn round as we charged down upon them, but lifted their arms wearily and brought the knives down again in tle mechanical way of men who have reached tl.e limit of endurance. “Water,” we cried at them, “ where is the water?” With his knife poised in air Corporal Sonana turned to face us. His black face was ghastly with agony. “There is no water,” he muttered. “But the shot?’ we insisted. heard a shot.” Even before he confirmed it, I knew that we had been mistaken—that a falling tree or a loosened boulder crashing through the undergrowth had made that boom that we had heard. ““Master,”’ gasped the corporal, “‘ we fired no shot,”’ and turned back to his hacking at the bamboo. Darkness found us still cutting a trail towards the river, carriers with buckets and pans at the heels of the men who were cutting, waiting for the instant when they should get through that seemingly intermin- able wall of virgin growth and find the way to the stream open. Suddenly there was a_ yell — they were out of the jungle! Then the childlike natives burst into wailing and weeping. “We

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WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM. The trail-cutters had come out at the top of another precipice! There would be no water for us that night. We found a little cleared space, threw up the tents, and lit the fires. No one spoke of supper. The carriers had only a few mats of rice to see them through, and no water in which to cook it. Our own food- boxes held nothing that we could use without water. About the fires the carriers and police stretched wearily out and, for the first time in all these weeks, there was no singing, no chaff, no laughter. We white men, extended upon our cots, did not speak either. Each in his own way and according to his beliefs, I think every one of us was resigning himself to the death that we felt sure would overtake us on the morrow. ry Under one canvas fly, atop the loads, reposed the skull to which old Fornier had clung all day. In the glimmer of the fires I fancied I could see it grinning sardonically, and suddenly I felt a violent hatred towards the grisly thing, as if it were to blame for all our troubles. ‘Then it began to rain ! Without warning rumble of thunder or flash of lightning or sound of wind the heavens opened up and a lashing, driving downpour was upon us. Hope, almost gone, came back in a twinkling. We white men leapt from our cots and, yelling at the natives to come and help us, seized pans, kettles, buckets, cups—anything and every- 415 thing that would hold a few precious drops of water—and set them under the dripping edges of the tents. The carriers were too far gone, apparently, to realize that in that rain which we had so harshly berated on other occasions lay our salvation. They stared at us running and rushing about, but made no move- ment to help. The police, however, responded. They attacked the bamboos about us with their knives, cutting off lengths. and jabbing them into the ground where the water that missed our vessels would run into them. As suddenly as it had begun the rain ceased, as if God in His Heaven had seen our misery and sent us those blessed five minutes of downpour to relieve it. When we had carefully poured together every drop that we had collected, there was scarce two buckets of it — not much to divide amongst all our number. But divide it we did, a third of a cup to each man, black and white alike, and never did cold, sweet spring water taste better to me than my few sips from a cup smelling of mildewed canvas. Dawn found us wearily ascending the trail down which we had come _pell-mell the night before. Time was the essential thing now. One more spur remained, and down it we must find or cut a trail. If it, like the others, ended at a precipice high above the river, we must go down that precipice or perish in the attempt. Once the sun came out in all its intensity our Bridging a swift-running river.

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416 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. sufferings, temporarily alleviated by that short drink during the night, would be renewed, and without either food or water we could not go on. To go back through all the weary way we had come seemed more than we could stand. At the top of the spur we stopped to scout round a bit and see if some depression in the ground might not have been filled by that life-saving rain. Old Fornier was at my side, stoical and silent, and under his arm was that accursed skull. A wave of rage seized me, and I reached out my hand, snatched it from him, and flung it far to _ one side. His eyes followed it in its flight and marked the place where it had fallen. Then he started towards the spot. “ Leave it alone,” I cried. ““ Yes, master,” he replied, but his super- stitious black mind would not let him thus dispose of it without some effort to atone for our violation of the taboo surrounding it. He made his way to where it had fallen and bent over to search for it. Then a cry burst from his lips. “ Pala, dala!” he yelled, and in Motuan “ dala”’ means a trail. Pausing only for my nod of permission, Dengo leaped to the old man’s side; then he was off like a deer down the slope. Isaw his bushy head bobbing up and down until he disappeared. During minutes that seemed an eternity we waited, and then the report of a rifle, not to be mistaken this time, split the air, closely followed by a second. Dengo was signalling that the trail ran straight and true to the river ! In the moment before he, too, joined our wild stampede, 1 saw old Fornier pick up the skull, jab his stick into the ground, and set the horrible thing on top of it. The great peril of thirst was lifted from us, and the remaining trials of our journey, severe though they were, were less in proportion. We had one other ghastly experience, however, before we reached the journey’s end. ATTACKED BY LEECHES. It was near an abandoned village—I guessed afterwards why it was abandoned— that we ran into a swarm of leeches. Thousands of these blood-suckers covered the ground and our natives must have suffered greatly. They scratched and plucked at the horrible things that clung to them, and scraped themselves with knives until their bodies were raw. As for us who had boots, puttees, and clothing, we had a terrible time. The leeches found a way to our skin through everything. We could not stop to pull off our garments and rid ourselves of the pests because we should have had scores more on us immediately. There was nothing to be done but to keep on as rapidly as we could until we came to some huge boulders which were free of the loathsome things. White men and black, we climbed on to the rocks, stripped to the skin, and picked leeches off one another. All of us were streaked with our own blood; those of us who wore garments of any kind found them soaked in crimson; and our boots were a mass of dead leeches and blood. The creatures had been small enough to get into the boots through the eyelets, but, bloated after they had drunk their fill, had been unable to get out again. It was weeks before their bites healed, and our tortures during the next few days will never be wholly forgotten, Down the mountain of the leeches we went, and up another, through jungle of the heaviest kind, following no trail, but cutting our own. Then it was that Humphries came up from behind just as Downing and I halted the line in a little clearing for a rest. His face was flushed, his eyes queer- looking, and, without any preliminary beating about the bush, he accused us of not following the course we had agreed upon. “You said a little east of south-east, didn’t you?’ I asked. ‘““T did—and you two idiots have been going south-west,’ he snapped. “We've been going by my compass and checking by Downing’s,’” I told him. “Then your confounded compasses have gone crazy,’ he retorted. ‘“‘ I’ve been doing some checking with mine, and I know what direction you've been taking.” We stared at him in amazement, and for a few minutes harsh and bitter words flew backwards and forwards. Suddenly Hum- phries clapped his hands to his head and dropped on a log. I went to him and felt his pulse. It was racing madly, and he was burning up with fever. His unjust accusations and anger were due to a touch of delirium, and afterwards he didn’t remember anything about it. He got up after a bit and started when we did, but he staggered as he walked and we couldn't get a word out of him. Two con- stables kept close behind him, supporting him at times, and every two hours we gave him quinine. We kept this up for two days; then, as suddenly as it had come on him, the fever left him. “It has a way of doing that in the tropics. The very afternoon that Humphries was stricken, however, we suddenly topped a steep ascent and saw on a mountain side in the distance a tiny group of whitewashed . buildings shining in the late afternoon sun. Although Downing and I had never seen them before we knew that we were in sight of the end of our dangers and hardships, for those buildings marked the site of the Popole Catholic Mission in Mafulu district, and from Popole to Yule Island, sixty miles away

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WHERE CANNIBALS ROAM, 417 “I snatched it from him and flung it far to one side.” Vor. Lv.—29,

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418 across the ranges, ran a missionary-made road over which pack-horses can travel. Two days later we reached the Mission. Months later, while I was pounding out this story on my typewriter, the post brought me two letters. One was from Downing, and enclosed two clippings from Australian papers. The first cutting told of a patrol sent into the Papuan mountains to visit some of the tribes in the territory to which we had penetrated. “At a village named Tavivi,” it read, “the patrol found strong opposition and was driven back by the savages under the leadership of a mysterious individual, Yapitze, who was once reported dead. Several of the patrol were wounded and one native policeman killed. The patrol retired after inflicting heavy casualties on the attackers. The dead constable was buried by his comrades and efforts made to conceal the grave, but from a neighbouring hill-top they looked back and saw the people of Tavivi digging up the body, which they proceeded to roast and eat. <A punitive expedition is in prospect.” “ Yapitze,” I said excitedly to myself. “Could it be that we were hoaxed after all, and that Yapitze is still alive ?”’ I seized the second cutting. “ According to a recent discovery, there is a peculiar belief among some of the mountain tribes of Papua,” it said. ‘ When a savage slays another, whose strength and prowess he envies, he may take the name of his victim, and, according to the belief of the natives, with the name he inherits all the dead man’s qualities.” Comprehension burst upon me. Yapitze, diminutive of body but mighty of brain, had ambushed and slain Muria, the chief he THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. fellows were concerned, Yapitze was dead, but Muria lived. In our ignorance we had hoaxed ourselves. The man we wanted had been with us for days, leading us in search of himself! I wonder if, to limself, he did not admit the humour of the situation, for you will remember that he knew the white men's ways from what he had learnt in jail, and he must have suspected that no native custom would have stayed the hand of the Government—that his change of name would not have prevented it from meting out to him the punishment for his crimes. I think, too, that I understand that dramatic moment when we stood in Tavivi watching those savages charging down the village street upon Muria, or Yapitze, as he faced them with that little tin whistle—the magic whistle of Yapitze—in his mouth and by its blasts compelled them to do his will. He had not wanted to lead us to Tavivi. He had resorted to trickery to keep us from getting there. Was he afraid that the relatives of the man he had slain and whose name he had appropriated would seek to pay back? I think that’s the answer, and I think, too, with death at the hands of his “own people menacing him, he seized the psychological moment to use the once magical whistle on them and regain his old power. Anyhow it seemed as if Kapatea had “ gone wild” again, and that Yapitze once more led its cannibals. The other letter was from Humphries. He wrote :— “1 think the Governor is going to send me with the punitive expedition to Kapatea... . Will you come? ... Until the last possible moment I'll be hoping; but if you don't come, old chap, I'll be thinking of you often when the billy boils.” When the billy boils! Kapatea again! The deep, dank jungle ! Those mist-encircled envied, and discarded his own name for that mountains! By George, it made me want of the murdered man. So far as he and his to go! THE END. The main range o* mountains in the interior of Papua.

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She Stolen nt Teller WwW i ee ILLUSTRATED BY WE.WIGHTMAN A veteran West Australian gold-miner’s story of a stolen parcel of fabulously-rich telluride ore that brought nothing but misfortune to all connected with it. Mr. Charnley writes: “The narrative is perfectly true, and can be verified by reference to local records.” N the year 1899, Sir John, afterwards Lord Forrest, the then Premier of West Australia, endeavoured to demon- strate the enormous mineral wealth of the State by a Mining Exhibition at Coolgardie. All the rich producers for- warded exhibits—wonderful masses of native gold intermingled with quartz; but the richest sample of telluride came from a comparatively small mine called the North Boulder. ‘Lhis mine has long since ‘ petered out,” yet in its time it carricd telluride ore of pl.enomenal richness—great pocl:ets in the rock, each of which was worth a small fortune. Naturally unscrupulous workers who found their way into the mine did not let many chances go by, and although the management exercised the utmost vigilance, large quantities of the gleaming silvery ore were surreptitiously carried away. The richest vein lay just above the three-hundred- fect level, and miners returning to the stope after the blasts had exploded often had their eyes dazzled by the newly uncovered riches, Telluride ore, by the way, is a bright, silvery-looking substance very much re- sembling antimony. It contains about sixty per?cent. of gold and also a considerable quantity of sulphur, although the amount of each element may vary greatly in different locations. In fact some mines, such as the Ivanhoe, carry suiphide ore with very little tellurium, while others, like the great Lake View, produce rich gold telluride with a minimum of sulphur. Again, the Brownhill Mine worked a lode which showed a silver- gold telluride similar in many respccts to an ore mined at Broken Hill, right on the opposite side of the Australian continent. These curious variations of telluride ore greatly hampered the police in their efforts to suppress the illicit gold traffic which at one time was rampant on the West Australian goldfields. “ Two miners in the North Boulder, Jim Cameron and his mate Billy Boote, did not miss many opportunities of stealing rich ore for themselves. Hurrying back one day, after the charges had exploded, they found a pile of broken ore of a richness which exceeded anything they had previously seen. It was telluride of the very finest grade, and, taking an empty ore sack which lay handy, they hastily crammed it full of golden treasure. Then, digging a hole in the floor ot the stope, they buried the sack to await a favourable opportunity for removal. The precious pair had scarcely got their loot out of sight when the ‘ underground boss ’’ came up the ladder from the level below. He, of course, had a good idea of where the pocket was situated and was keeping an eye open for possible thefts, but on this occasion he was just a little too slow. He looked at the two miners suspiciously, but enough telluride still remained in sight to satisfy the highest expectations, and what- ever he may have thought he kept to him- self. A few minutes later a couple of shovellers arrived, and under the boss’s eye all hands turned to and, within a couple of hours, the ore was safely stored in a nearby “ shoot ” or underground bin. There it was toler- ably safe and could remain until the time came to truck it to the main shaft. From here it went to the surface and tl.en to the bagging sheds, where it was sewn up in double bags—the inner one of sail-cloth —preparatory to being dispatched four hundred miles to the coast and then thou- sand of miles overseas to the smelters. So ich was this ore in bulk that even after all this handling it still showed two and three hundred per cent. profit, the assay value ranging from twenty-five to one hundred ounces to the ton. For a couple of weeks the two miners talked and pondered over their hidden

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420 hoard, but the problem of getting it out. of the mine was not to be lightly solved. ‘Lhe “‘ underground boss ’’ suddenly decided to transfer them to another and distant part of the mine, and they, judging that his action was the outcome of his suspicions, dared not, on any pretext, venture back to the golden stope. [lo be caught there, so far from their proper place, would have meant instant dismissal. However, Cameron was a man of fertile imagination, and he finally evolved a plan. One Saturday night, therefore, the two men started on a rather desperate adventure. The North Boulder, like most other mines, had done a large amount of prospecting at the hundred-feet level, with the result that the ground at that depth was honeycombed with narrow tunnels, while in places small shafts gave access to the surtace. Some of these shafts were kept in repair and covered with stout doors fitted with padlocks, but several on the outer fringe of the lease had been allowed to fall into such a condition of decrepitude that the management did not bother to shut them down, considering them to be too unsafe for any traffic. The timbering in these pros- pecting shafts consisted merely of rough bush saplings laid criss-cross all the way down, in much the same way as the back- woodsman builds his log cabin. The ladders were made of the same material, long straight saplings being selected for the sides, while short round pieces made the rungs. The West Australian goldfield, fortunately for the early prospectors, possesses a timber admirably suited for such purposes. Com- monly called “ gimlet wood” from the fancied resemblance of the convoluted trunk to a carpenter’s gimlet, it grows to fifteen feet without a twig, and is seldom thicker in the trunk than a strong man’s arm. It is stronger than hickory and so hard that a nail cannot be driven into it. The shaft which Cameron and Boote selected for their secret descent into the mine was timbered in this way and equipped with gimlet-wood ladders. The shrinkage of the bush timber over a number of years had made everything pretty rickety, but they were willing to take chances in order to secure their treasure. They also took, of course, a big criminal risk—one that might land them in jail for many years. They chose a Saturday night because after 1o p.m. all work below ground was_ sus- pended, and they would, therefore be fairly safe from interruption until midnight on Sunday. Each carried a stout haversack into which to pack the ore, and with a supply of candles they started out. The old shaft looked eerie and forbidding, and although the stamp mills of the great mines on the crest of the range of hills roared out like surges of the ocean, while the sky took on a rosy hue from the myriads of THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. electric lights, all around them was deathly silent as they slipped over the top of the shaft and felt with their feet for the ladder. Cameron went down first, carefully testing each rung before trusting his weight on it. Although some places seemed shaky, le reached the bottom in safety and called for his mate to join him. Leaving the foot of the shaft, the pair moved cautiously forward. The going was by no means easy, and it was only because they were experienced miners that they were able to get through. Ramifications of the tunnel branched in all directions, some leading round in a rough circle and joining the tunnel once more, while others led to dead ends. In several places sections of the roof had fallen, almost blocking the way, while occasional pits, or ‘ passes” as they are called, ran through to the level beneath, thus providing death-traps for anyone unwary enough to walk into them. However, the two adventurers picked their way cautiously, and with the exercise of some judgment managed to reach the main shaft. Here all was silent as the tomb; the usually busy cages hung idle, and the ladder- way leading down to the three-hundred- feet level was open to their feet. Soon they were down; then they stumbled along the familiar level to the ladder- way which led up to the golden stope. Their hidden treasure was just as they had left it and, dividing it into two equal parcels, they filled their haversacks. They even had the audacity to sit down and smoke a pipe before leaving. Going up was not so easy as the descent. The weighty haversacks made ladder-climb- ing particularly difficult, and the North Boulder was equipped with perpendicular ladders, with landing-places only at ezch hundred feet, so that the climber hung like a tly over the abyss. Nevertheless, despite the dead weight of ore that swung from their shoulders, the pair soon reached the top level again. Back they travelled through the old tunnel to the shaft by which they had descended, and Cameron led the way up, with the clear understanding that Boote was not to attempt the ascent until his mate was half-way to the surface. Boote, lLowever, was a heavy man, and the additional weight of the ore he carried proved too much for the rusted iron spikes which held one of the ladders in position. Cameron was nearly to the top when he heard a yell, followed by a thunderous crash. Boote had fallen ! Cameron continued on his way to the surface, and, after ridding himself of the load of ore, started quickly down again. About thirty feet from the bottom his feet reached into emptiness and, lowering his candle, he saw that the ladder beneath had torn away from its fastenings and dropped with his mate to the bottom. For a moment le was checked ; then, stretching

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over into a corner of the shaft, he found footing between the logs and continued his way downwards. Boote was huddled in a heap, unconscious, and it needed no medical examination to show that he had sustained at least one broken leg. Here was a terrible predicament ! Somehow or other the injured man must be got to the surface—and before daylight came. To leave him there until morning and then organize a rescue would not only be cruel but would inevitably betray them to the mine officials, who naturally knew them well, and would accept no excuses, however plausible, for their presence in the mine. Something must be done, and done quickly, So, after concealing Boote’s haversack in the tunnel, Cameron laboriously climbed to the surface again. About a thousand yards away lay a group of tents where some miners lived, and to these Cameron went for assistance. This was a proceeding not without peril in itself, for camp thieves and garrotters were common in those early goldfield days, and on being disturbed at midnight the diggers were quite likely to shoot first and make inquiries later. However, Cameron was a man of resource, and happening to stumble over an empty kerosene tin, the most common article around the camps, he picked it up and beat it vigorously with a stone to herald his approach, Half-a-dozen sleepy diggers turned out to sce who was making the noise, and to them he explained that he and his mate had lost their way in the darkness, with the res that Boote had fallen down the shaft. good-natured diggers immediately volun- teered to help, and in a few minutes a small group had gathered at the top of the shaft discussing how the rescue might he affected. First of all they needed a windlass with at least a hundred feet of rope, and this they procured by the simple expedient of “ lifting” it from a prospecting shaft on a nearby lease. It was no light task carrying the heavy windlass and rope over rough ground in the dark, and the job taxed even the hardened muscles of strong men. However, they managed it all right, and within an hour the windlass was rigged over the old shaft ready to lower Cameron into the depths again. Looping the rope around his still uncon- scious mate,Cameron gave the call: ‘‘ Heave up!’ and as the men on top slowly wound up the rope he followed up the side of the shaft, steadying the helpless Boote and kecping him from colliding with the rough timber. | Once on the surface, Boote was put to bed in a miner’s hut pending the arrival of daybreak and a possible doctor. Cameron was possessed of considerable audacity, and even after what had happened he had the nerve to return to the shaft, slip down the ladder and the logs, hook Boote’s THE STOLEN TELLURIDE. 421 haversack on to the rope, and then scramble up to the surface again. He then hoisted the precious haversack, and hid it with his own in a shallow hole, hundreds of which lay in every direction. After ¢his he returned to his injured mate and saw him taken to the hospital. The owners of the windlass collected their property on Monday morning and, with many lurid curses, inquired of the curround- ing atmosphere for information regarding the persons who had played this joke on them. As for the manegement of the North Boulder mine, they never knew that any- thing out of the ordinary had happened. Cameron fetclied the two haversacks during Sunday afternoon, driving up boldly in a buggy and lifting them from their hiding- place. For a couple of weeks he stored tle stolen ore in his ‘ humpy,” until, having made arrangements with a gold-buyer, he brought the writer into the game. I lived at the time in a nearby hut, and one morning Camcron dropped in for a chat. “ Say, son,”” he began, “ I've got upwards of a hundredweight of telluride kicking around, and I want it shifted down to the shop of Bilkey, the gold-buver. It’s a bit of a risk for me, but you could do it all right. Are you on?” I was. I had just passed my eighteenth birthday and was facing life on the goldfields alone. [ was as big and strong as most men, yet impulsive and full of a boy’s love of adventure, while the ethics of the matter did not trouble me in the least. As a matter of fact, public opinion on the goldfields at that time regarded = gold-stealing as the mildest of crimes—somewhat on a Jevel with gambling or a little over-in- dulgence in liquor—and miners cared little about the risk of detection and punishment. Naturally there was some risk. The police, though few in number, did their best to suppress the traflic, but their efforts were almost always frustrated by cunning and trickery such as I am about to relate. The wild spirit of the goldfields was in us, and we had small fear of the police or anyone else. “ That's right,” continued Cameron when I had agreed to his proposal. “ It’s no ris to you. You look as innocent as a girl, with that fair skin of vours. Anyone would trust you, and even if you do happen to strike a policeman he'll take no notice of you. It'll be worth a tenner to you for certain.” I was rather hard up at the time, owing to a shaft which I had sunk in partnership with an old digger turning out a complete “ dutter,” so the offer of ten pounds easily earned overcame any scruples which I might have cherished, Lor several days of the following week, therefore, I carried the ore, done up in handy parcels and wrapped in copies of the Nargocrlie Miner, down the

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422 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. muin street of Boulder, and in at Bilkey’s door. His name, by the way, wasn’t Bilkcy, but as he still has sons and daughters living I will let it go at that. He smiled blandly as 1 dumped the suc- cessive parcels on his shop counter. I didn’t meet a policeman on any occasion. Cameron, “just so that a kid shouldn't take all the risk,” carried a couple of parcels down himself at night. Inside a week we had it all delivered at Bilkey’s and sat back to wait the coming of the fat dividend. Then, suddenly, disaster fell on us. It was Wednesday afternoon when I carried down the last parcel. Friday morning’s A/iner informed us that on the previous day, Thursday, Bilkey’s shop had been raided by the police, and the whole contents, including much gold-bearing ore, taken to the police station ! Cameron simply couldn't find words with which to express his disgust. The paper further informed-:us that Bilkey had been brought before the court and remanded for the usual eight days. The town of Boulder was all agog with the fun and excitement of the raid and seizure, while Bilkey's plight was the theme of general discussion in the numerous hotels and up and down the main street. Many speculated as to whether he would get the customary six months’ imprisonment, while others were confident that with the aid of a clever lawyer he would escape scot- free. Cameron was indifferent. He aban- doned hope. “ Just my cursed luck,’ he growled. ‘‘ For Heaven's sake keep away from the court, kid.” When the day of the trial arrived, the Bo alder courthouse was packed to the doors and I felt pretty secure among the crowd. Of course, there was absolutely nothing to co.nect ne with Bilkey and Company, yet somehow my venturing into the court secmed like putting one’s head in the lion's mouth. However, like most of the on- looxers, Lenjoyed the proceedings immensely, altnough probably they didn't view the comedy from quite the same angle as I did. The stage was well set, the courthouse floor being cumbered with “ exhibits ’’—most of them sacks of nearly worthless sand, which :lsey kept in his shop to give an appear- ance of genuine busine: Of all the mass of glittering telluride which I had expected to see, however, not more than a saucerful wes in sight. Evidently Bilkey had been too clever for the police and had somehow kept the big parcels of ore from falling into their hands. I felt that this would be good news for Cameron, and that he had despaired too soon, Bat that single saucerful of telluride was the star turn, so to speak. Under the law it was an offence even to be in possession of telluride ore, and Bilkey was called on to explain the fact of possession. He was a slippery eel and hard to catch. His lawyer called a couple of ‘‘ Cousin Jack” miners, and they cheerfully swore that the ore in question was identical with silver telluride from Broken Hill, in New South Wales. In fact, one witness grew so enthusiastic that he volunteered the information that he had given Bilkey a parcel of silver telluride for use as an exhibit in the shop window ! The police were unprepared for this line of defence, and not having troubled to get the ore in question assayed they couldn’t even swear that it really did contain gold. This point was absolutely necessary for the Crown Bilkey’s lawyer then put in samples of antimony, and invited the out of court amid the congratulations of an admiring crowd of fellow gold-buyers. The case was typical of many at that time, the police being too few in number and too busily engaged in dealing with the violently- criminal class to take more than a_per- functory interest in prosecuting an illicit gold-dealer. I hurried back to camp and told Cameron of the absence of his telluride from court. “Ah, well,” he remarked, a bit hopefully, “perhaps Bilkey has stowed it away some- where, or else he was mighty slick in getting it through. Anyway, I'll go down and see him to-night.” Bilkey evidently expected Cameron’s visit, for he had a plausible story ready. “So help me, Jim,” he whined, ‘ the police got your stuff all right, but it didn't get into court, and it hasn’t come back here. The beggars pinched it themselves. Thev're the gentlemen who are getting rich; they'll have the terraces of houses down in Perth when they retire! But they didn’t get it all. 1 deal squarely with you, Just the same as I deal with everybody. It wasn’t my fault the police rushed my place. No fear; I’m the one to sutter. Fifty quid cold I had to pay that lawyer. But, never mind, I’ve got a bit of cash for vou. 1 had some gold in the pot when the police rushed in, and I’ve just finished putting it through—about six ounces. That'll be twenty quid.” Cameron reached across the counter and gripped Bilaey by the throat. “Give me my gold, you thief!" he growled, and, exerting his powerful muscles, he started to drag the terrified gold- buyer towards him, “Stop! Let go, or I'll shoot.” The words came sharply from the rear of the shop. Glancing round. Cameron saw that Bilhey’s wife stood framed in the doorway. She held a revolver, and its muzzle pointed wickedly at his head. Reluctantly he released the

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THE STOLEN TELLURIDE. 423 i | 4 “He started to drag the terrified gold-buyer towards him. ‘Stop! Let go, or I’ll shoot.’ The words came sharply from the rear of the shop.”

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424 choxing gold-buyer, but the woman still kept him covered with the weapon. “ You'd better go,” she said. “T'll take the twenty quid first,”’ ke replied. Bilkey paid over the notes and Cameron left. With that twenty pounds he had to be content. He had nothing but suspicion to go on, and it was impossible to do anything legally against Bilkey, while his attempt to terrorize the gold-buyer, had he persisted in it, would most certainly have led to blood- shed. Bilkey’s wife would undoubtedly have shot him down, and then the pair would have accused him of being a ‘“ hold- up’ man. It was a bad business, but worse was to follow. Leaving the lights of the town behind and walking deep in bitter thoughts up the pitch-black track to the mines, Cameron was suddenly pounced upon by a couple of footpads, knocked out with a sandbag, and relieved of all his cash. The tuffians had probably followed him from Bilkey’s shop, and being upset after his en- counter with that gentleman he had for- gotten his usual caution and so fell an easy victim. Foodpads, thugs, and murderers abounded on the goldfields in the early days, and it was their pleasant custom to loiter in the main streets, singling out their prey. “It appears to me,’”’ remarked Cameron to me next morning, when he had recovered, “that Bilkey got the stuff well out of the way, and then got somcone to tip the police to make a raid. He’s capable of anything like that. That stuff must have been worth well over a thousand! I'll get him yet, the rogue! What's got me beaten just at present is how I’m going to explain it all to poor old Billy Boote.”” Boote was still in cospital, and despiie his good Enelish name he had a strain of bad blood in nim some- where. It came out when Cameron and I went to see him. He listened to the explanation, but answered not a word—not a single word! The next time we went the nurse told us that he didn’t want to see us. “ Hang him!” groaned Cameron. ‘ It’s bad enough being robbed, but it's the limit when your mate believes you to be the thief. When he comes out I'll make him come with me to Bilkey, and we'll have this thing out between us.” When Boote came out some nine weeks later, however, Bilkey had sold his business and left for parts unknown. So Boote still kept his grudge against Cameron, and in spite of his pluck Cameron felt uneasy. Some months later Cameron took a contract for shaft-sinking at the Boulder Deep Levels, and included me as his mate THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. in a party of six men. One night, about 10 p.m., we were working at the bottom of the five-hundred-feet shaft, boring holes with a compressed air rock-drill, when suddenly, with a roar like thunder, a huge stone came hurtling down. It struck the “ bow ”’ or handle of the big iron ‘‘ kibble ” which swung just over our heads and smashed the inch-and-half iron before bursting into fragments. Fortunately, owing to the movement of the earth on its axis, a stone falling down a deep shaft soon strikes tke sides, and this not only slows the drop a trifle, but gives warning to anyone below. Hearing the stone crashing against the timbers, we leapt instinctively to a corner of the shaft and crouched there, Cameron shielded mz with his body, so that I escaped unhurt, but he was not quite so fortunate, receiving several nasty cuts and bruises. Of course, the mine manager held a sort of inquiry into the matter, but no one could otter an explanation. It was hardly possible that the rock could have fallen accidentally, as the shaft was well timbered and there was no loose stone init. Evidently someone had crept to the mouth of the shaft and, taking advantage of the darkness, rolled the stone over the edge. ‘This could easily be done, as both the engine-driver and the braceman were busy yarning in the engine-room at the time, while the surface brace, being lit by only one miserable lamp, afforded conceal- ment everywhere. The affair, therefore, was added to the list of goldfield mysteries. The only man who might have explained it was killed in a premature explosion a couple of weeks later. His nime I will leave for the reader to guess. Bilkey duly returned from his tour, and by a curious turn of fortune’s wheel became Cameron’s partner in a successful mining venture. After his narrow escape in the Deep Levels, Cameron grew tired of working for wages and went back to the gamble of prospecting. He struck out for a new field, but returned in rags and destitute. Then Bilkey financed him and another man for a year, and when ultimately they found good gold he stood in with them for a share of the fortune. They grew so rich that the matter of the stolen telluride became a mere trifle, but Bilkey would never admit that he had double-crossed Cameron, vowing that lis tale about the police was absolutely true. 1 still wonder who actually got the gold. The police as a body were fine men, and did their duty splendidly, but where “ snide ”’ gold was concerned some few of them were not always above suspicion,

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> NOr 425 Stories ES A DOUBLE EVENT. By R. McMAHON Illustrated by FRANK GILLETT, RI. An amusing story concerning a detachment of South African Constabulary who tried to combine sport with duty—not to mention a little profit—by attending a race-meeting while ostensibly on patrol. “The names have been altered,” writes the Author, “but I vouch for the truth of the incidents. The tale was told to me by a personal friend while I was serving in the S. A. C.” into Watervaal for Race Week. From every point of the compass men and horses gathered for pleasure and profit; from Buluwayo in the north to Durban in the south, from Laurengo Marques in the east to Mafeking in the west, sports- men made their way to the little mining town tucked away amidst the hills of the Eastern Transvaal, close to the Swazi border. Swinton and I, two young subalterns in the South African Constabulary, looked forward with joyful anticipation to the event, for this particular occasion was the first meeting since the termination of the Boer War, during which our sport had been of quite a different kind. Swinton had ridden a lot in Australia, whilst my own experiences in the racing game had keen obtained in Ireland, and we were both longing to test our luck at Watervaal. But we were doomed to reccive a severe shock. It happened that trouble was brewing in Swaziland, and as a consequence, only a short time before the date of the race- meeting, orders came for Swinton and me to take a detachment of mounted constabu- lary and patrol the Swazi border. As this duty would occupy a month or more it is hardly to be wondered at that we cursed our bad luck. However, as Water- vaal was at no great distance from the ground we had been ordered to patrol, Swinton, who was in charge of the detach- INERS, prospectors, hunters, far- mers, traders—all of them flocked ment, suddenly saw a gleam of hope. He quickly explained his idea, and our despondency left us. Obtaining authority to pick men and mounts from the whole Division, he went very carefully to work, and from amongst hundreds of men and horses managed to select a nice little bunch, who, whatever their merits from a police point of view, gave promise of distinct possibilities on the course. We planned our march to the Swazi border so as to allow of us arriving at Watervaal in time for the meet, and thus it came to pass that late one day, after a heavy thunderstorm, a bedraggled party of mounted men, whose cavalry cloaks spread over horse and rider, slipped unostentatiously into Watervaal. The camp pitched and the horses looked to, the mud-splashed troopers, by twos and threes wandered into the various bars where, to all outward appearances, they succumbed with great rapidity to the effects of Water- vaal’s liquid hospitality. So markedly did it seem to affect them, indeed, that they made numerous rash bets on the two principal events of the forthcoming race-meeting. Although the odds were greatly in their favour their wagers caused much merriment amongst the “ bookies’ and their friends, who felt sure of reaping a good harvest at the expense of the simple troopers. Had those “ bookies” seen a string of horses ridden by those selfsame troopers going over the course in the grey of the following dawn, however, they might have felt less jubilant. In two of the events we had a particular interest—the ‘‘ Watervaal Handicap” and the ‘‘ Governor's Cup,” which latter was the big race of the meet. It was not for nothing

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426 that Swinton and I had patiently coached the men and horses of our patrol all the way to Watervaal and during the few days that we had spent in “‘ resting ’’ at an out-of-the- way Boer farm. Six detachment horses were entered for the “ Watervaal Handicap '’—six horses trained to gallop together on parade. At the start they were ridden clear of the ruck at a pace that might have suited five fur- longs, but which appeared crazy when the “field” Knew that they had nearer two miles to go. Un- fortunately for , that “ field” and their backers, the six horses lined up abreast and ran the course side by side. The men rode almost knee to knee; nothing could get by them, and they galloped without effort, in spite of the frantic attempts of the fliers behind to get round their flanks or to break through. In the last few yards, Swinton, riding next the rails, made a spurt that brought him in a winner by a good half-length. Great was our jubilation, for the urst half of our programme had proved a thunder- ing success, We had pulled off the “ Watervaal Mandicap,” but we were not out of the wood yet, for there was still the ‘ Governor's Cup.” Could we bring off the double event? That, indeed, was our ambition, and on its accomplishment we had, so to speak, staked the very shirts on our backs, : The ground was heavy from a tropical downpour when I went to the post mounted on “Camel.” ‘f Camel’ was an ungainly brute, ewe-necked, goose-rumped, cow- hocked, with a mouth like brass and a sullen iemper, but possessing just the power and wind to get over the sodden ground, where finer-built rivals would find the going heart- breaking. One touch of the spur, however, ora cut of the whip, and “ Camel’ would THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. stop trying, and nothing on earth had been found that would make him move again. “There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,” and it was a slip of the tongue that was to give our adversaries their chance that day. Macarthy, our trumpeter, was fond of his glass, and in spite of the rule we had made that, after the initial visits to the bars, none of us were to imbibe till after the meet, Macarthy fell a victim to his failing and the insidious temptations of a certain ‘“ bookie,” < “His nose was soon at my off-stirrup, who was hunting round for “‘ inside ”’ inform- ation. IXnowing the trumpeter’s weakness, we had detailed him for quarter-guard on the ey of the race so as to keep him out of mischief. In spite of this, however, as the hour for the great race approached, Macarthy, with his trumpet slung over his shoulder, slipped across to a little clump of bushes just beyond the grand-stand where he could watch the race without being observed. He knew that he had to sound the calls, but—still under the intluence of his potations—he determined, in the language of the camp, to ‘ chance his

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arm ”’ and take the risk of being found absent from his duties. The ‘ Governor’s Cup’’ was a ding-dong race from the start. The heavy ground certainly gave the ‘‘ Camel’ an advantage, as we had anticipated, but ‘‘ Tomboy,” the favourite, was in the very pink of condition, and as we came into the straight, or home stretch, 1 found that although I had so far been leading the field, ‘‘ Tomboy’ was coming up fast under whip and spur. His nose was soon at my off-stirrup, his jockey his jockey busily plying the whip.” busily plying the whip, which he carried in his left hand. One, two, three ! Swiftly the strokes of the whalebone came down—not on ‘' Tomboy ”” this time, but on the “ Camel's” quarter's! It was enough! The ‘ Camel,” with his ears back, his eyes bloodshot, ceased to strive, and ‘‘ Tomboy” took the lead. Even now I feel my gorge rise at the thought of the trick played upon me, even now I feel the bitter disappointment that flashed through my mind as I saw our winnings gone, our boys beaten after all our efforts—not by fair riding, but by a foul that the judges SHORT STORIES. 427 could not see and that the crowd who had backed ‘‘ Tomboy,” the favourite, would strenuously deny. A wild shout went up: “ Tomboy—Tomboy wins!""—* In his hiding-place Macarthy heard that shout, and suddenly remembered that it was the five o'clock race, and that at that very minute he should have been in camp sound- ing ‘‘ Feed ''—the call to feed the horses being groomed on the picket-line. Little did he think that it was owing to his drunken babblings that the ‘‘ Camel ’’ had been struck and that ‘ Tom- boy ”’ was winning! _ All he realized was ‘that he should be sounding “ Feed.” So, holding on to a_ stout sapling, Macarthy put the trumpet to his lips and blew ‘ Feed” —loud, long, and clear, The call reached the ears of the “Camel.” It was always a wel- come one to the ungainly, greedy brute; he knew that beyond the how!l- ing throng of hu- manity, beyond tle grand-stand, lay the horse-lines of the detachment and a nosebag with a good ration of oats. With a mighty effort he shook himself together, with a rush he was up with “ Tomboy” —and we passed the judge’s box a good head in the lead. It was a close shave, but we had won the race and pulled off both our coups. That night we set- tled upour accounts and ere daybreak were off on the long-deferred patrol. Watervaal anathematized us, and well it might, for our bets had cleaned up every shekel in sight, and we all felt like million- ares. Unfortunately, however, our jubilation was destined to be short lived—at any rate so far as we two officers were concerned. Headquarters got wind of our adventure and took a very serious view of it; apparently they strongly objected to the mixing up of duty and pleasure, to say nothing of profit. The upshot was that both Swinton and I had to leave the force. I don’t know what became of Swinton, but I went to Canada.

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428 SHORT STORIES. - THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE MONTREAL HOLD-UP. By C. V. T. Illustrated by STANLEY L. WOOD. An account of the most sensational and daring crime of its kind that ever happened in Canada—the holding-up in broad daylight, in one of the busiest streets of Montreal, of a bank car containing hundreds of thousands of dollars. A pitched revolver battle between the bank messengers and a gang of masked bandits followed, and the aftermath of the affair proved even more astonishing than the crime itself. BANK MESSENGER AND BANDIT SLAIN. DarinGc Hoip-up IN MONTREAL. Henry Cleroux, a bank chauffeur, and an unknown bandit met their deaths, and Roland Fortier, a bank-teller, was wounded, in a sensational hold-up on Ontario Street East this afternoon, when approximately 265,000 dollars, in cash and cheques, on the way to the head ottice of the Bank of Hochelaga, was stolen by bandits who opened fire on the bank automobile. EADERS of the leading Canadian newspapers were startled to read the above “ flash from Montreal ” on the front pages of their dailies on the evening of April rst, 1924, and eagerly awaited the arrival of the morning papers next day. These contained full and detailed accounts of the crime, the most sensational and daring of its kind ever committed in Canada. Not only was the hold-up itself spec- tacular, but its aftermath caused sensation after sensation, for it resulted in a thorough scouring of the underworld’ of Montreal. Arrests for complicity in the robbery and other lesser crimes were made wholesale, and local ‘ crooks "’ sought safety in flight to the States and even to Europe, but the long arm of the law gradually gathered them in. And now let me describe what happened, It is the custom of the banks in Canada to send “ collection cars ”’ round at periodical intervals from the head offices in each y. These cars, in charge of armed bank engers, deliver and collect from = the branch offices large satchels of currency, cheques, bonds, and other valuables. In a city like Montreal, with its large railroad shops at the suburb of Hochclaga, the cars, at the time when the railroad men are paid cach month, carry exceptionally large sums in bills of small denominations to enable their branches to mect the pav- cheques. This fact was well known to the bandits, as also was the date when the cars would be transporting the money. In addition, they had ascertained which par- ticular car would carry more than its fellows and the route this car would take. With these facts in their possession, the thieves had only to decide upon the time and place to stage the robbery. Their plan of action makes the crime absolutely without a parallel in Canada, for they chose as the scene of the hold-up one of the busiest streets of a busy city, and the method they employed was ambush, as the following account shows. There was nothing to distinguish the big car travelling quietly along Ontario Street, Montreal, on the afternoon of April ist, from the hundreds of other auto- mobiles which thronged that thoroughfare. The chautteur was fully occupied with piloting his charge through the stream of traffic, whilst the three bank messengers inside were not unduly concerned with the fact that they were conveying over a quarter of a million dollars in currency for distribu- tion to the various branches, for such a task was part of their everyday duties. Nor did they pay any special attention to a Ford “Sedan,” driven) by a_ stylishly-dressed young woman, which squeezed past them in an opening in the traffic, and then slowed down and preceded them by the length of a city block. As the bank car reached the intersection of Ontario and Moreau Streets—the top of the approach to the subway under the C.P.R, tracks—the Ford apparently broke down beneath the bridge and its occupant got out and hurried away as if to seck the nearest garage or ‘phone, dropping her handkerchief as she did so. Meanwhile two men seated behind the steering wheels of two big cars standing close to the kerb, with their engines idling, at the top of the approach, watched the car containing the money with tense expres- sions on their faces. Simultaneously, at the

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foot of the incline, a number of men con- cealed behind the steel columns supporting the bridge, sighting their quarry, helped one another to adjust black masks over their faces, drew heavy revolvers from their pockets—and waited. The chauffeur of the bank car, secing a Ford apparently “ stalled” in the roadway ahead of him, swung in a little to avoid it, at the same time slowing down to a bare crawl. He then prepared to accelerate so as to mount the incline on the other side. Crash ! Without the slightest warning a fusillade of shots burst from the vicinity of the bridge supports. The bullets, deliberately aimed, shattered the windscreen of the bank car, covering the startled occupants with a hail of splintered glass, A moment later another ragged volley roared out, and this time the bullets tore into the bonnet of the car, crippling the engine. A brief interval of tense silence followed ; then there came shouts, screams, and the pounding of running feet on the cement sidewalks as passers-by fled for the nearest shelter. Meanwhile other cars crowded on all speed to evade the hail of lead as the bandits fired yet again. Though dazed and bewildered by the suddenness of the attack and the shattering elfect of the bullets on their car, the bank employees nevertheless jumped pluckily to their feet, jerking their revolvers from their pockets as they did so. This action was greeted with another hail of bullets, which made them involuntarily duck. Then, as they cautiously peered over the sides of their car, they saw a number of heavi nasked men with smoking revolvers in their hands emerge from the shelter of the bridge supports and run towards them, firing as they approached. The leader of the bandits shouted out a few words which the messengers did not heed. Instead, pointing their revolvers over the side of the car, they commenced to return the fire. Then began a desperate, deadly duel. Still advancing, in spite of the bullets whining all around them, the hold-ups poured volley after volley into the car. The bank men, however, would not surrender, so the bandits began to aim more carefully. With an exclamation of pain one of the messengers clutched at his hand, while his revolver went clattering into the roadway. The remaining three othicials continued firing. A moment later the revolver slipped from the hand of the voung chauffeur as, coughing and choking, he staggered out of the car and halfway across the street, to collapse stone dead. Realizing that the desperate nature of the resistance put up by the bank employees was likely to frustrate their plans, the two men in charge of the bandits’ cars now drove up on either side of the bullion car, and SHORT STORIES. 429 under cover of their movements their confederates clambered into the bank car in a body. Still the two surviving messen- gers continued shooting. They saw one of their attackers crumple in a heap to the floor of one of the cars; then, with their revolvers empty and the muzzles of several automatics pressed into their bodies by desperate men, they were compelled to give in. Cursing the delay and the uproar occa- sioned by the unexpected battle, the robbers hastily transferred the satchels of currency to their own cars, while two of their number opened fire on a solitary policeman who had suddenly appeared on the railroad track above their heads and started shooting. The whole episode had not lasted more than three minutes, yet by this time the alarm had become general. From adjoining streets was heard the shrick of sirens and the roar of wide-open exhausts as an armed squad of hastily-summoned motor- cycle policemen hurried to the scene. The bandits, hearing the noise of the approaching reinforcements, hastily sprang from the bank car to their own machines, and the motor-cycle squad swung into the street amid a farewell hail of bullets as the hold-ups dashed away at top speed. The shooting over, people came running from all direc- tions, and amidst the ensuing scenes of almost indescribable confusion the police lost sight of their quarry. It took time fur doctors and ambulances to be summoned, to get the full story of what had happened, to remove the body of the chauttecur and the bullet-wrecked car, and attend to the other wounded bank men ; but once these details had been dealt with the police settled down grimly to the task of tracking the robbers. With every available man of a highly-trained organization engeged in the hunt results were bound to follow quicky. An excited telephone message to police head-quarters sent a number of officers post-haste to the eastern outskirts of the city. Here their informant led them to a badly-wrecked car, crumpled against a telegraph pole. In the debris the police- men found rifles, revolvers, masks, and the dead body of a man, killed by bullets. This was evidently one of the cars used by the bandits. On the dead man they found papers giving telephone numbers, street addresses, and other information incriminating both himself and others. The police followed up these clues promptly. Less than an hour later two big cars full of armed men drove slowly along an avenue in the residential district. Before they speeded up again only the drivers remained. In ones and twos the passengers had quietly Vanished, to congregate a few minutes later round a certain house. Silently

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430 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The motor-cycle squad swung into the street amid a farewell the front door was opened and with revolvers ready, the police quietly entered, leaving some of their number on guard outside. On tip-toe the men in the house proceeded to the closed door of the living-room, from which sounded the subdued murmur of voices, One of the silent figures in the hallway glanced at his companions signifi- cantly, at the same time raising a whistle to his lips as a signal to the men outside to be ready for action. The summons. shrilled out, and simul- taneously the police burst into the room. The surprise was complete. Not dreaming

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2 eT LLlLltl””~— —_— hail of bullets as the hold-ups dashed away at that the officers of the Jaw would trail them so quickly, several men and women were found busily engaged in counting the money taken in the hold-up. A much-mortified gang of prisoners watched the police collect all the cash in sight, force open a hidden cupboard, and discover more packages of SHORT STORIES. 43t ene i 24 top speed.” bills. Tight-lipped and gnm, they volun- teered no replies to the questions asked them, and were finally hustled into the two cars which awaited them outside and removed to head-quarter: A few days passed, and the police actively continued their investigations, for they had

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432 not yet arrested all the gang or recovered the whole of the money. Then one of the prisoners, to save himself, turned King’s evidence. Acting upon the information he disclosed, the authorities arrested four more men in Canada and one who had fled to the States. Then the astonishing nerve of two of the bandits was disclosed, for, as was later revealed, they actually visited their confederates in jail, under assumed names, in the guise of ordinary visitors, and talked with them in an effort to prevent them disclosing what they knew ! On June 7th, 1924, there commenced the trial of the six men whom the investiga- tions of the police disclosed as the leaders of the hold-up. Their names were given as Tony Frank, Mike Valentino, Joe Serafini, Frank Gambino, Leo Davis, and Louis Morel. Morel, it was stated, was at one time on the detective staff of the Montreal lice force, and thus had an intimate owledge of police methods. An imposing array of legal talent appeared both for the prosecution and defence, and the case excited tremendous interest. The jury were hardly away more than ten minutes ; then they filed back into the court-room and returned their verdict—Guilty of murder, The judge had no alternative ; he sentenced the six prisoners to be hanged upon the same day, October 24th, at Bordeaux Jail, Montreal. Never before in the history of crime on the American continent had so many persons been sentenced to death simul- taneously by a criminal court. The nume- ds of the condemned men worked THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. frantically day and night to get the sentences commuted to life-imprisonment, and large sums of money were spent to retain the best lawyers procurable. Then the authorities began to receive threats of organized action on the part of the underworld of crime. An attack on the jail was hinted at, whereupon the guards were trebled. As if to prove thet the threats were not idle ones, on August 26th, one of the condemned, Joe Serafini, actually made his escape from his cell, but was betrayed by another prisoner and re-captured in the yard of the prison. After this attempt the authorities redoubled their precautions ; they realized that they were up against poore who were prepared to go to any lengths 16 free the six condemned men. As the date for the execution approacked the attitude of the underworld became more sinister. Several of the prisoners them- selves boasted to their guards that they would never be hanged, but the precautions taken by the authorities proved effective. Another last-minute appeal was made for clemency, and the Appeal Court of five judges, sitting at Ottawa, granted the peti. tions of Leo Davis and Mike Valentino. Their sentences were commuted to life. imprisonment, but the death-sentences on the remaining four were confirmed, and they were duly executed on October 24tb, 1924. Whilst a great deal of the money stolen has been recovered, a sum estimated at about a hundred thousand dollars is still missing, and it is hardly likely now that it will ever be found. ODD WRESTLERS. HE amusing little snapshot here reproduced was sent to us by a lady reader in California. ‘It is safe to say,” she writes, “that ‘ Bill,’ the Maltese cat, and ‘ Prudy,’ the Muscovy duck —the cat and duck seen in the picture—are the only wrestlers of their kind in the world. Prudy, who is usually the aggressor, waddles up to Bill, grabs a fold of his skin, and holds on. All Bill can do to release himself is to throw the duck, as he cannot bite or scratch through her thick feathers. Putting his paw round Prudy'’s neck, Bill gives a twist, and over she with a great flutter of feathers. Sheis upin a moment, ready to nip at his tail, while he stands waiting to strike at her with his paw. Both the cat and the duck seem to thoroughly enjoy these little bouts, and they sel- dom let a-day pass without giving a series of perform- ances, yet they never hurt one another. Bill and Prudy are the pets of Mrs.K.F, Nereda, of Balboa Island, California.” Digitized b Google + Cc

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433 The Downfall of The Colonel CNC. LWT L'R LATE ROYAL NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE > ILLUSTRATED BY CONRAD LEIGH “The Colonel” was a very clever American “crook” who had a most variegated career. This story describes a few of his principal exploits, including the odd mischance that exposed him to the Author in his true colours and brought about his arrest. came across was known as “ The Colonel.’”” He had a somewhat varied career of crime which commenced in the States, his first venture, which for a time proved profitable, being the counter- feiting of $10 and $100 notes. All went well with him for a while, but eventually, as generally happens in these cases, he was laid by the heels, his plant destroyed, and he himself sent to meditate on his folly in one of the State penitentiaries. After he had been under lock and key for about a year, the police got a severe shock. It is a peculiar fact that there is something about the work of almost any high-class criminal which enables the experienced investigator to recognize the “‘ trade-mark ”” of some particular man. Especially is this so with the forger, and the authorities found themselves up against the unpleasant and apparently inexplicable fact that although “Case Jim,” as ‘“ The Colonel’ was then nicknamed (case ’’ being American slang for ten-dollar bills), was safely in jail, yet forged bills bearing the undoubted mark of his skilful workmanship were once more making their appearance in considerable quantities ! The very numbers of the notes disproved the theory that they were merely stray ones which had escaped notice when ‘' Case Jim’ was arrested and his plant broken up, and finally careful watching and investigation elicited the remarkable fact that “ The Colonel,”’ as I shall call him for the future, was actually manufacturing notes in his NE of the most engaging person- alities in the way of crooks I ever prison cell and getting them put on the market outside ! This apparently impossible feat he achieved as follows: By trade he was printer and lithographer, and also pos a nodding acquaintance with journalism. Being quiet and well-behaved, the prison Vout. Lv.—30, authorities had selected him as the very man to take on the editorship of the fortnightly prison journal, the former editor of which had just finished his time. Most State prisons n the U.S.A. run these papers, by the way, and bright little sheets they usually are, all contributions being by ‘the prisoners, some of whom may be noted men of letters. As editor and chief bottle-washer of the prison journal, “‘ The Colonel ’’ contrived to spend long hours by himself locked up in the composing-room, which contained a minia- ture printing-press of the latest pattern. It was not long before it occurred to his versatile mind that here was a heaven-sent opportunity for printing something else besides newspapers, but to achieve this it was necessary for him to obtain certain articles from outside, and the only person who could get these for him was the warder whose duty it was to take him to and fro from work, and the only man who had access to the key of the printing-room. It was a desperate risk to try and corrupt this officer, but ‘‘ The Colonel ” took it, and eventually his plausible tongue so deadened the man’s sense of duty that he agreed to get what was wanted. ‘The Colonel,’’ moreover, persuaded him to take the forged notes outside the prison and hand them to a third party who would get rid of them, “ fifty- fifty ” of all profits accruing being the agreed basis. The conspiracy was detected, and both the prison officer and ‘‘ The Colonel’’ received five years’ “ indeterminate detention,” the latter in addition having five years added to his current sentence of ten years. As a matter of fact the officer did two years, and was then released on parole, while ‘The Colonel’ was likewise released on parole after serving seven years in all One would have thought that this taste of prison life weuld have deterred “ The Colonel” from further excursions in crime.

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434 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Instead of that, it merely seemed to spur him on to further efforts, and he was next heard of in Montreal, where, accompanied by a young man and woman who posed as his daughter and her fiancé, he adopted the réle of a wealthy Virginian colonel—the réle which earned him his nickname. Certainly he played the part to the life; his accent and mannerisms were perfect, and no one seems to have suspected for a moment that he was other than he appeared. All three of them lived quietly but well at one of the leading hotels, and let it be known that they were on their way to Europe. Their passages, in fact, were actually arranged. Then, one morning, the trio presented themselves at the establishment of the leading firm of jewellers in Montreal, and the courtly ‘‘ Colonel,’”’ asking to see the manager, explained that he wished to urchase a wedding present for his daughter. The manager, after a glance at the girl, who as a matter of fact was unusually pretty, was affability itself, and probably looked upon the supposed fiancé as a lucky dog indeed, “The Colonel’? carefully examined the jewellery, and finally selected a necklace, bracelet, and earrings worth altogether some ten thousand dollars—to the manifest delight of his daughter, who was loud in her protestations of thanks to “ Poppa.” Then he wrote out a cheque, and turned to the manager. “Naturally,” he remarked, ‘I cannot expect you to accept this cheque, since you do not know me, so I will send my future son-in-law up to the bank to cash it.”’ ‘The manager made some polite rejoinder, and the young man departed with the cheque. Soon after he had gone “ The Colonel” gave vent to an exclamation of annoyance. “Those cigars!’ he snapped, turning to his “ daughter.” “I knew I should forget them! Just stay here, my dear, while I run out and buy them.” Immediately he had disappeared the girl turned to the manager of the shop with a pretty air of conspiracy. “Twas just wanting to get him out of the shop,” she said, smilingly. ‘1 should like to buy him a birthday present. Quick! show me something, and mind you say nothing about it to him when he comes back. I want to give Poppa a surprise.” Pleased at the prospect of making a further sale, the manager suggested various articles at the price she named, and finally she bought a fine diamond pin and a gold cigar case, in payment for which she tendered five one-hundred-dollar notes. Without the slightest suspicion as to their genuineness the manager placed them with his other cash. All at once the telephone bell rang, and a clerk, coming into the shop, stated that someone was inquiring for “ Colonel Wilber- force."’ At once the manager informed the young lady, who pouted and looked askance at the telephone. “ Tnever can hear anyone on those things,” she declared. ‘‘ Will you please take the message for me ?”’ The manager proceeded to do so, and a voice at the other end informed him that he was speaking on behalf of the manager of the bank to which the girl’s fiancé had ostensibly proceeded to cash the cheque. The bank did not know the young man, the voice stated, and would be glad if ‘ The Colonel” would either come up himself or send someone to identify him before they cashed a cheque for so large an amount. When the jeweller delivered this message to the girl, she expressed great indignation at the hitch. “Poppa will be just furious!’ she said. “ However, they know me at the bank, and the best thing to do will be for me to go and put things straight. Will you call me a taxi?” A taxi duly arrived, and the girl went off, but hardly had she gone when ‘‘ The Colonel ”” returned with his cigars. Far from being angry when he heard what had occurred, he expressed appreciation of the bank's care- fulness, and treated the matter very plilo- sophically “Well, I guess they know my daughter all right,” he drawled, ‘and we'll get the moncy here soon enough now. In the mean- time I should be honoured if you would join me ina glass of wine while we are waiting.” The manager of the shop was delighted to be the recipient of this invitation from the courteous and wealthy soldier, and together they adjourned to a neighbouring hotel for the refreshment suggested. By the time they returned the young man and the girl gain at the shop, both of them still ing indignation at the bank’s action. he Colonel,” however, smiled tolerantly. “The bank did right,” he admitted. “The fault was mine for sending someone they did not know for the money. With so much fraud about one cannot be too careful ! The main question is—have you brought back the money ?”’ The girl laughed. “TI saw to that, Poppa,” she exclaimed. She produced a sealed bank envelope, and “ The Colonel”? and the shop manager checked the notes and found them correct, When the money had been handed over the jeweller bowed his customers out most politely, doubtless wishing he could see a few more of the same kind every day. It was not until the notes were paid into the bank, eleven days later, that the“ plant ”’ was discovered, All of them—including the ones with which the girl had made her own private purchase for “ Poppa’s birthday "“— were found to be most excellent forge tes. Naturally, they had never been issued by

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THE DOWNFALL OF “THE any bank, and the _ telephone conversation on behalf of the alleged bank manager had been conducted either by the young man or “ The-Colonel ” himself. By this time, of course, the ingenious trio were well away from Montreal. All their heavy baggage had been left in Quebec at the house of a brother _ crook who lived there in a_ well-to- do residential quarter, posing as a retired business| man, though in reality he was » high - class ‘*fence,’’ or receiver. Their luggage at the Montreal hotel, therefore, con- sisted of light articles ~ only, and as_ their hotel bill doubt- less exceeded its value they had no com- punction in abandoning it. Immediately they left the jeweller’s shop, it afterwards transpired, they separated, and made their way singly, by devious routes, to the re- ceiver’s house in Quebec. Here achange in their relationship toox place. The younger man became an elderly English invalid travelling for his health, the girl a hospital nurse in at- tendance on him, and ‘ The Colonel’ was metamorphosed into a typical grave and efncient English valet. In this guise they crossed the border into Vermont, U.S.A, and gradually made their way through the States, frequently changing their characters and appearance until they finally emerged in Western Canada in preparation for their next coup. It was at Moosejaw, Alberta, where I was in charge of the local detachment of the Royzel North-West Mounted Police, that I “She handed over a sealed bank envelope.” COLONEL.” 435 made my personal acquaintance with “ The Colonel ” and his satellites. He was now a Colonel again, a retired English Army officer with plenty of means, and acccmpanied by his son and daughter. They took the best suite of rooms at the C.P.R. hotel, the Royal George, and speedily became favourites with both residents and staff. The beauty and charm of the girl, in fact, quickly won her a bevy of wealthy admirers, while the “ son " proved himself to be a good fellow and showed that he could play a very useful game of billiards or pool—at both of which, incidentally, he contrived to win a consider- able amount of money.

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436 “The Colonel’ was no billiard player, but he was excellent company, and always ready to take a hand at bridge or pokei— not, as a rule, to his own pecuniary dis- advantage. He announced to all and sundry that he intended to settle his son and daughter a farm in the neighbourhood, about which he made inquiries. He even came to my office, asking questions about the district. I confess I had no suspicion that he was other than he pretended, so perfectly and naturally did he carry out his adopted rele. No communication had reached us regarding the robbery in Montreal, or I might have investigated his bona-fides a little more carefully. As it was, 1 accepted him at his face value, and told him what I considered to be the best districts for farming. I did draw the line, however, when he suggested that he should accompany me on my patrol and thus see the surrounding country for himself. ““ The Colonel ” was profuse in his expres- sions of gratitude for what I had done, and I received more than one_ pressing invitation to lunch or dine with him, but as I was busy with a Supreme Court sitting at the time I declined them all. In the circumstances it was perhaps just as well that I did. The days passed, “ The Colonel’ and his family making themselves agreeable to all and sundry, and then there arrived in Moosejaw a_ well-known American land speculator. This man had the reputation of always paying cash—American currency— in all his deals, and sometimes carried as much as forty or fifty thousand dollars about with him. This sum, with the curious naweté which men of his kind sometimes display, he kept in a cash-box which he never troubled to deposit in the hotel safe. He was a well-known and profitable customer to the Royal George, and a pigeon absolutely made for plucking by men of ‘ The Colonel’s ” kidney. Very soon “ The Colonel's” pretty daughter had another victim to her charms dangling at her heels, The American thought them a delightful family, and “‘ Maisie,”” no doubt, the most charming of them all. Gradually wormed out of him all his business , and it must have seemed to ‘“ The Colonel’ that the money the speculator confessed to keeping in his room was a direct gift from the gods—a gift it would be criminal to overlook ! There came a day when “ The Colonel ” and his “son” left the American and the girl to a pleasant ftete-d-téle, and, feeling certain that the latter could be depended upon to see that the conversation was suthiciently protracted, gained access to the American’s room unseen. They found the cash-box without difficulty, and congratu- lated themselves upon the ease with which the affair was going to be carried out. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. And then Fate, which had hitherto Leen so kind to them, dealt them a bitter blow just when they least expected it. There came a wild scamper of feet from the basement of the hotel, and a small terrier raced up the staiis and began to scratch and whine at the land-buyer’s door. It was his own dog which was kept below stairs, but was occasionally allowed to go into his room. It had managed to break loose, and had at once rushed off in search of its master, “ The Colonel's ”’ face turned pale when he heard the animal. Here was a complication which he had not bargained for. If they emerged, it was quite on the cards that the animal would attack them. If they remained quiet, it was only a matter of time before someone would arrive, attracted by the noise the dog was making. While they still hesitated, this was what actually occurred. A bell-boy pursued the terrier frcm the basement, caught the animal outside his master’s door and, assuming that the latter was in the room, called out to know what he should do with the dog. It was an awkward moment for Colonel.” said— “Take him downstairs again.” “Sure,” said the bell-boy, and went away with the dog, while the two men in the room breathed freely once more. But they counted their chickens too soon. That bell- boy was particularly astute. He recognized “ The Colonel's ” voice, and wondered what he was doing in another man’s room. More- over, he voiced his doubts to the manager, who, accompanied by the hotel detective, rushed upstairs—to meet ‘“ The Colonel” and his confederate actually emerging from the room, baving broken open the strong- box and secured the cash. They were ct once secured, I was telephoned for, and, having made my investigations, I arrested the whole three. Later they were identified, and the Montreal crime brought home to them. When he saw that the game was up “ The Colonel’ became quite communicative, and told me how they had made their “get-away ” from the latter town. Nothing would induce any of them, however, to divulge the name or address of the receiver with whom they had stayed in Quebec, The first-class crook is generally loyal in these matters, and ‘“ The Colonel” and his satellites were no exceptions to the rule. The upshot of their operations was that “ The Colonel "’ received a sentence of fifte years, the younger man seven years ; the who was thought to be acting under duress, and against whom we did not press the charge, was bound over and deported. I heard later, indirectly, that she married one of her wealthy admirers who was sorry for her, and, I am glad to record, made him an excellent wile. “ The Then, as calmly as he could, he

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ndorsons Pole- YU FRANCIS DICKIE ILLUSTRATED BY TOM PEDDIE \ \\ \ Starving, and practically at death’s door in a trackless wilderness, a British Columbia pros- pector suddenly stumbled upon a fortune, This little story describes how it happened. “The tale is true,” writes Mr. Dickie, “and the incidents are set down almost exactly as the narrator described them.” HE swirling water of the current, Tunning at some eight miles an hour even at this lower end of the rapid, tugged hard at Anderson’s tody as he clung with his right hand to a short tree- root protruding from the bank that rose skeerly some three feet above him, Anderson had been carried against the bank by an eddy immediately following the wrecking of his scow on a submerged point of rock in the centre of the swift and narrow stream. So, despite the chill of the water, ke was still fresh. Now, with his right hand gripping hard at a rope-lile root, he reached upward with his left hand, striving to catch one of the many higher roots of the black poplar tree, still standing sturdily though the erosion of the water had carried the earth away from nearly a third of its foundation. But the current fought against him, pulling his body hard downstream. Three times he struggled upward before his reaching fingers won a hold. The rest of the climb toward the top of the bank was essier. At last, cold and sodden, le got to his feet. Anderson had dwelt long in the wilderness, so his matches were dry in a watertight case. A few feet from the river-bank he made a fire of dead poplar. The May day was chill and dull, and, after wringing out his under- garments, he donned them again and, seated on his haunckes, warmed himself thoroughly before the fire. Now and again his eyes rested upon tle fast-moving water with which, so short a time ago, he had fought for his life. In mid- Stream of its rushing course his light “iver-scow still hung upon the sharp point of submerged rock which had pierced through tke planks of the tow close to the left side. The flat-Lottomed hull, with its stern swung downstream, now lay tipped far over, swept clean of all its contents. Just beyond the wreck the river widened. Gazing upon the scene, Anderson realized how lucky he had teen. In that moment when he had caught the extending root he had seen his two less fortunate half-breed boatmen carried into the centre of the broadening stream— to certain death. A momentary sadness oppressed Lim. He had known them only six days, since he hired them at Fort Good Ckeer, his starting-point for the trip into this little-known region of British Columbia. but they had proved themselves good fellows. Out in the hurrying stream the scow dipped and swerved. Anderson eyed it regretfully. This flat-Lottomed, square- ended, twenty-five-foot river craft, known as a “‘half-scow” in the parlance of the Northland, represented the last of his ebbing fortunes. At the Lottom of the river lay his Tifle, outfit, utensils. Presently even the now worthless craft would break free from the point of rock and disappear from his sight. Anderson shivered, crouched before the fire, and gave way to dreary retrospection For twenty yeais Le had sougl.-t in the far places for a golden fortune. Twenty years! Hard years brightened only by tle hope of eventual success, which in him, as in every true prospector, fersists in face of all disappointments, all discouragements, all failures. Thoughtfully Anderson travelled back over the years—Alaska and tle Yul on, their mushroom cities and gold-mad crowds ; his own hardships, the privations, tle cold of many winter trails. Doggedly he had gone on staking claims— along main streams, “ pup "’ creeks, benches. Men had grown rich beside him, above him, below him, but never had luck really smiled on him. True, a ‘‘ pocket now and then,

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438 or an occasional fairly-paying gravel bar, had fallen to his lot; but nothing more. His finds had given him a bare living—just “ grubstakes ’’ to carry him on to new fields. Arizona, Nevada, New Lisgard, Cobalt, and the Porcupine had known his plodding feet. Always he had persevered. In face of every failure there had remained deep down within him a conviction of ultimate success, a sort of prescient certainty that some day his dre m-find would be realized. The coming of spring of the year 1923 had found him at Fort Good Cheer, in north- western British Columbia. A year’s grub- stake, tools, a rifle, and the scow had taken larger part of Anderson's capital. The remiinder would have been paid in wages to the half-breed boatmen he had hired to accompany him to a point oa the Tillicum River some fifty miles farther on. There, at a place where a smull stream met the Tillicum, Anderson had proposed building a headquarters camp, a good solid cabin from which to prospect the surrounding coantry. It was a region but little known, regirding which mysterious whispers of riciness in placer gold had reached him during his past winter’s sojourn in the sea- port city of Vancouver. Anderson’s gaze fell again upon the river, just as the tugging water at last dislodged the scow. Sunk to the gunwales, it slipped saiftly down the stream and out of sight for ever. The disappearance cf his last possession was a fitting climax to his retro- spe:tion of twenty fruitless years. He was gunless, food) the wilderness was all around him, and Fort Good Cheer his neirest place of succour. In actual travel- ling time on the Tillicum he had been six days in arriving where he stood. It wold take three times as long to walk back, eve. if he were able to travel with a full stomach. To Anderson, with oaly a pocket- knife and twenty matches left to him, the wilderness loomed menacing, a place of waiting death. For the first time in all bis twenty years of fortune-seeking, hope no longer burnt within him, The old prescient certainty of that rich find had suddenly deserted him. For the first time, moreover, he was fully conscious that he as forty-eight years old. The brief batter- ing the river had given him had left him suft and sore. Moodily he began pacing up and down. His heavy woollen undergarments were still damp in places, and now and then he shivered as he walked under the grey sky of that pallid May day. Anderson had faced many difficult situa- tioas during his long experience of pros- pecting. Though hope had fled, the love of life remained. As he strode up and down to warm his numbed body, he studied the situation with the trained judgment of a mien familiar with the wilderness. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. It was a bad time of year to travel with an equipment of one jackknife and twenty matches. May was too early for the nesting season, too early for berries—yet the eggs of the various birds and ripe berries were about the only food supplies an un- armed man could gather. True, there were caribou in considerable numbers, but it was only in books of fiction that an unarmed man killed such worth-while provender. In Teality, he might starve within sight of a thousand of the beasts. Nevertheless, Anderson turned his face southward, determined to win out. The Tillicum River was a very winding stream, and every mile of walking he could save was of the utmost importance, so he left the river-bank and laid a cross-country course. This was easy, for ahead of him, far to the south, a range of peaks showed dimly in clear weather. Though they were at the moment obscured, the man’s sense of direc- tion was so good that he would not have hesitated to strike out even had there been no peaks by which to correct his position from day to day. The country about him consisted of low hills dotted with clumps of poplar and willow and—in some of the valleys — larger “stands ” of spruce and hemlock. As he swung along over the hills the dead brown grass rustled crisply, as yet predom- inant over the struggling green cf this back- ward spring. Occasionally a meadow-lark sprang up, and, after a short, flirting flight, alighted to pour forth its liquid piping melody. Anderson’s rugged face lit up at each new song from this drab-looking grey-and-brown bird. It was an old companion of his. On the Arctic prairies, in New Ontario, in far away Nevada, its song had cheered him. Just at dusk it began to rain, accompanied by a chill driving wind. But Anderson was lucky. Low down on a side hill a gale, months before, had uprooted a spruce tree, creating, as always in light soil, a pot-hole of loose sand. Where the roots had torn free from the highest point on the hill, the excavation had extended into the bank a little way, forming a tiny cave, the over- hanging roof of which, perhaps two feet wide, was sufficient to keep dry the sand beneath. Into this little refuge Anderson crawled and dug himself in, covering his body several inches deep with sand. It was still raining when ke awoke—a fine, cold drizzle. All day he plodded steadily onwards. From time to time through the rain the meadow-larks’ mellow notes bade defiance to the chill and wet, but there was no answering eclo in the prospector’s heart. Soaked to the skin, his discomfort was the more cruclly felt because the lack of food had already greatly lowered his Tesistance to the cold. He spent the night sheltered beneath the

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ANDERSON’S POLE-CAT. 439 “With his eyes fixed on the sleeping beast he flung himself down.” wide-spreading limbs of a spruce, sleeping shiveringly for short intervals. At daybreak the wind shifted. Slowly the cloud-masses began to break and drift, and by late afternoon the mountains showed for the first time. In the cleared dome of the sk the sun flared for a few moments, then san amid banked cumulus clouds close to the snow-capped peaks. On this third night of his journeying Anderson sacrificed two of his twenty pre- Gious matches and made a fire. The craving for food which had so fiercely gnawed his vitals in the earlier hours had now given place to a heavy numbness at the pit of his stomach, accompznied by a headache more savage in its torturing throbbing than any hunger-pang. Even the sunshine and warmth of a perfect May morning, smiling upon the start of his fourth day’s march, failed to stir a responsive tise of spirits. Yet the clutch of life had in no whit weakened within him. Now, however, it was a dogged, instinctive impulse, almost automatic despite its guidance by a mind that still reasoned calmly. This day the meadow-larks sang as never before, but Anderson did not smile. Upon these old-time friends he turned the glittering eyes of famine. In the bed of a little creek he gathered some stones. His reason cried out upon the hopelessness of what he contem- plated, but nevertheless he filled his pockets with little waterworn pebbles. At the next open space, with infinite care, he stalked one of the drab brown birds. But he took one step too many, and the bird flew away. Gazing after it, Anderson cursed with a wild abandon of word and gesture—significant tokens of a mind that was losing poise. Once more he took up this stealthy attack upon a bird long loved, dear to him from years of association, but now the only symbol of food in this great inhospitable waste. Twice again his cautious advance was carried too far, but he did not repeat his curses ; his natural grip upon himself had returned. A fourth time he stalked a feathered quarry. Within ten feet of it he halted, and his hand moved slowly from his pocket freighted witha pebble. At the same moment his heart began a rapid pounding. Excite- ment swept over him in such a wave that his whole frame quivered ; his hand shook with the violence of palsy. He, who without a tremor had shot down moose and grizzly, caribou and bounding deer, stood trembling before a little bird ! Battling for self-control, le remained

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440 motionless. By no effort of will, however, could he stay the shaking of his hand or the thudding of his heart. The very nearness of the lark only served to increase his excite- ment. At last, after fully a minute had passed, the bird began the peculiar body-rocking motion and flirt of tail which signal its in- tention of taking flight. Hastily Anderson flung his stone, but it fell wide of the mark by many feet, and the lark winged away. Convinced of the futility of further attempts, the prospector emptied his pockets of the remaining pebbles. The sun beat hot upon his bare head and his heavy brown shirt. Presently he removed the shirt, carrying it flung over his shoulder. As the sun approached the zenith he reached a small stream, one of the many in this region of plentiful water-supply. He drankdeeply, and then bathed his heavy head. Somewhat refreshed, he moved on again. Before him the seemingly interminable low hills undulated toward the mountain-broken horizon. Somewhere between himself and that dim line of jagged peaks was Fort Good Cheer; just how far away still he did not like to contemplate. But Anderson plodded on, becoming with every passing hour more of an automatic expression of the will-to-live than a normal human entity. It was perhaps two hours after his pause at the streamlet that Anderson abruptly halted. The dullness in his eyes gave way to a glittering light. He had reached the flat top of one of the low hills. Directly beyond his feet was a sandystrip bare of vegetation, a level stretch perhaps thirty feet across, And there, almost in the very centre, curled on the sand in the full warmth of the after- noon sun, was a little animal, its black fur marked by a band of white. Despite the dread significance of this furred creature, it yet remained to the starving man a symbol of food. There under the hot rays of the sun the pole-cat slept secure, free of natural enemies by reason of the deadly power it wielded— a spraying, almost vaporous fluid capable of blinding any eyes it reached, and choking and sickening with a mephitic odour that is perhaps the strongest in the world. Anderson’s heavy brown shirt, draped over his left shoulder, gave him an idea. Quietly he opened the garment out. By holding it at one shculder and near the tail, he thought, it would serve as an efficient protection in the attack he now contemplated. He laid the shirt down for a moment while he re- moved his shoes. Taking it up again, he began crossing the fifteen feet of space be- tween him and the quarry. ‘The hot sand was soundless beneath his stockinged feet. His body Leat forward, his heavy woollen shirt THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. outspread and held low before him in shaking hands, he tiptoed onwards with a crouching, fearful eagerness, while his heart pounded madly behind his ribs, With his eyes fixed upon the throat of the sleeping beast he flung himself down—a swift, sure pounce. His strong hands closed with that convulsive grip a great need pro- duces, and his fingers tightened and twisted until the struggling form beneath the heavy woollen folds lay still in death, Anderson dropped his quarry and staggered to the rim of the hill, He sat there for a long time, and at last his nausea lessened. The heavy folds of his shirt had afforded him a good deal of protection, but it was not complete. Hopeful that washing might banish the worst of the odour clinging to his undervest, he walked down the hill. In the narrow ravine below was the dry bed of an ancient watercourse. _ Here and there were little pools of water left by the recent heavy spring rains. Pausing beside the largest of these, Anderson removed the thick undervest, and knecling, began vigor- ously cleansing it. The water was only a few inches deep, and to assist the work he rubbed the garment hard on the sand and stones of the bottom. Satisfied at last, he drew the vest out, and began to wring it. Then all of a sudden his hands relaxed, for his eyes fell upon some curious glittering specks which clung thickly to the wool. In a moment Anderson’s mind became strangely clear. Hunger was for the moment forgotten. Long years of experience, of hope and seeking, had built up within him a something which now, in face of this dis- cove sserted itself. Foran hour he moved ceas y up and down the ancient creek bed, but even before this brief examination was finished he knew he had found at last that which for twenty years he had dreamed of finding. Here was gold in quantities— nuggets and coarse placer, richness sufficient for all the days of his life ! How strange were the workings of Destiny, he thought ; he had had to endure all these hardships to find a fortune, and had found it at the very moment when, after twenty years of patient belief in eventual success, hope had utterly forsaken him ! Resolutely Anderson returned to the skin- ning of the pole-cat. _Later, as he crouched over the fire cooking his first meal, le muttered aloud to the star- filled sky ; ‘‘ With your help, little pole-cat, I win out!” And five days afterwards, when he stum- bled by chance upon the night encampment of a Sikanni Indian band on their way to Fort Good Cheer, thirty miles distant, the delirious Prospector was still muttering at intervals the same talismanic refrain. 1

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“*THE CAMELMEN HAVE ARRANGED THAT YOU SHALL BE WAYLAID AND ROBBED,’ HE WENT ON. ‘YOU WILL LOSE YOUR MONEY AND PROBABLY YOUR LIFE.’” (SEE PAGE 446.)

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A.M. Vsonorn Be IN SEARCH OF THE | ~LOST OASES | se We have much pleasure in presenting our readers with these exclusive articles, for the name of the Author is one to conjure with in the domain of desert exploration. Mrs. Rosita Forbes made her famous journey to Kufra in company with Hassenein Bey, who was the first explorer to enter that jealously-guarded oasis since the German, Rohlfs, nearly lost his life' there in 1879. In this fascinating narrative the Author describes his latest and gyeatest ition—a wonderful trip across the desert from Sollum, on the Mediterranean, to. El Obeid, in the Sudan, a distance of over two thousand miles. Much of the territory covered was absolutely unexplored, and Hassenein Bey not only visited the strong- holds of, the mysterious Senussi fraternity, the rulers of the desert, but discovered two “lost” oases previously unknown to geographers. The journey was full of incident, and the Author’s striking photographs add greatly to the interest of the story. So highly did the scientific authorities regard the expedition that the Royal Geographical Society awarded the explorer their much-prized Gold Medal, while Dr. John Ball, O.B.E., Director of Desert F.R:G.S. ILLUSTRATED BY R.CATON WOODVILLE Surveys, - pt, wrote: “It appears to me to be an almest unique achievement in the of geographical exploration.” I. HIS. is the story of a journey which I made in 1923 from Sollum on the Mediterranean to El Obeid in the Sudan, a distance of some two thousand two'hundred miles. In the course of it I was fortunate enough to discover two “lost oases, Arkenu and Ouenat, which previously had not been known to geo- graphers. My expedition was primarily a scientific one, but I have tried in these articles to avoid wearying the reader with technical: details and to write a straight- forward account of my experiences. For years it had always been my ambition to penetrate to Kufra, a group of oases in the Libyan Desert, which had only once been visited by an explorer. In 1879 the intrepid German, Rohlfs, succeeded in Teaching it, but he barely escaped with his life, and all his notebooks and the results of his scientific observations were destroyed, so that even the actual position of the place was not accurately known. In 1915 I was fortunate enough to mect in Cairo Sayed Idris El Senussi, the famous head of the Senussi Brotherhood, who was returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca. The capital of the Senussi is Kufra, and when, in 1917, I went on a mission to Sayed Idris with Colonel the Hon. Milo Talbot, C.B., R.E., and renewed my acquaintance with him at Zuetina, a little port near Jedabya, in Cyrenaica, I seized the opportunity and told him of my desire. Sayed Idris was most sympathetic, and asked me to let him know when I proposed to make the expedition, so that he might give me the help and countenance without which a journey to Kufra could not be undertaken. I met him again at Akrama, near Tobruk, and told him that I should set out as soon as I was free from my war duties. Mr. Francis Rodd, an old Balliol friend, was with me, and we decided that we would go together. When the war was over Mrs. Rosita Forbes (now Mrs. A. McGrath) brought me a letter of introduction from Mr. Rodd and asked permission to join us. We proceeded to plan an expedition @ trors, but, when the time came, Mr. Rodd was prevented from making one of the party. Finally, in 1920, Mrs. Forbes and I set out by ourselves, and

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444 with the friendly co-operation of the Italian authorities and the promised assistance of Sayed Idris—who provided us with our caravan—we duly reached Kufra in January, 1921. This trip, interesting as it was, only made me more anxious than ever to explore the vast expanse of unknown desert which lay beyond. There were strange rumours of “Jost” oases in that trackless waste which even the people of Kufra only knew of by hearsay and tradition, and I returned to Cairo resolved to make another expedition. This time, instead of coming straight back from Kufra, as Mrs. Forbes and I had done, I determined to strike south through the unexplored desert until I came to Wadai and the Sudan. In 1922 I submitted my plan for a journey across the desert from the Mediterranean to the Sudan to His Majesty King Fuad L., who had been gracious enough to show his interest in my first trip by decorating me with the Medal of Merit. He sympathized warmly with my project, directed that I should be given long leave of absence from my official duties, and later caused the expenses of the expedition to be defrayed by the Egyptian Treasury. Indeed, my trip could not possibly have met with the success it did had it not been for His Majesty’s invaluable support. I completed my preparations and in December, 1922, collected my baggage in the house of my father so that, in accordance with the ancient custom of my race, it might be blessed before I set out across the Libyan Desert. This ceremony concluded, I took leave of my father, and then Abdullahi and Ahmed, two of my most trusted men, set out for Sollum with the heavy impedimenta, leaving me with the scientific instruments and the cameras. On the 19th of December I left Alexandria by boat for Sollum. The 21st found me dis- embarking at Sollum, which is a tiny sea- port close to the western frontier of Egypt. There we were to take camels and go by way of Jaghbub to Jalo, the important centre of desert trade where our caravan would be organized and the great trek southward begun. A journey like this of mine alwa has several starting points, each with it! own variety of emotions and experiences. At Sollum we had the task of assembling stores and equipment, packing and repacking to get everything into the smallest compass and most convenient shape for handling, checking over to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, and arranging with camel- owncrs for the first stage of the trip. At Jalo I should make another start, with my own caravan at my back and the road to Kufra, already traversed but still by no means familiar, before me. Then would come the last setting-out of all, as I rode out THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. of Kufra with my face toward the unknown and the unexplored. Abdullahi and Ahmed were already at Sollum, with the heavy baggage, and the camels were arranged for, the agreement only awaiting my approval, and we proceeded forthwith to get our outfit and supplies in order. Some description of the two Egyptians who accompanied me throughout the expedi- tion may be of interest. Abdullahi was a Nubian from Asswan, heavily built, well set-up and strong, with a pair of small eyes, deeply set, that could mask a malicious sense of humour with great indifference or dignity. A man about forty, he was well educated and knew his Koran well. I met him first in 1914, when he was attached to the Idrissi family in Egypt, and I took an enormous liking to him because of his deeply-rooted sense of hurnour and his loyalty. He was, moreover, extremely honest, and therefore I put him in charge of the commissariat. In Abdullahi’s kit one could always find anything that was needed, from strips of leather with primitive Bedouin needles for mending shoes to elaborate contrivances for propping up a broken tent-pole. He was ready, too, with tactful ‘‘ inaccuracies ’’ to suit every situation, whether he wanted me to appear to be a wandering Bedouin from Egypt, a merchant, or an important Govern- ment official. Abdullahi had one peculiarity. Between sunset and an hour or two later it was apparently a most difficult task to keep him awake; though he might be holding a discussion, he would fall into a doze as he sat talking. Abdullahi’s business instinct came out at its best when we arrived in inhabited regions towards the end of the journey and were short of food. He collected all the odds and ends of the caravan, including empty tins and bottles, even the few used Gillette razor-blades, and bartered them with the unsophisticated natives for butter, milk, spices, and leather ! Ahmed was also a Nubian from Asswan, a slight, wiry fellow, who never gave in. He was my valet and cook. Although extremely well educated, he had become a cook because he liked to live a free life. The requirements for a desert trek are simple, and the list of what one takes with one is almost stereotyped. For food there are, first of all, flour, rice, sugar, and tea. All the people of the desert are very fond of meat, but naturally it cannot be carried ; one must cither shoot it by the way or go without. Tea is the staple drink in the Libyan desert, rather than coffee, and for that there are two reasons. The first is religious, the second practical. Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi, the founder of the interesting and _little- understood brotherhood that controls the destinies of the country through which I was to travel, forbade his followers all luxuries. His prohibition included tobacco

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IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. and coffee, but, for some reason, cid not extend to tea. His followers, therefore, are tea-drinkers, if you can call by the same name the delicate, aromatic fluid that graces the tea-tables of Europe and America and the murky, bitter liquid which sustains the Bedouin on his marches and revives him at the day’s end. The second reason is that tea is a stimulant to work on, while coffee is not. After these staples come dates; or per- haps they ought to be put first. The camels live on dates, as does the whole caravan when other foods are exhausted or there is no time to halt and cook a meal. But the dates are not the rich, sweet, sugary thingsone is accustomed to in western lands. The date which one must use for desert travel has. little sugar about it, for sugar breeds thirst, and where wells are days apart the water supply is not to be prodigally spent. I took some tinned things with me—bully beef, vegetables, and fruits; but tins are heavy, and to carry enough food in tins for a long trek would de- mand a score of extra camels or more. There wasa little coffee in our stores, but we seldom drank it; I used most of it for presents to the friends we made along the wa A few bottles of Horlick’s malted milk tablets proved very useful for emergency lunches when food ran low. ai THE PROBLEM OF WATER SUPPLY. Next comes water, the one great and unceasing problem of desert travel. People have lived for an unbelievable number of days without-food, either from necessity or Hassenein Bey in Bedouin attire. 445 curiosity, but the man who could go for four days without water would be a miracle. A desert is a desert just because it lacks water, and the desert traveller must think first of his drinking supply. We carried water in two ways. The regular supply was stored in twenty-five girbas, the traditional sheepskin water-bag of the desert. Each holds from four to six gallons—and_ is easily burst if two camels carrying girbas bump together in the dark on a rocky road! The reserve water-supply for emergencies, therefore, is carried in fan- tasses. These are long tin con- tainers, oblong or oval shaped in cross section, SO as to hang easily along the camel's side. We had four fan- tasses holding four gallons casa and four others holding twelve gallons each. Our full supply therefore, was something like twohundred gal- lons—enough to last our caravan on the longest trek from well to well that we were likely to encounter, We carried only the Teserve supply in fantasses, al- though they were less liable to injury, be- cause the girbas, when empty, took up so little space. All twenty-five of them could be carried on one camel, while only two fantasses went toa camel, full or empty— and we had no camels to spare. Four tents, two bell-shaped and two rectangular, and numerous cooking utensils, of which the chief was a huge brass halla or bowl for boiling rice, made up the tale of our equipment. For emergencies there was a medicine chest, with quinine, iodine, cotton and bandages, bismuth salicylate for dysentery, morphine tablets, and a hypo- dermic syringe, anti-scorpion serum—which Digitized ty GOOe Cc

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446 was tu plunge me into an apparently serious predicament and rescue me from it—zinc ointment for eczema, indigestion tablets, and Epsom salts. I also had a primitive surgical kit and a few dental instruments and remedies. For hunting and possible defence I took three rifles, three automatic pistols, and a shot-gun. By the time of our return the shot-gun had been given away as a present, and the rest of the arsenal had been increased by six rifles and one pistol. In order to make the report of what I found and saw as vivid and truthful as possible I took five cameras. Three of them were Kodaks, which functioned perfectly to the end; one a more elaborate instrument with a focal-plane shutter, which was ruined by the penetrating sand; and the last a cinema machine. For all the cameras [ carried Eastman Kodak films, packed with elaborate care. For the cinema camera I took nine thousand feet of film. Fortune was with me in all the photographic work. The films were not developed until my return to Egypt eight months later, but the percentage of failures was gratifyingly low. By way of clothing I took the usual Bedouin garb of white shirts and long drawers, both made of calico, and a woollen jerd, the voluminous Bedouin wrap ; also silk j ets and waistcoats and cloth drawers like riding breeches, but reaching to the ankles. The latter were used only on ceremonial occa- sions, such as enterirg or leaving an oasis ; there were naturally a few changes of each. I did not wish to put on the desert dress until the end of the first stage of the journey, so I left Sollum in an old khaki coat and riding breeches, which had already seen their best days. With yellow Bedouin slippers on my feet, the only possible wear for desert travel, and a Jaeger woollen nightcap on my head—for the weather was extremely coll—I must have looked an amusing figure when we made our start. When travelling into unknown lands, especially in the East, it is important to be able to make presents to those of prominence whom you meet. I had what seemed to me an enormous supply of silks, copper bowls, censcrs inlaid with silver, bottles of scent, silver teapots and tea-glasses, and_ silver call bells—which the Bedouin is delighted to be able to use for summoning his slaves instead of the usual clapping of the hands. When I saw all these things being packed, I felt sure that we should bring half of them back with us, but by the time we reached Kufra I discovered we had none too many. My plans were all made for a trek straight south to Jaghbub when, two days before the date determined upon for the start, an incident happened which considerably dis- quieted me. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR. I was sitting one evening in my room in the little Government rest-house, when there came a knock at the door. I could not imagine who could want me at that hour, but I went to the door and opened it a little way. A Bedouin whom I did not know was standing there, his face muffled in his jerd. “Who are you ? ” I demanded. “A friend,” was the answer, which some- how did not convince me. : “ What is your name and your business ? ” I asked. ‘‘ Iam a friend, and I have something to tell you which you ought to know,” ex- plained the visitor. Thereupon I opened the door wider and he came inside. What have you to tell me ?”’ I said. “ You are going by the straight road to Jaghbub ?” I nodded assent. “Don’t go,”’ he continued, with vigour. “Why not?” J asked. | “ The Bey is a rich man,” he replied. ‘‘ He carries with him great stores of the bounty of God, and the Bedouins are greedy. The rumour is that you have many boxes of gold.” I could sce that he half believed it himself, though he was pretending not to. “The camelmen have arranged with friends on the road that you shall be waylaid and robbed,” he went on. ‘ You will lose your money and probably your life.” ““One can always fight,”’ I suggested. “* Perhaps,” he agreed, “ if you had plenty of men of your own.” I hadn’t ; so I proceeded to question him further as to his information. The story seemed straight enough, and when I learned that my visitor was a relative of a man to whom I had done a good turn when on my last mission to the Senussis I felt that it would be wise to believe him. I thanked him for his warning, and he went away into the night. Then I sat down to consider the unpleasantly melodramatic situation. The desert people are quick to ferret out your purpose if they can, and if they cannot, to build up imaginary stories to account for what you are and have and intend to do. Much of our paraphernalia was in boxes. Boxes, to the Bedouin mind, mean treasure. If three rifles in a case could be translated into a machine-gun, as I knew had happened, why should not cameras and instruments in boxes be translated into gold and bank- notes ? It was no wonder that the men whose camels we had hired were convinced that I was going. into the desert with vast wealth for some unknown purpose. It was quite ible that they planned to rob me. It was a cheerful outlook for the very beginning of our journey, for a fight, no matter how

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market at The cattle Siwa, | successful, would be a poor start for our undertaking. I decided that it would be better to avoid this first ob- stacle in our path. Next day, there- fore, the camel owners whose pleasant little plan had been revealed to me found them- selves summarily discharged, and others were forth- with hired to take me to Siwa. Instead Sees | IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. 447 Siwa is one of the most picturesque and historic oases in Northern Africa. An ancient olive-press still in use at Siwa. | of heading straight for Jaghbub, I de- termined to take the two other sides of the triangle whose apexes were Sollum, Siwa, and Jaghbub. This would mate- tially lengthen the first part of our journey, but after all time and dis- tance were less important than safe arrival. The road by way of Siwa had several advantages. It lay in Egyptian [Aan Sot 8

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448 territory, and not in the country inhabited by the tribes to which the first set of camelmen belonged. In the second place, it ran through a more frequented region, where a treacherous waylaying of our caravan would be more perilous to the attackers. Lastly, our quick departure after the change of plan gave the conspirators no time to develop any new plot. It looked safe, and it proved to be as safe as it looked. On January first the caravan started, and three days later Lieutenant Bather very kindly took me out in a motor-car to catch it up. We found the caravan at Dignaish, thirty-six miles distant and, saying good- bye to the Lieutenant, I began the journey. It was then a six days’ trip to Siwa. Our spare time was profitably spent in camou- flaging our boxes and cases to look like the usual Bedouin impedimenta. The only event of interest during the six days was the first of three good omens that foretold success to the trip. On the fifth day, late in the afternoon, I saw a gazelle feeding a little distance off our track. Without any other thought than the pleasant anticipation of fresh meat, I set out after it. As I went I heard discouraging shouts and howls from the men behind me. In view of the Bedouins’ love of meat I could not understand their reluctance to have me go after the game. I imagined they were afraid that I should be led some distance away, and thus hold up the progress of the caravan. The reason did not seem sufficient, so I pursued my The date-market at Siwa. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. quest. After some tine I got a shot ai the gazelle and brought it down. When I returned to the caravan with my prize I was surprised again, for the men came running toward me waving their arms and shouting joyful congratulations. Until the explanation was forthcoming I understood their present state of mind no more than | had their former one. JI learned that among the Bedouins the first shot fired at game after a caravan sets out is considered of great importance. If it is a miss, disaster is certain to overtake the party before the journey’s end. If it is a hit, fortune will smile upon the whole undertaking. The men of the caravan had been reluctant to see me put our luck to the test so soon. THE LAST OUTPOST OF CIVILIZATION. We were three days in Siwa, hiring camels for the trek to Jaghbub and making a few final preparations. Siwa was the last out- post of the world I was leaving behind, for there the postal service and the telegraph end. Beyond that point there is nothing to be bought except the products of the desert, or occasionally a little rice or cloth. Siwa is a most charming oasis, with springs of wonderful water, excellent fruit, the best dates in the world, picturesque scenery, and the quaintest and most inter- esting of customs. For example, if a woman loses her husband she is kept forty days without washing and nobody sees her, food being handed to her through a crack The venders never attempt to mix inferior dates with the better as he likes without payment !

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IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. 449 n the door. When the forty days have expired, she goes to bathe in one of the wells, and everybody tries to avoid crossing her path, for she is then called ghoula, and is supposed to bring bad luck to anybody who f sees her. After this her period of seclusion . is at an end. In the date market, called the mistah, all the dates are piled in heaps. No one thinks of touching a single date that docs not belong to him, or mixing different qualities of dates together with a view to gaining an advantage thereby. On the other hand, anybody can go into a mist) and eat as many as he likes from the best- quality piles without paying a millieme, but he must not take any away with him In Siwa there is the shrine uf 2 saint where people deposit their belongir,: ior safety. If a man is going away he can take his most valuable treasures and put them near this shrine and nobody will dream of touching them. Literally, if anyone left a parce! of gold there, nobody would meddle with it, owing to the unshakable belief that if one touches anything near that shrine that does not belong to one, bad luck will follow one for the rest of one’s life. By the time I was ready to leave Siwa, my little group of personal retainer§ had doubled in number. At Sollum I had added to Abdullahi and Ahmed a man of the Monafa tribe named Hamad. He was the hardest- working individual in the entire caravan; I never saw him Sayed Idris Sennusi, whose help largely contributed to the success of the expedition. tired. The fourth member of the group was Ismail, a Siwi. He looked like a weakling, but on the trek he was always the last man to give in. Ismail was the man I took with me when prospecting for geological specimens or making elaborate scientific observations. Coming from an oasis in Egyptian territory where the post and telegraph made connection with the outside world, he had léss of the wild Bedouin’s suspicion, which interprets every “simple action’ of ‘the stranger into something with an ulterior motive. Why should the Bey be chipping off bits of rock, the Bedouin might say to himself, unless there were gold in it, or he intended to come and conquer the country ? Not so Ismail. If the Bey wanted a bit of rock, he appeared to think, that was the Bey’s business. We left Siwa on the 14th, with our new caravan. Our last link with the outside world was now broken. At the first stop I took off my faded khaki, put on the Bedouin costume, and felt myself a part of the desert ones, and any passer-by may eat as many life. The effect upon the men was immediate. Hitherto they had approached me with

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450 A halt in the | desert. Notice the limitless horizon. embarrassment and awkwardness, but after this they came up naturally, kissed my hand in Bedouin fashion, and said: “ Now you are one of us!” Our second good omen befell us a few miles out of Siwa. We found dates in our path at a point where some unfortunate merchant, taking his cargo to market, had met with an accident. ates in the way are a promise of good fortune for the journey. Often when a Bedouin is setting out with his caravan, friends will secretly go ahead and drop dates where he will be sure to pass them. What with the successful first shot at the gazelle and the dates in the path we had every reason to be cheerful, but the best omen of all was to come. I had sent two men ahead with a letter to Sayed Idris at Jaghbub, to inform him of my approach. In the desert one does not rush upon a friend or a notable headlong and unannounced. There should be time for both to put on fresh clothing and go to the mecting with dignity, as becomes gentle- men of breeding. _ Two days out from Siwa I was riding some distance behind the caravan and presently came upon it halted. I asked the reason for the unusual stop. THE THIRD GOOD OMEN. “ Messengers have come to say that Sayed Idris will be here within an hour,” I was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Camels on the march. told. The men could scarcely conceal their excitement. To be met by the great head of the Senussis himself at the inning of our journey was the most auspicious of omens. The rest of the message was indicative of the etiquette of the desert. “ He asks the Bey to camp so that he may come to him.” We immediately made camp, and before long the vanguard of Sayed Idris’s caravan appeared and camped in their turn a short distance away. <A half hour later Sayed Idris himself, with his retinue, advanced toward my camp and I went to meet him. Sayed Idris greeted me with warm cordial- ity and we renewed the acquaintance made on our previous meetings. My former trip could never have been successful without his assistance ; it was even more necessary on the present one, which was to take me three times as far, and into completely unknown regions. ‘ In his tent we lunched on rice, stuffed chicken, and sweet Bedouin cakes, followed by glasses of tea delicately scented with mint and rose-water. I told him of my plans and gave him news of the outside world. At his suggestion, I brought all the men of my caravan to his tent to receive his Digitized by GOORle Cc

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— IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. 451 blessing. They were immensely impressed and gratified, for to be blessed by Sayed Idris was the greatest augury of success that we could have had. Nothing could harm us now, they- considered. In the afternoon we said farewell, the camps were broken up, and both caravans took up the march, Sayed Idris going east into Egypt and I west towards Jaghbub and the long trail into the desert. As we marched my men insisted on following the track made by the caravan of Sayed Idris, so as to prolong the great good fortune that had befallen us. On the afternoon of the second day after the meeting with Sayed Idris we saw the snow-white kubba (dome) of the mosque at Jaghbub rising before us. In proper Bedouin fashion we camped a short distance from the town and sent a messenger ahead to announce our arrival. Two hours later he returned to say that they were ready to receive us. The caravan went forward, and as it approached the walls we fired our rifles in the air. We were met at the gate by Sidi Hussein, the waki/ or representative of Sayed Idris in the town, accompanied by a group of ikhwan—teachers in the school. The students lined up along the way and gave a cheer as we went through. The warmth of the welcome aroused an echo in our hearts. Entering Jaghbub was to me like coming home. Two years before it had been close to the finish of our trip; now it stood asa starting point on the greater journey that was to come. I was impatient to be on my way, but a month and four days were to elapse before I took ‘the road ‘again—for there were no camels waiting for me! Before leavin Sollum I had sent a man Sayed Ali E) Seati, by the direct route to Jaghbub to hire camels and have them waiting for me when I arrived. But Ali had apparently vanished into thin air. He had gone as far as Jedabya, I learned, without success, for none of the Bedouins on the way from Sollum would let him have the beasts I wanted. At Jedabya, too, he had found no camels available. I waited two weeks, but there was no sign of Ali. Then I discovered that the reason he could get no camels was because the road from Jaghbub to Jalo was used exclusively by Bedouins of the Swaya and Majabra tribes, and no other Bedouins dared to venture upon it. Though I was eager to get going again, I could not resist the charm and peace of the place in which I found myself immured. Jaghbub is a centre of education and religion. There is no trade and no cultiva- tion of the soil, except for some small patches of oases where former slaves— freed by Sayed El Mahdi when he moved to Kufra—grow vegetables and a few dates. The life of the town centres about the mosque, which is large enough to hold five or six hundred persons, and the school, the centre of religious education for the Senussis. Near the mosque are a few houses belongin to the Senussi family and the ikhwan ; an scattered about, within and without the walls, are a number of private houses. Buildings with rooms for some two or three hundred students are also grouped near the mosque. Jaghbub reached the height of its importance when Sayed Idn Ali, the Grand Senussi, made it the centre of the brother- hood, When his son, Sayed El Mahdi, suc- Digitized ty GOOle Cc

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452 ceeded him, the importance of the town continued for some dozen years until he transferred the centre of Senussi activities to ‘Kufra. Then, when Sayed Ahmed cl Sherif was in control as guardian of the young Sayed Idris, Jaghbub again flourished as the capital. Its importance has fluctuated through :the years with the presence or absence of the heads of the family. If Sayed Idris were to make it again the seat of the Senussi-rule the school and the town would speedily be overflowing with members of the brotherhood, students, and pious visitors to the shrine of the Grand Senussi; but at the time of my visit there were only eighty young Bedouins—-from eight to fifteen years of: age—studving under the tkhwan. If there had been more teachers there would have been more students. At the time of our visit, however, the head of the Senussi family, whom we had met on his way to Egypt, had his headquarters in Jedabya, far to the westward. THE SHRINE OF THE GRAND SENUSSI. In an inner room of the mosque a beauti- fully-wrought cage of brass encloses the tomb where lies the body of the Grand Senussi, who sought for his people a pure, austere, and rigidly simple form of Islam, untainted by contact with the outside world. To this shrine every adherent of the brotherhood who can accomplish the journey comes to pay homage and to renew his vows. The students of the school come to Jaghbub with one of two purposes—either to fit themselves to become ikhwan, the brothers of the fraternity, or simply to go back to their homes in the various oases as educated men, with a right to spiritual leadership in their communities. Except for the annoying problem of getting camels to take my expedition to Jalo, about three hundred and fifty kilometres away to the westward, my life in Jaghbub was one of peaceful reflection and careful preparation for the difficult undertaking before me. The desert demands and induces quite a different attitude of mind and spirit from the bustling life of the city. As I wandered about the little town and out into the oases round it, stood in the cool, shadowed spaces of the mosque, or sat at times in the tower above it in conversation with learned Bedouins, watching the night fall over the desert wastes, there slipped away from me all the worries and perplexities of the sophisticated life of crowded places. Among all the ikhwan whom I met at Jaghbub there was one who particularly interested me, for he would neither sit and talk with me himself nor could I learn from his brother :khwan the reason for his strange aloofness. At length, by chance, I learnt the tragic story of Sidi Adam Bu Gmaira. Sidi Adam was a withered old man with » God,” I greeted him. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a proud, refined face and a bitter twist to his mouth. Life had not been ’kind to him in his old age. He was of the Barassa tribe, one of the ¢lite among the Bedouins, and he was as proud as any of them; yet he did not seem to accept his fate. All around me at Jaghbub were types of benevolent humanity. Sidi Adam alone stood. out distinct from his brethren—a tragic picture of beaten pride. Late one evening, as I was coming back from the mosque after prayers, I found Mabrouk, an old slave of Sidi El Mahdi’s, waiting for me. “Peace be on you and the blessing of “And on you, my master, and God's mercy and blessing,’’ he replied. I sat down with him and we started talking about the little patch of cultivation to which he was attending. y “Yes,” he said; ‘‘ we have not much food, but by the blessing of Sidi El Mahdi the little we have is as great as abundance anywhere else.” Just then a tall figure in a white robe flitted like a ghost across the courtyard. It was Adam Bu Gmaira. “ There goes Sidi Adam,”’ I said, pointing after him. ‘‘ He is not looking well. What ails him, I wonder ?”” “It is not his health, my master. It is an unlucky man who incurs the displeasure of our masters (meaning the Senussi chiefs). The poor man is suffering for his brother’s bad faith.” And then Mabrouk unfolded to me the story of Bu Gmaira. THE FATE OF A TRAITOR. Sidi Bu Seif Du Gmaira, Adam’s brother, was at one time the trusted and all-powerful wakil of Sidi El Mahdi at Jaghbub. When he was quite a child a wall fell on him and fractured his skull. The great Sidi El Senussi, founder of the sect, was fortunately near by. He took the child’s head and bandaged it, saying: ‘‘ This head will one day be a fountain of knowledge and en- lightenment.’’ His prophecy came true. Bu Scif’s father sent the child to Jaghbub when the Grand Senussi settled there and left him to study at the mosque of Jaghbub. He became the leading *khwan and professor of Jaghbub ; he was also a poet of no small merit. After the death of the Grand Senussi, Sidi El Mahdi made Bu Seif his sole wakil at Jaghbub when he left for Kufra, entrusting him with the management of all his property. “ But God willed that he should become an example to the other ikhwan of one who betrays the master’s trust,” said Mabrouk. “ He ran with the world and was led astray. He squandered much of Sidi El Mahdi's property and sold many of his slaves,

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IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. WAIN i = ENE SS WAVE oS DASA PNINISAN PANE RAK x XG The entrance to the tomb of the Grand Senussi, the founder of the sect which bears his name. putting the money in his own pocket. It was decreed that he should be punished. He wrote a letter to a big governor in Egypt telling him that Sidi El Mahdi was away at Kufra, that there was no one at Jaghbub to defend it, and that it was an opportune moment to occupy the place.’’ (Why he did this is inconceivable, as nobody ever had any desire to occupy Jaghbub, but doubtless Bu Seif thought he might get something out of it.) At that time Sidi Mohammed El Abid El Senussi, a nephew of El Mahdi, was staying at Jaghbub. He heard that Bu Seif had written a letter to Egypt, and that he had arranged for a messenger to take it across the frontier after nightfall. El Abid at once dispatched two ikhwan to waylay the messenger and bring him back the letter. Two days later the messenger was brought to him. El] Abid read the letter, but said nothing to Bu Seif. He simply ordered a caravan to be prepared for Kufra and asked Bu Seif to accompany him. The latter tried to excuse himself on account of old age and health, but El Abid insisted, and Bu Seif had to go. So they set out on the silent journey across the desert, and on_arrival at Kufra the letter was shown by El] Abid to Sidi E] Mahdi. On the Friday following their arrival, after the midday prayers at the Mosque of Taj in Kufra, Sidi El Mahdi called together all the ikhwan, including Bu Seif. “ Sidi Bu Seif, you know what you have done,’’ he said. There was a hush, and everybody in the mosque tingled with 453 excitement, knowing there was something to come. ‘' But we shall not punish you,” El Mahdi went on. ‘‘ You shall live and draw your pay and rations according to custom ; God will punish those who betray our trust. But you shall read aloud to this gathering of brethren the letter which you wrote with your own hand.” The wretched Bu Seif had no alternative but to read the letter. The ikhwan were silent, though there was much surprise, for this man was regarded as Sayed El! Mahdi’s most trusted henchman. “Henceforth you shall be relieved of the trouble of looking after our affairs,” said Sidi E] Mahdi, in dismissing him, and Bu Seif was taken to his house, a broken man, and died some days later. His two sons also died during the following few months, but his daughters were taken in marriage by members of the Senussi family. ‘‘ The only remaining man of his family is Adar his brother,’” concluded Mabrouk. “fe inherited the empty house at Jaghbub— and the stigma attaching thereto. With the death of Adam the family will be extinct.” At intervals I received pleasant marks of hospitality from the Senussi leaders at Jaghbub. There are various forms of hospitality among the Bedouins, depending upon the rank both of host and guest, and upon the circumstances of the case. When a traveller comes to an oasis or town in the desert he has with him his own caravan, provided with all the necessities of living. ie does not put up at an hotel or go toa friend’s house to live, but sets up his own

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454 establishment, either pitching his tents and making a camp, or perhaps—as happened to me at Jaghbub, Jalo, and again at Kufra —occupying a house put at his disposal by someone in the place. Then comes the question of entertain- ment and honour from the dignitaries of the community. They may either invite one to luncheon or dinner in their own houses, or send a meal to the guest at his house or camp. The first form of hospitality I shall describe when we reach Jalo, where I was entertained by twelve or fifteen notables in turn. The second form was that which I received at Jaghbub. This variety of hospitality may be extended for from three to seven days, depending upon the respective tanks of host and guest. BEDOUIN HOSPITALITY. Several days after my arrival Sidi Ibrahim and Sidi Mohi Eddin, young sons of Sayed Ahmed, the former guardian of Sayed Idris, who is now in Angora, made the beau geste of showing me hospitality. There arrived at my house a Bedouin of the Barassa tribe, with two slaves laden with food. They set before me a feast of at least a score of dishes and I was bidden to eat. The representative of my hosts sat courteously by, himself not touching a morsel, while I tasted the dishes in turn—no mortal man could have eaten them all and lived! It was his function as deputy host to see that I lacked nothing to make the meal a satisfying and pleasant one, and to entertain me with conversation while I ate. The men of his tribe are the aristocrats of the desert, tall, erect, hand- some, proud, and with the spirit and courage of lions. A Barassy, if he were alone in the midst of an alien tribe, would not hesitate to meet an insult or a discourtesy with instant challenge and, if necessary, to fight the whole lot single-handed. Under his solicitously attentive eye, and waited on by the slaves who accompanied him, I ate my meal. I am not sure that I can remember the full tale of the dishes that were set before me, but they ran something like this. A rich meat soup, made with butter and rice; a great dish of boiled meat; a big bow! of rice with bits of meat in it ; eggs, hard-boiled, fried, and made into an ome- lette with onions and herbs; tripe; meat in tomato — sauce ; meat croquettes ; sausages; vegetable marrows; bamia or okra; mulukhia, an Egyptian vegetable with a peculiar flavour of its own ; marrows stuffed with rice and bits of meat; kus-kus, a distinctively Arab dish made of flour and steamed ; a salad; a kind of blancmange or pudding of cornflour and milk; Bedouin pancakes with honey; a sweet pudding of rice ; and a delicate kind of pastry made of flour with raisins and almonds. This last is an Egyptian dish rather than one native THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to the desert. The slave who had cooked my meal, knowing me to be an Egyptian, had put forth her best energies to please me, and had provided this Egyptian delicacy as a climax. At home we call it sadd-el- hanak, ‘‘ that which fills the mouth.” “In the Bedouin cuisine meat predominates, generally lamb or mutton. True hospitality without meat is impossible for the desert- dweller to imagine. It is the keystone of the structure not only of Bedouin hospitality but of Bedouin living, except, of course, when one is on trek and cannot get it. A guest must be given meat, and it must be meat specially provided for him. When a Bedouin invites one to dine with him, he slaughters a sheep expressly for his visitor. Asarule he will neither prepare the meal nor even kill the animal until you have arrived, in order that there may be no doubt that the preparations were made expressly for you. He carries his courtesy to the point of making a guest, on his arrival to partake of a meal, lend him a knife with which to slaughter a sheep, for hospitality demands that the guest shall be convinced that full honour is being done him. The great variety of dishes on the Bedouin menu, when a friend or a stranger is being formally entertained, is the essence of the ceremony. The greater the number the better the host and the higher the honour he is able to pay the partaker of the meal. Bedouin entertaining concentrates _ itself upon food, for in the desert there is nothing to be had in the way of pleasure except eating. Two incidents in that month in Jaghbub interested me as illustrating how, with all their differences, the East and the West are often humorously alike. The oneincident was comic, but the other had pathos in it as well as humour. I had given instructions that no one who came to my house in quest of medicine should ever be turned away. Sidi Zwela, an ikhwan, had appealed for help for his cough, and I had given him a bottle of cough syrup. Two days later he appeared again. He said that the first few doses had done him so much good that he had quickly finished the bottle. Might he have another ? Abdullahi, who was present at the interview, growled out a cynical comment after his depariire: “Yes,” he said, ‘ he found. it sweet and pleasant to the taste. He takes it as a delicacy, not as a medicine!” The comment was probably accurate. I am afraid that my men used to boast about the wonders that could be wrought with the things we had among our stores. One man, after Ahmed had been pulling his leg about my haying medicine for every- thing, came to me to ask for something to cure a slave-girl of absent-mindedness ! I could only reply that from my experience in various lands it was as easy to keep a

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IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES. servant from forgetting as to prevent water from sinking into the sand. The second incident involved two men as different as day and night. There came to my house one day a slave of the wakil, sent by his master to consult me. It was a matter about which Sidi Hussein could not approach me in person, for Bedouin etiquette forbids a man to talk to another about his wife, or even about any particular woman who is not known to bothof them. A slave, however, could say for him what his dignity forbade him to mention in person. The slave’s message was that the wife of the wakil had borne no chillren, which was a keen disappointment to the husband. Surely, his master thought, I must have in my medicine-chest, filled with the wonders of Western science, some remedy for the poor woman's childless state ? My thoughts went straight back to my last days at Oxford. An old college servant was an excellent fellow, but most inordinately shy. He came to me one morning, when I was preparing for the journey home, and with a tremendous summoning-up of his courage proffered a request. “‘ If you would allow me, sir,” he said, ‘‘ to ask a favour. My wife and I have no children. The doctor can’t help me; he has nothing to suggest. Now, sir, back in that country of yours, I’ve heard it said, they have wonderful talismans that will do all kinds of things. I’m not one who has believed much in having to do with magic, but this is a very special case. Do you think you might find me a talisman and send it on? If it’s not asking too much, sir ?”’ In the face of his anxiety and courageous breaking-down of the barriers of his shyness, I could only answer, gravely but sympathctic- ally, that I would do what I could. The necessity, however, did not arise; he had died, mourned by Balliol men past and present, before I came to Oxford again. In the case of Sidi Hussein, however, I could not put the matter off. The slave was waiting for an answer, and doubtless his master was waiting for him. I thought quickly ; then I gave the slave half a bottle of Horlick’s malted milk tablets, with solemn instructions that three were to be taken by the lady each day until all were gone. When the slave had left, I reflected on the amusing parallel between the two cases. 455 There in Oxford the West, having exhausted all that its science had to offer, had tried to draw upon the occult resources of the East. Here in Jaghbub, the East, finding all its spiritual appeals of no avail, had turned to the practical science of the West for aid. East or West, we all believe in the miraculous power of the unknown. This pleasant, peaceful life and courteous hospitality, however, did not produce the camels I needed. I sent messengers out into the surrounding country in quest of the beasts, making my offers for their hire larger and larger as time went on, but I could get no favourable response. I in- voked the aid of Sidi Hussein, but he professed himself powerless. Then I sent a messenger back to Siwa with a telegram to Sayed Idris in Egypt, informing him of my predicament and asking his aid. As soon as could be expected, a reply came directing Sidi Hussein to give me all the assistance in his power, but still the wakil seemed to be unable to help me. At last, when things began to look hopeless, a Swaya caravan arrived from Jalo on its way to Siwa for dates. I wanted those camels, but their owners, of course, had no desire to turn back without the dates they had come for. However, a way was found to persuade them, for I communicated to them, through Sidi Hussein, the news that an order had been issued by the Egyptian Government forbidding Swayas to enter Egyptian territory until they had settled their differences with the Awlad Ali, who live in Egypt, and with whom they had a long-standing feud. Since they could not go to Siwa, which is in Egypt, without fear of trouble, they were stranded at Jaghbub, with nothing to do but go back the way they had come—which was precisely the way I wanted them to go. The combined ettect of the Egyptian Government order, the message from Sayed Idris, the persuasion of Sidi Hussein, and the promise of exorbitant prices for hire of their camels finally made them agree to take me to Jalo. And so my quiet hours of contemplation under the shadow of the mosque and my anxious strivings after the means of con- tinuing my journey came at last to an end. On February 22nd, thirty-four days after I had first entered Jaghbub, I turned my face to the westward and set out for Jalo. (To be continued.)

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a [hree “ONEX” ILLUSTRATED BY F-GILLETT RJ. The story of three young men who, in order to “raise the wind,” took to a curious form of poaching. “Owing to the fact that our laws punish a man with a ten pounds fine for this offence,” writes the Author, “I have been compelled to use fictitious names throughout, and also to suppress the exact locality.” We imagine, however, that many of our readers will be able to make a very shrewd guess at the country concerned. —the three contrabandists referred to—are still fairly respectable citizens. We broke only one law, and thet “a very little one.” I am going to tell you all about it—with one reservation. Owing to the fact that our laws punish a man with a ten pounds fine for the offence to which I am going to plead guilty, I have been compelled to use fictitious names throughout and also to suppress the exact locality. You can guess, if you like, but I am offering no prizes for the correct solution ! The particular form of law-breaking indulged in by tke ‘‘ Big Three "’—the afore- said Bill, Jack, and self — con- sisted in robbing wild swans of ESPITE the somewhat awe-inspiring D title of this story, Bill, Jack, and I after the purchase of “ the ruin ’—otherwise known as the “ Yellow Peril,” a motor-car of ancient vintage wearing a coat of paint of an unspeakably bilious shade. It is a saying among motorists that the older a car the more costly its upkeep, and to our sorrow we found this to be unquestion- ably the case. Everything that could go wrong went wrong, but I can truthfully state that the ‘‘ Yellow Peril” had one good feature—a first-class starting handle, over which I spent many an hour trying to get her going, incidentally working up an appetite and a splendid biceps. y this time, probably, you are wondering what connection there is between antique their eggs and subsequently selling the latter —both practices being illegal. Ninety-nine people out of a hundred, I suppose, have never eaten a wild swan’s egg, and do not know that it is tastier than a hen’s egg; and very few are aware of the big market there is for them in my country, at one SCALE pound for six sae eee dozen and “no questions asked.” How true it is that we are beset by temptation ! Ours arouse soon cS LAKE MUDFLAT Qs=>- {2s A |S THE RANGERS HOUSE & LOOKOUT K ELEVATED LOOKOUTS FOR RANGER AtB RANGER TOOK BOAT@ MOTOR- BIKE ACROSS HERE TO SHINGLE BEACH TO CATCH US AT C SWAN NEST COLONY Is GATE TO TURN OFF MAIN ROAD ON TO BEACH RESERVE IS THE CAVE IS ROUGH TRACKLESS SHINGLEBANK BETWEEN SEA& LAKE WHICH HAS TO BE TRAVERSED MOSTLY IN THE OARK BY THE SWAN EGGERS This diagram shows the location of the various points mentioned by the Author,

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motor-cars and swans’ eggs. By way of reply, let me ask you a question. Have you ever Teceived a bill for twenty-six pounds odd for repairs and renewals to an obsolete mass of scrap-iron ing for an automobile, and to meet this demand only had in your ket two pounds, a tin of tobacco, and a knife; the alternative to payment being the receipt of a , summons ? This is what happened to us, and the outlook was dismal, to “There, not two feet away, was a huge eel, say the least of it. Do not judge us too harshly, therefore, when we confess that we descended to swan-egg poaching in order to obtain the wherewithal to settle that bill. After sundry consultations between the “ Big Three,” Bill happened to mention that he knew a man who was a “ swan-egger.” His glowing account of the fortune to be picked up in this way led to a unanimous vote that in future the ‘“‘ Yellow Peril” must earn her keep, or else pass for ever into strange hands to be prodded by spanners other than our own. It would wring our hearts, we knew, to part with her, and we vowed we would never give her up while eggs lay literally in millions waiting to be icked up. The swan colonies were guarded ya vigulant ranger, and heavy fines were imposed on poachers if caught, but danger only added spice to our enterprise. With three dashing youngsters like our- selves, to think is to act, and precisely at 12.30 the following Saturday the “ Yellow Peril” set off for pastures new, her goal being Lake Mudflat, twenty miles distant. If I were a poet I might rave about a picturesque, Vou. tv.—32. SMUGGLERS THREE. 457 placid lake, fringed! with bulrushes and surrounded by hilly uplands, but actuall the lake consists very largely of black mud, rotting weeds, and dead eels. Leaving the road at “ D,” on the map reproduced, we skirted the edge of the lake, bumping along over boulders, hollows, and leasurely devouring the discarded eggs!” rough scrub, where good shooting could have teen obtained, as rabbitsand hares abounded. With the sea booming on the beach half a mile distant and the lake glittering on our right, we threaded our devious way among the boulders, wash-outs, and scrub-filled depressions for some ten miles before reaching the nearest breeding-place of the wild swans, The lake varies greatly in depth, as the exit into the sea sometimes banks up for weeks at a stretch, until a heavy storm once more clears the entrance. The first time we visited the lake it was pretty full, affording easy wading, and after donning old trousers we got to work. For the benefit of the uninitiated I should explain that the swans make their nests in colonies of from two to three thousand. The nests are mostly made in shallow water, and are composed of weed. This weed is first torn up from the bottom of the lake by the maie bird, who frequently dives down five feet in order to obtain it. Having secured sufficient for his purpose, he brings it to his mate, who treads it into a sort of mat, adding layer after layer until she has built a tower

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458 about three feet square and standing some two feet above the water. These odd nests, when completed, will bear the weight of two or three men, but a fierce gale of wind will often overbalance them. The nests are usually built some two miles from the shore, as the lake is really only a shallow depression filled by the waters of several small rivers and cut off from the sea by a ridge of boulders, thus making a swampy, brackish lagoon of enormous size. In the early part of the season, when the lake is full and deep, the swans build their nests among the rushes at the water's edge. Squelching through mud and water up to our knees, each with a sack slung over his shoulder, Bill, Jack, and I waded out to try our luck. A hail from Jack announced a “find” of five eggs, and a moment later I came across three. Being doubtful of five swans’ eggs in one nest we took the pre- caution of breaking one, which yielded a chick! : The art of swan-egging is to rob the nests every third night, so as to keep the birds actively laying. Having abandoned the deceptive eggs, Jack mounted the nest in order to give us a lecture and vent his feelings on the subject. He started in fine style, but broke off with a yell of dismay, pointing excitedly to Bill’s feet. There, not two feet away, was a huge eel, leisurely devouring the discarded eggs! To my startled gaze it appeared to measure at least fifteen feet in length, and I sprang hastily on to the nest in order to save my unprotected toes should the horrible-looking creature desire a further meal. Luckily for Bill, he was wearing gum-boots, so could afford to take the incident calmly. It is said that eels have been found in this lake measuring six feet in length, and as thick as a man’s thigh; but I still maintain that they were mere immature youngsters compared to this one. Ye next decided to try the shoreline. Here the eggs seemed plentiful, but the fuller our bags became the further the “ Yellow Peril” receded from our sight. Bill, in the excitement of discovering a ix-cgg nest, became venturesome and over- estimated the height of his gum-boots, with the result that they quickly filled with water. Climbing on to a nest, he balanced himself precariously on one leg and pulled off one of the boots. At that moment, however, an infuriated swan thrust out her head and charged him. Bill struck at her with the gum-boot, missed his aim, over- balanced, and fell with a mighty splash into the water. When he emerged again he was a picture of mud and wrath, and his temper was not improved by having to dive in again to reclaim the gum-boot he had dropped. Proceeding along the beach, we struck a bad patch, nest after nest being empty, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. and very soon I discovered the cause. Searching beneath some bulrushes, I found a “cache ”’ of about a hundred odd eggs, which had apparently been hastily aban- doned by some raider owing to the untimely arrival of the ranger who guards the lake against poachers like ourselves. These eggs were soon reposing in our bags, and we rejoiced at the unexpected stroke of good-luck, but our elation was tempered by the fact that a swan’s egg weighs as much as five hen’s eggs. The first quarter of a mile of the return journey to the car was hard work; the second agony; the third beyond description, Whilst I was shifting my load from one shoulder to the other, I managed to break a number of eggs, and by the time the “ Yellow Peril’’ rove in sight, her paint was anemic when compared to the rich colouring which adorned my garments. Returning to the same spot three days later, with visions of the mortgage on our car being speedily lifted, we had hardly begun operations before we were startled to hear the ‘‘ chug-chug”’ of a motor- launch skirting the beach. Hastily winding up our venerable pet—for a wonder she started off at the first kick—we dashed for safety just as the ranger’s boat appearcd about a hundred yards away. Fortunatcly I had previously taken the precaution of covering our number-plates, thus making the ranger’s powerful binoculars useless. After this alarming experience we decided that daytime operations were risky, and henceforth we confined our raids to the hours between sunset and sunrise, when we took heavy toll of the swans’ nests, with much profit to ourselves. Luckily we had been able to get hold of a boat, for wading round a muddy lake at 2 a.m., up to one's waist in mud and water, is not an ideal occupation. On one of our expeditions we discovered a small cave (point “ H” on map) about ten fect deep and six feet high, sheltered from the prevailing winds and well screened from observant eyes. It was an_ ideal hiding-place in times of danger, and proved an admirable camping-ground. Coming in after an all-night search laden with a “ find” of from forty to eighty dozen eggs, we would boil the ‘ billy ’’ and make some toast and an egg omelette, supplementing it by a tin of fruit and the milk we managed to steal from unresisting cows in a near-by paddock. Then we would sleep until about nine o'clock, when we would turn out and have a swim in the sea, followed by a little fishing. This may sound very nice on_ paper, but it was far from being so in reality. In order to get our supply of eggs we had to paddle the boat all night through thick weeds where rowing was impossible ; and when we were loaded down with eggs we were in constant danger of the boat sinking or of

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being seized with cramp owing to the restricted space. Going out one dark and stormy night we completely lost our bearings, and were compelled to search round the lake for over an hour, trying to locate the spot where we had left our iron steed. On another occa- sion, in endeavouring to find the post to which we had tied our boat, Jack became hopelessly lost in the dark, tripped over some wire, and fell head-first into the lake. Recovering himself with difficulty, he felt something nip his bare leg, and with a yell scrambled up the post i:: order to avoid the vicious eels that were wriggling all round him in the water. His shouts finally attracted our attention, and we came to his rescue. The ranger—who has his house at point “A” and elevated look-outs at intervals round the shore—was for ever on the alert to protect his charges, and as he possessed both a motor-cycle and a motor-boat we had to move with the utmost caution. One of our worst experiences took place about seven o'clock on a bright summer “Bill struck at her, missed his came and morning. Leaving our cave, where we had spent the night, we decided to risk detection by the ranger and try our luck with the boat. We had been working without interference for two months, and had become rather careless. It was our usual custom to caver the windscreen when we left the car, but on this occasion Bill had forgotten it, and now the glass, reflecting the sun, flashed our fate like SMUGGLERS THREE. 459 a heliograph message fifteen miles across the lake to the watchful ranger at ‘“‘ A.” We had been busily at work for about two hours when I remarked that I could hear the sound of a motor-boat apparently cruising somewhere near the far end of the lake. Nothing could be seen, however, so we continued our search. It was an ideal morning, and except for an occasional cackling from resentful birds stillness reigned supreme; even the distant noise of the motor-boat presently ceased. Suddenly, when we were about two miles from the shore, we heard the ripping bark of a motor-cycle, and instantly realized what had happened. The ranger had spotted us from his boat, had dashed ashore for his motor-cycle, ferried it across from “A” to “ B” and was now hurrying to cut us off at Wildly we seized our paddles and scurried for the shore, while, miles away, the ranger was racing to close our line of retreat. The spray flew about us in clouds as we paddled our hardest, and, over-reaching a stroke, I caught a complicated kind of crab SS a. Hates agi ye fell with a mighty splash into the water.” and fell into a case of swan-eggs. Springing up, I jumped out of the boat, waded ashore, and rushed to the ‘‘ Yellow Peril ’’ to start her engine. If she had a fit of obstinacy, I told myself, we were lost ! perce jerked the starting handle—but never a kick came from the old relic. Feverishly I peered into her anatomy and tickled the carburetter, but still she showed no signs of life. Another

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460 grind at the handle, but all in vain. By this time Bill and Jack had landed, and came hurrying up, carrying the paddles and four cases of eggs. Five miles away, we saw through the glasses, the ranger was busy snipping the wires of a fence that frustrated his progress. Another hasty inspection of the ‘‘innards ” of the car revealed a loose wire. This being put right, I gave a last violent jerk of the handle and the ‘“ Yellow Peril” barked defiance at law and order. Hastily we scrambled aboard, and with a bound the car leapt up the beach and headed for the road that spelt safety, for there we could not be searched without a warrant. Over my shoulder I could see the ranger, riding his hardest, drawing nearer and nearer. There was a wire fence in our way if we were to take the nearest cut; there was no time to hunt for gates. The only thing to do was to take it on the run, so I headed the “ Yellow Peril ’’ square at it and braced myself for the shock. The wires snapped with a crash that swung the flying car half round, nearly capsizing us, but with a twist of the wheel she recovered. We bumped over the steep incline beyond with a spring - racking jerk skidding wildly as we ao THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. gaining every moment! How he kept his seat was a marvel, for there were no traces of a road hereabouts and the car bumped, rolled, and swayed like a ship at sea. Giving her all the “gas” she would stand, | gradually worked the ‘‘ Yellow Peril ’’ up to fifty-three miles an hour, but faster than this she refused to go, and she rattled and shuddered so violently that I thought every minute she would shake herself to pieces. Half a mile—and the ranger drawing ever nearer! Then the road hove in sight, and as the brakes went on with a shriek Jack sprang from the running-board and jerked open the gate that gave access to it. As I whizzed through, he banged it to again in our ursuer’s face and hastened back to the car. Never shall I forget the expression on the ranger’s face as we dashed away ! When we arrived home the back seat of our car was a sight to behold, for the eggs had mostly resolved themselves itto an omelette, But it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good, for we had huge helpings “The wires snapped with a crash that swung the flying car half round, nearly capsizing us.” churned up the loose surface, and then sped on at top speed. Looking back, we watched the ranger take that ploughed-up slope. The first furrow brought him down, and while he went flying off to one side his machine gave a life-like imitation of a catherine-wheel, roaring like an aeroplane meanwhile. His luck was in, however, for he broke no bones, and, limping over to his buck- jumper once more, he pluckily remounted and continued the pursuit. Two miles yet to go—and the ranger was of swan-egg omelette that morning for breakfast, while, as a reward for her good behaviour I polished up the ‘ Yellow Peril’s ’ radiator till it looked almost new. Well, we've finished with egg-poaching now, and as a result of our nefarious activities that nightmare bill has been paid off and the old car has had a complete overhaul, including a new set of tyres. Resplendent in a fresh coat of paint, she looks the height of respectability ; moreover, she has earned her keep, even if she broke the law to do it.

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461 ZAZUIN THE DANCING- “GIRL /sisis Z S__ aa oe wal 2 MAJOR GENERAL Sir George MacMunn K.C.B,KC.S.1, D.S.0 ILLUSTRATED BY CONRAD LEIG#! The recent sensational attempt to kidnap a beautiful Indian dancing-girl at Bombay by armed men alleged to be in the service of a powerful Indian Prince lends additional interest to this r le story, told by a distinguished Army officer. Sir George MacMunn describes his first meeting with the uncanny little “ frog-girl,” the odd bargain that made- her his Property, and the strange meeting years afterwards at the Court of a ruling Maharajah. HE world has recently been stirred by the story of a beautiful Indian dancing-girl who was slashed across the face, while the wealthy Indian who was with her was shot, as they drove through a fashionable suburb of Bombay. A web of mystery and intrigue, apparently, lies behind the outrage, and already officials in the service of a well-known Indian Prince have been implicated. Whence do they come and whither do they go, these strange, lustrous-eyed, be- jewelled women who for a time may hold a powerful rajah in their hands? They have two, and only two, sources of origin. They are either stolen as children and sold to professional dancers, or else they are born to the profession—daughters of mothers who belong to an “outcast” tribe and whose mothers in turn were dancers and courtezans before them, right back into the mists of the ages. And what are the “outcast ’ tribes? The answer is that they are none other than the original inhabitants of India, conquered, expatriated, and enslaved by the invading Aryans, and condemned for countless centuries to menial duties. Denied all share in any religious life, save what they can remember for themselves, refused all share of civilization or culture, they are a living reminder of the evil that man wreaks upon man. The result is curious. To be born of a long line of dancers of matriarchal descent for so many generations that all count is lost is to have every nerve and muscle, every instinct of brain and kody, attuned to the spirit of the dance. Wten to such a° pedigree is added great personal grace and beauty and an impish understanding it is not to be wondered at that the girl so endowed is likely to be an influence of no small weight in the circles in which she moves. In the eyes of the Eastern world, however, the beautiful dancer lives without soul, without caste, without religion, without future—a creature of beauty, a valued plaything, but a person who by no possible turn of imagination or play of feeling could be given a respectable status. To power and wealth of the backstairs they come, and have come, through the ages, but, like the flowers of the field, they fade and die away in due season. A race apart, they are no more admitted to be human than tl.ose other outcasts who scavenge the streets. All of which brings me to the astonishing story of Azizun, that queen of dancing-girls, with whom it was my fate to have a strange acquaintance, and for whose success in her own line I was in some degree unwittingly responsible. Some years ago, when captain of a battery of Artillery, I happened to be quartered in one of those old-world Indian cantonments which then remained, as some do still,

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462 unchanged in their ways and life since the Great Mutiny. In such stations, off the main line of rail, your equipment and your training may be modern, but everything else is redolent of the days of the Honour- able East India Company. Even now the public garden is called “‘ the Company's Garden,” and the trees were planted when men Sailed to the East round the Cape of Good Hope. The Artillery officers’ mess-house at this particular place had been the Artillery Mess since the station was built, and it stood in a large compound with a row of red-tiled servants’ huts and stables in the corner, and a sweeping drive leading to the great covered porch, under which the regimental] four-in-hand would drive on polo days. In front of the porch was a raised plinth on which we dined in summer, under a swinging punkah, by the light of lamps fixed on poles. It was growing dusk one evening in early autumn, when days and nights were still warm, when I rode into the mess compound after evening stables to find a crowd of grooms and servants watching something on the lawn in front of the dining plinth. As I drew near and dismounted, I saw that a hole had been dug in the lawn and that the water-carrier was busy filling it with water. Ranged in front of the hole were three or four cane-bottomed chairs from the ante- room, A few yards away sat a ragged- looking, bearded old man, with a reed pipe in his hands and a guitar of sorts hung over his back. There was an old woman, too, in voluminous gipsy skirts, and beside her a lass in an orange skirt embroidered in red and blue. “ What is all this ? ’’ I demanded. “A tamasha (show), sahib,” replied the old mess head-waiter. “‘ Very good famasha ; master plenty pleased. All waiting, if master order.” As everything seemed ready, the domestics all excited, and the hole in the lawn already dug, I said: “ Very well, carry on; but light those lamps,’’ and sat down in one of the chairs. The old bearer lit the lamps and stationed himself behind me. “ This frog-girl,”” he explained, “ I think master never sceing this frog-girl.”” He called to the man with the pipe. ‘‘ Sahib agva tamasha kayo.’ (“The sahib— has come; begin the performance.”’) Thereupon the rascal with the beard siarted to plav his pipe, a weird mournful note, and another man behind him, whom I had not noticed before, began to roll a small tom-tom. The old lady then gave tne girl a push, and up she rose from her crouching position and took off the blue cotton shawl that had covered her head end shoulders. I saw that she was naked to the waist, save for a small embroidered camisole that bound her bust. She was a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. mere slip of a girl, just budding to maiden. hood, comely and shapely, but a trifle awkward. She turned and looked at me—a pathetic, haunting, frightened sort of look—and then the pipe played and the drum throbbed as she drew herself up and waved her rounded arms above her lead. Stooping, the girl bent over the pool and plunged her bare arm in almost to the shoulder, showing it was close on three feet deep. Next, drawing herself up, she took from her hair a large silver ring, four or five inches in diameter, and dropped it into the pool. The piper played a bar and she shuffled a few steps, jingling the heavy bangles on her ankles. This was merely a prelude; the real performance of the “ frog-girl ” was now to begin, unexpected and astonishing. Turning her back to the pool, she squatted on the very edge and proceeded to balance herself to her satis- faction. Slowly, from the waist, she arched her back and neck, till she looked behind her, with her head hanging downwards. Then, seemingly stretching out to twice her length, she curled back and down till the top of her head almost touched the water in the hole. The spectators held their breath, and the piper plaved a tremulous long-drawn note. In this un- comfortable position the girl stamped her foot twice, as if to be sure of her balance; then, much as a “‘ Pharaoh’s serpent ”’ coils from out the chemical egg, she lowered herself into the water, her little hands all the while tightly grasping the edge of the turf at the top of the hole. Down and down she writhed herself. Now her hair, now her nose and mouth went under, and still the elongation continued, till chin and neck were below the water, and then her camisole touched the muddy liquid. Still the strange serpent-like glide continued, till the water reached her waist. There the process stopped, and the part under water moved from side to side for thirty seconds or so before, quietly reversing the process, the supple body slowly emerged and coiled back to the original sitting position, When she sat up again the silver ring from the bottom of the pool shone between the “ frog-girl's ”’ teeth. It was a pathetic-looking, dripping crea- ture that rose erect on the edge of the pool, amid the plaudits of the crowd, and it was an appealing and haunted eye that gazed into mine. I turned to the bearded rogue with the pipes. “Is this your daughter ? ” I asked. Jie did not answer, but with his cheeks puffed out, blew a wail of triumph, while the tom-tom beat the roll of bakshees*. For the moment I felt lize taking my cane to the rascal, but the old head-waiter counselled wisdom. ‘ Never getting angry, sah.b,” he murmured, noting the expression

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AZIZUN THE DANCING-GIRL. in mv eves. ‘ That very bad girl; got no caste. Master never minding.” The girl was putting on her shawl and the old woman was collecting coppers from the crowd, which was about to melt away. The hole looked loathsome in the dim light of the lamps; the whole affair appeared uncanny and sinister. Bah! What had it got to do with me? I dropped three rupees into the girl's shaw] and strode away to my own bungalow, across the road outside the mess compound. What a_ horrible show, I thought, and how frightened and cowed the poor little girl looked! Thor- oughly annoyed with everything, I threw myself into a long chair in the veranda, All was quiet save for the interminable buzz of the crickets. Then suddenly I heard a jingle of anklets, and the twanged chord of a guitar. “Who's there ?”’ [ shouted, and jumped up. My own servant hurried in. ‘‘ Who is out there?” I demanded. The man looked out of the veranda and spoke a word or two. It was now almost dark. Then he returned and said: ‘‘ That tamasha wallah (showman) is here, sahib. He saying how much master give for that girl. Master want that girl?” Here was a quite unexpected and unwel- come development. Master certainly did not ‘“‘ want that girl.’ By now, however, the famasha wallah and the girl had come forward, and I could sce by the light of my bearer’s lantern that she was beside herself with fright. “ Tell them to go away, Anthony,” I told the bearer—and then the girl suddenly threw herself on the ground at my feet and clasped me round the legs! Here was a pretty kettle of fish! The subalterns who lodged with me might come in at any moment and see their captain in this unusual and mirth- provoking situation. To make matters worse, the girl began to sob. The old rogue was speaking, and Anthony translated. “He is saying master giving one hundred rupees, then keeping girl. I think master not wanting this girl ? ” “You tell this man,” I said, “ that he must go away now, but that he can come and see me in the morning. Tell him also that if he is not kind to the girl 1 will have him beaten.” To cut a long story short, we managed to get the girl to her feet and sent her away with the tamasha wallah. I had made up my mind that the poor wench was in a blue funk of the old rogue, who was no relation at all, and that something ought to be done about it. Happily, the chaplain lived only two bungalows away, and I knew he had some knowledge of the “criminal tribes ’’ and their ways. To him I went at once, and was fortunate to find him sitting in his veranda, watching his pony being fed. I told bm 463 what had happened, how remarkable the girl seemed, and in what pitiable fear of her keepers or owners. I was quite prepared, I added, to pay anything in reason to get her into better hands. My friend listened in silence, sucking away at his pipe meanwhile. At last he said thoughtfully: ‘‘ Well! criminal tribes are best let alone, especially by such people as you, but I quite understand how you feel. I tell you what I will do. I know Captain and Mrs. Bester, of the Salvation Army, who are in this station. Government, as you know, is going to give the Salvationists charge of some of the criminal tribes; they are trying to reform them. Bester himself is away, but Mrs. Bester is here. I will get her over to breakfast to-morrow morning, and we will tell her the story and see what she advises. I dare say, if you will bear some of the expense, that she would tahe charge of the girl. But mind you, I won't say that you are wise, or that you are even doing the girl a good turn. ‘These outcasts are people we know nothing about.” The next morning the old rogue duly brought back the “ frog-girl,”’ being fully per- suaded that I was going to pay a good price for her. They were sitting under a tree in the garden when I went to meet Mrs. Bester. That good lady appeared somewhat amused, but was quite prepared to take charge of the girl if I was ready to pay expenses, with the result that for seventy rupees, after some haggling, the young lady changed proprietors, and drove off in the tonga with Mrs. Bester, leaving me rather in the position of a gentleman with a ward. A ward, too, of a notorious hereditary criminal tribe—a pretty position for a God-fearing captain of Artillery to find himself in as a result of what could hardly be called any- thing more than a whim, In due course Mrs. Bester reported that the “ frog-girl”’ appeared happy; she was docile, apt at sewing, and was being taught the various arts and crafts of a mission station. I saw her once, about six weeks after she had gone to Mrs. Bester, and was astonished to note the effect on her looks of good food and the absence of fear. She was growing superbly beautiful and graceful, and the odd frog-like look was disappearing. Shortly afterwards the Boer War took me to South Africa, where I received a letter from Mrs. Bester telling me that my little protegée, after three or four months of entirely good behaviour, had suddenly disappeared one night. Not the faintest trace of her could be discovered, nor could any information be obtained. She had left behind all the clothes that had been given her and had gone off, apparently, in the yellow petticoat and blue cotton shawl in which she had come. And that appeared to be the end of my experiment with the ‘ frog-girl.”

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464 A few years rolled on, and I was once more back in the East, and on the Staff. Special duty had taken me to one of the Indian States in connection with the contingents of troops that they maintain for the service of the Empire. It was an old-world State where, when you cross the frontier, you immediately step back a thousand years. I arrived by train, it is true, but to put matters right it was an elephant that took me to “the State guest-house and an elephant on which I rode through the narrow winding streets of the city. to the fortress-palace to > pay my respects to the ruling Prince. In » front ran two footmen. carrying long wands and shouting: ‘‘ Make way for the sahib bahaduy .whom the Maharajah delights to honour,” and‘a blow fell upon anyone who was not prompt in getting out of the road. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. We passed through a great gate between two grey stone towers, where guards in black lambskin caps lolled and_ stared. Beyond the gate was a large courtyard, and at the far side the Maharajah’s palace. outside which three elephants were waiting. A company of infantry with a gold-embroi- dered colour and a crowd of armed retainers, petitioners, and court officials in many- coloured costumes, each with a curved sword in his waist-cloth, completed the properties. It was a scene that had been repeated day by day for the last five hundred years. At the door my elephant knelt for me to dismount, and I soon found myself in an ante-room, sitting on a divan with half-a- dozen others, awaiting audience. An affable aide-de-camp, who spoke good English, soon escorted me into the presence of His High- ness, and the usual ceremonial in- terview took place. His Highness was gracious but sleepy, for he had had his morning dose of opium, but had sufficient energy to ask ques- tions as to the age and len; of service of the Commander-in-Chief, and whether he and the Viceroy were “ true friends.” He came of a great house and a great race, that had never bowed the knee to the Mogul conquerors of India, and his degrees and titles were many, yet men whispered that a dancing-girl twirled him round her little finger and dipped deep into his treasure- coffers, to the annoyance of his people and the bitter anger of half- a-dozen consorts of birth as good as his own. However, that was “Shs curled back and down until the top of her head almost touched the water in the hole.”

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AZIZUN not my business, concerning which the potentate said he had given orders to his minister to do what the Government wished ; that functionary would come and see me at the guest-house on the subject. Then came a tray of betel-nut wrapped in leaf, a sprinkling of rose-water, and my interview was over. Leaving the presence, my elephant soon shuffled me back to the guest-house, and the business of the day began with visits from the military officials of the State. Among these was an old acquaintance whom I had first met bringing remounts to South Africa, but who had now attained the rank of brigadier in the Maharajah’s army. To the officers of the Indian Army my acquaint- ance was usually known as “ Snakes,” because, embroidered on _ his. brigadier’s gorget-patches were, not the oakleaves of the British Service, but a wriggly gold snake. “ Snakes’’ was by way of being a man of the world, and a useful friend to have in a native State. Business over, he stopped to chat, and among other items told me he had brought an invitation for me to attend the Durbar that evening at the Palace. After this, he said, Azizun, the famous dancer, was to give an entertain- ment to a special party of guests. I was not invited to this, but “ Snakes” offered to arrange for me to watch the nautch from a screened window, where my presence would not be known. On the principle of seeing all that there was to be seen, I agreed to the pro- posal, and then asked my friend about this notorious THE DANCING-GIRL, 465 Azizun, concerning whose influence I had heard plenty of gossip. Azizun, 1 was told, was undoubtedly a queen among dancers, and had a most wonderful troupe of girls under her orders, Four years ago she had come to the State, captivated the Maharajah by her dancing, and had since attained a great ascendancy and vast wealth, the Prince having given her jewels of great value and much money.

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466 His Highness apparently trusted her, but the people grumbled that so much wealth should be spent on a dancer, declaring it came from their pockets, since there was no privy purse and the Maharajah con- sidered all revenues his own_ property. Except for this, nothing was known against Azizun, and her influence seemed to be for good. She was very beautiful, had a fine voice, too, and her dancing—ah! So much for ‘‘ Snakes’’’ account, which made me anxious to see the famous girl and her troupe. During the afternoon I was taken for an elephant-ride through the city till it was time to get into mess-kit for the evening Durbar, which was formal enough. His Highness sat in state on the dais, with his ministers around him, and near him a place had been reserved for me. The notables took their seats with deep obeisances, and the officers of state made formal reports. These were followed by grectings and flowery compliments and His Highness then withdrew, followed by those who were invited to the private nattch. Outside the Durbar hall | found “ Snakes "” waiting to conduct me through back stairs and narrow passages to a small room with a carved marble grill which looked down on to a brilliantly-lighted court. The audience were seated on low divans and carpets on the ground, and, as I watched, the musicians struck up a lilt on their reed pipes. From behind an arch and arras to one side glided a bevy of dancing-girls in diaphanous gauze, spangled with gold and silver, that revealed their graceful figures and rounded limbs. One girl, taller than the others and wrapped in pale blue silk covered with gold sequins, was evidently Azizun herself. From her neck, hung by a gold cord, was an enormous emerald pendant known to history. No doubt there was great scandal that a mere dancer should wear it, and it was indeed obvious that the favourite and her troupe must be an exceedingly costly luxury. As the sensuous music continued, Azizun and her acolytes glided on to the carpets and stood jingling their ankle-bells before the admiring nobles. With them came more makers of sweet music—special retainers of Azizun, chosen for their understanding of the languid and amorous tones of pipe and Ather. Three of them shuttled up behind the girls, the man with the do/e or tom-tom leading, a grey-bearded old habitué of courts, bred in the bazaars of Delhi. The other two were younger musicians, the piper with an unkempt beard and a black reed pipe, the man with the zither clean-shaven, Then commenced one of those swaying, seductive nautches, which, though often unintelligible to Western eyes, are fraught to the Eastern mind with all the love and passion of the Persian pocts. Now and again, whenever the theme needed intensity, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the court pipers stopped and Azizun’s musicians took up the accompaniment. The dance told a story, commencing with the loneliness of a young captain, condemned to a remote frontier guard, but longing for the city and its delights. Ever his desire grew, and always the dreary rocks of the frontier mocked him, till at last an errand led him cityward to woo some maiden beneath whose veranda he sang in vain. Despair had seized him, when lo! a rival beauty arrived and cast a lure, at first unheeded, yet ever more attractive, till at last the lover began to feel the spell and gave himself to this fair enchantress. That this was a very high-class perform- ance was evident from the intense interest of the onlookers and the low sounds of approbation. Azizun was obviously an artiste of the very first grade, with a figure and grace beyond compare. zs With a clap of Azizun’s hands the music ceased, the girls glided away, and the musicians shuffled after them before the audience could realize that it was over or give vent to their appreciation. His Highness passed to the inner apart- ments, the notables and courtiers departed, while I waited behind the marble grille for “Snakes ’”’ to take me home. He was not long in coming, and when he arrived his face was wreathed in smiles. “ Azizun has invited you to visit her, Sahib,” he announced. “‘ It is a rare thing, and you are much honoured.” “Il am much honoured indeed,’ said I. “But why should I, a_ stranger, be summoned ? ” “Who knows the ways of women ? Curiosity, perhaps, or the whim to talk with an Angrez (Englishman). She may want to show herself off; or perhaps she wishes to impress you with her good influence, so that you may have a favourable impression of her, and put in a word against her detrac- tors with the British Resident. She is very clever.” “Am I to go now?” “At once, she said, and she will have refreshment ready for you.” Well, it was all in the day's work, and so I followed ‘‘ Snakes,” till we came to a door off an inner courtyard, a great carved teak portal studded with brass. Pushing it open, we found ourselves in a small court with an arched veranda at the far end, where stood two tall armed retainers, who salaamed and pointed to an archway. Within was an ante-room, sur- rounded with low divans upholstered in crimsom velvet with white covers on the pillows, and here we sat down. “One of her maids will call you,’ explained ‘‘ Snakes."" “ I'll wait here.” In a few minutes one of the diaphanous girls of the dance arrived and salaamed prettily with both hands. I followed her

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467 { DANCING-GIRL. AZIZUN T: “*T would greet you in the English fashion,’ she said, in a musical voice.”

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468 through a dark passage, where every now and again I found myself in contact with lithe scented figures that giggled and slipped by. I came at last into the light to find myself in a panelled room painted with flowers and inlaid with small pieces of glass. The floor was of marble, and on a divan at the end lav the dancer Azizun, with two or three of her girls. As I approached she rose, and stretched forth both her hands. “T would greet you in the English fashion,” she said, in a musical voice. “ It is good of you to visit me.” The girls behind had risen and the light shone through their muslins. She clapped her hands, and they vanished ; then she motioned to me to sit beside her. I sank into the luxurious cushions. “No; it is kind of you to summon me, lady,” I replied. ‘And I give you all greetings.” ““T asked you to come, Sahib,” she went on, “in order that you might be my agent of good repute. Many there are who work against me.”’ And the beautiful woman looked sadly into my face. She was indeed wonderfully fair—violet cyes, long, sweeping lashes, delicately-chiselled face, set off by a pearl-embroidered fillet round her brow, and a rose-bud mouth that might well conjure anything from man and his frailty. “ Lady, I know little, but what I hear is good,” I told her. ‘I am not one who is concerned with such matters.’” “‘ Out of little comes much, and I know that the Sahib is accounted wise, and what he says is believed. Tell me frankly: what do they say of me ?” “The people grumble at the money the Maharajah spends on you, but all say that your influence is good.” “Yes; it is true that I spend much—but then the girls are the best in Rajputana,” she said. ‘‘ You saw them from the grille. Was it not good? Ah! that is the way to manage Maharajahs! But I take no money from anyone but His Highness. Many come with petitions, and would pay large sums if I would back their claims, but I will have none of them. I save a little from what His Highness gives me for my old age. I may become a sanyassi (religious recluse) and live in a cave and want nothing, but I save in case I do not. I am but the foam in the whirlpool; my time will svon pass. But while it lasts 1 love the power, and I will tell you how I use it.” And then the beautiful creature rambled on, telling me a remarkable story that, if true, showed she was indeed wielding her intluence for good. The Maharajah sober, THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. a quarrel with his eldest son averted, a wife saved from death by powdered glass, prisoners of injustice released, hospitals founded—these were some of the things she mentioned, now and again waving those appealing hands and arms in _ earnest explanation. fe at he “Will you tell them that, Sahib?” she went on. ‘ Will you tell the Resident, the Lord Sahib perhaps?” Then she turned on me suddenly. ‘‘ You started me in this career! ’’ she wound up. “T, lady ?” I cried in surprise. “Yes, you. Come with me.’’ We passed through an arch to a marble room, deep in the floor of which was a carved round bath full of crystal-clear water. Unwrapping her blue silk robe, Azizun stepped out in her muslins, her tall and beautiful shape revealed. The marble bath was flush with the floor. and Azizun, swinging round, stood on the edge, squatted down, and slowly bent herself backward. Heavens! It could not be! Yes; it was—the “‘ frog-girl!’’ With a merry laugh she uncurled herself and stood erect. “The frog-girl! ”’ I cried, in amazement. “Yes, Sahib, the frog-girl! What was I to do? I could not become Salvationista, and you had gone away. Bester memsahid taught me much in the short time I was with her, and I have tried to remember. Have I done well, Sahib?” There was a pathetic appeal in her voice as she led me back to the divan. “‘ Have I done well, Saiib ?”’ she repeated. “Is the world better or worse for me?” “ Better, I should say, Azizun. Fancy my ‘ frog-girl’ being in such a position !”’ “Yes, Sahib, for though I can never be. anything but a buttertly, yet I keep the Maharajah from ruining himself and quarrel- ling with the Svrkar (Government). His ranees (princesses) know it, too, and are content. Now you must leave me, for I go to His Highness. Speak and think well of me, Sahib, though I am but the foam ot the whirlpool.” And so I left her, and rode back atop of my elephant through the streets under the canopy of stars—wondering, wondering greatly. Had I done well or ill?) Was I actually responsible for launching this magnificent and powerful creature on her amazing career? If I had not interfered to save her from the old famasha wallah, what would have become of her? And, as things had fallen out, was my interposition for good, or was it for evil? The reader must answer the question to his own satis- faction. POOYe or” ESS

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469 The ODYSSEY of the OLGA One of the most thril- ling stories of hardship and adventure that ever came out of the Far North. Leaving oS SOHN RAWSON OF ANCHORAGE, ALASKA treacherous Bering Sea had overwhelmed her. When all hope had been abandoned the missing vessel crept Nome,Alaska, for Seat- al into port and her tle, Washington, the SO ae ee dauntless crew of four little jooner Olga told their story — disappeared from human ken for over three months, and it was supposed that the winter storms of the oS RRIVED at port of Cordova, Alaska, this p.m. with schooner Olga and all of crew aboard. Olga, in bad condition. What are your orders ? A laconic and commonplace cablegram enough, but it marked the close of one of the most stirring chapters in the age-long annals of the sea—a wonderful story of courage, disaster, and endurance. The Olga, a two-masted schooner of some seventy tons, fitted with an old petrol engine of a nominal 65h.p., left Nome, Alaska, on the shores of the Bering Sea, at the beginning of October, 1920, her destina- tion being Seattle, Washington, some two thousand six hundred miles away. She was a slow sailer, and the voyage was expected to take some thirty days. Actually it occupied over three months—a hundred days packed with almost incredible hard- ships and difficulties. The skipper, John Heikkila, a man of Finnish extraction, and his little crew of three fought their manifold misfortunes with an indomitable resolution which finally brought them to safety, long after they were looked upon as lost. The other three men were James White, the engineer, an American, and the two deck-hands, Peter Jensen and John Brown, the former a Swede and the latter an Eskimo half-breed. The schooner herself was Japanese-built, of mahogany and other hard woods, and specially constructed for the waters of these cruel northern latitudes, but she was in need of repair and it was intended to lay her up for a thorough overhaul directly she reached Seattle. Taking no chances, as he thought, her owner, Alexander Allen, stocked her with a veritable epic of courage and endurance in the face of well-nigh incredible misfortunes. sufficient oil, coal, and provisions for sixty days; he also put on board her two Polar bears and a couple of reindeer, all practically tame, which he had sold to some Zoo in the States. All being in readiness, under a clear sky and with a calm sea, the Olga put out from Nome on the first stage of her long voyage. : For a few days fine-weather conditions continued, and although the old schooner was only logging off four or five knots an hour it looked as if she might make her destination in little over the thirty days. But, as every blue-water sailorman knows, these seas are about the most treacherous in the world, especially in the winter time, and no one on board was surprised when on the fifth day out from Nome the weather changed, the wind began to rise, and heavy clouds scudded across the sky from the north-west. In a very short time, indeed, it was blowing a full gale, a gale that brought with it blinding scurries of snow and drove the little Olga along like a hare before the hounds. A few hours’ buffeting proved how bad the vessel’s condition was. Her scams began to open, the water poured in, and before long the skipper ordered the hand- pump to be manned. Yet, after all, that foretaste of what they might expect was perhaps a blessing in disguise. When the wind moderated Heikkila determined to run for Dutch Harbour, beach the schooner, caulk her seams, and get other repairs attended to. This was duly done, and but for it there is little doubt that the Olga would never have survived the ordeal that was in store for her. The weather was bright and clear when

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47° the second start was made, and it held until they sighted the northern light of Vancouver Island, some twelve hundred miles farther on. Here the skipper intended to hug the British Columbian coast, so that they might have the protection of Vancouver Island in the event of another storm arising. All of them were in high spirits. It seemed to them that the worst of the voyage was over. Every day was carrying them nearer to the region of warmth, sunshine, and open ports. Already they looked forward to having dry land once more beneath their feet. But the fates ruled otherwise. All at once the clouds shut down, hiding the light from their view, and with the swiftness of a typhoon a roaring gale struck them. Rushing up from the south-east, the first blast of it nearly lifted the little Olga out of the sea, and she was within an ace of foundering before the canvas could be stripped off her and the engine started. All night long she drifted head-on to the storm, continuously driven back in spite of all that the motor could do. That dreadful night was the precursor of many nights and days of continuous tempest. Sea after sca swept over the tiny vessel, and the bears and reindeer had to be lashed below to prevent their going over- board. Sleep for the crew was impossible ; the water penetrated everywhere; the bedding became wet and mouldy ; and once more the labouring ship began to leak, so that the heartbreaking work at the pumps had to be resumed. When at length the wind temporarily moderated they had been driven many miles to the northward ; no land was in sight and, with the dropping of the wind, a heavy fog descended and blotted out the sea. For hours they lay to, enveloped in a dense grey curtain that mantled the rolling swell, and then, when the fog dispersed, the wind came back again from a new quarter, shrieking from the east like a million devils and driving them before it for hundreds of miles out into the wide spaces of the mighty Pacific. With the gale came snow—snow that covered decks, cabins, canvas, and masts, so that the Olga fled onward like a ghost-ship, riding low in the water because of the ever-increasing weight of her snowy mantle, which froze as fast as it fell. With marlin-spikes, boathooks, and axes the four men worked desperately to cut away that icy shroud, their limbs numb, their hands frostbitten from the bitter cold, and in their hearts a growing doubt as to whether they would ever see port again. When they were almost ready to despair, however, the wind fell to a gentle breeze, the sun came out, the snow melted, and once more they were able to set some sail and head for Seattle. For several days the good weather held, Vancouver once more lay level with them THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to the east, and it seemed as if the elements had repented, and that at last they might conclude the voyage in peace. So they hoped and told one another—but it was not to be! All of a sudden the wind died away to a dead calm, and the sea, smooth as oil, lay without heave or ripple. Grey clouds descended and hung overhead, oppressive and lowering. Complete stillness reigned, unbroken by the creak of block or flap of sail. Involuntarily the men’s voices were hushed ; it seemed almost sacrilege to break that uncanny quict. With furtive eves they questioned one another as to what was coming, what visitation was to leap upon them out of the haze of cloud and sca. Even the animals were uneasy, whimpering and staring at their masters with eyes that vainly tried to express the intuition that was in them. It came at last—a puff of wind as gentle as a woman’s kiss—and then once more that brooding silence, broken only by a low moan from the southward. Almost as soon as it was heard, the moan grew to a roar, and with the force of ten thousand battering- rams the gale leapt upon the devoted ship and the world became a chaos of whirling, shrieking madness. As you would strip paper from a wall, so was the Olga’s scanty canvas stripped from the spars, its rent fragments flying into space. Both masts snapped with a crash, the fallen gear sweeping a devastating path across the shattered deck, and the Olga rolled almost on to her beam-ends. As White, the engineer, with blood streaming from his face, staggered up on deck from his useless engine—it had broken down com- y—a terrible sight met his gaze. something that was nothing less than cle none of the men on board had swept over the side, but one of the bears had gone, his chain torn bodily from its fastenings by that welter of wind and water, and there was ruin and wreckage everywhere. It was a crippled ship indeed that was now driven _remorselessly backward along her track. Fortunately, nothing that imme- diately followed equalled the violence of that first Titanic squall, or this story would have reached its end, but things were bad enough. The deck looked like the floor of a lumber- room, The foremast had broken off just below the crow’s-nest, the main mast almost level with the deck ; and the latter, held by the rigging, was dragging in the sea alongside, giving the schooner such a list that the waves broke over her continuously, each one threatening to swamp her for good and all. She was quite unmanageable, sometimes taking green seas over the bows, sometimes broadside on, and rolling meanwhile as if nothing could stop her presently making her final plunge.

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THE ODYSSEY OF THE “ OLGA.” As soon as possible all hands were called to cut away the dragging mast--slow and dangerous work on account of the schooner’s list and the constant onslaught of the waves. Darkness began to fall, and with the night the weather grew bitterly cold ; ice covered everything, numbing and cutting the men’s hands as they worked. With the final hacking away of the wreckage, the O/ga righted herself, but she was perilously low in the water, for no pumping could be done while the mast lay dragging alongside. All four men were already utterly worn out with weariness, but all night, two at a time, in two-hour spells, they kept the pump going, until at length they managed to get the water under. Day after day the adverse wind continued to rage, and they drifted steadily northwards —the engine still entirely out of commission —until they believed they must finally bring up on the rocks of the Alaskan peninsula. No attempt could be made in that raging sea to repair the motor, nor, even if it had been working, could it have enabled the Olga to make headway against the storm. Supplies were now running perilously short. All the tinned stuff had gone and all the meat. Nothing remained save a small quantity of coffee, beans, rice, biscuits, and dried dog-salmon. Of the latter there was a good stock, but it was unappetising food, and only the necessity of keeping body and soul together enabled them to fight down the nausea with which it eventually filled them. The lack of eternal work and = exposure had by this time seriously sap- ped their strength, and finally, taking everything into consideration, Heikkila — de- termined to kill the reindeer. It went against the grain to do this, especially as the beasts had been sold and Allen was tu receive four or five hundred dollars for them on delivery. But needs must, so the deer were kil- led, a portion of the meat be- ing put aside for the remain- ing bear. sustaining food and the PACIFIC OCEAN - SAND BAR + LIGHT HOUSE © CORDOVA 18 BUILT ON SIDE OF LOW MOUNTAIN 4it Almost before the first poor brute was skinned the engineer had a fire going in the galley. For seven weeks, or more, the ravenous men had had no fresh meat, and they could hardly wait for it to cook, snatch- ing it up half-done and bolting it with the avidity of famished beasts. It was good while it lasted, but these were the last square meals they were destined to enjoy for many a long day yet. All the while, as the hapless schooner drove northward, it grew colder, and the spray and water froze solid directly they fell on the deck. Two hours off and two hours on at the pumps was the fixed rule, for the Olga leaked continuously, and between times the ice had to be hacked away with axes so as to keep her as buoyant as possible. Thus there was little time for rest ; and even if there had been the musty smell of the eternally-damp bedding was so sickening that it seemed to banish sleep. The men just lay and shivered and dozed fitfully until it was time to stagger back to the everlasting drudgery of the pump, where the spume froze on their clothes as they worked. fuel was now almost at an end. Every- thing Joose on the ship had been burnt, and finally the bunks and even one of the bulk- heads were chopped up and used, for warmth was almost as necessary as food in these inhospitable Northern regions. One ray of hope alone illumined these dark days. White, after superhuman exertions, succeeded in getting the engine to work again. It was a crazy makeshift ramet omuan Fn souno This map shows most of the places mentioned in tne swry._

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472 at best, but at least it gave them some chance of fighting the lighter winds and currents. Also, as it happened, it proved a god-send later on. Directly the engine began to operate, the luck seemed to change once more. The wind calmed down, and the low-lying clouds lifted sufficiently to show a flash of light to starboard. Instantly the wildest excite- ment reigned on board the Olga. At first it was taken to be the masthead light of another vessel, but when it blinked, went out, and then re-appeared, repeating the performance at regular intervals, it became obvious that it must be a lighthouse, and the question immediately arose—which ? The skipper maintained that it must be the Cape St. Elias light, neac the Alaskan coast, south-west of Cordova, or else the Hinchinbrook light, at the entrance to Prince William Sound. White, the engineer, however, believed it to be neither of these, saying he thought it was the Kodiak light, some six or seven hundred miles south-west of Hinchinbrook. He couldn’t make Heik- kila believe that he was so far out in his reckoning as this, but it was decided to heave the Olga to until daylight and then run in and try to land. All night long the weary men gazed at that friendly, beckoning gleam, waiting impatiently for the day to come. They “As White staggered up on deck a terrible sight met his gaze.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. yearned with a passionate longing to feel ‘ound beneath their feet, to hear the sound of strange human voices in their ears. The night remained calm, and when day- light came it was evident that the place was indeed Kodiak Island, but even the skipper forgot his natural chagrin at being proved wrong in his eager anticipation of getting ashore once more. “Tl head in for Kodiak,’’ he said; “wireless the owner, and ask whether he wants the Olga patched up and brought down to Seattle later, or whether he’ll leave her here altogether for the time being.” A cheer greeted his words, and another was given when he ordered the engine to be started for the last few miles which should end their Odyssey. All the troubles of the past were forgotten; the future loomed roseate and inviting. Like schoolboys starting for a holiday, the men sprang to their stations. But there was to be a bitter awakening. In the first place, the engine refused to start! There was generally trouble with it in this respect, but hitherto White had always managed in the end to overcome its reluctance. But this time all his efforts were in vain, and while he worked the dark clouds gathered again, blotting out the island from sight, and away to the westward they heard a low moaning sound which

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THE ODYSSEY OF THE “OLGA.” 473 augured ill for the Olga unless they could speedily get the recalcitrant motor to behave itself. Again and again, after an uneasy glance round the horizon, the skipper went below, but always he came on deck once more with a scowl on his face that was blacker than the lowering clouds, and Vow. tv.—33, gradually the countenances of the other two men on deck became epitomes of his own. Had they even had a rag of canvas left, they might have hoisted it on the stump of the foremast and so worked their way in, but with a stripped hulk and a broken-down engine they were completely helpless.

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474 This was the first land they had sighted for eighty days, and it seemed incredible that I‘ate could be so cruel as to baulk them now. They dared not even think about it, telling each other desperately that presently the old rattletrap of an engine would commence its spluttering beat and take them into safety before the bursting of the threatened storm. Battered and hammered over endless leagues of ocean as they had been, it was surely impossible that the whole terrible round of misery was to begin again. Yet begin again it did! While White slaved at his engine with the energy of a man demented, the storm descended another shrieking, howling maelstrom of wind and snow, with great green combers behind it that swept the poor little Olga from stem to stern and drove her due east across the channel towards the western coast of Alaska, some seven hundred miles away. It grew colder, too, colder than at any time since they had left Nome. Formerly they had always been able to stand _ their two hours’ shift at the pumps, but now it was different. One or other of the men was always quitting every thirty or forty minutes, allowing his companion on the shift to work the pump alone as best he could, while he stoked up the galley fire and tried toget some warmth into his freezing and famished body. For famished they were ; their food down to a tiny ration of ship’s biscuit, dog salmon, and rice; their tempers frayed to breaking point ; and all hope of ever making Seattle well-nigh abandoned. It was the afternoon of the fourth day before the clouds lifted. Then, within half- a-mile of them, dead ahead, their startled gaze met a sight that chilled their blood and for a space even paralysed their powers of speech. As far as they could see to right and left extended a precipitous line of jagged rocks, rising abruptly out of the sea to a height of some five to six hundred feet, and against these iron cliffs mighty breakers dashed themselves in a wild fury of spray. It was the rock-bound Alaskan coast, along which, strain their eyes as they might, no beach or opening was visible—only the unbroken length of those stupendous cliffs, towards which the schooner was steadily driving. Now indeed it appeared that the end was at hand, and that no power on earth could avert the disaster that threatened them. In fact, so certain was the skipper that they were about to crash on the rocks that he told White—who had by this time got his motor going again-—that he had better come on deck. But White refused, saying that he might as well sink with the engine as anywhere clse. It seemed as if Providence itself had a hand in that decision, for they were but a few cable-lengths from those terrible cliffs THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. when the miracle happened—and a miracle in very truth it appeared to those gaunt and haggard men, who had prepared themselves for death. Instantaneous as the blowing out of a light or the snapping of a finger, the raging wind fell still, dropping in a moment to a calm which at first their reeling senses failed to realize. Only the heavy under-tow still carried them forward towards the rocks. And that current the heroic engincer below decks forthwith set himself to defeat. Inch by inch, with the engine running at full speed, the Olga swung round and headed back towards the open sea. Inch by inch the grim coast receded, the roar of the breaking waves grew less distinct, until at length they had ample sea-room and that par- ticular danger, for the time being, was averted. A consultation was now held, and it was decided to proceed up the coast and run the schooner on to the first available beach so that the worst leaks could be attended to. Afterwards they would make for Cordova, which, they calculated, lay some two hundred and fifty miles south-east. Alternate spells of storm and calm fol- lowed the uncanny dropping of the wind that had saved them from shipwreck, and one night, during a quiet spell, they managed to get most of the water out of the ship, so that she rode much easier. When morning dawned they saw across their path an island some five or six miles long, barren and low- lying, and once again they had cause to thank the falling of the wind, for in the darkness they might have crashed on to it. From the chart they made it out to be the island of Middleton, and if this was correct they knew that all they had to do was to keep north until Montague Island was sighted, pass between that and Hinchin- brook, and so reach the land-locked waters of Prince William Sound. Running steadily northward, the engine working better now than it had done throughout the voyage, they presently reached the two islands, and that evening the sun came out for a few minutes—the first time they had seen it for nearly three months— shining on the snowclad peaks of the mainland, and lighting up what was for them a veritable land of promise. But the clouds that were banking-up to the south- ward were a warning that the storm-god was still hovering round. In stormy weather the passage between Montague Isle and Hinchinbrook is one of the most dreaded stretches of water along the whole coast. Even during calms a strong cross-tide is always liable-to carry a vessel on to the rocks, and the change of direction needed after passing the western point of Hinchinbrook further complicates matters. When the seas are heavy even the best navigators will not attempt it. These facts those on board the Olga found out later.

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THE ODYSSEY OF THE « OLGA.” 475 Cordova, Alaska, where the sorely-tried Olga finally found a haven. The schooner was just opposite the entrance to the straits when the new gale leaped upon her. Night had fallen—a night so dark that the deck was a mere blur beneath their feet. All at once, while the Olga drove onwards through the dense gloom, a beam flashed out on the starboard bow which all on board knew must come from the Hinchinbrook light. From its position it soon became evident that the schooner was driving straight for the rocky end of the point, and with bated breath the crew waited for the crash they believed must come. Yet once again she escaped annihilation. With the light towering high overhead, something struck the schooner a blow that made her shake in every timber, and abruptly she swung round and changed her course, running parallel with the clitis and so out into the open water beyond the point. The blow that saved her, they decided, must have been the backwash of a huge wave which had just hurled itself against the clitt and then driven the vessel into the current which races round the end of the cape. Immediately the Olga was clear of the cliffs, a squall met her which first seemed to lift her bodily out of the water, and then smashed her down and laid her over until her starboard rail was awash. Groaning in every timber, she righted herself—only to be lifted high on the crest of a mighty wave and then set down with a jarring crash which shook the crew off their feet, hurling them half-dazed across the deck. One thing, and one thing only, they understood at that moment—the Olga, after many escapes, had struck at last. When their eyes became accustomed to the gloom they saw that a ridge of cliffs loomed darkly over the bow, and it seemed as if the schooner was hard and fast on a reef below. If so, she was standing the pounding she was receiving remarkably well, and presently, as the wind lessened and the tide began to fall, she appeared to settle down on an even keel, not much lower in the water than usual. The skipper decided that she would be safe enough till morning, and accordingly sent his worn-out crew to bed, Next morning they awoke in a new world. The sky was clear and the water calm. It was low tide, and the Olga lay high and dry on a sandbank. About seventy-five yards away a line of jagged cliffs bore silent witness to the narrowness of her fresh escape, and it transpired later that that sandbank was the only one on the western shores of Hinchinbrook !_ Moreover, only a few yards away, one end of it shelved into deep water. An inspection of the sorely-tried schooner showed that she was leaking like a sieve; her nose was also buried so deeply in the sand that it would probably need a very powerful steamer to pull her off again. As she lay some six or seven miles to the east- ward of ocean traffic, and was so low in the water as to be practically invisible from any passing craft, there was little to be hoped for in that direction, so that if she was to be floated it must be by the efforts of the crew themselves. They accordingly sat down to think the matter out. It was evident to the skipper that before the O/ga was moved at all she must undergo some rough repairs and have her gaping seams re-caulked. This, he calculated, would

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476 take from twelve to fifteen days, which would just bring them to the period when— as he learnt from his tide-book—the highest tide of the month set in, the best time for trying to get her off the sandbank. It was lucky that the old schooner was so sturdily built ; a more flimsily-constructed vessel would undoubtedly have gone to pieces under the continued buffeting she had received. Henceforth, whenever the tide was low enough, the work of repair went on, and in between-times the crew would adjourn to the island, where they managed to bag a few rabbits, which formed a welcome varia- tion to the eternal dog-salmon which was now their staple diet, and at which even the poor bear had long ago begun to turn his nose up. Wood was also obtainable, which rendered the bitter cold less unbearable. From time to time more storms rolled up, and though they did not cause much damage, they drove the O/ga’s nose deeper and deeper into the sand, until those on board her began to worry as to whether she would float even at the highest tide. Another question was as to whether it would be fine or stormy on the crucial day. An on-shore wind might be fatal, compelling them to prolong their stay indefinitely. he day before the attempt to haul the ship off was to be made, they carried a couple of kedge-anchors out astern of the vessel and connected them up with the winch so as to give assistance in case the water was not deep enough to float her off or the engine proved inadequate to its task. Next morning, luckily, dawned calm and clear, and as the tide came creeping in over THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. the sands the four men watched its rise with fascinated eyes. If the Olga floated they could reckon their troubles at an end, for Cordova was only thirty-five miles away. If, on the other hand, she didn’t——-_ But they dared not think of that. Higher and higher the water rose, until they judged that it had reached its apex. They felt the schooner lift beneath them, like a dancer rising on her toes, but though they raced the reversed engine at full power it was not sufficient to release the sand- embedded bow, and with their hearts in their mouths they prepared to play their last card—the winch. Quickly they went to work ; the cables took the strain ; a shudder ran through the ship, and then a wild yell of delight went up as she rose like an animal un- leashed and slid backwards into deep water. The skipper took the wheel, swung her round, and headed for Nutchek Point and Prince William Sound, and over a glass- calm sea the old Olga came into sight of Cordova, moving as serenely as if she were conscious that at long last her trials were over. With the very last gallon of their petrol they berthed her alongside the quay; then the four men—not to mention the delighted bear—thankfully made their way ashore after one of the most remarkable series of adventures and escapes ever recorded in Northern waters. “What were your thoughts as you approached Cordova ? ” one of the crew was ‘asked later. His reply was illuminating. “Twas thinking of beefsteak!’’ he answered. A REMARKABLE INDIAN CUSTOM. On the great hill of Sravanbelgola, in Mysore State, Southern India, stands a colossal image over sixty feet high of the god Gomateswara. Every fifteen years a great festival is held in honour of the deity, and hundreds of thousands of Jains come from all parts of India to partici- pate in it. One of the principal events of the festival is the ceremonial anointing of the image with ghee, milk, sandalwood oil, and other liquids. A huge scaffolding is erected round the figure to render it accessible, and the right to anoint it is put up to auction—a curious feature of a religious festival, This year’s ceremonies were carried out withgreat enthusiasm in the presence of vast crowds, and the devotees who took part in the anointing paid nearly four thousand pounds for the privilege. The photograph here reproduced shows the figure of the god, the enormous scaffolding, and four Jains in the act of pouring votive offerings upon the head of Gomateswara. The figure is a huge monolith—probably the largest in the world. It was hewn out of solid rock at the least a thousand years ago and is in a wonderful state of preserva- tion.

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ILLUSTRATED BY NORMAN SUTCLIFFE What happened to a young white woman who was left behind by the mail-train at a lonely wayside station in the heart of Rhodesia. A kindly rancher offered to drive her across the veldt in his car in an effort to overtake the srain—and then her adventures began in earnest HE train was due out at 8 p.m., but the usual thing happened; no train ever seems to run to time on the Beira railway. We were told there were three hours to wait. African nights, though beautiful, are intensely cold. Three hours, with no waiting-room fire! It was all in the day’s work, but I realized that Aunt Florence’s temper would be worn pretty thin before we reached the end of it. Our berths were booked on the Braemar Castle, and the train we were catching was the southern mail to the Cape. If we missed it we should lose our precious berths and be compelled to wait another week for the next train. Such a poblty was not to be contemplated. e were going to catch that train, and so we took up our position on the little wayside platform precisely three hours before it was due. We were not taking any risks; it doesn’t do in a country where the arrival of a train is the one great social event of the week. At last it steamed in, in leisurely fashion, and the usual m@ce began, augmented by the raucous shouts of officials and natives. I wonder why natives always appear to be quarrelling with one another ? Now Aunt Flo, I should explain, is one of those amusing people who can’t possibly travel without at least fifteen packages. Touring in Europe had cured me of such follies, and I had nothing but a valise and one big trunk. With the help of three officials, the station-master, and_ several “ boys’ I was soon occupied in hoisting aboard the more important items of Aunt Flo’s luggage. Dimly in the_ half-light I saw my respected aunt board the car, and presently the train started, as I understood, to shunt, so I went off to check over some of the smaller cases and bundles. Suddenly there was a shout. It sounded something like: ‘‘ Passenger left behind!” but I didn’t take much notice, for I was searching for a missing trunk. Then I noticed one or two people looking at me in a startled sort of way, and I glanced round. The train had vanished ! ‘he mail, with Aunt Florence aboard, had gone off and left me in this lonely place with most of her luggage ! Here was a pretty pickle! In my con- sternation I proceeded to abuse the station- master and the local magistrate, who happened to be on the platform. “What is the first stop ? ” I asked, at last. “Umtaki,”’ replied the station-master, forlornly. ‘And it’s a night’s journey away,” he added. I thought of our precious berths; of the long week’s waiting; of poor Aunt Florence's hysteria when she discovered me and the luggage missing. She considered me quite incapable of looking after myself on a ’bus- trip from Victoria to Paddington, let alone out in the wilds. The station-master departed to make inquiries, but returned breathless and more forlorn than ever. ‘‘I have ‘phoned down the line,’ he said with a despairing shrug, “ but there is nothing that can be done.” So that was that! I was still hurling expletives at African railways in general and station-masters in particular, when an official volunteered some encouraging information. “She stops at Mwani, eighty miles on, to get water,” he told me. “ Would you care to try to catch her in a car?” It was an idea; but where was I going to get a car in these wilds at this time of night ? A lumprose in my throat, and I had to swallow hard to keep my tears from giving me away. It was then that “ Billy” stepped into the breach. He had come in from his ranch to see a friend off to England, and was a typical Britisher of this part of the world. I wonder why all the very nicest Englishmen go and bury themselves in the wilderness ? ut perhaps it is the wilderness that makes them so nice ! “ Billy,”’ it appeared, had a car and a

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478 native chauffeur, and at once offered to drive me to my destination. He looked as if he would take me to Cape Town just for the asking. I liked him. I liked the gleam of his white teeth in the half-light of the station platform. I liked his frank, open smile and his kind blue eyes twinkling out from amongst the tiny ridges and furrows of his sun-tanned face. He raised his hat shyly. ‘‘ Won’t you make use of my car ? ” he pleaded. 1 was in despair. I looked at the native driver,sitting dark and immevable on hisseat. “The swiftest and surest chauffeur in Africa,” said “ Billy,” reading my thoughts. “But could I possibly overtake the mail?” I asked. He thought for a moment. “ Yes; there’s a chance,’’ he said. ‘‘ She stops at Mwani, and the road’s not too bad. I’m willing to try, anyway,’ he added with a laugh. ‘ Look here ; I'll dispense with this Johnnie and drive you myself!” Here was a way out, and I jumped at it. My knight-errant looked as if he appreciated my grateful smile as 1 settled myself aboard the car amongst the appalling jumble of luggage, the loss of which, plus me, Aunt Florence was no doubt already bewailing in no measured tones. We set off at a great pace and for some time all went well. Twenty miles out however, we struck an ant-heap, buckled tne front wings, and dented the radiator somewhat. “ Billy’ was driving too fast on a road he did not know very well. It took us twenty minutes to get clear of that wretched ant-hill, and all the while my Lopes were sinking, for twenty minutes is a long time when you are racing atrain. However, we got away at last, and after about four hours’ steady driving, rounded a bend in the side of a small kopje and with a wild view-halloa sighted the train. “We'll do it!” shouted “ Billy,” and settled down to drive with fresh vigour. We had talked very little beyond the exchange of a few conventional remarks, for it is not casy to converse when dashing along African tracks at forty-five miles an hour. Nearer and nearer came the streak of light that indicated the train, and faster and faster went the car. “We'll do it!” roared ‘ Billy” again. I saw that his lips were set grimly, and I looked at him admiringly. And then it happened! There was an awful bump, a great noise of scraping, a splash, and a muttered exclamation from * Billy.” A moment later the plunging car came to a standstill with a heavy list to one side. Jumping out, Billy speedily discovered that we had run into an elephant-hole full of mud and water; nothing seemed to be broken, but the car had sunk in so deeply that it could not possibly be moved. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Something like a curse escaped the lips of my knight-errant, and I felt very much like swearing myself. He turned to me with despair writ large on his face, shaking his head at the departing train. “There's no -hope now, I’m afraid,”’ he said. ‘' We're off the road; I must have lost the track some few miles back.” “Can’t we get help anywhere ? ” I asked, grasping the steering-wheel helplessly. “* Hopeless,”’ he replied ; then, seeing the anxiety in my face as the mail swept pitilessly on into the distance he added: “ Perhaps we can find a farm somewhere ”’ Just then a solitary native padded by in the gloom, and we asked him where we could get help. Eight miles off, he said, there was a water-station. We might find some natives there, but he didn’t seem any too sure about it. At that moment, however, we were willing to risk anything. “Can you walk it ? "’ my companion asked, after the native had disappeared. “Tl walk twenty,” I replied. Then I noticed that Billy suddenly looked perplexed. He gazed at the car, then ahead ot him, and finally searched the heavens as if seeking inspiration. I sensed the difficulty. We had no compass and it was pitch dark. If we both went, how could the car be found on our return! If the lights were left on all the time to act as a. beacon they would probably burn out, yet without the lamps the car would be undiscoverable. There was only one thing to be done: Billy must make the voyage of discovery, while 1 remained with the car and flashed the headlights at intervals to give him his bearings. Matters thus arranged, he started off, telling me he would be back as soon as possible. It was bitterly cold, and there wasn't even a rug in the car. To my joy, however, I found a bottle of sherry and some biscuits in the locker, and they helped to appease my hunger and stop the chattering of my teeth. Very soon, as I crouched there all alone, thoughts of lions and even worse veldt horrors assailed me. Out there in the wilder- ness I was at the mercy of any wild animal or rascally native who chanced to come my way. Suppose Billy failed to find the water-station |! It would be a miracle if he found anvthing in that pitch darkness! Suppose he stumbled across a lion or got bitten by a snake ? I recalled stories of mea lost on the veldt wandering aimlessly round and round in circles for days on end, while all the time they were within a few yards of some definite route to a village or town. All sorts of horrible fancies assailed me, and I huddled farther and farther down into the car, the most miserable and terrified girl in Africa. The minutes crept slowly on. I looked at my watch. It was 2 a.m. Billy had been

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LEFT BEHIND. 479 “The lion halted in his tracks and gave a sort one two hours. Surely he should be return- ing now? I switched on the spot-light and swivelled it round. The brilliant beam seemed only to make the darkness more intense, and to my disappointment it elicited no welcome shout from Billy. Switching the light off, I sank back once more into the car, shivering with cold and suspense as I huddled my scanty garments about me. It seemed as though this awful night would never come to an end. Presently there came a rustling in the bushes somewhere quite near me. My heart leapt with joy—here was Billy at_ last! Jumping up on to the seat of the car, I gave a wild “ Cooee ! ’’ switched on the spot-light, and swung it round quickly. But there came no answering yell; instead, two small but hideously unmistake vie lanterns flashed back. I had lit up the face of a great beast— a lion! For an instant I literally froze with terror ; then I pulled myself together. This was no time for senseless panic if I wanted to save my life. of snarl.” I could hear the brute scrambling through the bush towards me, making a noise like the purring of a cat greatly magnified. If only I had a gun! It was no use trying to hide in the car; the lion could easily spring inand find me. Had the car been standing on dry ground I could have crawled underneath it, I reflected, beyond the reach of such a big animal; but to get underneath in present circumstances would have meant a cold slimy death in water and oozy mud. In moments of crisis one’s mind sometimes works swiftly, and now inspiration came to me in a flash. Wild beasts dread fire, I remembered, and forthwith I fumbled in the basket of “ immediate necessities’ which Aunt Florence took with her on every trip. ‘Matches! Matches!’ I gasped. To my joy I found a box. I hastily flung a hat-box out of the car, jumped after it, set it alight, and then proceeded to ignite the grass all round. A flicker and a crackle, and soon there was quite a blaze. The lion, at sight of the flames, halted in

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480 his tracks and gave a sort of snarl. I could dimly see his outline through the flame as he stood there uncertain what to do, but at last he apparently came to the conclusion that I was dangerous, and disappeared into the darkness, lashing his tail angrily. I was overjoyed when he went away, but a moment later an awful thought seized mc. Supposing that, in his present infuriated condition, the brute met poor Billy returning ! I was sitting there trembling, a prey to the most awful suspense, when a sound like a faint shout was wafted to my ears from afar. Forgetting that the lion might still be lurking close by, I sprang for the spot-light and swivelled it round. At the far end of the beam of light I sent swinging out into the night I beheld a weird, gnome-like object whose shape mystified me. This was not Billy—but what was it ? Straining my eyes, I made out two natives, apparently creeping on all fours ! What new terror was this? In sheer despair 1 awaited my fate. Why, why, had I not gone with Billy, and risked finding the car and the wretched luggage again? Was it any use to run away, or should I stay where I was ? Suddenly I heard a voice, apparently an Englishman’s, and again I moved the hght. Now that they were nearer I made out that the two natives were carrying something. Ah! I could see now! It was Billy, and he was alive, for I could hear him speaking. With a yell of joy I sprang from the car and rushed to meet him. It appeared that after a long and tedious search he had managed to find a kraal and two natives. On the way back to the car he had put his foot in a hole and either sprained or broken his ankle. For a while he had hobbled along with great difficulty, but had finally been compelled to let the ‘ boys” carry him between them. Glad though I was to sce him again, I looked at the two natives in despair. They had brought Billy back, but it was obviously impossible for them to move the car. I saw that poor Billy was in great pain, though he did his best to conceal it, and I made up my mind that we must get proper assist- ance at once. One of the natives, a faithful-looking old fellow, said that there was a farm two miles to the north, where help could be obtained, but he did not think that the Dutch farmer would lend his “ boys’’ unless the white chief asked for them himself. I entreated him to go and try, but he merely shrugged his old shoulders knowingly ; he was sure, he persisted, that the Dutch baas would not send ‘ boys’ unless we went ourselves. * Then I will go,” I said. 1 brushed aside Billy’s loud protests, and set off at once, with the old native to guide me. It was still very dark, but the stars had grown brilliant, and lighted us through THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZIYE. the undergrowth and dense creeper-clogged scrub. I was past fear now, though I wes poorly equipped for such a trip. Unarmed, with a thin silk skirt fluttering round cob- webby stockings, I should have stood little chance if I had trodden on a poisonous snake. But no mishap befell us, and at length we reached the collection of rondavels or huts, which in Africa always indicate the neighbourhood of a farm. Two small straw-thatched huts stood at the beginning of a track, like lodges at the entrance to some stately English park. I knocked at the rough teak door, but there was no response, nor was any light visible, so we set off up the path towards another clump of rondazvels. Here we detected a faint light shining through a chink in a door. There was a noise within, and when I knocked the door opened to reveal the grotesque form of a burly old Boer farmer in much-wom pyjamas. His scanty white hair was towsled, and two dazed-looking heavy blue eyes peered out from amidst the wrinkles in a weather-beaten face. It was some few minutes before I could get the old man to understand my mission. He still seemed half asleep, and the candle he held in his hand spluttered and almost went out. That he seemed dazed did not surprise me, for the sudden advent of a youthful-looking, decently-dressed white woman on the threshold of a desolate farm in the heart of Africa at four o’clock in the morning was enough to stagger a Sherlock Holmes. Finally the old man seemed to grasp the situation, for he donned a coat and went out to rally his ‘' boys,” while I sat dangling my legs impatiently at the foot of his old broken-down camp-bed. Twenty-five “ boys” he marshalled for me, and what is more—bless his grey hairs!—he accom- panied me back with them. By the light of lanterns, with much creaking and straining, much splashing and cursing, much heaving out a little and slipping back a lot, to the tune of hoarse shouts from the ‘‘ boys ’* and shrill barks from their dogs, we finally got the old car on to firm ground once more and found that it was practically uninjured. We distributed all our small cash amongst the “ boys,’’ thanked the old Dutchman from the bottom of our hearts, and then Billy hobbled into the driving-seat and we drove off. We reached Umtaki without further mishap just as day was breaking. What joy it was to find Aunt Florence waiting there! On discovering that her niece and the luggage were missing, she had promptly left the train, determined to remain there until she could get into com- munication with me. Good old Aunt Flo! It was a nuisance that we lost our berths, but, as she said, things might have been much worse.

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481 ostin the Heart of Peru I ILLUSTRATED BY T.§ SOMERFIELD HE adventures’ which form the greater part of the following narrative occurred a few years ago during a journey | made into the centre of Peru from the Pacific port of Pacasmayo. I undertook the trip at the instigation of Sefior A. B. Leguia, now Presi- dent of Peru, with a view to ascertaining the feasibility of aerial transport into these remote but exceedingly rich sections of the Republic, where it is obvious that railways cannot penetrate The extraordinary | adventures that be- fell an explorer who, treacherously abandoned by guide, found him- self alone trackless forests of the upper reaches of the Amazon. It years old, very small, and with no privacy to speak of; con- cerning her seaworthiness it is only ne ry to say that the captain ordered my few miser- ---, able packages down to the ; lower deck, in case so much ht on the upper one extra we might cause us to turn turtle ! When I ventured to remark that sucha thing was impossible, he replied laconically that it had already happened once ! Eighteen days I spent on this unwicldy and top-heavy craft, fighting her up-stream inch his ' in the for many years to come. is safe to say that by inch against the — fierce After many vicissitudes, I had very few white men current. How many of us there crossed the Andes and by mule have ever expe- were on board all told I cannot and water had reached Iquitos, rienced the inland capital of Peru, whence it was my intention to , make my way through the great gorge called the Pongo de Manseriche, and so back to the Pacific coast at Paita. Many and conflicting were the stories current concerning the Pongo de Manseriche. Few people had been near it, and fewer still had ever passed through it. The country beyond was inhabited by Indians, Antipas and Aguarunas, both warlike and unfriendly tribes. Even the river had an evil reputation for cataracts and whirlpools, and to travel up-stream in a light canoe was generally held to be impossible. I was told that I was courting disaster to attempt it, but my mind was made up, and I was not to be dissuaded. It was therefore arranged by Colonel Soyer y Cavero, the Prefect of the Depart- ment of Loreto, that I should travel as far as Barranca on the Government launch Cahua- panas, and I was very grateful for this courtesy, as it would relieve me of two or three weeks’ tedious paddling up-river in a’ canoe. Nevertheless, once aboard the launch, I was tempted to ask myself whether the canoe wouldn’t have been preferable. The Cahuapanas was of the usual double-decked design peculiar to the locality, over twenty such an ordeal and lived to tell the story. say. Some put it at s five, others at ninety all events, we were almost too crowded to move; and = at night it was worse, for the night was the mosquitoes’ playtime. During these eighteen days on the Amazon and various tributary rivers that we ascended for a short distance, I confess that my first emotions of delight at the contem- plation of these great waterways and their luxuriant vegetation gradually wore off. The ever-present forest has a depressing influence, and the average scttler on the banks is as listless and lifeless as the atmosphere he lives in. The banks them- selves give no impression of permanency or solidity; they are just shelving slopes of mud, irregular and for ever changing. Slides continually take place and frequently great trees whose roots have been undermined crash into the stream to be swept away by the ravenous swirl of waters. But Barranca came at last—three hundred miles nearer the Pacific coast than Iquitos—~ and kere I made the acquaintance of a Peruvian named Pon Eraclito Mufivz, who, after reading a letter given me by my friend Colonel Soyer, announced that he could help me to get a canoe and paddlers, He also said he would come with me himself as far as Bellavista, stating that he knew the Pongo

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482 de Manseriche well, in addition to being conversant with the language of the various Indians along the banks. Naturally I was delighted to meet such a man. His words seemed too good to be true—and I found out later that they were ! Before leaving, the young officer in charge of the military post at Barranca pressed upon me a Spanish edition of Conan Doyle’s “Hound of the Baskervilles.” He seemed to think that I should have plenty of time to tead it during my journey. I took it laugh- ingly, little realiz- ing that it was to be the only thing that stood be- tween me and madness _ during some of the long days that were to come, and that before I got back to civilization I should have read it through from cover to cover fifteen times ! Once started, I soon discovered that the trip was going to be no picnic. We had persistently to fight our way against the cur- rent, which in some places was so powerful that Thad to assist the three paddlers by working vigor- ously myself. Don Eraclito was the only one who did no work; he sat complacently in the stern and discoursed at length on general topics of the day. The early mornings were generally over- cast, but by noon the sun would be shining with full force, and in the intense heat we had to navigate around innumerable snags —massive, semi-submerged trees which more than once put us in imminent peril of capsizing. Flocks of small bats, disturbed from their daily slumbers by our passage, flitted about in a dazed sort of way, and clouds of beautiful The edge of the forest. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. butterflies revelled in the sultry atmosphere which rose like steam from the baking mud. In the evening the unending roar of howling monkeys came from the woods, sounding as if all the lions in Africa had been let loose and were preparing to devour us. Jaguars also disturbed our nightly slumbers with their blood-curd- ling serenade, but they never came close enough to be troublesome. Each day brought marked changes in our surroundings. Very soon the mud had van- ished, and gravel took its place, becoming coarser and more exten- sive until vast gravel-bars often forced us to walk and tow the canoe. DON ERACLITO REVEALS HIM- SELF. It was now that I began to find out that my friend Don Eraclito was not quite the fine fellow he had represented him- self to be. To put it broadly, he was incor- rigibly lazy, never bestirring himself in the slightest, eating astonishing quantities of food, and need- looking after than all the others put together. Nor, in spite of his boastings, did he possess the slightest knowledge of the locality, and I began to view his presence on this difficult journey, which would inevitably demand consider- able physical endurance, with some mis- giving. Perched up in the stern, he would sing with maddening persistency his favourite song—a doleful lay about a rubber- gatherer whose only food was toasted banana, who was alone in the world, and spent his life like a bird in the sky ! Don Eraclito vouchsafed the disturbing ing more

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LOST IN THE HEART OF PERU. information that we should not be able to travel all the way to Bellavista in our present canoe, but should have to charter another from the Indians at the foot of the Pongo and replace our bogas (boatmen) with Aguaruna Indians. He endeavoured to soften the blow by stating that one of the present bogas, Mufioz, was his _half- brother, and that this man would go all the way with us and be of great assistance generally. I became thoughtful, for I was beginning to doubt most of his statements. Slowly the mouth of the Pongo drew nearer, and late one afternoon a sharp whistle made us all turn round with a start, and there to our astonishment was a launch chugging laboriously up-stream. Its owner, Sefior Otoniel Vela, of Iquitos, welcomed me with the utmost cordiality and friendliness, and gave orders for my gear to be trans- ferred to the deck of the launch, and the canoe tied astern. Thus it was that I was able to study the approach to this formidable barrier under much better conditions than I could have done otherwise. As we approached the range of hills through which rushes the Marafion—as this part of the Amazon is called—we beheld a magnificent spectacle. High wooded slopes rise on either side of the canyon, and as one nears the gorge they stand up on either side like great walls, while the water comes swirling round a sharp bend as though emerging from the very bowels of the earth. On my arrival the river was low, yet it gave forth an incessant booming that could be heard a long distance away, the pitch varying with the volume 483 of water sluicing through the gorge. In times of flood, I was told, when great trees come crashing along on the foaming ¢urrent, the song of the river rises to a regular shriek, and then, as the water subsides, the note becomes low and musical again. In the gorge itself the rock-strata consists of sandstone and limestone; the former, being comparatively soft, has been much eroded by the current, leaving the hard limestone projecting into the stream in a series of buttresses. Behind these promon- tories are large shifting whirlpools—a deadly menace to any light craft that may venture near them. Obstructions in the centre of the channel are practically non-existent, luckily, but there is one solitary rock half- way through the gorge which is only exposed to view if the water is very low. In width the canyon varies from several hundred feet to-about a hundred and fifty in some of the narrower parts. Its length I estimated to be in the neighbourhood of three and a half miles, although, like other dimensions, this can only be taken as approximate, since I had no means of making exact measurements. It was not surprising that the passage was regarded as an impassable barrier, but to anyone who was determined to sce what lay beyond the thought of successfully navigating it was irresistibly attractive. Don Eraclito did not share my sentiments, however. For some days past he had been talking very eloquently about hardships, danger, and similar cheery topics, and when a man on the launch told him of someone who had recently been murdered by the Starting the day’s journey.

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484 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. on whom I was re- lying, announced that the psycho- logical moment for attempting the passage of the Pongo had ar- rived, It was raining heavily when he woke me, but curiously enough the river was falling rapidly, and by eleven the air had cleared, and the west wind was blowing freshly in our faces. At noon precisely we set out, Shamika in the bow, in charge of opera- tions, Mufioz in the stern, and the other two bogas Collecting turtles’ eggs on a Indians it was the last straw. With such stories in his mind, and the shriek of the rising waters in his ears, Don Eraclito bethought him of his wife and family, from whom he had already been away too long! Would I allow him to go back on the launch and leave his half-brother, Mujfioz, to take his place? Secretly I was only too pleased, though I made the usual protestations of Tegret. Even Sefior Vela was inclined to look upon my proposed journey as extremely risky, and before he left offered to take us all back on his launch. Mufioz and the two bogas were anxious to accept, as Eraclito had informed them that their services would only be required to the foot of the Pongo, and that their places would then be taken by Indians. But of the Indians we had seen so far only one, a man named Shamika, was willing to come with me, though he told us of a large Indian settle- ment not many days’ journey up the river, where we could get another canoe and all the men we wanted. On the strength of this I was able to instil a little life into my men, and get them to agree not to turn back. Thirty-eight hours after our arrival at the Pongo, Sefior Vela had stowed away on board as much limestone as his launch could carry, and was on his way back to Iquitos. We were now fairly committed to our risky enterprise; the final thread which con- nected me with the outside world had snapped, it was not until the fifth day that Shamika, sandbar. and myself amid- ships with the cargo. THE JOURNEY THROUGH THE GORGE. Skirting the northern shore, we worked our way skilfully round the limestone buttresses that protruded from the bank; it was a case of brains versus force. The water was flowing swiftly but easily, and only along the rocky shore was there much foam. Our progress was naturally slow. Striking the back eddy of a whirlpool, the canoe was propelled up-stream near the bank at a lively rate till a promontory was reached. Here everyone would clamber on to the exposed rocks, remove the cargo, and tow our frail craft round the point against the rushing current, one man remaining in the bow with a pole to keep it clear of the shore, while the rest of us hauled lustily. So long as the canoe never got across the current all went well, and once round the point and in a backwater the cargo would be reloaded, and we paddled up- stream again to the next buttress, where the same cycle of operations would be repeated, One point we found too difficult to pass round, so we had to cross over to the south bank, and in doing this my men displayed great skill. It was a ticklish operation to avoid being drawn into the whirlpools, and not to get broadside-on to the racing current in mid-stream, and I was glad when we got safely over. Within five hours of starting we were through the worst part of the gorge, another hour saw us opposite the Canusa Yacu, or Santiago River, and half an hour later we were snugly camped on a large sandbar for the night. Thanks to Shamika

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7 LOST IN THE HEART OF PERU. and the untiring energy of the bogas, the miracle had happeneu—the Great Barrier was behind us! In the grim grey hours of early dawn I woke to find myself lying in water. It did not take me long to grasp the situation. The river had risen rapidly during the night, and was now pouring into the hollow where I had gone to sleep! By the time I had scrambled to safety there was over two feet of water where I had been lying. My com- panions, being on higher ground, were more fortunate, but a few of our belongings floated off and were never seen again. We had an early breakfast, and set out on our day's work dismal and dripping, till the sun came out and dried our clothing. Days passed uneventfully while we paddled onwards through a flat, apparently un- inhabited country until, when crossing a large expanse of quiet water, almost like a lake, we got a sudden awakening. My 485 thoughts had turned to flying boats, and IT was marking the locality on my sketch-map as an ideal seaplane station, when a piercing scream rent the still air, followed in quick succession by others. A moment later a large dug-out containing three naked savages shot out from the opposite bank. They were yelling at the top of their lungs, and paddling frantically to head across our bows. Their appearance caused great consternation among Shamika and the bogas, who, but for me, would have immediately turned and fled down-stream, I kept them on their course, however, and, with my rifle lying handy, awaited eventualities. I had no desire to fight unless I was com- pelled to, and as the canoe came closer I saw there was a bunch of bananas in it. This gave me my clue, and I was quick to act upon it. Holding up a string of white beads, I pointed alternately to them, the “ A large dug-out containing three naked savages shot out from the opposite bank.”

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486 bananas, and my mouth, as if I wanted something to eat and was prepared to give ue Indians the beads in exchange for their ruit. The effect was electrical; the savages stopped shouting, hesitated, and finally came alongside, the bananas and beads changing hands, along with a few other odds-and-ends to show the Indians that we were perfectly friendly. Shamika and the men appeared greatly relieved, cordial relations were soon established, and we all repaired to a con- venient sandbar for a pow-wow. Our friends proved to be Huambisa Indians, the traditional enemies of the Aguarunas, the tribe to which Shamika belonged, but as the latter was at war with his own people (having added an un- authorized wife to his harem) he was regarded in this instance as a friend, and treated accordingly. The conference was short and animated, but I could not make out much from it, since Mufioz knew very few words of the Aguaruna language, and was useless as an interpreter. From the signs and gesticula- tions, however, I gathered that there had been a fight somewhere higher up the river, and Shamika was evidently anxious to push on. When we eventually did so he joined the other Indians in their canoe, and after three hours’ hard work we arrived at the island and stream on the south bank where we expected to find the Indian settlement. THE BURNT-OUT VILLAGE. Shamika and his new friends had lagged behind during the first. half-hour, and eventually dropped out of sight altogether— never to be seen by me again. I understood the reason for his desertion when we reached the settlement. Instcad of a few Indian huts peacefully nestling in the woods, a large black patch of smouldering ashes was the only thing to be seen. The whole place had been ransacked and burnt to the ground ! I went on shore alone to reconnoitre, since ~ Mufioz and the other men would not leave the canoe for fear of encountering some of the combatants still prowling in the bush. The destruction had been complete with the exception of one hut, half of which remained intact. In the centre of it lay two dead Indians and a mummified corpse. The fighting had evidently been quite recent and the attack a surprise one, for several spears were still standing in the racks untouched. This was a nice mess to get landed into after coming such a long way! It might even mean returning to Iquitos, if my men refused to go any farther, and that was the last thing | wanted to do; yet the prospect of getting a canoe and Indians to man it seemed hopeless, and goodness only knew how much farther we should have to go before encountering another settlement. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. : But the end of a hard day’s work was not a propitious time to suggest farther hardships to my companions—" sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof ’"—and accordingly I did not broach the subject then, but waited until morning, when they had rested and eaten well. During some of our attempts to extract information from Shamika I remembered him saying that yet another Indian settle- ment existed higher up where the river made a big bend, at a place called Pati Huashani. I decided, therefore, to make this a definite objective, and to persuade my bogas to continue with me up to that point in search of the elusive Indians and canoe that were to carry us forward to Bella- vista. Naturally they rebelled when I suggested it, and clamoured for us all to go back at once, before we were murdered or some other ill befell us. Negotiations with this class of men call for much diplomacy and patience ; antagonistic and bullying tactics never get one very far, nor is it advisable to be weak and constantly give way to their demands. In this case [ had chosen my time well. At eight o’clock when the sun was shining, the unpleasant experiences of the night had been forgotten ; they had been allowed to sleep as late as they wanted to, and, above ali, they had stuffed away more food under their belts during the past twelve hours than they had seen in the previous week. Mufioz was sullen, neither helping nor hindering me, but I won my point in the end, and with our canoe well laden with food we once more set out into the unknown. We put in a difficult morning’s work, and by noon had covered quite a respectable distance. Rain had been falling, and more was to be expected, judging from the heavy black clouds gathering. We did not have to wait long, for a steady downpour was soon in progress, and the river started to rise. We laid up for lunch alongside a gravel-bar until the worst had passed over, and then out again, hugging the shore for a mile, crossing to the opposite bank to avoid rocks, and always following the line of least resistance. In a small backwater further indications of the recent fighting were encountered— two or three large canoes broken to pieces. It was just one more sight to upset my men, who had already seen about as much as their simple nerves would stand. I should have liked to have prevented it, but they noted the destruction and drew their ‘own conclusions. The river still continued to rise, but we groped, pulled, and pushed our way doggedly ahead. At three o’clock we approached a whirl- pool of unusual size lying behind a mass of high rocks that ran far out into the stream.

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LOST IN THE HEART OF PERU. 487 Under normal conditions we should have landed and towed the canoe round the point empty. Unfortunately the nature of the banks prevented this, but we had no mis- givings as to remaining in the canoe, since the vortex of the eddy was some distance away and the current round the point not very strong. At the most critical moment, however, one man lost his hold on the shore and the other man’s pole broke! In an instant we began to drift away, and by the time the addles were brought into play the whirlpool Fa taken charge, and we were powerless to struggle against it. CAUGHT IN A WHIRLPOOL. Round and round we went, paddling desperately in the hope that some accidental shift of the current might release us at the last moment, but the circles we described became smaller, our motion more _pro- nounced, our hope of escape less. No mercy could be expected from that deadly maelstrom ; it had us in its grip, and was not going to be cheated of its prey. For what seemed a century we battled with the inevitable, all the time getting sucked nearer and nearer to the fiercely- swirling waters in the centre of the pool. “Our bows went up in the air, and in a twinkling I went hurtling down into the depths.”

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488 I was too intent on the struggle to think, but I saw everything. A floating log, caught like ourselves in the whirlpool, went spinning round just in front of us. Gradu- ally we overtook it, collided with it—and then came the end! A lip of green water curled over the edge of the canoe, the world spun round, our bows went up in the air, and in a twinkling packages, paddles, and men seemed to fall bodily on top of me. Gurgling, swirling, hissing, the water closed in from above, and I went hurtling down into the depths. I recall taking just one last breath and holding it for what I thought was a million years; I recall being jostled along the bottom of the river and bumping up against rocks and other obstructions; I remember a push from below, as if from some giant hand, and then I shot to the surface in an upcast current. I had been told that one’s only chance of safety in a really dangerous whirl- pool lay in not struggling. At any rate, Approaching the treacherous “ Pongo de Manseriche.” THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. I let myself go, and it was probably due to this that I disentangled myself so soon. The sight of the green banks rushing by put new hope into me. I was free of that horrible watery death-trap, and although I had quite reconciled myself to being drowned I struck out and presently reached the shore, though only after considerable difficulty. Once safe on terra firma, I sat down to consider my position. It seemed hopeless enough, in all conscience. My unfortunate men had disappeared—presumably drowned in the whirlpool; I had no canoe, no food, no weapons—nothing but the clothes I stood in. As I gazed blankly at the hurry- ing waters of the river a feeling of utter dismay came over me and I asked myself why I had not allowed myself to be drowned peacefully, instead of saving myself for the more terrible fate of dying by inches from starvation and exposure in this inhospitable wilderness. (To be continued.)

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Thirteenth Sample 489 the LH{D STERLING ILLUSTRATED BY D.C.EYLES The story of a nerve-trying adventure in the depths of an abandoned mine in Northern “The tale is absolutely true,” writes Mr. Sterling, “and everything happened as stated.” employ of a large gold and silver- mining company in Northern Mexico, my position being that of chief engineer of a big pumping-plant. In the event of a breakdown it was sometimes necessary to work day and night until the damage was repaired and the plant in running order again. Owing to this fact, the general manager was very lenient with the staff, and when everything was going smoothly we could always get away for a day’s hunting or prospecting trip. There were some three thousand Mexicans and Chinese in the mine-camps, and less than a hundred foreigners of other nation- alities, with Americans predominating. One of my best friends was a young fellow of my own age named Choate, from Texas. 8 One Saturday ‘‘ Son,” as I called him, rode over from the camp where he was employed, pulled up his horse near the door of the power-plant, threw the reins over the animal's head, and came inside. After shaking hands and lighting his pipe, he handed mea telegram he had just received from the East. It read :— Pittsburgh, Pa. Sept. 5th, 1907. Mr. E. C. CHoatTe, S— P— De C— Chihuahua, Mexico. Sample Amelia mine. Rush report and assay certificates. (Signed) Van Dyke. This Mr. Van Dyke had been VoL. Lv.—34. S": eighteen years ago I was in the in our district the previous year and on his return had interested some Eastern capitalists in a project for exploiting the wealth of the old Amelia mine. Now, it appeared, he desired a report from Choate and assay certificates showing the gold, silver, lead, and copper contents of the ore. The Amelia, like other mines in that particular section, had at one time produced some very high-grade ore, but it had been closed down for many years owing to the lack of sufficient capital to cope with the troublesome water conditions encountered in the lower levels. Much the same state of affairs had been met with in our own mine, but had to a large extent been overcome. Though we were some six miles from the Amelia, our pumping operations had very materially lowered the water in the old mine, this being due to the fact that the same ‘‘ dykes” and ore formations cut through both properties. I had made plans to spend Sunday in the saddle after antelope, but ‘‘ Son ” was very anxious that I should join him in the sampling of the Amelia. Finally I agreed to meet him at the mine at one-thirty the following day. I had often ridden past the deserted shaft, hoist, and boiler-room of the Amelia and, as ‘‘ Son ” pointed out, we had both expressed curiosity as to the extent of the workings below ground. Next morning, directly after lunch, I saddled my horse and rode down the road until I hit the trail leading to the Amelia.

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490 Picking my way round the base of the mountain, through the chaparral, grease- wood, and thorny cactus, I arrived at the mine just as Choate was preparing to dismount. The shaft was of what is known as the “incline '’ type—just a hole in the rock about three hundred feet deep, sunk at an angle of about sixty degrees and topped with a head-frame for hoisting. As the shaft was very nearly vertical we did not anti- cipate finding anything alive in it, and consequently neither of us carried a weapon. We sorted our sample-sacks, shared out the candles, and prepared our miners’ candlesticks. In handling the match-box the entire contents were spilled, and when we came to pick them up a few were left on the ground. A little thing—just a few matches missed—but it became important Jater on, as this story will show. We took three candles each; the rest were replaced in our saddle-bags. Then, equipped with candlesticks, ore ks, and prospecting picks, we descended about one hundred feet to the first level. After looking this over we decided that the best thing to do was to start at the bottom level and work up to the surface. As we descended, we found the atmosphere cold and damp. In places the timbers were badly rotted, and the ladder leading down the main shaft not only showed the wear of the ore-buckcts on the sides, but in many places the rounds were broken or missing. At the three-hundred-level we came across a rusty old Cameron sinking- pump, with the decaving steam-pipes still connected and a_ skeleton intake hose extending downwards some forty feet, the end dangling just above the water in the “sump.” This skeleton had once been a four-inch rubber-covered suction hose, but the rubber had rotted away, leaving only the spiral wire framework. By the flickering light of our candles we examined the ruined pump and gazed at the uninviting-looking water at the bottom of the shaft. “How would you like to dive into that?” asked “ Son,” jokingly. “You first, my dear Alphonse,” I ans- wered, in the same vein. Neither of us suspected at the time that it would be a case of “ both together,’’ with most un- welcome company. In collecting our samples, Choate attended to the drifts to the east of the main shaft, while I took those to the west. I knocked down all the loose ore and then, with my prospecting pick, dug out a general sample from the entire face of the vein. These fragments I broke up until I had a fair two-pound sample. This I placed in one of the small sacks, with a scrap of paper showing the number of the sample, the drift it was taken from, the width of the vein, and any THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. other information that I thought might be useful to Van Dyke. The “raises” and “ winzes ’’ were sampled in the same manner. Choate and I usually reached the main shaft at about the same time after examining a drift, and we compared notes before climbing to the next level. Nothing unusual happened during our inspection. We followed the same procedure on all the upper levels, and finally arrived back at the main shaft with thirteen samples in all. Looking upwards, we could see that the daylight was fading. It was nearly seven o'clock and we both felt that once we got back to the camp we could do ample justice to our Sunday dinner. “ Son” took seven of the samples, leaving me six to carry, and burdened with these and our tools we started climbing to the surface, Choate leading the way. As we clambered upwards I knocked my candle against the hang-wall, and it went out. I did not trouble to relight it, for ‘‘ Son's ’’ candle was burning brightly enough for both of us. As I looked up at him, however, I saw to my horror, coiled on a ledge in the rocky footwall under the ladder, an immense diamond-back rattlesnake just preparing to strike! His coil was perfect, and his evil-looking head was gyrating backwards and forwards within two feet of Choate’s face. Gripping the sides of the ladder, I braced myself to receive the force of my friend’s fall and screamed to him to jump. At that very instant the snake sounded his warning, and without the slightest hesitation ‘Son’ dropped everything and hurled himself outwards. There was a crash, the sound of splintering wood, and both of us hurtled down some ten feet to the first level. Neither of us was hurt, but we realized that we had company, for the rattlesnake had struck a fraction of a second after ‘“‘ Son ”’ had jumped and, losing his balance, had slid down to the first level close beside us. Both of us scrambled to our feet as quickly as possible, and, in the dim light that filtered down from above attempted to strike a match. When one finally flared up I dis- covered that I was standing within two feet of the rattler ! He had not coiled, but seemed to be busily engaged in surveying his new surroundings. I hastily moved some six or eight feet away, and Choate followed me. As I had the light, and he had to move in the dark, he hit his head against the hang- wall, and immediately filled the entire level with some lurid cursing. The rattler also moved ; he appeared to be as frightened as we were, and in the dim light we saw him slither out of the level and on down the shaft. Lighting a candle, we made a careful inspection of Choate’s hands, face, and legs to make sure that the rattler had not struck him. There were bumps, scratches, and contusions in evidence on both of us, but

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THE THIRTEENTH SAMPLE. 498 “As I looked up I saw to my horror an immense diamond-back rattlesnake just preparing to strike!” preparatory to resuming our climb. We Greatly relieved, ‘‘Son” discovered, however, that bag No. 13 was missing. We checked over the sacks, opening each in turn. and found that the missing bag apparently we had escaped the attentions o! the snake. hunted for his own candlestick and pro- ceeded to gather up our tools and samples

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492 “was sample Number One, taken on the west face of the three-hundred-level. This was one of the most important of the lot, and it was essential to find it. We came to the conclusion that it had gone on down the shaft to the two-hundred- level. Unless it had lodged in a crevice on the way down, however, it was quite probable that it had slid on to the three- hundred-foot, for the two-hundred-level was built up out of a stope, and as some of the tim- bers had given way there was very little of the* Jevel left in the neigh bourhood of the shaft. We did not intend to let a rattle- snake spoil our work, and so, picking up a couple of stout ladder-rounds from the debris to serve as weapons, we started climb- ing down the ladder. We pro- ceeded slowly and cautiously. carefully ex: amined the foot wall under the ladder and also the side-wallsand hang-walls for, as Choate said : ‘* That infernal snake may drop down on us at any minute.” We found nothing at the two-hundred- foot level—not even the rattler. He had apparently gone farther on, and we con- tinued our descent. Nearing the three-hundred-level we dis- covered our friend the snake coiled in the drift near the old Cameron pump. He immediately started rattling at a great rate, advising us to keep away. Being in the lead, I picked down a big chunk of rock from the hang-wall and let drive at him. I missed him, and his next move was a complete exit. Uncoiling, he darted like a flash into an opening in the spirals of the old suction- hose. We hurried on down the ladder just in time to sce a two-inch rattle disappear into the hose, to be immediately followed by the snake's reappearance at the lower end of the tube. His headlong descent was no doubt a great surprise to him. Sliding out of the bottom of the hose, he catapulted into the sump, where he proceeded to swim round in an endeavour to find a place to land. Now that the rattler was in the water, we considered he was absolutcly safe, so, failing “Son” Choate, the Author’s companion. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. to locate our missing sample, we climbed down about twenty fect farther and watched him, speculating as to his chances of getting out. Finally a very foolish idea was born— Choate decided that we needed the snake’s skin for the wall of our den. We already had more than a dozen, but for some reason he wanted this one. For myself, I did not fancy any more adventures with the diamond- back, and I said so. But it was no use arguing with “*Son’”’; he vowed _he was going to get that skin. The ladder above the pool appeared to be fairly strong, and Choate suggested that he could bend down over the water and, with me_holding the light and helping him to hang on, hit the snake on the head with the stout ladder- round. It sounded quite simple, and in imagination we already saw another beautiful four-foot snake- skin adorning the wall of our room. Carefully we made our way to the bottom of the ladder, which ended a short distance above the surface of the stagnant, oily- looking water. The rattler was on the far side of the pool and was slowly coming our way, nosing at every inch of the side wall in search of a landing-place. Right out in front of us floated the bloated carcass of a dead jack-rabbit, and over to the left was another. In the flickering candlelight ghostly shadows played over the water and the rocky surrounding walls, and the only sounds were the drip of water and the faint “swish ’ made by the swimming rattler. All this time the snake was slowly drawing nearer. “Son” was now crouching right down over the surface of the pool, with me holding him, and J could feel his muscles stiffen as he prepared for the strike. “ Grab tight, Sterling,” he whispered. ‘‘ Hold your light a little higher.” The club descended with terrific force, there was a peculiar creaking sound; then there came a sudden crash, the noise of rending timber, and we were under water ! When I came to the surface, puffing and

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THE THIRTEENTH SAMPLE. gasping, I grabbed at the rocky wall. My hand touched Choate’s, and we instinctively recoiled from one another. Holding on to the wall, we remained still for a moment to get our bearings. Just then a sinuous form glided past close to my face and I heard the lap of the water against the rock as the snake nosed his way to the other side of the pool. Round and round the poul we worked our way, having entirely lost our sense of direction in the intense darkness, though we knew, of course, that our only way of escape lay upwards. Choate had secured the floating club and struck out wildly several times when he heard the snake on our side of the pool. We discussed the idea of seizing the creature and holding it under until it was dead, but we were afraid that the brute might strike even under water. It was bad enough to drown, but drowning seemed quite a pleasant ending when compared with the possible chance of being bitten by that deadly rattler. As we paddled hither and thither through the black darkness we tried to console ourselves with the thought that sooner or later some of the men in camp would come out to look for us, but in our hearts we knew that they would only start a search if our horses returned riderless—and the reins were tied to a chaparral bush at the top of the shaft ! In our desparation we tried climbing over each in an en- deavour to scale the wall of the pool. “Son” would hold on to the rock and I would climb on his shoulders and jump upwards in an attempt to reach the bottom of the ladder. On such occasions the fellow under- neath would be driven clean under water; it was a game ‘of leapfrog in the dark. After many futile attempts to grasp something that would sup- port our weight, we suddenly no- ticed that the faint noise made by the swimming snake had ceased. We were overjoyed, and immediately came to the conclusion that his experiences had weakened him and that he had _ been drovaed. With this menace apparently The mining camp where the Author was employed. hotel ; (2) The writer’s quarters; (3) The power plant. 493 removed we took on new courage and, seemingly an inch at a time, travelling to the right, we kept jumping, jumping upwards in the hope that we should find the end of the broken ladder. When we were both wellnigh exhausted I succeeded at last in touching the end of the coiled spring of the hose. The metallic noise it made as it swung backwards and forwards sounded like sweet music in our ears, and the mere feel of the steel spring was like a ray of light and hope in the black gloom. Try as we would, however, we could not get a hold on it sufficient to pull it down to us. Our idea was that if we could drag the coils down until we had a straight wire leading to the pump one of us might be able to pull himself up to the ladder. Realizing that the cold was rapidly sapping our remaining strength, we re- doubled our efforts to reach the wire. Finally, after many efforts, I succeeded in standing practically upright on my com- panion’s shoulders. Leaping from that position my right hand caught the side of the ladder and I was able to hang on. Slowly I pulled myself into a position where I could get a grip with my other hand, and then I carefully mounted higher until my hands touched the solid rounds. I cried out with joy, while “Son,” down in the pool, cheered and laughed. Telling him to take a good grip on the (1) The Chinese hang-wall, I said I would be back to haul him out as svon as I could get to the top and return. After many bumps and stumbles I at last reached the section of the ladder

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494 that had betn broken by our first fall— when we met the snake—and after I had negotiated this it did not take me long to reach the top. When I poked my head out of the top of the shaft, surveying the moonlit scene, both horses turned toward me and _neighed Plaintively. Jumping to my feet, I nearly wrecked the whole enterprise by running towards the animals. They reared in fright, pulled their reins loose, and trotted away a few yards before my voice satisfied them I had a right to approach. I secured our lariat ropes from the horns of the saddles and some candles from the saddle-bags. Not a match could I find, but on my way back to the shaft I remem- bered dropping the match-box and the fact that all the matches had not been picked up. After a quick search in the moonlight I found half-a-dozen matches, lighted one of the candles, and started down the shaft, shouting out words of encouragement to “ Son,’’ as I descended. I worked past the broken ladder, slid down to the first level, the second, and then to the third. Halting there, I knotted the lariat securely to the old Cameron pump and then climbed down the ladder to within a few feet of the water. Here I tossed the end of the lariat to “Son” and held the light so that he could see. His first thought, oddly enough, was to find out what had become of the rattler. Finally he discovered him—not dead, as we had expected, but very much alive. He had drawn his body up into a little crevice in the wall, and though his tail was still in the water his head was more than two feet above the level of the sump. There is little doubt that at times our groping hands had passed very close to his body in the darkness, and if we had touched him death would have followed swift and sure ! “Son” reached out and secured a grip on his ladder-round club. “‘ Sterling,” he said, ‘‘ we have suffered a lot through this brute, and I’m going to have its skin.” With that he swung the club and crushed the rattler’s head against the wall. The snake fell into the pool, and when its writhings had finally subsided ‘‘ Son’? made a loop in the rope, slipped it over the { THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. dead rattlesnake’s head, and tightened it up. Mite then proceeded to climb out, and after he had reached the ladder we clasped each other by the hand and for a moment neither of us said a word. We pulled the rattler out of the sump and kept him at a respectable distance, in case of accidents, all the way to the top. Once above the ground we lost no time in cutting off his head. Our horses had wandered some fifty yards away, but stood still as we walked up to them. Tying them up again, we went down the shaft once more to the one- hundred-level to bring out the samples. As we picked up the twelfth sack I asked “Son” what was to be done about the missing No. 13. ‘‘ That’s up on top—the corpse of old John Rattlesnake,” he replied, grinning. But he was wrong; No. 13 was not on top. On our way up, quite by chance, we found the missing sack wedged under the ladder just below where the snake had first made his appearance ! Placing our samples and the carcass of the snake in a large sack, we tied it on the back of my saddle; then we mounted and headed for the camp. We arrived about midnight, and promptly rode over to the Chinese boarding-house. We succeeded in awakening the cook, and after a lot of grumbling he came out and agreed to get us something to eat. We then rode back to my adobe house, put our horses in the corral, skinned the snake, had a bath, put on dry clothes, and returned to the hotel, where we did full justice to our belated dinner. As near as we could figure, we were in the water for about four hours. Four hours isn’t a very long time in normal circum- stances, but it was quite long enough for us down in that death-hole. When I gaze on the word ‘ MEXICO,” cut from rattle- snake-skin and pasted on the leather cover of one of my old Kodak albums, I become reminiscent, and in fancy I travel back through the years to the old Amelia mine, that rickety ladder, and the good friend who stood shoulder to shoulder with me in an adventure which, but for sheer good fortune, might have had a very different ending.

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The Author’s carriers on the march, a” BIR D- HUNTER. IN THE WILDS GL Bates AND SET DOWN BY Reginald Pound Mr. Bates is well known as a naturalist both in Great Britain and in America. Many new species of birds have been named after him, and he has also discovered a hitherto unknown tribe of pygmies. In this article he describes his experiences during a seven-months’ journey in the remote Cameroon country of Central Africa. IRD-HUNTING, so far as my own experience goes—and this branch of natural history has been my hobby now for more than twenty is not a particularly hazardous time, although one’s pulses sometimes quicken noticeably at the capture of a long- coveted specimen. It is, however, by no means devoid of interest, and the pursuit of certain elusive birds often adds excite- ment to the day’s work. The trip I have been asked to describe for THE WIDE WorRLD MAGAZINE took me through the heart of that comparatively little-known section of the African continent known as Cameroon. I started from Duala, on the Gulf of Guinea, in August, 1922, the “subsequent journey occupying rather more than seven months, during which time I travelled, on foot and on horseback, roughly two thousand miles, making my way first northward over the mountains to the low- lying plains around Lake Chad; thence in a south-westerly direction through the Bauchi region of Nigeria, and so down to Lagos and home. Leaving Duala, I skirted the populous district surrounding the Cameroon Moun- tain, known to the natives as Mongo-ma- Loba, or “ Mountain of Thunder,” one of the most beautiful mountains in the world, surpassing for sheer majesty and charm of scenery many a peak twice its height. Like the majority of travellers who have gazed at this mountain from the immediate neighbourhood, I felt sorely tempted to scale its verdant slopes, which command an unexcelled panorama of land and sea. But my business lay in the regions beyond, and so, with Mongo-ma- Loba slowly sinking from view, I took the road to Bare, roughly a hundred miles up-country. At Bare I recruited my carriers—eight stalwart natives, each of whom was armed with a cross-bow, firing a small arrow eight inches or so in length, made of splinters from the stalk of the raphia palm. For use in the thick bush, where the hunter is able to get within a few vards of his quarry, these accurate and silent weapons are invaluable. In the open I had to have recourse to my gun, which, however, I used as sparingly as I could, as the shots tend to damage the specimens, while the noise of the discharge often scares off all other birds within a radius of some hundreds of yards. Certain birds, again, were captured by means of snares, in the setting of which the natives are very skilful. Watching the boys shooting with their cross-bows is a fascinating pastime, their dexterity being really remarkable. I have seen them send their splinter-arrows—mere

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496 knitting needles in size—through birds no thicker than one’s finger at a range of twenty or thirty yards. The same little arrows, tipped with poison obtained from a forest plant, are used in killing monkeys and sometimes the bigger apes. Monkeys, I may add, often figure in the native dietary. On the journey between the coast and Kumbo, which is situated six thousand feet up in the heart of the mountains, we experienced continual mists and light rain, withsudden cold spells of great intensity. At times the mists came upon us so unexpectedly THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. built, and designed apparently for greater warmth and comfort than are those of the lower altitudes. The architecture in the Kumbo neighbourhood seems, in fact, to be in a much more advanced state than in any other district I visited, and the reason for this I was unable to determine. The people themselves are as little affected by the spread of civilization as those in more remote parts of the country, yet the arrangement of their dwel- lings suggests that a greater intelligence is at work. Chairs and tables, for example, are not unknown among them, although in the interests of accuracy I that progress must add that was often these items of fraught with furniture scemed considerable risk to me to be more —a fact which ornamental than was. brought utilitarian. This home to me very more advanced forcibly when, state of domes- continuing my ticity is observ- march through = . able over an a fog of blan- The cross-bow men, whose silent and wonderfully area of perhaps ket - like thick- accurate weapons were extremely valuable for = 4 hundred square ness, I suddenly securing “specimens” in the bush. miles; then it stepped into space and landed headlong in some thickets at the bottom of a minor ravine. Recovering my scattered senses, I shouted to the boys and, receiving a welcome answering call, crawled laboriously and painfully to safety again. The Germans had planned to colonize these middle altitudes, which possess a reasonably even temperature, great pro- ductivity of soil, and an abundance of streams and rivers, and certainly the area is one that might well attract settlers in the future. A road runs for two hundred miles over the mountains, winding about their slopes in a series of gentle gradients that make travel tolerably comfortable. The higher parts are covered with grass, with steep inclines and rocky cliffs at frequent intervals. Ilowers splash the lower slopes with broad masses of colour, mostly purple and yellow, while the music of waterfalls greets the ear at almost cvery turn. At Kumbo, although the weather is often very cold, the natives wear little more than ordinary loin-cloths, and are to be seen sitting or lying outside their huts when the temperature is at a point which would set the average white man shivering. On the other hand, their huts are more solidly ceases abruptly, and the ordinary bare palm-thatched huts are in evidence once more. Specimen-collecting began in real earnest at this stage, birds being plentiful in the high forests beyond Kumbo, and it was not very long before I secured a number of new specimens. One of them alone, a relative of the cuckoo family, known as the turacoa, with metallic green feathers and a beautiful red crest, constituted a capture of sufficient importance to warrant the journey, at least from my own point of view. The bird had not previously been known to science, and I was extremely leased that it should have fallen to my lot to introduce it to the world of orni- thology. In this district the road already referred to deteriorates into a mere mountain track, over which we picked our way with a good deal of caution. Swollen streams __ fre- quently held us up, some of them being without bridges of any sort and far too deep and turbulent to be forded. One river in particular gave us a long spell of anxiety, the only bridge available within miles being swept away before our eyes just as we came up to it. This disaster compelled us to try swimming. I ventured in first and at once found the muddy, frothy waters

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A BIRD HUNTER IN THE WILDS. driving me down-stream. One of the boys promptly jumped in after me, and, seizing my belt, helped me back to safety. At the very next river we came to, my horse was the victim of a misadventure, the primitive bridge over which he was being led in the rear of our little procession suddenly giving way and spilling him into the swirling waters beneath. The astonished animal emerged a couple of hundred yards lower down, very much _bedraggled in appearance, but otherwise apparently none the worse for the ducking, although he was at first carried away so swiftly that I mentally bade him good-bye, never expect- ing to see him again. After this I was kept busy with many new or little-known varieties of birds, among~ them two rare kinds of swallow, a very rare kestrel, a thrush not previously known authoritatively, and a new sort of robin. One of the new swallows was a specially interesting example of bird life in its most primitive state, the species in question not having quite solved the problem of sustained flight in the way common to the great majority of birds. The hunt for the kestrel landed me in a predicament that might easily have had much more unpleasant consequences. We were des- cending now into the savannahs between Tibati and Ngaundere, a trading centre some five hun- dred miles up- country. It was afternoon. I had gone off into the bush with my gun, having heard from some natives that the kestrel I was seeking favoured a certain localit about an hour's waik from the camp. The country here- abouts is inter- sected by belts of thick forest many miles in extent, opening on to vast uplands covered with tall grass. Here the bird life was even more varied than I hadantici- ted, and, after an absence of perhaps three ours, I suddenly woke up to the fact that I couid not remember my way back to camp! The interior of a hut at Kumbo. Notice the odd chairs. 497 As a fairly old hand at the game, | was not at first greatly troubled by this real tion, but when the ‘light began to fade perceptibly and the air grow colder, I thought it high time to be tackling the problem of getting back. Walking through the dim avenues of the forest was a queer and rather uncom- fortable experience. Now and again I[ would emerge from the narrow bush-paths into a wide, open space, dotted with gnarlec’, ghostly-looking trees, only to be swallowed up again by the eerily silent forest. Once I caught sight of a skulking form that, on closer inspection, proved to be a_ baboon, which promptly leapt out of sight among some boulders. Then a great owl, flitting noiselessly along in the dusk, brushed my face, causing me to stop abruptly and— as I immediately afterwards realized—to utter a startled “Oh!” that went echoing away in the darkness. = at Strangely enough, it was this exclama- tion, overheard by the searching boys, that helped to guide me back to camp, for a moment or two later I heard their shouts and was soon safe and sound in my tent. An experience cf a different order befell me while watch- ing two natives climbing a high tree in search oi doves’ eggs. The tree itself was smothered with a great mass of creepers, which hung about it in festoons of greenery. In- deed,as it proved, the parasitic growth had to all intents and purposes — killed the tree,the trunk of which was hollow in places. ie as the boys, idden by the dense foliage, were nearing the nests they were after there came a rending crack ; the top of the tree swayed ominously, and the next mo- ment it fell with a mighty crash, bringing in its trainsome tons of vegetation. The whole thing happened much more quickly than it takes to recount it, and although I hastily leapt aside I was not quick enough to escape being

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498 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. bowled over and half buried by the leafy déyris. This, however, was nothing to the experience of the boys, who were nearly suffocated in the cntangling mass before we could haul them out. One of them, in fact, was so badly shaken by the fall that it was some time before he could be per- suaded to climb a tree again. Ngaundere, the trading centre I have men- tioned, was having a gala day when we arrived, the occasion being the visit of the King of Tibati, who was holding a con- course of chiefs and headmen from the outlying districts. Thousands of tribes- folk had gathered in the town in honour of the King’s visit, but the most remarkable features of the gathering were the costumes and accoutrements of the mounted tribes- men, numbers of whom wore the chain- mail armour and style of dress associated in our minds with the Crusaders of centuries ago! How the people of this remote part of Africa came by this type of costume and armour is a puzzle which still sets me thinking deeply. Is it probable, I ask myself, that the dres: are actual survivals of one of the most romantic eras in history ? Anyone who is familiar with the story of Africa and its people will not, I think, entirely discredit the possibility, Certainly there Interested in the caravan. is no evidence to show that the mail and costumes, to say nothing of the gaily- coloured trappings of the steeds, are of modern origin. , . From Ngaundere I made my way north to Marua, eight hundred miles in the Hinter- Jand, through a country covered for the greater part by tall grasses, with a tempera- ture more mild and equable than that I Kings and chiefs awaiting the arrival of ancient chain-mail armour, helmets, had hitherto experienced. Villages in this area are few and far between, and I travelled sometimes for two or three days without a sight of a human habitation. Those that do exist are low and round, like haycocks, with mud walls and grass-covered roofs. One of my callers in this region was a young king dressed in a robe stiff and shining with indigc. Al- though a person of authority, he could not refrain from begging after the fashion of the common folk, and with the aid of an inter- preter who knew “ pidgin English” I gathered from him that he had no great faith in the future of his country under the new régime. “ First time when German here,” I was told, ‘‘ this country do fine ; but now it done spoil”! Once or twice I passed companies of donkeys laden with panniers of what proved to be raw cotton, while others carried lumps of Lake Chad salt. But for these caravans and an occasional village, I encountered com- paratively few signs of human habitation, and the bird and animal life of the district was likewise anything but abundant. Reaching Marua, | bore off to the north- west until arriving at Maidugari, within about

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A BIRD-HUNTER IN THE WILDS. 499 essayed the climb up to it. I had not ascended twenty feet when, with a regular roar, a cloud of bees came out of a hole in the trunk higher up and immediately began attacking me. Without further ado I dropped clean off my perch, falling with a thud in the sand, my neck and face smart- ing from what felt like the thrusts of a thousand red-hot needles. The boy did not escape either, and I retain an amusing mental picture of him hobbling off as hard as he could go, trying in vain to protect his bare head with his hands, and swear- ing in a language that happily I did not fully understand. My “ bag” of stings that day ran to more than forty—and I consider that I got off lightly at that ! the King of Tibati. The feature of this great gathering was the and horse-trappings reminiscent of the days of the Crusades. seventy miles of Lake Chad, then turned The Bor- abruptly south on the way homeward through nuese, a Nigeria. The country on this side of Lake negropeople Chad consists of low-lying plains, where with an in- one normally experiences great heat. A fusion of cold northerly wind, however, tempered this what is pro- during my journey through the district, where bably__Ber- I was kept employed for several days packing ber blood, my stock of specimens, as well as adding are a rather to it whenever the opportunity came along. striking- Bornu, the district through which I now _ lookingrace, made my way, is mostly a great alluvial althoughthe tract, broken here and there by strips of | women tat- bush, in which flourish the red and green too exces- acacia, yielding perhaps the most valuable _ sively,stain- of all gums. Farther south one comes on ing their immense baobab trees, the universal pro- faces with viders of the country. Cotton and indigo indigo and grow wild, affording the materials for the dyeing their cloth which is the country’s staple fabric. front teeth Wild animals are plentiful in parts, and black and bees seem to swarm everywhere—mention red. Wrest- of which fact reminds me of an unpleasant ling is a adventure I had while out birds’-nesting. popular pas- I had only one of my carriers with me and time with together we made for a clump of trees that them, and I were a-conspicuous object of the flat land- also saw in scape around the camp. The boy was _ progress on slightly lame, having cut his foot in fording one or two a stream a day or two previously, and so, occasions a The calabash contains native when he spotted a nest in one of the trees, 1 game not beer, made from maize.

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500 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “The boy did not escape either.” . 2 mee

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| “he XY A BIRD-HUNTER IN THE WILDS. 504 unlike chess, played with beans and holes in the ground. Unlike the people of Kumbo, they seem to envelop themselves in robes— the number denoting the rank of the wearer —although the heat is often unbearable. What struck me particularly, however, were the huge stomachs of the chiefs, to whom, I gathered, a ‘‘ pot-bellied ’’ appear- A native granary. ance is an indispensable adjunct. These chiefs cultivate their ample proportions by feeding on the richest and most fattening foods they can procure, and when Nature fails them pr dding is resorted to! Among the Munshi people, who live south of the Benue River, down which 1 voyaged by canoe during the concluding stages of the journey, I saw evidences of a curious form of marriage. When a man marries, his sister goes through a wedding ceremony with the bride’s brother. If there is no sister the bridegroom has to enter into an agreement with his brother-in-law to work for him for a period of three years, this being the standard value of a sister. The preliminaries of a marriage are very complex. Before the ceremony can take place a council of the elders of the tribe is calle i for the purpose Beating out cloth from. the ‘indigo plant. of ensuring that no taint of relationship exists between the prospective husband and wife. Their family history is discussed at great length and the fact, say, that the would - be husband’s _ great - grandfather married a former distant relative of the bride’s great-grandmother, or some remote affinity of the kind, is held to be sufficient ground for the termination of the negotia- tions, The Benue, the largest tributary of the Niger, teemed at the time of my trip with sand-pipers, some of which are believed to breed in the far-off Arctic, travelling back- wards and forwards over the thousands of miles between. I also saw more doves than I have ever seen before; they were cooing incessantly and their presence undoubtedly accounted for the great number of eagles and hawks. In all I obtained close on four hundred different varieties of birds, forming what I think I may humbly claim to be an im- portant contribution to the seven thousand or so specimens which in the course of twenty- five years’ work I have collected, and of which the majority are to be found at the Natural History Museum, South Kensington, London.

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502 The Voice in the Darkness CUT. ILLUSTRATED BY HOLMES —_—_---- Prohibition is no longer in force in Western Canada, but during the seven years that the country FRED was “dry” many desperate encounters took place between “ bootleggers” and the officers of the law. Here is the tragic oa ALT! In the name of the law!” The answer to the stentorian command was a raucous scream, an ear-splitting wail which drowned the voice of the man who called— Constable X——, of the Alberta Provincial Police. Standing squarely in the path of the on- rushing automobile, the officer called once again, emphasizing the order with a flourish of his drawn revolver and uplifted left hand. The driver of the car, even had he not heard the spoken command, could not possibly have mistaken the policeman’s attitude for anything but an intimation to pull up, yet once more that raucous wail mocked in teply as he pressed his thumb on the horn control and urged his machine at even greater speed straight towards the representative of the law. Then, as the surrounding mountains flung back echoes of the harsh notes of the Klaxon, with a furious rush the big car plunged over the spot where a fraction of a second before the officer had been standing, and dashed away along the main street of Brigson, a small mining town m the heart of the Rockies. Scrambling to his feet from where he had hurled himself only just in time to avoid being mangled beneath the wheels, Constable Xx took aim with his heavy service revolver at the rear tyres of the fleeing car. Several times he fired, but apparently withcut result, for the car rushed on with undiminished speed and disappeared in a cloud of dust around a curve in the mountain trail. Without further waste of bullets the constable took to his heels and jumped into the car of one of the several citizens of Brigson who had witnessed his plucky yet futile attempt to enforce the law. At his curt command the owner started the engine, let in the clutch, and in a second cloud of dust dashed oft in pursuit. As the officer was well aware, the car he was chasing was one of many owned by a well-known gang of “ bootleggers " of that “++. story of one such affair, which created a sensation throughout Alberta. “I have thought it advisable to change all the names,” writes the Author, “but the facts are absolutely true. district. He had been advised by wire only an hour before that an attempt was to be made that day by the son of the head of the gang to run the gauntlet of police watchers in an effort to get through with a carload of ‘‘ booze.” To travel at such terrific speed along that winding rock-strewn trail was to risk death at every turn of the wheels, yet both cars were urged along at their utmost power. Gradually the lighter car gained upon the other, heavily laden with cases of whiskv, until barely fifty yards separated them. Knowing that his voice would not be heard above the roar and rattle of the powerful machines as they hurtled over the rough trail, the constable again drew his revolver from its holster, and leaning round the wind- shield, holding on to the plunging car with his free hand, took careful aim at the one Le wished to capture. Before he could press tl.c trigger, however, a splinter of rock pene- trated the offside front tyre. The car gave a violent lurch, almost wrenching the steering wheel from the driver's hands, and with a loud report the tyre collapsed. Gritting out a curse the driver strove desperately to hold his machine on the trail and prevent it plunging into the lake on the left, or the frowning cliff that bounded the trail on the right. He managed to pull up just as the drag of the burst tyre pulled the car among the loose boulders lining the road ; their quarry was by this time almost out of sight. By the time they had changed tyres the officer knew it would be useless to continue the pursuit, and so the two men turned the car round and drove back to Brigson. Here the constable at once telephoned to the other police detachments scattered throughout the mountain pass to inform them that the “ bootlegger ” had got through and was heading for the whisky gang's concealed headquarters. These headquarters were located some distance from the main trail, and as the “ whisky car’ roared on its way its driver

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THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS. now and again flicked away the blood from a slight wound in his hand. As he had dashed through Brigson, ignoring the command to stop, one of the constable's bullets had torn its way through the rear of the car, hit his hand, and shattered the windshield. So slight was the injury, how- ever, that the “ -ootlegger,”’ even when Le knew the constable had abandoned the chase, did not bother to halt his car and bandage his wound. After another hour of driving, with the wind battering him through the broken windshield and scattering drops of blood from his bleeding hand over the car and its cargo, he brought the machine to a halt in front of a large roughly-built house, standing by itself in a gully hemmed in on three sides by the ramparts of the Rockies, which effectually concealed it from casual gaze. As he shut off the engine and climbed stiffly out several other members of the gang emerged from the apparently deserted house and approached him. Noticing the battle-scarred condition of the car and its driver they commenced eager inquiries. The young man briefly explained what had happened, and then entered the building to attend to his injury, leaving the others to unload the machine and ‘ cache” the cases of whisky in a safe place, until such time as they could dispose cf them:to their customers. One of the men, however, did not assist in the task. He had listened eagerly to the account of the shooting, and with his own eves he saw the blood-splashed driver— the son of the “chief ’’—and the bullet- shattered windshield. Excitedly this man informed his com- panions that he was going to find the “ chief ’” and tell him what had happened. He climhed into the car, but was at once roughly told to get out. In his eagerness he had overlooked the fact that every police- man in the section would te on the look-out for this particular car, and that it must certainly remain hidden until it could be fitted with a new windshield and otherwise disguised, Undaunted, the man sect out on foot, while the others watched him depart. They were amused at the undue stress he placed upon the accidental wounding of the chief's son; they knew that the police did not shoot at rum-runners with intent to kill, but merely used their revolvers to intimidate reckless drivers. All agreed that the damage done by the erratic bullet had teen purely accidental— all excepting the man who toiled on foot over tortuous mountain trails to find the leader of the gang and deliver to him a message which brought swift and tragic results. Knowing that strenuous search would be made by the police to find out where they had secreted the load of liquor which X—— had tried to intercept, the ‘‘ bootleggers ” 593 kept within the precincts of their mountain retreat for the next few days, ready at the approach of strangers to disappear quietly into the surrounding wilderness of rocks and scrub, leaving any investigator to discover what was apparently only a deserted mine bunkhouse. With them stayed the chief's son, the man who had successfully brought through the last cargo. To show himscif meant arrest, yet, had he but sl.own himself the tragedy which followed might have been avoided. Thus it happened that the head of the whisky ring,” in his comfortable kome at Royston, another small mining settlement a few miles from Brigson, waited impatiently for news of his son, anxious to know if he had got through the cordon of folice safely with his last load. Seated in the large living-rcom in which he waited were various other members of the gang and also a young woman known to them all as Fred's sweet- heart. All the people gathered there knew the history of the “ chief.” How, a few years before, as a poor man, with all his worldly goods in a pack upon his back, he had drifted into the mining district of the Rockies. How he had gone into the illicit liquor business when Canada “ went dry,” prospering at the game until it was whispered he was worth half a million dollars. Whether he was as wealthy as rumour whispered, none of them knew or cared; what they did hrow for certain was that to those less fortunate the “ chief’’ was a real friend, ever ready with gifts of money or any of tle other necessities of life. It was into this assembly that there stumbled the excited man from the mountains. He paused on the threshold ; then, seeing the leader, he lurched straight across the floor to him and blurted out his Ss “ Chief !”’ he cried, ‘‘ X—— has shot Fred!’ For a few tense moments there was a deathly silence in tke room as the full purfort of the words burned itself into the consciousness of the ones who heard; then the “ chief’ sprang to his feet and grasped the man by the shoulders, a torrent of questions pouring from his lips. Squirming in that powerful grip, the newcomer told of what he had seen—of Fred driving up to the bunkhouse in a car battered with bullets ; of Fred himself being all covered with blood ; of his informing them that X. had fired oa him when driving through Brigson. Then, as the recital of the story further inflamed his excited brain, and he noticed the intense interest of his listeners, he gave them further gruesome details, the inven- tion of his own fevered imagination. Convinced by the fellow's earnestness that Constable X had deliberately fired with intent to kill or wound, the “ chief” turned and harangued the other occupants

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504 of the room. He told them that this X- had sworn to put the gang behind prison bars, though so far he had not been able to “get anything on them.”” Now X had deliberately shot his toy. ‘‘ What were they going to do akout it?” No one in that room had any love for the officer stationed at Brigson; he had inter- fered with them too many times, and with one voice they demanded revenge. The sinister word acted as a goad to immediate action, and the “ chief ’’ promptly asked for a volunteer to help him. Before anyone else could move the young woman sprang forward. X- had tried to kill her lover, she said; therefore she desired vengeance just as much as did the “chief.” And in the full heat of his anger the leader of the gang took her out to his waiting car—the first move in that fatal blunder that was to cost three lives. Meanwhile, secure in their concealment, the rest of the gang whiled away the time until they should receive word that it was fairly safe to venture out once more. They knew that for.a time the police would con- centrate on the stretch of trail between Brigson and Royston, until something happened which weuld compel them to turn their attention elsewhere. They never dreamed that the ‘‘ something ”’ would be a cowardly crime perpetrated by their own leader, a crime which stirred Alberta from end to end. Constable X- , busy with his multifarious duties, returned to his home that evening without any inkling of the fate in store for him. That evening, as he lounged in slippered ease in his comfortable home at Brigson, possibly nothing was further from his thoughts than his last attempt to halt a “ bootlegger.’’. Suddenly he heard a voice calling from the darkness outside. With a quick gesture he silenced his children and listened ; again the voice called. Getting up from his chair, the constable strode across the room, flung open the front door, and stood there trying to accustom his eyes to the blackness of the night. He gradually made out the outlines of a large car halted a few yards away. He could hear the gentle purr of the engine, which was still running, but not a glimmer of light showed from the car. Thinking this rather strange, X- , with his family crowding the open doorway behind him, walked across to the car as once more a voice called to him. “What do you want ?”’ he said, leaning over the side of the car and addressing the man at the wheel, at the same time notic- ing that the only other occupant was a young woman seated beside the driver. The officer’s voice carried easily through the silence of the night, and a passer-by, a young man, halted and glanced in the direc- tion of the sound. Becoming more curious as he observed the big machine without a THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. light showing he approached closer, and so heard the reply to the constable’s question ; he also heard and saw what followed. “Yes, X .’ came the answer, in a voice thick with passion. “ They tell me you shot my boy.’ The constable’s reply was to strike a match and hold it towards the driver. The flickering flame revealed to him the familiar features of tlhe master ‘‘ bootlegger ” and also the face of the girl, who was well known to many residents of the district. For one tense second the officer and the smuggler stared at one another in the light of the tiny flame; then, before the constable could utter a word, the ‘ Lootlegger ”’ and his com- panion jerked revolvers from their pockets. The startled officer made a desperate grab for the “ chief's ’’ hand, but even as he did so the weapon spat out its message of death —once, twice. With a groan X stag- gered back, and then both revolvers blazed again in the darkness, in a medley of staccato reports. Next the headlights of the car were suddenly switched on, and the powerful machine leaped away into the night as the plucky policeman slithered quietly to the ground. The uproar occasioned by the shooting, aided by the screams and calls of the con- stable’s family and the other horrified eye- witness, quickly brought people from nearby buildings running to the scene, just as the car carrying the murderers disappeared along the trail to Royston. Poor X—— himself, supported by many arms, made an effort to speak, but he breathed his last before he could utter the words he would have spoken. Although far-flung and scattered, each police station is connected by wire with the others, and in less than an hour every mountain detachment had teen notified of the killing, and those two highly-organized forces, the Alberta Provincial Folice and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, were quickly engaged in a hunt for the murderers. The police knew quite well who they had to find, for in the flare of the match-flame and the flash from the revolvers the well- known features of tle man and woman had been revealed plainly to tle passer-by they had not noticed. The usual haunts of the “chief ’’ were under observation tefore he could possibly reach them, and by the time dawn stole silently down tle towering peaks police cars and mounted men wete patrolling every mountain trail and every exit from the district was guarded. Tle officers of the law were assisted by many civilan volunteers, all grimly determined that the killers should not escape if human ingenuity could prevent it. So efficient was the work of the authorities that in less than twenty-four hours after the skooting, the “ cootlegger ’’ and his female companion were captured.

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THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS. “HOLMES “ Both revolvers blazed again in the darkness, and the plucky policeman slithered quickly to the ground.” VoL. Lv.—36.

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506 The first find was a large car, discovered abandoned on the outskirts of Royston. The m2chine showed signs of bullet-marks where shots fired from inside had gone wild ; there were also empty cartridge-cases on the floor. Acting on this discovery the police too into custody several men who had been under observatioa for some time as suspected members of the “whisky ring.” Then, having an idea that the “ chief” and his companion might be aided by certain residents of Royston, the police commenced a house-to-house search. They soon dis- covered the young woman they sought, and, breaking down under cross-examination, she admitted that she had been in the car with the “chief” at the time of the shooting, but claimed that it was the “ chief’ him- self who had fired the fatal shots. With the girl safely under lock and key the officers continued their search. Three of them, having thoroughly explored a large boarding-house from bascment to garret, were grouped together talxing on the out- skirts of the town, trying to puzzle out where the ‘“‘ wanted”? man could be hiding. Idly scanning the surrounding countryside as he chatted, a movement high up oa the side of an adjacent mountain attracted the attention of the Provincial policeman coa- ducting the party. Hastily removing his field-glasses from their case, he trained them on the towering crag. Again he detected the movement, and the officer was barely able to restrain a cry of triumph as the po verful lenses revealed to him the well-known features of the ‘‘ chief,” toiling painfully up a steep incline. Grimly the officer turned to his two com- rades. ‘“ There goes our man!” he an- nounced. “ Let’s get after him. And be ready for a scrap!” And there, on that bleak mountain-side, hunters and hunted played a grim game of hide-and-seek. Quickly the news spread among the residents of Royston that the fugitive ‘* boot- Jezzer ’’ was being trailed up the mountain, and many pairs of glasses were trained oa the four mea as they were glimpsed now and again among the scrub and rocks. To most of those watching, however, it was soon apparent that the hunted man had mide a fatal error in trying to get away on foot. The officers were young and active and in the pink of condition; the ‘ chief” was middle-aged, heavily built, and flabby from many years of easy living. Gradually the constables drew closer to the man they sought to capture, until he disappeared from view barely seventy-five yards from the grim-faced men who represented the Law. The policemen halted for a few moments to Tegain their breath and draw and examine THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. their revolvers; then, as silently as possible, they converged on the murderer's hiding- place. As they drew closer they heard the sobbing breathing of an exhausted man, and step by step they approached until they were on the opposite side of the huge boulder behind which the smuggler was concealed. Cautiously the officer in charge peered around the corner, catching a glimpse of the wanted man leaning against the rock, revolver in hand, drawing in his breath in quavering gasps. With a silent signal to his comrades the constable dashed round one side of the boulder; his companions sprang round the other. The surprise was complete ; the “ chief ” gave one startled glance at his pursuers and the levelled guns, and then, without waiting for the command, let his own auto- matic slip from his hand and slowly raised his arms in token of surrender. Relieved from the strain of the expected gun-fight, the three officers searched their captive for other arms, and then allowed him time to recover his breath, at the same time giving him the customary warning. The “‘ chief,” however, ignored the caution in his eagerness to ask three questions— three questions almost as damning in their implications as a complete confession. “Is my son dead ?’’ he demanded. “‘ Your boy was merely slightly wounded in the hand,” came the reply. “ They told me X: shot my boy,” the wretched man burst out. Then he went on. “But how do you know my boy is not hurt?” ““ We do know.” The reply was convincing. “And X 2?” The last question was almost a sob. “xX is dead,” replied one of the officers, solemnly, “Good heavens!" The “ bootlegger ” buried his face in his hands. With their captive in their midst the officers made the laborious return to the barracks at Royston. The other hunters were soon made acquainted with the fact of the capture and relieved of further search. Then came the preliminary hearing, and finally the trial proper. With feeling tunning high between the friends of the accused and the more law- abiding folk, it was deemed advisable by the authorities to hold the trial at the farther end of tl.e province. The case witnessed a desperate legal battle, with ample funds available for the defence, but the evidence for the prosecution was unassailable, and both the accused were found guilty and sentenced to death. Eight months after the crime both the man and the woman paid with their lives for the cowardly slooting of poor Constable X— of the Alberta Provincial Police.

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597 Sinbad the Sailor’ SSS g eax -. Ch SERGT-MAJOR C.N.C. HAYTER LATE ROYAL N.W. MOUNTED POLICE WLLUSTRATED BY S.BRIAULT An interesting account of the career of a well-educated man, formerly a University Professor, who, although possessed of ample private means, deliberately turned “crook” and embarked upon a series of audacious swi NE of the most plausible rogues who ever passed through my hands was ‘Sinbad the Sailor.” He derived his picturesque nick- name from the marvellous stories of foreign travel—correct in every detail save the Yather necessary one of truth—with which he was wont to regale his prospective victims. He had originally been a Professor of lan- guages at one of the American universities, was a man of good appearance and really charming personality, and why he had elected to ‘“‘ go crook” I do not know, especially as he possessed an adequate private income. One of “Sinbad’s”’ earliest exploits was at Winnipeg, in Canada, where after less than twenty-four hours’ acquaintance he induced > wealthy young Scotsman who had just arrived in the city to part with five thousand dollars! The modus operandi was as follows :— “Sinbad ’’ had a friend in the city, as shady as himself, who was running what appeared to be a real estate office. He had well-appointed rooms, a smart stenographer, an imposing brass plate on the door —in fact, all the trappings likely to impress the inno- cent and unwary. However, victims were apparently rather slow in coming forward, and finally Mr. Real Estate found himself in difficulties. Unless things improved, he would be unable to pay his rent and would have to go, a prospect which was far from pleasing to him after all the trouble and expense he had gone to in the furnishing of his office. He had marked down the aforesaid Scotsman as a likely lamb to lead to the Slaughter, and was contemplating unloading some bogus property on him when he hap- pened to mention his intention to ‘ Sinbad.” That astute individual promptly vetoed the scheme, and substituted a much more cun- ning one of his own. At that time the Grand Trunk Hotel, the Fort Garry, had just been opened, and to attract custom the management was always ready to show people over the premises—a fact that was destined to help “ Sinbad" considerably in the working out of his nefarious plans. The young Scotsman him- self, whom we will call Angus, was staying at the C.P.R. hotel, the Royal Alexander. “Sinbad ’’ had the prospective “ pigeon” pointed out to him, and next morning strolled into the rotunda of the Royal Alexander and took a seat next to him. His first act was to call a bell-boy over to him. “Ifa Mr. Wilson calls to see me,” he said, “bring him along here.” The boy departed with his instructions, and ‘‘ Sinbad” then proceeded to get into conversation with his neighbour, keeping to safe topics like the weather, the city buildings, and so on. In the midst of it Mr. Wilson bustled in. “Ah, good morning, Morrison,’’ he ex- claimed. ‘‘ I’ve been looking all over the place for you. What about motoring out and looking over that piece of property this afternoon ? I’ve got another ofter for it, but I'd hke you to buy it, and I'll give you first chance if you care to come.” ‘“‘Sinbad ”’ affected to consider. “ Well, it’s very inconvenient,” he grum- bled, “ but I'll get on the ’phone and see what I can do. I don't like disappointing you. Wait here ; I'll be back in a minute.” He got up to go to the ’phone, and the other, who was of course his friend the * real estater,”” sank into his vacant chair, and began to talk affably to Angus. “ Known him long?” he ed, with a jerk of his thumb in ‘ Sinbad’s"’ direction. “No,” was the reply. ‘He seems a pleasant sort of chap. Who is he?” The other looked at him in surprise. “What! You don’t know?" he ex- claimed. ‘‘ Why, he’s the managing director

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508 of the Grand Trunk hotel system, a very astute business man, but a very good fellow —in fact, a real white man. You're lucky to have got acquainted with him.” “Is that so?” replied the Scotsman, obviously somewhat impressed by the sup- posed importance of the man he had been talking to. At this point “Sinbad ’’ came back from the telephone. “ All right, Wilson,’’ he agreed, “ I’ll come out with you this afternoon. Now what about a little drink ? ” Wilson rose to his feet with a nod, and “Sinbad ’’ turned to Angus. “ Will you have one with us, sir?” he asked. Nothing loth to be included in such dis- tinguished company, the young Scotsman— whose subsequent actions showed he had not a great acquaintance with the world— promptly accepted, and the three of them adjourned to the bar, where ‘‘Sinbad’’ sug- gested that Wilson should return to lunch with him at the Royal Alexander. “In fact, I shall be pleased if both of you will honour me,” he amended. ‘ Then, Mr. Angus, you can come in the car with us, if you like, when I go to inspect this property. It'll enable you to see the country a bit.” Angus promptly accepted this additional invitation, and on ‘Sinbad’ departing to make arrangements for the lunch at the hotel, Wilson offered to take the young man to see the sights of the city, thus ensuring that he was not left alone to make possible awkward inquiries about his two associates. In the meantime “Sinbad”’ arranged with the manager of the Royal Alexander that his two friends should be shown over the hotel after lunch, and during that meal the fact was clicited from Angus that he was looking for a safe investment. This was the signal for ‘‘Sinbad’’ to relate some fanciful storics of his early struggles, which had culminated, so he said, in his “making good ” in the hotel business, but only, as he was careful to impress upon his credulous listener, after having learnt the business thoroughly in a big hotel. “But I am boring you with these long- winded — reminiscences,” he — concluded. “Come along ; we’ll start our drive.” They motored some miles out into the country, and ‘‘Sinbad’’ gravely inspected a mythical “ property,” while Angus turned over in his mind, as he was meant to do, all that the former had been saying. Out of the corner of his eye ‘Sinbad’ observed his thoughtful expression, and all at once he turned to his confederate. “When’s that hotel at X going to be sold ? ” he asked casually, naming a well- known health resort close to Winnipeg. “Next summer, I believe,’’ was the equally casual reply. As if struck by a sudden idea, ‘ Sinbad’”’ glanced at Angus. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. “What a pity you have no experience, young man,” he observed. ‘If you had it would pe suit you—a perfect little gold- mine, if well handled. But you haven't the knowledge of the business, ‘so it’s no good talking about it.” The Scotsman fidgeted. ‘““I suppose,” he suggested diffidently, “‘ you couldn’t get me a job in one of the Grand Trunk hotels, sir ? If so, I might get to know enough about things to buy this hotel when it comes on the market next year.” ‘Sinbad ” exhibited surprise. “‘ That's certainly an idea,” he admitted. “Well, if you're really in earnest, I'll think about it.” “Tl tell you what I'll do,” he said, sud- denly, on the way back. ‘I think you're a cute young fellow who'll make good, so I'll waive your previous inexperience and put you into the Fort Garry as assistant to Williams, the cashier. Do your best, and don’t Iet me down. I don’t want any thanks,” he went on, as Angus began to stammer his gratitude; ‘this is a business proposition and I shall expect a bond of, say, five thousand dollars for your good behaviour. By the way, Wilson, you're still agent for the Z , aren’t you?”’ men- tioning a high-class Bond Company. “Tam,” returned Wilson. “Very well; get Mr. Angus fixed up at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, and then I’ll take him round and introduce him to Williams, and he can start work right away. That’s all right, Angus; I tell you I don’t want thanks.” They spent the evening together, and finally Angus was put to bed in a condition which, to say the least, was likely to render his critical faculties somewhat dormant. However, at ten o'clock next morning he duly deposited himself at Wilson’s office. Here everything went without a hitch until Wilson asked him for his cheque, when the youngster somewhat shamefacedly ex- plained that he had not yet opened a bank account in Canada, but that he had a large letter of credit on the Bank of Montreal, and could produce the cash at once. This rather nonplussed Wilson, who was of course fearful of anything that might provoke inquiries as to what purpose the money was required for. He therefore rang up ‘Sinbad,’ who came along to the office at once. On hearing the difficulty, he laughed genially. “ I'l give you my cheque, Wilson,” he said, “and the cash can be deposited with me until our young friend here opens his own bank account, and can give you a cheque of his own. That satisfactory?” “ Quite,” the other agreed. “‘Sinbad"’ then proceeded to the bank with Angus—no doubt to do any talking required —the money was handed over, and they

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Teturned to the office; where a most imposing bond was drawn up and signed. Then “Sinbad” conducted Angus to the Fort Garry Hotel. “ This, Mr. Williams, is the young man I spoke to you about,” he said. The busy cashier glanced up. “ Right,” he snapped to Angus; ‘‘ come round at ten to-morrow.”’ At once ‘‘ Sinbad”’ hurried the young Scotsman away. They had a drink to the success of the venture, and once more Angus spent the rest of the day in company of one or both of his new friends. He went back to his hotel that night with his head full of the golden “SINBAD THE SAILOR.” 509 future that lay before him, and at the appointed hour next morning presented himself to the cashier at the Fort Garry. Then came a rude awakening. Wher he stated his errand Williams stared at him in mystification. “ What on earth are you talking about ? ” he cried. “ That man you were with has nothing to do with the Grand Trunk hotels, He told me you wanted to see me about a car I have for sale. Assistant cashier—I don’t want an assistant cashier ! ” Then the whole story came out, but by this time ‘‘ Sinbad”’ and his friend were far from the city—and so were Angus’s five thousand dollars. ‘‘Sinbad's ” foot was well set on the road which was to lead him, after ) initial and illusory successes, to incarceration behind the grim pA walls of Stillwater Penitentiary. Canada at length became too hot for him, and he migrated to Chicago, where he rented an office and a large warehouse, and com- menced another clever swindle, He advertised for farmers to send } him a bushel of wheat in con- nection with a great competition, offering prizes of five thousand, 3 three thousand, fifteen hundred, and five hun- dred dollars respectively for the samples adjudged the best. Farmers all 4 — aS Bbrenut—_7—~ Shas eee “* Known him long?’ he asked, with a jerk of his thumb in ‘ Sinbad’s’ direction.”

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510 over the country ‘fell for it,” and he collected something like fifty thousand bushels of the finest-quality wheat, which he promptly sold in various lots to the elevator companies. Wheat at this time was standing at 75 cents, so 'Sinbad’’ must have netted quite a good harvest. Unfortunately for him, how- ever, he did not deem it necessary to clear out of the city at the conclusion of his deals, thinking that he had safely covered his tracks, and elected to stay where he was. The result was that one of his clients, hap- pening to visit Chicago, bethought himself of calling on ‘‘ Sinbad "’ to see how near his bushel of wheat had come to obtaining the first prize. He found office and warehouse closed, and, smelling a rat, communicated with the police. ‘Sinbad’’ was arrested, tried, and sentenced to an ‘‘ indeterminate ” sentence of from one to five years. He was sent to Joliet prison, got mixed up in a fracas there, and was transferred to Stillwater, where I was Chief Officer, to serve the full term. It was thus that I became aware of the extra- ordinary fascination of the man, for fas- cinating he undoubtedly was. One would have thought that this dose of imprisonment would have induced him to go straight for the future, especially since, as I have already stated, he was possessed of ample private means. But, no. Three days after his release he was at Minneapolis Garden City on the hunt for fresh victims, and he was not long in finding one. In Minneapolis, posing as a French count —a character he was well fitted to sustain— he took a regal suite of rooms at the best hotel, and like some aristocratic spider in a gilded web sat down to await the arrival of unwary flies. On one especially he soon cast his eye. In the town at the time was a young mil- lionaire, whom we will call Rogers, whose reckless and profligate mode of living made him a byword among his quieter neighbours. A favourite amusement of this foolish young man was to buy an estate one day and give it away the next. He also had a habit of periodically getting tired of the city and his usual round of champagne orgies, and dis- appearing into the country for a couple of weeks, leaving no word of where he was going. Sucha man wasanextremely likely victim so far as ‘‘Sinbad"’ was concerned. He quickly contrived to get in touch with Rogers, be- came his boon companion, and finally went to live with him in the magnificent house which the millionaire had just bought on the shores of Lake Minnetonka, just outside the town. Here, for a fortnight, they had a hectic time until, as was his wont, Rogers suddenly wearied of it all, and went off on one of his THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. recuperative jaunts to the country, asking the ‘‘ Count,” as a special favour, to remain in residence until he came back. ‘ Sinbad” graciously consented—and then things began to move ! To begin with, ‘“Sinbad’”’ had recognized in Rogers’s butler an old acquaintance. He had been, as a matter of fact, a fellow- convict of his in Joliet. Directly Rogers had gone, these two crooks put their heads together, the upshot being the cashing of a cheque in Rogers’s name for twenty-five thousand dollars. Their next step was an even more ambi- tious one. The ‘‘ Count” produced a deed of gift, duly witnessed by the butler and a footman who had been admitted into the conspiracy, and sold the whole estate—house and furniture, lock, stock, and barrel—for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. In view of Rogers’s past eccentricities, there was no suspicion aroused that the place was not “‘Sinbad’s’’ to sell, and as a matter of fact there was keen competition for its purchase. Then the precious trio flitted while the going was good. They were only just in time! Five days after leaving home, Rogers ran short of money and telephoned to his bank for more. To his amazement he learnt that the account was overdrawn, and was informed of the Presentation of the twenty-five-thousand- dollar cheque. He came back hot-foot to find his property in the possession of others, and no sign of his aristocratic friend the ““Count,’”’ who, with his butler and footman, had, like the proverbial Arab, folded their tents and stolen silently away. “Sinbad’”’ was the only one of the precious trio to be caught, and that only by chance. He got clear away to New York, where he had to wait a week for a steamer to Europe. There was, of course, a warrant out for his arrest, but he got safely on board, and everything seemed to be going well for him when all at once that fickle jade, luck, deserted him. Unknown to him two Chicago detectives had brought on board a man who was being deported. One of them knew the chief first-class steward, and, having handed over their prisoner, they were proceeding to the stewards’ quarters in search of refreshment when in an alleyway they came face to face with the last man they expected to see. “Why, it’s ‘Sinbad '!’’ one of them ex- claimed—and promptly arrested him. He came back to us at Stillwater with a little ticket entitling him to ten years’ board and lodging, but he was quite philosophical about it. “‘ | went for a good stake, sir,” he told me, ‘‘and just missed it. Another opportunity will no doubt occur.”

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ILLUSTRATED BY EF, PRATER: A budget of very interesting stories concerning “Stripes,” culled from the Author's ex- Periences in Assam and Sumatra. “I have spent many years in the East,” writes Mr. Brands, “and every one of these incidents is true.” HEN I first went out to Assam, twenty years ago, the country swarmed with tigers. Wherever one went one heard stories of tigers and their doings, and shooting one of these kings of the forest was nothing extraordinary—just like catching a big fish. Railroad communication between the interior and the Bramaputra port had only been established a short time, and a night goods-train used to run between Tinsukia Junction and Goahauti. It was a favourite scheme of the native train-crews to invite unsuspecting compatriots to have a cheap ride with them. Arriving in the grassy plain near Monthola, the train used to stop, and the deluded stowaways were given the choice of handing over all their belongings or of being put off. They generally allowed them- selves to be robbed, as it was well known that the surrounding region was infested with tigers. The station had to be closed for nearly two years, for no fewer than nine stationmasters were eaten by tigers, and no further volunteers could be found for the job. Going up to Middle Assam, I was introduced to Peter Barry, a tea-planter, whose terrible experi- ence was published some time later in THE Wipe WorLD MaGazineE. Readers who missed the story may find it interesting if I briefly recall the details. Peter Barry lived ina bungalow that had been built almost level with the surrounding garden. One day his night-watchman The Author. reported to him that a tiger crossed the garden practically every night, and as Peter had lost quite a number of pet dogs, he decided to sit up for the unwelcome visitor. He invited three or four friends to join him and they settled down in com- fortable chairs, placed in a row in front of the bungalow. arry had given his guests a splendid dinner, and one after the other, lulled by the silence and night air, the watchers dropped to sleep. Peter, who was sitting at the left-hand end of the row, was slumbering soundly when he suddenly woke up, for something had grabbed him by the hand and gently pulled him to his feet. Looking round, he discovered to his horror that it was the tiger, which held his left hand in itsmouth! In his first excitement he dropped his gun, which lay across his knees, and as the great brute dragged him away he yelled wildly : “ The tiger has got me!” This cry, fortunately, awoke his friends, who sat up, rubbing their eyes sleepily, just in time to see him being led unresistingly through the garden hedge. To shoot at the tiger was dangerous, as if wounded the animal would immediately have turned upon Barry and finished him off. They therefore fired their guns in the air and ran after the pair shouting their loudest. The shooting and general uproar frightened ‘ Stripes,” and resently he released his hold on arry's hand and bolted. Barry has the marks of the brute’s teeth on his hand to this day.

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gi2 One time that I came across the trail of a tiger was within a few yards of my own bungalow, on the Mazengah estate. A herd of cows, seven in all, had been killed without my hearing the slightest noise. The blood had been sucked from the bodies, but they were otherwise untouched, and from the signs we concluded that the killings were the work of an old tigress teaching her cubs to hunt. I asked the natives to leave the bodies where they were, and established myself, at four o'clock in the afternoon, in an adjoining tree, for tigers often return to a “ kill’’ late in the afternoon. I waited and waited; it became dusk, but still there was no sign of Mrs. Stripes. The acrid smoke of the wood fires from the coolie lines came wafting across to me, and I heard the young men holding their usual tom-tom concert while the Santal girls danced round a fire. At last they stopped, and I was alone in the noisy Indian night. Thousands of mosquitoes assembled to sample my blood, singing their maddening song all round me, and somewhere not far off a bunch of jackals were giving their nightly performance—a series of barks, followed by howls and loud jeering laughter. There was also an insect that made a noise like a saw-mill, and in a tree opposite a “brain-fever bird’’ informed me at intervals: ‘“ You’re i! Youre ill!” Below my tree, revealed as white patches in the gloom, lay the bodies of the dead cows. Suddenly I noticed a shadow amongst them which had not been there before. I was THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. tired by my long wait, and although I did not know if it was the tiger or merely a stray dog, I fired. Thereupon the shadow jumped over some carcasses and disappeared with a crash into the brushwood. Now I was in a nice predicament! I did not dare to get down for fear that, if it was the tiger, it might be lying up somewhere close at hand and attack me when I descended. On thee other hand, I did not want to stop in the tree all night. I therefore fired a few more rounds in the direction of its flight and waited for another half an hour. Then, stiff and sore, I climbed down the tree and hobbled home. Next morning, when I went out to examine the place, I found bloodmarks, but I did not follow them, for pursuing a wounded tiger on foot is almost equivalent to com- mitting suicide. As it was now getting late, I got on my lorse and rode down to a mill at Ketkihan, about four miles away, where I was expected. T had barely gone two miles when [ noticed, a little ahead, a crowd of coolies standing at the side of the road. My horse stopped dead and refused to go any farther, so I jumped off, threw the reins to a passer-by, and, “He discovered to his horror that it was the tiger, which held his left hand in its mouth !” carrying my gun in my hand, ran up to see what had happened. Not a hundred yards away sat a big tiger, apparently badly wounded. snarling and lashing its tail! The coolies were making ineffective attempts to kill it by throwing stones. Kneeling down 4 gave it a head shot, and it promptly collapsed. On examining the brute, I found that it was undoubtedly the same animal I had fired at the previous night. My shot at a venture had crippled its hindquarters, and how it had managed to jump over the dead cows I could never understand.

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~have killed it ! -. Tigers ”’ -* pulled about the affair that the tiger’s head My next two stories carry us north of my head-quarters to the Rajghur district where, at Lukwa, the tea-planters had established a polo club. Proud of the fact that an old tiger used to prowl round their ground, they christened themselves the ‘‘ Rajghur Tigers ” and emblazoned their jackets with a tiger’s head in gold and two polo sticks. That inoffensive old tiger wandered round the ground for years, and nobody ever grudged it an occasional goat or chicken. As a matter of fact, he was distinctly useful, for with a tiger about the natives were careful not to let their cattle stray at night, and so the young tea-shoots escaped damage. Finally a new manager came out from Home, and—anxious to get a skin—decided to rid the country of poor old Stripes. Two platforms were constructed in trees, facing one another, and a goat tied up between them. The manager's assistants were ordered to line these platforms, and eight strong, with their chief, they waited for the enemy. Sure enough, the old fellow came ambling along, killed the goat, and settled down to dinner. The manager raised his hand as “a prearranged signal, and everybody crept : forward to fire at the tiger. Unfortunately, however, the platforms failed to stand the one-sided strain and promptly collapsed, shooting their passengers on to the back “ of the‘astonished diner. With a yelp of fear, the tiger extricated himself, bounded into the jungle, and was never seen again. We used to vow that the nerve-shock must The unfortunate ‘‘ Rajghur had their legs so unmercifully ~ disappeared from their blazers. .~A more serious encounter tuok place on _ the Rajghur, one of the great roads con- structed by the old Rajahs, when my friend Grant, then manager of Rajahbari Estate, left the Lukwa Estate, after a Christmas dinner, to return to his home. He was riding-a grey Waler about fourteen hands high: and was going at a short canter when a tiger jumped on to the horse’s neck right in front of him! In alighting it knocked Grant out of the saddle, and the fall par- tially stunned him. When he got to his feet again he looked about him, but the tiger. and* the horse had disappeared. Hurrying home, Grant woke up his men and went back to look for the animal. He found the poor brute killed and half eaten at the foot of the road where, becoming entangled in the jungle vines, it had fallen an casy victim to the tiger. Hearing that I was coming up by train, Grant wired me to meet him, and the following evening at six o’clock he came to the station armed like a Sicilian bandit. When he told me his story, I got out my Tifle, and we rode down to his house, passing TIGER TALES. 513 the very spot where the night-attack had taken place. Every movement in the jungle found us clutching at our weapons ready to fire, but we reached Rajahbari safely and decided to sii up over the carcass, The tiger duly came, and we wounded it, but it escaped. Natives later reported that they had found its dead body in the jungle. The story is interesting as the only case known to the writer where a tiger has ventured to attack a mounted man. We were playing tennis one afternoon at Moran when one of the assistants, a junior just out from home, asked us to excuse him for a short time and left us. An hour later he came back, white and trembling with excitement, and told us that he had shot a tiger. We laughed at him, telling him to get back into his place and finish the set. But he persisted in his yarn, and, sure enough, a quarter of an hour later the dead tiger was carried into the compound, It appeared that while we were changing sides an old Indian had told him a tiger had killed a cow a short distance away and, being disturbed, had left its prey untouched. The Indian advised him to go straight away to sit up for the brute, as it would probably come back early. Our friend mounted his pony, took his -303 Volunteer carbine, and rode to the site. Here he foolishly tied his pony up a few hundred yards away from the “ kill” and climbed into a tree. Hardly had he settled down when the tiger came along, and he killed it with a head shot. He then became so excited and nervous that he actually began crying and, running to his pony, galloped as hard as he could back to us. Several of us, who had not had the same luck in years that he had in his first months, were rather jealous of him. My next encountér with Stripes took place at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning in North Sumatra when, driving along the Sianthar Road in a Wolseley car, we encountered a tiger in the middle of the road. My chauffeur was so frightened that he stopped the car, but the tiger merely looked at us and then walked calmly into the jungle. Only a few hundred paces away quite a number of people were going to market, and our arrival probably prevented a tragedy. Another time in Sumatra, sitting up in one of the Road Inspectors’ houses on the new Toba Road to the Crater lake, the Tobameer, we had a_ rather comical experience. <A tiger had killed the inspec- tor’s pony, and the carcass lay in full view from his veranda. Four of us decided to sit up, and after two hours the tiger came along. At that very moment “ pop!” went the cork of a beer-bottle behind us— one of the Dutchmen had found the wait too long! The unusual noise frightened

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THE WIDE WORLD 514 the animal away. We fired a volley, but without any result. Another tale shows how mother-love drove a tiger to follow its cubs into a town, where for three days she terrorized the whole place. The new Hill line in Assam, running through the Namba forest, had a main station called Lumding. The engine- shed and repair shop for the section had been built there, and as a result the place, which was situated in a virgin jungle about four hundred square miles in extent, had grown into a town. One morning, coming down on a trolley, we found three tiger-cubs playing on the line. In spite of many scratches, we captured them at last and sent them down to Dr. Baso, director of the Calcutta Zoo, where two of them are MAGAZINE. “A tiger jumped on to the horse’s neck right in front of him.” still to be seen. Number Three died on the way. The next act was the arrival of the mother, who had followed the scent as far as Lumding, and appeared one bright and sunny morning on the market-place. In two minutes the affrighted ulation had vanished, and the visitor had the market to herself. For three days the animal appeared in the streets of the town at all hours, so that nobody dared to leave his house, and our men had to work under escort. At last Swartz, one of the assistant section engineers, was told that the tigress was sleeping in a big concrete culvert. Some coolies had seen her crawl in, and they had left a sentry to watch her while one of them went to call the Sahib. The rest was

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simple. A fire was lit on one side of the culvert, and when the tigress came out at the other end she was shot. On the same line, at Haflong, lived three ardent hunters, Marriott, the section engineer, Valentine, the magistrate, and myself. One day we received a telegram from the Commissioner at Silchar, inviting us toa“ kill.” We accordingly climbed on to a trolley and went to see our friend. He took us to the place where a machan, or bamboo platform, had been constructed. The “ kill,” a dead cow, lay in the middle of a small ravine, on the side of which the platform had been fixed. We scrambled up and waited. A white moon shone with such brilliance that I could read the inscrip- tion on my matchbox. After some time a shadow came crawling in from one side of the ravine and approached the cow. It was the tiger ! The brute had almost reached the kill wien our portly and over-excited com- missioner rolled off the platform into the ravine! We watched breathlessly. Would the tiger jump on him? Shooting was out of the question. Suddenly our friend pulled himself together and slowly began to crawl on all fours out of the ravine. Strange to say the tiger folluwed his example, but in an opposite direction. Then the tension gave way ! To see the two principal characters in the play sneaking away, as it seemed, from that poor dead cow in the middle was too funny for words, and peal after peal of laughter rang out. Our merriment hastened the tiger’s retreat, but caused the commissioner to stand up and curse in fluent English and Hindustani. He would not let us leave him until we had promised him to keep the matter quiet—and this is my first indiscretion. Just about this time there was consider- able unrest among the natives, finally cul- minating in a rising and the Barisal and Comilla riots, which finished with a three days’ fight in Calcutta. At this juncture we learnt that a certain German Count was travelling up the line bent on a big-game shoot. We were also told that he got out at most of the stations and _boastfully exhibited his wonderful arsenal of rifles to the admiring loafers hanging round the trains. In the circumstances, it was exceed- ingly foolish to do this, as a number of attacks on solitary Europeans travelling by train had taken place, and several had been brutally murdered. In due course our visitor arrived in Lumding, and after a bath, made straight for the club, two men carrying his battery of guns. They were paraded for our inspection, we expressed our admiration, and then, after a drink, our new friend asked us to recommend a good native hunter who could take him to tigers. An animated TIGER TALES. 515 discussion ensued, in which each of us vaunted the merits of his own man. Unfortunately, the German did not know that the wonderful shikarees whose qualities we debated so hotly were in reality our sweepers—men whose work consisted in cleaning up bathrooms and sweeping the houses. At last one Budoo was selected as the only hunter worthy of serving the noble Count, and we promised our guest that we would send him to the rest-house early in order to accompany him on his hunt. Budoo and the Count started off at four in the morning and had a good twenty-mile tramp through virgin forest. Only those who have done it know what that means— thorns and vines interlaced about fallen giants of the forest ; millions of mosquitoes and tiny black leeches that find their way even through the eyelets of one’s boots; black and slimy ground covered with rank undergrowth. At last, when the German was almost dropping with exhaustion, Budoo motioned to him to be quiet and then beckoned to him to crawl through the slime in his wake. Alas! for the gorgeous new hunting costume with the leather strappings! Budoo’s road led through deep morasses and mudholes for the best part of half a mile. Finally, at the ‘edge of a small clearing, he stopped and pointed to a buffalo grazing in the clearing. One shot with an explosive bullet and the animal collapsed, stone-dead. The gallant hunter gave three rousing cheers for himself ; then Budoo took him back to Lumding, promising to have the head cut off and brought in. We were having tea on the veranda in front of the club when the victor appeared and proudly told us of his luck. He had not noticed, apparently, that the road back to Lumding was much shorter than the way out. We pretended to doubt his story, but he told us excitedly: ‘ Vait, vait, the head vill be here tirectly! ” About an hour later some men appeared carrying the head, and deposited it on the veranda steps. A pregnant silence fol- lowed, during which everybody stared with astonishment at the trophy, with its lolling tongue. At last one man spoke in a slow drawl. “I didn’t know that wild buffaloes had rings through their noses,’”’ he remarked. At the same moment—the comedy had been splendidly timed—a haggard-looking native rushed into the compound, threw his arms round the head and wailed in heart-broken accents: ‘‘ My buffalo, oh! my buffalo!” Thereupon the first speaker turned to the astounded Nimrod and told him, in the same unemotional voice: ‘It appears you have shot the buffalo that pulled the one and only town water-cart ! By the next morning our gallant visitor had left us, and we never heard of him again.

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SEQUELS’ AND OTH ER MATTERS The ae MY GRATEFUL THANKS. HE magazine public is generally con- sidered to be “ inarticulate ''—in other 5 words, whether readers like or dislike the contents of a magazine, they do not usually take the trouble to write in and tell the Editor about it. Instead, they either kecp on buying the paper or cease to ‘do so. This may be correct so far as ordinary magazines are con- cerned, but it is certainly not the case with THE WIDE Wor.p. Our readers, I am glad to say, have no hesitation in letting us know what meets with their approval and what does not; more- over, feople ‘‘on the spot ’’. frequently add interesting details to an author's account of a local happening or put us on the track of material likely to suit our pages. To have a keenly- interested public of this kind behind him is a constant support and encouragement to an Editor, and it is because all you good folk take the trouble to write to me that I am penning these lines to express my sincere thanks. Editors are also supposed to be inarticulate, or comparatively so, but they are only human, after all, and I feel that I must reciprocate your kindness and Jet you know how highly your cheery and helpful letters are appreciated. Incidentally, there are one or two other matters that may interest you. WIDE WORLD “SEQUELS.” Our 1eaders cannot have failed to notice the remarkable number of “ sequels ’’ which have recently been cropping up in connection with WIDE WorRLD narratives. We have published the most striking of these, but lack of space has compelled us to hold others over. The latest development, as this issue shows, is a instanced in the striking The “* sequel to a sequel’ little narrative entitled ‘“‘ What Was It?” Author of this story had the incident re- called to his mind by Miss Minnie Martin’s tale ‘‘ The Mystery of the Pool,” which was itself a sequel to Mr. F. W. Cornell’s original description of an un- known monster, called the “Great Thing” by the natives, which is said to lurk in a mist- shrouded pool on the lower reaches of the Orange River. Numerous South African correspondents have confirmed this legend in letters to us, and many of them bear eloquent testimony to the sterling integrity and reliability of Mr. Cornell. Some of our readers may 1emember that this veteran prospector, after years of adventure and hardship in the wildest parts of Africa, was killed by a motor-omnibus in London just after delivering his last article at these offices. Since then several mining men have come to us thinking we might be able to give them clues as to the location of certain rich ‘ finds ’’ Mr. Cornell was believed to Lave made on his last trip, and which are now, seemingly, lost for ever, unless some other searcher comes across them. So highly was the prospector esteemed by those who knew him that one party of three adventurers were constrained to perform a very graceful little act of homage. Having penetrated into the wild country beyond the Orange River —Mr. Cornell's favourite field of search—they there erected, on the mountains he loved so well, a rough memorial bearing his name—the very tribute, one feels, that such a man would Most appreciate. A GREAT MYSTERY. Another story that has aroused much interest and brought forth a flood of corroborative testimony is ‘‘ Eskimo Wireless’ and Sergt. Major C. N. Hayter’s sequel ‘‘ Old Peter.” Remarkable instances of ‘‘ second sight’ and “bush telegraphy ” in all parts of the world have poured in upon us, and it is very evident that a most interesting field of research awaits some painstaking investigator in this direction. Many plausible theories have been advanced to account for the fact that simple natives can “see” things happening hundreds of miles away, or transmit items of news from one end of a country to the other with in- credible rapidity, but the mystery remains to all intents and pur- poses unsolved. In the past whi:e men on the spot have been too much inclined to dismiss all such ‘' na- tive nonsense” as

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“SEQUELS” AND OTHER MATTERS. unworthy of their notice, but this attitude, fortunately, is now disappearing. There are still a great many odd things to te discovered in connection with this strange old world of ours, and the people who live nearest to Nature can undoubtedly give the scientific inquirer most valuable assistance if their aid is invoked in the right way. FOR MEN OUT EAST. Some time ago I ventured to chide our readers in Australia and New Zealand for their com- parative slackness in sending along stories and articles. They used to ask us why we didn’t publish more contributions from ‘‘ down under,” but neither professional writers nor amateurs sent many in. Since I mentioned the matter, however, there has been a gratifying flow of Material from these quarters. I now wish to drop a similar hint to readers in China, Japan, and Eastern waters generally. Does nothing exciting or unusual ever happen out your way, or has Oriental lassitude settled upon you ? It is no use writing: ‘Can't you put in some- thing about China now and then? Queer things occur almost every week,” if you won't take the trouble to send us accounts of the “queer things.” Don’t bother about literary style or polish; if you are not a trained writer it doesn’t matter a rap. We just want the plain, unvarnished facts, set down exactly as a man would tell a story to his friends, without any “frills ’’ or straining after effect. I hope I shall soon be hearing from some of you. “THE MOST INTERESTING JOB IN LONDON!” A man came into my office the other day and, having transacted his business, looked at me 517 contemplatively. ‘I envy you,” he said. “TI think yours must be the most interesting job in London! You meet the people who are doing unusual things—the explorers, the adventurers from the back of beyond, all the folks who escape the humdrum of round ordinary existence. You hear their stories at first hand, you learn about the queer things that never get into the newspapers, and all the time you're learning. The world must be just a fascinating book to you, in which you turn fresh pages every day.” My friend was right; mine is an interesting job—a sheer joy to me. I have been at it now for a good many years, but its interest never flags; and, as he said, I am learning all the time. Our visitors come from every corner of the globe, and the tales they have to tell, whether intended for publication or not, are usually well worth listening to. I turn many “ fresh pages ”” day by day and month by month, but their variety is never-ending, their lure perennial. Sometimes, of course, one gets disappointments —a _ carefully-thought-out programme = goes wrong, or an expedition that one hoped great things of ends in failure—but always one is heartened by the unswerving support of what is surely the most loyal and generous body of readers any magazine ever had. Once again, good friends at Home and Overseas, let me say “ Thank you!” with all my heart. Te Fan | “THE RESURRECTION OF KLAAS.” | ANOTHER “WIDE WORLD” CORROBORATED. UR readers will remember the remarkable little story we published some months ago, entitled ‘‘ The Resurrection of Klaas,” and describing how a Kaffir ** boy,’’ pulled down in midstream by a crocodile and dragged uncon- scious to its river-bank lair, came to his sen.es while the brute was ab:ent and succeeJed in digging his way through the roof of the den and escaping. A correspondent has kindly drawn our attention to the fact that Mrs. M. H. Bradley, the well-known authoress, corroborates this STORY narrative in her book ‘‘ On the Gorilla Trail.’ Mrs. Bradley writes: “ Major Hamilton, for Many years game warden in British East vouches for the story of a young man who w pulled down and held under water until tle crocodile judged he was drowned. The youn: man revived in a black, wet cave in the riv bank, worn by the waters when high, but just now at the river level. He was uninjured, but he did not dare try to crawl out towards the river, where the crocodile might be, so he clawed at the earth above him and succeeded in breaking his way through the sod overhead and making his escape.”

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518 WHAT WAS IT ? SHORT time ago my at- tention was drawn to a story in the issue of THE WIDE WoRLD MaGa- ZINE for April, Dunk Bowen ILLUSTRATED BY G WwW. Goss bility that some strange beast or reptile does actually exist in the river. The country through which the Orange runs in the latter stages 1925, entitled “ The Mystery of the Pool,” which interested me very much. lam South African by birth, have spent prac- Reading our story “The Mystery of the Pool”— itself a sequel to another curious narrative—the Author was reminded of his own experiences in search of the “Great Thing” and a subsequent adventure with a mysterious monster that he was unable to identify, but which appeared to be a survivor of some prehistoric species. of its course con- sists of low-lying sandy desert. This desert is rainless, but is almost continu- ally shrouded in a dense fog caused tically the whole = = of my life—over forty years—in Africa, and have a knowledge of the continent, from Lake Edward south- ward, which very few white men_ possess. I am familiar with practically all the native dialects of the southern half of Africa, and for more than twenty years have been employed almost continually by the various African Colonial Governments as guide- interpreter and adviser on obscure native questions. My experience has not been confined to the British Possessions ; I have also served under the Belgian, Portuguese, and late German Governments, I mention these facts merely to show that I possess some claim to speak with authority on questions concerning the country. Ido not for a moment dispute the accuracy of your contributors’ stories of the mys- terious “ Thing,” which is said by the natives to inhabit the lower reaches of the Orange River. On the contrary, the tale is well known to me. I have made several journeys to the Richtersveld and have heard the story both from the natives (Hottentots) and from the missionary, who has lived for very many years in this remote and little-known locality. The name of the “ Thing,”” as pronounced in the Nama tongue, is not Ki-man, but Qayi-m- qana, (1 use the generally accepted Jdantu spelling; the “q’s”’ are pronounced as loud clicks.) Several different pools were pointed out to me as being haunts of this mysterious “ Thing,” and I made many attempts to get a glimpse of it, but without success. My lack of success, however, does not in any way dispose of the proba- by the contact of the cold Ben- guela Current with the warm land. The river itself and its vicinity are in par- ticular almost always mist-shrouded ; not once have I been able to see more than thirty yards of clear water. Sach being the conditions, it is obviously impossible to make any really complete investigation. I tried a similar experiment to that made by your contributor Mr. F. W. Cornell— that of throwing a dynamite cartridge into one of the pools indicated as a probable lurking-place of the “ Thing.” The explo- sion was followed by a tremendous clattering noise, as if huge wings or flappers were furiously beating the surface of the water. The sounds receded towards the farther shore, but the fog prevented my ascertaining its cause. The natives declared that it was undoubtedly made by the ‘‘Qayi-m-qana,” but I am inclined to think that its more probable cause was the flight of a vast flock of startled waterfowl, for this part of the river is the haunt of large numbers of flamingo. So the matter of the ‘ Great Thing ”’ remains a mystery. Stories of gigantic snakes, crocodiles, and other monsters—which may or may not be fabulous—are common throughout Africa. It is unfortunately the fashion among the white inhabitants to treat all such tales as fables, a habit of mind which prevents any proper investigation by those who live on the spot. Personally, from a very excep- tional knowledge of the natives, I believe that all such tales have—or had—consider- able foundation in fact. I myself have killed snakes and crocodiles of dimensions

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far exceeding those which zoologists cite as the maximum, but as I have no means of substantiating my statements, I refrain from giving measurements. On one occasion only have I encountered a creature that I was unable to classify. In the year 1908 I was engaged by the Portuguese Government to lead an expedi- tion into the little-known country: lying between the Port of Mozambique and Lake Nyassa. This territory is almost uninhabited and, as a study of any map will show, is still unsurveyed. It is a wild region of swamps, jungles, and detached ranges of mountains. The experience which I am now about to relate occurred at a point about a hundred and fifty miles north-west of Mozambique. I was encamped, with an advance party of native soldiers, by the banks of a slow- running, reedy river of considerable size— a river which was (and, so far as my know- ledge goes, still is) without a name. My head “ boy,” a Zulu, remarked that the place was fagatshwa (bewitched). It cer- tainly looked eerie and depressing enough, but I imagined that crocodiles and mos- quitoes were the worst foes likely to be encountered. We had with us_ several donkeys which we used as pack-animals ; it was then believed, though the theory has since been proved to be il!-founded, that donkeys were immune to the bite of the tsetse fly. To prevent the animals wandcring to the water's edge and thus falling victims to the crocodiles I gave orders that they should be secured some distance from the river. The natives made their bivouac between the animals and the water, while I pitched my camp on rising ground some distance beyond, in hope of avoiding the Mosquitoes. Thad been asleep for some hours when I was aroused by a chorus of yells from the Native encampment. I sprang up instantly and grabbing my rifle—a heavy old- fashioned weapon—rushed down to them. For a moment I could distinguish nothing amid the babel except such words as “ umtagati” “ ingwenya,” “ mambamaquba,” etc. (wi th-thing, crocodile, snake-man— imaginary monster). A few sharp words restored a degree of calm, and I then learned that one of our donkeys had disappeared—had, in fact, been dragged from the place where it had been tethered into the river. The tracks were plain—even in the dim light—for a child to read. I examined them with the aid of a lantern and saw that they led Straight through the native camp to the spot at which the missing animal had been tied up. The marauder must have passed among the sleeping men, I thought, and was about to remark on the strangeness of this behaviour when an exclamation from the head “boy” drew my attention to WHAT WAS IT? 519 another set of tracks running from the river at an angle. The beast that had made them had evidently missed the men and come direct to where the unfortunate donkey stood. I flashed the lamp on the trachs. “ Crocodile,” I remarked in Zulu; “a big one, too.” The * boy ’’ looked hard at the marks for a’moment ; then he shook his head. ‘' No,” he said. ‘‘ No crocodile made those tracks.” I studied the prints again more closely. The tracks were certainly very like tlose of a large crocodile, yet there was some inderinable difference. Among white men 1 am regarded as an expert tracker, but I am not the equal of a Zulu hunter. If Mbombo said the tracks were not made by a crocodile, then I was quite prepared to believe him. Another circumstance inclined me to doubt the accuracy of my_ first impression. The donkeys had keen tied up quite a hundred yards from the river, and in all my experience of crocodiles I have never heard of one seeking its prey at such a distance from the water. I have come across many cases of oxen, antelopes, and even butfalo being seized while drinking and dragged down and drowned, but never have I known or heard of a crocodile behaving as this beast—whatever it was—had done. Three of the soldiers had actually seen the donkey being dragged to the river, but not one of them could give a coherent account of what he saw. All were united in declaring the marauder to be a “ spirit ’’—that is to say, something supernatural. I was not content to let matters rest thus, and decided to make an attempt to scttle accounts with our mysterious visitor. The following night I had one of the donkeys tied up as a bait within a few yards of the water’s edge, and with the Zulu, Mbombo, sat myself down to keep watch from a clump of high reeds some twenty yards distant. Our vigil was not a pleasant one, but I have had many worse. Nothing occurred to disturb us till the first streaks of dawn began to show in the East; then a faint rippling splash sounded from the water, a wave lapped the shore, and a soft rustle of the reeds by the bank showed that our patience was to be rewarded. The light was now increasing rapidly, and I had no difficulty in distinguishing a reptilian form drawing itself from the water. At first I thought it to be a crocodile, but as it emerged fully I saw that whatever it was, it certainly was not a crocodile. It had a long oval-shaped head, a distinct neck —which no crocodile has—and a body and tail much longer and more sinuous. Above all it completely lacked the characteristic gnarled scaly sk The skin of this beast was smooth, and seemed to shimmer in the half-light like that of a snake. Indeed, it looked to me exactly like a monitor lizard— were it possible to conceive a lizard fifteen

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520 or more feet in length. The head, however, appeared to be larger in proportion to its body than that of the common monitor, and its neck somewhat shorter. - Slowly the thing crawled towards the now furiously-struggling donkey ; then it paused and arched its neck—another thing which no crocodile ever does. This was my chance, and I seized it ; 1 planted a two-ounce bullet in the centre of that upraised neck, breaking the spine, as I afterwards discovered, and thereby killing it instantly. It was daylight inside half an hour, and I then proceeded to examine my prize minutely. In all respects it appeared to be a gigantic lizard, save only for its teeth, which were distinctly crocodile teeth, and its head, which, as already stated, was considerably larger in proportion to its length of body. But could a lizard attain to this enormous size? I asked miyeelts (It measured from snout to tip of tail five long paces—roughly fifteen feet.) Unfortunately, I was never to learn. An hour later I received a message from the main body that my presence was urgently needed, and it was four days before I again THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. returned to my camping-ground. When I got back there was not a trace of my strange prize! My “ boys’’ had taken advantage of my absence to propitiate the “ spirits ” by a grand sacrificial feast of which the chief item was the body of the reptile. Having gorged themselves with its flesh, they made a funeral pyre of the bones and scattered the ashes over the waters. The skin and teeth they divided among them to. be treasured as magic charms. I endeavoured to retrieve some of these relics, but only succeeded in recovering a few small pieces of the-skin and three teeth. “Slowly the thing crawled toward the donkey ; then it paused and ‘arched its A neck.” Some years-later I showed the teeth and scraps of skin to Dr. Mendoza, a well-known Portuguese Naturalist, who was afterwards killed in the Great War. He pronounced the skin to be that of a lizard and the teeth to be crocodile teeth, but with some rather unusual characteristics. When I asked him if the skin and teeth could be those of one teptile he looked at me so curiously that I was afraid to tell him their story. I much regret that I am unable to say whether the teeth and pieces of skin are still in existence, for I lost most of my collection of curios at the outbreak of the War. I was, at the time, in the employ of the German East African Government, and was promptly arrested as a British subject. I managed to escape into British territory, but lost the whole of my collection. The relics of the “lizard” may have been among them.

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521 THE CROCODILE CHARMERS Anot etrertioary 4 PHOLd Mola OF MELOEWOENG, JAVA, BRITISH FAST INDIES. ILLUSTRATED BY TOM PEDDIE read with even greater interest after Mr. Mitchell-Hedges’ recent account of the giant crocodiles of Central America. The Western hunter goes after these dangerous brutes with a powerful rifle; the says Mr. Mola, makes HE reception sceptics to Rougemont’s Javanese witch-doctor, love to them, induces accorded by sundry the late Louis de narrative offers little inducement to sensitive people to describe unusual happenings, lest they also should be regarded by stay-at-home folk as incorrigible liars. : Poor old De Rougemont having since been fully vindicated, Lowever, I venture to send to THE WIDE WoRLD MaGazineE this absolutely unvarnished description of how Native witch-doctors or ‘‘ wise men” (orang pintar) in Java entice man-eating crocodiles from the rivers, and induce them to follow like dogs and even allow themselves to be lashed to trees and their mouths tied up. The great brutes make not the slightest attempt at resistance—provided always that no one other than the orang pintar himself approaches or takes liberties. When this happens the crocodile “ wakes up” with a vengeance, and the meddler risks a broken leg from the sweep of its powerful tail, or a horrible death in its great jaws. And now to my narrative ! Summoned one evening by the beating of a wooden gong, the natives from far and near were brought together to be told by the foera (headman of a group of villages) that while bathing in the river that same after- noon a man had been seized by a crocodile and carried away. The usual search for the body was immediately instituted, and—as in almost every case—it was finally found, with a limb gone, hidden away until it should attain that state of decomposition indis- pensable to tle saurian’s idea of palatability. The Soendanese natives of Java firmly believe that if a man is seized, the crocodile who takes him must be a female, and vice ‘assume the sex of the victim. them to follow him like pet dogs, and so leads them to their death! “I have set down just a plain statement of what I saw and heard,” writes the Author, “and anyone who doubts its authenticity can see the same thing enacted a dozen times, in a dozen different parts of Java, in as many months.” versa. The orang pintar is nearly always called in by the relatives to capture the brute in order that they may be avenged, and to obtain an influence over the particular crocodile concerned, the ‘‘ wise man ”’ has to In this case, as a man had been taken, the “‘ wise man ”’ remained male, but if—as in a more recent instance—a woman should be the victim, he dons women’s clotl.es and for the time being becomes to all intents and purposes a woman. Only women may approach him to attend to his needs, and his speech and actions are entirely governed by his assumed sex. When he takes the part of a man, no woman may have anything to do with him ; even his own wife must keep away, and Le gives his whole attention for the time being to “‘ wooing ”’ the crocodile. Having been requested to take up a “case,” the orang pintar's first proceeding is to locate tl.e particular pool or backwater which tlie man-eater he is seeking favours as its headquarters. To do this, in the case Iam describing, he spent day after day up- river and down-river, examining every likely spot until at last, after ten days of patient search, he found it. This important matter settled, the ‘wise man” set himself to courting the lady, going to her haunts daily and endeavouring, in ways best known to himself, to win not only her “love” but, more important still, her trust. He addressed her exactly as a lover would his sweetheart, adopting the flowery language which only an Oriental can use, promising her a life of luxury and ease if she would only trust him and come to him. It is extraordinary to think of a man employing such phrases to a loathsome man-eating crocodile, but it is nevertheless a fact! The most specious

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522 flattery is employed; no lovesick swain ever used more passionate entreaties than these crocodile-charmers. This amazing ormance went on until the thirty-ninth day after the victim’s death, when the orang pintar announced that, the morrow being the fortieth and final day of the selamatan, or feast for the dead, he would celebrate the occasion by calling the guilty crocodile from the river. I was invited to witness the ceremony, but not wishing to have anything to do with “utter nonsense,’ as I called the whole business, I at first refused to go. I had no desire to appear to countenance such superstitious hocus-pocus and come back fooled. Finally, however, on thinking the matter over, I decided to be present, if only to show silent, haughty scorn at the “ wise man’s “ failure. In due course we reached that part of the Tiver where the “lady’’ crocodile lived, which I was told was quite a considerable distance from where her victim’s body had been found. The “ lover,’’ the orang pintar, came supplied with a native-made hook dangling at the end of a rope which might THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. have served for a calf, but was certainly not strong enough to hold a crocodile of any size. To the hoox were attached a live fowl and a float. Then, while the rest of us watched from the background, the “charming” com- menced. tanding at the edge of the water, the ‘‘wise man” poured out soul-stirring entreaties. “Oh, 'y beloved, come to me!” he chanted. ‘‘ How long must I wait here and plead ? Marry me, and you shall never want. All that 1 have will I give you, only come to me and love me as I love you. Come! Oh come, my beloved!” He went on in this fashion for so long, ringing tie changes on his phrases now and then, that my attention began to wander, and I regretted I had not brought a camp- stool and some lunch. Suddenly 1 was jerked back to interest by a sigh of surprise from the other members of the audience, and, looking at the spot upon which all eves were fixed, I saw the long dark shape of a crocodile slowly rising in the water, with a forward movement towards the “ charmer.” Everyone remained still, hardly daring to breathe, lest any sound or gesture might disturb either the man or the saurian. Slowly, very slowly, it came to the surface and remained there motionless, with only the knobs of the eyes and a part of the fringe of the serrated tail showing above water. The orang pintar, still urging his suit in eloquent terms, now made ready his hook and fowl. ‘‘ Here is a sample of what you will receive when you come to me,” he said, softly. ‘ Take it, my darling!” He threw the line ; there was a leap and a snap, and in a second the hapless fowl had disappeared, The sharp jerk drove home the hook, with the result that the startled mon- ster disappeared in a swirl of water, thougn, “The ‘charmer’ just walked ahead, and ™ |

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THE CROCODILE CHARMERS OF JAVA. 523 judging by the slackness of the line, she made calmly and without hurry, the ‘“ charmer” no attempt to get away. tied the brute up until it was entirely Still the “ wise man” went on with his helpless, and then a native official, keeping love-talk, calling to her and pleading with her to return, and at last, incredible as it seems, the crocodile re- appeared and unresistingly allowed herself to be gently drawn ashore ! Now this _ particular river, in the dry season, has steep banks thirty feet high, yet up the slope she came, the line hanging loosely from her mouth, and followed the “ wise man,” for all the world like a pet dog on a lead, for a distance of about half a mile or more! There was no hesitation, no stopping; the “charmer” just walked ahead and the crocodile waddled on after him, while the rest of us brought up the rear at a respectful distance. I would have given anything just then for a good camera ! Arrived at the orang pintar’s house, he led the brute to the foot of a nanka tree, to which she allowed him to lash her firmly with the hook-rope from her mouth. He then bound her jaws together, the crocodile making no move whatever, though she wagged her great tail once or twice, just like a dog. Working quite the crocodile waddled on after him.”

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524 well out of reach, deemed it safe to stretch out his arm and tweak the tip of the brute's tail. Then, indeed, she awoke, and had she been free there would have been some casualties, but the lashings were strong and well tied and the crocodile’s convulsive wrigglings soon ceased. Once his prize was safely bound the “ wise man” appeared to take no further interest in the beast, but the people, crowding round the monster, began to revile and reproach it for killing their friend and relative. The dead man’s wife looked on in silence at first, her face impassive and inscrutable, but after a time she pushed to the front and added her quota of native epithets. Thus helplessly tied, the man-eater is usually left until death releases it. This particular specimen, however—she was nearly thirteen feet long—was bought by a railway official for her skin, and was accordingly shot next day. These recurrent tragedies with crocodiles seem to have very little effect on the natives. That very day I saw an old man, all by himself, bathing in the same river, and farther on two girls were wading out into deep water, their light-coloured bodies a beckoning signal to any crocodile that might be lurking near, motionless and unseen. Spite of the fact that so many disasters occur the natives have no fear; their faith in the powers of the orang pintar and the workings of fate are astonishing. After the charming was over I spoke to the wife of the man who had been killed. ‘‘ You people ask to be taken,” I told her, whereupon she replied quietly: ‘‘ It was written that my husband must die by that crocodile. Had he not gone into the water, it would have taken him on land. If a man is destined to die by any other death, no crocodile will THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. touch him, even if he stays in the river day and night.” Only a few weeks later a ten-year-old girl was taken by a six-foot crocodile, and I heard that it was a male, and was in due course ‘‘charmed”” and captured by the orang pintar, this time posing as a woman, What I have set down in this article is no effort of the imagination, nor do I pose as a raconteur. It is just a plain statement of what I actually saw and heard here in Java, and anyone who doubts its authen- ticity may see the same thing enacted a dozen times, in a dozen different parts of Java, in as many months. I had always refused to believe the stories I was told concerning the wonderful powers of these orang pintars, and whilst I was following the crocodile and its captor, the foremost of the crowd, it seemed to me that I must be dreaming or hypnotized, and I looked round for someone wearing boots whom I might ask to kick me into recognized consciousness, At that moment I tripped on a stump, and the scare I got—thinking I had caught up and fouled the crocodile— made me decide beyond all doubt that I was wide awake. People boast of their travels the world over, but the vast majority of them keep to the beaten tracks and never touch even the fringe of the unknown. I was told once: ‘‘ Only fools choose to live the life you do!” It may be so, but sometimes folks like myself reap the wisdom of folly. There are places where the wisest of the West may learn strange and wonderful things, and in some of the out-of-the way corners of the earth the apparently simple natives still cherish secrets that are completely unknown to our boasted civilization. THE SMALLEST HOUSE IN_ IRELAND. THE photograph here reproduced shows what is believed to be the smallest and loneliest house in Ireland. It is situated in the middle of ‘' Pros- perous Bog,” a portion of the great Bog of Allen, in County Kildare. The cabin is built of mud and clay, thatched with rushes, and contains only one room, about ten feet by eight, hghted by a single tiny window. It is the per- manent and only residence of its builders —two brothers who make a living by peat- digging in the bog. The nearest village is five miles away, and the picture gives some indication of the utter loneliness and dreari- ness of the surroundings.

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The lwo Stran 525 ers Ye DR CEELLIS ILLUSTRATED BY STANLEY LLOYD The Author thought he knew a “bunco man” when he met one, immune to these gentry and their wiles. and that he was Then came a meeting with two harmless prospectors, and this little story relates what “‘bunco-men,” or ~ “ confidence tricksters,’’ always had a _fascina- tion for me. Fancying myself com- letely immune from their specious wiles, Vheld their victims in great contempt. My formula for escaping their snares was simplicity itself. e ‘* bunco-man ”' always: makes the first approach, I argued; therefore, if you decline whatever proposition they put up you are safe. While travelling about the country this test twice gave me warning of danger, much to my satisfaction. Then came an occasion when my trusted rule failed to apply, and I found not only my money but my life in jeopardy. It hap- pened on a trip I made some years ago to the Homestake mines at Lead, in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Having once tasted the sweets of a successful mining venture. in the state of Nevada. I was ever after interested in geology. My chief enjoy- ment ‘lay in_ collecting specimens of “ character- istic ore’ from the various notable mining-camps that I found excuse to visit. The morning after my arrival in Lead I left the hotel and wandered blithely away into the adjoining hills, filling my pockets with quartz speci- mens. Realizing the need ESCRIPTIONS of encounters with D those shifty gentry known as The Author “panning” a specimen. of competent supervision in my selection, it was with pleasure I observed two men busy at a tunnel-mouth down the hillside. Hastening over to them, I introduced myself and stated my errand. In turn I was invited to join my new acquaintances in the occupation I had interrupted— sampling the contents of an earthen jug. This hospitality being a somewhat formal and compelling Western custom in those days, I tipped up the jug and took a short nip. My moderation, however, called forth hearty protest from both men, a circumstance I was later to recall. One of the pair, having examined my specimens, declared them fair, but very inferior in value to some in another part of the camp where the original “‘ bonanza ores ”” had been discovered. After an un- satisfactory attempt to give me directions he offered to take’ me there himself if I would accom- any him over the hill to is cabin to get his lan- tern. Greatly elated at my good fortune, I agreed. ~ Leaving the other man sitting on a powder-box beside the jug we set forth. On the way over the hill my new friend amusingly explained the cause of his present leisure — a spree which had resulted in his being “‘ fired” by the mine- boss. He assured me, however, that he was a valuable man, and it was only a question of a day or

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526 two before the boss sent for him to come back to work. The cabin—the crumbling remains of a once-pretentious cottage—stood quite alone in a gully. At the tottering gate my guide paused to ask my name again. I heard a scurry of feet within as we approached the front door. Having with some difficulty achieved entrance, my host Jooked about and called towards the rear: “Come in here, dear; I want you to meet a friend of mine.” A slight creaking of the floor was the only response. Passing over this situation without embar- rassment the man brought forth from a table drawer a small bottle filled with black dust which he assured me was “ free gold” collected in the course of his many years in the camp. This he gencrously insisted upon my accepting as a gift—with a trifling condition attached. He would accept in exchange—to take away the bad luck of out-right giving—some monetary token. The present cffered having greater senti- mental value to him than to me I tried to decline, but saw I could not do so without offence. Besides the fairly large roll of bills I carried, I happened to have in my trousers pocket a solitary silver dollar, and this I ceremoniously handed him. The crucial nature of this little transaction I was to comprehend later. While we sat and conversed regarding mines and mining there shyly stole into the room an ill-clad, frail-looking little girl of three, who sidled towards her father, keeping big inquiring eyes fixcd upon my face. After some further talk my host again called to his wife, ordering her to stir herself and get us something to cat---though it was then but the middle of the forenoon. Receiving a growl of refusal, evidently expected, he caught up his lantern from a corner and we took our departure, much to my relief. For some distance we followed a faint trail winding this way and that among a profusion of old tunnels, shafts, and waste- dumps, on which young pines had established themselves. At length we reached a wide pit, perhaps thirty feet deep, the “ glory hole ” of some early mining operations, and plunged down the steep bank toward the mouth of a dark tunnel at the base of the far wall. In the nightmares of my childhood high walls cutting off my cape from some terrible ogre had always played a promi- nent part, and suddenly the familiarity of the setting burst upon my inner conscious- ness with stunning force. Instantly the danger of my situation occurred to me. Here was I, admittedly a newcomer to the country, alone with an utter stranger in an un{frequented spot. A blow on the head THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. from behind, shafts and winzes innumerable down which my body might be tossed, after my pockets had been rifiled—and there would be another mysterious disappearance ! _My mind leaped to a chain of sinister circumstances—the odd behaviour of the woman at the cabin, my guide’s eager interest in my money, the men urging me todrink. At the thought of the second man 1 swept the rim of the pit with a nervous glance, expecting to see my guide’s accom- plice. “ You are not getting cold feet, are you ? ” laughed my companion, as he paused at the tunnel-mouth to light his lantern. “Oh, no,’’ I assured him, as casually as possible. ‘‘ But I was just wondering what my partner would think had become of me.” I said this in order to make him believe I might have left my “ roll’ behind, and also that I should soon be missed. Thankful for the good fortune that had supplied me with the non-committal dollaz, and trusting for its continuation, I followed the stranger into the tunnel. As we stumbled onwards I began to think of the other man, and the part he was to play. Would he come in from behihd and block my retreat ? Momentarily I expected to see the daylight that sifted in at my back shut off. : About fifty feet along the tunnel proper ended, and a heap of debris from ‘' gopher- ing’ operations made further advance impossible except on hands and knees. At this point my guide stood aside for me to pass, announcing that the richest ore ever found in the Black Hills came from “ in there.” As the place indicated was a small chamber that could be reached only by crawling— a most defenceless position—I immediately assured him that the specimens within reach would suit me nicely. While I was momentarily giving my attention to a scrutiny of the ore something warned me of impending danger. I whirled about, to discover my obliging conductor between me and the tunnel entrance, in the very act of picking up a triangular chunk of slate heavy enough to fell an ox. The exact counterpart of his piece lay on the ground, with its long angle towards me, and I immediately seized it. As we straightened up we came face to face, our prehistoric battleaxes raised aloft. Thus we posed, studying one another’s eyes uncertainly, fur what seemed ages. Slowly, with a pretence of testing its weight, my companion began to raise and lower his chunk of ore. Not to be outdone, J followed his example, and there we stood, brandishing our odd weapons under each other’s noses. At length, seeing that I was prepared for any eventuality, my amiable acquaintance teduced his strokes to harmless proportion and gravely made the incredible announce-

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THE TWO STRANGERS. 527 “Thus we posed, studying one another’s eyes uncertainly, for what seemed ages.” ment that in his opinion, the specimen he “ Bosh!” I returned. held would assay by weight half gold. Seeing Thereupon he proposed a small bet of my contemptuous incredulity he explained: _ five dollars a side as to the value of the ore— “ Man alive, this is gold oxide Africanus!” not that he was ordinarily a betting man, he

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528 added, and he might even be wrong---but just to back his faith in the camp. His words were fair enough, but I was reading his eyes, and I could detect his sinister interest in the state of my purse. Once again I thanked my stars he had seen only the dollar ! “Gold oxide Africanus,” I mused, and I warily examined my lump of ore, meanwhile seeking for an avenue of escape. Dropping his slab reassuringly on the ground, the man reached for mine, proposing to show me the veins of gold. “Tl keep it till I get outside, where the light is better,” Isaid, and I moved towards him. For an instant he hesitated; then he reluctantly turned and, still urging a bet, preceded me out into the beautiful sunlight. ““ Now what do you say ? ” he demanded. “Tsay that you are an infernal scoundrel,” I told him, ‘‘ and I’ll have you run out of camp !” With a glance of utter consternation, first at me, and then round the rim of the pit, he turned away, broke into a run, scrambled up the steep bank, and disappeared from view. THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE. Fearing the presence of his accomplice, I climbed out scarcely less hurriedly and made my way back to town by a circuitous route. Should I notify the authorities ? I asked myself. The man, however, had committed no offence of which I could complain. Perhaps, after all, this was his first attempt at a crime, and the scare I had given him might prove his salvation. My imagination took me back to the cabin, and the innocent eyes of that little child looked into mine. However, I told my story to the hotel proprietor, who showed much interest, and seemed to think I had had a very narrow escape. Some time afterward I received at my home address a marked copy of a Lead newspaper, in which was an account of a round-up of dangerous crooks and their Sepulson from the camp. have never assayed the sand in the bottle. A test would be illuminative of the giver’s moral status, but would also destroy much of its fascination and peculiar usefulness to me. Periodically I grow too cocksure in my opinions—and then I run across that little bottle and become duly chastened ! the ppt parts of Fal robber Case, Persons are slwa: “ENGLISH AS S A CHINESE READER in Kienningfu, Fukien, China, A sends us the Chinese native bank-note which is here reproduced. It will be noticed that the ‘ English’’ is decidedly quaint, but, as our correspondent points out, i HE IS WRITTEN.” BANK-NOTE. it sufficiently explains itself. This particular: note, the reverse side of which is shown in our facsimile, is executed in blue and red, with 4 certain amount of protective over-printing ¢5 4 safeguard against forgery. jtized by (SOC bs | | | | :

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Actual Fun / Anyone can now learn to draw with this startling new home- study method. Why don’t you become an artist in your spare time? Good artists earn from $50 to far over $300 a week. ILLIONS of dollars are being spent this year for Advertising and Story Illustrations, Commercial Designs, and Cartoons. Single drawings are bringing as high as $1000! Commercial Art has become one of the world’s best paid businesses—besides the most attractive. And now you can easily be- come an artist—with just a few minutes’ study a day—a few minutes of real pleasure! You don’t need previous training. You don’t need any mysterious alent. No matter how poorly you draw now, you can learn right at home in spare time how to illustrate, design and make cartoons of every description. New Easy Way To Become An Artist Become an artist this new easy way. Thousands who never dreamed they could draw are now good artists. Many of our most successful students never touched a drawing pencil before starting. It's real fun learning to draw this way —at home during con- venient moments. All your work receives through the mail the in- dividual attention of trained in- structors and the personal criti- cism of one of America’s most successful artists. It's like study- ing directly under a famous in- structor. Almost before you real- ize it, you will be able to make professional drawings —the kind that are in big demand in the field of commercial art. Good artists are in tremendous demand. The newspaper want ad section is about always filled “fers opportunities beyond with calls for trained artists. Big money is gladly paid. And now you can learn to draw and can get your share of t i i commercial art. Why work at uninteresting poor- ly-paid work, when you can become an artist and get into work that you can put your heart into? Commercial Art of- an wildest imagination. earn more about these opportunities and how you can take advantage of them, Get full details on this won- derful new method which makes learning to draw real fun. The attached coupon will bring you a newly published book on commercial art, which gives all the most up- to-date information on this fascinating field. It de- scribes in full this startling new easy way of learning to draw. It tells all about our graduates—their successes what they say about their training — actual reproduc- tions of their work and how many of them earned far more than the cost of their training while taking it. If you are the slightest bit interested in drawing, you will want to see this hand- somely illustrated new book onart. It will be sent to you without cost or the slightest obligation. Send for it—to- day. Cut out the coupon and mail it now. The Washington School of Art, Inc. Room 707£ 1115-15th St., N.W., Washington, D.C. Digtzed ty GOOQIE mi z) M\ Will alt Agra NY

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ighty Stori ‘of History Told in Fascinating Story Form HINK of being able to read—in easy story form— A { the stirring events that have made the world’s history. D ) eminent position as an historian is due largely to his wonderful, flov yle nootherhistorian haseverequ: -Ridpath, theprofound scholar, the autho arthorties, has written I sols 2 slike a great novel. Ridpath takes: | through the life ot the past. You ancient tians, you go with the! Valestine.y’ Ik through thestrectsot Parisduringthe bloody daysartheF e] Pick up Ridpath’s History at any point and you thrilling sto to happen before your very eye: In th epoch making times, a knowledge of history is mo than ever before. It gives you a clear understanding of the t tions and tremendous movements that are affecting the lives of of us in the world today. You realize what brought them abou THE LION HEART they may be expected to lead to. In Dr, Ridpath’s incomparable’ pa . uire an unusual backround of learning and culture, and at AT ACRE. e you enjoy the most fascinating reading you can obtai RIDPATH’S History W. Including a Full Account of the we J Long recognized as standard authority, Ridpath is endorsed bya. a million Americans who own and lov ncludins residents States, the heads of practically all siti of our country's leading scholars, statesmen and business men, 6,000 Years of Histo New edition of nine handsome Royal Octavo volumes, just evised and brought down to the minute, this new edition of Rid tory of the World gives you a complete and accurate account of! history from the dawn of time down to the administration of o1 ident Harding, including a full, authentic and ur biased account of War and the Washington conference. Ridpath covers every na vace, every time, and holds you spellbound with his wonderful History Book—F ond coupon for beautifully illustrated 46-page history book, sent or cbligation, ‘This book contains sample pages and pictures: | ath's History of the World and shows ast I ve again for youtosee, The edition of E mplet -d.and we shall write you fu of publisher's u y payment offer. We publish thi al offer broadcast, and will name the very low convenient terms of payment only in a direct s of this magazine. Send today for | Learn about this speci n. Fill out coupon and n while you are thinking of it. Send Ridpath Hi torical 1829 United Bank Bldg., e mail, without cost or obligation tom history book contsining sample sand full description of new edi History of the World, ‘ talinat yourepestel lle abel ayment offer to readers Of the Wide Wu Digitized by Google

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ighty Storie of History Told in Fascinating Story Form 'HINK of being able to read—in easy story form—abou the stirring events that have made the world’s history. Dr. eminent position as an historian is due largely to his wonderful, flowing a style noother historian hasever equalled. Ridpath, theprofound scholar, the pee authorities, has written history so that it reads like a great novel. Ridpath tal through the life of the past. You live among the ancient tians, you go with ont Palestine, you walk through thestreetsof Parisduringthe ebloody daysofthe French Pick up Ridpath’s History at any point and you wil thrilling story—an account of some great historical occurrence thi to happen before your very eyes. In these epoch making times, a knowledge of history is more than ever before. It gives you a clear understanding of the turb tions and tremendous movements that are affecting the lives of of us in the world today. You realize what brought them about they may be expected to lead to. In Dr, Ridpath’s incomparable acquire an unusual backround of learning and culture, and at the time you enjoy the most fascinating reading you can obtain RIDPATH’S. History @24 Including a Full Account of the World War Long recognized as standard authority, Ridpath is endorsed bya ter of a million Americans who own and love eit, includin, Presidents of th States, the heads of practically all universities and colleges, and th of our country’s leading scholars, statesmen and business men, 6,000 Years of Histo New edition of nine handsome Royal Octavo volumes, just of Revised and brought down to the minute, this new edition of Rid) tory of the World gives you a complete and accurate account of history from the dawn of time down to the administration of our Tate t Harding, includi and the Washington conference. idpath covers every nation, Flistocy Book—FRE) Send coupon for beautifully illustrated 46-page history book, sent ft cost or cbligation. This book contains sample pages and pictures directly from Ridpath's History of the World and shows you how Ridpath makes the great past live again for you to see. The beautiful ne edition of Ridpath’sis completely described, and we shali write youfulld tai of publisher's unusual low price ana payment offer. publish this special offer broadcast, and will name the very low pet convenient terms of payment only in a direct letter of this magazine. Send today for the fi tory book. Learn about this special offe No obligation. Fill out coupon and mail n while you are thinking of a 1829 United Bank Bldg., Cincinsatl, - . } ‘lease mail, without cost or obligation tome, the’ Rigrar Rinhw © history book ee oF ‘sample p b ye-2 editior eee dd rere... Digtized by Google oe

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Chief Draftsman Dobe, 1951 Lawrence Ave., Send me your Great Special Offer ope your book, "Successful Draftsmanship.” No obligation on my part. Plenty of Well Paid Drafting Jobs! Pll Train You to Fit In! petent draftsman and designer for large apartment house work in Philadelphia; at least one year’s work to stort immediately; salary $75 to $85 per week. In reply. state briefly experience, age and soonest date available. Could YOU make good in one of these jobs? Would you like to? Only skilled men are wanted. No chance for the man who wants to learn “on the job.” I can train you at home. I have trained thou- sands of others. Many are earning $3500 a year — and more. Right now is the time to learn this trade. More and more draftsmen will be needed. My training is the practical kind. It fits you to make good right from the go. I know what other Chief Draftsmen want because I have hired and worked draftsmen for 25 years. I'll train you until you are ready to hold down a good steady, well paid job. Write neta Special Offer — I'll go the limit to help earnest, ambitious men to fill jobs like those advertised above. I'll even give you a chance to earn your training without cash outlay. Div. 15-17 Chicago, Illinois ow to ambitious men. Also If you would, write me today! No Extra Charge for Drafting Outfit As soon as you decide to take my training, I send you a complete Drafting Outfit, just like the one I use my- self. It comes as part of your course. No extra charge. Everything is just what you need, both for your course, and for your BIG JOB later: The “Chief's Own" Drafting Table, fine set of drafting instruments, — 24-inch T square, triangles, French Curve, drafting board, rule, pencils, ink, paperand thumbtacks. These are all necessary in my course, because I teach youon practical work. That's the way to learn drafting. for Great Write me at once for details of this exceptional offer. Money doesn’t count. If you have vim and deter- mination, I'll give you Put it all up to me. ps phon A Diatzes ty GOORe your chance toget ahead. —

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-Snsee THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 1 iP — REMEMBER. THERE 1s NO SUBSTITUTE F PRACTICAL TRAIN ING IN GREAT SHOPS Earn While You Learn _ at COYNE My Employment Department helps you get a job to earn part or all of your expenses and assists you to a good job upon graduation, COMPLETE ELECTRICAL TRAINING in 12 Happy Weeks at COYNE My newly en and unusual courte of in- structio tricity is the result of 27 years the needs of young men eld. My course is absolutely thorough, easy to mas- ter, covers every single phasc and factor of the subject and Ate men for BIG Electrical jobs, H. ‘SALARIED, thrilling jobs. —Will Close the Big Gap Between Your PRESENT and Your FUTURE! Does your present job offer you a FUTURET If so, how long must you wait for that F n haps twenty years? TOU. ‘ONG to walt fi for an un= Ui ARN—now! eld offers Thrills Galore, Wonderful E that any he-man can brag about! This is the Elect: ‘Drudei thi the in hopes ering ina fog with riences, and SALARIES ‘Ace and your day of o portunity. COME OUT OF THE FOG AND BE HAPPY—in the Electrical Ficla! HUNDREDS OF COYNE-TRAINED MEN R.R. FARE TO CHICAGO AND 2 BIG SPECIAL COURSES Without Extra Cost if You Act Now additional cost to In your tuition, oun tt inctadey at your RAILROAD FARE TO CHICAGO from ery ‘Send the Coupon TODAY! Don’t Fail to Send at Once for My Big FREE BOOK and Special Offer of R. R. Fare and Two Big Courses It will pay yon) to grab a pencil now and hustle with the n_to the nearest mail box or post office without delay. My big FREE Bock will certainly please you. A‘ AT ONCE! Tune in on Coyne Radio Station WGES COYNE |» ELECTRICAL SCHOOL H.C. LEWIS, President Established 1699 1300-10 W. Harrison St., Dept. 1517, Chicago EARN $60 TO $200 A WEEK You Don’t Need Advanced Education or Experience Don’t worry if y lack advanced educa- ti course is @ practical Le ING on COMPL trical, apparata dor STRUGTORS, in the COYNE Shops at Chicago. H. C. LEWIS, Preside: Govind Electrical Schoo SEND COUPON NOW H. C. LEWIS, President ' COYNE ELECTRICAL SCHOOL 1300-10 W. Harrison St. Dept. 1517, Chicago, Iitinols b thone big ‘actual at bout Special User of R Rats at's RUesRraE srectal Oller of Nemo. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to édvertiers,

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Vol. LV. No. 330 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Vol. LV. CONTENTS FOR OCTOBER, 1925 No 330. “*THE CAMELMEN HAVE ARRANGED THAT YOU SHALL BE WAYLAID AND ROBBED,’ HE WENT iy ON. ‘YOU WILL LOSE YOUR MONEY AND PROBABLY YOUR LIFE.'” Proniispiecc IN SEARCH OF THE LOST OASES.—I. Gir ttes ee ae Mi, Hassencin ‘Bey, FRG3S, 443 Mlustrations by R. Caton Woodville, and ‘from ‘Photograph: SMUGGLERS THREE .. Tae Sith Vass Pi-ea? Urene trie) onity nee tala Wane Ber fom “Onex.” 456 IMustrations by F. illett. Ri AZIZUN THE DANCING-GIRL.. ... Major-General Sir George MacMunu, K.CB., K.C.S.I.D.5.0. 461 Illustrations by Conrad Leigh. : EB THE ODYSSEY OF THE “OLGA” owe ww ow Sohn Rawson. 467 Illustrations by W. G. York. and from a Photograph. LEFT BEHIND _.. ue wee we) ~Eve O'Mahony. 477 Illustration by ‘Norman Sutcliffe. - LOST IN THE HEART OF PERU.—I. . so ow on ow oe © G.M. Dyott, F.R.GS. 481 Illustrations by T. Somerfield, and from Photographs. THE THIRTEENTH SAMPLE fe woe ee oe ow), Sterling. 489 Illustrations by D. C. Eyles, and from Photographs. A BIRD-HUNTER IN THE WILDS... « G.L, Bates, M.J.0.U., and Reginald Pound. 495 Illustrations by H. M. Brock. and from Photographs. fe THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESS... .. Se stoi 2s oa loeile ak, Te Sef tase Seb an Vee DUE: Illustration by Fred Holmes. . : ia “SIN-BAD THE SAILOR” SS Mah eed gta sh anlaam PRESS Lea) th che Sergt.-Major D. N.C. Hayter. 507 Mustration by S. Briault. TIGER TALES... Syed kes dees Sh ee es ete WE Brands:: 2511 Illustrations by E. Prater, and from a Photograph. “SEQUELS” AND OTHER MATTERS __.. WHAT WAS IT? a ... The Editor. 516 Patrick Bowen. 518 Mlustration by G. W. Goss. THE CROCODILE CHARMERS: OF JAVA... 0 we we we we Amol Mola. 521 Illustration by Tom Peddie. THE TWO STRANGERS .. eo we ow oe ow) Dr CE. Ellis. 525 Ulustrations by Stanley Lioyd, and from « Photograph. : : The Editor invites Travellers, Explorers, Tourists, Missionaries, and others to send in any curious or ren: arkabl cisgas sh they may have. ‘For these, and for True Stories of Adventure. liberal payment will be maze according to the value ol et ‘oateral Every narrative must be STRICTLY TRUE IN EVERY DETAIL, and a written STATEMENT To THIS EFFECT must be The author must also, if possible, furnish portraits of the leading character or charters (even if it be himself), hut bef = nish any other svuilable hotographs and portraits of places, persons, and things whi y way heighten the realism and Bituality of the narrative. i Mss. should be typewritten: Every care will be taken of conti ‘ibutions, but the Editor cannot be held responsible for ea iin or dami All communications should be plainly addressed to the Editor, Wiv— Wortp Macazine, 8, Southamp- ton Street, London, W.C., England. ‘The American Edition of Tue Wine Wontp Macazivi national News Company, 83-85, Duane Street. New York may be commenced at any time. Entered as second-class matter March 23, 1899, at the Post Office at New, York, N. Act of March 3, 1879. Entered as second-claas matter at the Post Office Department, Ottawa, Cnaada. - Sole Agents for Australasia: Gordon & Gotch (A/asia), Ltd. Sole Agents for South Africa: Central News Agency, Ltd. cn ee INKOGRAPA oe S <The Perfect Writing Instrument tin 63" LONG Writes with ink free and easy as @ fend pencil, nt AGENTS ‘WANTED out a miss, skip or blur. Its steady uniform flow ot ‘ink actually imy our hand writing. The Writing, Won't blot, se: eak, or soil hands. hk PAERE WG 3 or4 Carbon = Copies With Original In Ink, ‘Anyone can write with your ine iKograph. no sty of writin ublished monthly for George Newnes, Ltd., of London, by The Inter- Price 20 cents. Yearly subscription, 82.00 post free. Yunder the cr " INKOGRAPH * ACCOMPLISHMENT ‘That hard smooth round ball like potent ene uns he ower pe tne sicie "arabes ink Cuptch : cate ay. Es'wuth tne ‘softest wad pencil: | INKOGRAPH CO., Inc. 105-159 Centre St., New "York

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OE EE em THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ow Sent Free-8 Lite Secrets That are Making Men Rich/ Personality, or Selling Yourself Personality is just another word for the ability to sell one’s self No man who cannot sell himself can hope to make a success Mail the coupoa and find out how amazingly easy it is to de- velop the power to make other people like you, to become popular. How To Become A Star Salesman The ability to talk convincingly whether you want to be a sales- man or not will carry you to success. WHAT 15 MINUTES A DAY WILL SHOW YOU How to address busi- ness meetings. How to propose and respond to toasts. How to make a polit- ical speech. How to tell taining How to write better letters. nter- How to enlarge your vocabul How to develop self- confidence. How to acquire a winning personal- ity. How to strengthen your will power. How to be the master of any situation. TTY is it thet W Smith, with scarcely a gram- school edu- becomes rich, Jones, a Uni- versity graduate, stays on the treadmil and plugs away, ui le to anywhere? I'll tell why, Smith hes learned secret of effective speech he can domincte other men get them to do what he want It is the man who can put his ideas into convincing peech who is sought out to fill the big, important, high- claried jobs. And you, too, can be such a man by simply bringing out your “hidden knack” which is fighting for nition, but which you keep hemmed in by self onsciousness, lack of confi- dence in yourself, timidity and bashfulness. This amazing book will 10W ou the seerct that ses one man to rise from in obscure position to the f a great corporation; a mid and retiring man to NORTH AMERICAN INSTITUTE Dept. 1517, 3601 S. Michi, Avonue, Chicago, III. Ge... Chicago, Hlinois Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. North American Institute, Dept. 1517, 3601 S. Michi; Now you can get FREE the amazing booklet that even men who have made millions of dollars eagerly sent for. It contains definite, easily understood prin- ciples which point the way to power, prestige, personality, big money, leader- ship, and success. copy immediately. Send for your FREE change suddenly intoa popular and much applauded after dinrer and banquet speaker. Thousands have accomplished just such amazing things due to this simple, ecsy, yet effective training. You Become A Good Speaker — Or I Don’t Want A Penny Regardless of what line of business you are in or how bashful, timid, and self- conscious you now are the North American Institute will guarantee to make you a powerful, convincing, and easy speaker within a few weeks or your training is free. Mail The Coupon For Free Book Mail the coupon today and you will be sent a copy of this femcus book “How To Work Wonders With Words.” Send your name and address at once before this special free edition runs out. igan Ave., | | Please send me FREE and without obligation my copy of your famous book, '* How To Work Wonders With Words.”

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4 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE | THE ODYSSEY | OF THE OLGA” * CPO“ SINBAD THE SAILOR. a) uy KX 2 ee Poh ee é (orm wen ie, « UES 5 \.n Seanon§, gai ae Ga. i ‘Le es an EE OOF THE ‘de ons IN~* aad et | THE DARKNESS ' Se ~ Lost OASES cient ma | : es me suf oS Ao» | THE Tit TEETH IN THE ~~ my OM OL yt ROE AMPLE y. >, WILDS . : i os ‘Lost IN THE 6 HEAR ‘a ' ae ee | Suan was it? | \OF PERU ff 5 BEHIND oD 4 _ fey | 3 | ue, ‘THE CROCODILE CHARMERS OF JAVA = “ wie nt 2 The remarkable contents-map of “The Wide » World Magazine,” ikewing ‘the locality ‘of A every article and story in this splendid number. 1 Want 700 MO >Q CC ok Men and Women! week me today oe pane this time next week I can place pe ep a writhour Wow Plas. S Simply introduce and Snatake order for famous Wertd's Sseareas wkd direct from: mill to home_—e cone, plete ling for whole family. Permanent orders make you 8 big income. Noccivering or or collecting. No juired. ‘It’a a chance to 6 thousands erst dollars. Your ar rote begin at once. territory. needed. Wels eplay ane Tipe all facts ard tell how to start Free. (Hstablished £9 years.) World’s Star Knitting Co. 1400 Lake Street Bay City, Mich, THE MONTHLY MAGAZINE OF FICTION Is a marvel in publishing. Contains only complete novels of the most intense interest. Price 15c acopy. Subscription price $1.50 a year. Order from your newsdealer or send to the INTERNATIONAL NEWS CO. 83 & 85 Duane St., New York City, N. Y. ~The FAMILY JOURNAL contains several complete stories in each issue, also household matters of great interest to the readers of this publication. Every story clean and wholesome and a welcome visitor in any home. Price 20c a copy. Sukscrip- tion price $2.00 a year. On sale at all news stands or from the INTERNATIONAL NEWS CO. 83 & 85 Duane St., New York City, N. Y. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers)

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 5 Genius and inspiration were once credited with playing an important part in building a successful career. —What part do they actually play in the making of success? William Livingston, President of the Dime Sav- ings Bank, Detroit, has this to say: “Genius is supposed to be some peculiar capacity for spon- h taneous accomplishment. If so, it is one of the rarest things in the world. I have been studying business and human beings for more than sixty years, and I've never yet seen anything permanently worth while that was accomplished on the spurt of the moment, The man who expects to win out in business without self-denial and selt-improvement and self.applied observation stands about as much chance as a prizc fightec would stand if he started a hard ring battle without having gone through an intensive training period." How You Can Measure Your Chances for Success We are all looking forward to successful careers. If an employe, you want a better position, That is the first step up. If an employer, you want to im- prove the business you manage, Business cannot pay you for ideas and plans which you do not deliver, and this applies to owner and employe alike. Neither can Business pay you for learning business. If you desire success, your day must be filled with achievement—doing things. Contemplation, an- alysis, acquiring the experience of others, must come after the gong rings at night. Broadly speaking, everyone who reads these words falls into one of three groups; in fact, this analysis really constitutes a measuring stick b' which you can measure the degree of success which you will probably enjoy: Greup 1—Those who are making no effort to increase their business knowledge and ability aside from the limited experi- ence which comes as a result of each day's work, Home-Study Training . That _ Leads to Successful - Careers— ~ Are Successful Men Born or Made? | 3orn with mind but not with wisdom; born with intellect but not with knowledge; born with power to discern, but not born to discre- tion and sound judgment; born with adapta- bilities but not with abilities; born, it may be, with wealth, but not born to success. Wisdom, knowledge, discretion, judgment, ability, char- acter —these are attainments, not bestowments or inheritances,’’ — The Kansas Banker, Group 2— Those who, more or less consistently, are readin; constructive literature pertaining to theic specialties or fiel but who follow no organized plan, Greup 3—Those who consistently follow a definite. well- organized, step-by-st-p plan, which embraces not only the best experience in their specialty, but also shows the relationship of their job to the fabric of business as a whole. Send for the LaSalle : Salary-Doubling Plan—Today During fifteen years, LaSalle Extension University has been furnishing men with an organized plan of self-develop- ment—in every important field of business endeavor, The proof that such a plan wins out is evidenced in the fact that during only six months’ time as many ag 1,248 LaSalle mem- bers reported salary increases totalling $1,599507.. The aver- age increase per man was §9 per cent. The details of the LaSalle salary-doubling plas will be sent zor, for the asking, Whether you adopt the plan or not, the asic information it will place in your bands, without cost, is of very real and definite value. And it’s FREE, Balance the two minutes that it takes to fill ont the coupes against the rewards of a successful career—then clip aud mail cozpon NOW. LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY Tee World's Largest Business Training Institution Devt: 10331-R ovat Chicas would welcome detai your salary-doablin: - toget site Complete information ropasding the opportunicice ir the bopinens field I have checked below; also a copy of ‘Ten Years’ Promotion in One,” all without obligation, OBusiness Management OModern Business Corre- OModern Salesmanship spondence and Practice OBigher Accountancy OModern Foremenship Otraffic Management ‘and Production Methods ORailway Station OPersonnel and Employ- Management ment Management OLaw—Degree of LL.B. Expert Bookkeeping OBusinese English Commercial Spanish Defective Speaking Oc. P, A. Coaching OCommercial Law Olndustrial Management Efficiency OBanking and Finance Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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6 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE ADAGRAMS 9 CENTS A WORD PATENTS—TRADE-MARKS INVENTORS SHOULD WRITE FOR OUR GUIDE BOOK, “HOW to get Your Patent” and evidence of invention blank. Send model or sketch of Invention for Inspection and Instructions free. Best terms, Randolph & Co., Dept. 54, Washington, D. C. INVENTIONS COMMERCIALIZED. PATENTED OR UN- patented. Write Adam Fisher Mtg. Co., 129 Enright, St. Louls, Mo. PATENT-SENSE—AS ONE OF .THE OLDEST PATENT FIRMS in America we give Inventors at lowest consistent charge, & service noted for results, evidenced by many well-known patents of extra- ordinary value. Book, Patent-sense, free. Lacy & Lacy, 749 F S5t., Washington, D.C, Established 1869. PATENTS PROCURED; TRADE MARKS REGISTERED A comprehensive, experienced, prompt service for the protection and development of your ideas. Preliminary advice gladly furnished without charge. Booklet of information and form for disclosing Idea free on request. RICHARD B. OW 67 Owen Bidg., Washington, D. C., or 41-I Park Row, New York, BOOKLET FREE. HIGHEST REFERENCES. BEST RESULTS. WATSON E. COLEMAN, Registered Patent Lawyer, Opposite Patent OMce, Washington, D. C. HELP WANTED MEN 18 UP. BE RAILWAY MAIL CLERKS, MAIL CARRIERS, Post-OMce Clerks, $1700-$2700 year, Steady. Examinati sevedule free, Write immediately. Franklin Institute, HY5, Rochester, N. Y. DETECTIVES NEEDED EVERYWHERE. WORK HOME OR el. Experience unnecessary. Write, George Wagner, former Government Detective, 1968 Broadway, N. ¥- FIREMEN, BRAKEMEN, BAGGAGEMEN, SLEEPING CAR, train porters (culured), $140-$200. Experience unnecessary. 899 Railway Bureau, East St. Louis, IL, EARN $110 TO $250 MONTHLY, EXPENSES PAID AS RAILWAY TraMe Iuspector. Position guaranteed after completion of 3 months: hone study course or mone: unded. _Exeslent_eppertunitics, Write for Free Booklet G-1 Stand Business Training Last, Buffato, N.Y BOOKS FLOYD COLLINS TRAGEDY AT SAND CAVE—THE MOST tirilling book ever published. Price per copy $1.98 postpaid, NATIONAL EXCHANGE, Olcott, W, Va. 128 PAGE ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE FREE. tuning, educational books — Scnsathonal esc —the latest in magic for ok und Magic Company, city. INSTRUCTIVE, ule cards, Chelsea “TRUTH ON HANDSOME DOUBLE MAT 6x10. art work. Freneh model, life pose; full length, press, Wauregan, Conn, BEAUTIFUL 25. prepaid. Waure- DOGS, RABBITS, &c. DEERHOUNDS, IRISH AND RUSSIAN WOLFHOUNDS, NOR- wegian bear dogs, foxhounds, coontounds, bloodhounds: big, inter= esting, highly illustrated catalog, 10 cents, Rockwoud Keuncls, Lexington, Ky. BEAGLES, RABBIT, COON AND FOX HOUNDS. pupples. M. Baublitz, Seven Valleys, Pa. BROKEN AGENTS WANTED FIRE, SALVAGE SALES MAKE $300 WEEKLY. WE START YOU, fur ing everything. JOBBERS, Desk 18, 1608 So. Halsted, “hicago. EASY MONEY APPLYING GOLD INITIALS, MONOGRAMS ON automobiles. Anyone can do it. Simply transferred from paper, takes 5 minutes, Make $1.50, cost Se. Samples free.“ Ralco,* 1043 Washington, Boston, » AGENTS WRITE FOR FREE SAMPLES. SELL MADISON “Better-Made” Shirts for large Manufacturer direct to wearer. No capital or experience required. Many carn $100 weekly and bonus Madison Mirs., 503 Broadway, New York. BIG MONEY AND FAST SALES. EVERY OWNER BUYS GOLD InItlals for his auto. You charge $1.50; make $1.35. Ten orders a day easy. Write for particulars and free samples. American Mono- gram Co., Dept. 135, East Orange, N. EVERPLAY ELIMINATES ALL NEEDLES FOR PHONOGRAPHS— Saves time and annoyance. Can not injure records. Agents wanted. Write, Evelin Pauley, Javins, W. Va. GET OUR FREE SAMPLE CASE TOILET ARTICLES, PER- fumes and specialties. Wonderfully profitable. LaDerma Co. Dept. RW, St. Louis, Mo. I'LL PROVE TO YOU THAT YOU CAN MAKE $96 A WEEK TAK. ing orders for Jennings Guaranteed Hosiery, I furaish complete equipment and offer you an Essex Coach without cost. Write new, The Franklin B. Jennings Co., Dept,. Y-4, Dayton, Ohio. AGENTS—QUICK SALES, BIG PROFITS, OUTFIT FREE. CASH oreredit, Sales in every home for our high class Ine of Pure Food Produc’ pe, Perfumes, Tollet Articles, ete. Write today fot mone; plans. American Products Co., 4083 Americar Bldg, Cincinnat!, Onto. MAKE $100 WEEKLY IN SPARE TIME. SELL WHAT THE public wants—long distance radio receiving seta. Two sales weekly ays $100 profit. No big investment, no canvassing. Sharpe of Colorado made $955 In one month. | Representatives wanted at once. This plan ix sweeping the country—write today before your county isgone. OZARK A, INC., 126 West Austin Ave., O, Chicago HOW TO ENTERTAIN PLAYS, MUSICAL COMEDIES AND REVUES, MINSTREL musle, blackface skits, vau Monologs. dialogs, recita- tlons, entertainments, music Hings, stage handbooks, make-up xoods, Big catalog free. Denison & Co., 623 So. Wabash Dept. 113, Chicago. AUTHORS, SONG WRITERS LET ME FURNISH THE MUSIC FOR YOUR ng you absolute satisfaction. Copyrights secured. your scripts for estimate and [ree advice. Walter W, New- comer, 1674 Broadway, New York. SONG POEM WRITERS SEND FOR PROPOSITION. Hibbeler, D 18, 4040 Dickens Ave., Chicago. Ray SHORT STORIES, POEMS, PLAYS, ETC., ARE WANTED FOR publication. Literary Bureau, 116 Hannibal, Mo. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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ncn eee eee ee TE THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS (Continued) MATRIMONIAL MARRY—JOIN THE HIGH CLASS SELECT CLUB. MANY wealthy, honorable, refin?! members everywhere. Confidential descriptions free in’ plain sealed envelope. Satisfaction assured. Long established, reliable. People’s Club, Pox 94, Los Angeles, Calif. MARRY. PERSONAL SERVICE GUARANTEES QUICK, SATIS- factory revults. Largest. most rellab'e club. Thousands wealthy. Descriptions FREE. Mrs. Budd, Box 753 W, San Francisco, Calif, WIFE GUARANTEED EVERY MAN JOINIPG MY CLU Bertha M Western Springs, Illinols. Particulars for stam MARRY—BIG, NEW DIRECTORY WITH PHOTOS AND DE- scriptions. Free. National Agency, Dept. E., Kansus City, Mo. FIND YOUR SWEETHEART! tions, vast membership. Write Anna Franz, Chicago. LONELY HEARTS—I HAVE A SWEETHEART FOR YOU. EX- change romantic letters. Meet your ideal through the world's greatest correspondence club; members everywhere: confidential and dignified service. Particulars free. Eva Moore, Box 908, Jacksonville, Florida. ‘CRRESPOND—MARRIAGE, PASTIME. STAMP PLEASE. ZANO Agency, Box 1904, Chicago, Ill. MARRY —FREE PHOTOGRAPHS, DIRECTORY AND DESCRI| tions of wealthy members. Pay when married, New Plan Co., Dept. 103, Kansas City, Mo. CONFIDENTIAL INTRODUC- 949 Montana St., HUNDREDS SEEKING MARRIAGE—FOR PARTICULARS WRITE Mrs. F. Willard, 2928 Broadway, Chicago, Illinois. Stamp ap- MARRY IF LONELY: JOIN “THE SUCCESSFUL CORRESPOND- ence Club."" Reliable; Descriptions free. Box 556, Oakland, Ca'ltornta. MARRY—MARRIAGE DIRECTORY WITH PHOTOS AND DE- scriptions fre2, Pay when marvied. The Exchange, Dept. 144, Kansi3 Cit/, Mo. troduction; particulars FREE. Ladies and gentlemen, write Good Fellowship Club, Reading, Pa. NOTICE— ATTRACTIVE YOUNG LADY WORTH $25,000.00 will marry. (Club) B-1022, Wichita, Kansas. LONESOME? JOIN GOLDEN WEST CORRESPONDING CLUB. Many will marry. Information plain envelope. Box 947, San Francisco, California. (Stamp). PRETTY GIRLS, LONELY WIDOWS, CHARMING LADIES OF wealth and refinement everywhere seek gentlemen correspondents through us; photos, descriptions for stamp. The Bugle, (CA), 811 North LaSalle 8 reet, Chicago, Illinois. MAKE FRIENDS EVERYWHERE THROUGH OUR CORRE- sponding club. Particulars Free. Write Eva Burchard, Box 75, Portland, Oregon. LONELY LITTLE WIDOW, TIRED LIVING ALONE. VERY wealthy. I dare YOU write! M. U. Club, Box 305, (36), San Francisco, Calif. MARRIAGE PAPER CONTAINING COMPLETE NAMES, AD- dresses, Photos and Descriptions of young Ladies wishing early marriage only 25c. Ladies listed Free. Club Dept. 35 E., Luserne. Kentucky. LOVERS IDEAL LETTER CLUB. SWEETHEARTS FOR EVERY- body (stamp). Doris Dawn, Station H, Cleveland, Ohio. ANYONE DESIRING A WEALTHY SWEETHEART JS INVITED to writeme. Leola Lighthall, Box B-160, San Francisco. ANYONE DESIRING MARRIAGE, PLEASE WRITE R. CHAM- bers, Beulah, Manitoba, Canada. Laslare, 16, Cambridge St., London, 8. W., LONESOME? JOIN SALTAIR CORRESPONDENCE CLUB, beautiful girls, widows, many wealthy, desire marriage, Box 7, Balt Lake City, Utah. J 5 KY I'l make good~- 6 Enrolled with the LCS. ~ INTERNATIONAL, SCHOO: Box 3704-D, Scranton, Penna. Without cost or obligation, please tell me how qualify for the position or in the subject before wh have marked an X: BUSINESS TRAINING COURSES OBusiness Mana| Salesmanship Ona A isi ri [Better Letters Business Law Banking and Banking Law JAccountaney (ineluding C.P.A. CICivil Servi if i C i CBookke: C []Nicholson Cost Accounting” " (Railway Mail Clerk in (Common School Subje ]Private Secretary Ugh School Subjects OSpanish O French OMlustrating TECHNICAL AND INDUSTRIAL COURSES * Blueprints and Le Me 1T Work Airplane Engines avigation culture and Poult Mathematics A and Mapping i steam ORadio Name. Street Address. ineering Ls The oldest and largest correspondence schools in the world T can nich I cts CO Cartooning r ry a ieee Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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8 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE CLASSIFIED ADVERTISEMENTS (Continued) BEAN’S TWELVE NEW DISC RECORDS FOR TWELVE OLD ONES AND Ca mp Ss h of i Very light, low, moccasin style shoe for camping, canoeing and general : SUNDRIES to you same day. Full particulars for stamp. National Record Exchange, Olcott, W. Va. ART PHOTOS, NEW SERIES, STUDIES, BEAUTY OF NATURE, outing. Soft mahogany latest catalogue, and splendid samples for $1.00, $2.00, $3.00, $5.00. Elk leather with oil- V. Molreno, 73 Ave. de ls Republique, Montrouge (Seine), France. tanned “scenes PLEASANT ROOT EASILY, INEXPENSIVELY OVERCOMES 4 Wear it-indoors asa slip- any tobacco habit. Send address. E. C. Stokes, Mohawk, Florida. / veh per or out as a moccasin. Al QUALITY KEEN NEW BLADES FOR GILLETTE RAZORS, ; Rubber counter per- Dosen 55e. Peter Wetterquist, 1635, W. 13th Ave., Rockford, Z mits flattening without Ttnote. breaking, GUARANTEED GROVES. MONTHLY PAYMENTS. SUBURBAN Orchards Dept. WW, Biloxi, Mississippi. 4 $ 75 ’ ° SYRIAN STAMPS: WORLD'S PRETTIEST SETS. HISTORIC and Religious Designs. M.A. Kronfol, Zeltouneh, Belrut, Syria. DETECTIVES EARN BIG MONEY. EXCELLENT OPPORTUNITY. . Postage Free Travel. Great demand. Experience unnecessary. Particulars free. Send for catalog and free Write, American Detective System, 1968 Broadway, N. Y. ample of upper end ae 15 Main St. LET US FINISH YOUR FILMS. HIGHEST QUALITY DEVELOP- L. L. B EA N, Freeport, Maine | ing and Printing. Send one roll film and 15c for trial offer. Prompt Service. Moore's Photo Laboratory, Alstead, New Hampshire. ANY MAGAZINE WANTED 1887-1925, Five and 100 each. Rich- ard Zorn, North Baltimore, Ohio. nickel of 1913 with Liberty head, (no Buffalo). We pay cash premi- | GUARANTEED U.S. une for all rare coins. Send 4e for Large Coin Folder. May mean | REVOLVER, 6 Shot much proft to you. Numlamatie Co., Dept. 443, Ft. Worth, Tex. | Finest Pesiected Revol ver, FOR SALE GROCERY STOCK, FIXTURES AND BUILDING. For particulars, write to John F. Figge, Silver Clift, Colo. pay postman ay postage. 8, 32.n¢ 22 caliber, SEND NO MONEY, RADIUMACT REMOVES WARTS, MOLES, SUPERFLUOUS | §0)) (ius postave. On monev with order, W Hair, Coal, Powder and Tattoo Marks. Particulars sent frec. U.S. IMPORT COMPANY, Radiumact Co., 1416 Cadwallader St., Philadelphia, Pa. Dept. B-58, 124 University Place, New York DISCOVERY FOR REMOVING PAINFUL CALLOUSES. SAFE, sure, thorough. “Makes Feet Happy. Send 25c. Money bacx suarantee. Sultan, 404 E. 20th, Baltimore, Md. ‘money which menandwom- en in the selling game earn today. Bufid up a p orofitable business of y WORLD'S CHAMPION 32-20 or 38 Cal. Special 6-Shot cut to $9.50 Double action, SWING OUT CYLINDER, « reliable, 2 0 about our big bonus offer. r No vestment--profits beginimme= diately. Our free instructions make tt easy and pleasant, that, you. cannot. fall. No experience necessary. Work full or spare time. Men and women--write todayfor our new glag which shows you how to make $60 to 5125 a week and be, your own boss. Write today > SOLIDSILK HOSIERY COn Department Aa0, 315 Fourth Ave-, New Yor! postman $9.50 plus ag On money with order we Satisfaction or money back U. S. IMPORT CO., "Dept. C-80, 124 Univorsity Place, Now York. POCKET ADDING MACHINE $2.50 Let this machine do your figuring It is with you in time of nced. It will not make mistakes. Anyone can operate it. The BABY CALCULATOR is the lowest priced practical adding machine in the world. It will add long columns of figures, total bills, keep scores, and save time and energy in many other ways. It is practical, accurate, and simple. It does the work of $200.00 adding machines. Made of cold rolled steel. Will fit vest pocket or purse. Weight. 5 ounces. SEND NO MONEY! Pay postman $2.50 plus postage on delive FIRST COST IS THE LAST COST. If not satisfied after ten day trial we will refund your money. BABY CALCULATOR MACH. CO., Dept. W-6, 130 So. Oak Park Ave., Oak Park, Ill AGENTS!! SEND $2.50 AND GET SAMPLE MACHINE AND PROPOSITION Kindly mention this magazine when writing to, advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 9 G-E lighting units illuminate the streets in Stamford, Conn ah ~ Fourteen advantages Which of these advantages does your city need most? Good street lighting brings them all. Your city may be inter- ested in all these points, or in but a few. Talk it over with your neighbors. Decide which points to call to the Notice of the city officials. And tell them that the illuminating engineers of the General Electric Com- pany will supply plans that have proved their value in other cities. More business on downtown streets . More buyers from out of town . Stronger impression of thrift and progress . Fewer overhead wires Better civic pride . Help for the fire department Less crime . Safer playgrounds Promotion of other improvements . More industries . Increased real estate values . More sanitary condition of streets . Improved traffic control . Fewer traffic accidents GENERAL ELECTRIC Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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10 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE setrstantinc REMINGTON N "ve 30 DAYS FREE TRIAL Save more than half your cost on a machine literally likenew! Thisis the latest Model No. 10, with the exclusive Remington ‘‘Self-starting’” feature, the most popular typewriter ever bui’t. The best buy of the year—the biggest type- writer value ever offered. Actuel czsh saving, $64 on new machine — $20 to $45 on rebuilt. Like new; ‘perfect appearance and werking ccndi- tion, All late improvements: colurrn selector, 2-color ribbon (automatic reverse), back spacer, variable platen release, latest style paper fin- gers and guide.. Up to date in every way. Standard keyboard ; 84 characters. All visible. Will write on a postage stamp. Guaranteed 5 years. 80 d: jays FREE TRIAL, Satisfaction or money refunded. Write for details. A postcard will do. Cut Prices on All Standard Makes LINCOLN TYPEWRITER CO,, Inc. Dept. 58, A BEAUTIFUL OIL PAINTING of your photo In colors. Different sizes. Send 25c for par- Aedependent Tisgeuriter Hod 298 Broadway, New York City lars and color chart. Artis:: ALBERT W. SEAMAN! 2104 Liberty Ave. Terre H_ ute, Indiana Long Range 4 or 6 in, Barrel 6-Shot Finest Perfected Revolver p ‘Order Corp., New York City Dept. A112 414 Broadway HOTEL ALEXANDRIA| 250 West 103rd Street, New York City Between Central Park and Hudson River | Stop Whiskey Wonderful Treatment Helped Faithful Wife to Save Husband When All Else Failed. Try it FREE Wives, mothers, sisters, it is you that the man who drinks Whiskey, Wine or Beer to excess must depend upon to save him from a ruined life and a drunkard’s grave. Take heed from the thousands of men going to ruin daily through vile boot- legger’s Whiskey, and the horrible stuff called home The Kappy Reunion brew trom private stills. Once ho gets it in his system he can't stop—but you can save him. All you have to do is to send your name and address and we will send absolutely FREE, in plain wral . & trial @ of GOLDEN TREATMENT. ‘You will be ‘ankehal os long as you live that you did it. ’ Address DR. J. W. HAINES CO. 1195 Glenn Building Cincinnati, Ohio = - ne “‘mmarary (_Pi€ $36 oe Value AUTOMATIC 32 cal. Extra Magazine FREE. 20 quick. hard Accurate light- ds automa lly. h ed grip.—G est SEND NO INEY. Pay p stmanourlow p tage. On money with Fa satisfaction or money back. U. S. IMPORT COMPANY Dept. A-21, 124 University Place LONDON MERCURY MONTHLY TUBLICATION + + PRICE $8.00 A YEAR can be Fad on all news stands or at INTERNATIONAL NEWS CO, 83-85 Duane Street, New York Cit New York LITERARY ASSISTANCE Speeches, Orations, Addresses, etc., written to order, any sub- . ‘pewrit ¢ tion $1 per thous nd words. Markets for literary wares sus- gested. 20 years exrerience. F. H. CROSS STUDIOS 4553 Emerson Avenue St. Louis, Mo. Without question the coolest location in the city. Subway express station at door, elevated two blocks away. SINGLE ROOM WITH PRIVATE BATH - - $6.00 andep DOUBLE ROOM WITH PRIVATE BATH - - $4.00“ “ Other auites in proportion Special attention given to ladies travelling alone Exceptional Restaurant at very moderate prices S. L. ROOT, Manager Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE : i Visible Flash They Tell At A Glance = Agents!—At Last—Something tl =>" really new. . Beacon-Lite Visi Boing ble-Flash Spark Plug—the greatest H improvement in spark plugs since | gas engines were invent Un- bullae breakable, transparent, opalite core e—wmes shows at a glance which cylinders are firin, just lift the hood and look. You see the flash of each explosion. A quick, easy test for tenitios trouble, weak compression, Improper gas mixture. No guessing. No testing. Amazing gas savers. Guaranteed. Fastest sellers in years. You can make $9 A Week Easy No wonder agents are coining money. Every auto owner wants Beacon-Lites, Sell on sight. Ten second demonstration gets the order. No talking necessary. No competition. No ex- perience needed. Hustlers make $15 a day for few hours easy, pleasant work. Big profit ps, it $24. “Sold goods for 15 years. Ni Lites for quick profits.” Start now. FREE Plugs And Selling Demonstrator Given to Advertise Send No Money—Mail Coupon Just send name and address for Free Offer— a Special Free deal to agents who get busy at once. No charge for territory. The coupon below, a letter or a postcard will bring you all cu: Free. It’s an unlimited opportunity to cash in big eae ful new business ef your owe, Act now. CENTRAL PETROLEUM COMPANY 1310 CENTURY BUILDING, CLEVELAND, O#I0 I Mall This Coupon: l CENTRAL PETROLEUM COMPANY, I 1310 Century Building, Cleveland, O. | Gentlemen:—Without obligation to me send com- I I I l ! te. lars at once of Beacon-Lite Spark Plugs, Fee Bemonstrator offer and deal to agents. Name. State____ City. ee ee era Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers. She had gone to change into her trav- cling dress—a few minutes later he found her in her room—the woman he had just made his wife in company with his best friend. Whatwould you have done? What did he do? Find out from the story by The most popular set of books in theworld today is the marvelous stories of O. Henry. Over two million separate volumes have been sold. No other publication has approached such a tremendous success, Second only to O. Henry in popularity is Jack London. Never has there been a man like him. He has adventured everywhere, Hewas an officer, a roustabout, a miner, a farmer, a tramp, a prisoner, a sailor before the mast. He is our great- est writer of pure, real adventure. Book Bargain Simply fill mail the Inspection Coupon, which brings the completesetof O.Henry, 12 volumes, New Fabrikoid binding, and the set of Jack out and London, 5 volumes, silk cloth your examination. the books over, for ten days, id some of the fascina- i ‘tories, and if you are satisfied send us $1.00 only as afirst payment and $3.00 per month thereafter till our special price of $29.00 is aid. If you are not en- re! satisfied notify us within ten days and we will give you shipping in- structions for their return. INSPECTION COUPON wa =THE RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING CO. bated 543-549 Marquette Bldg., Chicago, Ilinois Jease ship me on approval the works of O. Henry, 12 volumeg oer Fabrikold bindtne ‘Also the clot

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v 12 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE y* isk AZ2—Beautif iy’: white gold ring solid 14K white gold fitted with guaranteed move- set with a perfect cute Rises white ment of 15 ruby and sapphire jewels. diamond. $50. $2.00 Brings Your Choice NO RED TAPE—NO DELAY Simply send $2.00 and your choice goes to you charges paid. You have ten daysin which to decide Aoney back instantly if you are not satisfied as to the quality and value. Ten Days’ Free Trial Send only $2.00 and your choice goes to you in handsome gift box all charges paid. Guar- antee Bond attesting to quality and value accompanies each shipment. A Full Year to Pay Simply send $2.00 and receive your selection, all charges paid. After trial pay balance in _a; monthly payments. 10% dis« count for Cash. Free Royal Xmas Catalog The most complete Catalog ever published of dia Watches, Je h Prices 00 ioe —auelity & @ high- if est. Ten days’ trial and 2 tull year to pay on everything eH order $2,000,000 Tree Perfectly matched dlamond rim a: blue white dia- ak natural gold monds, $35. ROYAL Diamonp XWarcu Co. 170 Broadway - New York. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to_advertisers.

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 13 ee Wat ATE bargain, pay 18.76, the tatal pri inforced Gold Cane, TODAY SEND NO MONEY! Uf the watch In th ‘ ee I POSITIVELY GUARANTEE that you can produce wonderful, Sweet music in three days and quickly play popular and clas- sical selections, Complete Outfit et) Qvale MUSSEHL & WESTPHAL 350 West Water St. Fort Atkinson, Wis, FITS-ATTACKS Stopped In 3 Days Mr. J. L. Crossman of Blue Hill says his son was having as many as 68 attacks in 24 hours; was relieved in 3 days by a treatment procured from Mr. Lepso. Every one afflicted with Epilepsy should write to R. Lepso, Apt. 78, 895 Island Ave., Milwaukee, Wis., who offers any sufferer &@ FREE bottle of the same treatment. [deal Summer Vacations UD Only 2 Days from NewYork: VACATION TOURS 8 Day Tours—$90 and up Including all Expenses. Longer Tours in Proportion Bermuda is Cool in Summer Average Summer Temperature 77 degrees All Outdoor Sports Sailing, Bathing, Golf, ene Crystal Caves, Sea No Passports Required SAILINGS TWICE WEEKLY Via Palatial, Twin-Screw, Oil-Burning ransatlantic Liners S. S. “Fort Victoria’’ and S. S. “Fort St. George”’ For Illustrated Booklets on Bermuda write FURNESS BERMUDA LINE 34 Whitehall St, N.Y., or any Local Tourist Agent YOUR MASCOT for GOOD LUCK direct from Hindoostan to suit the stars according to ancient Oriental belief, ARE YOU LUCKY? Do you wish to keep luck and ward off coming evils, ill-health, losses, ete.? ARE YOU UNLUCKY, ill, disappointed in love, desires, investments, ‘have family, money, etc., worries? Have you wished for a change? What is this hidden mysterious power in a Mascot that induces millions of all the nations on Earth to believe in it? No- body knows. Try the pretty KARMA Mascot and see it for your. self. KARMA, a quaint Indian talisman of a semi-precious mineral and a sacred Rudrax seed from the holy temple-city of Benares, is claimed to bring the best of luck to its wearer. Money back if not satisfied. Send name and address Clearly Written with $2.00 to KARMA PRODUCTS CO., (Dept. 125) Taj Bldg., Fort, Bombay, India. Postage to India is 5 cents. New Home Treatment Send Stamp for Book of information DR.QUAYLE'S SANITARIUM, MADISON, OHIO. Dept. 928) SOUL TRYING ATTACKS Mrs. Watkins, Ark., writes: SThave been suffering for 20 years and sl-ce I have been taking your treatment haven't had one.”” No mattcr what melicite johns yoo owelt to yourself to ty my treatment. Tablet fora Prensa to tke, Write today for FREE trial treatment. Arpen Laboratories, 371 2%,2'se - AIL CLERKS : W A N T Franklin Institute o Dept. H282, Rochester, N.Y. $2700 a Year? +’. Bech Rasy Mal CE piomination questionas (Dea TRAVEL—See Your Country s@ showing places, of Ui MEN—BOYS ob ment obstrow nbininabie, 18 UP $ MAIL CouPON ,? IMMEDIATELY 2” Adare Name. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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14 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE IMPLE Blackheads—Acne Eruptions Now Are Easily Removed at Home at a Small Cost! Banish those unsightly blemishes easily and quickly by using | bers Itch, Eczema, Eniarged Pores, Oily or ShinySkin cared cheers of nee eae, greaengne at hat | —never mind how bad—“CLEAR-TGNE™ bas cared the water. Leaves the skin clear, smooth and without a blemish, | Worst cases Lever saw. Endorsed by druggists, physicians, Has made many friends with men, women and children, | @Kin specialists, barbers and over 100,000 Men and Women Elegant for men after shaving. If you have Pimples, | test cases, who succeeded with “CLEAR-TONE” after Biackheads, Acne Eruptions on the face or body, Bar- | failing with everything else, Send name today for FREE Booklet, “A CLEAR-TONE SKIN," telling how I cured myself y after being afflicted for 15years. AndI know every embarrassmentone has to endure with a bad @ complexion, $1,000 COLD CASH SAYS 1 CAN CLEAR YOUR SKIN OF THE ABOVE BLEMISHES. E. S. GIVENS 108 Chemical Building KANSAS CITY, MO. PERSONAL MAGNETISM Learn at home by mail, to mount birds, animals, game heads; tan furs. mak: robes. Complete lessons. Ea Write today for Free Taxidi FREE Book. ""Telim all about ht tvery portman, Hunter Fan Nature lover should know this wonderful faaciant: ing art, "Save your trephies, Big profits, Success ts. 20: years old 75.000 today. Write for Pree Book 2007 Elwood Bldg., Omaha, Neb. NRRRRGRAREN NSE oA NRNEEAR pea win ‘the Tae a ms t auccess i taniti 10" ve fore. Ennitiea ‘now “than eves petore. 8 We guid ome dur ‘Degree of LL, B. conferr state, text material, includ: 1 Libs y Get our valuable 108-1 ‘Law le"* Evidence’ books free Send for them NOW. LaSalle Extension University, Dept. 10331-L Chicago ‘The Worid’s Largest Business Training m.suruuon MARSEILLES Broadway at 103d St. (Subway Express Station at Door) NEW YORK CITY Near Riverside Drive Central Park, Theatres F R E Success in life can only be obtained through personal influence. W ill send absolutely free a 55-page book which tells in fasci- nating style how you may acquire the influence or sec s of personal magnetism, hypnotism, mag- netic healing, ete. The book explains how through the marvelous power of suggestion (which is the foundation of personal influence) diseases and bad habits may be cured. The book also tells how to win and hold the love and respect of others. Any- body can learn in a few days at home. We posi- tively guarantee success. Write today before you forget it, as this may be your “golden opportunity.’ Remember the book is FREE, Address FLINT COLLEGE, 421 Perry Payne Bldg., Dept. 502A, Cleveland, Oh and Shopping Sections Single room, running water $2.50 Single room and bath $3 Double room, bath $5 per day Handsome suites of 2, 3 rooms Dinner de Luxe $1.35 served in Blue Room and Grill Exceptional Orchestra M. P. MURTHA, Mgr. Kindly mention this magazine when writingptg,adyertigers(

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THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE 15 Brings You this Genuine DIAMOND A few cents a day will pay for this handsome ring Lady’s wide top solitaire. Latest Style 18 K. white gold hand en- graved and plerced ring ves the blue white, perfect G U A RA NTEE pyre haad Absolute satisfaction; if you egulor price 983sn- fj don't agree this ring is an cial bargain price only amazing bargain, we will : fe2m refund your inuney. ‘If satis- fled, pay balance In 10 equal monthly payments. aial,¢ stwing bargains tp Diamonie,, Wa'cies [ Write Jewel-y i r to $1000. Cash or Ih opt. WONDERFUL VALUES. | ‘ASO BAER Bros. Co. 6 MAIDEN LANE - NEW. YORK Can Easily Be Yours Trados Model No. 25 corrects now all illshaped noses quickly, painlessly, permanently, and comfortably at home. It is the only adjustable, safe and guar- anteed patent device that wi'l ac- tually give you a perfect looking nose. Over 87,000 satisfied users. For years recommended by phy- sicians. 16 years of experience in manufacturing Nose Shapers is at your service. Model 25 jr. for children S _ _ Write for testimonials and free booklet, which tells you how to obtain a perfect looking nose. M. TRILETY, SPECIALIST Binghamton, N. Y. Get Rid F A 3 of Your Free Trial Treatment Sent on request. Ask for my “pay-when-re- duced" offer. I have successfully reduced thou- sands of persons, often at the rate of a pound a day. Let me send you proof at my expense. DR. R. NEWMAN, Licensed Physician State of New York, 286 Fifth Avenue, N. Y., Desk A-80 cirts Earn Xmas Money Write for 50 Sets St. Nicholas Christmas Seals. Sell for 10c a set ‘When sold send us $3.00 and keep $2.00. No Work--Just Fun St. Nicholas Seal Co. Dept. $2 Brooklyn, DEAFNESS IS MISERY GOOD HEARING A JOY Millions of people know that, but _Multitudes of Persons with defective hearing and Head Noises are egain enjoying conversation, go to Theatre and hurch because they use Leonard Invisible Anti- septic Ear Drums, which are Tiny Megaphones fitting in the Ear entirely out of sight. No wires, no batteries, no head piece. They are unseen Comforts and inexpensive. _ Write for booklet and sworn statement of the inventor who was himself deaf. A. O, LEONARD, Inc., Suite 143, 70 5th Ave., New York |. ¥. Let Me Make a Man of You OBODY wants or cares for a weakling. Your frends may be sorry for you, but that won't bring you back to glori- ous health. A man's happiness entirely de- nds upon his physical condition— is success in social, domestic and business life centers around this. If he is not virile, he is not attrac- tive, megnetic, popular—his very menly strength is the axis upon which his whole existence revolves. Men become weak through over- work, worry, and excesses and lose ‘their strength. When they reach the point where vitality is decreasing. wes 4 must be taken at once to prevent physical and mental disaster. Stop and think what your Health, Strength and _ Vitality mean to you and ward off the con sequences. No matter what condition is or what ca don't be discouraged—I help you—I can help you with STRONGFORTISM STRONGFORT The New Science of Health Prometion The Terfect Man Strongfortism has lifted thou- sands of weak, ailing, discouraged men out of the bog of hopelessness and despair saad Bros. them on the Streight Road to Health, Happiness and Pros- perity. Strongfortism has aided Nature in overcoming such ailments as Caterrh, Constipe tion, Indigestion, Rup- ture, Nervousness, Bad Blood, Prostete Troubles, Poor Memory, etc., and the other results of neglecting and abus- ing the body. (See consultation coupon.) Strongfortism gave them renewed confidence, vitz lity, ambition, success and fitted them for the Joys of a healthy, happy life. I can do the same for you, irrespective of your age, Sex, Oc- cupation or surroundings. I guarantee it. Send for My Free Book “Promotion and C-nservation of Health, Strength and Mental Ener y."" It will tcll you frani ly how you can make yourself over into a Vigorovs specimen of Vital Manhood. Itis absolutely free. Just rrark the svbjects on the free con- sultation coupon on which you want special confidential In- formation and send to me with a ten-cent piece (one dime) to help beln pay postage, etc. Twill do the rest. Send for my free Right Now. TODAY. LIONEL STRONGFORT Physical and Health Spectalist Over 25 Years Dept. 45 NEWARK, N. J., U. S. A- FREE CONSULTATION MR, LIONEL STRONGFORT, DEPT. 45, NEWARK, 'N. J. Please send me absolutely free enlightenment on the "Pro- motion and Conservation of Hoalth, Strength and Mental Energy."” ! enclose aten-cent piece (x dime) to help cover postage and have marked (X) before the subjects in which I am most interested. Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers,

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16 THE WIDE WORLD MAGAZINE Reduce Waistline Quickly naEasily Amazing New Belt Takes Off Fat Through Auto- Does Away With Heart-Straining Exercises, Disgusting Diets, Weakening Sweat-Baths! Makes You Look Thin While You Grow Thin. matic Massage. flees moment you put on_ this wonderful new self-massaging belt your waist is-instantly reduced from 2 to 6 inches—but better still, you actually grow thinner day by day. At the same time all your stomach disorders, constipation, backaches and shortness of breath generally disap- Jerful new energy “1 10 to 15 are filled with a w and look and f younger! This amazing new belt marks a wonderful new freedom for stout men freedom from heart- straining exercises—freedom from dis- gusting reducing diets—freedom from weak- monotonous, ening sweat-baths, dangerous pills, and dreary self-denials! pear as the sagging internal organs are put back in normal place. You New Youth-Giving Belt Massages Away Fat iis marvelous new kind of belt effi known as the Weil Scientific Reduc- ing Belt produces the same results as tive pressure and gradually but surely inches of fat are massaged away. SPECIAL TRIAL an expert masseur—only quicker, Reduce the Way OFFER! a per. The Weil B 1 Write at once for 1 ely draw in your w Athletes Do Tull deseription 3 and details 0 make you appear thinner. The Weil Belt is made of the same the Special 10 tually takes off the fat kind of scientifically treated rubber that ql i cor is used by hundreds of professional ath- ‘Con. letes and jockeys because it not only 7010 Hill reduces quickly but at the same time si New ue ems to © preserves their strength. It is highly Haven, Conn. s With every indorsed for its healthful principles by fie _ Physicians everywhere. Satisfaction rn you take, guaranteed or your money instantly re \ gentle but funded without question. The Wei Co., 7010 Hill Street, New Haven Conn THE WEIL COMPANY 7010 Hill Street, New Haven, Conn. GENTLEMEN—Please send me, without obliga~ tion, complete description of the Well Scientific Reducing Belt and also your special 10-day trial offer, _ iMustrated Kindly mention this magazine when writing to advertisers.

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Tobacco Is Hurting You Look at the facts square in the face, Mr. Tobacco User. You may think tobacco is not hurting you. That is because you haven’t as yet, perhaps, felt the effects of the nicotine poison in YOUR system. For you know that nicotine, as absorbed into the system through smoking and chew- ing tobacco, is a slow working poison. Slow, yes—but sure. Tobaceo is lowering your efficiency. It Whe n your h ands begin to fre nble— - and your appetite begins to fail— slows a man down. Makes it harder for you M4 Your appetite begins fo fa to concentrate your mind on your work. You and slight exertion makes you short of breath— haven't near the amount of ‘“‘pep”’ and energy —_ then you have a right to suspect that you would have if you stopped using it. There's TOBACCO is getting the upper hand Id as you in years who's twice as iz in energy, simply becau lets tobacco alone. Some day you will realize to what an alarming e tobacco has undermined your system. Tobacco Habit Banished Let Us He ll you that these are CO poisoning. 4 man twice ought to quit. of differen for a sing how 1a whet 1S cig Tobacco Redeemer will p very few da Not the sli t i ly begin to decrease after aiting for results. ‘obacco Redeemer contiins no habit-fo velo k, scientific and thoroughly r Free B ake el better in every way nist A single trial will convince Results Guar anteed souls Ou est tindice NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. goes with each full treatment. ‘e will refund every cent you pay for th Dept. 966 Clayton Station St. Louis, Mo. obligating me in any wv arding the tobacco habit a: f that Tobacco Redeemer will positively free me from the tobacco habit or my money will be refunded Let us send you our free booklet on SEND Coupon for tis desdiy Chests of tobacco: te Free Proof Scraicvertuscounuy tatinghow they have been absolutely freed from the tobacco habit by th home treatment You could not ask for stronger proof that Redeemer will free you from the habit than the evidence we will gladly I Name NEWELL PHARMACAL CO. I Street and No Dept. 966 Clayton Station St. Louis, Mo. I Town t State

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© 21Jewel @ Santa Fe Sp ecial eC OTL credit le) Ask for the Santa Fe’s Ladies’ Bracelet Watch folder and Diamond folder. ct to you, express prepaid on FREE onvinced it’s the best watch buy t obligation — you ney a F Special: Watch, Address Digitized by Cooke

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